Cameron and Manny

He smiled at me. "It looks good," he said. "We'll keep her here for a few more days, run a couple of tests, and if all goes well, you can take her home."

I looked at him with a question in my mind. Home? With me? I knew then that I would be taking her home, but I had no idea for how long or really if she'd even go with me. I just said, "Sure doctor. Absolutely."

They had given her another sedative to let her rest, but at least she was out of the semi-coma that she had been in since her arrival. It was on the ninth day that I was able to talk with her at some length.

"You'll be released tomorrow," I said. "I will take you home with me. You're gonna need some help for a while."

"That's nice of you," she said. "Especially after all I've put you through."

"Yeah, well there will be rules," I said, knowing I had to take control or she would be back here again almost certainly and maybe in the downstairs morgue.

"I know, Manny. I know," she said.

"Can you tell me what happened?" I said. "The cops are going to want to know too," I said.

"It was Calvin," she said. "He did this to me. He came back and wanted to resume our business arrangement among other things. But, I told him to get lost. He didn't take it very well. And..."

She hadn't lost her talent for understatement. "I guess not," I said. "But I thought you wanted a pimp."

"He'd robbed me, and I knew he would again. Plus..."

I waited, and she looked at me with a growing sadness showing in her eyes. "I told him wasn't going to do it anymore," she said. "I told him I was through. That's when he lost it and beat the hell outta me."

I was having a hard time getting my head around what she had just said. My brilliant response was, "Huh?"

"You were right all along, Manny. It was a horrible life. I had some fun in the early going, but it soon palled. There was nothing in it but the money after a while. And, as I discovered, Money was not the most important thing to me anymore. I needed more, a lot more," she said.

"More?" I said. "What more?"

She stared at the ceiling for some moments. "Love, Manny, Love."

I looked down, I couldn't let her see me tear up. "Who is he?' I asked. "Why isn't he here?"

She had that sad look again. "Manny, he is."

"Huh?"

"It's you," she said. "I know we're divorced. I know you can't stand what I've done. I've hurt you a dozen ways and as many times. But, I was wrong. I don't expect you to take me back. I just need you around me for a while, while I get my bearings."

"You got it, kiddo. I'll always be there for you. But, if you are really quitting the business, I am going to insist that you get counseling. No arguments," I said.

"Yes, sir," she said.

******

I had another agenda. Cameron had been interviewed by the cheap suits, but they didn't seem overly interested in breaking a sweat trying to solve the case. I, on the other hand, had every intention of solving it; and that with or without any help from them.

The ride home was not exactly lively but we didn't stop talking, really almost arguing. I wanted to know all about Calvin, and she didn't want to tell me anything.

"Manny, Calvin is twice your size, and he doesn't fear anything. He's a very serious dude. I don't want you going after him. The police can do that," she said.

"Maybe they will and maybe they won't, Cam, but this guy has got to pay. And, I'm willing to bet a million bucks that you aren't the first woman he's done this to. So tell me. I promise I won't hurt him too bad," I said, smiling and trying to lighten things up a little.

She let go of an exasperated sigh. "He has a place, or did until he disappeared. It's downtown, on fifteenth east. The Harmon apartments. Fourth floor I think. Don't remember the exact number." She turned in her seat to look at me, and I could see her grimace. "Manny, he carries a gun. He carries it all of the time. Do not go after this guy. He comes from a world you don't know anything about," she said, finally.

"Don't worry. I don't know what I'm going to do exactly, not yet, but I won't be taking any chances," I said.

Pulling into the driveway, I helped her out of the car. She was ambulatory but barely. Getting her up the stairs and into the bedroom where she was going to rest for a couple of days minimum was a bit of a challenge. But we got it done.

It was strange her laying there. She hadn't been in my bed in so long it was like she was a stranger. For sure she wasn't the same woman I'd married a thousand years before. Nor was she the same woman that had walked out on me to become a whore. It was going to be real strange for a while, and real iffy as to how things would turn out. Yes, I know, I could have put her in the guest room, but somehow that didn't seem right. She'd be sleepin' with me, and that was the long and short of it.

