Accidents Waiting to Happen (27 page)

The crowd retook their seats in anticipation of the tipoff and Josh and Bob took theirs.
 
As they watched the action on the court as the game prepared to start, Bob spoke endlessly about the players’ form, playoff chances, the NBA, who was hot and who was a waste of space.
 
Josh listened, but said little.

The game began and Bob focused on the play.

“The cops came around this morning.”
 
Josh sat with his legs apart, bent forward with his forearms resting on his knees and his head down staring at the litter-strewn ground.

“Oh, yeah?” Bob said, not really listening.
 
He was as alert as a prairie dog, twitching and shadow boxing with the flow of the game.
 
“So they finally got around to talking to you about Mitchell?”

“No.”

“So what were they doing?”
 
Bob cursed when the Kings lost the ball and the Lakers gathered it up for an easy two points.

“They’re looking to prosecute me for threatening some woman on the phone,” Josh said.

The crowd moaned in disappointment as the Lakers made another basket.
 
But to Josh it sounded like they were upset at his revelation.

Bob turned to Josh.
 
“What woman did you threaten?”

“No one,” Josh said.
 
“I have no idea who this woman is who’s making the allegations.”

“You wanna find out her name.”

“I know her name but I’ve never heard of her.”

“So what are the cops saying?”

“They said that someone made a call from my home phone to this woman threatening to kill her.
 
They have telephone records proving it was my phone.”

“Shit.”

“And because I’m the only man in the house, I’m their prime suspect.”

“So what’s her name?”

“Margaret Macey.”

“That rings a bell,” Bob said.

“You know her?” Josh said in surprise.

“I don’t know.
 
It’s just that the name sounds familiar for some reason.”
 
Bob shook his head in failure.
 
“Anyway, when did this threatening behavior take place?”

“That’s the thing.
 
It happened around eight last Saturday night.”

“But you were having your birthday party.”

“I know.
 
I think that’s the only reason that I’m not trying to post bail right now.
 
They may want to make a recording of my voice for identification.
 
That cop from the hospital has got it in for me.
 
He didn’t believe me about Mitchell bouncing me into the river and he doesn’t believe that I had nothing to do with this threatening phone call.”

Recounting the events from earlier that day brought Josh’s fears back to the forefront of his mind.
 
He felt he was going down for something whether it was for his crimes or somebody else’s.
 
Nervous excitement consumed him like a plague, the disease breaking down his immunity to stress until it destroyed him.
 
He stared blankly at the players on the court.

Bob looked around him to check if people were listening to Josh’s excitable ramblings.
 
The Kings’ fans were concentrating on their team’s performance too avidly to notice their conversation.

“What cop?”

“Brady.
 
Didn’t you meet him at the hospital?”

“No.
 
I knew they were around, but I didn’t see them.”

“Anyway, he’s got it in for me,” Josh said.

“Personally, you don’t have anything to worry about.
 
They can’t prove it was you who made that phone call.
 
Any one of us could have done it.
 
And I think you’d have to be a special kind of stupid to threaten someone from your own phone.
 
It’s all circumstantial.
 
They’ve got nothing.”

“Yeah, but the cops think that’s what I did to cover my ass.
 
They think I arranged the party just to have lots of suspects present.”

“Bullshit!
 
They’re screwing with you because they’ve got nothing better to run with.
 
So, they’re hoping you’ll do something stupid to give them a lead.
 
From their point of view they know they’ve got a no-hoper.”

Bob made sense.
 
If the cops had any evidence, they would have charged him.
 
He could breathe easily, for now.

“Do they have a recording of the phone call?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“If they take a voiceprint from you, they can’t compare it.
 
All they can do is play it to this…” Bob snapped his fingers searching for a name.

“Margaret Macey,” Josh finished for him.

“I think a lawyer would have a fine time if the cops didn’t interview all the other possible suspects at the party.
 
How have they left things?”

“Just that they would get in contact.”

“What about this voice recording?”

“They’ll let me know.”

“Yeah.
 
They don’t have a thing.
 
What about James Mitchell?”

“What about him?
 
They didn’t want to listen.
 
They didn’t want to talk about anything except this phone call.”

“So you never got to speak to them about the party?”

“No, they weren’t interested.”

“Bastards.
 
We’ve got to get them to listen to us.”

“What do we do?”

“Never mind that now, sit back and enjoy the game.
 
Let the Kings entertain you.”
 
Bob jabbed a finger into Josh’s chest.
 
“We’ll worry about it after the game.”

Josh sat back and joined in with thousands of fans enjoying the game.

