Cube Sleuth (29 page)

The rest of the building is a ghost town. My picking tools already in my pocket, I stop at my desk to wrestle the files out of my backpack, then run for the second floor. I leave the HR office door open this time. If someone catches me in there, I’m dropping off a prescription reimbursement form. If someone catches me in the act of picking the lock, I put a lampshade on my head, stick a banana up my ass, and stay perfectly still until they leave.

No, I don’t know what the banana is for in that scenario.

Although my picking skills have greatly improved, there are still times when I can’t get it done. I hope to myself that this won’t be one of those times. I put the files on top of the cabinet and start picking. In fifteen seconds, click, I’m in. Phew. I slide the files in where they belong, lock the cabinet, take a deep breath, and walk out of the office. I can’t believe I—

“Hi, Bobby.” Keith walks toward me from across the hall. Shit. His deep voice hums in my ears. “How are you?”

Shit. Shit. “Good. Good.” I casually cross my arms. “I didn’t think you were in this week.”

“Came for the picnic. Boy, what a waste!” His wild giraffe laugh curls my toes.

“I was dropping off a prescription reimbursement form.” I wonder if my unsolicited explanation for why I was in there is more suspicious that not explaining at all. I know Keith has secretly been dying to find a reason to fire me for years and I’m afraid I just offered myself up on a silver platter.

“Oh. OK. You’re missing the raffle.” Keith stands smiling beside the door to the HR office.

“I am? I didn’t think it started yet. I’ll go right up. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Are you coming up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

I nod and walk off. As I open the stairwell door, I glance back and see Keith step into the HR office.

Shit. Shit. Shit
.

I spend that night worrying that I’ll get fired Monday morning. I’m obviously not worried because I like my job. Not even because keeping on top of my poker debt requires a consistent paycheck, and having no savings means I’ll be homeless in a month. Nope, I don’t want to lose it because losing access to Paine-Skidder would make it nearly impossible for me to find Ron’s killer.

My fear of unemployment leads me to play poker online to try and win some padding for my wallet. But thinking about the money you need to win while playing poker means not fully concentrating on your opponents and their cards, which means losing. So after de-padding my wallet of three hundred bucks, I decide to quit while I’m behind.

I spend Saturday night with Nancy. She wants to come over to my place, but I insist that we limit ourselves to public places in order to maintain my self-imposed temporary celibacy. We agree on Dave and Buster’s on Delaware Avenue. Lots of flashing lights, people yelling, no chance for so much as a lingering smooch.

Nancy parks outside my apartment building and I come out to take her to Dave and Buster’s in my car. She asks to come in and see my new place, but I whine about being hungry. I don’t want her near my bed because I’m afraid it’ll suck us both in.

Halfway to our destination, Nancy becomes frantic about her sudden need to pee. A common problem for Nancy; one that annoyed me before but now soothes me with nostalgia. She convinces me to stop at my parents’ house for a tinkle.

I only told my parents about Nancy dumping me a few weeks ago. On the verge of tears, my mother suggested repeatedly that I move back home so I wouldn’t be lonely. As much as the good Catholic in my mother was against Nancy sleeping over every weekend, it helped quell her fear of me dying alone. And she loves Nancy. My dad does, too.

I don’t want to get my parents’ hopes up by showing up with Nancy, but I don’t want my passenger seat soaked with urine, either.

I call ahead to warn my parents that we’re dropping in. Since I moved out, I have this fear that one day I’ll show up unannounced and find my parents doing the wild thing on the living room carpet.

My mom is giddy over the news that Nancy is with me. “Ohhhhh. OoOK. Are youuuuu? You knowwwwww?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Good. Good. Gooooooood. See you in a bit.”

My parents hug Nancy like a long-lost daughter. My dad says, “We miss having you around.” My dad isn’t one for unsolicited statements of emotion—or statements in general—so this mild outpouring causes Nancy to tear up a little. Nancy’s reaction causes my mom to tear up a little. Their combined sentimentality makes me want to throw up a little. The only thing I’ve cried over lately that isn’t life or death is a bad beat in poker.

I have to remind Nancy that we stopped so that she could hit the head, and her urge suddenly returns. She dashes off with a giggle.

