The Last Death Worm of the Apocalypse (Kelly Driscoll Book 3)

by Nina Post

  She didn’t know if she could control her facial expressions anymore. She doubted she had the strength or the motivation. Captain, we have achieved amenity parity. Excellent work, Lieutenant.

  “However, since the preponderance of requests have been for this lap pool, Claw & Crutty has reluctantly given me their stamp of approval on this project.”

  “Good, I can call the contractors I’ve got referrals to.”

  “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Kelly.”

  “Why is that, Charlotte.”

  “Because Claw & Crutty are looking at candidates.”

  “For… city council?”

  “For building manager of Amenity Tower.” Charlotte flipped a pen in her hand. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t say that I would recommend you.”

  “As?”

  “A candidate.”

  “For?”

  It pleased Kelly immensely to see that vein pop up on Charlotte’s forehead, so she threw in, “I’ve decided not to hold my council seat this year.” Maybe she could actually make Charlotte spontaneously combust.

  “For building manager, obviously,” Charlotte said, voice strained.

  “Why not?” As though she were genuinely surprised.

  “Because you’re not improving the numbers like we discussed.”

  “You have to think strategy, Charlotte, not tactics,” Kelly said. “Here at Amenity Tower, we think long-term.” That was completely untrue. They couldn’t see an inch past their noses and were frequently panicking and putting out fires. Some of them actual fires.

  “I could not, in good faith, tell Claw & Crutty to keep you on as manager.”

  Kelly wanted to destroy her. She’d worked her butt off for Amenity Tower, and this was what she got for it? She closed her eyes and summoned the mental image of football coaching legend Jay Vanner: blue eyes crinkling at the corners, windbreaker zipped, visor on. Kelly, focus on the process, not the end result. You can’t depend on praise or get dejected by things other people say. You have an untouchable core of strength.

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Did you attend the Claw & Crutty Team Work Seminar last summer?”

  “No.”

  “That’s too bad, because the purpose of that seminar was to show how each department can work together more smoothly and efficiently. This is what I’m asking you to do—to work with me in a smooth and efficient way. Do you think you can do that, Kelly?”

  Charlotte’s continued and condescending use of her name made Kelly want to push Charlotte out of the airlock. Sadly, there was no airlock in the office. Kelly made a mental note to ask the engineering staff to see what they could do about that.

  “I recommend that you attend the next seminar. And as many seminars as you can. You could certainly use them.” Charlotte grabbed her purse. “I’m taking lunch.”

  She tried not to think about the radioactive levels of self-deluding hypocrisy creating a miasma in her office. To distract herself from throwing things at Charlotte, she called several local contractors from the book of people they’d used before and from her list of approved contractors. Most of them wanted too much time and were resistant to negotiation. There had to be a better solution.

  She picked up the phone and called Claw & Crutty to ask if they had a historical list of contractors.

  “You should have the list of contractors we’ve used for the past three years,” the rep on the phone told her.

  “They’re all booked out for what we need. Can you give me a list that goes farther back?”

  “How far back do you want to go? We’ve been in business for two hundred years.”

  “I don’t know, twenty years?”

  “We don’t even have electronic records back that far,” the rep said, “but I’ll have one of the assistants pull it and fax it over to you.”

  Kelly almost laughed, but they did still have a fax machine, and even used it on occasion.

  When she returned to the management office and checked the fax machine, she found the twenty-year historical contractor records and took it back to her desk. The list had three pages of names. Charlotte glanced up at her with a raised brow and suspicious sweep of her eyes, as though certain Kelly was up to no good.

  Kelly did something else for a few minutes, hoping that Charlotte would leave the office, but she stayed.

  She called every single relevant contractor on the list, trying to find one who would do the lap pool project. They were either no longer in business, unavailable, not relevant (Kaiju Concrete & Tamping, LLC was one of those) or they refused to do any more work for any Claw & Crutty properties. The last one on the non-alphabetical list, Cicada Bros. Contracting, Inc., were listed as inactive or lapsed because they hadn’t done any work for Claw & Crutty properties for eighteen years.

  “Interesting,” she murmured.

  “What’s interesting?” Charlotte asked.

  “This video of a parrot fighting a turtle. I’m going to step out for a few minutes, Charlotte. I’m pretty sure I have norovirus.”

  Charlotte looked horrified. “Take your time.”

  Kelly left and went to the library, certain Charlotte would never go there. She sank into a large chair and called the number on the list for the Cicada Bros. If this didn’t work, she’d have to start over, but someone picked up. She briefly described the project. “Are you one of the Cicada brothers?”

  “Yes I am,” he said proudly. “But look, here’s the thing: we have only so much time before we go back to the ground, not to emerge for another seventeen years.”

  Well, that explained it. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. We’re motivated to finish the work.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking: how do you run a business that way?”

  “Though we like to keep things in the family, we have some outside vendors who keep up with our tax filings, things like that.”

