“Mike,” she said pushing at the man’s shoulder again. “Wake up, you overgrown ox.”
She was tied up because she had a bit of a kinky streak Allan would never understand. Each time he went to the cabin to write or on one of those so-called research trips, she invited someone over to satisfy her needs. Allan always called before coming home, either from the airport or from the little general store down the road from the cabin. It gave her plenty of time to prepare the house for his return, as if nothing ever happened while he was away.
“God, Mike,” she said, rolling into his body with hers and forcing him to move a little, though nowhere near enough. She lay back and screamed in frustration. He still didn’t stir.
She had three secret partners in all and none of them knew of the others. Three men with different talents that satisfied different needs. She wasn’t going to win the wife of the year. Sure, when Allan was home, she was the perfect wife. She cleaned, cooked, helped with his typing and saw to his physical needs. And she helped him in other ways too. For instance, the man lying on top of her, Mike Bishop, was Allan’s agent. Mike had always worked hard for Allan. After a business trip to New York where Sarah met Mike and hooked up with the agent that night after Allan went to sleep, Mike was working even harder. In fact, the reason he was in town was to pick up a copy of the updated manuscript to take to a meeting in Hollywood to discuss a movie deal. He had arrived a day early to spend some time with her before Allan got back. In a way, being with Mike was business. The fact that he liked to tie her up was just a benefit, until now.
Sarah put both her hands on the man and pushed with every ounce of strength she could muster. She moved him as far as she could, quickly shifting her efforts to roll her hips. The weight of Mike’s body started to shift until its center of gravity reached the critical point. One side of Sarah’s body was freed and the blood rushed into her leg. Finally able to bend at the waist, Sarah stretched, pushed and squirmed until she was able to reach the binds and free herself.
Sarah rubbed her legs until the tingling stopped and slid off the bed. Pulling on her robe, she sat on the edge of the bed, looked at Mike’s face. She felt the color drain from her own. A dark wet patch on the side of his head made her cringe. She touched him gingerly, leaned in close and whispered, “Mike, are you okay?”
No response. She closed her eyes and sighed. After all the things she had done to promote Allan's career. The letter writing, the typing, the planning, the pushing; after nine long years of hard work, Allan had killed his agent. Everything was going to spiral out of control unless she could think of a way to fix it.
An hour later, fully dressed, she was waiting on the porch with a plan. A blue sports car pulled into the driveway, backing in as she had requested. A tall, lean, muscular man emerged from the driver’s side. Jimmy Falcon was partner number two, a younger, handsome man who was not always a saint, not always bright and not always employed. Most importantly, he aspired to be an actor. Looking like a giant next to the small sports car, she often wondered how he fit himself into it. For the moment, she could only wonder if Mike would fit in the trunk.
“Hey, babe,” Jimmy said, lifting her off her feet in a bear hug and kissing her hard on the lips. “I didn’t think you were going to call this week.”
“Change of plans, Jimmy,” she said pushing at his thick arms. “We don’t have time for that now.”
“There’s always time for that,” he grinned, squeezing her tighter.
“Not now,” she snapped.
Reluctantly he set her down. He looked like a scolded child, even digging one toe into the grooves of the brick stairway.
“Listen, Jimmy,” Sarah inhaled deeply. How do you ask a man to get rid of a dead body? “You know how you’re always saying you would do anything for me? Do you mean it?”
“Sure, babe,” Jimmy smiled. “You know I would.”
“Do you really mean it?” Sarah asked with a forcefulness that caused him to hesitate. “Anything covers a lot of territory.”
“Sure, Sarah,” Jimmy nodded. “I’d even kill for you if it came to it.”
“Good,” Sarah said.
“It hasn’t has it?”
“What?”
“Come to killing for you?”
“No,” Sarah said. “Close, but no. Follow me.”
Sarah led Jimmy by the hand to the bedroom, a path very familiar to him. Reaching the door she stepped to one side and let Jimmy enter alone. A few seconds later he reappeared. He looked at Sarah and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “You got a naked dead man in there.”
“About that,” she said taking his hand again. “Let’s talk.”
They sat thigh to thigh on the sofa in the living room while she explained the situation. Jimmy listened intently, patiently. She concluded with her plan and sat quietly waiting to hear what he would say. A long silence followed. She put a hand on his knee, “Jimmy? What do you think?”
He looked as though he might say something. His mouth closed. He looked at her, trying to form a complete thought from the jumble in his mind. “So, the guy in your room ain’t your husband?”
“No,” Sarah said diverting her eyes from his.
“He’s your husband’s agent?”
“Yes.”
“And your husband killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“My husband?”
“Yes.”
“At the cabin.”
Jimmy paused, considering, “You have a cabin?”
“Jimmy,” Sarah sighed. “That’s not important.”
“Your husband finds you in bed with his agent . . .”
“He didn’t realize it was his agent,” Sarah corrected.
