Dead to Me

by Dean Wesley Smith

  I wanted to just slap him, but instead I sat on the ground with my back against the rough concrete side of the culvert and just sweated. Humidity had to be one hundred percent in this tunnel. Why hadn’t I planned this robbery for October instead of August?

  Ted, Bob’s best friend, adjusted his Cub’s baseball cap and then pulled the shoelace from his right dress shoe free and flipped it away. He had twisted his ankle so badly in the getaway that his foot was too swollen to even stay in his shoes. His blue dress shirt was soaked with sweat, turning it even darker, and his usually perfectly combed brown hair was messed up and had a weed caught in it.

  He was going to live as well. None of us were injured enough to die.

  My two men, my two lovers, sat across the small space from me. Both looked a mess, more than any morning-after hangover look, and I had seen both of them like that. Hell, I had seen those two in just about every position possible and to be honest, I was sick of it. Jail time might actually be a relief.

  As bad as they looked, I had to admit, I wasn’t doing much better. The getaway from my perfectly planned bank robbery had turned sour, ending up in a car wreck because my stupid husband somehow forgot how to drive. I was so angry I could hardly think. I just hadn’t expected Bob to screw things up that way. It had sure changed my plans in a hurry.

  And Alice’s plans as well. She was Ted’s wife and my best friend. We had left her stuck in the car, shouting at us to get out and run before the cops got there. She wasn’t actually stuck, but the men didn’t know that. Alice was just flowing with the changes in my plan caused by my dear husband’s bad driving.

  Alice had a body men lusted after, wore clothes that were always in perfect style, and bought the best jewelry. I just hoped she was better at getting out of that van and getting away than Bob was at driving it.

  Now, because of his bad driving, the three of us were all injured. I figured I had a broken arm. I had tucked the arm inside my white blouse and downed four Advil from my now long-lost purse to hold back most of the pain. Sitting still, the pain just throbbed and I could ignore it.

  Amazing the things I could just ignore. I was a master at it.

  That didn’t much matter at this point. I couldn’t ignore the fact that, more than likely, the only place I was going was to jail, thanks to Bob’s awful driving. Sitting under the freeway in a drainage ditch in the middle of midwestern farmland didn’t offer us much chance of escape without a miracle and I didn’t expect that.

  I hoped for it for myself, but didn’t expect it.

  But one thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to make the miracle happen just sitting in this culvert. I had to get moving.

  “I’m going to go up and jump in front of a speeding truck,” Ted said. “Get this over with.”

  “Don’t,” Bob said. “We’ll be out in four years; three if we behave.”

  “Alice might be dead,” Ted said. “Shot by the police or something.”

  “She’s not dead,” Bob said, his voice firm. “Besides, Carol here can handle us both, can’t you, baby?”

  “Screw you,” I said. “Ted, Alice is just fine. And I’m going to be glad to go to jail just to get away from you two.”

  “So, brilliant master-planner,” Bob said, staring at me. “What do we do next?”

  I stared back, wondering what the hell I ever saw in the guy. Sure, he was good in bed, knew how to make me come more times than a doorbell being pushed by a bill collector. And he was damn good-looking. But he was also a real wimp and a really bad driver. How the hell had I ended up marrying a shitty-driving jerk with no courage?

  “We give up,” I said. “Go up and sit on the edge of the road until some lame-ass cop comes and arrests us. At least they’ll get us out of this heat.”

  I managed to move my broken arm enough to get a look at my watch. It was about time to hope for the miracle. Past time, actually. I needed to move.

  “And then what do we do?” Bob asked, being his usual annoying, snide self. Snideness and humidity just didn’t mix. Nothing mixed with heat and humidity as far as I was concerned.

  “Serve our sentences and get back together after we’re out,” I said, doing my best not to sneer at him.

  “Brilliant!” Bob said. “Wish I could think that well.”

  “Screw you,” I said.

  “Children,” Ted said, pushing himself up and balancing on his one good foot while leaning against the concrete wall of the culvert, “After this wonderful conversation, I think I’ll face that truck grille now. Someone want to help me up there?”

  “Sure,” Bob said, standing and moving to get under his best friend’s arm. “But don’t expect me to push you. I’m not doing time for murder as well.”

  “You know,” I said, “I’m beginning to hate both of you as much as this heat.”

  Two

  I tried to push myself to my feet, but the sharp pain from my broken arm took my breath away and made me stop. I sat there, staring at the ground, trying to cram the pain down and into a place I could just ignore it. I needed to move, to keep going, and I couldn’t let some pain stop me.

  “You going to make it, babe?” Bob asked, actual concern in his wimp-ass voice.

  “Yeah.” I took a deep breath, gritted everything in my body that I could grit, and stood.

  Damn, that hurt.

  Damn my arm.

  Damn my stupid-ass husband.

  The heat seemed to get even worse, if that was possible. I was sweating so bad, I had a small river running down between my breasts and into my crotch.

  I used my good hand to brace my bad arm up tight under my breasts and keep it from moving as much as possible, then nodded to my husband. “Let’s go.”

