Filled with outrage that clinched his stomach like a vise, Ward pressed down hard on the pedal and tossed The Charlotte Observer into the trash can's open mouth, letting the lid slam shut.
Natasha rubbed his forearm. “They only say you are the CEO of RGI, and that the virus originated from a computer in your office. Nothing we can do about it. It's all just innuendo and speculation.”
“Innuendo sucks. Unk gets the mud splashed on him, too,” Ward said. “I sure as hell can do something about it. I'll cancel our subscription.”
Natasha laughed. “That'll teach them.”
“Perception doesn't go away.”
“They'll find out who doc'd the box,” Natasha said.
“ ‘Doc'd the box’?” Todd asked.
“I think it sounds really techy,” Natasha said. “A play on … you know.”
Todd laughed easily.
“I've really missed your sense of humor.” Ward smiled, leaned over, and kissed his wife. “I've decided that I'm going to sell the company.” He looked up into Natasha's eyes, waiting for her response.
“To Dibble?” Natasha asked, taking a sip of water.
“It's the only offer on the table. With the money we can move and start over somewhere. Maybe Seattle.” When he said it, he had a thought that rocked him to his core. And leave Barney here? He wondered if the same thought hit his wife, because he saw her eyes lose their focus for a second. Or was she thinking about the partnership offer from her old professor?
“I just can't picture Trey Dibble running your father's company. I'm afraid I'm going to have to vote against it.”
“I think Dibble is behind the virus,” Todd said. “I don't think it's Lander Electric. Except for your son's accident, they're squeaky- clean. This is just business with them, and with Dibble it's probably more personal than business. Everything I've found out about Trey Dibble tells me he's one seriously ruined bowl of fruit. He hangs with some pretty rough customers—some of which are known drug dealers and one connected to organized crime.”
“I have no choice, Natasha. You've seen how people look at me, how your own patients turned against you. How many of our many friends have showed up at the driveway or tried to see us to show their support?”
“The problem is my patients’ parents,” Natasha said, smiling sadly “My patients like me.”
FORTY-FOUR
Security in the downtown condo complex was hardly more than a showy illusion designed to make the owners feel secure and intimidate amateurs. Only the cameras in the lobby, the elevator cabins, and the main hallways were monitored by staff security. Watcher overrode the alarm on the fire door and fried the circuits in that camera without worrying it would be discovered anytime soon.
Watcher wasn't even breathing hard after climbing twenty- three floors of stairs. Once in the service hall, he slipped to the rear door that opened into the kitchen of Trey Dibble's penthouse. The expensive and complicated lock on the steel security door slowed Watcher less than ten seconds. Once inside, he heard the voices of two men radiating from the living room. Watcher moved to the door and listened.
“The FBI saw me earlier this morning. I figured they'd come see you.”
“Well, why didn't you call and warn me?” Trey whined.
“I told them to check you out,” Flash said. “If you did have anything to do with that virus, you're going to prison with my blessings.”
“I have to have the six hundred thousand today,” a third voice chimed in.
This voice reflected some anger, but that was covered over by fear.
“As I said before, Mark, I will advance it to you in a personal transaction. But the deal has to go through. That's a lot of money.”
“You'll get it back,” Mark Wilson said.
“Ward is not going to sell to me,” Flash said. “But if you say you can make it happen, I believe you, Mark. You're both a horse trader and his uncle. And you know better than to try to screw me.”
“He'll sell,” Mark said. “He's in a box, thanks to your son.”
“Thanks to me?” Trey snapped.
“That fucking virus. What were you thinking?” Mark demanded. “We all know that was your doing.”
“Me?” Trey asked. “I didn't have anything to do with it!”
Flash said, “In my son's sole defense, he isn't that imaginative.”
“He could have paid somebody who is,” Mark said. “Who else could have had any reason to pull that shit?”
“The FBI is convinced Ward did it,” Flash said. “I told them I didn't believe it for a minute, and I don't. This will blow over and they will catch the mentally challenged person who did it.”
