Boy Scout

"Be prepared."

It was the motto of the Boy Scouts.

The Scout Law was different. The Law said that a Scout was trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. Also naive, apparently. Foolish. Idiotic. Gullible. They all worked.

Nick had no other answers after looking at the e-mail on his wife's iPhone. Normally, he would not have looked at anything on her phone at all, a fact she knew very well, so she had not bothered to employ any extra security. He had been a Boy Scout, after all. He was as straight as they come. He did not invade anyone's privacy.

But Nick's wife was going out of town in a few weeks, and Nick was trying to remember the name of her hotel. She had told him before, but he had not really been paying attention and wanted to avoid the argument about why he had not been paying attention. Those arguments were a bit more frequent lately.

The trip was going to be their longest time apart after getting married five years before, and Nick had been thinking of doing something romantic like sending flowers. After all, what better way to show the woman he loved how much he loved her than to send her flowers while she was several thousand miles away without him in the City of Love, Paris.

It was the City of Love, alright, but he was not the one who she was going to be loving. No. That was going to be Dwayne, who was going on the trip, too. After having entered the passcode to his wife's phone—the date of their wedding—Nick found himself reading one of the not-safe-for-work e-mails his wife and Dwayne had been trading over the past several weeks. They were talking about strolling down the Champs-Elysees at night and then taking a boat ride on the Seine under the moonlight.

Almost as surprising as the affair itself was the fact that Nick's wife Linda and her lover Dwayne were exchanging their messages using their work e-mail accounts. She should have known better. So should Dwayne. Like Nick, Linda was a lawyer. Dwayne was a paralegal at Linda's firm. All three had done enough document review in big litigation disputes where huge teams of lawyers and paralegals read each and every one of hundreds of thousands of e-mail messages produced or being considered for production as part of document discovery. There was always a story about an idiot or two having an affair, with the lawyers then trying to figure out if the affair had anything to do with the case and, if so, how to limit the damage.

The truth is that the reason Nick had not been paying attention when Linda told him about the trip and the name of the hotel the team would be using was because something funny was going on. Nick did not know what at the time, but his instinct had the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Five years as an attorney listening to clients lie and listening to lawyers scrupulously avoiding lying by not telling the whole had made his listening skills acute. And something was off when Linda had originally told him about the trip. A very boring arbitration matter that was going to have them so busy they were not even going to be able to enjoy the sights. She said it while not looking at him at all. And too flippantly. She knew Paris was one of Nick's favorite cities and one they had always talked about going to together because Linda had never been there.

So Nick had thought her response odd but had never even imagined this worst-case scenario. The e-mail string he was looking at now though was a stiletto thrust straight to the heart.

"Why don't you just lose the Boy Scout so we can spend more time together without worrying?" Dwayne had written last night.

"He makes me feel safe," Linda replied.

"So why are you screwing me behind his back every chance you get?"

"You make me wet." Smiley-face emoji.

Nick had no idea what he was going to do at the moment, other than print the e-mail exchange on the wifi printer they had in the basement. Just in case. Dependably, as an experienced litigator, his first instinct was to preserve the evidence.

After printing the e-mail and putting it in his computer bag, Nick thought. He certainly knew what he wanted to do. As he saw it, he had two options. One was to punch his wife in the face until he smashed her nose completely. The other was to grab her behind the head while pretending to get ready to kiss her but then to smash her face into one of the trees in the woods behind the house. And then, when she recovered from the shock enough to start screaming and spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, smashing her head into the tree again. Dwayne, on the other hand, would experience less mercy.

Before hurting anyone, he needed to think. The thinking was what made him a lawyer. He got paid to use his brain, not his muscles. And he had to do the thinking quickly because Linda was out for a run and would be back soon.

But before he even did the thinking, he had to finish the mission and find the hotel. It would not be for sending flowers though. He did not know what he would need the information for, but he just knew he needed it. Perhaps as a target. There. La Clef Tour Eiffel. Near the Trocadero, across the river from the Eiffel Tower. About a five-minute walk from the International Chamber of Commerce, where Linda and Dwayne would be working on their arbitration matter with the rest of the team, at least when the two lovers had some free time between fucks.

