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Tim
Kizer free
preview Intoxication
As
the Darkness Falls series ** Intoxication # When Leslie came back from the ladies’
room, she found out that Rick had drunk almost all of her poisoned coffee,
which Helen Romero had brought to her office just minutes before Rick had
barged in unannounced. “I
didn’t see your name on that cup,” she commented with slight but discernable
irritation as she sat down next to Rick, whose left arm was resting on the back
of the leather couch, waiting to crawl upon her shoulders. Of course, when she
said it, she had no idea that the coffee was contaminated and that she and
eight of her coworkers would die of poisoning in less than three weeks. “And
who told you that you can come here without an invitation? Or at least some
warning?” “Come
on, Leslie, don’t be in a bad mood again.” Rick smiled and kissed her on the
cheek. “I was thirsty and I don’t drink those girlie diet sodas you keep around
here, you know that. I missed you, by the way.” Looking
back on this boring, ordinary conversation and the subsequent brief twenty
minute make out session on the couch before they headed to Rick’s place, Leslie
concluded that drinking that particular cup of coffee had probably been the
most useful thing Rick had done for her in their entire three year
relationship. He saved her life that evening and it was hard to beat. It could
have been her instead of Rick lying on the carpet, gasping for air, her eyes
red, her hair tousled, her heart palpitating, her mouth full of foul taste, and
her face glistening with sweat. When
he fell down on the floor halfway to the door out of the office, as if shot by
a well-hidden sniper, Leslie thought it was one of those stupid jokes Rick
liked to play. In those few moments it took him to collapse, he looked
grotesque as he chaotically swung his arms as though trying to restore his
balance or reaching for something to grab onto. Only ten seconds later did
Leslie realize that Rick, who was helplessly squirming of the floor like a turtle
flipped on its back, was not pulling a dumb stunt and actually could not get up
on his own. “Rick,
what’s wrong?” Leslie dashed to the man and, hunching over, grabbed hold of his
shoulders, in a weak attempt to lift him. “Are you okay?” “I’m
okay, I’m okay, don’t worry,” Rick mumbled. He tried to get up, leaning on his
elbows, but quickly fell back on the floor. Leslie could swear his face was
turning white. Leslie
snatched her cell phone from the purse and pushed the dial button. “No
911! Don’t call 911!” hissed Rick. “Why?”
Leslie almost yelled. “Rick, something wrong is happening to you. You could be
having a heart attack, do you understand that?” Rick
waved his hand in protest. “Don’t
call them. They’re going to test my blood. And I’ve got something in my system.
Whatever you do, don’t call 911. I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.” “What
do you have in your system?” Leslie angrily grimaced. “Are you doing coke
again? You son of a bitch are doing that shit again?” “If
Dad finds out I was using it, he’ll cut me off, that’s what he said.” Rick’s
speech was slow, his eyes turned into slits, which he obviously struggled to
keep open. Leslie
heaved a sigh. How pathetic: Rick was thirty seven years old and still depended
on his rich father’s subsidies. And he still had not gotten that monkey off his
back; she would not be surprised if drugs killed him in the next twelve months.
“Go
to my car,” continued Rick. “There are adrenaline shots in the glove
compartment. Bring them here. If my heart stops beating, give me a shot. Only
when it stops beating, okay?” “Rick,
you are an idiot! Did you overdose?” Rick
shook his head. “Did
I look overdosed when I came here? Don’t waste time, go to my car and get the
adrenaline. Please. I’ll be fine.” Rick
turned out right. He was breathing when she came back with two adrenaline
syringes. His eyes were shut, there was not a flicker of movement in his entire
body, but he was definitely alive: her makeup mirror misted when Leslie held it
over Rick’s nostrils. # # Rick slept like a baby for the next three
hours. He might have easily slept for another five if Leslie had not woken him
up, having gotten bored of sitting in the office. Out of concern for his
health--or, most likely, out of pity--Leslie drove Rick to her place and
allowed him to stay the night. He was one of those people who, due to his own
very questionable life choices, had never judged her and it would have been
pretty sad to lose Rick only because there was no one to watch over him
tonight. She poured herself half a glass of tequila and told Rick that she
would break the bottle on his head if he tried to have some of it too. “I
don’t know what was in that coffee, but whatever it was, alcohol will make
things worse,” she said. Suspicions began to accumulate in her mind on the way
home and once Leslie verbalized a small portion of them, she realized that it
all made sense. With
the brim of the glass pressed against her lower lip, Leslie confessed to
herself that she believed Helen had put poison in her coffee. Why? She had not
figured that out yet, but she would soon. She had not even made the first sip
and now alcohol had found itself on the back burner of her consciousness. They
say poison is women’s weapon of choice. Was it reasonable to assume that a
woman—Helen—had poisoned her coffee? You could call her dumb, but she would do
just that. This saying was a result of centuries of human experiences and who
was she to argue with it? The
most terrifying thing was it was so damn easy to put poison in her coffee!
