Accidents Waiting to Happen (52 page)

She made a beeline to the restroom.
 
Thankfully, no one occupied it.
 
She could do without any chitchat.
 
She slipped off her suit jacket and frowned at the sweat rings that had turned her white blouse transparent.

“Shit,” she murmured.

She locked herself into a stall and dabbed under her arms with a wad of toilet paper.
 
She’d have to keep her jacket on for the rest of the afternoon, a small penalty under the circumstances.
 
She gave her makeup the once over before returning to her office.

The remainder of the afternoon passed swiftly and without incident.
 
Her two remaining evaluations helped settle her.
 
Lauren and David received excellent reviews and were in and out of her office in less than an hour.
 
Swift and efficient.
 
A little too swift and efficient.
 
She finished up David’s evaluation just after three thirty, leaving Tarbell ninety minutes to retaliate against her for his perceived injustice.

But the retaliation didn’t come.
 
Tarbell passed her office twice, never making eye contact, and it didn’t look like he had shared his evaluation results with anyone either.
 
No one gave her any sideways looks.
 
For all his slurs and insults, maybe she’d gotten through to him.
 
Acting like an ass in the workplace wasn’t acceptable and if he expected to keep his job, he had to change his ways.
 
Score one to the
Gwenster
.

The evaluations had screwed with her day, putting her behind.
 
Even if she worked without interruption, she wasn’t going to get caught up.
 
She could either pull a late one or come in early.
 
She was leaning towards coming in early the next day, just to put this shitty day behind her, but she found her rhythm reviewing deviation reports and decided to finish them.
 
She left a message on the machine at home for Paul to expect her home late.
   

 
Five o’clock came and the usual exodus made its way to the parking lot.
 
As the roar of engines died down from outside and the whine from the HVAC overtook the chatter in the cube farm, she realized her mistake.
 
Tarbell worked late every night.
 
They’d end up alone with each other, which would give him the perfect opportunity to ring the bell for round two.
 
But when she went to the copy room to collect a report, she found that he'd already left.
  
No doubt he was eager to draw a line under today too.
 
His car was gone from the parking lot, which confirmed his oddly early departure.
 
She was somewhat pleased with herself.
 
She’d survived her first major managerial test and confirmed as much when Deborah Langan from Human Resources looked in on her way out.

“How was Steve?”

“True to form.”

Deborah laughed.
 
“That good, huh?”
 

Gwen smiled.

“At least you don’t have to do this for another year.
 
See you in the morning.”

Gwen stayed until seven before calling it a day.
 
Besides the security guard at reception, she was last to leave.
 
As she pushed the door open, the rain rushed to meet her.
 
It had been coming down hard for the last hour and had taken the heat out of the fall day.
 
Of course, she’d left her umbrella on the backseat of her car.
 

She sprinted as hard as she could in her heels across the parking lot.
 
She’d landed a near perfect parking spot behind the trash enclosure which kept her sprint short.
 
She had her keys out of her purse and deactivated the alarm the moment her Subaru came into view.
 
She grabbed the door handle and tugged it open, but it slammed shut again with the force of her body being driven against the car.
 

Confusion intervened, but the knife blade jammed up against her throat brought events into sharp focus.
 
Someone had leapt out from the trash enclosure and slammed her into the side of her car.
 
He’d sandwiched her between his body and the Subaru.
 
The impact, besides driving the air from her lungs, had forced her onto her toes, making it impossible to push back.
 
He snaked an arm around her chest and grabbed the Subaru’s roof rack to keep her pinned in place.
 
It was an unnecessary move.
 
The blade’s tip pressing hard into the soft underside of her chin kept her in check.
 
She could kick and scream, but unless someone put a gun to this asshole’s head, she couldn’t beat an upward stab.
 
She let the tension out of her body to let him know she wouldn’t be giving him any trouble.
 
He was welcome to the car and the contents of her purse.
 

“It’s okay,” she said.
 
“I’m not resisting.
 
I’m not resisting.”
 
She hoped her words would come out strong and calm, but fear inserted a tremor.

Just to show who was boss, he shoved against her to reestablish his hold on her.
 
The rain coating the car soaked through her blouse.
 
Its chill forced an involuntary shiver.

Her assailant read something into the shiver and chuckled.
 
She recognized the voice.
 
She examined the white-knuckled hand grasping the roof rack.

“Steve?”

“I told you, only my friends call me Steve.”

Anger boiled up inside Gwen, but the knife at her throat kept it from spilling over.
 
This was no longer a workplace war of words.
 
She felt Tarbell’s intent in every one of his taut muscles.

“What do you want, Stephen?”

“Respect at last.
 
Who knew it took a knife to get it?”

He’d snapped.
 
She’d pushed him over the edge.
 
She dreaded re-asking her question, but it couldn’t go unanswered.

“What do you want, Stephen?”

He said nothing.
 
Raindrops splashed down on her face.
 
The puddle at her feet seeped into her open-toed sandals and the tips of her toes ground against the asphalt.

