Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy

by Ashley Fontainne

  I raised the cup to my lips again and took another sip of the pungent liquid before I answered delicately, a bit unsure of where this conversation was heading, “Carl, my reactions to my life has no bearing on how Robert, or anyone else for that matter, reacts to their own. No one can predict what one individual will do compared to another,” I said quietly as I set the glass down, deciding that I needed to go home, the urge to leave overwhelming my mind. As I slowly stood up and reached for my purse and cell phone, I spoke quietly. “I’m sure that if Robert felt he could have shared what was in his heart with a friend, he would have. Some things are just easier left inside, Carl.”

  His demeanor shifted once again as his face softened and the edginess to his eyes lightened, almost like he snapped out of some odd dream as he noticed I was packing up to leave. He cleared his throat and stood up, his cheeks turning a mild shade of berry pink as the alcohol coursed through his veins. Even in his current inebriated state, I think he realized he had overstepped his boundaries with me and quickly wobbled over to my desk to retrieve the now almost empty bottle. I picked up my purse and computer bag, then gently reached over and held the bottle around its slender neck, holding it down on the desk as I said, “Carl, I think you should let me call a taxi to take you home, or at least let me…”

  A loud cackle of laughter came from the direction of my door that cut my words short, immediately followed by, “Well, I’ll be damned, Carl. I can’t recall the last time I actually remember seeing you drunk. What, maybe fifteen years ago?” Nicole sneered as she walked into my office, teetering on her four inch plus heels.

  God, this day must be powered by the Energizer Bunny because it just kept going and going…

  Carl and I both shifted our eyes over to Nicole as she pranced her way through my office and plopped unceremoniously onto my couch, immediately kicking off her heels as she stretched her legs out. I didn’t notice it when she first appeared at the door, but as she passed by us both on her way across the room, the scent of beer wafted behind her, and I realized she was drunk as well.

  Magnificent.

  “Carl, don’t you worry about driving home…you can just stay up here and drink with me tonight. We can toast to the ‘old’ Winscott, as well as to the fall of the ‘new’ Winscott,” she slurred, her intonations heavy with her Georgia accent which usually appeared when she had thrown one too many drinks down. Although I had seen her drunk a few times before, I had never seen her so trashed as she was now, and of course, I had never seen Carl drunk, but then again, this was not a normal day.

  Not normal at all.

  I took a deep breath and snatched the bottle from Carl’s light grip, since he was more interested in watching Nicole adjust her muscular legs on the couch, and firmly said, “Carl, Nicole…enough. I’m calling a cab right now to take you both home. The last thing we need now are two more dead partners.” I knew that was harsh as I saw both of them cringe a bit, but I knew I needed to get their attention, and quickly, before I was suddenly in the middle of a college frat party. It was quite obvious that I wasn’t the only one that was struggling to deal with today’s events, and we all needed to get home and try and rest, for God knows the rest of the week and weekend would probably be just as insane as today was. Nicole started to protest, but I just held my hand up, using the one piece of bait I knew she would latch onto, “Nicole, I need you fresh for tomorrow. I have a meeting at six tomorrow night with a new client, Mrs. Jeanette Lancaster, and I’m going to need your valuation expertise on this one since her husband owns several businesses that we will need valued for their divorce settlement. So you must be on your game tomorrow!” I said emphatically as I picked up the phone and buzzed security downstairs.

  “I need a taxi please. We’ll be down in just a few moments,” I said quickly to Tyson, the security guard downstairs. I then hung up and turned back to my drunken colleagues. I could see Nicole processing what I said about tomorrow night with obvious difficulty due to her alcohol-riddled brain.

  She slurred, “You mean, Jeannette Lancaster? Wife of Tom Lancaster?” I nodded in agreement, pointing at her shoes on the floor as she was fumbling around for them, oblivious as to their location. “Oh my gawd…they’re worth millions! This is just what we needed!”