Anybody’s coffee in their office, for that matter. Then
she thought about Rick. It was rather bitchy of her to have criticized him,
even if she had never said it out loud, for mooching money from his dad. You
bet she would do the same if her parents were loaded, which they were not: her
father was an engineer and her mother worked for a medium size public
accounting firm, your regular middle-middle class types, you know. Having
forgotten about the glass in her hand, Leslie looked at the bottle of tequila
standing lonely on the table. Or maybe the bottle was staring at her,
disapprovingly, wondering why the hell she had all of a sudden stopped
indulging in all that sweet, sweet firewater a year ago. Was it possible that
her current moodiness was the result of losing that reliable source of fun and
joy that booze represented? But you see, she had to quit after that little
incident in Redondo Beach. The wake-up call was too loud to ignore. However,
she still permitted herself to have a tequila shot or two from time to
time—drink socially as they put it on dating websites. They
did not have sex that night: Rick was fatigued and Leslie was preoccupied with
devising a plan of action. That
night, her descent into insanity began. # # “We need to test your blood, Rick,” Leslie
said in a deliberately prosaic voice before breakfast the next morning. She had
hoped that the more ordinary her request sounded, the more agreeable Rick would
be to it. Last night she did a great deal of research on the internet and the
nearest blood testing labs were one of the items she looked into. And she had
already emailed George Colmes, the president of the company and her immediate
boss, that she might be late today. “What
for?” asked Rick with disinterest. “It
has to be checked for poison. And we have to do it now before the poison leaves
your system.” Rick
turned his face to Leslie. “Are
you serious?” he asked with a dumb smile. “Of
course, I am serious. You do realize there was poison in that coffee.” Leslie
followed Rick as he walked to the kitchen. “Come
on, Leslie,” he said, opening the refrigerator. “You don’t actually believe in
that. It sounds kind of paranoid.” “I
am not asking if you agree with me, or not, Richard. I just need your help to
gather some evidence.” “Well,
it’s my blood. I think I do have some say here.” “Don’t
worry, I won’t tell your father about coke or whatever shit you are using
nowadays. And I’m taking you to a private lab, not the police, okay? I will
also pay for the test myself.” “Alright,
alright,” replied Rick with an overdramatic hand gesture, as if he had just
succumbed to several days of nagging. “Let’s do it. Just stay away from the
cops, okay?” Rick
had nothing to worry about: Leslie was not going to involve the police in
solving her problems. She had harbored secret antipathy toward the law
enforcement ever since the highway patrolman had given her a cell phone ticket
on interstate I-5 on a Saturday afternoon about two years ago. The cop was
wrong. While she would occasionally take a call when driving and did not
consider it a big deal, she was not using the cell phone in any fashion in that
particular instance. However, the patrolman dismissed her protests and handed
her the damn ticket. The most devious thing about this ordeal was the
outrageous discrepancy between the amount of the fine the patrolman gave her
(“It’s something like twenty bucks, Miss Lorne,” he said) and the number
printed on the letter from Orange County Supreme Court—146 American dollars.
The fine was twenty dollars all right, but they also slapped you with several
fees and surcharges, which amounted to well over a hundred bucks. The final
insult was the judge taking the cop’s side (yes, she actually ended up going to
court to prove her innocence) and giving her a lousy fifteen dollar discount on
the amount of the fine. This
grave injustice had taught her an important lesson: cops were no friends to
regular folks. Even after the lab test, when she had the scientific proof of
poison in her coffee, Leslie was not planning to bother police with her
suspicions. She was confident she could handle this little issue on her own. “I
never thought you were so paranoid, Leslie,” Rick said, reflectively lighting a
Marlboro cigarette. “It reminds of that guy I know, that meth head from
Torrance, maybe I told you about him. He thinks his neighbors hate him and are
out to get him. And I would understand them if they actually hate him. He’s a
dumbass. He still owes me a hundred bucks.” “If
you call me paranoid one more time, I’ll kick you in the balls,” promised
Leslie coldly. She must have sounded very convincing since Rick never uttered
this word in her presence again. # # The blood test was quite disappointing.
They found no traces of any poison. They did detect the cocaine and Zolpidem
Tartrate from the sleeping pill Rick had taken before going to bed. “We
should have done that yesterday,” said Leslie, remaining perfectly composed.
She did not regret wasting half a day on a useless blood test. On the drive to
the lab, she had told herself that no matter what the test would reveal, she
would stay the course and make Helen talk. A
negative result was still a result. Importantly, she was a woman with a plan. # # “So you want me to fire Helen?” George
settled back comfortably in his expensive leather armchair, his friendly eyes
fixed on Leslie, his manicured fingers caressing the armrests. “Yes,
it is my recommendation.” A faint undertone in his voice, which could only be
detected by a trained ear, rang an alarm bell in Leslie’s mind. She had known
George long enough to recognize signs of reluctance. “The quality of her work
has become inadequate.” “Inadequate.”
