Dirty Harry's Three Women

Becky's breathing evened as she fingered a button on her dress. She was quiet. "I could tell my husband you and Miriam were in bed together."

Holy crap. Blackmail. "He'd beat me with that ball bat. Do you really want me to fuck her?"

Our gazes met. She nodded. "If that's what Miriam wants."

"If I refused, you would tell Harry that I bedded her, wouldn't you?"

"I would. But it would be more like a seduction, but his reaction will be the same." She stared me down.

Aw fuck. She would indeed. Any mother, defending her child, is apt to do anything.

Becky chewed her lip. "How many women have you had in the sack?"

Damn. She didn't need all the details. "Let's say, a number."

"Then you're good at it?"

"Experienced would be a better word."

She lifted an eyebrow. "There's something else." She stood, unzipped her dress and slid it to her ankles. "Have sex with me right here, right now. Tomorrow, I'll send Miriam and you make love to her. Fair enough, or should I clue in Harry?"

"This is one god awful messed up family."

"And you're part of it. So do me."

Just that quick, Becky was beautifully naked and beside me on the bed.

I didn't pull out when I came, but did make certain she climaxed. Our sex was rough, and she took it, almost expecting it.

Afterward, she lay panting and said, "You're good. Harry hasn't made love to me in months. It feels wonderful again."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. He lost interest and isn't the man I married."

"So I become the surrogate lover."

"You're better than good. You know what a woman wants."

"You think there'll be more times?"

"Absolutely."

"More blackmail. Should have known."

She leaned in and kissed me. "Lucy has a hard crush on you. Did you make love to her?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I forced incredulity into my voice. "She said that?"

"She hasn't said a thing. Her eyes shine, her face has a glow, and she is happy. A mother notices. She's not on the pill. Did you pull out?"

This woman wants me to have sex with all the Redding women. "I did."

"Smart. I'll put her on contraceptives."

***

"Mom said you wanted to see me."

I jumped. "Oh, Miriam. You scared me. Didn't hear you come in."

She stood stiff and without the usual smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to. What did you want?"

I clicked the laptop closed. The English paper on Mr. Shakespeare's sonnets would have to wait. "Please sit." I gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of the table.

She settled into the seat, her back straight and hands folded in her lap.

"I want to apologize for how I treated you, yesterday."

"Apology accepted," she said too quickly.

She wasn't going to make this easy. I took in a huge breath and let it out slowly.

Miriam stood. "If that's all you needed, I won't bother you."

I gestured to the chair. "If you have the time to talk, I'd like to ask a couple questions."

"Oh. I guess." She returned to the chair and played with the folds in her dress.

She had broached the subject, so I would continue with it. "Why did you want sex?"

Her eyes flicked from object to object in the room. "Because ... it happened once and wasn't very nice. It hurt." She didn't include me in her gaze. "Others say sex is nice and wonderful. I want to experience it."

"Don't you have a boyfriend or other male friends you could ask?"

She shook her head. "I've never been on a date. Nobody asks because I'm not pretty."

"I think you're pretty." I scooted closer. "You have a lovely face. You are young and possess a youthful beauty."

She slapped her thigh. "I'm big and fat and ... and ugly."

"No you're not. You are a good looking woman."

Miriam shook her head. "Who would you pick for a date, me or Lucy?"

"That's easy. You."

She double blinked. "That's not true."

"Yes it is. Honest."

"Why me and not Lucy?"

"Because you're closer to my age."

She opened her mouth to say something, but I spoke first. "I'm twenty-five, you're twenty-two, and Lucy is eighteen."

"Lucy is pretty. I'm not."

"Who told you that?" She shrugged. "I just know."

I touched her hand. "If no one told you, then you're telling yourself a lie."

She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm ugly, and it's true."

"My always mother said that a person's true beauty is never found in their appearance." I reached across the table and tapped her chest above the left breast. "A person's real beauty is found here, in the heart."

"You haven't known me much. How can it be true?"

"I know that Miriam Redding is a beautiful woman because she doesn't lie, doesn't have an ounce of guile, and befriends anyone in need. She's helpful, works hard, and has a pure heart."

"If you think I'm pretty, why wouldn't you have sex with me?"

"If it's takes sex to prove you're beautiful, let's go into my bedroom and do it. It shouldn't take but a couple of minutes." I waited. What she'd asked was not what she wanted.

