Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 8

Ca.s.sie practically broke a heel in her hurry to get up on the table. "That's enough, Devvy."

"That's not even a start. After what he called you..."

"Never mind. Sticks and stones."

That was a good idea, actually. "Got any?"

She bit her lip, possibly trying not to laugh. Taking advantage of her distraction, I turned to have at Kurt again. He was trying not to look like he was trying to look up her skirt, but when he saw that I'd noticed, he jumped.

"That's enough," Ca.s.sie repeated, taking a preemptive hold on me.

No, it wasn't. But there were times and there were places for certain things, and it was starting to sink in that I was standing on a conference table, losing control of a meeting.

"All right. We're done here," I grumbled. "Let me recap for you: Everyone goes to the Christmas party. No excuses. I know where you all live, and I'll hunt you down with wolverines if I have to. Got that?"

I took the silence for a.s.sent.

"Now let's all get back to work. And I don't want any of you talking to anyone else in this room for the rest of the day. That goes triple for me. Understood?"

No one said anything.

"Now go."

They shot out of the room like pinb.a.l.l.s. I hadn't seen people move that fast around J/J/G for ages, not even that day last year when the microwave caught fire.

Ca.s.sie and I just stood there for a minute. Finally, she laughed. "Well, that was fun. You're getting better at this, you know?"

"I know." Wearily, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm going to have to scare him again, Ca.s.s."

"Not today."

"No. I'll save it for the Christmas party."

Her eyes lighted up. "You are getting better at this."

"It'll give me something to look forward to. I don't want to go either."

"No one does." She leaned closer. "Now, does that not-talking-to-you-all-day rule apply to me?"

"Depends what you want."

"I want you to move in with me. But I could settle for lunch."

"Settle for lunch," I advised.

She just smiled. I was starting to know that look a little too well.

The Friday of the party, we were in Ca.s.sie's master bath getting ready when the doorbell rang.

"Just because it rings doesn't mean you have to answer," I reminded her.

"I know. That's what peepholes are for." She handed me the earring that she hadn't finished putting in. "Hold on to this for me. I'll be right back."

Muttering, I set it down on the counter and shook the eyeliner tube again, trying to get more on the brush. Ca.s.sie thought touch liner was for amateurs, but I thought pencil was too much work, so we generally avoided putting on makeup at the same time to avoid arguments. Tonight, though, we were short on time.

"Honey?" she called from downstairs.

I finished up quickly and recapped the liner tube. "Sweetheart?"

"Could you come here for a minute? Please?"

Please? Startled, I went down to see what was wrong. She was holding a long white florist's box, looking perplexed.

"It was on the doorstep," she reported. "n.o.body was there. What do you think?"

"Is it ticking?"

"No. Should I open it?"

"Only if you want to know what's inside."

She backhanded me, but she was laughing, so I didn't take it personally. With mild interest, I watched her open the box. It looked like...

"Lilies," Ca.s.sie said flatly. "Dead ones."

I didn't like the sound of that. Just to be safe, I took the box away from her. "Don't touch them. Did you see a card?"

She held up a small white envelope. "It was on the lid. Wait a second." Cautiously, she tore it open and pulled out the card. She looked at one side and then, puzzled, at the other. "Blank. Who do you suppose...?"

"I don't know. But let's stick together tonight. No sense taking any chances."

"Oh, come on, Devvy. It was probably supposed to be a joke."

"Did you laugh?"

Ca.s.sie sighed, conceding the point. "I just hate to go in suspicious tonight. Things are going to be tense enough already. You don't suppose Jenner's really going to fire people this year, do you?"

"Wouldn't be Christmas without a Scrooge." I started to put the florist's box down, but something inside caught my eye. Trying not to be obvious about it, I looked closer. It was a cigar b.u.t.t. Jack's brand.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No," I lied. "Speaking of Scrooge, you know what the best line in A Christmas Carol is? 'Darkness was cheap, and Scrooge liked it.'"

"You're trying to distract me."

"Nonsense. I'm just trying to have a nice literary conversation. What's your favorite line?"

Ca.s.sie scowled. "What's in the box that you don't want me to see?"

It was no use. Silently, I handed it back over to her.

"A cigar b.u.t.t," she said. "So what?"

"It's the kind Jack smokes. I think it's supposed to be a calling card."

"I thought he was still locked up at the madhouse."

"It's not necessarily a life sentence. They might have let him out for the party. And if they did..."

"Trouble." She tilted her head in resignation. "Well, sweetie, at least you've never bored me. This has been the most interesting year of my life."

Mine too. I was still fairly sure that was a good thing.