George emitted a quiet hum. “She’s been working here how long? Three years,
right?” “Yes,
three years. And now it’s time to let her go. A monkey can do her job, George.
I explained it all in my email to you. Have you read it?” “I
have read it.” George nodded. “Can I ask you a question, Leslie?” You
just did, she wanted to say, but opted to keep snarky remarks to herself. “Sure,
George,” she replied instead. “And
please don’t take it personally, ok? You know that I care about you.” Now
there were several alarm bells ringing in her mind. When someone asked you not
to take things personally, chances were it would be a very personal jab. “Of
course, I know that.” Leslie smiled. “Is
it true that someone tried to poison you?” There
was a short period of silence, during which Leslie scrambled to find the
pitch-perfect expression for her face. Should she look surprised? Shocked?
Indignant? Or maybe calm? “Certain
events took place, George. I don’t know why you would bring them up right now.” “So
it is true? Someone wants to poison you?” “I
doubt it is relevant to Helen’s firing.” “I
believe it’s absolutely relevant here.” George kept the same soothing, amicable
tone with which he had started this meeting. “I was told that you suspect Helen
of poisoning you.” Leslie
drew an inconspicuous deep breath, while making sure she retained her
composure. She did not expect that this slutty whiner Helen would run to the
big boss to complain. Leslie had only asked her why she had put poison in her
coffee and what the fuck her problem was. Looks like this bitch had the guts to
kill an innocent person but could not take a few simple questions from her
supervisor. She did not remember being overly aggressive with Helen. She forgot
if she had used any curse words or had only said them in her mind. Come to
think of it, she recalled Helen’s eyes turning red as though she was about to
start crying when they were done talking. The
bottom line of their little conversation? Just like Leslie had foreseen, Helen
shamelessly lied to her face: she denied poisoning her coffee and pretended to
be shocked and hurt by Leslie’s accusations. Did
Helen complain about mean Leslie before or after she sucked George’s dick? Why
else would he even listen to this bitch? No doubt, this twenty-five-year-old
whore could give nice blowjobs. “You
can go ahead, George, and call me paranoid,” she said. “That’s fine, I won’t
take it personally.” George
flashed another fake smile—Leslie knew it was fake; you can’t essentially diss
a person and still have a sincere smile—and leaned forward, putting his elbows
on the desk. “I’m
not calling you paranoid,” he objected. “Absolutely not. I’m only trying to
establish facts, that’s all.” “You
are polite enough not to call me paranoid to my face, I understand that, but if
you are telling me that my suspicions are somehow ludicrous, I’d rather you
called me paranoid out loud.” “Well,
I’d be glad to hear your suspicions, Leslie. You can be totally open with me.
Let’s discuss that, let’s find a solution together.” At
this moment, Leslie wished she were able to slap George in the face for his
fake open-mindedness. “Fine.
I’ll answer your question. Yes, it is true that I have reasons to believe that
Helen put something in my coffee. I was lucky my friend drank it. He almost
died. He drank that coffee and almost died. Why do I suspect Helen? Very
simple: she was the one who brought the coffee to me. These are facts, George.
Cold hard facts.” “You
sent her to the kitchen to get coffee?” “Yes,
I did. I’m sure she told you that already. She had access to that cup. Is it
unreasonable to consider her a prime suspect, George?” Leslie cast a
scrutinizing look at her boss. “Now tell me I am paranoid.” “What,
in your opinion, is her motive to kill you?” “I
can only guess. Maybe she wants my job. Or she got pissed off at me for
criticizing her work; we now both know how sensitive she is. Anyway, I can’t
read her mind, George.” “No,
you can’t.” “Think
about it, George. There are four unguarded, unmonitored coffee pots in the
kitchen, which are open to any sort of tampering. Anyone—a terrorist--can go
into that room and poison those coffee pots. Then people will drink that coffee
and die. And all because you, George, were too shortsighted to see a bigger
picture.” Leslie
cast a furtive look at her phone to check on her condo: while at the testing
lab with Rick, she had called her security company and ordered them to install
cameras in her condo. Was it an overkill? Surely not. The night Rick was
recovering at her place, she went on a white pages website and typed in her
name and the city she lived in. The query result was astonishing: the search
did produce her actual address and home phone number. To say that it didn’t
give her creeps would be a lie. Leslie did not expect it to be so easy to
locate her residence, especially in a city as big as Fountain Valley. In
order to achieve maximum coverage, the security company guys installed five
cameras: by the entrance door, in the living room, kitchen, and both bedrooms.
