Can You Remember My Name

Doris started with a blow job not her usual activity. Tonight she spent a good twenty minutes bringing him slowly to a climax in her mouth. She gobbled down all his cum and then continued until he was hard again. At this point, she mounted him and fucked him until they both reach orgasm. Lying next to her, he asked what had brought this on.

"Just thought I might've been neglecting you," she said with a smile on her lips, but what he wondered what was in her heart.

Early the next morning he was out of the house early. He spent the day moving assets around. His major ploy was to move as much money as possible into the girls' educational trusts. Most divorce settlements in his situation required the non-custodial spouse to pay college expenses. He was under no illusions about who the non-custodial spouse would be. So by taking what would be viewed as a joint asset and converting them into the children's assets he was cutting Doris off at the pass. He had set up each girl's trust at their birth solely in his name for tax purposes, so he changed the trustee to his sister without need to consult Doris.

Susan Philips Harder was his younger sister by three years. She was his only sibling. She was Samuel Harder's wife. He was an electrician by trade. They were well off, but not rich, and childless. Uterine cancer had left his sister sterile. As a result, she and her husband doted on his two girls. He trusted Susan to do the right thing for the girls. By divesting himself, he made the trusts unreachable but only after 90 days.

His next move was to max out the HELOC second mortgage on the house. It had been sitting there for years untouched, but now he depleted the equity to pay off all the bills. What was left including all his IRA, he moved into a new trust for his daughters again administered by his sister. He made sure to withhold all the income and gift taxes. By the end of the day, he was broke.

Around four-thirty, he received a visitor. His secretary announced her and indicated that she didn't have an appointment, but was looking for just a few minutes of his time. Jasmine entered his office in a dress that left nothing to the imagination. She was an incredibly beautiful woman and was openly flirting. If he had been the clueless fool these people thought, he would have been quite flattered. But he knew this was a setup. He just did not know why?

Ostensibly Jasmine wanted a will drawn up. She was offering to pay top dollar. However, she was pressed for time and would only be able to meet him after working hours. She suggested the next day at six. He declined and suggested a week later. She pressed him for a sooner appointment, but he remained adamant. He was under no illusions that her goal was to get him alone in the office and either seduce him or cry rape. Either way Doris would be justified in divorcing him.

Was Doris was going out for overkill? Not only going to divorce him, but portray herself as the injured party? He saw Nieves as the driving force here. The guy was a phony. He would suck Doris dry after the divorce and then move on to his next victim. He saw a co-conspirator hiding behind Jasmine's sweet smile. He needed to stall, to put some distance between his financial transactions and the divorce.

"So next Tuesday at six thirty," he said showing her to the door. He would call late Tuesday and cancel, rescheduling for another date.

At home, Doris was treating him better than she had in years. She was the perfect and very loving wife. His daughters noticed the difference. Susan, the elder girl, named for Doris' mother, told Al how glad she was that mom,

"Seems happy again."

Diana always the pessimist said: "It won't last."

Al loved his daughters, and he knew it would break his heart to lose them, but he was not a fool. He knew he had no chance of keeping them in the divorce and Doris would have little trouble cutting off his visitation and turning the girls against him. His only hope was making his sister trustee of the money, it would give him some leverage. But for that to work he needed to stall.

His ace-in-the-hole was the Richland Estate. If he could bring that in, he would have a ton of money to fight Doris at every slippery turn in family court, New York's disgraceful excuse for divorce court. The family court seemed designed to insure that children would suffer the maximum pain in a divorce and that men would be deprived of any rights.

******************************

Al cancelled Jasmine's appointment. The next scheduled meeting with her in the evening, he paid his secretary to stay late and draw the will she was requesting. It didn't do him any good. The following Saturday he came down to breakfast to find the children at Doris's parents and Doris sitting at the dining room table with all the windows and the patio doors open. She was sporting a black eye and assorted bruises. As he entered the room, she began screaming at the top of her lungs.

