The Last Day

by John Ramsey Miller

  “See, maybe I should go to an emergency room and get a real doctor that knows medical stuff to look at it,” he said angrily.

  “Duh! They have to report gunshot wounds to the cops, you know. How you going to explain that? It's a ganked gun, right?”

  “I said it was my dad's.”

  “I know what you said, Earl. But you never tell the truth. Where'd you really get it?”

  He went into a sulk, which meant he'd been caught in a lie he couldn't think his way out of.

  She opened the medicine cabinet, found a Band- Aid, and put it over the cut. “We better pick up all those pennies and the glass before my mama gets home and has a flying shit fit.”

  “I don't do no housework,” Earl said. “She don't even come in here.”

  “Well, there's always a first time. So, can you show me where the safety is on that gun?”

  “I'm a’ be the one holding the piece,” Earl said.

  “Why?”

  “'cause like, I know how to work the safety. And you couldn't shoot the dude anyway.”

  “I shot you, didn't I?”

  “But he won't be holding no jar a’ pennies.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Ward was seated at the dining room table when Gene called him.

  “You sitting down?” Gene asked.

  “As a matter of fact I'm eating a late lunch. We're going to get Todd to take us to the cemetery in a little while.”

  “Trey Dibble is dead,” Gene said.

  “What is it?” Natasha asked.

  “Trey Dibble is dead,” Ward told her. “No, that doesn't make sense, Gene,” he said into the phone.

  “What happened?” Natasha asked.

  Ward hit the speaker button and held the phone in front of him.

  “You're on speaker so Natasha can hear. What happened?”

  “A secretary in our office has a sister who works for EMS. It appears to have been an accident. Trey slipped and hit his head on a counter-top and died, probably almost instantly. His girlfriend found him an hour ago in his kitchen. The weird thing is, homicide detectives arrived there before EMS or the police.”

  “But it was an accident?”

  “I know. It can't be right. That would mean Tami called homicide before she called EMS. In case you don't know how these things work: You call nine one one and dispatch sends an ambulance, and the fire department, and the cops. Cops take a look, and if EMS or the officers suspect foul play then they call in detectives. That takes time, even if it's somebody famous. The detectives arrived before the others. This is beyond weird, and the secretary might have gotten it totally wrong, but I'm trying to find out more, and as soon as I can, I'll call you.”

  Ward hit the speaker button again and turned to Natasha.

  “He's right. Unless they were in the building anyway, they'd be an hour or better getting their act together and going to the scene.”

  Ward's phone rang again and Ward flipped it open, said hello, and listened.

  “Sure, Nolan. Let him through.”

  A minute later, Ward opened the door to find his uncle standing on the stoop smiling like a used- car salesman who'd come to tell them their credit had failed muster so he was repossessing their new car.

  “Unk,” Ward said. “I didn't expect you. Come in. I've got a lot to catch you up on.”

  “I wish I didn't have to bother you, Ward, but I came to tell you something that's, well, it's somewhat delicate and I thought we ought to talk about it face- to-f ace. You got a minute?”

  “Sure,” Ward said, opening the door and stepping back to let his uncle in. “Natasha is inside.”

  “It concerns both of you.”

  The two men walked into the living room.

  “Natasha, Unk has something to tell us,” Ward said.

  Natasha crossed to hug Ward's uncle. “Hello, Unk. Want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you, Natasha,” Mark said. “This is difficult for me. I don't know how to begin.”

  “Sit down,” Ward said.

  When Mark sat, his tenuous smile vanished altogether.

  “I just … deposited six hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars back into the account it came from. I stole it from the company.”

  Neither Ward nor Natasha said anything.

  Mark put his head in his hands and cried.

  After a few awkward seconds, Ward walked over and put a hand on his uncle's shoulder. “I don't understand.”

  Natasha went to the kitchen and returned with a tissue. “What are you talking about, Unk?” she asked.