She looked down and swallowed. Our gazes met. "So, you agree to make love to me?"

I shook my head. "No. We'll just have sex."

She scowled. "There's a difference?"

"A big one. If a guy wants sex, he pays a prostitute, or finds a friend with benefits. When the act is over, the two go their separate ways. When two people make love, there's a bond with the other person."

Her eyes lit up. "Then will you make love to me?"

"Will it make you feel more beautiful?"

She stopped short and smiled. "Yes, it will."

I stepped around the table, drew her into an embrace and kissed her. "Let's go to my bedroom."

By taking it slow and easy via kissing and caressing and fondling and fingering, she climaxed five or six times before I unloaded.

Afterward, she lay nestled against my shoulder in an afterglow that dwarfed her sister's. "Oh wow. That was so wonderful."

"Do you feel beautiful?"

"Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times, yes."

"So you liked having sex?"

She propped up on one elbow and peered down at me. "Sex is a one-night-stand. What we did was make love, and there better be more of it, mister."

I laughed.

***

The trysts with the three ladies settled into a pattern. Sundays were reserved for Becky. Miriam and Lucy appeared at the apartment-garage at least once during the week. They must have agreed as to who and when.

During our lovemaking, I tried to show each one that she was special. No one complained.

Summer faded into the colorful hews of autumn.

It was after work on October 30th, and Miriam cuddled naked beside me under the covers.

The door crashed open and Harry burst in, a ball bat poised above his head. "You cock sucking son of a bitch. Make a slut out of my daughter, will you."

The low ceiling deflected the blow, which I caught with my left hand. My thumb snapped backward.

In spite of the pain, I latched on to the bat. He yanked me into a sitting position.

Miriam screamed and disentangled herself from the covers.

"Run," I yelled while tussling with Harry. "Get away, fast."

She shot out the door, a blanket around her shoulders.

I fought for the bat, in spite of a nonworking thumb.

Harry jerked it free and swung.

The bone in my left arm snapped. I didn't feel pain, but the arm hung limp.

He swung again.

My knee cracked. My head filled with light.

He swung again.

A locomotive slammed into my chest and I blacked out.

***

I awoke in a world of pain, each breath stabbing. I had no recollection of him leaving or how long he'd been gone.

From the house, shouts and cursing and crying. A war zone. Harry snarling, Miriam screaming, Becky yelling. The guy was crazy. He intended to kill someone, and I had to protect her.

I tried to stand. My leg wasn't busted, but my knee wouldn't work. I forced it to lock and almost passed out. It took forever to retrieve my Rugger semi-automatic from the night stand and fish out the full clip, and to do it one handed.

From the battle in the house, it didn't seem possible for any piece of furniture to be undamaged. I don't remember inserting the clip, or cocking the slide, let alone hobbling the ten yards to the house. But then, my mind wasn't clear. I concentrated on one goal, to protect Miriam from Harry's murderous intent.

While mounting the back porch, one sluggish step at a time, I could see through the screen door. Harry straddled Miriam, and she lay screaming on the floor and covering her head while he twirled the bat near her face. The place was a shambles. Busted pictures, windows, wooden furniture, every item lay strewn about.

Harry pointed at his wife. "You fucking bitch, I warned you to not protect this slutty whore. I'm killing you next." As I came through the door, he raised the bat and swung at Miriam's head. He over extended and the floor took the blow.

He cocked the bat again.

I plopped against the jamb, lifted the gun, and put two rounds into his chest. A .22 doesn't have much stopping power but the look on his face said something was wrong. He twitched his shoulders as if to rid himself of a cramp and drew back again.

I put three more bullets center mass from fifteen feet. He didn't go down.

That's probably when he realized he'd been shot. He stumbled, and took a step toward me. His eyes didn't seem to focus. "Why you motherfucking bastard," he slurred.

I discharged the last five shots into him without letup. If that didn't stop him, we were all dead. His legs wobbled, his knees buckled until he dropped onto Miriam's chest. She continued screaming and pounding with her fists. His eyes rolled up and he toppled to his side. His feet twitched. Then he lay still.

A life had been taken. I gagged and vomited on the rug. The pain in my side exploded until I couldn't breathe. A dozen knives twisted in my side. The agony. I crumpled in a stupor. I think Becky told Miriam to get dressed and for Lucy to fetch something. Nothing made sense. I'd killed her husband and their father ...