  For the next ten minutes, I cajoled, begged, and pleaded until I gathered all of their belongings up and corralled Carl and Nicole into the elevator, all the while listening to Nicole regale us with her tales of how she had met Jeannette Lancaster once in Palm Springs and she was the nicest lady. Finally, we made it to the lobby and the awaiting taxi cab. Once the cab rounded the corner, Tyson and I exchanged knowing glances as he said, “It’s late, Ms. Audra. I need to walk you to your car.”

  After the day I’d had, I didn’t protest, and we walked along silently through the empty parking deck. As we rounded the corner to my level, I noticed that Gabby’s car was still there, and sure enough, sporting a flat tire. Before I could turn around and ask Tyson to make sure to call a repairman when he got back to his desk, he said, “Good Lord, Ms. Tanner. What the hell happened to your car?”

  EARLY FRIDAY A.M.

  I WAS SO FUCKING sick of staring at that dingy ass cell. Nine months of being cooped up like some trapped bird was driving me bat-shit crazy. For the first few months of my incarceration, I occupied my brain by strategizing my defense plan, my head resting on the reeking joke that the guards liked to call a pillow as I stared into the blank ceiling, going over every possible scenario we could use to get me the fuck out of here and what courtroom trickery the prosecution would use against me. Nick, Roger, and I knew that the biggest hurdle to overcome would be my DNA from the crime scene and Robert’s blubbering testimony. It’s not like I could explain how my hairs were found on the duct tape that was at the bottom of the bitch’s grave, securing my damnation around a plastic garbage sack’s throat, and even if I could somehow conjure up some plausible scenario, Robert’s tears of guilt would sway a jury full of O.J. Simpson jurors.

  I lost track of how many times in the last nine months that I had relived that night, looking back on it with wiser eyes, picking up on the small things I should have done differently. Who the fuck knew in the seventies that a single piece of hair could tie you to a crime scene? And of course, getting my life entangled with such an obvious backwoods redneck was not one of the wisest choices I ever made.

  Once my “brilliant” legal team (fuck, what a joke) finally stopped patting themselves on the back for pocketing huge amounts of money from me and finally formulated my defense plan, (which was sorely lacking), I no longer found anything of interest to stimulate my brain, so I began imagining what diabolical plans Piper was cooking up in that jumbled mess of neurons in her brain, for I honestly did not have a clue. It was quite sad, really, that she was my only hope of permanently getting out of this room, since Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were not much help.

  After her early visit with me at the Summerset jail, Piper and I only talked once more, which was about three months later when she came to the Yarkema County Jail, where I was moved about three weeks after my arrest for “safety concerns.” What a fucking joke. Safety concerns. If someone had been plotting my assassination, surely my brains would already be decorating the insides of the Summerset jail, for security there truly was something out of a scene from The Andy Griffith Show.

  I wriggled around on my lovely little strip of linen atop the rusty metal that served as my bed and finally found a semi-comfortable spot that allowed me to stare out of the cell through the bars into the dark hallway, rather than counting the spider webs that lined the decrepit walls. My Rolex was who knows where—probably around the arms of Bulging Barney at Summerset, for he eyed it hard and heavy when I was arrested—so I could only guess as to what time of day or night it was. Time took on a whole new dimension when you didn’t really have anything to mark the passing of it nor things to accomplish given a specific frame, but I was pretty adept at guessing the hour of the day based upon t
he noises around me. Since the only noise my straining ears heard was the occasional squeak of a rat, I surmised that it must be around one or two in the morning, which meant dinner should be arriving shortly.

  Dinner. It was laughable, at best, to refer to the nasty slop that was served here as anything remotely close to edible food. Of course, I could only assume the gorillas that greased themselves down enough to squeeze into their tight uniforms were actually bringing me food, since they only brought it during the blackened, wee hours of the morning and literally kicked the tray into my cell from the hallway, thus splattering most of the swill across the already filthy floor. I would nibble on just enough to keep my growling stomach quiet, preferring to concentrate on remembering all the delicious entrees I would inhale once back out into the real world.

  The world that would be minus three fucking rats.

