A Nefarious Plot

I had just come into a large inheritance, and despite only Pete, my supervisor, knowing about it, everyone at work started treating me differently. People I’d thought of as not just colleagues, but friends had started to plot something. It was as though the entire office was in on it.

It sounds insane, and a bit paranoid, but conversations would suddenly stop when I entered the break room. When I returned from a break, a conversation between three or four people huddled around a desk would either stop dead or take a clumsy turn into some customer issue.

I asked Marie about it, flat out. If not a friend, she was at least someone I trusted enough to house-sit when I went on vacation. She swore that nothing was going on, said she was making a coffee run and offered to buy me one. I declined and watched her walk out the door.

I had noticed the blinking blue light on her ear bud, telling me that she was in the middle of a call. I went out the door to follow her and found her standing less than twenty yards from the door. If she was making a coffee run, she would’ve been to the corner by now.

I snuck into an alcove about ten feet from her, where we couldn’t see each other, but I could hear her conversation. Maybe she’d let slip what was happening.

“It’s a lot, even split twelve ways but … right, eleven, forgot to not count Jak. It’s worth it.”

Was she talking about my inheritance? Did someone find out the amount?

 “No, don’t worry about that. I’ve got a key, and I’ll be getting it set up right after lunch.”

Shit. She still has a key from house-sitting. I could try to get a locksmith out right away but knew from experience that the fastest I could expect would be twelve hours.

Marie laughed. “Oh my god! Clear shot from behind the recliner to the door. Pow! It’ll get him before he can react. Cool, that’s a lot easier than the way I was going to say. … Yeah, lots of cutting, plastic bags, and a big mess.”

Clear shot? Cutting? Plastic bags? Were they planning to…?

“Oh, wait, his neighbors. … You sure it won’t be too loud? They like to call the cops for anything that might sound like a gun; firecrackers, cars back-firing, that time Jak dropped a board onto a piece of plywood, you get the idea.”

They were talking about shooting me. I almost let out a yelp but contained it with a hand over my mouth. I always thought that looked stupid in the movies, but I guess if it works it isn’t stupid after all.

“If you say so. If the neighbors call the cops, we’re all blaming you.” Marie laughed again.

She seemed to be taking pleasure in the thought of killing me for my money. And I had trusted her.

“Yeah, that would be a dead giveaway. There’s a parking lot on 32nd and Peach. It’s a five-minute walk to his place from there.”

I needed to figure out some way to thwart their plan. I could call the cops, but they wouldn’t believe me. There had to be something I could do.

“Cool. Is he at his desk? … Huh. No, I don’t see him out here anywhere. … Yeah, I should go grab the coffee order. You sure didn’t want anything? Got it.”

With that, she continued on to the coffee shop, or at least I think she did. When I got brave enough to check, she was gone. I snuck in to the restroom and then made my way back to my desk from there.

I noticed a flurry of chat messages being sent around the office, but none of them hit my desk. It was downright ridiculous how blatant they were in their plotting.

I ignored my work to figure out how to protect myself. There was a waiting period for guns, so that was a non-starter. I scrolled through self-defense ads online and found something that would do the trick.

Credit card in hand, I made an order on their website for pickup. I picked up the phone and called Pete’s desk. “Hey, Pete,” I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice, “I have a last-minute appointment on the other side of town. I need to take off the rest of the day.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I could use your help this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. He wanted to keep me here so they could set up to kill me when I got home. I wasn’t going to let that happen. “I really need to take care of this.”

“Okay. Take care. See you later—uh, tomorrow,” he said.

He was probably the instigator. How he got Marie to join in, I couldn’t fathom. She’d always struck me as a kind person.

My “appointment” was at the firearms and police supply store. Although I’d already paid, they insisted on doing a fitting and making sure that all the pieces lined up in the proper location. I had no idea it was so complex.

When I told them that someone who has the key to my house might be waiting for me to shoot me with something that should be quiet enough to not alert the neighbors, they started asking questions. Most of them I couldn’t answer. I don’t know if they have subsonic rounds, whatever that is, though they seemed to convince themselves it was likely.

Once they had me fitted, they made a point of telling me first, how much it would hurt, and second, to not go down, move on them right away, to take away the element of surprise. They said, “No one expects the person they just shot to barrel into them.”

They also talked me into an extendable baton and showed me some basic moves. Then one of the other salespeople who had been listening in, offered a free windbreaker with their logo on the back. It covered everything up.

I drove home the back way. They could park in the lot away from my house, but so could I. They wouldn’t know I was coming. I pulled into the lot and parked next to Marie’s car, close enough that she couldn’t get in her driver’s door. It was a spiteful thing, but compared to planning my murder, it was nothing.

I snuck to the house, wishing I could use the back door. I could climb the fence, but the sliding glass door had a stick in it to keep it from opening. Stupid of me.

The house was dark and silent, but I knew my coworkers were in there, and at least one of them was armed. My hands shook as I extended the baton, unlocked the door, and threw it open.

The lights turned on, my coworkers jumped up from behind the furniture and shouted, “Surprise!” as Peter fired a confetti cannon at me.

I stood, baton raised, windbreaker open, bullet-proof vest in plain sight, as everyone fell silent so that even the fluttering of the confetti to the ground was audible. Beyond my coworkers I saw party decorations, balloons, a cake, and a case of beer. This was the nefarious plot I’d been so worried about? I lowered the baton and closed it up.

Marie wore a look of concern. “Happy birthday?”