The Million Dollar Deception

by RM Johnson

“The man wants you back.”

  “What are you talking about? You of all people know the trouble he went to just to divorce me. Nate does not want me back.”

  “Why would he invite you over there?”

  “I told you why. But that couldn’t happen, because you were acting crazy.”

  “Monica, he told me!”

  Monica paused, as if weighing the possibility. “No. He did not say that.”

  “What? I’m lying?”

  “You’re saying what you think you need to in order for me to believe your story.”

  “Monica,” Lewis said, sitting up, “I—”

  “No, Lewis, you need to listen to this,” Monica said, sitting up herself. “You say you want to marry me. Then there are things you’re going to have to accept. Nate Kenny is no longer my husband, but I was married to him for four years. I own stock in his company, which means to some degree we are business partners. We will probably, one day, be friends. In order for you and me to stay engaged, I need to know that you’re cool with that.”

  Lewis crossed his arms over his chest, stared up at the ceiling, not saying a word.

  “Lewis, I’m serious. If you’re not cool with this, then we probably need to take this ring back.”

  “Naw,” Lewis said, glancing angrily at Monica. “I’m cool.”

  Later that night, Lewis sat in front of Monica’s computer. It was 1:04 A.M.

  After Monica made Lewis accept her terms, she clicked off the bed lamp. Minutes later, Lewis felt her dozing, then falling completely off to sleep. He could not follow her. His mind was far too troubled with what had happened at Nate Kenny’s house. The man was not expecting Lewis. He could tell by the initial expression Nate had when he first opened the door. He thought it would be an evening with just him and Monica. Lewis was sure.

  But what troubled Lewis more was wondering why Monica didn’t tell Nate that she had gotten engaged until tonight, or that she was bringing Lewis to begin with. Maybe Monica had an interest in getting back with him, too. Maybe she was trying to decide at the last minute if she would bring Lewis or not, at least give herself an opportunity to hear what her ex-husband had to say to her before deciding what to do.

  Lewis told himself no. That couldn’t have been the case. It was all Nate Kenny. The man finally realized he had made a huge mistake giving Monica away, and now the fool wanted her back. Lewis opened the photo software on the computer and dumped the photos he had on the digital camera onto the hard drive. This was the camera he and Monica kept in the bedroom. The camera they occasionally used to take dirty pictures and sometimes video when they got in that mood.

  After doing a search to find Nate Kenny’s business e-mail address, Lewis opened up three of the photos, smiled, and attached them to the message he was sending to Nate.

  “You wanted to see your ex-wife. Tomorrow morning, you gonna get your wish.”

  Lewis pressed Send.

  25

  This morning in front of their house, Freddy and Kia had helped Freddy’s mother step gingerly out of the car after picking her up from the hospital.

  Last night in the emergency room, a haggard, boyish-looking doctor had pulled Freddy aside.

  “Mr. Ford, your mother was worked over pretty badly. Along with the scratches and bruises she sustained during the attack, she fell pretty hard on her hip. We X-rayed it. It’s not broken. I gave her some medication, because she’s still in a substantial amount of pain. But what I’m even more concerned with is the bump she took to her head when she fell.”

  “What bump?” Freddy said, worried. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “But the MRI shows she has a mild concussion, and I think I want to keep her here overnight. Is that okay?”

  If he could find the motherfucker who did this to his mother, Freddy thought, trying to control the anger he was feeling. “Yeah, okay,” Freddy said. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  The doctor took Freddy to see his mother.

  Freddy stood in the doorway, staring at her in the hospital bed, lying under the white sheets, her head wrapped in bandages, her eyes closed. She was so silent, so still, that if the doctor hadn’t told Freddy she was alright, he would’ve thought she was dead.

  There was a tube in her arm, a bedside machine that beeped every now and then. Freddy was afraid to enter, scared that he would approach the bed, find that his mother had passed away. But when he stepped closer, she slowly opened her eyes, and a smile spread across her dry lips.

