Eight-Ball Oracle

[Warning contains profanity] Close to midnight in the lobby of the law firm of Malone and Perkins, on a hot-muggy Austin night. “How could you?” screamed Todd Malone, a 45-year-old attorney. His eyebrows straight, lips pursed. He drew short rapid breaths. “You fucking bastard, admit you killed my brother!” He yelled with spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. Sweaty creases ran across his furrowed brow. His breath was pungent with alcohol. He squeezed a gun in his trembling right hand. In his left, he held a magic eight-ball, so tight, his knuckles were white. “Maybe I should beat you with this damn thing.” He shook the eight-ball at him.

Brian Perkins, his 48-year-old law partner, trembled in fear on his knees in front of him. Forced into submission by Todd, with his face in his hands. He peered up through his fingers, and whispered, “Please, calm down.” His voice cracked, “Don't do anything you'll regret.”

Todd yelled, “Put your head down.” Brian laced his hands across the back of his head. Then he touched his forehead to the floor.

Todd threw the ball. It smashed next to Brian’s face. A thousand shards of plastic and glass cut tiny slashes into the side of his cheek. Followed by a splash of blue ink and alcohol. The answer-die from inside, bounced and skidded. It landed on the answer, Outlook, not so good. He kicked Brian in the side. He fell over with a thud. His bloody face fell into the mixture. As his blood seeped into the liquid, it turned to a thick purple.

Only hours earlier, Todd sat relaxed in his office reviewing a client's deposition. In the conference room next door, Brian interviewed another potential client. A tap at Brian's door. “Yes,” he said, as he peered over his red-rimmed glasses. Kate, their legal clerk, told him that a package had just arrived.

The firm often received special delivery packages. “Please leave it on the table with the others.” He said, glancing over to see her put down a small square box. Not a familiar manila envelope. Curious, he stepped over to examine the delivery. A five-inch square wrapped in white paper. He opened it to find a magic eight-ball toy. He snickered as he examined it. Someone’s idea of a joke. He glanced back at the container. Inside there was a note with his name on it.

Reckless divide like tinder to separate,

No trust or faith to share with your workmate.

You’ll see more clearly using this ball of eight.

A channel for your brother to communicate.

The hair on his nape stood up as a chill trickled down his spine. What the hell is this? He jumped from his chair and threw open the door, “Kate, who sent this?”

“It came by regular courier. He didn’t say who it was from.”

Todd watched as Brian escorted the potential client through the lobby. “Brian, can I see you in my office for a minute?”

Brian gave him a scowling look, and snapped over his shoulder, “sure.”

Brian stepped into Todd’s office. His eyes narrowed and brows lowered, “What is it?”

“You know what today is. Did you have anything to do with this ball and poem?” Todd said, shaking the ball at Brian.

Keith Malone, Todd’s brother, died a year ago today, August eighth. Todd and his brother Keith were close growing up. Todd's dream was to follow in his brother's footsteps. During law school, Keith brought home his roommate, Brian Perkins. He shared his feelings for him, and their plans to marry. Todd supported Keith. He didn't care for Brian, but tolerated him.

Keith and Brian opened their own law firm. Keith promised to bring Todd into the firm when he completed law school. Brian wasn’t pleased when Todd joined the firm. But, they could be quite a team in the courtroom. However, out of court they seldom agreed on anything.

Brian batted his eyes as Todd shook the eight-ball at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Brian pushed it away from his face.

“Somebody sent me this eight-ball and crazy note.” He said, picking up the note.

“Why would I do something like that? You’re such a pompous ass — let me see it?” After he glanced it over, he smirked, “That’s likely from a disgruntled client that. Don’t worry about it.”

Todd replied with a puzzled look on his face.“Is that what you think?”

Brian snapped, “Give me the ball.” He shook it, “Did I have anything to do with Todd getting this ball?” He flipped it over and read the answer. My sources say no.