  “So you’re interested in the project?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We would have the fastest time to completion of any of your bids.”

  “If you’re so confident that you can finish this project faster than any of your competitors, will you take twenty percent up front and eighty percent on completion?”

  “That’s not normally how we do things.”

  “I see. Well, I can call Cicada & Sons. They’re thirteen-year cicadas. Maybe they could accommodate our—”

  “No, no, no! Those thirteen-year cicadas take all kinds of shortcuts with their work.” He exhaled. “You drive a hard bargain, but since we gotta go back in the ground real soon, we’re definitely going to get this done. We’ve got some hard workers here. But the catch is that we’re gonna need to get paid the day the project’s completed. Will you be able to wire us the money on the same day we finish?”

  “That won’t be a problem.” This project would devour about twenty percent of the reserve, but she could wire it that day. “And we’re going to need an updated W-9. Can you start today?”

  Three Cicada brothers met her in the underground walkway and introduced her to their crew. It was almost scary how many cicadas there were in a wide hallway.

  “So, we’d like to start the lap pool here,” Kelly walked along with the brothers all the way down the walkway to Ultra-Amenity Tower, “and end it here.” The crew did more specific measurements and buzzed amongst themselves, which involved a lot of pointing and waving.

  “This is a simple, straightforward project,” the brother she’d spoken to on the phone said.

  “Good,” Kelly said. “I’d like to get this done as soon as possible, without sacrificing quality. If you have any questions, call. I’m right upstairs.” She had to hurry to get to the Plant Lease Crisis Committee, convening in three minutes. She filled her travel mug at the coffee machine in the other office room and hurried down the hall.

  The board members and a few other residents were already at the Plant Lease Crisis Committee. On the conference table was a lidless box full of paper slips.
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  “Finally!” Raum said.

  Kelly gave him a sharp look and put her file and mug on the table. “Plant rental is a budgeted item for this year.”

  “We’ve already been over this with the ops and community committee,” Raum said, stretching his arms over his head.

  “This is what I know about the history of the plant lease,” she said. “Previously, when Roger was manager, a real tree was rented under a contract with a vendor. When that contract expired, the tree was removed. Some of the residents were extremely upset by this. Apparently, a few of them had formed a close bond with the plant, which they said was silent but also completely accepting, and said that some company beat no company.

  “These residents held a strike and joined arms at the door to express their outrage and dissent. Despite this, Roger let the matter stand and held a special meeting so everyone could talk about why the tree was important to them and how they felt about it not being there anymore. According to Roger’s notes, by the end of that meeting, really more of a community forum, the residents had come to begrudgingly take the first step toward accepting a new plant.

  “Roger took bids for the rental of a real tree, the purchase of an artificial tree, and the purchase of a real tree. For rental of a real tree, the lowest bid came in at three hundred seventy-five dollars per year, and included a weekly watering and dusting, as well as replacing the plant at no cost to us if it died or were somehow damaged.

  “The lowest bid to purchase a real tree was more than five hundred dollars, and maintenance would be our responsibility. The lowest bid to purchase an artificial tree was two hundred fifty dollars, with no watering or maintenance necessary. Maybe some dusting. Roger wanted to lease an artificial tree, but after a near-uprising by the residents, he leased a real tree.”

  Crocell pretended to stab himself, hang himself, and shoot himself in the head. “Maybe if you gave the lobby trees names and some intra-lobby conflict?”

  “The issue is that we didn’t read the plant lease carefully enough,” Imamiah said.

  “Who didn’t, management or the board?”

  “I take responsibility on behalf of the board,” Forcas said. “We thought we were getting a great deal, but there’s something problematic about the plant they sent. It’s giving residents unsolicited advice, it’s biting—there’s something not right about it.”

  “Could you be more specific about the unsolicited advice?” Crocell asked.

  “I have some notes from the suggestion box.” Forcas reached into the box and took out a handful of small paper notes. “Residents wrote the following complaints about at least one of the lobby plants; we can’t tell which one. I’m going to read them one by one, OK?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Plant by mail area told me to call my grandmother more often, before it’s too late. Outrageous!”

  “Please replace this plant. It told me to swear less. I told it off, but the second I walked away it told me again.”

  “Plant is a menace. It told me to be more kind to others. This is BS!”

  “This plant has got some nerve. It told me to let myself be vulnerable. It’s none of its business!”

  “Get rid of the plant! It’s telling me to focus on helping others. I’ll rip its leaves off!”

  “This plant sucks!! It basically ordered me to stop being so self-centered and disrespectful of others in the common areas.”

  “Replace this plant. It whispered to me as I got my mail and said that I have to start acknowledging my own needs. This is completely unacceptable.”

  Kelly cocked her head, her interest piqued. The plant sounded almost Roger-like. And all of the residents who complained—she knew their handwriting, though she’d never admit it—were residents when Roger was manager. Hmm. Probably a coincidence, she thought.