“Your husband finds you in bed with some guy,” Jimmy shook his head. “It could have been me.” He looked around the room. “You sure he’s at the cabin?”
“Positive,” she lied. She had no idea where he was. “Are you going to help me or what?”
“Dump the body?”
“Right,” she said. “Then take his ticket and fly to Hollywood.”
“Meet these people,” he continued, “and get the contract signed.”
“Then come back here,” she smiled, “and we can go away together.”
“Just us?”
“And the money.”
He grinned at that. A moment later the grin faded, “They’ll know I’m not him.”
“No. They won’t,” she assured him. “Mike said . . .”
“Who?”
“Mike,” Sarah said. “The agent’s name was Mike. He told me this was his first time to fly to Hollywood. They won’t know him. You’re an actor. You can become him. Just long enough to get the contract signed.”
Jimmy was nodding his head. “Yeah, I can do it.”
“Great,” Sarah hugged him. She sat back again and lifted Mike’s briefcase to her lap and released the latches. “Now, his Day-Timer has his hotel and appointments. You’ll know when to be where and who you’ll be meeting.”
“Why were you screwing him when you could have been with me?” Jimmy asked.
“It was business, honey,” Sarah patted his leg. “Don’t worry about it. You are the one I care about. You know that, don’t you?”
“I guess,” he said. “I just . . .”
“Jimmy,” she cut him off, “we don’t have time right now. We’ll talk when you get back. Okay?”
“Okay,” he grimaced.
“All right then,” she turned back to the briefcase, “His ticket is here and we’ll get his ID from his clothes.”
“You know I can’t wear this,” Jimmy indicated his jeans and t-shirt. “And the agent’s suit is going to be way too big for me.”
“You’re my husband’s height, give or take,” she said. “I’ll get you a pair of slacks, a shirt and tie and you can take that sport coat in the kitchen. They’ll be a little tight, but hopefully not too bad. Okay?”
Jimmy’s
eyes scanned her face as if searching for something. “Guess I should get him into the trunk.”
“I’ll get the clothes.”
“What’s going on?”
The two of them turned to the hall to see Mike staggering into the room. They glanced at each other and back to the naked man. He looked at them confused. He saw his briefcase, open on the coffee table. His hand rose to his temple and came away with blood on the fingers.
“What did you do to me?” he looked Sarah in the eyes.
“I didn’t,” she started. The man’s eyes glazed over then rolled upward. He pitched forward, crashing down without any effort to break his fall. His shoulder hit the recliner and he pivoted onto his back with a thud.
“He ain’t dead,” Jimmy observed.
“I see that,” Sarah said, standing. “God. He thinks I did this to him.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Jimmy agreed.
“I can’t go to jail, Jimmy,” she looked at him pleading. “You have to do something.”
“Like what?”
She looked down at the man. She considered all the times she had been with him, all the positions in which he had tied her. She enjoyed their encounters and had been distraught when she thought him dead. She just wasn’t sure she could convince him she had not been involved in his attack. “I think we have to finish him. We already thought he was dead. This won’t be any different.”
Jimmy stood slowly, looking back and forth between Sarah and the man. “You sure? It’s one thing when your husband had killed him. This would mean we are killing him. His death would be on our hands.”
“When did you get so wise?” Sarah asked with a slight grin. She looked down at Mike, nodding. “I’m sure.”
“I said I’d kill for you,” Jimmy straddled Mike’s body. “Just didn't think I would have to.”
“I’m sorry, Jimmy," she said. "If there were another way I would take it. He thinks we attacked him. If he goes to the police, we both go to jail. There’s just no other way.”
“No matter now. He saw my face,” Jimmy said dropping to one knee. “Sorry about this fella.”
He closed his hands around Mike’s throat.
Chapter 3
(Here to There)
Allan’s breathing quickened as he walked. Each time he sucked in air his chest burned, tightening like a vice trying to extract needed oxygen. His feet protested, labored step after labored step. He soon gave in and sat on the dirt and grime covered curb to rub them. Removing one shoe, he carefully set it on the sidewalk beside him. He peeled the sock from his skin, folded it gently and tucked it into the top of the shoe. He began kneading the sore soles of his feet, counting each rotation of his hands. When he reached twenty, he replaced the sock and then the shoe. After tying the strings into a perfect bow, he began the same process on the other foot.
As he worked, cars passed in both directions. He heard horns blare and insults fly. He cringed every time as if it were the first. He wondered why people acted the way they did, wondered where they were going, wondered if any of them were on their way home to catch their wives in bed with another man.
A city bus rolled to a stop in front of him, the smell of tire rubber and diesel fuel wafting up to his nostrils. The doors opened and a young couple stepped off strolling down the street hand in hand. Allan considered the couple and how happy they appeared. Were he and Sarah ever that happy? He could not remember ever walking down the street holding hands.
He rose to his feet and stepped to the bus, looking up at the driver. The heavyset man sat, hand on the door lever, staring back at him, unwavering and without emotion. In the man’s face, Allan saw Sarah’s lover, which was ludicrous because he never saw the man’s face. Allan stood on the curb unmoving. The driver gave him a questioning look, shook his head, closed the doors and drove away.