***

Bob sped along the interstate with the other drivers leaving the game.
 
He was quiet, lost in thought and Josh was no different.
 
Bob’s silence had little to do with the King’s collapse during overtime.
 
Something in his brain itched and he couldn’t quite reach to scratch it.
 
When Josh had told him about the police visit, something had clicked in his head but the connection eluded him.
 
It was the woman who had called the police, Margaret Macey.
 
Her name meant something to him.

Suddenly, a car horn blared in annoyance.
 
In a world of his own, Bob had let his car wander across the line to straddle both the second and third lanes.
 
The noise snapped him out of his deep contemplation and back to the matter of car control.
 
He jerked the car back into his lane.
 
The disgruntled driver accelerated past Bob’s Toyota.
 

“Shit, Bob.
 
I can do without two traffic accidents in the same calendar month,” Josh said just for Bob’s benefit—he rarely got the chance to inflict the same brand of humor on his friend that his friend did on him.

“Hey, sorry, man.
 
I wasn’t concentrating,” Bob said.
 
He stared straight out into the darkness that lay at the end of the headlight beams.

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”
 
Confused, Bob glanced over to Josh.

“For the caustic fuck-you remark,” Josh said.
 
“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.
 
I was miles away, thinking.”

“I’m sorry, did it hurt?” Josh said and laughed.

A pained expression masked Bob’s face.
 
“I’m serious, Josh.
 
I was thinking about that woman the cops told you about.”

That brought Josh’s humor to an abrupt end.
 
“Margaret Macey, you mean?”

“Yeah, I do remember hearing her name recently.
 
And I think I know why.
 
She’s a client.”
 

The remark silenced both men for a moment.
 
The thump-thump of the tires striking the all too regular breaks in the worn concrete road punctuated the quiet.
 

“Shit,” Josh said.
 
“I don’t know if that’s something to feel good or bad about.”

“Neither do I,” Bob said.

“I don’t think it adds much to my case that the woman I allegedly threatened is a client of a close friend of mine.
 
I’m sure if Brady knew that he would have both of us in front of a judge in the morning.”

“I’m not sure it means anything.
 
It’s probably a coincidence that you are both my clients.
 
Now forget about it.
 
I’ll take you home and I’ll look into it.
 
If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Josh said.

“Alright, I shouldn’t have told you.
 
I can do without you going postal on me.”

Josh conceded to Bob’s request with little resistance.
 
They lapsed into silence once more, their minds filled with more questions and fears.
 
The car’s interior reverberated with the drone of engine noise and the Doppler effect of passing vehicles.

Bob dropped Josh outside his house, told him not to worry and promised he would get back to him.
 
He waited until Josh let himself into his house and closed the door before driving off.

In his office, Bob returned the handset to the receiver.
 
He’d just informed his wife that he’d be home late from the Kings’ game.
 
He had to check out something at the office.
 
Nancy had slammed the phone down with a sharp crack.
 
That’s gonna cost me
.

He switched on the computer on his desk.
 
While it booted up, Bob left his office and went to the filing cabinets in the archive.
 
His computer database would have details regarding all his clients, including Margaret Macey, if she was a client of his firm.
 
But his filing cabinets contained the personal correspondence he received from his clients and copies of original documentation.

He searched the deep drawer cabinet for Macey.
 
The double cabinet contained two rows of files side by side but didn’t contain a record of Margaret Macey, only a Harrison F. Macey who had a car insurance policy with Bob.
 

“Shit.
 
That woman is a client.
 
I know it,” he told himself.

He went back to his office.
 
The computer’s screen bathed the room in a spectral glow.
 
He hit the light switch on the wall by the door.
 
The fluorescent strips flickered into life with a bink-bink sound.
 

Bob shifted the heaps of paperwork strewn across his desk to the floor to make a clear spot.
 

“A messy desk is a sign of a sharp mind,” he’d told his wife.
 

She’d responded with, “No, that’s the sign of a lazy bastard.”
 

In his opinion, both sayings had merit.

He sat at his desk and logged onto the network.
 
He selected a screen that provided client information.
 
Typing Margaret Macey’s name in the appropriate data fields, he started a search.
 
The computer blinked a dialog box, “Searching – Please wait.”
 

“Thanks for the advice”, he muttered.
 

The screen flashed up the information.
 
There she was—Margaret F. Macey, her address, age, social security number, and past business transactions.
 

“She is a customer,” he exclaimed to his empty office.
 

With the mouse, Bob clicked the print icon at the top of the screen.
 
A whirring came from the printer in the main office and sheets of paper emerged from the machine like a white tongue.