  I heard the doors unlock and the clomping of boots on the ancient concrete floor, then the clanging of my dinner tray as it came sliding into my cell, but I ignored the rank smell of my sustenance and closed my eyes and thought about Piper.

  I knew the minute I looked into her glazed, over-the-moon, fanatical eyes that not only was she willing to kill for me, but that she would ask no questions or even need heavy prodding on my end. All it took was just one small suggestion that day so many months ago. Although I wasn’t afraid of her, I knew that she was a dangerous, unstable woman that must be handled with the utmost delicacy—unlike when I previously dumped her unceremoniously and she responded by slashing her arm so deeply that my entire office required an overhaul, her blood plastered on not only my walls, but the rug, ceiling and couch. I remember she looked at me, her eyes so calm, so cool, almost calculated, and she smiled and said, “Forever, Olin.”

  Crazy bitch.

  I must admit though, I actually did enjoy the few months we spent fucking each other like there was no tomorrow. The woman held no qualms about dropping to the floor no matter where we were—my office, her house, the car, my yacht, a restaurant bathroom, a darkened alley at night. You name it, and she was game. She was like this little girl in a woman’s body, so eager to open herself up and please her man, letting him do whatever he wanted to her without a modicum of hesitation. After our first tryst on my desk that evening years ago, I remember laughing to myself, thinking that her unimaginable amount of pent up sexual frustration had just been released all over my desk, and quite honestly, she was full of skills I thought only professionals possessed. I remember driving home that night wondering what in the hell that sexual beast was doing married to a gay man.

  Poor Piper—so mistreated, so misunderstood, so consistently pointing her pussy to the wrong men, so blinded by her unfathomable longing for a man to fill her obvious daddy issues. She seemed inexplicably attracted to ones that would never be able to fill those shoes. I still couldn’t believe that she stayed with Nick for as many years as she did because she clearly wasn’t in love with him since she was absolutely gaga over Ralph, and everyone knew it. For years, she drooled over him, begging to be put on his team whenever the chance for out-of-town audits was available, hardly able to walk past him without creaming herself. She was always the talk of the partner meetings (at least until she became one herself).

  I stared into the darkness, aware of the pungent smell of my “dinner” on the floor and the chomping of the rats as they nibbled on it. Forcing myself to ignore the rank smell and disgusting sounds, I recalled the night seventeen years ago that changed everything and everyone at Winscott.

  IT was during the celebratory dinner and drinks at the local strip club one night after tax season. Ralph, clearly drunk out of his mind and having great difficulty dealing with his surroundings, was cursing at one of the skanky dancers that was trying her best to liven him up. I remember watching him attempt to stumble outside to spew his drink after being so violated, but he couldn’t really walk. While I held back my laughter, I got up and helped him to the bathroom, but he shoved me aside and said, “Go away you brown-nosing cocksucker,” and sort of fell into the door that led into the back alleyway.

  I decided to let the ungrateful fuck alone, so I went instead to use the john. I laughed as I thought Here is the mighty Ralph Winscott, the Managing Partner and founder of Winscott & Associates. He’s one of the biggest, best-known names in the state and owner of not one but two private planes, several homes from one ocean to another…politicians in his pocket, card carrying member of the NRA and avid sportsman, and he’s throwing up his dinner because he can no longer handle his liquor and broads. It was absolutely priceless to watch the pathetic joke that he had become writhe on the filthy floor like a fish out of water, and had the technology been available at the time, I would have enjoyed posting it to YouTube.

  As I left the bathroom, I heard the grumblings of loud voices coming from the alleyway, one of which sounded like Ralph’s loud bellow, somewhat muffled by the thumping music raging from the inside of the club. This piqued my interest as to the content of the yelling match and the thought of possibly finding some good leverage material. Previous nights of debauchery had yielded plenty of blackmail material in the past, so I crept over to the back door, which was cracked open just enough for me to see Ralph with our legal counsel and Piper’s husband, Nick Rancliff, in the small alleyway. Ralph was hanging onto the side of a dirt-encrusted garbage bin for support, clearly distressed, his face so red it was almost glowing from not only the eight or nine Jack ’n Cokes that he pounded down earlier but also from sheer anger. Nick, who was quite younger, taller by at least a head, and less inebriated, was wearing an odd look on his face, sort of a mixture of triumph and fear as he stood about six feet away from the raging bull that Ralph was when he became angry.