  Forcas entwined his fingers on the table. “As many of you know, one of the leased lobby plants was damaged when a resident’s death worm threw up in the pot. The plant died three days later. The plant company replaced it this time, but we have to find out if there’s sufficient coverage if we need to claim the plant under our insurance. I’d like to get some clarity from the insurance agent about whether or not the current property insurance policy provides sufficient coverage for leased plants.”

  “God, I hate this,” Raum muttered.

  “What’s that, Raum?” Forcas asked. “Yes, a lot of the residents are unhappy with—”

  “No, Forcas, it’s not the plants. It’s these meetings, and these residents. Do you see this, how petulant they are? They’re awful! Inherently, irredeemably awful, and they are undermining everything that Roger stood for, everything he taught to them. How many more ways could he have done it? His songs and books and variety show and motivational thingamabobs weren’t enough? It’s a constant struggle to keep the common areas civilized. It’s like the wild west—residents spitting and oozing and breaking into violence at the slightest provocation. I have no idea what the internal composition of nearly all of these residents are, but their limbic systems must be bulging and pulsating where their territorial instincts are concerned. And now I’m spending my day in a Plant Lease Crisis Committee?”

  “I thought you wanted this committee, Raum,” Imamiah said.

  Raum let out a strangled noise.

  “I will look into the property insurance coverage and talk to our agent if I need to,” Kelly said.

  “Do we have to have another meeting?” Raum said.

  “Most likely. But for now, there’s a bridge game in the club room.”

  “I don’t play bridge.”

  “Maybe you should start. It might keep you out of trouble if you did.”

  She tried her best to ignore Charlotte as she typed up a complaint letter to be sent to every unit in ten floors, which is what she considered to have a large-enough leeway for the noise Raum was hearing.

  RE: Booming Noise Complaint

  Dear Residents,

  The Management Office has continued to receive complaints about a resonant booming noise that lasts the entire night. Despite previous warning letters, this resident persists in making this sound, and the problem has become severe enough that we are receiving complaints every day. If you are the individual who is making this noise, I implore you to cease immediately. If you have information on who may be making this noise, contact me right away.

  Kelly Driscoll, Interim Property Manager

  Amenity Tower Condominium Association

  “I want to review some numbers with you,” Charlotte said without looking up.

  Kelly got up. “I’m going to pick up some printouts.”

  Charlotte looked at her over her reading glasses. “Don’t go anywhere else.”

  “Why would I?”

  I Would Kill For A Flat White

  aum met Forcas and Imamiah in the automat and claimed a large table in the corner. “Exciting news,” Raum said. “I’ve been scouring the apocrypha and found something of the greatest interest to us.”

  “You found a loophole?” Forcas asked.

  “Where are Vassago and Crocell?” Imamiah said.

  Forcas shrugged.

  “I want to get some pie,” Imamiah said. “Anyone want coffee or anything?”

  “Coffee for me, and a slice of whatever you’re getting,” Forcas said. Raum waved off the offer. Imamiah got up and extracted two slices of pie from behind a small Plexiglas door on the wall.

  “Oh, it’s much, much better than a loophole.” Raum lowered his voice and leaned forward. “I have it on good information that Ultra-Amenity Tower, because of its unique, wavy structure, can provide a way to break the binding if the two buildings are connected by a body of water.”

  “So?” Forcas said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how are we supposed to do that? There’s a street between us.”

  Raum grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re forgetting about the underground walkway. You know how we can go down
to the parking garage and there’s a door we can’t go through because we’re bound here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that leads to the underground walkway. Unbound residents can take that under the street level to Ultra-Amenity Tower.”

  “You want to flood it?”

  Raum closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Think about it.” He spoke faster, glanced down the hall. “I saw the surveys on Kelly’s desk; that Claw & Crutty woman left the door wide open.”

  “Kelly would flip out if she knew about this,” Imamiah said.

  “Look,” Raum said, “the number-one request from the residents at Amenity Tower is a heated lap pool for older, arthritic death worms. Remember?” He gave Imamiah and Forcas a pointed look and waited until they nodded in acknowledgment. “All we have to do, as the board, is make sure that the pool is long enough to connect the two buildings. I’ve looked at the city blueprints for both properties, and the lap pool could be built end-to-end, extended beyond each property line. And there’s something else.”

  “What?” Imamiah said.

  “Astronomers discovered there’s an imminent collision of a pair of supermassive black holes that are about to destroy a galaxy. The merging of these two black holes, not dissimilar from the relationship of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, could release energy equal to one hundred million supernova explosions, creating gravitational waves in space-time that will probably blast the stars out of that galaxy like a scene from a Michael Bay movie.”

  They stared blankly at him.

  “And?” Forcas said.

  “And? And? We build the death worm lap pool—well, not build it ourselves; I can barely vacuum inside my HVAC unit—which unbinds us from this building, a portal opens to this galaxy, and everything in that galaxy is pushed into this one. Like an airlock,” he added cheerfully.