tagLoving WivesThe Lieutenant

The Lieutenant

byMatt Moreau©

My wife Ginger and I—my name is Max Bertulucci— have been married twenty-one years. We have three children all girls. My day job is as a manager for an electronics warehouse in the city. Ginger is a full time housewife. But, lately she has become restless as the last of our babies has finally left the nest. She's become antsy and is easily upset by even the smallest thing, and it had begun to bug me. What I didn't realize, was that she had become vulnerable, vulnerable to other men.

Oh, by the way, my real job is as a black-hand lieutenant; that's right, I'm a mafioso. I run the gambling part of our enterprises—actually just sports cards, but make no mistake it is a very lucrative part of our family's business.

Enzo Bertulucci is my uncle. He's the head, the capo; of a local, newly formed element of the—it shall remain nameless—over-family in Philly. Our family's particular interests lie in the southwest, which part shall also remain nameless. Like most real mofiosi, most of the time we do nothing but live normal lives doing normal things while dealing with the normal trials and tribulations of everyday life.

Ginger has been a wonderful wife and a wonderful mother. The fact that she is the mother of our children, and that she is doing so well at the job, is the sole reason that she is still alive. Let me explain.

Let me say right off. Ginger has no idea what my main job is. I do very well in the electronics business and she appreciates it and makes the most of my income and legitimate business interests. One of my business interests, which she has been making the most of lately, is Mark Williams, my boss at Electro-Mall.

I have always been protective of Ginger. She is always going here there and everywhere. So, I assigned a family soldier to watch her—read watch out for her not spy on her—whenever she was going to be gone from the house for any length of time. Carlo had come to me with the most humiliating news I had ever been faced with. My wife was fucking my day job boss. I told him to get me hard core proof.

It took a couple of weeks, but Carlo had gotten the evidence: photos, videos, audio files; the works. She broke my heart.

I went to my uncle. He told me to stop whining and to take care of my family business or he would do it for me. Thenhe slapped me—hard—and told me to stop crying like the baby I was. His last words, again, were for me to handle it, and he walked off.

Handle it! I knew what that meant, and I just couldn't "handle it." Maybe my asshole boss, but not Ginger. I had to come up with something, but what.

I took a couple of days off from the job; I had to think, to plan. I told him, Williams that I was going to get out of town for a few days. I told him the truth that my wife and I were having problems, and I had to have time to think and to get my act together. Mark, bless his stinking soul, was more than happy to give me the holidays I was asking for; he couldn't know how happy he'd made me. The fuckwad was no doubt faunching at the bit to get into my wife's pants.

When the time came to pay the piper, I was going to be more than happy to be there and to deliver the bad news to the asshole myself. In my mind I could hear him now: begging, screaming, and praying for mercy. There would be none. One does not mess with another man's family, not ever.

I packed my bags and did all of the right things necessary for someone about to leave town. I even had Ginger iron extra shirts for me in case I would be delayed in my return.

"Do you really have to go, Max," she said. "Why can't I go with you? I could use some unwinding too." She was good.

"Ginger, I am going to be doing some business too. I have some other things to attend to. I will be back by Thursday unless something untoward comes up. Okay?" I said.

She made as if to pout, but I could see that she was not all that shaken up with my going. I was wondering what she would have said if I had agreed to her phony wishes and said, "Oh yeah go ahead and pack a bag." I thought for a minute. I decided to do that very thing. It would be telling.

"Ging," I said, after seeming to have rethought my words, "I have decided that you are right. Pack a bag; I'm taking you with me."

Her face clouded over. "No, honey," she said, "I would just be in the way, I guess, of you doing your business. And, I need to be here for some other things this week to do with church affairs. Father Mario needs me for the sodality meeting Wednesday night."

Yeah, I thought cynically, sodality business my ass. Fucking Mark Williams isn't really high on the list of sodality priorities, but I guess it is of yours you cunt. I was getting dangerously close to doing something precipitously; I had to get outta there. I wondered if she'd ever considered fucking Fr. Mario.

