I turned to see the Latino man I had run into on the dock. He joined Gabriella. She handed him the gun and he aimed it at me.
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.
The man looked at Gabriella. "Should I tell him or do you want to?"
As he put his arm around her protectively, she smiled at me. "You followed me home and raped me," she said as if a prepared speech. "When my dear husband came home unexpectedly, the two of you got into a fight. Then you shot him." She glanced at the other man. "That's when Antonio, my husband's lawyer, came over for a meeting with him—and shot you before you could kill me, too."
I watched as Antonio pulled out another gun, aiming it at me. "After I shoot you as a rapist, murderer, and maybe even a burglar, I'll put the murder weapon in your hands and call the cops. They will take our statements, haul your ass off to jail, and then Gabriella and I will live happily ever after on Eric's money."
I glared at Gabriella, wondering how I could have fallen into this trap of sex, deception, and murder. More importantly, I wondered how I could avoid the husband's fate as I stared at the wrong end of a gun barrel.
"Why me?" I asked her.
Gabriella smiled and turned to her partner in crime. "You do the honors."
"My pleasure," Antonio said, grinning. "You can thank your ex-wife for this..."
"What—?" My head snapped back as though I'd been punched again.
"I happen to work at the same law firm as her divorce attorney. Seeing how easy it was for them to screw you over made you a perfect patsy. It was easy to get a handle on your routine. Work, drink, feel sorry for yourself, and hope to get lucky with some hot dame. You get the picture."
I did and it wasn't pretty. They were holding all the cards and I never even got a chance to shuffle the deck.
Antonio bared his teeth. "So long, sucker. Hope she was worth it!"
The way I saw it, my only hope to get out of this alive was to go on the attack. But with two guns pointed at me from a safe distance, the odds were anything but in my favor.
I had nothing to lose at this point that I hadn't already lost.
That was when fate stepped in and lent me a helping hand.
As I prepared to lunge at Antonio, a shot rang out. Only he wasn't the one firing.
Antonio went down in a heap. Half of his head had been blown away.
I turned and saw that the husband Gabriella had shot dead had come back to life. He had managed to crawl to a cabinet where a spare gun came in handy. And he knew just what to do with it before collapsing again.
I wasn't about to let lady luck down. With the two guns Antonio had now up for grabs, I dove and got my hands on one quicker than Gabriella could.
Recognizing that the tables had turned against her, she fled the houseboat.
As I got to my feet, I suddenly felt a stinging sensation in my shoulder and saw blood making its way down my arm.
I had been shot, apparently a parting gift from Antonio as he went down for the count.
Ignoring the pain, I made my way over to Gabriella's husband and felt for a pulse. He was still alive and so was I.
Wanting to keep things that way, I dialed 911.
* * *
Two days later, Gabriella was arrested and tried to sweet talk her way out of the hole she'd dug for herself.
Her husband survived his brush with death, while I recovered from my injury with little more than an occasional throbbing to remind me not to play with fire.
We both testified against Gabriella, helping to send her up the river long enough so that her days of tempting men were over.
Life for me has since drifted back to normal, whatever that is. Not sure I've ever figured it out.
Now I think twice whenever a sexy babe comes my way, thanks to one such lady with a killer attitude that I won't forget anytime soon.
# # #
Following is a bonus psychological suspense short by R. Barri Flowers
NO GOING BACK
Did he dare touch her? Or would she recoil as she often did lately, treating him like the devil incarnate instead of like a husband who loved and wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone.
He hated that some bastard had raped her six months ago and that he couldn't prevent it from happening. He certainly did not blame her for being in the wrong place at the worst possible time. Nor would he turn his back on their marriage and normal relations between a husband and wife. The asshole who did it would not forever deprive them of a healthy sex life like they'd had before the violation.
Yet the rapist had managed to do just that. They hadn't been intimate since the night of the attack. Whenever he tried to initiate something, his attempts were rejected.
But maybe tonight would be different. Maybe, just maybe, she would let him be with her the way a husband should.
Dean contemplated the notion as he lay beside the woman he'd fallen in love with and married ten years ago. The marriage had been everything he could have asked for, and then some. Until the vicious attack had left his wife a shell of her former self. Rarely did he see her smile. Or have a good laugh at one of his bad jokes. Or want to go out by herself. Or watch anything on TV that was violent or over the top sexually.
Karyn used to be the picture of beauty, grace, style, and fitness, but these things no longer seemed to matter to her. It was as if she had turned her back on everything she once held dear. Including him.
He too had been forever changed. He didn't trust men anymore, fearful that a rapist might be hiding beneath their friendly façades and harmless half grins.
He just wanted to protect his wife from further harm. And have her want him the way he wanted her.
Dean sucked in a deep breath. Karyn lay in a fetal position with her back to him, as though he was the enemy. She was covered in a full-length nightgown, as had been the case every night since the attack. He reached out and rested his fingers on her soft neck. He braced himself, expecting her to jump.
There was no reaction, which emboldened him to see how far he could get.
He ran his fingers down to her shoulder, enjoying the touch of her warm skin. He became aroused when he fondled her breast through the nightgown. She stirred a bit and he wondered if tonight might be the night they would become man and wife again.
