“You’re in a lot of trouble Jasmine.”
“You make it sound like it’s news. Maybe you came to the wrong party Ray, but in case you forgot I’m not in a fucking Chuck E. Cheese birthday party.”
“Oi…calm down princess. I didn’t make you stab your husband in cold blood and…”
“Ray,” I start, exasperated by all this, “how many times do I have to tell you – I did not kill Carl! Read my lips clear enough?”
“Ha-ha. I’m your lawyer Jasmine. You do know how wise it is to simply mention all the truth with me right?”
His hands are fiddling together. I suppose it could be his stance of confidence, but I can see through his façade – he has an agenda, and it’s not in my best of interests.
“Jasmine…” why do all the creeps in my life have to slur that name like it’s their pocket pussy they’re stroking? “I need you to tell me the truth. You don’t have to worry about the room being bugged. I requested them to turn off the cameras, as you can see,” he points upwards, and I follow his gaze, “we’re completely alone, okay? Trust me on a few things here. Carl did, and we did business even before he got to know you.
So…what will it be darling? The truth from you, or from me?”
“What do you have to say Ray? You don’t waste such watches and suits to come visit your clients do you?”
If he won’t spurt out his agenda, then it would be in both our interests to leave and be done with.
He sniffs, brushing away at his tie and sampling his finger nails. It’s his way of selling the idea to a jury, or a mobster. Ray has had a past, and he’s lucky I know when to shut up.
“You need to say the truth, and that truth, dear Jasmine, is that you did it. Hear me out, okay? Just…hear me out. You had years of abuse from Carl, and as much as you would like to think of that as to our advantage, in this case, it can be used against you. Okay, will you please shut up?”
That must be because my lips are curled in protest and my eyebrows joined at the ends. Not a beautiful look if you ask me, but hey, try insinuating how pointless and irrational eight years of taking hits and kicks are to a hurt wife, then see how she’d take it.
“Jasmine, I need you to take the stand and say you did it. It’s the only way you can then take the insanity plea. You’ll get a few years, a max of ten, and still be able to attend Spence’s high school graduation and see him off to college. It’s not a bad deal right?”
The chair has lost its constitution with my ass, and my feet take the mantle with the cold floor. I am by the door, knocking to have the guard let me out.
“Goodbye Ray. I’ll see you in court.”
“You should consider this! There is no other…”
The door is shut before he can finish. I breathe. I finally breathe.
What the fuck? Why would he believe that to be the one and last option for me to take? Does he think me that stupid to agree to something that I did not do? What’s his end game anyway? Would he want me to stand in court in the evening, and plea to insanity? How did this all get so complicated?
If there’s someone doing the opposite of what his resume portends, it’s Ray. I mean, he’s meant to defend my case, right? All this madness about confessing – shouldn’t he be telling that to someone who actually did it? Unless…
Unless he has something to do with all of this. What if…what if Ray is in cahoots with whoever did this? The height would fit the bill, and so would his motive. Ray Duncan has been in business with my father for years, years. And even after I got married to Carl, they did a lot of business together. Maybe all this is some part of a cover up for something so deviously planned that I just have to be in the heart of it all? What if I’ve just watched too much telly in my head and read too many graphic novels to get this paranoid?
She walks me back, and this time she lets me walk ahead. I get to see what the rest of what is ahead of me looks like. It is not a pretty sight. The cells are lined with women of all stature. Some look like potheads gone to meth and crack, and others simply dress in whore-fab. It’s the Santa Cruz facility for women, and I think I might be the softest fodder in town.
“You shoulda taken it, missy.” The large guard warns. It feels like words that have come from a place of fear, not for her of course, but for me.
“What?” I ask, careful not to look back. I heard they break fingers in here.
“If ya plead guilty to this maddening shit storm then youda get time in an asylum. No safer place than the cuckoo house, yaknow? Better there than in here with the sane and dangerous, yaknow?”
The rest of the walk is covered in silence. Mincing words from strangers should be a thing by now. She means well, and heck, if she wasn’t all gross and sweaty, maybe we could pass as friends out there. Here though, I’m the mouse, and she, the cat. Aren’t we all?