“Is this all it takes to get some satisfaction—a knife?”
 
He jerked the knife just enough to draw blood.
 
Nothing extreme, just a pinprick.

“Stephen, please take the knife away.”

He constricted her with his body, crushing her against her car.
 
She felt her ribs flex against the door pillar.
 

“Giving the orders again.
 
You can’t resist, can you?”
 
There was a sing-song quality to his voice.
 
The son of bitch was enjoying this.

“Okay, you’re in charge,” Gwen said, trying to sound calm.

“Have you submitted my evaluation to Human Resources?”

“No.”

“Good, I want you to change it.
 
You’re going to say I’m an exemplary employee and all that managerial bullshit.
 
Make me sound great.
 
Deal?”

He was crazy.
 
Had to be.
 
He was assaulting her with a deadly weapon and for what—a positive evaluation?
 
He had to know he couldn’t get away with it.
 

He jabbed her with the knife again.
 
“Deal?” he insisted.

She didn’t answer.

“Just know that if you don’t do what I tell you, you’re going have an intimate encounter with Mr. Sharpie here, you got that?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll do it?”

The reply he wanted wouldn’t come.
 
It wasn’t right.
 
It wasn’t fair.
 
This was 21
^st
century America.
 
People didn’t succeed under the power of a weapon.
 
But Stephen Tarbell had tonight.
 
It disgusted her to comply.
 

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Good, Gwen, good,” he cooed.
 
“You’ve got until Friday.”

He released his hold on her.
 
Without the pressure of his body holding her, she staggered back, lost her balance and dropped to the ground, landing roughly in a puddle.
 
Her skirt had ridden up, exposing more leg than she wanted the world to see.
 
She pulled herself into a fetal position and sobbed hard with the rain beating down on her.
 
When she finally looked up, Stephen Tarbell was gone. 

WE ALL FALL DOWN

The following is an excerpt of
WE ALL FALL DOWN
by Simon Wood.

Prologue

The BMW 530i’s engine screamed, but it was unclear whether it was in agony or ecstasy.  Vee8 squashed the gas pedal deeper into the carpet and tipped the balance into the pain barrier.  The car accelerated through the narrow car-lined street, occasionally clipping door mirrors as it sped by.

“Spank it, Vee8.  Spank it,” Donkey shrieked hysterically and thumped the passenger side dash with his fist.  In chorus, D.J. and Trey seconded Donkey’s request from the back seat.

Donkey might have been hung like one but he was sure as shit as dumb as one.  Vee8 didn’t need Donkey telling him what to do.  He’d been jacking cars since he was fourteen and in four years, he’d thrashed, crashed and cremated over three hundred of them without ever being caught.  The cops had chased him across the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Area, but they’d never come close to netting him.  Many had tried and all had failed.  Several had woken up in the hospital to discover that sorry fact.  Like that old school gangster, Dillinger, Vee8 would be an old man before they ever got their hands on him.  He threw the powerful sedan through the left-handed kink. 

He’d learned his trade amongst the sideshow kings of Oakland.   He’d been taught by the best, until he was the best.  Most of them were now in prison, but in their heyday, they'd shown Vee8 how to make a car dance. 

Infineon Raceway was only a thirty-mile burn across the Bay and he could have been a legitimate race driver, but why?  He didn’t have the money or the connections to race.  Anyway, they were pussies.  Where was the fun in driving on a road where the traffic went in one direction?  Oncoming traffic, now that was a challenge.

Even though he was eighteen and old enough to possess a driver’s license, he hadn’t bothered.  What did he need a license for?  He didn’t own a car and why should he?  There were too many people like him who would have a set of wheels out from under you before you’d locked the doors.  No, if he wanted a car then he had Donkey snatch one.  They were more frequent than buses, and nicer.

Donkey started up again.  “
Vee
, get off these
pissy
little streets.  If the
po-po
catches our scent, we’re fucked.”

Vee8 hated the way Donkey spoke.  Donkey came from the Deep South somewhere.  Alabama.  Louisiana.  One of those fuck-your-sister, marry-your-cousin states.   His southern drawl intensified when he whined and it grated on Vee8.

“Who’s
fuckin
’ driving,
Donk
?”

“You.”

“That’s right.  Me.  When you’re driving, you can make the decisions.”

Although Donkey whined, he was a necessary part of the operation.  He was a magician with locks and alarm systems.  Cars just opened themselves up to him.  Within a matter of seconds and with the aid of a few tools that appeared from his pockets, his work was done.  Despite Donkey’s talents, Vee8 was the star.  Essentially, Donkey got them in and Vee8 got them out.

Donkey was right.  Tearing strips off the residential streets was asking for trouble.  They’d jacked the BMW from the El Cerrito Del Norte BART station around noon, before the suit returned home from a hard day of stroking his secretary’s thigh.  Now that it was after eight, the car would be on the hot list and the cops would be looking for it.  But like Cinderella’s coach at midnight, it would be a rotting husk by the time they found it.