She kissed me passionately as I headed for the door with my bag. I kissed her back, and hustled out to the cab. The cab was driven by a cousin of mine, and he dropped me six blocks away to a waiting rental car that I would be using for the next few days. I wanted to catch them in the act myself. There's just something kinda neat about nailing cheaters in the act. It doesn't make up for all of the pain that they cause, no way, but it does feel pretty good. I was planning on feelin' real good for sure. But, I was also sick at heart. When a woman chooses a lover over her husband the degree of hurt is almost beyond measure. My stomach had not stopped churning since Carlo had laid all of the hard evidence on me.

I checked in at a local motel and then drove back to a street one over to wait for the asshole's car to come by; his mustard yellow Z-car would be difficult to not notice. I could have had Carlo sit and wait for the guy, but this one I had to do myself; no, I wanted to do it myself. I wanted to experience firsthand my wife's infidelity. I didn't want to just hear about it, see pictures about it, or any of that; I wanted to see it with my own eyes. I'd already seen the damn pictures! And, as I said, I also wanted to see their faces when I caught them with their pants down so to speak.

I knew he'd soon be going to my house once he was sure my plane had taken off; I knew because of the bug I'd put on my phone at the house: working at an electronics firm for more than twenty years had its upside.

Evidently, I had no more than told Mr. Williams about my plans to be out of town than he was on the phone to my beautiful and traitorous wife Ginger making a date with her. I listened again to the tape I'd recorded.

"Hello," she said...Oh, yes, Mark...really...yes...I'll be home tomorrow...the idiot is going where...oh, okay...park a few houses down...yes, after dark...don't want the neighbors getting nosey...okay, see you tomorrow night...love you too...bye."

She was worried about the neighbors. That was something. We had bought the house we currently lived in because of the treed nature of the neighborhood and the privacy that it afforded. Yes, it was possible that someone might notice a strange car at the house, but it would have been unlikely to raise any red flags. Different visitors had come over, and often stayed over, fairly regularly over the years. We had a lot of friends and relatives—we were Italians for cryin'-out-loud!

Idiot? She referred to me as an idiot. She was insulting me on the phone to the asshole. I hadn't heard all that was on the tapes that Carlo had given me yet. I wondered what other insults I was going to have to endure. I was pissed before, but I was more than pissed now, and I was hurting. My wife! She was my wife! I loved her. I couldn't believe she held me in such contempt. I had always been good to her. I thought back over the past year. Had there been any sign that something was going on? If there had, I hadn't seen it. I still didn't.

The sex had been regular if not spectacular. The bills were paid. The children were our pride and joy. Both of our families were supportive and always in evidence. What was the hang up? What had I done? What did Mark Williams have that made me expendable as a husband? What made her call me an idiot? Again, what else had she called me, I wondered? Was she thinking of divorcing me? I'd heard her say she loved him. I had a lot of questions. But, I would be patient; I would have my answers one way or another.

I had decided that I wanted, no needed, to know everything I could. I had determined to not just walk in on them and bust them. I wanted to hear more and be there when I heard it. If I just broke them up, I might not ever know the real reason that she was doing this to me, and I really-really needed to know, for my own sanity.

His can of mustard passed me at low speed. I followed him; I knew where he was going; I didn't need to hurry.

He'd followed her instructions: he parked four houses down the block and made his way up to my house. I parked right behind him and checked to see that the little recorder I had brought with me was ready to go. I got out, made it to the side of the house, and quietly went around back.

Our house is actually three stories, though appearing to be but two stories from the front. Built into the side of a gentle slope, the basement is accessible only through the back. Unless they were planning to fuck in the basement, unlikely because of the large sliding glass door, they'd never see me enter the house.

They weren't in the basement, and they didn't see me. They were howsoever in the den, just off the kitchen. I could hear them clearly.

"He got himself off and gone then," said the asshole.

"Got off?" said my wife.

"You know what I mean, he left, he went on the trip," said the asshole.

"Yes. And, for a moment there it was a little dicey; he almost had me go with him. Boy would that have been a bitch: having to stay with him in a small hotel room for four days. He would have wanted to fuck for sure, and I really didn't want to be near the little scuzzbucket," said the whore. "Not when I could have your nice big thingy doing me."

"I see what you mean. It was good for both of us, I guess, that I had gotten the proof of his cheating on you," he said.