***

I came to with moderated pain and listened. Hissing, beeping, distant voices, loudspeaker calls for doctors. Hospitals have a sound and a smell unique to their purpose. Through wiggling toes and fingers, I tested my extremities. My left arm was immobilized in a kind of splint thingy. My right hand was attached to tubes and wires. Someone had wrapped my chest so tight, that it forced me to breathe slow and shallow. My left leg was elevated and my knee bandaged like a basketball.

I scanned the room.

Becky scooted her chair closer. "You're awake." She clutched my good hand.

She looked beautiful even with dark circles under her eyes. "What happened?" I rasped.

"You were in surgery three hours. Afraid we would lose you. Your broken ribs almost punctured a lung."

"Will I live," I whispered.

"You better, after what you did for us."

Was Lucy crying in the corner? I rolled my head to clear it. The room swirled. Then I remembered. I'd murdered Harry. Taken a life. Bile rose. I swallowed it back. "Sorry," I croaked.

"For what? You're alive."

"Your ..." It hurt to talk. Each breath stabbed deeper. "For Harry."

She placed my hand to her wet cheek. "Don't worry about it. Just get well."

"I murdered him."

"Don't ever say that. When the Police ask, Miriam wasn't home and Lucy was upstairs. My husband attacked, and you defended yourself. You have no idea why his rampage. Nothing—else—happened."

She repeated it before I faded out.

The police arrived two days later, I think. Events were still fuzzy from the drug induced fog. The officers took a routine statement, and my story matched the evidence from the crime scene. They'd seized my gun, the bat, and some other items. My finger prints were taken, and after my awkward signature scrawl on their handwritten notes, they left.

***

The doctor discharged me a week later into Becky's custody with strict orders for total rest, a nurse would visit a couple times a week. The three ladies set up a borrowed hospital bed in their front room for this complete invalid.

Becky took the first turn, sitting with me through the night. "Are you alright?"

"No." My voice was steady but soft.

"Do you hurt?"

My every-four-hour pain meds had already kicked in. "No."

"What's the matter?"

"I still see him standing over Miriam, swinging the bat to bash her head." I gripped the side of the bed. Images of his gray beady eyes, coarse black whiskers, and chapped lips floated through my mind. Everything that happened, every word, his curses, every shot, and twitching.

Becky kissed my forehead. "He's gone. Forget it."

"I can't. I took a life and will remember every detail."

"Are you sorry you shot him?"

"I should ask you that, he was your husband. But no. He deserved it. No one should hit a woman, and he meant to kill her." I doubted Becky would understand the deep twisting of my soul for having snuffed out another life. The memories of the deed would have to be faced, but they couldn't ever be erased.

"Well, get some sleep." She lay on the couch, tossed a blanket over her, and switched off the table lamp.

The memory of me sighting down the gun barrel and firing those rounds into Harry, played over and over. They'd drugged me to sleep at the hospital. Now I had to live with recollections of that event as if they were on continual replay.

How did Harry find out? That would forever be an unanswered question. Could I have done something different? Not really. Were the girls scarred from seeing me blast their father into hell? I groaned.

Becky whispered, "Are you asleep?"

"Not even close."

"Want to talk?"

"Sure." Conversation would help keep these echoing memories at bay.

She flipped on the light and scooted a chair up to the bed. "There are three women in this house who love you."

"How can you love me for the bad things I brought on this family?"

"Well, you brought love into Lucy's life and she adores you. The kids at school kept saying she was stupid. She's not, and you proved it. You showed Miriam that she is not ugly, that she's a lovely and important person."

I looked out the window at the street. "What about you? I killed your husband." A plane's flashing lights crossed the city sky.

She was quiet, then sighed. "Nobody knows that ... that you killed my reason for committing suicide."

My head snapped around until our eyes locked. "You're serious."

"Um hum. I'd thought of divorce, or leaving him, but he was vicious and relentless. He would have searched me out and beat me with his bat. Killing myself seemed the only option."

I had nothing to say. Had my presence at this home been that much of an influence—for good?

"Harry treated us beneath his contempt, never kindly. You loved us as worthwhile persons."

"Yeah. Were there any squabbles over the fact that I shared your beds?"