  “Nick, I gave you what you wanted. Piper is now an equity partner. I gave you the cash back for her buy-in. Now pony up on your end of the deal!” Ralph yelled, his words angry yet beseeching at the same time. He stared up into the face of Nick through his bloodshot eyes, and his rotund head weaved from side to side.

  Nick stood there and stared at him for a few seconds, the single, bare light bulb strong enough for me to see his disgust at the disheveled and reeking drunk in front of him. Even through the dismal light, I could see the internal wheels in his head spinning as he calculated his response, for I recognized that look from numerous times of performing those mental mathematics myself.

  “Ralph, calm down and shut the fuck up! Do you want the entire city to hear you? For someone that’s so worried about discovery, you sure aren’t very skilled in the intricate art of secrecy, are you?” Nick said, his words carefully chosen in his attempt at portraying authority and control over the situation, but the underlying tremor in his voice was ruining their affect, at least to my ears.

  “Don’t tell me to shut up, you arrogant little asshole! You don’t control me!” Ralph yelled, this time louder than before. I knew the minute he uttered those words, since I had witnessed it many times before over several years, that he was going to explode and come out swinging, and sure enough, he did. I covered my mouth to control the laughter that desperately wanted to burst forth as I watched the sawed-off fuck let go of the garbage bin and lurch forward toward Nick. He threw down his drink, the glass immediately disintegrating as it met the asphalt, his Jack ’n Coke splashing all over his feet, his drink hand now a formidable fist as he attempted to take Nick’s head off with one heartfelt swing. It would have been a great fight to watch if Ralph was a bit less trashed, for even at his age, he was as strong as ever and fast as a cat, which was a deadly combination and one that had inflicted much pain over the years to others, but tonight, that was not the case. Ralph immediately lost his balance as Nick deftly moved away from his swing, and the force of Ralph’s momentum overtook his body. He almost did a complete 180 and fell onto the slick pavement, his head slamming hard against the blacktop with a sickening thud.

  Nick quickly maneuvered his body around and was now standing over Ralph, who was just lying there, t
he impact of his head with the ground rendering him quiet as he blinked his eyes in rapid succession, trying to regain his composure and cognitive abilities. Before his whiskey-soaked brain could comprehend that he needed to get up, Nick crouched down and said, “Awww, poor Ralph. Too much drink, too little agility. Shame, shame, Ralph. Don’t you remember our night together and our mutual affinity for pain? Beating the crap out of me isn’t going to change the fact that I still hold the cards here, no matter how much either one of us would enjoy it. Now, be a good boy and listen carefully. I have the tape in my car, and when I leave here tonight, I’ll leave it in yours, and then our little ‘transaction’ will be completed. I’m a man of my word, just as you are,” Nick said, the tremor in his voice no longer there, replaced with an aggressive tone that I wasn’t aware Nick actually possessed.

  I realized, at that moment, that my life could change if I could just see what was on that tape, so I quietly stepped back from the door and left the two of them to finish their little alleyway dirty dance alone. I made my way through the drunken crowd and out the front door to the dark parking lot, searching for Nick’s Jag, finally locating it in the back of the lot, sitting alone in the darkness just waiting for someone to break into it.

  Which was exactly what I was about to do.

  I smiled at my good fortune of once again being at the right place at the right time. Damn, I never thought that a party down in a strip club would garner me anything except a blowjob and a hangover. I made it to the passenger door of Nick’s red beauty and did a quick scan of the parking lot once more, ensuring that I was alone, and then I peered in the window. Sure enough, there was a small, square package sitting quietly on the passenger floorboard, just waiting for someone to open its manila cover. That someone was going to be me as soon as I located something to smash the window. I started to pull back from the window when I noticed that the door latch was up, and I did a double take.