Hotel located, he had to do a quick computer search on Virginia divorce law. He remembered some from the bar exam, five years back, but it was always good to check. Adultery was a ground of divorce and could affect issues like alimony and the split of property. But there were defenses to a claim of adultery, too. One was "condonation." Finding out about the adultery and then voluntarily resuming sexual relations and continuing to live together was a defense.

So, he had to get out of the house and fast. And there would be no confrontation. Not yet. He fully intended to hit her with full shock and awe without there being any unknown unknowns thrown into the mix. He was going to dominate the battlespace of the end of this marriage. Which meant he would have to lie. Not compatible with the Scout Law, but this was war. It was Churchill, after all, who said, "In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies." Nick's lies now would serve a higher purpose. None of them were under oath anyway.

He went up to the master bedroom and began packing. He finished quickly and placed the suitcases by the front door. He was nearly through assembling the critical documents he wanted—bank and credit card statements, 401(k) and IRA statements, car titles, pay statements, mortgage, and Linda's latest student loan balance sheet—when she got back from her run.

He heard her in the kitchen when he came up from his basement office. He decided to look harried and out of sorts when he saw her drinking a Gatorade. Her shoulder-length brown hair was in a ponytail. She looked good. Shame she was a repulsive slut. He knew then that the love was dead.

"Guess what? I'm going to Paris!" he said with a grim smile.

The color drained from Linda's face. Her blue eyes paled.

"What?!"

"Paris, Virginia."

She quickly lost her shocked expression.

"Sven just called," Nick continued. "We're doing depositions in my insurance case, and we have to prep the witness. Apparently, we just lost a motion to compel, the judge is pissed, and the whole discovery schedule is in chaos. I'm going to be on the road for weeks, although I will probably have time to stop by now and again to do some laundry."

"Poor baby," Linda said, with an appropriate look of concern.

"Maybe your firm is hiring. I'd much rather go to your Paris," Nick said and watched the concern creep back to her face.

But then she smirked.

"Send me a resume. Maybe you have the right pedigree for us to consider you."

That was a dig. Linda's law school was higher-ranked in the academic standings than Nick's was.

Then, maybe with some feeling of guilt, she moved like she was going in for a hug, but Nick turned around and went back down to his office before she could close the gap. The visions of punching her in the face were returning, and he was not sure he could keep them under control.

Coming back up, Linda asked what he wanted for dinner.

"Can't stay. I'll grab something on the road. Sven was losing his mind and wanted me on the road immediately."

He has been talking as he bustled through the kitchen.

Linda followed him to the door, looking a little concerned. As he grabbed his suitcases and headed out the door, she puckered her lips for a good-bye kiss.

"Sorry. I think I may be coming down with a cold. My throat has been feeling sore this afternoon. Maybe it's allergies, but I don't want you to catch anything."

Linda followed him out to the car as he loaded it.

"When will you be back?"

"Probably not until Friday. We're going down to Roanoke after Paris. Then, the next week, we have to go to Baltimore."

Perhaps he was getting even more paranoid, but he thought he heard the gears of her brain turning as he watched her eyes look away, as though calculating how his absence was going to present some unexpected opportunities.

He backed out of the driveway after waving good-bye. Hopefully, she would just assume that he was preoccupied with work and annoyed that he had been called in on a Saturday. His acting skills could not handle more at the moment. But he suspected she was already planning on inviting Dwayne over.

Nick drove until he came to a nearby strip mall with a coffee shop. Like most lawyers, he thought better on paper. As he drank his coffee, he began making a list of things to do. He paused for a moment to realize that he had not once thought of reconciling. That was not even an option. There would be retribution. The only question was that of degree.

The ringtone of his phone interrupted him. He did not recognize the number.

"Yes?" he answered impatiently.

