Chapter 48
DAVID
It was a glorious day at work.
We officially dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s on my looming promotion.
Aaron Gross planned on retiring sometime in late March, which was only a month and a half away.
By the time April arrived, I, Mr. David Devers, was set to become the vice president of a large company.
And at the ripe old age of thirty-three.
I almost slipped up at one point.
I was leaving Carlton Jay’s office, and he turned to me and said, “April is going to be a happy woman.”
I gave him a courtesy smile, but didn’t mention that she’d be well out of the picture by late March. April wasn’t going to make it to April! Oh, the irony.
But it wasn’t the best time to bring it up. No need to rock the boat with something this big in my near future. I’d learned that most big companies preferred for their employees to be married. Especially those high up in the company.
There would be no avoiding my divorce down the road, but I decided now wasn’t the time, so I walked out of Carlton’s office with merely a smile and not a mention of April.
I went back to my office and reminded myself how lucky I was.
I’d found out about April at the perfect time. If I ever discovered who’d left that note, I’d buy that man a beer. Or that woman.
I left at my usual time, a few minutes before seven-thirty. Century City was only about 3.5 miles from our home in Santa Monica, but once I got to my car and hit the road, I still had a good thirty-minute drive. Sometimes a little more. Sometimes a little less.
I’d arrive around eight, and April would usually be waiting for me. That wouldn’t be the case for much longer. And maybe she wouldn’t be there tonight. It’s not like we were on the best of terms.
I arrived at my car, and before I knew it, I was on the 405 and headed north.
Some people thought it was quicker to just take the city streets to get to Santa Monica, but I’d always assumed the 405 saved me a few minutes.
To be fair, I’d never really tried both against each other.
More than anything, I’d just gotten used to taking the 405 for the two miles until I got off at Wilshire.
Which I did, and headed west on it. The traffic was bad as usual, but many people in LA had much worse commutes than I did. I had no right to complain.
I headed down Wilshire until I arrived at Berkeley Street, where I took a right. I was already regretting having to make small talk with April. Maybe I should have just kicked her out on the night I confronted her, but she’d been so convincing.
You can deal with her for five more days, David.
I quickly made my way up Berkeley.
I slowed down to take the right on Lipton Avenue, and as I gradually made the transition onto Lipton, I saw the silhouette of a man parked on the corner.
He seemed to be rising out of his seat for some reason.
It was certainly an odd place to be parked, right next to the stop sign.
It was almost like he was looking for a quick getaway.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw he was raising something, and it didn’t make any sense, but it sure looked like a gun.
Before I knew it, three gunshots rang out. I don’t know if I heard the gun or saw the flash from its nozzle first, but a millisecond later, I was hit by some of the bullets.
They’d hit me in my upper chest, and I lost control of the wheel, and slowly ran into a parked car about ten feet down from me.
I was in absolute shock. What the hell had just happened?
I didn’t have any enemies. I was in my thirties and had just received a monumental promotion at work. I was about to divorce my cheating wife and start life anew. This should have been a great time of my life.
I couldn’t have been shot. Not me.
And yet, I was already having difficulty breathing. Even in my stunned state, I realized that none of the bullets had punctured my heart. I’d have been dead immediately.
Maybe one had punctured my lung, and that’s why I was finding it so difficult to breathe.
Or, maybe, just maybe, this was all some horrific nightmare that I would soon wake up from.
But it wasn’t, and I knew it.
I tried to move, to unhook my seatbelt, but nothing was working. My brain could think it, but my body couldn’t act on it. It was also becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. My body was shutting down.
Through my rearview mirror, I saw a shadowy figure approaching. It appeared to be a white guy in a bad wig. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
I didn’t recognize him.
Why the hell would this stranger want me dead? There was only one answer.
“Did April hire you?”
My words were garbled, and I struggled to get them out. They’d be the last ones I ever spoke to.
“Signs pointing toward yes,” he said, and then I saw him raise his gun a final time.
That. Fucking. Bitch.
And then I was gone.