******

I called Rhonda. She and I knew a few people and I asked her to find me Jill Armstrong; they'd been tight a few years back, and what I was going to ask for needed the personal touch. Jill used to be a regular at the bar and she was also a private-eye. She'd find good 'ole Calvin for me, and more, she'd find the dirt on him that I was really after; and that before the police ever got a whiff.

The call had brought me to the bar and she was sitting near the front rubbing out a cigarette and nodding for the bar girl to bring her a refill; she was apparently drinking martinis.

I strode over to her. "Hi, Jill, haven't seen you in a long time," I said.

"Hello, Manny. Yeah, it has been a while. Been busy. So how have you been," she said.

"I've been better. Rhonda say anything to you?" I said.

"Not really. Said you and the wife had problems, but that was about it," said Jill.

"Problems? Not even close," I said. "More like a shit storm of problems, and I have no idea how I am going to get by them or how it will all end up or whatever."

She eyed me for the longest minute. "Okay, so what can I do to help?" she said, slowly.

I gave Helen a signal to bring us a round. After she had done that, I launched into the short version—which wasn't all that short—of what had been going on for the last year plus. Now, Jill was an experienced PI. She'd seen about everything one in her line of work could see. She was nevertheless shocked to hear my tale of woe.

"Sweet mother of God!" she said, not attempting to hide her feelings. "So at least you have an old address. Okay. And, you want to find this asshole before the cops get their hands on him. Why?"

"I want to talk to him about his, uh, behavior," I said. Jill eyed me once again for a long moment.

"You plannin' on doin' somethin' inappropriate, Manny?"

"No, but he's gonna know not to mess with my wife again. And, I'm gonna turn his evil ass over to the cops. After we have our little conversation of course," I said.

"Okay, I'll find him for you. But, no wild ass revenge shit, or you'll never see me again. Okay, am I clear?" she said.

"Good, I appreciate it," I said. "And, yes, you're very clear."

We spoke for a few more minutes. She laid it on me as to the cost for a search of this kind: $200 a day and expenses. I agreed, we downed our drinks and she got up to leave.

"One more thing, Manny. No weapons. Leave 'em at home," she said. I nodded my agreement.

I didn't hear from Jill for three days. But on the third day, I got the call.

"He's living in a small upscale apartment, not the one you gave me, but nearby: 1411 Delano street, number six; it's upstairs.

******

I sat out in the car thinking. Jill's warning was clear in my mind, and Cam's too if it came to that: he'd almost certainly be armed. I made up my mind; my approach would be two pronged. First, I'd make sure he knew the police were aware of where I was and who I was with, and second, I'd confront him. I pulled out my cell and made the call. The tire iron I held in my right hand was partially hidden, as I kept it held tight next to my leg; it was my equalizer and argument arbitrator. The call connected.

I knocked on the door as soon as Lt Baxter, the cop from the hospital answered. The door opened, a tall black man stared at me. "Yes...Lt. Baxter... this is Manny Kirkland...yes, I'm at 1411 Delano Street; it's Calvin Goode's place....yes...I'm letting you know in case anything untoward happens..." I hung up.

"What the fuck," said the man in front of me. I put my booted foot in the door and he couldn't close it. I pushed and went in.

"As you heard the cops know where I am, and they are undoubtedly already loading up to get here. You got no hope of getting away now, asswipe," I said. He reached into the back of his waist band. My hand flashed and he went down like a sack of wet cement. I rolled him over and threw hi gun onto the seat of the nearby recliner.

He started to come around, but he was obviously in a great deal of distress. I hadn't hit him that hard, but evidently it had been hard enough.

"And, as I was about to say, asshole, if anything happens to me, they'll know who to look for first. But, it does look like that isn't going to be a worry." I wasn't quite laughing at him.

"Think you're pretty clever don't you," said Calvin.

"More clever than thou art," I said, smiling like a possum. "You don't have much time, I'm thinking. I wanna beat the living shit out of you for messin' with Cameron, but I guess I have to let the cops have their shot at you first—uhoh—maybe not now, I guess. I promised a friend I wouldn't mess you up too much though."

He looked me over and was clearly thinking about trying to take me down. He thought better of it, and settled back against the wall. "Why'd you come? Why not send the cops and let them do your dirty work?" he said.

"Oh they will. But, you have made a good point. I'm here because I want to know why you beat up Cameron. I can't believe it's because she wanted to quit your little game," I said. "And, I wanted to see the face of the slimeball up close and personal before he was taken away."