"NO-NO DON"T HIT ME! -PLEASE," as she said this she smiled and then raced out of the house. AL knew what came next. Almost seventy percent of wife and child abuse charges in divorce cases are false.

The seduction scenario having failed they were going for spousal abuse. Well, he knew what to do. He exited the house climbed into his car as he did he saw Doris being comforted by the neighbors who were looking daggers at him. He headed for Fred Thomas' office. Fred was not there, but Fred wife Joyce was; he had her take pictures of his hands, face, arms and chest to prove he had not been in an altercation. Then he went to his office.

Things would move fast from here. Doris had no good way back from this, but he still had cards to play. He got his passport from the wall safe. He had waited long enough for someone else to find Peter Allen; it was time he took a shot. He did not go back to the house. He headed directly to the Airport where a friendly United Airlines clerk worked out his round trip ticket at an exorbitant price.

***********************

A week in Nicaragua had led Al to a small house in one of the poorer districts. Arriving on his first day, he had checked into a luxury hotel along the Pan American Highway. The cost was eight dollars a day - about what a cheap motel charged at home. Trying out his high school Spanish he soon reverted to English, which everyone seemed to understand. He spent his second day looking for a good private investigator without finding one. Late in the day he played a hunch and walked into Vivian Pellas Metropolita, a private hospital to ask about drug-related admissions. A young women who was on the administrative staff listened to his questions and then politely told him she could not help, but that if she were him she might check the government registry for Aids-related admissions.

Nicaragua was experiencing an AIDS epidemic. IV drug use and AIDS went together. A trip to the registry office the following day and a few bribes and he had a list of every tall blond man with an approximate age between twenty-five and thirty-five who were treated for AIDS. Peter Allen was Thirty- one. The list had eight names, none was Allen or Peter, but three were listed as unknown. He soon found that these three had been dead when added to the list. He started with the information on the unknowns.

Maybe he was just lucky or unlucky. The second place he visited, the women did not want to talk about the American who died five years before. She claimed to have no recollection, and her English got worse the longer Al tried to talk to her. The young man who called himself her Grandson was of little help until Al pulled out some cash. When twelve one-hundred dollar bills were on the table, a shoe box appeared.

The shoe box was marked Churchill, a brand of expensive shoe favored by Stephen Richland. There was nothing of monetary value inside the box: two photographs and a letter. However, the letter was from Sara Richland to Peter Allen. The two photos were the wedding photo of his parents and one of his mother as a young woman in a cap and gown. He had found Peter Allen.

That night Al ate white fish and refried beans again and tried to drink his sorrows away. The cost of living in Nicaragua was cheap, but it was a dreary place to be alone. At that moment, he felt very alone. It is after all not every day you lose a fortune. The wife who should have been consoling him was planning a divorce. She was planning to take his meager wealth and his children. He could almost stand that she would ruin him financially, but he knew he would end up standing by watching the love his daughters had for him turn to hate. Doris would brand him an abuser, and no amount of proof to the contrary would suffice.

Al knew the system all too well. The accusation was enough. No judge would risk his career by ignoring the accusation. Oh for sure poor women get a bad deal from the courts just like poor men. But a good looking woman with the money for a good attorney would be able to game the system every time.

Al was sitting in the hotel bar contemplating his hopeless situation. Drinking a bit too heavily, but not seeming to get drunk. He wondered if they watered the drinks. The bartender's name was Miguel, at lease that is what his name plate said. It was the third time Al had been at the bar with this particular bartender on duty in the eight days he had been in Managua. On both of the prior occasions, Miguel had offered Al the services of a woman of the evening and after being declined inquired whether a boy would be preferred. Now as Miguel set another drink in front of Al he made the same offer again as if Al had not turned him down two previous times. Al refused again and pointed out that this was the third time. The bartender shrugged and moved to the next customer. It came to Al as a sudden revelation that Miguel did not recognize him, that all the Anglo customers looked alike to him.