“I bet Ward did do it,” Trey said. “Why would anybody else? It's a friggin dumb- ass move, and unproductive for our benefit.”
“If you did this, I'll turn you in myself,” Flash repeated. “Mark, I want RGI, and if I don't get it, I have friends who will collect the six hundred thousand. Do we understand each other? If Ward finds out the six hundred thousand is missing, how are you going to get it back into the bank without admitting what you did? What are you going to tell him?”
“I'll explain that I borrowed it for an emergency and I'm paying it back,” Mark said. “He'll be pissed, but he is my nephew. He knows I love him.”
“Remember that stock is worthless, due to adverse public opinion,” Trey said. “RGI's reputation is total shit. I think we should cut our offer in half.”
“Our offer?” Flash laughed mirthlessly. “How much of your money is on the table here? This is my money we're talking about. Until you have some money that isn't mine to put in, keep your damned business advice to yourself. Mark, three months and I expect repayment in full. I have a certified check in my pocket, and a promissory note form. You sign and you can walk over to the bank to cover your problem.”
As Watcher listened, he looked at the granite countertops, a bottle of cooking oil, and an idea formed in his mind.
Five minutes later, Flash and McCarty's uncle concluded their business and left the condominium together.
Watcher waited a few seconds before he strolled into the living room.
Trey sat on the couch sucking on a lit joint, which he held in his chubby fingers like a cigarette. He wore a Speedo, his jewelry, and nothing else.
“Trey,” Watcher said.
The joint flew into the air and Trey twisted on the couch to look back over his shoulder at Watcher.
“FUCK!” Trey blurted. “How did you get in here? You scared the shit out of me. I thought the goddamned FBI had circled back.” He slid off the couch and rushed to the joint smoldering on the thick area rug. Lifting it up, he smashed the place where it had been with the sole of his foot.
“The back door was standing open.”
“Fucking Tami.” Trey snorted. “She took the trash out and the dumb- ass whore forgot to lock it.”
“Where's she now?”
“The FBI said they wanted to talk to me so I sent her out to Belk to look at shoes and told her to stay out for an hour. Then Daddy called and said Mark Wilson was outside and they were going to meet up here. I told him the FBI was here, and he said to call when they left and he'd have Mark wait in the restaurant across the street and to call when they left. Hell, Daddy sent them here to bust my balls.”
Trey winked. “I told them the opposite of what Daddy did. He said Ward was no way a pervert.” Trey laughed in a nervous burst. “I told them Ward was light in the loafers.”
Watcher nodded.
“The FBI is after McCarty and how. The virus thing was brilliant. But my dumb- ass old man isn't smart enough to offer less. Sometimes he amazes me. Business is business, and I'm sure as hell not going to let anything color my judgment when I take over.”
“All tooth and claw,” Watcher said. “You're twice the businessman your old man is. You'll do what has to be done.”
Trey hit the joint again. “Tooth and claw. I like that. So can we trust your computer genius to k
eep his pie- hole shut?”
“His lips are sealed.”
“My old man better never find out I was involved. I swore to God I wasn't. This geek. How can you be sure he won't turn on you? The FBI told me their lab techs can trace the guy who did it.”
“They may track him down. But he'll never tell them anything.”
“How can you be sure he'll do time without turning on you?”
“Because he's left the country,” Watcher lied, smiling. “You paid me to be thorough.”
“Best fifty grand I ever spent. You handled the situation. We get RGI and I don't need to know any more than that. That's all. Maybe if you get popped, you'll trade up for me. Believe me, I've thought about it. Maybe you should have killed the geek, not sent him out of the country. He might come back.”
“I brought him over from Europe. He's French. Hates America. Uses aliases and doesn't know you exist. You paid me cash so there's no proof I've ever done anything for you. That gives you total deniability The only way you'd be connected to the geek is if the FBI found his business card on you and a phone that's linked to one he had.” Watcher smiled at Trey.