He laughed. "You don't know anything do you?" said Calvin.

"Enough," I said.

"Right—not," he said. "Cameron and I are engaged. Did she tell you that?"

I could feel my face darken. "You're a lying piece of shit, Calvin. But even, if so, the beating makes even less sense."

"It does if you catch her fucking around on you," he said. He perked up when he heard sirens in the back ground. "And, did she tell you she robbed me."

My look was my answer.

"That's what I thought," he said. "You need to take a lot closer look at your honey," he said. "She is not who you think she is."

The door was open and two uniforms, guns drawn entered and took Calvin into custody.

I followed them out. One of them said something about someone wanting to talk to me.

"Mr. Kirkland," said Lt. Baxter, "I will need to know how you found our friend there," he said, motioning in the direction of the retreating uniforms and their prisoner.

"Simple, I hired a PI," I said. "You guys didn't seem all that interested in pursuing the matter, so I did. He cannot be allowed to get away with what he did," I said.

The look that the police lieutenant gave him was hard to read. "We'll be talking," said Lt. Baxter.

******

I pulled into the driveway a half hour later. The last thing I wanted to do was pin Cameron about Calvin Goode's claims. But, I didn't see a choice. I'd go easy, but I had to know. And, if any of what he said was even partly true, it would come out in court anyway. I didn't want it to be biting me in the ass, nor Cameron either for that matter.

She was sitting on the patio swing holding a soda when I arrived. I coughed so as not to startle her. I did anyway.

"Manny! I didn't hear you," she said. She started to get up, but she was still somewhat unsteady and sat back down. "Are you okay? You look funny."

"I'm fine, Cam. Cam, we got him," I said. "He's in custody."

Her face showed surprise and something else—fear. "Really? How—what?"

"I have friends, Cam. You know that. It wasn't very hard. He may be a tough guy to you, but in the end he didn't even try to run. Well, not after I dented his head—slightly. And of course the cops were just minutes behind me, and he knew it."

"Really?"

"Cam, he said some things..."

She started to cry.

"He said you were engaged?" It was a question. "Was that true?"

"Manny, it's true but that was before. I thought you'd be getting on with your life after—after I left. I needed someone who would have me for what I am—was. I thought he loved me. But, he only loved what I could do for him: make money. I told him we were through a half dozen times, but he just wasn't going to believe me," she said.

"He said you stole money from him," I said.

"That's a lie! He took my money. I just took some that he had stashed in the refrigerator, maybe five hundred," she said. "It was just a small part of what he took from me. And, when he found out, he nearly beat me to death."

What she was saying made sense, so far. "He said the reason he beat up on you was because he caught you cheatin on him," I said.

Her laughter at that was almost hysterical. "Right! And all the booty he was chasing wasn't cheating on me," she snickered. "Yes, he caught me with another guy. It was a revenge fuck, but he didn't even get mad, not at me. He beat the guy pretty bad though, and it was one of his friends. I think it might even have been like a distant relative or something; I'm not sure. No, he beat me because of the five hundred. Nobody messes with his income, or what he considers his income."

I was feeling uneasy about what she was saying. She whored herself out and left me, but she was fighting with him because he was unfaithful to her. Her logic was so twisted it was almost incomprehensible. I loved her, but she needed help, and a lot of it before I would allow her back on anything like a permanent basis. She seemed to read my mind.

"It worries you doesn't it?" she said. "I mean my behavior."

"Yes, it does, Cam. Yes, it does. The stuff you're talking about borders on the socially criminal. Violence, thievery, whoring, irrational relationships: all of it is so bizarre," I said.

What I did know, is that she had been beaten to within an inch of her life, and that by a man whose word of honor would always and in any possible world be suspect. The question now was, could I believe she had given her sordid idea of an exciting life up? I had mixed feelings, but time would tell.

******

Things settled down after the initial arrest of Calvin. He made bail, but stayed away from us; he had little choice.

Cam healed. The process was slow, and she was seeing her doctor monthly at first, then bi-monthly. She was also, at my insistence, seeing a Psychologist about her sexual peccadilloes. I was asked to join her at some of these sessions, and I was glad to do so. I needed to know where she was coming from, or had come from, so I could deal with it should the dragon, at some point in the future, rear its ugly head.