"Mr. Buford? I'm Sam Granger. I don't think we have met, but I'll come straight to the point. I got your number from some old property records. I'm in the business of buying old houses and tearing them down to build McMansions. I know, I know. Everyone hates what I do, but they don't hate me so much when I give them the check."

Granger spoke so quickly that Nick did not have time to react except to think that the house was not old, it was cozy, and where the hell did he get off talking about tearing it down, but then his rational mind took over.

"And?"

"Well, I'd like to buy your house to tear it down. I'd offer to build a McMansion for you, but I can never guarantee the timing of the new construction, especially with county permits and all that. I make all my profit on flipping them fast, but I think I can give you a very good price, if you and your wife are motivated to sell."

Nick had trouble stopping a Grinch-like smile from spreading on his face. Linda had picked the house just before they got married. It was an older ranch, but it had a nice yard that backed right up on a section of wood with a stream running through it. It was close to major highways, but secluded enough that it was peaceful. What absolutely sold her was the treehouse in the yard opposite the window to the master bedroom. She loved how it was a house ready for children.

Nick had just liked the price and that it was only about a twenty-minute ride from a major parking lot for the Metro system. That and the 30-minute train ride to work made a pretty good commute for the area.

"Mr. Granger, I'm going to be in and out with work over the next few days, so I can't guarantee access to the property."

"Call me Sam. I don't need to see it inside. Like I said, it's a tear-down, and I've already checked it out on the outside."

"Can you meet Sunday morning, Sam?"

"Sure."

"By the way, I'll probably be doing the closing myself with a power-of-attorney for my wife. She's very preoccupied with work-related stuff these days."

"No problem. I'll give you the form we use."

Nick noted the address and began to see the contours of a plan. Felt safe with her Boy Scout, did she? That's because Linda had no knowledge that good old Lord Baden-Powell was using military scouting as the model for what would become his boys' movement. Skills like stealth, cunning, and self-reliance. Ambushes, in other words. She would never see what was coming until it was too late.

But first, recon. For that, he tossed his empty coffee cup and went out to the car for some privacy. He pulled up a number on his phone and dialed.

"Frank?" he asked when the call was answered. "I need a favor. And I need it now."

Frank Bari was a private investigator. Nick had made it a point during his five years doing legal work for corporations also to do pro bono work to help poor people with their legal issues. It appealed to his notions of public service. And besides, he got billable-hour credit for it from his firm and actual experience in court, which his day job normally did not provide. One of his law school classmates had recommended Frank to help with a nasty divorce case involving a stepfather sexually abusing his stepdaughter. Frank's evidence put the guy away when the sluggish police response would not and that evidence resulted in the divorce getting processed quickly.

Frank listened as Nick explained what he had learned.

"And you think your wife is going to have him in your bed tonight? Is she that brazen?"

"Arrogant. She was one of the top students in her law school class. Thinks she can't make a mistake."

"I'll do this one myself. I owe you. That Rivera divorce case got me all kinds of good publicity. The phone has been ringing off the hook."

"I appreciate that, Frank," Nick said. "By the way, there's this tree house in the backyard you might want to use. It looks right into the master bedroom, and she likes to do the martial business with the shades open. Used to freak me out, but whatever got her motor running, you know? You can get there by crossing through the woods and jumping over the stream after dark. No fences and no dogs around. There's a service road on the other side where you can park."

"Thanks. If you don't mind, I'm going to hide a camera outside pointing at the front of the house to keep track of who is coming and going and when."

"Fine."

"And you're using Harry for the divorce, right? I'm assuming that you want a divorce."

"Yes and yes."

"Okay. I know how he likes the affidavit and report done. If you're right, we'll know pretty soon."

Nick then called Harry.

"Is this about the law school reunion, Nick? I've already had five calls about contributing to their capital fund."

"Nope. I want to hire you. Linda is cheating, and I want to burn the bitch."