Trey smiled back and pointed with the smoking joint. “That's why I hired you. A man shows up with a plan, you listen, and if it makes sense, you bite. This deal is about done, and I'm so happy with the virus that I'm gonna give you a retainer as a consultant when we get RGI. The virus was a great idea, even if it was yours.”
“I'm not doing this for money, Trey.”
“What you doing it for, the kicks?” Trey asked, offering Watcher the joint.
He shook his head and said, “It's more complex. It was in my best interest to drop Ward McCarty.”
“Whatever,” Trey said, disinterested. “No more needs to be said. He's a spoiled prick. Not like he worked to build that company. He inherited it. Okay, you get what you want and so do I. I like what you do, and I want you watching my back here on out and helping me climb up the ladder tooth and claw. Just remember, you don't ever tell me nothing more about how you work the miracles I need. Next we deal with my old man,” Trey said, winking. “If the old guy needs to go for a swim, you up for hard- core?”
“Tooth and claw,” Watcher said. “I'm going to go. You should lock the door behind me.”
Trey took a hit from the joint and followed Watcher through the door. He didn't notice the bottle of cooking oil lying on its side on the counter or that the contents had pooled on the terrazzo floor until his feet went out from under him. Trey's last thought was probably that Watcher was grabbing him to keep him from falling, not in order to guide the back of his head into the sharp edge of the granite countertop as he fell.
After Watcher checked for Trey Dibble's pulse, and didn't find one, he looked at the pad by the telephone. He pressed Dibble's prints onto it, and placed Bert's business card under it so it was barely covered and the cops would have to try not to see it there. There was just one more connection to Bert that Watcher had to handle.
Going back into the living room, Watcher placed his disposable cell phone between the cushions of the couch. It was the phone he'd used exclusively to talk to Bert Marmaduke over the past three weeks. On the way out of the kitchen, Watcher took the plastic bag containing the knife he'd used on old Bert from his pocket, and dropped just the knife into the garbage can, making a loud metallic noise when it hit the bottom.
Just as he was closing the door, he heard the front door open and close. He left, and was opening the stairwell door when he heard Tami Waterman's scream.
FORTY-FIVE
According to the news reports, the virus was still creating havoc around the world, but other stories had started receiving more and more play so the virus in turn received less.
At a little past one, Ward walked past the kitchen where Natasha and Leslie Wilde were sitting across from each other at the counter, talking and laughing like schoolgirls.
Leslie had come to the McCartys’ house to drop off the bags of groceries she'd purchased from the list Natasha had given her earlier that morning. She sat on a stool at the counter while Natasha put them away. She had also brought them a laptop computer from the office, in case they wanted to check e-mails. The last thing Natasha wanted to do was open a computer and look at e-mails.
“God, I'll be so glad when this is all over. How's that for stating the obvious?” Natasha said. “I believe it's aged me ten years.”
“This will all be over soon,” Leslie told Natasha. “And you look marvelous. It will all work out, you'll see.”
“I hope so.” Natasha lowered her voice. “So, Todd Hartman is quite a guy.”
“And attractive, smart, and handsome,” Leslie said, smiling.
“And a professional,” Natasha said. “That's important.”
“Yes, he's employed,” Leslie said. “And did I mention handsome?”
“I think you might have.”
Natasha's dealings with Leslie had always been pleasant, though superficial. She had spoken to her on the phone untold times, but until this mess started she had never spent more than a few minutes talking to her face- to- face. They had never been socially connected, and Natasha intended to change that. Of all of their so- called friends, none had sent messages of support. Of course, due to a lack of computers to retrieve e-mails, the fact that the phones were off, and the guards at the driveway, there wasn't an easy way for their friends to get in touch.
Leslie said, “Ward seems much more relaxed today.”
