A Man of His Word

The following took place years before the internet so, unless you want to go digging in a newspaper's morgue, don't waste your time trying to look it up. Just to make that more difficult all of the names and places have been changed.

This is a curious story of one man's integrity... a man who would not break his solemn word.

The story is not mine. It was told to me over a half dozen drinks in a bar just outside of town. I am the omnipotent narrator, not the judge of morality. I will leave that to you, the reader.

Constructive criticism is always welcome. Ad hominem attacks will, of course, be deleted.

If you enjoy this short story I encourage you to read my earlier works. Thank you.

*****

Penny and I were lying in bed reading like we did every night before we went to sleep. I, a hunting catalog; my wife of two years a trashy romance novel. The kind that had a bare chested Adonis on the cover, his blonde mane blowing in the wind whilst he clutched a barely dressed wench with enormous heaving breasts.

Penny broke the silence with a question that will reverberate in my ears forever. "What would you do if you found out I was having an affair?"

I didn't say a word. I simply reached into the nightstand, took out my .38 special, released the safety, and blew a hole right between my wife's eyes. Actually, the slug tore through the 16" x 24" glamour photograph she gave me for my birthday present the previous year. It left a nice hole in the wall behind it; the vinyl siding would also need to be repaired.

Damn, that little gun was loud. Without protection my ears were ringing.

Penny, to put it politely, soiled the sheets.

When she settled down enough to talk she screamed, "Are you insane? Why the hell did you do that?" She was still trembling.

"To answer your questions in order. One. No, I am not insane. And two, to show you what will happen if you ever cheat on me, only I will shoot your pretty face and not your picture. But first I would make you watch as I executed the cheating bastard who defiled our marriage vows. You have my solemn word on that. Any more questions?"

Not a peep. We did not snuggle that night. Go figure.

I rehung the picture the next morning, broken glass and all, and the topic was never again raised. Foolish me, I thought the reminder would be powerful enough to guarantee fidelity.

Fast forward five years

How I learned my wife was cheating was not relevant. Suffice it to say I knew for a fact that at eleven AM she would be fornicating with her boss, one Roger Lamphere, age 57, in our bed.

When I arrived home at 11:10 my heart pounded for joy because the driveway was empty. I prayed my fact be proven wrong. I needed to sneak inside, however, to confirm no one was home..

Our house has a side load garage and I was able to pull into the driveway without being seen from the master bedroom suite.

When I opened the service door my I almost threw up. Next to Penny's BMW was a strange, black Mercedes.

I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath and calmly loaded my 12 gauge pump shotgun with six high velocity shells. These were duck loads which would spit steel shot over a hundred feet in the air. I chambered a round and slowly opened the door. A pile of discarded clothes lay on the Italian marble foyer floor that Penny just had to have.

Rage boiled up when I saw her birthday present hanging from the banister; lace panties and bra which my wife had yet to wear for me.

As I crept up the circular staircase I could hear them rutting like animals in our marital bed. No words, just guttural noises like two lovers who are beyond speaking.

The door was open and I could see Lamphere pounding away at my wife, his fat white ass quivering with each push. I waited until he straightened his back then approached from straight behind so Penny wouldn't see me. I so wanted it to be a surprise.

When he got a good rhythm going I leveled my shot gun about six inches away from the base of his skull and pulled the trigger. Fire leaped from the barrel and a hundred pea sized steel pellets tore through his head.

I was amazed to see his body make two more thrusts before collapsing on Penny. I guess it took a little time for his brain to tell his dick he was going to be spending eternity with a nasty case of blue balls.

Penny let out a single scream as bright red blood and gray matter spurted all over her. Then she fell silent; she had fainted.

I'd never assassinated anyone before and wasn't sure what to do. I did want to confront Penny before I executed her so I rolled the dead fucker off of her and onto the floor. The pellets had made a neat hole in his forehead about an inch in diameter. Up until today every dead person I had ever seen had been made up by an undertaker to look like they were sleeping.. No, Lamphere looked very dead and his would not be an open coffin wake

He hit the floor with a hard thud. That was when I saw his eyes were still wide open...staring at me.

I've got to admit that unnerved me so I pulled the blanket off the bed and threw it over the corpse. After a few minutes of waiting I began to lose patience. I went to the bathroom and poured a glass of cold water which I proceeded to throw in Penny's face. She sat up and shook her head. It looked like she was trying to see if it was all a bad dream. She knew it wasn't when she wiped her hand across her face and was rewarded with a hand full of Lamphere's brains.