  Freddy took his mother’s hand. “This is never gonna happen again, Moms. I’m gonna get us away from there. I promise.”

  “I know you will, son,” Freddy’s mother said, sounding weak. “And I’ll be able to help. You know why?”

  “Why, Moms?”

  “Because I got the job,” his mother said, her voice a whisper.

  Kia had come up to the hospital after Freddy had called her and he told her what had happened. But after they had returned home, Freddy stayed in the living room while Kia put her jacket in the closet. She stopped halfway down the hall, turned, and saw Freddy just standing there as if he didn’t know where he was.

  “Freddy, you okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She walked into the living room, took his hand. “Freddy, I said are you okay?”

  He did not answer right away, didn’t even look at her. A moment later he said, “I need to step out.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s not important,” he said, moving toward the front door.

  “Freddy, what are you doing?” Kia said, following behind him.

  “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up, okay.”

  “But—”

  He opened the door, gave Kia a quick kiss on the lips, then left.

  Now, this morning, as Freddy held on tight to his mother’s arm while walking her from his car to the sidewalk, she said, “Easy. My hip still hurts.”

  “He said it wasn’t broken,” Freddy said.

  “What did that boy know? He looked young enough to be your son.”

  Freddy looked across at Kia, who had his mother’s other arm, and smiled. “It’s good to have you back, Moms.”

  “I ain’t never been gone nowhere. Now hurry up and get me in the house before The Price is Right comes on.”

  “Yes, Moms,” Freddy said, slowly walking his mother toward the house.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Freddy saw a tall, thin man, about twenty-five years old, walking toward them. The man’s hair was a mess, his clothes filthy and torn. He walked slowly toward them as though he was thinking, planning.

  Neither Freddy’s mother nor Kia seemed to have been paying any special attention to the man, but Freddy’s mind was racing. He asked himself if things had gotten so bad where robberies were attempted at ten in the morning, right outside his house. The dirty-faced man walked even closer, was twenty feet away, fifteen, when Freddy said as calmly as possible, “Kia, you got Moms?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Freddy said, his voice low, as he let go of his mother, reached behind him, grabbing something out of the waist of his jeans. He quickly stepped the three feet over to the man, grabbed him by the collar, and pressed a gun to his head.

  “Fred, what are you doing?” his mother said, frightened.

  “What the fuck you want?” Freddy yelled, his hand now around the man’s throat.

  The man threw his hands in the air. “Nothing. Nothing!”

  A woman on her porch across the street and a man lowering himself into his car both stopped, gawking at Freddy.

  “You walking up like you trying to rob us. What the fuck you want?”

  “Freddy, don’t!” Kia yelled.

  “You the guy looking for the man who robbed your mother last night, right?” the man said, trembling. “Said you’d pay forty dollars.”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Freddy said, slowly lowering the gun.

  “That�
��s what I’m here for. I know who it is.”

  26

  Nate’s secretary, Sandra, handed Nate the clipboard, waiting for his signature on the letter she had just printed. Nate scribbled his name on the bottom, and passed the board back.

  “Thank you, Mr. Kenny. Your one-fifteen appointment has just arrived.”

  “Thank you, Sandra. I’ll be with him shortly,” Nate said, watching the woman till she stepped out of the office and closed the door. Nate turned back to his brother.

  Tim had come by half an hour ago to get the details regarding Nate’s meeting with Monica last night.

  Nate filled him in on all the ugly details, how Nate had wanted nothing more than to wrestle Lewis to the ground, strangle him till his eyes popped out of his head.

  “She says she’s going to marry him,” Nate said.

  Nate looked bad today. His suit was slightly wrinkled, his hair barely combed. When he turned back to face his brother, dark circles hung under his eyes from his restless night before.

  “Tim, to be honest, I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Why not? He was the guy who stuck by her when you decided she wasn’t worth your time anymore.”