  “I embezzled money from our own damn company to cover gambling debts. I've been taking money for the past eleven months. I tried to stop, but…” He sobbed. “I put it all back an hour ago.”

  Mark wiped his tears.

  “My gambling. It just somehow got out of control. I was way down and I tried to double up and catch up. It was crazy, but I was desperate to pay these people. The more I tried to catch up, the deeper I went into the hole. Then, to get even with these men, I borrowed from a loan shark and bad got worse. I always intended to put the money back. I took cash as I had to have it.”

  “Why didn't you tell me early on?” Ward asked him. “We could have fixed it before it got serious.”

  “Ward's right,” Natasha said, firmly.

  “It's my stupid pride. You had so much on your plate without my trouble. I'm so sorry.”

  “It's all back,” Ward said.

  “To the penny. It was wrong, but I did make it right.”

  “Right,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “I'm not so sure. Unk, where did you get the money to put back?” Natasha asked.

  Mark looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “It's all over,” he said.

  “That might depend on where you got the six hundred thousand to pay back,” she said.

  “A loan,” Mark said.

  “From whom?” she asked him.

  Mark said, “It was a personal loan. What does that matter?”

  “What did you use for collateral?” Ward asked. “Was it a loan from Flash?”

  Mark managed a crooked smile.

  “I mean, who else has six hundred grand available they'd loan you?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Did he take your stock for collateral?” Ward asked.

  “You know I can't assign or sell my stock.”

  “I know that, but did he take it?”

  “You think I'd lie to Flash about that? Commit fraud?”

  “I know that the way my dad set it up, you can only sell your stock to me, at current value. In case you die, since you are divorced from my blood aunt, I would automatically get it after paying your estate fair market value.”

  “If you died first, would I have to sell your stock to Unk?” Natasha asked.

  Mark shook his head. “No. It only works one way. You or Ward are blood, and you can sell whenever to whomever you choose. That was all Wardo,” Mark said. “He set it up like a wall to protect his line, so he and his heirs would always control the company. I agreed to it and it's never mattered to me. When we started the company, I didn't know what it would be worth down the road. Nobody knew what NASCAR would do. Except Wardo. He always knew. He was the one with vision. I was always just a salesman.”

  “But it mattered later, when the company became successful,” Natasha said. “You must have resented how Wardo set it up then.”

  “No, I loved him like a brother. I made him a lot of money, but I never felt shorted. We both worked hard, but he had the original idea, and he got the ball rolling before I came on. I only had to take orders from eager buyers and watch it grow.”

  “So if you didn't use your stock for collateral to Flash,” Ward asked, “what did you use for collateral for the loan?”

  “When you sell the company, I'll get the six hundred thousand off the top of my end. I guess since you'll never sell, as an alternative, you could buy me out and I could pay Flash back from the proceeds of the transaction. I mea
n, I'm sure you don't want to ever see me again after my betrayal.”

  “No,” Ward said. “I don't want to buy you out. I do that and I'd have to hire a sales manager, and I'd be incurring debt I don't need. I'll sell to Flash Dibble at the price he offered if he'll agree to take care of our employees the way I would have. He'll agree. He won't like sharing profits with employees, but he'll see it's smart business because they know what they're doing.”

  Mark nodded.

  Natasha spoke. “If Ward sells, and it's fine by me if he really wants to, he should take the video game out of the company. I'm sure you won't mind signing it away, Unk. He was just cutting the company in out of the goodness of his heart. He'll reimburse RGI for any money it put into the development.”

  Mark looked surprised, but nodded. “It was Ward's idea, and he's the one who should own it. I never had anything to do with it. It's only right. Why should Flash get his hands on it?”

  “Flash doesn't know about it, does he?” Natasha asked.

  “No, he doesn't. I didn't tell him.”

  “Because if you did, it might explain why he wants RGI so badly all things considered. It might explain a lot that's been happening.” She didn't elaborate, but Ward certainly understood.