  “Well, this was sure fun while it lasted,” Bob said, smiling at me.

  “It was,” Ted said.

  “Except it didn’t end like this in the movie,” I said. “Make sure you give the cops your real names.”

  “Yeah,” Bob said, smiling. “Less bad press if we don’t get known as the Bad-Sex Bandits.”

  “And we’re worried about press coverage now?” Ted asked, shaking his head. “I’m getting more and more serious about facing the grille of that speeding truck.”

  “Who said the sex was bad?” I asked.

  “All right,” Bob said. “The Good-Sex Bandits. You happy?”

  “Purring like a drowning kitten.” I took a step and let the pain wave wash over me, braced my broken arm even tighter and kept going toward the opening of the ditch.

  Bob and Ted stumbled over the uneven dirt behind me, both men grunting from the pain of the movement. During the sex play between the four of us, I loved to listen to them grunt in unison as they pounded me or Alice. Now it sounded just sad, especially echoing between the sounds of the cars and trucks overhead.

  Damn I hoped Alice was all right. Imitating that old movie wasn’t such a bright idea in hindsight. Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice. We even took their names and it became such a fun game, such a major part of our lives, that I now thought of my husband Danny as Bob. If we had just left the fun with the sex and the names and the games, we’d have all been fine. But no, we had to come up with a foolproof plan to get rich, move to the Bahamas and live the good life forever as Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice. None of us liked how the movie ended, so we figured we could change it.

  Well, this was sure ending much worse.

  Now, if a miracle didn’t happen, it would be years of jail ahead of me without Bob or Ted and especially Alice. Every movie had to end, I guess. I just wished it wouldn’t end like this.

  This ending sucked. Unless I got my miracle and Alice had done her part of the plan.

  I stopped and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. Who the hell lives in this kind of humidity? I wanted to go back to Southern California so bad I could taste it. Now that wasn’t going to happen for years, either, thanks to Bob’s shitty driving.

  I stopped and rested in the hot, glaring sunshine outside of the cul
vert, waiting for the two men to catch up. Bob had lost a lot of blood and Ted looked white from the pain. As I had figured, I doubted either of them could make it up the twenty-foot bank to the edge of the highway.

  “You two stay back in the shade,” I said. “I’ll climb up and get the police.”

  “You sure, Babe?” Bob asked.

  “As sure as I’m ever going to be,” I said.

  I turned my back on the two men I had slept with and slowly started to climb. The nightmare of just a simple movement was almost too much for me to keep going.

  Twice I slipped and had to stop as the jarring pain blinded me and took my breath away. Getting to a jail and a hospital would be a relief after this.

  I stumbled up onto the edge of the hot freeway and glanced back at my husband and Ted. They were nowhere to be seen. They had done as I had told them and moved back into that hot culvert to sit and wait.

  What wimps. What did I ever see in those two men?

  Three

  Cars flashed past, then a big truck, kicking up a hard wind filled with fine sand.

  There wasn’t a cop in sight.

  Good.

  Suddenly, in the other lane, a blue camper braked hard, swerved to the inside lane and then off the road and across the shallow ditch between the two sides of the freeway. It hesitated for just a moment to let a big truck flash past, then spinning dirt and dust, it accelerated toward me, cutting across the two lanes and sliding to a halt off the freeway near me.

  Alice.

  Right on time. My miracle had arrived.

  And, I hoped, with all the money.

  “I thought I’d never find you,” Alice said as she jumped out of the camper and ran toward me. “I’ve been cruising this freeway for the past half-hour looking for you.”

  I didn’t quite stop her from hugging me, a wonderful, sweaty hug that almost caused me to pass out from the pain in my arm.

  “Oh, man, are you all right?” Alice asked, stepping back.

  “Bob broke my arm in that stupid wreck. It took a little longer to get everything set up.”

  “And where are the two love machines?” Alice asked.

  “Down in the ditch right under us,” I said. “Both hurt, but not that seriously. They just think they are. A couple of wimps.”

  Alice nodded. “Nothing new there.”

  “They thought you were captured.”

  “And we’re going to be,” Alice said, her control voice in full force, “if you don’t get into the camper before too many more people see you.”

  I didn’t argue.

  The first movie was over. Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice was rolling the credits now.

  But we just hadn’t bothered to tell our dear husbands that this was a double feature. Thanks to Bob’s shitty driving, though, we still had a few twists and turns to make it through.

  The camper Alice had found was one of those small things with a small back bedroom, another bed or storage area over the driver, a tiny kitchen area, and a bathroom so small, you couldn’t sit down without scarring your knees. It looked new, so new in fact that it had a price and features list glued to the counter.

  I knew exactly where she had gotten it, which dealer lot, which dealer, and how. I had planned it, and it seemed that Alice had carried out my plans perfectly, even after the wreck.

  Alice slammed the door and scampered into the driver’s seat. The van was still running and I could feel the air-conditioning flowing over my sweating face and arms. Between the pain, the excitement of being rescued instead of arrested, and the air-conditioning on my skin, I almost had an orgasm right there.