The video feed was recorded on DVR and broadcast live through the internet so
that you could watch it from anywhere on your computer or cell phone. Having
the ability to monitor her apartment any time from any place made Leslie feel
empowered and regular exercising this ability had quickly become a habit. In a
move to mislead Helen or her accomplice and give them false comfort, Leslie
took the security company stickers off her door and windows. Was
there any evidence of Helen having an accomplice? Not at the moment.
Nevertheless, she could not rule out that Helen had an assistant, or
assistants. George would surely call her paranoid, but she’d rather be called
crazy than find poison in her milk one morning. Leslie
had also hidden a nanny cam in her office, which could record and transmit the
picture live. Her office was an excellent spot to put a camera trap since
everyone knew she frequently left the room and never locked the door during the
day. The cam previously belonged to Rick’s father, who had spied on nannies of
his latest child, now old enough not to need a nurse. Leslie was glad she did
not have to throw another five hundred dollars on strengthening her security.
True, she was making six figures, but it was a low six figures and she would
hate to go broke trying to catch Helen and her accomplice red handed. “I’ll
think about it. I have to talk to Human Resources about the potential impact
the firing of Helen will have on the company,” said George. “And don’t work too
hard, Leslie, okay? You look a bit tired. Beautiful as always but tired. Do you
want to take a day or two off?” Leslie
shook her head. “I’m
fine, George. Thanks for asking.” Another
brilliant idea occurred to her on the way out of George’s office. A cool little
project that would take a few days to complete. First, she had to buy a
pressure canner. # # Leslie was impatiently staring at the door,
expecting a knock any time now. It was day 8 since this nightmare began and she
was still alive and kicking. Yesterday morning, she had apologized to Helen for
having acted a bit inappropriately the previous week. She wanted Helen to lose
vigilance, to believe that she had gotten away with her dirty stunt. She also
told George that she had changed her position regarding firing Helen and
renounced her suspicions. She blamed her behavior on a string of bad days she’d
had lately. Leslie realized that George was a lost cause and she would be
better off having him think she had come to her senses. After all, her
objective was not to convince other people Helen was out to kill her, her
objective was to stay alive. Leslie
was in a relatively good mood. One reason was the unregistered Glock 19 Rick
had delivered to her yesterday. When she asked him to find an unregistered
handgun for a reasonable price four days ago, he was a bit skeptical. “You
can get in a lot of trouble with a gun like that,” he warned. “Just for owning
it, you know.” “I’ll
deal with it when the time comes,” she replied. Rick
also brought three boxes of ammo, with twenty rounds in each box. He promised
to take her to a firing range tomorrow night and have shooting practice. Another
reason for higher spirits was the excellent idea that had come to her the night
before last as she had racked her brain looking for a way to catch Helen in the
act. A
few minutes earlier, she had asked Helen to bring her coffee. However, she had
not told her who was going to drink it. Leslie
was contemplatively tapping a pen on the table when Helen knocked on the door.
Leslie told her to come in and silently watched as Helen set the plastic cup
next to the document tray. “Have
a seat,” she said with a manufactured smile, pointing to a chair right in front
of the desk. “It will only take a minute.” When
Helen sat down, Leslie took the cup and placed it on Helen’s side of the desk. “Why
don’t you take a sip?” she asked, still smiling. The
consequent surprised look on Helen’s face was delicious. It didn’t take her too
long to figure out the purpose of Leslie’s request. “Okay.”
Helen removed the cap, brought the cup to her lips, and held it there for a
couple of seconds. “It’s too hot.” “Let’s
wait till it cools down.” Leslie was a little taken aback by the lack of
protest on Helen’s part. She had no clue what that could mean. There were
several possibilities and each one was as good as the other. “Okay.” And
then she drank it, at least three quarters of the cup. Helen got the drift and
spared Leslie the trouble of having to ask her to have more than one sip. With
her eyes fixed on the remaining coffee, Leslie thanked her and said that she
could go. After the door closed behind Helen, Leslie put the cap back on the
cup and locked the cup in the bowels of the twenty-inch high safe in the corner
of her office. Well,
let the waiting begin. Helen will either be dead soon or…not dead. The
fact that Helen had drunk that coffee did not automatically mean there was no
poison in it. Why would she drink the coffee knowing it was poisoned? If there
was poison and Helen had refused to drink, Leslie would have called the police,
had the coffee tested, and eventually gotten this bitch convicted for attempted
first degree murder. Either way, Helen would have been finished, kaput, and she
obviously knew that. She might have chosen to die from poison rather than get
the death sentence and stain the family name. Or
she could have an antidote in her purse, you know. Antidote,
huh? Why hadn’t she thought of it before? End of the free sample. Please click here to visit Amazon Kindle store to purchase a full copy of “Intoxication” for $0.99, which also includes a full copy of “Hitchhiker.”
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