*
“All rise…
The court is now in session for the case of the murder of Carl Glenn. The defendant is Jasmine Glenn-Turner, wife to the deceased against the state of…”
Through most of it, I prefer to play with my thumbs. Listening in is pointless. On my behest I asked Henrietta not to bring Spence to the hearing. I don’t see the need to have him traumatized so early on in life. Well, Carl got that covered already, bless his soul.
Ha-ha, just kidding. Burn in hell you sick nut fruit.
The hall is empty, and the judge, grey and bored-looking, sits on his throne waiting to hear all the details of the case. Ray is still here, trying his best to be impressionable to the ladies in the jury by shoving his bicep far up his…
Hey…that chick. In the back. It’s nostalgic seeing her. She is veiled at the neck, and her lips definitely look Botoxed heavily. Where did I see her last…where did I…?
Oh crap. That’s Veronica Shingle. The first familiar face I see and it’s the one that constantly wrapped itself around my dead husband’s dick. Isn’t life so special?
Yeah, that’s her alright. Carl always compared tongues, and hers was always the best, so he said. They always did it in the car, and the living room. Carl loved the two places, sighting that he wanted his slutty wife to hear how it’s done properly. Double standards much?
Why is she here? There are many places she can go to chill, but here? Seriously? Who goes to the court hearing of the wife who killed the man who cheated with you? Now that I say it out loud in my head, I think this could be the start of a great story.
The way she eyes the front…it’s so revealing. I know she had spite for me, and my son. If she had her own way, she would definitely have me out of the picture and take it all for herself.
But now Carl is dead, and no one knows the contents of his will until he’s buried. Those are the rules, and that’s how it should be, or so I’m told. I get the inkling that Ray has so much more to offer than such a measly explanation. Not that I’m expecting squat, but if there is something, even the smallest faucet in the kitchen under my name, then I’ll give it to Spence for his college education.
“After assessing all the evidence put in place, and adding onto the matter the lack of compassion from the defendant, I deny the chance of bail for the rest of the appeals and hearings. The decision is final. We shall reconvene a week from now.”
The slam of the mattock is definite, hard and full of echo. This nightmare seems to spiral on and on, huh?
These are the times I wish Spencer would live under the hem of my jeans or in the soul of my mind. This madness, this maddening feeling of desperation that erupts at my core every time I see the shit that’s about to blow up in my face, this kind of shit; Spencer can block it away. I know he can. And no, I’m not the kind of chick that starts arguments about ‘whose boyfriend can fuck up whose’ that blowup into fights only to end with me at the top having ripped off someone’s head. No, I would be the chick at the counter swinging the sweet apple martini down my throat with Spencer’s arm bloody from all your boyfriends’ noses. Now that is my kind.
If only he were here t
o use that big ass arm on Ray, or at the fucking judge lining his pockets with Ray’s cash to make sure I stay inside the birdhouse. This whole thing, to any eye that doesn’t think with a dick like Ray or the judge or Blake, is easy to see through. I am innocent – that I know. But the motive for putting me behind bars…that I cannot see. Can you?
Henrietta is at the front, waving her arms at me. I can feel the stinging nettle behind her eyes. The need to see her young friend up close is heavy on her heart. And by the way, that’s me. I am grateful for life for the chance to have met her. Ever since Spence was the size of a fantastic loaf of bread, she’s been by my side. The conscience that always churns out the hard stares when my actions are not up to her bar, or the sweet whisper that calms me to sleep when my face is punched in and blackly bruised from the beautiful football practice Carl enjoyed on me. The years and time have always been against me, but in the brewing storm of the time winds and the lightning that strikes deep into the heart of men, her firm and flabby arm has always been there. I love her for that.
I just pray that she can keep with my son even if I rot in jail. At least dad’s old money can still work for me in that sweet department.