"We're interchangeable to these people," Al thought. It's little wonder that Peter Allen is buried in an unmarked grave. At that moment the only human being on the planet who knew Peter's fate was Aston Phillips, lawyer; this was a sad commentary on life. Someone once told him that lawyers had an unpleasant job because no client ever came in because of happy circumstances. They are injured, accused, getting divorced or as in Peter's case dead. At that moment, Al saw his life as a complete waste. Then gestalt hit. One minute there was nothing and then everything.

One idea led to the next in rapid succession. He tossed out one to be hit with another better one. It was as if the entire plan had been there laid out from the start, and all he needed was to take off his blinders. He had served his family, clients and country with his sweat and blood for nearly twenty-five years as an honest and honorable man. The blood was literal he had been an army corpsman in Desert Storm and received the Purple Heart. Now he knew it was time to change sides; those he had served had dishonored and cheated him, it was time to go.

Yes, he was taking a risk-a very substantial risk. But what did he have to look forward to, if he did not take his chance- a life of slavery so his cheating wife could play. No, the system is fixed; the only way to win is to cheat. Now he saw it, it was clear and clean. He needed to seize his opportunity. He called to Miguel.

"I need a truly bad attorney," he said. The barman gave him a funny look, but of course, had a recommendation.

Thursday morning bright and early he was at the Albany airport picking up his old Accord. He drove straight to Mechanicville. The butcher's shop there he had visited three Christmases ago when his father-in-law had decided to make black pudding for the holidays. They had looked all over for a source of pig's blood and finally found it at this Mechanicville butcher's shop. He stopped and bought three pints. No one gave him a second look. A few miles down the road in Latham, he purchased two five gallon plastic gas cans at the Walmart. He filed the Honda's gas tank half full at the first service station he came to and also filed both gas cans. He paid cash. One more stop at a pharmacy to secure a 16 gage needle and the related equipment.

He stopped at a bike store in Albany and purchased a good used bike for cash. His final stop was to the Goodwill for some used clothing. Returning to Highland, he filled the Honda's tank making sure to use a credit card. He took a swing by his house. In the drive, he saw the Honda Odyssey and behind it a late model Mercedes with the vanity plate 'Nieves II.' Things could not be working out better.

He made a stop at his office and his secretary was glad to see him saying that his wife was trying to serve him papers. He told her not to worry, that he was hopeful that Doris would come to her senses and that everything would work out. On his desk was an unopened express envelope from Managua. He did not open it; he knew the contents.

From his files, he drew the documents for several deceased clients. Birth certificates, passports, and driver's licenses. All these individuals died in Nursing homes, and he had collected their documents to secure them.

He rented a motel room using his credit card and then got a good night's sleep. At 11:00 he rose and dressed casually. He put the clothing from the Goodwill in the Honda.

He arrived at his former home about twenty minutes after he left the motel. He walked in without knocking and listened. He could hear them upstairs. It was a wonder they did not wake the girls.

They were in the master bedroom, in his bed. Manuel was fucking Doris from behind. Jasmine was underneath apparently licking Doris' clit while she was getting fucked by the big mulatto. His giant cock was pile driving in and out of Doris' slippery cunt. Doris was moaning in a way she had never done for Aston. He could appreciate the attraction, this was sex taken to another level.

He stood there watching the scene until he felt his stomach do a flip-flop, and he feared he might become sick.

"Ok, that's enough," he said in a firm and confident voice that he did not actually feel.

The action on the bed stopped, but Nieves did not pull out. Doris had the decency to look scared and said: "Oh no." It was Jasmine who jumped up grabbed a pillow to hide herself and said, "SHIT."

Now was the time that Al had to put on his best performance as the surprised and angry husband. He advanced on the bed his hands balled into fists. As he moved forward he made sure to note where Nieves had left his clothing; it was across the room throw casually over a chair. Nieves sprang up from the bed.

"Now hold on no need for violence," Nieves said putting his hands up defensively in front of him. He was apparently a lover not a fighter. Too bad that might be difficult. Al gave him a solid if ineffectual blow to the abdomen with his right hand. Nieves pushed him back, but Al came on again.