  “I don't want the company. Maybe Barney would have wanted it if he'd lived, but…” He looked at Natasha and smiled. “I know what is important.”

  “But if Flash doesn't keep Trey away, he could destroy RGI.” Mark ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Trey Dibble is dead,” Ward said.

  If Ward had been holding a baseball, he could have slipped it into Mark's mouth without touching teeth.

  FORTY-NINE

  From the den, a fuming Natasha watched Ward and his uncle seated beside the pool in lounge chairs, talking as though nothing had happened. Despite what he'd told his uncle about selling to Flash Dibble, she knew Ward was deeply hurt and torn, and that he wouldn't say that to his uncle. Instead, he would suffer without venting, as usual. She watched for several minutes before she could stand it no longer and stormed outside.

  When she approached, Mark looked up at her and made the mistake of smiling one of his patented isn't-the-world-an-oyster smiles.

  “Unk,” she said. “I just wanted to say a couple of things.”

  “Sure, Natasha,” he replied. “You can say anything to me. We're family.”

  “Family. I'm glad you feel that way.” She saw Ward turn his eyes out toward the woods.

  “Gambling is a sickness and I'm going to get help so I never do it again,” Mark added.

  “Okay … Unk, I refuse to dismiss this by agreeing that you have a disease you should treat, and just letting it go. What you did is unforgivable, because Ward loves and trusts you like a boy trusts his father and you repaid that by betraying him in the worst way. Not because you stole money from him but because you took advantage of him at the lowest point in his life. If he hadn't been grieving for our son, I doubt you would have dreamed of stealing from him, or known he wouldn't be paying attention to the books.”

  Ward turned back to the conversation, suddenly interested.

  “I loved Barney,” Mark said. “His passing affected all of us deeply.”

  “Don't you dare use our child's death as an excuse for your behavior. If only for the sake of his memory, and our grief, you should have never taken the first nickel. If Wardo was alive and you had pulled this crap, he would have prosecuted, and he would never have forgiven you as Ward seems able to do. That's because Ward is a better and far kinder person than his father was.”

  “You aren't saying anything that I haven't told myself a thousand times,” Mark said. “I do love both of you.”

  “You've put Ward in the position of sacrificing to help you, even though you have been working against his interest by plotting with the Dibbles. Don't you dare deny it. While selling the company will bring you both a lot of money, I do not believe he is going to sell because he wants the financial freedom but to pull your ass out of a fire you made.”

  “Flash knows about the game, doesn't he?” Ward asked.

  Mark shrugged and stood. “I don't know for sure, but I think he might. I guess I should go.”

  “Yes, I think that's a good idea,” Ward said, standing. “I'll tell Gene to tell Flash as soon as the time is right. If he still wants it, without the video game.”

  “Maybe Flash Dibble will let you work off the loan by selling cars for him,” Natasha said.

  “I deserve that,” Mark said. “If there's anything I can do.”

  “I can't imagine another thing you could possibly do for us,” Natasha said firmly. Her hands had been planted on her hips since she'd confronted Mark Wilson. At that moment she was furious with him, but she could never hate him, or anyone else. Neither she nor Ward had ever learned how to do that. And she knew that wasn't a bad thing; it just made them vulnerable.

  As soon as his uncle was out of hearing range, Ward stood and said, “The truth is, I'd love to just sketch and paint and lead the reflective life of the artist.”

  She laughed. “You should do exactly that, if that would make you happy.” Ward reached out and took her hand, and kissed her gently.

  “You make me happy. Thank you,” he said. “I've never seen you so pissed off. Truth is, I should have said what you said to Unk. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.”

  “That's okay, darling. Confrontation is what wives are for,” Natasha said.

  FIFTY

  Just after Mark left, Ward and Natasha took a quick shower together, which led to them ending up in bed afterward, drying themselves in the twisted sheets. If the phone in the den had chimed a minute earlier, it would have interrupted their passion. The doorbell rang.

  Ward got off the bed, slipped on his boxers, and put on his robe.