After Nick brought him up to date, Harry said, "Come in tomorrow. I know it's Sunday, but I had to deal with some paperwork in the office anyway so I was going in. We might as well get started on this. Sounds like you've covered the bit about not condoning the adultery. Harry is covering the clear-and-convincing evidence part. The sticky part will just be the fighting over the financial settlement. She's a big firm lawyer, too, so she'll have the resources to fight and drag it out, plus folks at her firm giving her advice."

"Leave that to me," said Nick. "I think we can settle this like civilized people."

"Then that means you are not going to burn the bitch, but okay. We can see what you come up with."

His last call was more delicate.

"Hello?"

"Maggie? It's Nick."

The silence on the end of the line was deafening.

"Maggie?"

"You son of a bitch."

"Nice to talk to you, too, honey, after all this time."

"What do you want, Nick? After all this time?"

"I need your help."

"I thought Linda was your helpmate."

"It's about Linda. She's cheating."

"What a surprise. Can't help you emotionally or sexually these days. I'm dating."

"And I'm sure he's a lucky guy. Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry we fooled around and let it ruin the friendship. I'm also sorry that I let Linda kick you out of my life when I thought there was a chance that we could get back to being friends. But as a friend, I need your help now."

"Asshole." Nick let her stew. "What do you need, Nick?"

He told her. There was silence on the line. Then the laughter.

"I'm in," she said after she calmed down, but he could still hear the smile in her voice. "You always did make me laugh."

"Thanks, Maggie. When the dust settles, you'll have to introduce me to Mr. Lucky so I can congratulate him on his fine taste and take you both out to dinner."

"It's a date," she said.

He needed somewhere to hide out for a while and to plan, so he found a long-term stay hotel out past the Beltway in Fairfax far enough from his and Linda's usual haunts that he was not at risk of being seen, got settled, and then went for something to eat. He was not really hungry, but knew that he needed something in his stomach to absorb the alcohol he planned on drinking.

A restaurant called "El Mariachi" was across the street from the hotel. That would do the trick because frijoles and cheese would be easy to vomit later. As the hostess seated him in a booth, he saw the bartender looking at him. He seemed vaguely familiar, but Nick put it out of his head. He had enough to worry about at the moment.

Seeing pupusas on the menu meant that the restaurant was a Central American place pretending to be Mexican. Most Americans didn't know the difference. He ordered some cheap tequila with the food. He knew the hangover would be brutal the next day but considered the pain part of the rite of passage. The waitress returned with a bottle of excellent top-shelf tequila and a highball glass. When Nick looked up at the waitress, she just pointed to the bartender who saluted him.

Nick acknowledged the salute and poured himself a generous drink when the bartender went back to serving other customers. It took a moment, but Nick remembered who he was. He recalled the bartender as one of the members of the public who sat through the Rivera divorce hearings as well as the criminal proceedings that Nick had attended. He was always in the last row by himself. No one ever sat next to him. His client Sonia's daughter hugged him once, but when Nick asked Sonia who it was, she got very quiet and said he was just a friend of the family.

Nick ate in silence, making notes on a legal pad, and drinking more tequila. When the waitress cleared his dirty plates, he went to the rest room. He was conscious that things seemed to be moving around like he was on a ship when he walked. He needed to steady himself against the wall while he did his business. He then returned to the booth, taking extra care to be steady, and found the bartender sitting in his booth on the opposite bench.

"Señor Nick, nice to see you," he said reaching out to take Nick's hand and shake it vigorously. Nick sat down and waited.

"I never thanked you for helping my cousin out with that bastard she was married to."

Nick tried to protest that it was nothing and just doing what little he could, but the bartender ignored him.

"He got badly beaten up in prison. Did you know that? Really badly. They don't think he'll walk again. Or eat solid food." The bartender had a slight smile as he told Nick. Nick felt a chill as he looked at the bartender.

"I hadn't heard that," Nick said.

The bartender shrugged.

"That's yesterday's news. What brings you alone to 'El Mariachi' on a Saturday night? Where is your lovely wife?"

Nick looked the bartender straight in the eyes. The bartender was still smiling. It was not a mocking smile. More like a smile that knew a lot.