  “How many times are you going to rub that in my face?”

  “As long as you continue to think she’s the reason you two divorced, when it was actually you.”

  Nate rubbed a hand across his unshaven chin. “I want to get back at her for what she took from me. I no longer care who’s to blame. But to tell you the truth, if she marries this fool, I should really consider the job done. She obviously doesn’t know it, but Monica’s life will go to hell with Lewis.”

  “Then leave it alone,” Tim said. “Let what happens, happen.”

  “No. I don’t want it to go that way. I want to know that I’m personally responsible for whatever pain she feels.”

  “Why don’t you just leave her and Lewis alone? He obviously cares for her.”

  Nate stood beside his desk, looked down at his computer, thought for a moment before saying, “Come here. I want to show you something.”

  Tim walked over and stood beside the desk as Nate pecked away on the keyboard. He pulled up his e-mail account, clicked on an e-mail labeled “FOR YOUR COLLECTION!!!”

  An e-mail from Lewis Waters opened. Nate scrolled down to the tiny paperclip icon, then turned to look at his brother. “If the man cared about her at all, would he have sent me this?”

  Nate clicked the paperclip, and a photo of Monica and Lewis, both naked, filled the screen. Monica lay on her back, rump elevated in the air. Lewis straddled her, on hands and knees, pushed deep inside her. Nate could not see the expression on Monica’s face, which was turned away from the camera. He was thankful for that. Lewis, on the other hand, faced the camera, smiling, sweat dripping from his brow.

  Tim turned away and stepped back, as if the image sickened him. “Damn, Nate. I’m sorry.”

  “There are two more. Do you want to see them?”

  “Hell no. Delete them.”

  “No,” Nate said. “I’m saving them. They might come in handy.”

  Tim turned away from Nate, crossed his arms, exhaled, then faced him again. “So. What now?”

  “Nothing changes. I continue as planned.”

  “Which means what?”

  “I don’t know. I think I call this bastard, arrange a meeting or something, lay it out there. Tell him I want my wife back and tell him to step away. I make him an offer he can’t refuse. If he agrees, I continue working on getting back what’s mine.”

  Tim shook his head. “In my opinion, you’re still wrong about this.”

  “I haven’t asked for your opinion. I need to get this man’s number and set this up. Daphanie’s back in two weeks, and I don’t have time to be questioning myself.”

  Nate reached for his phone, preparing to assign Sandra to the task of finding Lewis’s number, when it rang.

  He punched the lit plastic cube and said, “Yes, Sandra?”

  “Call for you on line four, sir.”

  “Who is it?”

  “A Mr. Waters. Shall I take a message?”

  Nate looked up at his brother. “No, no. Put him through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tim stepped closer, stood over the phone’s speaker.

  Nate spoke. “This is Nate. Who am I speaking with?”

  “You know who this is, Nate,” Lewis’s voice came through the speaker. To Nate it sounded as though the man had a smile on his face. “You get the pictures I sent you?”

  “Yes, and they disgust me.”

  “They don’t disgust me and Monica. We’re into that, taking pictures during sex, looking at them afterward. Sometimes we do video, watch it on TV.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Easy, easy there, Nate. We’re just having a friendly conversation. No need to get feisty.”

  “Why are you calling me?”

  The line was quiet for a long moment. Nate looked up at Tim. Tim hunched his shoulders. They heard Lewis breathe heavily into the speaker. “You aren’t slick, Nate. I know you want Monica back.”

  Nate paused now, wondering how to answer, and finally said, “And what if I do?”

  “Then we should meet, talk about it.”

  “I agree. Where?”

  “Taylor’s. I assume you remember the place. It was our favorite last year.”

  “I do. Time?”

  “The sooner the better. Half an hour,” Lewis said.

  “How about later? I have a meeting in—”

  “See you at one thirty, Nate,” Lewis said, hanging up the phone.