  “Where's that gun?”

  Natasha put her fingers through her hair, thinking. She frowned. “I put it in the top drawer. I'm getting dressed.”

  Ward went over and opened the drawer, looking in at the revolver and the bullets lying beside it. He lifted the gun and opened it, dropping in the five bullets. Putting the pistol into the pocket of his robe, he went to the front door without seeing who had called.

  With his right hand gripping the weapon in his pocket, he opened the door to Agent Mayes, whose Crown Victoria was parked behind him. He had a laptop computer under his arm. The guard behind them had his phone in hand, mouthing that he had tried to call ahead.

  “Agent Mayes,” Ward said, taking his hand out of his pocket.

  “Is this a bad time?” Mayes asked.

  “No, what can I do for you?”

  “I thought I'd come by personally and give you some news.”

  “Where's your partner?” Ward said.

  “Agent Firman is tying up a few loose ends,” Mayes said.

  “Please, come in,” Ward said.

  Natasha came into the den wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt and jeans. She leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, staring at the FBI agent.

  “Agent Mayes brought some news,” Ward said.

  “It appears that you were right about Trey Dibble framing you.” Mayes stood as if behind a lectern.

  “Early this morning the police caught some underage kids with meth. They said they got it from this computer tech named Bert Marmaduke. The police went to Marmaduke's place and, armed with a search warrant, went in. Somebody had killed Marmaduke. In their investigation, they uncovered evidence that Marmaduke had designed the computer virus. They also found evidence that pointed to Trey Dibble's involvement with Marmaduke in the virus, and Dibble had to be investigated as a suspect in the murder.”

  “That's why homicide detectives were at Dibble's place before EMS was,” Ward said.

  “How did you know that?” Mayes asked, surprised.

  “Rumor our lawyer picked up,” Natasha said.

  “Anyway we know Trey paid Marmaduke to design the virus, and he killed Marmaduke to keep us from
finding him through the hacker. The police found the murder weapon in Trey's garbage can, the phones they talked on, cash at Marmaduke's with Trey's prints on it, and more. Assistant Federal Attorney Walker should be calling your lawyers to give them the news.”

  “That was thoughtful of you,” Natasha said.

  “Look,” Mayes said. “Agent Firman and I were just doing our job, and there was never anything personal about it. The FBI doesn't apologize officially, but I wanted to apologize.”

  “Not officially, naturally,” Natasha said.

  “I wish I could do that.”

  Natasha said, “You wouldn't want to put a human face on the FBI.”

  “Look, we followed the evidence, and it ran right to you. But when it went off in another direction we followed it. I know how hard this was on you.”

  “Really?” Natasha said. “I somehow doubt you do.”

  “One thing. We don't know who the guy in the hole was, and maybe he's gone for good … Do you have a gun?”

  “Yes, we do,” Ward said.

  Mayes said, “I think you should be careful.”

  “The guard is staying for a while,” Ward said.

  “Agent Mayes,” Natasha said. “The name Gizmo is something I'm sure I've heard before. I mean, everybody's heard the word, but I think I've heard it before in some context other than normal. It feels like something related to my practice, but I can't place when or where I heard it,” she said.

  “When you do remember,” Mayes said, taking out his card, “call me. Any time, day or night.”

  “Look, we appreciate your concern, we really do,” Natasha said, “but we just want to get on with our lives.”

  “By the way,” Ward added. “Can you inform the press, off the record if that's what you have to do, that I've been cleared?”

  “I think I can do that. Unofficially.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Natasha was behind the wheel of her Lexus, waving at the security guard, who waved back as she and Ward rolled by. The crowd amounted to one TV van, which was aimed the wrong way for a full- blown chase sequence. Besides, the reporter and a cameraman had set up the camera for a taping. The sides of the road were littered with empty water bottles, soda cans, and fast-food sacks, to the point that it looked as though a packed garbage truck had roared by with its rear door open.