We were living together but not remarried. It was kind of an agreement between us that if that should ever happen it would happen, but we weren't going to push it. She was not overly upset by my feelings in this regard which kind of surprised me. I laid it off to her not wanting to pressure me. I should have known better.

About a year after the incident, as we had taken to referring to it, Cameron approached me about getting a job. She took one as a secretary and girl Friday at an insurance company. Problems began to surface some months after she took the job.

Cameron started coming home at odd hours. Occasionally, it was as much as three hours later than normal. She said it was work related and not to worry myself over it. I didn't at first. But later, it became so routine that I had to become suspicious. I began checking phone records. It was there that I found my first clues.

Her cell had a certain number that recurred every evening at about the same time Monday through Thursday and never on weekends. Work related? Maybe. But I wasn't feeling right about it. It was always after work hours. I had the bad feeling she was cheating on me, maybe even once again whoring herself out. I had to know. I called Jill.

"Hello," I said, as I answered the phone. "Yeah...oh Jill...okay whatcha got?...Oh shit...okay...I'll be there shortly...uh...five minutes."

Breaking most of the traffic laws set forth by the thoughtful and caring members of the state legislature, I made it to where my bought and paid for spy, Jill, was waiting for me. Fortunately, none of the police vehicles in this part of the state were capable of catching my stock 1962 Datsun pickup.

I pulled up alongside Jill's Jag. I got out, went to the passenger side of her car and got in.

"They're in there," she said, "room three."

"Get any pictures?" I said.

"Yeah, a couple. They were kissing and feeling each other up. They didn't seem to care who saw them," she said. "Manny, she's cheatin' on yuh."

I was sick, sick to death. I'd tried, I'd tried, I really had; and I got nuthin' for the effort. "Can I see the pictures?" I said. She handed me the digital.

"Press here," she said. I did.

"Aw shit. It's that muthafucka Calvin Goode. Aw shit!" Well, if I hadn't been sick before I was now. Real sick. And now I was also mad.

"I'm headed home, Jill. Do me a favor. Stay here and get some more pics and audio too if you can. I mean we're divorced, but I want the evidence anyway." I got out, went back to my car, and drove home. I had some things to do and to prepare for.

I looked at the clock it was almost nine o'clock. She'd outdone herself this time. Must have been his cock, I guess. He'd only spent a year in the slam for beatin' the hell outta her, that thanks to a federal judge who thought that overcrowded jails were inhumane. And now he was fuckin' her. One had to love it. I mean who'd believe it. I couldn't believe it and I knew it was true.

I'd been done packin' her bags for over an hour. I figured that that was the least I could do for the woman who had cuckolded me and that early and often and was still doing it. I was drained me of every last ounce of emotion and spirit that I had at last and painfully been able to summon up. That particular vain effort had finally robbed me of the wife and companion that I needed and needed badly.

I knew exactly what she was going to do and say when she got home, and I didn't want to hear it. Not this time. Not this time.

I heard her car pull up into the driveway. She keyed the lock in the door and entered. "Honey, sorry I'm late," she said when she saw me sitting on the couch. I was relaxing by this time with a shot of vodka and a Lite beer chaser.

"Honey?" she repeated when I didn't say anything.

I looked over toward the hall. She saw the suitcases sitting there. "Honey? What's going on?" she said.

"You're moving out," I said, "and I'm going to bed. I've packed your things. I don't think I missed anything, but if I did, you can call and arrange a time to come by and pick them up. Oh, the bag there is your dirty clothes. I knew you'd probably not want them in the suitcases."

"Manny—I—what—what?"

"You're a cheating whore, woman. And with the asshole who beat the livin' hell outta yuh. I can't even believe it. Nobody could believe it. Hell you're worse than he is," I said.

"Manny what are you talking about?" But, she could see the jig was up. She was playing her last card. But she was drawing to an inside straight against a table full of tight stayers.

"Cameron, just leave, okay. I've had enough of you. I can't do it anymore. I saw you. At the Moonlight motel. Tonight. So fuck off." She fell onto the couch and started crying. Yep, I'd been right, that was exactly what I figured she'd do: lie and cry; it was her favorite strategy.