Bed of Lies

Dante slammed his desk drawer shut and impatiently tapped his fingers on the rubber mat near his keyboard as he waited for the computer to shut down.

“Come on. Come on,” he muttered, wanting to throttle the swivel post of computer screen like it was a human neck, to squeeze it until it made gagging sounds and choked to death. He angrily shoved back from his desk. “Fuck it!” he muttered before rising to his feet, even as the blue shutdown screen went black and the CPU’s green On button flickered to Off.

His rollaway chair sailed across the room and bumped into a nearby bookshelf filled with binders and law books. He grabbed his briefcase off his desk, opened his office door, and walked into the corridor, slamming the door closed behind him. A janitor was bent over a vacuum cleaner in the center of the hall, dancing to whatever tune played in his oversized headphones as he cleaned the law office’s carpets. As Dante strode toward him, the janitor looked over the top of his glasses and tugged one of the headphones off his ear. Dante reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a stick of gum.

“Have a good night, sir,” the janitor called out as Dante passed.

Dante didn’t answer him. Instead, he balled up the metallic wrapping from his peppermint gum and tossed it onto the floor in front of the janitor, making the other man pause mid-cha-cha.

Dante stalked toward the elevator, unabated fury propelling him forward like the engine of a freight train. And he had plenty to be furious about.

“That old bitch,” he muttered as he chewed his gum and pressed the Down button. “That old bitch” had called off the lawsuit against Terrence Murdoch because she got an attack of guilt. And now, once again his chance to exact revenge on the Murdochs had eluded him.

“That fucking bitch,” he said again as the elevator doors opened and silently slid shut behind him after he stepped into the compartment. He pressed the L button, which would take him to the first-floor level.

Every time he thought about Mavis, about how she had defiantly glared at him when she told him that she had betrayed him and went behind his back to talk to Terrence, he felt fresh rage all over again. He wished he was choking her neck right now, watching her gag and scratch at his hands as he squeezed the life out of her.

He closed his eyes, envisioning her features twisted in agony while he strangled her. He opened his eyes again.

They were going to get away with it, he realized as the elevator descended and he listened to the soft beeps marking each passing floor. The Murdochs were going to sail off into the sunset and continue to enjoy their fast cars and big houses and big parties where everyone stood around kissing their asses, telling them how wonderful they were. And once again, he would be left to stew silently and watch them from afar.

“I’ll be goddamned,” he murmured as the elevator doors opened, revealing a lobby with pale wood paneling lit by custom hand-blown chandeliers. He walked toward the office building’s glass revolving doors leading to the adjacent four-story parking garage. “I’ll be goddamned if I let that happen.”

The sky was already dark. A heavy wind blasted him as he stepped onto a brick courtyard, sending his tie flying like a boat sail. Dante walked across the courtyard and under a concrete overhang that led to the parking garage. He then climbed a flight of metal steps leading to the second floor of the garage. His footfalls sounded like sledgehammers, like ricocheting gunshots in the night.

His siblings might think that his most recent setback would make him back off but they were sorely mistaken. He would find a way to finally get to them. Even though he hated his father—despised the man to the point that his hate was almost palpable—he had inherited one very important trait from George Murdoch: tenacity. Dante wouldn’t give up until he was victorious, until he finally made Evan, Terrence, and Paulette suffer. At this point, he didn’t know how he would do it or when he would do it, but the opportunity would eventually come again.

Maybe Murdoch Conglomerated had some shady dealings that could be leaked to the press. Maybe he’d finally tell Paulette’s husband about the affair she had been carrying on right under his nose. Maybe some dark skeletons lurked in Terrence’s closet. Who knows! But Dante did know one thing: He would be careful who he partnered with the next time around. No more weak fools like Mavis and Renee or unstable prima donnas like Charisse. He would choose wisely and make sure whoever helped him was totally on board and would follow orders from beginning to end.

Dante walked across the parking lot asphalt toward his silver Jag. He shifted his leather briefcase to his other hand and dug into his pants pocket, eventually finding his car keys. He opened the car doors with his remote, watching as the headlights flashed and the engine turned on with a soft rumble.

His plans for the future, however tenuous, quelled his anger a little. His face even broke into a smile as he reached for the car door handle, but he paused when he caught the reflection in the tinted window of a dark figure standing behind him.

Dante frowned. He whipped around and stared in surprise at the familiar face. “What the hell are you doing . . .”

His words tapered off when he saw the glint of the handgun. He suddenly brought up his briefcase as a shield and instinctively shut his eyes when he heard the gun fire. He winced at the harsh, echoing sound.

Dante opened his eyes in just enough time to see the person run off.

“What the hell?” he mumbled.

Had they intended to shoot him? Did they miss? Or maybe they had pointed the gun into the air during the split second that he’d closed his eyes. He slowly lowered his briefcase and glared at their retreating back in outrage.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he shouted after them, angered all over again that someone had scared him that badly. “Are you . . .”

Dante paused and looked down when he felt something wet on his side. He saw a red spot bloom on his dress shirt, then spread across his torso. He touched the spot and marveled at the bright red blood on his fingertips.

So he had been shot after all.

Pinpricks of light dotted his sight. He was going to faint. He slumped against his car’s passenger door and slowly fell to the parking lot pavement. That was when he finally felt the pain, which was indescribable. He started shaking. His bladder loosened and another bright spot bloomed on the crotch of his slacks.

“You . . . you shot me,” he whispered in shock.

Dante closed his eyes just as his head thumped against the garage floor.