I could see recognized the reality of her predicament by the pure terror in her eyes. She tried to scream but fear wouldn't allow it to escape her. The only sound was her sucking for air like an asthmatic fighting to take a breath. All too soon this was replaced by her wailing like a banshee.

I was getting worried I might not have the nerve to shoot her. I mean it was one thing to shoot a fat fuck in the back but quite another to blow away the woman I loved. I mean I'm an accountant, not a hit man.

"You know I get pissed off when you cry. I'm telling you right now stop that shit, it's not helping you any." I offered her a towel to wipe Lamphere off her naked chest.

She began to talk but her mouth was quivering so badly I couldn't understand her. I told her to calm down and take a deep breath because I wanted to hear what she had to say.

After a couple of minutes I could finally make out, "Am I going to die?"

"Do you remember what I told you I would do if you had an affair?"

She gently nodded her head.

"Can you give me a single reason why I shouldn't kill you?"

She had the most confused expression like she was searching the depths of her mind to find the miracle words that would commute her death sentence. Finally she mumbled, "No."

"You've been my wife for seven years so I will give you seven minutes to make your peace with God. Be warned, if you try to talk me out of killing you I will blow your head off that instant." I looked at my watch and said, "Beginning now."

I assumed Penny was praying as I could see her lips moving. Then she closed her eyes and let out a pitiful moan.

"Five minutes."

"I'm so sorry...I screwed up...I...I...I..I"

"Shhhh. Four minutes."

Penny went silent. I wondered what I would do if I only had four minutes to live. I checked my watch, "Three minutes."

"Matt, I'm so scared."

"So am I." Tears were rolling down my cheeks.

"Two minutes."

"Will it hurt much?"

"I'll be over in an instant...you'll open your eyes in heaven."

Penny began sobbing louder but finally managed to say, "Please shoot me in the chest instead of my face."

I nodded and pointed the barrel of the gun at her heart. The distinctive metallic sound of me chambering a round in the 12 gauge echoed through the room.

"I love you."

"I love you too." I pulled the trigger and ripped the life out of my wife.

The shotgun blew a hole in her chest as big as the hole she left in my heart.

I sat down next to her lifeless body and cried for at least an hour. Then I got out a legal pad and began writing my confession. I started by telling the story of the hole in the picture and ended with "I am a man of my word and I kept my promise to my wife."

My stomach growled and I realized all I had to eat all day was a cup of coffee. If I called the police right now I would be lucky to get something to eat before tomorrow morning I thought.

Then inspiration struck. Pizza. I went downstairs and found a menu for an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood that delivered. I figured it would be the last pizza I ever tasted.

I cracked open a beer, which would also no doubt be my last, and wrote a note to my brother while I waited. I told him how to dispose of my property, bank account information, etc. I put Penny's insurance policy, all of the cash I had on hand, and a set of keys in a Priority Mail envelope, sealed it, then slapped the correct postage on it.

Thirty minutes later the door bell rang. I handed the delivery kid twenty five bucks and said, "Keep the change." I made his day.

I wasn't sure if it was real or not but I recalled that in almost every detective show they take away the bad guys belt and shoe laces so he won't hang himself. I knew there would be TV cameras at court and didn't want to be walking around like I mope.

I took what I expected to be my last hot shower then changed into a pair of comfortable pants that didn't need a belt and a pair of loafers.

To make sure my story got out I made copies of my confession and mailed them to two reporters whose names I got off the front page of the local newspaper. I wanted to make sure everyone knew why I had to do it.

I walked about a half mile to the drug store and dropped the envelopes in the mailbox. As I walked back I realized I was taking my last walk as a free man.

Ten minutes later I took one last walk through our house ending at the master bedroom. I kissed Penny good bye one last time and went downstairs to call the police.

I placed my signed confession on the floor next to the disassembled shotgun.

"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

"My name is Matthew Weiss, I just shot my wife and her lover."

"I have your address as 2201 Morrison Street."

"Yes ma'am. They're in the upstairs bedroom."

"I'm dispatching a patrol car and an ambulance. I have alerted the officers you are armed. Please state your intention."