My mom stands on her toes and kisses me on the cheek. “How did this happen?”

I shrug. “I sent her flowers. She called and wanted to hang out.”

My dad pats the back of my head. “Don’t screw it up this time.”

I smile and nod. I never told them why we broke up, but they both jumped to the correct conclusion: that it was all my fault.

Standing in the kitchen while we wait for Nancy to come back, my dad asks, “How’s work?”

I pinch my nose to cover my mouth, a blatant tell. “Pretty slow. Boring. The usual crap. You?”

Dad lets out a grumble and rolls his eyes while filling me in on his latest frustration.

I tell my parents that I made eight o’clock dinner reservations to keep them from talking Nancy’s ear off. Not true, but I am starving.

* * *

When we get back from Dave and Buster’s, I park in front of my apartment complex and Nancy and I make out like old times. This goes on for so long that I know Nancy will have to pee despite not having had a sip of anything in over an hour.

“I have to pee.”

I hold out my keys. “Here. Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

“What?”

“I’ll stay here. Go pee.”

“I’ve never been in here before. I don’t even know your apartment number.”

“C1.”

Nancy hasn’t taken my keys. “What’s wrong with you? Hiding a body in there?”

“Why would I give you the keys if I had a dead body in there? Go pee and come back.”

“I’m… Oh. I get it. I’m not gonna attack you and force you to bone me. I don’t think I could overpower you anyway. Now take me in there before I pee myself.”

After she pees, I show off my new digs. She loves it. Then she kisses me, and five minutes later we’re naked in bed. Luckily, I am able to stop at everything-but, so I keep my technical temporary penitential re-virginity.

I don’t put up a fight when Nancy says she’s too tired to drive home. I put on my clothes since Nancy sleeps naked and I don’t want any tomfoolery in the night. I fall asleep at one in the morning and wake up at three-thirty in the afternoon, feeling like I just slept for the first time in months. I open my eyes to Nancy lying on her side, watching me sleep. I forgot how beautiful she looks first thing in the late afternoon.

* * *

I show up for work on time Monday morning expecting a security guard waiting in the lobby to tell me I can’t go to my desk. Nope.

I expect a note on my desk that says PLEASE STOP IN, KEITH. Nope.

A voicemail or email with the same message. Nope.

I blow air out of my cheeks in a
phew
, equal parts relieved and disappointed.

I’ve heard that most people get fired on Fridays. Maybe I’ll have to work all week to get the boot. Keith’s light is off. Maybe he’s out sick and will fire me tomorrow.

At eleven that morning, I have my first rehearsal for the retirement skit. I bring my three middle-aged costars scripts with their dialogue highlighted. We read the script out loud a few times and then I walk them through the blocking twice. I enjoy playing director for people who think I know what I’m talking about.

I call Capillo on my lunch break to see if there’s any news and leave him a voicemail.

Suzanne stops by my cube to drop off an assignment in the afternoon and finds me on the floor gluing cotton balls to the collar of a shirt. She asks me how the retirement skit is going. Even though I’m allowed to make props for the skit during the workday, I can’t help but feel like I’m getting away with something, which gives me the same thrill it did in kindergarten.

Gluing cotton balls to things also gave me a thrill in kindergarten.

* * *

That night, I lie in bed talking to Nancy on the phone. I’m sore from the gym but happy that the pillow beside me still smells faintly of her hair if I press my nose to it.

“Come on, give me some hints.” Nancy wants to know about our official re-first re-date, now four days away.

“OK. OK. You’ll need an overnight bag.”

“Aw, yay! Sleepover. What else?”

“You’ll probably see some familiar faces.”

“Hmm. Cryptic. Another one.”

“You’ll definitely love the food.”

Nancy squeals with delight. Though I can’t see her, I know she’s rubbing her fingers together the way she does whenever she’s excited.

“I didn’t get fired today.”

“That’s good. Maybe he didn’t see you with the files, just saw you coming out of there. That’s not illegal.”

“Maybe. But I still think Keith and I will have our showdown soon enough. Seems inevitable. In the comic book sense, he’s the natural villain to my super hero. We’re opposites.”