I was stunned! I hadn't cheated on her! What proof. Then it occurred to me. Working for an electronics firm had been convenient for him too: he'd manufactured proof of infidelity on my part. He'd corrupted my wife. I felt a little better, not much, but a little.

The big question for me was why hadn't she come to me, raged at me, threatened to divorce me. Had she done so the truth would have come out, and Mr. Williams would have had a real bad day. Well, he was going to have one anyway.

I moved to the bottom of the stairs that led up to the kitchen. I hadn't yet totally decided what I was going to do. I had no weapon with me. I suddenly realized that I might need one. I was short, maybe five-five, just two inches taller than my wife, and weighed maybe one-forty-five. I was a hard body though, and I had always been able to make good account of myself even in high school. But Mark was six-two and well over two hundred; I needed an equalizer. I saw it: a foot long monkey wrench. I'd left it on top of the wet bar here in the basement a few days before. I'd needed it to handle a small plumbing job. I picked it up.

I climbed the stairs and listened through the bead-curtain that we used in place of a door. At the top I could hear them even better: they were slobbering all over each other.

I very slowly eased around the corner and into the kitchen staying low, so that they couldn't see me from the den beyond. They wouldn't see me I knew, unless they actually came into the kitchen; I gambled that they wouldn't. I squatted next to the breakfast bar just ten feet from the sinning pair on the other side. Gawd! how I wished that I'd had a periscope. I clicked on the mini-recorder; I was going to get all I could.

"That's right lover undo those buttons, but slowly, okay; I want this to last," said my wife the whore. I could actually hear it as she slid the satiny material from her shoulders exposing her bra covered breasts: breasts only I was supposed to be touching. My heart sank into a very dark place.

I don't know where they came from, but tears started to flow down my face. I was filled with a mix of hate and despair and even love—don't ask me how the latter. Uncle Enzo would not have been proud of his favorite nephew right then: viscerally ashamed would have been more like it.

"Oh, Mark I love it when you are your knees in front of me. Pull them down please," she begged.

"My absolute pleasure," he said. "Mister husband would sure not like to see me doing this," said the cock-bite. "Geezsus, you are a one fucking gorgeous female. I will never get tired of seeing this."

"Yes, Mark, like that. Lick me. Oh my! My knees are weak," she said. "I need to get down there with you."

"I can't wait until you dump that little fart," he said.

"It won't be long, dear" she said. "I'm thinking of laying things out to him when he gets back from this little trip he's on. I am going to screw over his cheating ass big time. But today, I want just little bit more revenge," she giggled.

"You bet, little girl," he said.

"Gawd! Mark, do me, do me now; I need it bad."

He looked down at her. The curve of her hips, her feminine softness, her breasts that sagged not at all: conning her had been worth it, he thought. He hadn't really disliked Max, but he had to have his woman, his wife, so he'd set her up. She'd thank him later, he told himself. She'd thank him for showing her what a real man could do for her rather than the inadequate shrimp-assed wimp she'd married.

She crooked her finger at him beckoning him to take her. He stroked his pole once or twice teasing her. She feigned a pouting face.

"Sock it to me," she said. "Hurry up."

I wanted to throw up.

"Yes, Mark, like that. Fuck me. Oh my! My gawd! Oh! Your cock is so big." She bucked and flailed wildly as he pushed and pulled in and out of her. They came together in a stunning climax.

******

I had to either get out of there or bust in on them. I was so mad that I almost couldn't breathe, mad and sick to my stomach. I decided to get outta there. I knew what I was going to do, and mister big-dick was never going to be the same.

"I don't know how I put up with that little faggot that I've been married to for so long," she said. "If it weren't for the children I would have dumped him for inadequacy long ago."

She was digging her own grave. No I wasn't going to kill her, but she was going to wish she were dead, and him too. I eased myself across the floor, got through the bead-curtain making almost no noise. I got myself down the stairs, out the door, and I was gone. Back at the car I made a couple of calls. thirty minutes later a black van pulled up behind me. A big man came to my window. I lowered it.

"You know what to do, yes?" I said.

"Absolutely," said the big man.