"There's no problem ma'am. Tell the officers I'll show no resistance. The front door is wide open and I'll be lying face down with my fingers laced behind my head. "

It took a couple of minutes for the first squad car to arrive. It took them almost as long to walk in and slap a pair of handcuffs on me.

I was driven to the station in the back seat of an unmarked car.

The next couple of days are a bit of a blur. I was glad I had eaten before turning myself in as I was hustled non-stop. I should mention I live in a nice quiet bedroom community and this was the first double homicide they ever had. It seemed like everyone wanted to talk to me.

I kept telling them I explained everything in my confession but they insisted in grilling me anyway.

The detective interrogating me kept asked if I ever considered killing myself. My answer was always the same, "Why, I only did what I gave my solemn word to do. And a man who doesn't keep his word is not a man."

He got even more pissed off when I refused to tell him how I "became aware" my wife was having an affair and, more specifically, when she would be having an assignation with her paramour. His fancy words did not loosen my tongue for I was sworn to secrecy and I am, after all, a man of my word.

I couldn't tell how much time had elapsed because the room had neither a window nor a clock, just a metal table, to which I was handcuffed, and two chairs.

Later, at what I assumed was early evening, a State Police investigator took over the questioning. He seemed like a nice enough guy; he even offered me a cup of coffee. It tasted like hell. Once again I told my story. He thanked me for my time and said he would be back when it was time for me to go to court.

Next I was examined by a psychiatrist to determine if I was insane. When he asked if I felt remorse I answered, "No, I feel betrayal. I was betrayed by the woman who promised in front of God and man to forsake all others." Then I added, "I had to do what I did or I would not be a man." He was not very happy with my answers.

We verbally sparred over my morals and ethics for what must have been two hours before he announced he had what he needed. I was shackled and led back to my cell to await my next inquisitor.

The next morning I was brought before a judge for arraignment. After the indictment was read I was asked how I plead.

"Guilty your Honor."

My court appointed attorney, who looked straight out of law school, shouted, "No your Honor...my client doesn't...I mean this was a crime of passion and he pleads temporary insanity!"

I protested just as vigorously that I was not insane and knew what I was doing. I yelled, "Your honor, can I please speak."

A loud roar came forth from the spectators. Cries of "Let the murderer speak!" rang out. Others offered suggestions on how I should be put to death. One man in a bad suit pushed his way forward, "Thomson from the Times. I got your confession in the mail Mr. Weiss. Is this on the level?"

I answered, "Yes, my confession is real," as a couple of burly sheriff's deputies hustled me out of the courtroom. I never did hear the Judge's answer.

I spent another lovely evening in the gray bar hotel, complete with a room service meal. After a dinner of a baloney sandwich, potato chips, and green beans I sat in my bunk and stared at the wall until lights out.

That night the damndest thing happened. Matthew Weiss woke up but couldn't move. He thought he was having a lucid dream he couldn't wake up from. He began to panic. He could feel his pillow was soaked in sweat while the rest of his body was chilled. He tried to call out but couldn't. The only thing he could do was blink his eyes.

When the jailer came in the morning to count prisoners he ordered Weiss to get out of bed. When he didn't he called for a backup before unlocking the cell.

It didn't take them long to determine he was not faking it. Matthew Weiss was paralyzed from a stroke.

Paramedics showed up and carried him to an ambulance. He was brought to county hospital with his right wrist handcuffed to the gurney.

The next thing he knew he was lying in a bed with a web of wires and tubes hooked up to him.

He overheard someone explaining he had suffered a massive stroke but it looked like he would live. Six months later he could move his left arm enough to feed himself. He never did speak again. The county doesn't spend a lot of money on physical rehabilitation for confessed murderers.

So Matthew Weiss spent the rest of his life sitting in a wheelchair staring at the wall. Some days the minimum wage intern would turn on the TV set. I didn't matter for he lived in his mind, reliving his marriage; fast forwarding through the bad times and dwelling on the good. He also had great philosophical debates as to his final judgment. He was convinced he would be reunited with his wife.

Ten years later the angel of death collected the soul of Matthew Weiss. He died with a smile on his face, the first anyone could recall seeing.

When a reporter called to tell Mrs Lamphere her husband's killer had died she also smiled. She smiled because her secret died with him. No one would ever know it was she who made the phone call that made Matthew prove he was a man of his word.