“Right. You’re Superman and he’s Rex Luthor.”

“Lex Luthor, you dope. Lex. Not Rex.”

We both laugh. I stop laughing when I realize something that should’ve occurred to me much sooner: Keith has a shaved head. He kinda looks like Lex Luthor.

It was Mr. Luth-
or
, Faith. Not Mr. Luth-
er
.

Everything makes sense now.

Keith really did hit on Eve when she first started working at Paine-Skidder, but instead of telling him he looked like a penis, she went out with him. The knowledge that I slept with her after him, that I put my _____ where his _____ was makes me wish
I
were dead.

Now I know why Eve made up a fake name when she talked to Faith about Keith, but I don’t know why she never told her mother. Maybe she was just ashamed. Keith and Eve pretending to hate each other was a good idea, it kept them from sneaking longing glances at one another at work, which someone would eventually pick up on. That’s why Stella never found out about their affair.

Keith had to print Ron’s suicide note from Ron’s computer before that night so he could slip it into the visor in the Jeep right after he killed him. But maybe he had Ron sign the note, disguised as something work-related, that night.

I would love to see video of Keith buying a gun off the streets from some thug.

The really hard part to accept is that this means Ron must’ve slept with Eve and not told me. Now I’ll probably never know if it was before me or at the same time. Either option is unsettling. I hope it never gets back to Helen. I definitely don’t want to be the one to tell her.

I don’t tell Nancy what I’ve figured out, mostly because “he’s bald” sounds like the dumbest reason to finger someone as a killer. I tell her I have to get off the phone and pore over my notes about the case right after the Rex Luthor thing. I want to call Capillo, but it’s after eleven and I only have his work number. Even if I did have his cell phone number, he would undoubtedly see my name come up and shut his phone off.

I hope Keith is out again tomorrow. I don’t fear for my life; even if he knew I figured out it was him, it’s not like he could kill me in the office—two Paine-Skidder suicides in four months is suspicious enough. I just don’t know if I can keep my poker face the next time I see him. I want to take my little league bat to his brain.

* * *

The next morning I step into my cube ten minutes late and find a note taped to my monitor: PLEASE STOP BY, KEITH. My throat tightens, matching the tension in my back and shoulders from the workout my trainer put me through last night. For a moment I forget that Keith killed Ron, and am just worried about getting fired.

A migraine forms instantly. The lights flare in my vision. My jaw stings. I feel a ball of acid melting from inside the center of my forehead.

I turn on my computer and get settled, delaying the inevitable. My empty stomach moans like a goat bleating from the bottom of a well. I massage my torn deltoids.

Standing slowly, I take two steps out of my cube when my phone rings. A double ring. I rush back to my desk, overjoyed at the valid excuse for procrastination. “Paine-Skidder, this is Bobby.”

“It’s Capillo. We need to talk.”

“I know who did it. I was gonna call you at lunch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m about to have a meeting with him where he’s maybe gonna fire me.”

“Your boss.”

“Yeah. He did it. What did
you
find?”

“Eve’s diary.”

“Does it say what he did?”

“She doesn’t use his name, but it’s pretty clear who she means.”

“Wanna grab lunch or something?”

“I’m coming down there in fifteen minutes. Go have your meeting and act natural. Meet me in the lobby when you’re done.”

I pump my fist silently as I hang up the phone. My stomach gurgles and hisses in elation. Keith is going to get what he deserves.

The headache disappears as quickly as it formed.

Biting the inside of my cheek to stop grinning, I walk to Keith’s office. When I knock on the open door frame, he smiles with what seems to be satisfaction.

This is really it. I’m getting canned, and he’s happy to do it.

“Good morning, Bobby.”

“Hi, Keith.”

“Close the door, please. Have a seat.”

I’ve never been fired before. It’s exciting. Other than being homeless soon, the only thing that makes me sad is that I won’t get to perform in drag in front of all the higher-ups.

As I sit, my mind already drifts towards getting to talk shop with Capillo, detective-to-detective. I’m like his partner on this case. Hell, I’d settle for being his sidekick. I want to be there when he arrests Keith. I wonder if that’ll be today or if he’ll need time to gather evidence and get a warrant.