There were two company parties at the Omni that night, but there was no mistaking one for the other. Ca.s.sie and I didn't even have to ask which ballroom was the J/J/G party; we just went directly to the loud one.

For safety's sake, we hung back in the doorway for a moment while we scoped out the room. On the surface, it all looked normal enough -- normal in J/J/G terms, anyway. It could have pa.s.sed for a dot-com party or the premiere of some terminally hip independent film, if you didn't count the garish Christmas decorations. Who knew there was that much red and green tinsel in the world?

Ca.s.sie nudged me and then leaned close to shout in my ear. "Look up."

I did, expecting a pinata or a paper bell. Instead, I saw mistletoe. "Doesn't count. It's plastic."

"Too bad. You still have to kiss me."

That was true, and I was about to when Randy Harris sauntered by with a sprig of mistletoe sticking out of his fly. It put both of us right out of the mood.

"I'm going to go home after this," Ca.s.sie said, disgusted, "and unscrew my head, and wash my brain. Does he really think that's going to work?"

Yes, he probably did, and yes, it probably would; we had a pestilence of sorority girls working as interns that semester. But pointing that out would only ruin her mood. So I steered her toward the bar instead.

Unfortunately, the road to the bar ran through the last people I wanted to see together: Jenner, Jack, Kurt, and Howard Abner. What was that weasel Abner doing here?

"Hi, boss," Kurt called, seeing us approaching. "Come meet the new boss."

"What new boss?"

Abner drew himself up to his full height, smoothing his vest over his paunch. I couldn't help noticing that he was still wearing the big vulgar ring. "That would be me, Miss Kerry. And I'm absolutely delighted to say this: You're fired."

(c) 2000, K.Simpson To Part 8 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

Chapter Notes:.

The reference to chicken parts is a reference to voodoo. A friend who knows about these things told me that finding chicken parts on the doorstep is bad mojo. "Don't even touch them," she said. "They mean someone's put a curse on you." I think there may be more to it than that, but I don't want to know for sure.

CHAPTER 8.

"I'm what?"

"Fired. Here." Abner dug inside his vest and came up with a pink slip. An actual pink slip. "You have 24 hours to clean out your office. After that, we change the locks."

Distracted by the pink slip -- and by Ca.s.sie, who had gotten all the way inside my personal s.p.a.ce to see it for herself -- I was no longer listening. It was a preprinted form with "The Family Foundation" printed at the top; someone had crossed out that heading and handwritten the agency's name, but they'd written "JJJ" instead of "J/J/G." Rat-b.a.s.t.a.r.d morons. No doubt all those Klan meetings had killed off their last two brain cells.

"Witchcraft?" Ca.s.sie's voice hit a pitch that would call dogs in the next county. "Do you know what century this is, Mr. Abner?"

I recovered just in time. "Stay out of this, Ca.s.s. This is my fight, not yours."

"Don't even act like you want to go there," she snapped. "You're stuck with me. If you have a fight, I have a fight. If you're fired, I'm fired. Got that?"

"n.o.body's fired. Abner's just having brain bubbles. He doesn't even work here. Does he, Mr. Jenner?"

Jenner swallowed hard and tried to hide behind Kurt, who started laughing.

"I don't have to work here. Mr. Jenner made me a partner," Abner explained. "It was either that or lose his agency in court."

"What are you talking about?" Ca.s.sie asked impatiently.

He didn't even bother to acknowledge her. "Remember that little tape you made, Miss Kerry? The one you slandered me in by putting me in a dress? You didn't think I knew about that. Well, I wouldn't have, except that your friend Kurt here gave me a copy."

That was very thoughtful of my friend there. And now he was going to die. I was within two steps of Kurt when Ca.s.sie grabbed the back of my jacket and tugged me aside. "You can't kill him. Too many witnesses."

"I'm not going to kill him," I lied. "I'm just going to geld him a little."

"You can't do that, either. You don't want to touch that thing. It was up Jack's pants when he was a possum."

She had a point. Grudgingly, I let her guide me back over to Abner. "Go on," I told him coolly. "You were saying...?"

Abner rocked back and forth on his heels a few times, immensely satisfied. "I could have sued this agency. I'd have won. But I couldn't sue you personally, and you're the one who needed to be punished. So I worked out a deal. I get a piece of this agency, and you get fired. Officially, you're fired for insubordination." Smirking, he leaned into my face. "Unofficially, you're fired for perversion."

He never saw it coming. Ca.s.sie never let go of my jacket, but she hit him so hard that his fillings must have popped out. For a long moment, he stared at her, swaying, looking vaguely surprised. Then he keeled over, landing with a splat that reminded me of the noise the turkey had made falling out of the chandelier at Thanksgiving -- a disgusting sound I'd never really wanted to hear again.