Natasha looked at Leslie. “Ward is finally putting things into perspective. He's decided that life has to go on. I think if there's one good thing that has come from this virus mess it's that this helped us both see that we still have each other.”
“I should go back to the office. If you need anything, call me.”
“I will, and thank you, Leslie.”
Natasha walked her out to her car, and waved until she was out of sight.
FORTY-SIX
The gun Earl Tucker twirled clumsily was a .380 semiautomatic Walther PPK.
Alice held out her hand. “Let me try it,” she said, beckoning.
Earl held the gun out butt first, but when she reached for it, he flipped it in his hand and aimed the barrel at her.
“That's an old Western trick that Marshal William Earp was famous for.”
“You mean Wyatt Earp.”
“S’wat I said.”
“You said William Earp.”
She grabbed the gun from Earl and turned it over in her hands.
“You think I don't know Wyatt Earp? Was a tongue slip, is all that was. Know ah'm sayin’?”
“Only a retard would think it was William.”
Earl put his face close to Alice's ear. “How would you like to be porked by a real cowboy?”
She pushed him back onto her bed and aimed the gun at a picture on her wall. “A real cowboy wouldn't give his gun to a girl.”
He sat up and held out his hand. “So, give it back.”
“Let me hold it,” she said.
“You don't even know how to use it.”
“Show me.”
“Nah.”
“You don't know how to shoot it, do you?”
Earl frowned. “What chu talkin’?”
“How does it work, then?”
Earl took the gun and, reaching into his pocket, he took out a loaded magazine. “You push this clip up inna handle, pull back the doohickey and let go, an’ she's ready for action. Know ah'm sayin’?”
“I get it.” She looked at the empty handle and reached out for the loaded magazine. “Okay. Let me load it.”
“Naw, it's too dangerous. Girls don know shit about guns.”
“If you ever want me to milk big Earl again,” she said, waving her fingers and smiling seductively.
“ Ah- ite,” he said, handing her the magazine.
She inserted the magazine and aimed the gun at the picture again, whereupon the magazine fell to the carpet.
“You have
to puts it all the way in,” Earl whined, handing it back. “Listen for it to click. And grab the top and pull that part back so it sticks the bullet in the barrel. And then you just pull the trigger, see ah'm sayin’?”
Alice followed Earl's instructions, pointed the gun at the large jar filled with pennies sitting atop her dresser and pulled the trigger. The jar seemed to evaporate and a spray of hundreds of copper coins filled the air, then landed and bounced on the hardwood floor. Alice's ears rang and she looked at the smoking gun as though finding it in her hand was a complete and baffling surprise.
“ Oh- my- god,” she said, grinning widely.
When Earl didn't answer, Alice looked back at him and noticed a stream of blood running down from his forehead, down his nose, and dripping onto the front of his extra- extra- large white T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of a sneering 50 Cent.
“Earl!” she screamed. “Oh, shit!”
He turned his eyes to her.
“You're bleeding!”
Earl put his hand to the tip of his nose, looked at the blood on his fingers, and, with the unyielding stiffness of a falling tree, hit the wood floor so hard his head bounced.
FORTY-SEVEN
“You friggin shot me in the head!” Earl yelled.
“No, I didn't,” she said, dabbing Earl's forehead with a cold and blood- smeared washcloth. “I only shot my penny jar. What the bullet did after that was just physics.”
“What?”
“A body in motion—like a bullet—remains in motion until acted on by an outside force, like gravity, friction, or a jar of pennies. Either the bullet hit you after its energy was about used up, or more probably a piece of glass or a penny did. It's a prick. Stop whining and I'll put a Band- Aid on the boo- boo.”
“Any fool know she can't shoot a gun inside a house. Know ah'm sayin’?”
“It was an accident. My ears are still ringing so bad I can hardly hear you.”
“Damn, I'm lucky it didn't split my danged head open and get me in my brains.”
Alice laughed. “You didn't even feel it, and it barely cut you. It was probably a piece of glass.”
The Last Day Page 14