“There you go.” Brian shoved the ball into Todd’s chest and walked away. Over his shoulder he snapped. “Remember, it may be your name first on the door, but I'm the senior partner here.”

Todd glanced down at the answer window. He aims to intimidate you. He tossed the ball on his desk and went back to the deposition. As he read, now and again, he would pause and glance over at the eight-ball.

Later that night, Todd with his wife, Christy, chatted over a glass of wine. “I’m not sure who sent that damn thing. Much less why they would,” Todd said, taking a sip of wine.

“That poem, or whatever it is, is sick. If there’s someone out there trying to scare you. It did the trick for me,” Christy said, as she took a last swallow of her wine. “I absolutely do not want that ball in the house or near the boys. Please take it back to the office tomorrow.” She said, with one foot on the stairs, she smiled, “I’m going to bed.”

Todd went to the kitchen, grabbed the Jamison and poured himself a drink. Tossed it back and poured another. He took the bottle into the family room and stood staring at the eight-ball on the coffee table. He put the bottle down and picked up the ball. What’s with this damn thing? He shook it.

“Where did you come from?” Todd hesitated before turning it over. The answer appeared in the window. From the other side.

The night Keith died, Todd was at home asleep. Keith had scheduled a meeting with a client at a small bar in a remote part of town. Earlier that afternoon, he asked, “Hey, Todd, Jack Dorsey from the Travis case called. He sounded nervous and wanted me to meet him in some out-of-the-way bar. Do you think you can tag along?”

“Man, I told Christy I’d be home early tonight. I thought Jack always preferred to meet with Brian anyway.” Todd said, looking over his shoulder. That was the last time Todd saw his brother alive.

Keith stepped into Brian's office and asked if Brian could tag along with him to meet a client that evening.“Nope, I'm picking up Chinese for us tonight. I'll meet you at home,” he winked, “in the hot tub with a chilled bottle of wine.”

At Jack's request, Keith parked across the street in an alley a block away from the bar. He thought it was a bit odd, but complied. Their conversation quickly turned away from the case. Keith snapped, “What the hell? Jack, I had no idea you were gay, or that you liked Brian. He's my husband.”

Jack said, “He's leaving you, and we're moving in together. We decided to tell you tonight and handle any objections you might have.”

Keith jumped up, and his chair slammed to the floor.

“Like hell you are. Over my dead body!”

Jack smirked and said, “Your reaction is precisely what we expected.”

Keith threw a wad of bills on the table and turned to walk away. He paused and stood straight before he stepped back. “I'll kill you if you ever come near Brian again.”

Keith darted across the street to his parked car. Just as he was about to step into the shadows of the streetlight, a speeding vehicle came around the corner. It intentionally swerved and hit him. The impact threw his body where it was barely visible from the street. Almost three hours later, a police patrol officer spotted him. Keith was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Todd never forgave himself for not tagging along.

Keith's death was a year ago tonight. Now, Todd had an eight-ball and a very strange note to deal with. He was definitely feeling the effects of alcohol. He poured another. With the drink in one hand, he looked over at the ball, picked it up and shook it. “Keith, are you there?”.

Yes. Popped up.

“Keith, is it actually you?”

Yes, it's me. Todd heard his brother's voice inside his head. As if telepathic, the eight-ball was channeling Keith into Todd's mind.

“Tell me something only you would know about me.”

From here I know everything about you.

Todd whispered, “Like what, for instance?”

I know about your shoplifting a Polo Cap in eighth grade. I'm aware of your feelings for Brian.

Todd said, “Keith, tell me what happened to you a year ago tonight.”

A white car swerved to hit me. At the time, I didn't see the person driving. But, now, I know.

Todd's hand began to shake. He sat the ball down and put his glass on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. A shiver ran up his spine. His eyes grew wet and blurred with tears.

Downing the drink, he grabbed the ball again, and he slobbered through the tears, “Who was driving the car?”

It was Brian. He paid a street thug to steal it for him.

Todd snapped, “What? Why would he do that?”