"You guys are not to do anything else to him. Nothing, got it?" I said. "I want him to live a long and healthy life—well, almost anyway."

"We got it boss. It's a piece of cake. But, what about..."

"I'll take care of her. I have something special planned for her. She's in for the long haul," I said.

******

The three men in the black van were patient; they had their marching orders. They had been selected by Enzo at the request of Max; Max had wanted out of towners for this one, and he didn't want to know who they were; Enzo had concurred with his nephew and had acceded to his request for personnel.

The leader of the little out of town group was Rafael, that's all, no last name; and the first one was not his real name. He'd been selected because of his special empathy with the victim, Max Bertulucci. Rafael's wife had cheated on him and the act had nearly driven him to suicide. His boyhood friendship with Carlo, Max's number one soldier, had offered him a chance to get appropriate revenge on the man that had disrespected him and at the same time a way into the family. He never talked about it, but the rumor was that the disrespecting adulterer had had both of his arms and both of his legs broken. And, there had been an added bonus: Rafael's wife had been forced to watch her lover get what he deserved.

Rafael and his wife were still together; everything had worked out just fine; the woman understood that she had run out of chances: she never even thought of cheating again.

At any rate, he was more than happy to help another spousal victim with his marital problem; he was simpatico. The difference in the proposed punishment for this new asshole both amused him and gave him the chills.

It was more than three hours later that the asshole left the Bertulucci residence. Rafael saw the woman waving goodbye to him as he headed down the street to his car.

Rafael's two associates were in the street talking near the asshole's car, and when he came near and dug in his pocket for his keys, they threw a sack over his head, knocked him out, and hustled him into the van. They drove off.

Another car with two men in it drove by three minutes after the van had turned the corner. One of the men got out, got into the kidnapped man's car and drove it off. It would be left in the Electro-Mall parking lot for the asshole to find later. Not a trace of evidence that anyone but the owner had ever been in the car was left for the police to find.

******

"Carlo, Carlo, Carlo you've done well. Let me be miserable in peace," I said to my number one soldier.

"Max, she is not the devil. She thinks you 'betrayed her'. It was the filthbag Williams who caused the problem," said Carlo.

"He'll get his," I said. 'He'll definitely get his."

Carlo fell silent for a moment. He knew that what his boss said was true. They both knew that the bad guy was getting his at that very moment. "You could have just had them hit," he said, finally.

"What they did hurt me, but what they did was not reason enough to kill them. They'll suffer enough," said Max.

"I'd rather be dead than go through what that Williams guy is going through," said Carlo.

Max had to smile. It was pretty heavy what was happening to the guy, he thought. But, he deserved every little bit of it. The things he'd done, and to Ginger, let alone to him personally were beyond the pale. Max felt not the slightest remorse for any of it.

"Your wife thinks you're away until Thursday?" said Carlo.

"Yes, I intend to stay away till then. I want to cool off a little before I talk to her. It's not something I can do while I am still hot under the collar," said Max.

"I think you are right to handle it that way," said Carlo.

Max tilted back his drink draining the glass. He held it high in the universal signal to the bartendress to refill it. Carlo fallowed suit.

The bartendress was Marie Gilson: a slim, blond, blue-eyed babe from Montana of all places. Marie had four boys and a girl, but with maniacal dedication to exercise and good eating habits, she had been able to keep her shape in spite of the mass of birthings and the passage of time: Marie was forty three years old—two years older than Max.

She came to them and refilled their whiskeys. So what's the matter with you two guys? You bonding or something? Don't the girls like you?" she laughed.

"You know, Marie," said Max, "jealousy is a terrible thing!"

"Yeah, I'm jealous of you guys—not!" she laughed again.

The two amigos talked and drank for another two hours before they hit the road.

*****

Thursday morning Max packed his small bag and returned to the house. Ginger would not expect him until nightfall, but he was going to surprise her. It was time to go on the offensive.

When he arrived, she wasn't home. He knew that it was her morning to be shopping at the local food store. He put on a pot of coffee and waited. He figured she'd be in around ten or so. At 10:37 he heard the garage door opener engage. He'd set his order of battle.

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byMatt Moreau© 48 comments/ 75466 views/ 11 favorites

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