Doris was shouting at Al, "PLEASE STOP, IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY."

But Al was apparently not listening. Eventually, Nieves struck back giving Al a good right-hook to his face and splitting Al's lip. It wasn't much blood, but enough. Al seemed to stagger and then stumbled across the room where he fell into Nieves clothing leaving a trace of blood behind before he righted himself.

Nieves followed Al across the room more to help than to hurt.

"Don't hurt him," Doris called out.

"I'm not trying to," Nieves said trying to reach out to Al.

Al slapped his assistance away and made for the door. He was down the stairs and headed out the door before Doris caught up with him.

"Al I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to see that. It's over between us, but I don't want to hurt you. I still love you," she said.

Al turned back toward Doris, for the first time that night he was actually angry.

"Listen you bitch. You never loved me, you used me. But that's going to change. I mean you every bit of the pain you're going to suffer." His look, the clear hate in his face, froze Doris. She began to weep. Nieves and Jasmine had followed after Doris. Manuel came up and embraced Doris.

"It will be alright he can't hurt us," Nieves said to Doris as he cradled the distraught woman.

Al laughed a sinister laugh that sent a chill through the trio and said: "Guess we'll just have to see about that.

****************************

At 2:45 a.m. the fire trucks arrived at the camp site off Mountain View road, about a mile from the falls that give Highland Falls its name. It had started raining around midnight, but it stopped just after 2:30 a.m., No amount of rain could stop this fire. The Honda must have had a full gas tank because the explosion and fire left very little. By the time the police arrived, the scene was a mess. It was not until the next day that it was officially declared arson, and the search for Aston Phillips began.

Aston was long gone by then. He had staged the scene, set the fire and ridden off on his bicycle. He caught the early morning bus in Catskill dressed in clothing from the Goodwill. He was across the Mexican border by the time the arrests were made.

"You see my friend a woman may cheat with impunity, but should some tragedy befall her spouse, people being people will believe the worst," said the man in the silk jacket.

"You mean-" began Bill, but he was cut off. A large overweight man in a police uniform replete with gold braid had arrived at the table occupied by the two police officers.

Silk jacket rose, scooped up the bottle of expensive tequila and led Bill over to the police. They offered their bottle, and there were more bottles after the first. As the little group drank into the night, silk jacket offered up the story as to how the fat man, who was Captain Ortega head of the local police, had single-handedly disarmed a bandit who carried two pistols.

"I've never seen anything like it—our brave Capitan simply walked up to the man and told him to surrender. Had I not seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it," said the man in the silk jacket. Silk Jacket spent the evening with the officers repeating his name over and over and over as the Tequila flowed.

************************************

Sandra Parkman was the chief detective of the Hyland police. She had been the supervising officer on the scene the night they found the burning wreckage of Aston Phillips' 2006 Honda Accord. She hadn't been in charge long, the following morning the Chief of Police took over, and he was soon pushed to the side by the Criminal Investigation Division of the State Police. The FBI even got in on the action as did the ATF.

The Phillips case quickly became a major homicide investigation and all too quickly the culprits were identified. There was never any significant period when the suspects were not attached to the case. The day after the car fire, the PI, Fred Thomas came forward with the information about the extramarital threesome, and the attempt to frame Mr. Philips for spousal abuse.

The case was neatly tied up by the discovery of Aston Phillips' blood on the person and clothing of Manuel Nieves. Then it was only a matter of time. Doris Phillips was the first to crack turning on her former lovers in exchange for a favorable plea deal. Jasmine soon followed leaving Nieves to stand trial alone, maintaining his innocence all the way. He received a life sentence. Jasmine received fifteen to twenty-five years and Doris three-to-five years. She would be out in eighteen months; although homeless and penniless.

Ted Perkins the DA had been voracious. He began the trial in the media and was intent on riding it straight into the Attorney General's office. To Sandra's mind it was all too neat. She had been the first to interview Doris. At that time, the wife had been sure the husband was trying to set them up. Doris had seemed utterly confused and bewildered by her husband's car fire and disappearance.