Barely able to control himself, he gently put his hand between her legs.
Karyn immediately grabbed his hand, tightening her fingers around his like a vise.
"Don't," she said.
"I need you," he said softly.
"I'm not ready yet."
"But it's been six months," he complained.
"Exactly—it's only been six months since it happened!"
"How much longer do I have to wait till you let me make love to you?" Dean asked as his arousal diminished, along with his self-worth.
Karyn released his hand and started to cry. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready," she said quietly. "I'm sorry..."
Dean kissed the top of her head and held her close. "Don't be," he said. "It's not your fault."
He cried with her, knowing their relationship had pretty much come to a standstill. As long as the bastard who raped Karyn was still out there, nothing would ever change.
That thought occupied Dean's mind until he fell asleep.
* * *
The next morning Dean made breakfast, trying his best to appear unaffected by last night. When Karyn came down, the food and coffee were already on the table. She looked at him blankly, but said nothing.
He looked back at her and was also speechless. Her once long hair, which had been cut very short, was disheveled. She had put on an old sweatshirt and baggy jeans, as if to hide her femininity even from him.
She sat in her normal spot and he sat across from her. They both sipped coffee and moved the food around their plates, but ate little. The silence between them remained thick as the maple syrup on their waffles, as though afraid of what might be said.
It was Karyn who spoke first. "About
last night..."
Dean shrugged, not wanting to put undue pressure on her. "Let's just forget it."
"Let's not," she said.
"I shouldn't have asked you to do something you obviously aren't ready for yet."
"I want to," she said.
He cocked a brow. "You do?"
"Of course. You're my husband." She put her fork down. "And I love you."
"You don't have to do—"
"It's not you," she broke in. "It's never been about you. It's him. He's like a shadow that's always with me; haunting my dreams, making me feel like his victim whenever I'm awake."
Dean cursed the rotten bastard who had done this to her. "You have to fight this, Karyn. Otherwise he wins and we lose."
She sneered. "Yeah, that's what my shrink keeps saying. But you know what? It's not that easy."
"I know."
"I'm not sure you do," Karyn said. "The man who raped me won—at least it feels like it. As long as he's free, I'll never feel human...or like a woman."
"Don't worry, honey. They will get him sooner or later. I promise."
He suspected his words had fallen on deaf ears. And why shouldn't they? As a crime writer for the Melrose Hills Journal, he had seen very little progress with the police investigation into his wife's brutal assault. The rapist, who'd wielded a knife during the attack, wore a ski mask, was over six feet tall, solid in build, and had a raspy voice. He matched the description of the man wanted in a number of other local rapes over the last three years.
They had his DNA. His M.O. Even a description of the car he drove. Yet the rapist still had not been caught, and it frustrated the hell out of Dean.
The newspaper had rules about covering a crime that was too close to home. Then there was the reality that new crimes were always surfacing, bumping old crimes off the front page and out of the minds of the police and public.
But Dean refused to let this case die. He was working his ass off to try to find his wife's rapist.
And maybe save their marriage at the same time.
* * *
"Someone has to know something," Dean muttered to fellow reporter, Phil Livingston. Phil was behind the wheel as they made their way from one end of town to the other.
"Yeah, but they're not talking. And that means there's no one to point a finger at."
"I can point fingers at a lot of people," Dean said. "For one, they should have had better security at Karyn's office building. Damn them for allowing someone to come in off the street into the parking garage and force himself on her."
"It could've happened anywhere," Phil suggested.
"Yeah, well it happened there and someone's going to pay!" A vein bulged near Dean's temple.
"What are you saying?" Phil asked.
"You heard me." Dean had no intention of backing off the statement, though not quite sure what he meant by it.
Phil turned from the wheel. "Hey, don't do anything stupid, man. Let the system work."
"The system doesn't seem to give a damn about my wife and what she went through."
"You know that isn't true," Phil said. "Everyone from the newspaper staff to the police department feels for you and Karyn. Give it some time and we'll find a way to bring the rapist to justice."
Dean stiffened. "Wish I could believe that. But from where I sit, the system has failed us. Karyn's a basket case and won't let me anywhere near her. And I'm being kept in the dark on an investigation that's growing colder by the day."
"Cold doesn't mean frozen. With a serial rapist still out there, it's only a matter of time till he's apprehended."
"You think?" Dean gave him a sarcastic glance. "And how many more women will become victims before that happens?"
"From what I understand, the cops are following new leads."
"Yeah? What new leads?" Dean asked.
Phil paused. "Well, there was another rape a few days ago. Same M.O. There's strong reason to believe your wife's rapist has struck again. They're testing DNA for a match and they have a possible witness. My sources tell me it could be a breakthrough in the case."
Dean considered the news. The truth was, he had been so consumed lately with his own inadequacies and failing marriage that he hadn't even heard about this. Could they really be on the verge of getting this guy? Or would it just turn out to be another dead end?
"Who's the witness?" Dean asked.
"Victim's neighbor. Apparently she was out walking her dog when she supposedly saw the suspect running from the scene."
Dean felt this was something worth checking out himself.