  27

  Nate told himself he would be cool about this as he grabbed the handle to the door of Taylor’s Bar. He would take the tiny table in the back, as he did more than a year ago when he first met Lewis here. Nate would order himself a scotch rocks, cross his legs, and wait patiently for the boy.

  But upon stepping into the darkened bar and heading toward his usual table, Nate saw that Lewis was already there.

  Nate halted in his tracks. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted around him. Lewis looked directly at Nate, smiled, and waved him over. Nate stepped toward the table. On it, Lewis had a bottle of beer set on a coaster before him, and on the other side was a dark drink in a short glass. Nate assumed it was the scotch he would have ordered.

  “I thought you said you stopped drinking beer out of the bottle,” Nate said.

  “Naw.” Lewis smiled, raising the bottle and taking a sip. “I just wanted to see you jump.” He lowered the bottle. “Have a seat,” Lewis said, nudging the chair across from him with the toe of his shoe, then gesturing toward it.

  Nate sat. “I assume this is mine?”

  “Scotch rocks, right?” Lewis said, in good spirits.

  “Right.” Nate picked up the glass with two fingers, examined it.

  “Go ahead. I ain’t spit in it or nothing.”

  Nate took a sip. It was good. The boy had obviously gotten the brand right. Nate settled into his chair a little more. It was early afternoon, so only a few patrons sat at the bar, hunched over their drinks.

  Lewis took a swallow of his beer and then leaned over the table closer to Nate. “So how many times did you jack off to those photos of my girl?”

  “What kind of sick motherfucker are you?” Nate said, keeping his voice down.

  “I ain’t sick, Nate. I just want you to know what’s what. Things ain’t the way they used to be, and what you really need to know is they ain’t ever going to go back to being the same.”

  “Why are you with her?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Lewis said.

  “If it’s the money, I got money.”

  Lewis laughed, banged the table with the flat of his hand, as though he could not control himself, then said with a straight face, “It ain’t the money. Don’t get me wrong, Nate. The money’s nice. Whatever me or my child wants, Monica gets. But it’s way more than that. It’s love,
Nate.”

  “You’re just some down-on-his-luck thug off the street, looking for a warm spot for him and his bastard child to lie down in for a while,” Nate said, feeling himself getting riled. “What the hell do you know about love?”

  Lewis frowned and then worked a smile back to his face. “I ought to fuck you up for that comment, but I’m working on controlling my temper,” Lewis said. “What I know about love is that when you have it, you don’t pay some thug off the street to fuck your wife so you can lose it. I know that when a woman loves you, wants to give you everything she can, you don’t kick her ass to the curb just because she can’t have your fucking baby!” Lewis said, raising his voice.

  Two of the men drinking at the bar looked over their shoulders at Lewis.

  “I know that it’s fucked up of you to try to come back and put yourself in that woman’s life after she’s finally able to get over your punk ass.”

  “I still love her,” Nate said.

  “Don’t matter, ’cause she don’t love you. Now get outta’ here.” Lewis raised his hand for the bartender. “Another beer,” he yelled across the room, then slumped back in his chair.

  Nate didn’t move.

  “You act like there’s more to say. We done, motherfucker. Pull up from my table.”

  “Look, I’m sorry that got out of hand, and I’m sorry for referring to your daughter that way. That’s not what I came here for.”

  “Then what?”

  “I want to…,” Nate started, pausing, while the bartender set Lewis’s beer down on the table. Lewis pulled a five and a single from his wallet and gave it to the bartender.

  “Go on,” Lewis said, taking a drink from his beer.

  “I came here to ask you to leave her alone. Whatever you need, I’ll provide for you. I’ll set you up like I did last time, a place for you and your daughter to live. I even know the head of a construction company. He’ll put you on right now, give you a steady income. You can start all over. It’ll be a good life. All you have to do is leave Monica alone and promise not to come near her again.”

  “That’s it?” Lewis said.