He was having an affair. After he hit me, he drove the car to the far side of the quarry and pushed it in. It's still there, submerged in fifty feet of water. He didn't realize his wallet had fallen out of his pocket. It's there in the car. Have the car pulled up, and justice can be served.

Six months before Keith’s death, a new potential client stepped into the office. He walked up to Kate,“Hello, I'm Jack Dorsey, I have a lunch appointment with Brian Perkins.” Jack, a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man, with dark hair, had been injured at a Travis Construction Company job site. He came to Perkins because of their reputation for winning sizeable settlements for injury cases.

Brian came out of his office, “Oh, you must be Jack.” Brian said, his eyes sparkled, and his pulse raced.

Jack's eyes darted around the lobby. His eyes stopped to meet Brian's. “That's right, you must be Mr. Perkins.”

“Correct,” he said, extending his hand. “But please call me Brian.” Jack took his hand. Brian asked with a broad smile and his cheeks dimpled, “Vic & Anthony’s work for you?”

Still holding Brian's hand, with a flirtatious smile, he said, “Perfect.” Letting go of Brian's hand, he winked at him.

A few hours later, Keith returned to the office from taking a deposition. He glanced into Brian’s office, “Where’s Brian?”

Kate, never looking away from her computer, said, “He took a new client to lunch, and I’ve not seen him since,”

Keith glanced at his watch. “It’s almost five.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Brian's number. It rolled to voice mail. Ending the call without leaving a message. He promptly dialed it again. He got his voicemail a second time.

“Did he say where they were going?” Keith asked.

“I heard Brian mention Vic & Anthony’s”

Keith snapped, “You mean the restaurant in the Westin Hotel?” He glanced down, his brow straight and lips tight.

Todd stepped out of his office. “What’s going on?”

Keith, frustrated, said, “Brian took a new client to lunch, and he's not back yet.”

On their second bottle of wine, Brian laid his hand on Jack’s. He leaned across the table and looked into Jack's eyes, and said, “You don't need to worry, I'll get a hefty settlement for you. I can make it happen.” Then, showing no empathy whatsoever for what his actions might do to Keith, he said,“What say we find a room? After all, this is a hotel.” He stood and took Jack's hand and winked at the waiter on the way out, “Put it on my tab.”

That was over a year ago. Now, after Todd received the channeled message from Keith about who had run him over, he sat in his family room with the eight-ball on his lap, staring blankly into space, letting it soak it. Suddenly, he jumped up and yelled, “Brian! It was Brian who killed Keith!” He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Brian’s number. As soon as Brian answered, he said, “Brian, I need you to meet me at the office right away.”

Brian snapped back, “Are you crazy? It’s almost eleven o'clock.”

“No, before we’re in court tomorrow, I have to show you the latest discovery documents from the Landry case.”

“I'll come in early to get caught up.”

“Okay, so what if I told you I knew you were driving the car that killed Keith? And that I know where the evidence is to prove it.”

After a long pause, Brian said, “Todd, I really don't know what you're talking about. But, obviously, we should talk. I'll meet you there in a half hour.”

Hearing the commotion, the cleaning team at the office building dialed 9-1-1. “Yes, it’s in the law offices of Malone and Perkins on the 15th floor.”

The 9-1-1 operator responded, “They're on their way.”

The police kicked open the door of the law office. Todd Malone stood over Brian Perkins with a gun to the back of his head. Brian’s face was red with blood and covered in blue ink.

“Sir, put down the gun now!”

Todd dropped the gun and fell onto the lobby sofa. He dropped his head into his hands and began to sob. He murmured, “He killed my brother.”

Later, at the hospital. The doctor explained to Brian that the shattered glass and plastic had cut his face. The blue ink got into his wounds. “It's like a tattoo, a permanent mark.”

The nurse handed Brian a mirror. He looked at his face. A large blue number eight was tattooed on his cheek. She smiled and said, “In Tarot cards, eight represents balance and justice.”

Copyright © 2022 by Chandler Wilson