"Yeah, well let's hope this so-called witness doesn't suddenly develop a case of amnesia at crunch time."
"Why don't we just wait and see what happens," Phil told him.
"Yeah, why don't we," Dean said, though he was already plotting his strategy for not waiting.
Phil eyed him. "So you and Karyn still aren't—?"
"No, we're not," Dean said irritably. "She won't let herself feel anything remotely sexual. Right now she sees me as a member of the species that betrayed her."
"I'm sorry," Phil said. "I wish I could say I know what you're going through, but I don't. Stella has her days when it's hands off, but she's never been through what Karyn has."
"And I hope to hell she never has to—for her sake and yours!"
Phil stopped at a light. "Why don't you and Karyn come over tonight for dinner? I know Stella would love to spend some time with her. We could all hang out, just like old times."
The idea was appealing to Dean. Karyn had hardly gone anywhere since the attack. She had also turned down most visits, feeling others would unfairly judge her. Or frighten her.
Maybe it was time she got out of the house. Even if only for a couple of hours.
"I'll try," he said, not sure Karyn would go for it.
"Good," Phil said, as if a done deal.
* * *
Dean brought the subject up casually that afternoon. "By the way, Phil and Stella invited us over for dinner tonight."
Karyn gave him a dismissive look. "I don't really feel like socializing right now."
"Neither do I, to be honest about it," he said. "But I think we should do it anyway, honey. It would be good for you to spend some quality time with one of your best friends, while Phil and I talk shop."
Karyn batted her eyes. "Don't push this on me, Dean. I'm not ready to act as if nothing happened."
"No one's asking you to. But staying holed up in this house isn't the answer either. You need to make an effort to be a part of the world again. My world. And having a nice dinner with friends is a good place to start. Please say you'll go, for me."
He expected her to lash out at him and run up to the bedroom crying.
Instead, Karyn said softly, "All right. But if I fall, you have to catch me."
Dean smiled. "Count on it."
* * *
The witness, Ellen Vine, was in her sixties. Dean represented himself as a detective on the case. She had no reason to believe otherwise.
"I thought it was somewhat odd to see the young man dash out of that apartment like his pants were on fire," Ellen said.
"Had you ever seen him before?"
Ellen shook her head. "Not around here."
"But you've seen him elsewhere?" Dean asked hopefully.
She thought about it. "Maybe."
Dean remained calm, but his gut instinct told him to press on. "You'll need to do better than that. There's a rapist on the prowl and the sooner we get him, the sooner you won't have to worry about him knocking on your door."
Ellen seemed to shudder at the thought. "I think I might have seen him at the deli on 18th and Grand Avenue."
"As a customer?" Dean asked.
"No, working behind the counter."
Dean flinched. "Did you happen to mention this to the other detectives?" he asked innocently.
"No, they never asked," Ellen said.
"That's what follow up questions are for," he said. "Tha
nks, you've been a big help." More than she knew.
"I just hope you get him."
"Yeah, you and me both," Dean told her.
* * *
The Lakeside Deli was crowded. Dean made his way through the patrons looking for an employee fitting the description he was given. He found him easily enough.
The man's nametag identified him as Rick. He was in his early thirties, had straggly blonde hair, and was short and lean.
He didn't exactly measure up to the tall, dark-haired, muscular man who attacked Karyn.
It made Dean wonder if he was barking up the wrong tree. Or maybe it was the right branch. Karyn had admitted that she was so traumatized she couldn't be certain exactly what her attacker looked like. Only what he did to her.
Dean needed to find a way to get the man outside.
"What can I get you?" Rick asked in a voice that showed no sign of ever being raspy.
Dean looked at him and smiled pleasantly. "There's some old lady outside, says she knows you, Rick."
He looked surprised. "Yeah?"
Dean nodded. "She said something about you losing your I.D. She don't walk so well, so she asked me if I'd ask you to come out and talk to her...get this straightened out."
He hesitated. "Okay, sure. Cover for me," he said to a co-worker.
Dean led him out the door, trying not to lose his cool over the thought that this man could be the one who had raped his wife.
Rick looked around. "So where is she?" he asked.
"Right over there." Dean pointed.
By the time Rick realized there was no one there, he turned back to find a gun pressed against his stomach.
He tensed. "You robbin' me?"
"You wish," Dean said. "We're gonna take a little drive."
"Drive where?"
"To the scene of the crime," Dean told him.
"What crime?"
Dean glared at him. "The scene where you raped my wife."
Rick tensed. "Hey, I didn't rape anyone!"
"Tell it to the judge. Only problem is you may never get to see him."
"You've got the wrong guy," Rick said uneasily.
"I don't think so." Actually Dean wasn't sure he had the right guy, but he couldn't afford to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Now let's go. Or I'll kill you right here and be done with it."
"Okay, okay. I'll go with you," Rick said. "But you're making a mistake."
"No, asshole, you made the mistake of raping one woman too many!"
Dean waited till his prisoner was behind the wheel before getting in on the passenger side. "Start driving," he ordered. "I'll tell you where to go. And remember, no sudden moves or this gun will likely go off."
The Wrong End Of A Gun (A Noir Mystery Short) Page 2