  I moved to the copilot chair as Alice kicked the van into gear, waited for traffic to speed past, then got onto the freeway. The movement of the camper and the roughness of the road forced me to again hold my broken arm tight up under my breasts.

  “I’m going to need a doctor to set this before we go too far.”

  Alice nodded. “So do I. That husband of yours sure can’t drive.”

  It was at that moment I noticed the dried blood and the bandage wrapped around her leg.

  “You got any idea of where we might find one?” I asked as I turned both dashboard vents to face me, blowing cold, wonderful air over my skin.

  “If you can make it, I have an old friend who’s a doctor about six hours south of here. He’ll help us if we give him a little side treat, if you know what I mean?”

  “After a shower, that will be a pleasure.”

  Alice laughed. “Better than what old Bob and Ted are going to get. You feel bad about them?”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. I didn’t feel bad in the slightest. Relieved, actually, to be away from them.

  Alice laughed. “Yeah, know what you mean. When should we tell the police where they are at?”

  I smiled at the idea of the two of them coming up out of that culvert to find the police waiting and me not there. “Let’s give them a half hour to sweat.”

  “Good,” Alice said. “We’ll be across the state line by then as well.”

  “And the money?”

  Alice nodded toward the back. “More than we’re ever going to be able to spend, tucked safely under the bed in the back.”

  All I could do was laugh. Except for the car wreck, the plan had gone perfectly. The only robbers the bank saw were Bob and Ted, and no amount of talking on their part was ever going to convince anyone that their wives had taken part. In fact, with the blood that I splattered around our house before we left, it’s going to look like the two of them killed us and dumped our bodies before their little bank robbery.

  I braced my arm and sat back, enjoying the cool air and the smooth ride of the camper. Alice and I had money, and we were free.

  Completely free.

  With new identities already made up and set.

  Judy Freeman, a.k.a. Carol, wife of Bob was now dead. Welcome to the world Thelma Downer, rich widow of oil tycoon Bobbie Downer.

  I closed my eyes and just let myself relax.

  “Carol, you all right?”

  “Carol’s dead,” I said, glancing at the woman I loved more than anything in the world. “Remember?”

  Alice laughed. “That’s right. The new movie starts now, doesn’t it?”

  “That it does, Louise.”

  She smiled as I turned to face her. “So, after the doctor, where would you like to go, Thelma?”

  “Anywhere but the Grand Canyon.”

  James Ward no longer cares what his wife does in her spare time. He no longer cares about anything, actually.

  Deborah took his passion over years. Drained him until he could give no more.

  But on Bryant Street, sick relationships often reveal hidden secrets.

  Passion functions as a food for some, energy for others. But who knows what role passion plays on Bryant Street.

  One

  The night James Ward finally confronted his wife for what she truly was started when police car lights flashed outside the large picture window of his suburban home. The drawn cloth curtains kept most of the light out, as well as the closed blinds under the curtains, but he still noticed the blue-red combination.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had opened those windows and unless he heard shots out there in the cul-de-sac, he wasn’t opening them now. The last baseball games before the All-Star break were being played tonight and he wanted to make sure he caught as many of them as he could.

  He glanced around at his two-bedroom ranch-style home from his favorite recliner wondering where Deborah had gone. Over the last few years they had just drifted into doing their own things in their own ways at their own times.

  The marriage had become convenient for both of them, passion a thing of the past, as he had expected would happen when they married but had hoped would not happen, as any newlywed hopes.

  His life now was working at the insurance agency and watching baseball and doing a little betting on games down at the local casino. And just wait
ing. He did not expect his wait to end right before the All-Star Break in baseball.

  He honestly had no idea what Deborah’s interests had become as they drifted apart. She said she did some teaching, but he didn’t remember what type or when or where.

  And he honestly didn’t care. Sad, considering she was his wife.

  James was a tall, handsome man, at least many said that, and did some minor exercise to stay in shape. Deborah was just as stunningly beautiful now as the day he met her.

  Everyone who saw them together said they made a perfect couple.

  If they only knew.

  Suddenly, just as the two teams were returning to the field after the seventh inning to finish up the nine-one disaster-of-a-game he had been watching, a loud banging at the front door shook the house.

  “Deborah!” he shouted.

  No response.

  More banging.

  “All right, all right,” he said, climbing out of his recliner and heading for the door.

  On the front porch stood two police officers. One a man, one a woman. The woman cop had a hooker by the arm and the hooker was turned away from the porch light.

  He had no idea why cops would bring a hooker to his door at eight in the evening on a weeknight.

  The cops were dressed in standard city cop uniforms and the hooker had on a very, very short skirt that barely covered the bottom of her ass, a mesh blouse that you could see through, torn black stockings, and heels so high that they looked more like stilts than shoes.

  Women like her often walked along some of the worst streets downtown. He always avoided those areas. He just wasn’t interested.

  “You James Ward?” the guy asked.