Helpless…this is the emotion that engulfs me whole. No one here is for me. No one out there either. It’s the bane of existence, is it not? That we are all alone in this universe, just like the moon or the sun have each other for friends, but can never grasp the feel of warmth that radiates in between. It’s sad…
But it is the order of things.
Chapter 19 - Spencer
The documents on the floor, on the tacked wall, littered unashamedly bring me no hints or clues as I had previously thought. Close and book, that’s what it’s all about. Once the suspect has been caught and evidence produced, it’s a done deal with the law’s side. The rest is slated to justice’s sword. But whatever this is, this monstrosity of accusations against an innocent soul…makes no sense whatsoever.
Okay…a recap of events. The body in the house…the drunk wife finding it…no weapon found at the scene…the wife calls the police but doesn’t mention finding the body for the safety of her son comes first…the weapon is discovered the next day with her prints all over it…she’s arraigned in court.
The thing that really bugs me is how tiny Jasmine is. Oh no, don’t get me wrong. Her measurements are divine, and as a gentleman it is improper to think thoughts of pleasure through the numbers that make her whole, but in this case, it is safe for any random mind to know that she fits the curve of a Coca Cola bottle perfectly – in human size.
But the weight and height don’t fit the description of the assailant in the missing autopsy report. The coroner and her assistant are both missing – taking a leave of absence after a seemingly disturbing amount of blood throttling the size of their stomachs right after they saw Carl Glenn’s body. Strangely interesting, isn’t it?
The purse-strings have been lined with the right amount of silver, just as is the usual. In this world, it’s either you live long enough to see everything you stand for go to dust, or join the darkness and survive. I don’t blame the judge for denying bail, or even for setting her up in county until her sentencing. I blame myself.
But now is not the time for pointing names and naming fingers, but the chance to find the crack…the solid proof that puts Jazz out of harm’s way. It is damp in my home office. Showers and food have been things I prefer not to have to fuel my mind on hours as dire as these. My chin is scraggly and I think I can feel the stench of dead roaches in my toilet bowl. I’ll deal with that yucky agenda later.
The tacks, red and faded green, have no truth to unfold…but there is one piece of something I obtained from Ray’s briefcase while he flirted with Alice a few hours ago. The man never learns, not even after his three divorces and four kids. Alice had to entertain him on account that I owe her a date, and a proper dance. It was the only way I could have managed 10 minutes with his case.
The old piece of paper, written in black ink and huge font by a more than likely Draconian sycophant, rests on my desk easily. I hadn’t looked at it properly until now…
How the fuck could this have passed over me? I should bring it in now – but wait, no not yet, they might throw it out the window; this can only be for my eyes and mine alone. The evidence is staggering, and all conclusions point to the real perpetrator – her. I grab my coat and head to the kitchen. The water is cold down my throat, even colder on my face and nether regions. I have no time to explain, and even more limited to taking a quick scam of a bath. I need to see a couple of people, and if they’re asleep they better pick my fucking calls. Or I’ll bash their doors in.
I know who did it. And Jasmine is the farthest from guilt.
Chapter 20 - Jasmine
Five fucking days. That’s how long it takes for anyone with a functioning brain stem to get used to a place and fall in hate with it.
And fall in hate is what I truly mean. The hours get longer and the days even shorter; a competition of sorts to see who kills the soul of the damned more. Walls in here get colder and quitter, as if they whisper into the night of the dreaded tales of what they have seen. I dread what more torture I could take. Five days with no contact from anyone I know, or love. Ray only passed by to give me the run-down of the plea deal. He really wants me to take the oath of guilt and step into twenty years of maximum security sentencing, right after six months before and after of mental healthcare at Bridgecane Asylum. Shitty does not even begin to cover it.
The guards are the worst and yet the kindest. I made an ally, more of an acquaintance, the first day I slept in County jail. The big and surly guard, who had enough moles on her chest and neck to cover a landmine jackpot, was oddly enough named Maggie. I know right? It’s the cheesiest name a big body weight lifter could have in a place like this. But beyond all the name calling and book jacket judging, she showed me her true colors two nights ago.