The thought of walking any further brought a tear to Allan’s eye. He also couldn’t bear the thought of returning to sit on the curb. He needed a phone. He could call a taxi to take him to the cabin for the night. It was secluded, located on the outskirts of a small town about a half hour north, and would be the perfect place for him to gather his thoughts.
The cabin had been Sarah’s idea. A quiet place for him to work, she had suggested; no phone, no television. She had been right. It was a great place for him to develop characters and storylines for his novels. Only now, imagines of the things she may have done with all that time she had spent at home alone flooded his mind, and in none of those images was she alone.
Allan fought to stifle a yawn and failed. After a near week-long stretch researching in Chicago, working more than sleeping, his eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. Taking a deep breath, he started walking the short distance to a convenience store down the street. A single payphone, a luxury that was becoming increasingly hard to find, stood against the wall of the building. He approached, reaching for the handkerchief in his jacket pocket and was reminded that his jacket was hanging over one of his dining room chairs.
He walked to the gas pumps and took a paper towel from the window washing station, then another, and a third. He returned to the payphone, using the towels to pick up the receiver, deposit the necessary change and dial the number from memory. The woman on the phone, sounding like she had smoked a pack a day for the last twenty years, told him it would be an hour. Returning the receiver to its cradle, Allan entered the store to wait.
Stepping into the harsh fluorescent lighting, Allan kept his head down, glancing quickly at the store clerk who watched him in silence. He felt the man’s eyes boring into his back as he strolled down the aisles. Glancing over his shoulder time and again, Allan would catch the clerk’s unrelenting gaze. He soon came to a stop in front of a drink cooler stocked full of various brands of waters, sodas, and energy drinks. Allan examined the variety of labels and bottle shapes contemplating at length which he might want. Every few seconds, he glanced to his side, making eye contact with the clerk.
Allan decided on a bottled water with a symmetrical label. With a paper towel in hand, he opened the cooler door, held it in place with his knee and reached in for the drink. The store entrance chimed and Allan looked in that direction as a teen in a sleeveless t-shirt and torn jeans walked in and made a direct approach to the fountain machine. Allan was relieved to see the clerk turn his scrutiny on the younger customer. He promptly started wiping down the bottle with the paper towel.
Satisfied, Allan made his way to the front counter. Just as he got there, the teen pushed passed him, knocking the bottle from his hand. Allan watched in shock as the bottle struck the floor and skidded a short distance away. Oblivious, the teen paid for his purchase and left the store. The clerk’s gaze returned to Allan.
Allan stooped and, with paper towel in hand, scooped up the bottle and placed it on the counter. The clerk lifted the bottle, turned it in his hands and used the scan gun to ring it up. The clerk set the bottle back down and said, “Will that be all?”
Allan stood, eyes focused on the bottle.
“Mister,” the clerk said. “You need anything else? Smokes? Candy bar?”
“No,” Allan finally said. “That’s all.”
The clerk gave Allan the total and watched as his customer struggled to hold his money clip with a damp paper towel. Allan counted the money as he handed it to the clerk, picked up the bottle and started wiping it vigorously with the towel. Under the clerk’s disapproving glare, he left the store to wait for the taxi.
Allan stood on the sidewalk in front of the store, his eyelids growing heavy with each passing minute. He swayed. A short burst of a car horn shocked him back to life. He jumped with eyes wide, at the taxi just a few feet away. The driver leaned toward the open passenger window, shouting, “You call a cab?”
A half hour later, Allan’s head rested against the window, which he had wiped down vigorously for a good two minutes. They passed the general store where it was rumored old Mr. Jasper had been selling groceries for over one hundred
years. Allan guessed the man to be in his seventies, nothing near what the rumors suggested. At the site of the store, Allan sat forward in his seat knowing the cabbie would never see the road to the cabin on his own. As it was, Allan almost missed the marker. The reflector on the post had been broken in half for years. Every time he came to the cabin, Allan promised himself he would replace it. But once he started writing, he thought of nothing else.
Pointing at the small indicator, Allan convinced the driver to turn off the road onto the dark dirt lane that lead into even darker shadows. The cabin was on the other side of the hill next to a lake. The cabbie cursed more than once as the road seemed to drop away into the darkness. It was a long climb to the top before they spilled over to the serene view of the stars reflecting off the lake’s surface.
The cabbie pulled up to the cabin and waited long enough for Allan to pay and get out of the car, leaving a trail of dust as he sped away. Allan watched until the taillights of the taxi were swallowed by the darkness. Standing in front of the cabin, Allan could only see the outline of the building. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, he came to two realizations. The first was that the few dollars he held in his hand were all he had. His wallet was in his sport coat at the house. The second was that along with his wallet, his coat held one other essential need; his key to the cabin.
The Widow's Husband Page 2