Becky smiled. "We told each other the details about our sex. We were like queens, and in amazing ways, you brought out the woman in all of us. You made us feel special."

"Each of you are exceptional. I'm bound to this bed. So what do we do now?"

"That's why I wanted to talk." She glanced toward the steps leading upstairs. "As much as she adores you, Lucy's not sure she can make love any more. Having seen your face behind that blasting gun, that can't be forgotten. She isn't sorry for her father's death, but the stigma of you being his killer will taint any lovemaking."

"I won't force her if it makes her uncomfortable."

Becky shifted in her chair. "Don't tell Miriam I told you. She'll be thanking you for your protection. You gave no thought to yourself when Harry found you together, your only intent was for her to get away."

"I didn't actually 'think' about defending her. It was more of an intuitive reaction, like second nature, I guess."

Becky placed both of her hands on my arm and leaned closer. "When Harry stood over Miriam, and before you came in, she spat on him. She cursed him with words that ... She's never spoken that way." Becky slowly shook her head. "She loves you for saving her."

"Miriam is a sweet girl. I love her too."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I meant. If you asked the right question, she'd have a priest here inside of thirty minutes to perform the nuptials."

Holy crap. "OH." A sharp pain jabbed my side. I slowed my breathing. "That kind." I looked out the window. The thick clouds parted and an almost full moon illuminated the neighborhood.

She kissed my cheek. "Does that scare you?"

"A little." To provide for a wife and family, I needed a college degree. My progress via online courses had brought it within reach, but thirty or forty credits remained until I qualified for a diploma.

She stood. "Sorry to have upset you. Go to sleep."

Sleep was a long way off. I rolled my head to look at her. "I'm not upset and enjoy your company. Stay."

We talked, avoiding the mention of relationships. She said there was money in a bank account, not a lot, something she'd inherited from her father. Harry hadn't known about it. She could live off the earnings from cleaning houses plus the interest from the funds.

"What about my rent?"

"That was pocket money. Don't worry about it. We'll talk about it after you get on your feet."

"That's generous." My knee throbbed. I grimaced.

"What can I do?"

I pointed. "Lower my leg."

She adjusted the sling and the ache eased.

"Thanks."

She took her seat.

We were quiet for a moment, and I said, "After I shot Harry, what happened?"

Becky thought a bit. "I ordered Miriam to get dressed and disappear for several hours. She was gone before the police arrived. Lucy retrieved your clothes and I put them on you. She went back to your room to look for blood. There wasn't much, a couple of spots. She cleaned them up and straightened the place to look normal. The police went out there and came right back."

"What about here in the house?"

"We didn't do anything. I told the police that Harry attacked you and demolished the place in his fury. When he cornered you, you shot him."

"Why would I have been in your house with the gun?"

"I had to think fast. You were going target shooting and came to ask Lucy if she wanted to tagalong. That's when my husband turned belligerent. Why? Nobody knows. His violent reputation supports that idea."

We chatted for a while longer until she yawned. She lay on the couch and turned off the light.

I couldn't sleep. Becky had given me plenty to think about, especially about Miriam.

Was I that dense to have not recognized her feelings? Miriam had shared that she pictured herself in a house with babies and husband whom she could greet with a kiss when he came home from work.

Lucy had a different goal, to rise up the managerial chain and be the fashion supervisor of a department store, or, Lord willing, the owner of her own clothing establishment.

With Becky and me, it was simply sex. She held no vision of our connection being anything more. Our times in bed were just that.

Why had Becky's comments made me reflect on a relationship with Miriam? And why did I keep considering it—and reconsidering it? I eventually dozed off, dreaming about Miriam.

The following night, Miriam took her turn watching over me after the others had gone to bed. She gussied about, filling the water pitcher, adjusting the tension on the sling for my knee, checking my arm cast, lining up the medicine bottles, and cleaning the bedpan when it didn't need it, chatting all the while and hardly listening for an answer. A guy couldn't sleep if he wanted.

I started to laugh, but didn't dare with my busted ribs. "Miriam, sit down. Don't prattle around."

She stopped working and displayed a look of pure honesty. "Do I prattle?"

I started to chuckle, but caught myself. "Sometimes."

"You winced. Are you in pain?"

"If I don't move around, I'm comfortable."