The Widower Murders

Chapter 6 - Tell Them

Adorned in a navy blue two-piece Dolce & Gabbana blazer and skirt, the lustful brown eyed, evenly proportioned and equally tanned Jayne turned and stepped into the shadows beyond the door she held.  "Mr. Jackson," she called.

A silhouette peering between partially closed Venetian blinds never moved.  "If it's concerning Peter, Jayne.  I heard.  Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir," Jayne replied, about-facing and closing the door behind her.

Cl-click.

Ethan Jackson waited in the darkness until he thought Jayne had returned to work, not wishing to be further disturbed.  Before Peter had made his way up to his office he had already known what he'd come to discuss.  For all of fifteen minutes Ethan had been watching the street below, pondering how many of their company secrets were about to be uncovered.  Allowing the blinds to close completely, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow and took a seat at his desk.  Like Peter, he'd noticed the limousine stop at the corner and let out its occupant.  Though it had been years since either of them had seen him, there was no doubt the person who watched Peter as he passed on his cell phone was none other than Fence Price.

Ethan leaned back and basted in the solitude of the moment, collecting himself.  In less than five minutes his phone would begin ringing off the hook with calls from Peter and many others who had an interest in his continuing at the helm of Price Investments.  Contrary to rumors and speculation, there was no doubt in his mind his tenure as chief executive officer was in its last hours.  Despite a team of lawyers searching for the lone loophole that would dissolve the Price family trust and company bylaws, the senior corporate officer wasn't the least optimistic.  Hell, Ethan mentally conceded.  After twenty years of prolonging the inevitable, they'd all known that some day ownership and authority would reverted to the rightful beneficiary.   The law explicitly mandated that it be done.  Ethan paused and then sighed. In his center desk drawer were a pint of Jack Daniel's, a shot glass of the same brand, a loaded .38 Smith & Wesson and a picture of his former boss and predecessor, Adrian Price.  The guilt ridden executive took each of the items out, poured himself a drink and laid the photo next to it.  The law, he toiled within himself.  Protects babies and the insane.  Neither of which I am, so quite naturally, karma has returned to fuck me.

Bzzz.  Bzzz.

Ethan grabbed the .38 and pressed the talk button on the intercom.  "What is it now, Jayne?"

"Sir, Peter Reynolds is on line one.  Says it's urgent.  And on two is Board Member Fletcher demanding to speak with—"

"Listen, listen, Jayne," Ethan interrupted.  "Take down this message for them if you would please."

Jayne fumbled to find a pen, once she had, she replied,  "Sure, Mr. Jackson.  Go ahead."

"Tell them that I said"—Ethan cocked the hammer of the gun and downed the drink.  "Are you with me so far, Jayne?"

"Yes, Mr. Jackson, I'm with you."

"Tell each one of those sons of bitches that I said... See you all in hell. "

 Boom!