My cell was not personal. It still isn’t. Scum and loads of shit pile along the infinitely grey walls. And I don’t mean the pales filled with sick and shit; I mean the vagrants I’m in here with. I was minding my own business, fiddling and touching at my hair the way I used to do to fall asleep after a rematch with Carl. Then a hand grabbed me by the pussy. I fuck you not. A big and hairy hand, slightly moist with contents I never wish to know of, slammed hard into my groin and squeezed. It was the hardest, most invasive thing I have ever experienced in my entire life. And to follow the gaze of the sexually abrasive hand, I found it to be Gloria’s.
Now Gloria Nunez is a chica that you wouldn’t want to mess with on a hot day. Tattoos lining her entire body and enough hair on her arms to justify her recent sex change. I mean zero offence to those struggling with the case, but damn, this girl would lick anything that moved.
That night I needed peace. But she did not. Fists swapped onto cheeks and enough blood and spit oozed onto the floor. The rest of my cellmates were edging for a good fight. And I was losing.
Then came the metal clang on the cell bars. Maggie, the lackluster of surprises, swooped in and tackled Gloria – well, technically she tackled us both. On the floor, pinned by stinging metal, she grabbed us by the arm and moved us to her office, where she gave us the stare. No first aid was given, but I was left in the office as she called in another officer to take Gloria back to the cell.
“Missy…whadaya tell ya about keeping ya nose clean in hiya? These folks are dirtier than you’ll ever be…literally speakin’ of course.”
“But guard, she grabbed me by my genitals and squeezed hard…” I began to protest, but she raised her hand up in a bid to stop me.
“And do ya think it’s supposed to be handled any other way, missy? Be tough or be smart in hiya, ya got that?”
Maggie moved me to another cell down the stairs, one of the old ones. It felt more like a basement torture chamber, but still; I was alone the whole time, and I enjoyed the solitude. Two days I talked to myself and the occasional bread and canned beef fr
om Maggie as she brought me news from the surface. It’s what I call it these days.
It’s amazing what a few hours of silence can do to a person. The Indians do it all the time. The ritual for silence in meditation has never been proven so fruitful to such a trying time. I can’t recall the name…
Steps. Heavy-laden. They follow one after the other down the creaking stone slabs down to me. Only the bub above me flickers timidly, strangely and without touch. As if by magic, the entire cell comes to life with the presence of my Big Barda – pardon my super-powered latex candor. She strolls in through the greying walls, a tray on her hands, and a slit through her mouth that I can honestly not call a grin.
“Hallo there missy,” she starts, placing a heavy tine on the ‘s’.
“Hey Maggie. How goes it up in the surface?” I ask, grabbing the tray fists first and sorting the contents variedly. Cold beef, a side of bread and a warm apple. I think it best not to ask how an apple can come to be warm. Her smile is wider the longer I bite into it…
“Well, ya don’t have to eat up everythin’ atta go yaknow? Ya got a visitor,” she sniggers. Maggie, my guard, the tempest in the entire building, sniggering like a little girl? This is my day.
“Maggie…who is it?” I ask, hoping for a response. I cross my fingers it’s not my boy, or Henrietta. I know how stubborn he can get when it comes to seeing me. She had to explain to him what has been happening to me, and as much as it hurts me to be locked up in here with no way to see or hug or kiss my son goodnight, or read him his short stories before bed time, it would hurt me more to see him see me in…this.
Maggie sniggers some more, and grins wildly. It’s like she’s about to lose her virginity all over again – shit, here I am making assumptions again. Maybe she never lost it in the first place…but who am I to surmise?
“He’s a pretty boy missy…ya should follow me and head upstairs into the last visiting room, ey,” she winks. With no more words left to offer, she moseys along up the steps right after clicking my cell door open with the barrage of keys lining her thick waist. I smile, knowing who it is and who it can be. Even before seeing him, I check myself in the mirror to straighten my hair. My face isn’t so bad, and I just had a shower some hours ago. The jumpsuit isn’t so bad…I think yellow is my new –
Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance Page 51