MJ 7B: Case of the Little Death Pt 2

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madam_noe
madam_noe
1,846 Followers

I came with a wailing moan and still he did not speed. Only when I begged him to stop, spent by three more orgasms, did Luis slam into me and find his own pleasure.

Thinking on it I stopped on the dirt road, eyes closed, head tipped to the sun. I breathed in careful measures to calm down from the memory but my whole body still tingled.

And my heart ached.

I was going to have to leave Luis. I'd know it the day I'd called him, I'd known it the day I'd found Finn. There was one thing left; to find Bowers. When I did I would have to leave Luis.

Bowers was all that stood between him and his old life. I would make sure that Bowers confessed killing Luis' brother. I would torture it out of him if I had to, in front of an entire room of cops. When I was done I would be the murderess they claimed, and my husband would be free.

I hadn't looked for Bowers in the four months we'd begun our new lives. Yes, I had to give my husband up, but I was in no rush to do so.

I opened my eyes and saw a dark shadow dart behind stalls. Something about it seemed familiar and my heart began to pound.

I no longer carried a gun, a stupid thing, but Paloma Romero was a refined, gentle, industrious woman...wit no such need.

I shook it off and approached the first stall. Melina was 87 and still sewed by hand, her 56 year old daughter Angelita did the sales. They were my best customers and from far away I had seen two ladies buying from them so I stopped there first.

"Melina, Angelita, how are you?" I said in my softly accented Spanish.

We discussed the weather, tourism, and they bought a bolt from me Luis had had dyed sky blue.

Feeling flush and happy I stopped to sit and talk some more but saw the flash again. It was a man, a white man, and my heart pounded once more.

Instantly the old, hard Marly slipped into place and despite their shock I, rather rudely by my current standards, excused myself.

I'd seen the man dash off towards the crowded permanent stores on the street leading to the hotels and turned down it.

The old Marly was a bit rusty, and I wasn't scanning as fast as I could be. That's how I missed him until two hands reached out between two food stalls and grabbed me.

I dropped my basket of cloth as one hand pinned my wrists above my head and another clamped over my mouth. I kicked and tried to bite but he dragged me back. This way I saw quickly was also a small makeshift alley between two brick buildings behind the stalls.

At long last I was thrown on the ground, a gun jammed in my face. I tipped back my hat and took in the Smith & Wesson clutched in trembling white hands. I followed the arms to the body to the face...and nearly pissed myself.

It was Arthur Bowers.

"Hiya, Marly. Almost didn't recognize you, took me a while. You look good, lost a little weight."

"Are you trying to get a blowjob or kill me?" I was terrified and doing my best not to show it.

"Neither, at the moment. You need to suffer. Suffer like I did."

"I never made you suffer, Arthur."

"It's Mark these days."

"Call me Paloma."

"Paloma, or should I say Senora Felipe Romero...you made me suffer. Like to hear it all?"

"What the hell, it was time for a coffee break." I scooted to sit against one brick wall but he kept the gun close, hunching himself over.

What I really needed was time. If he was here it meant soon I'd lose Luis. God help me, I wasn't ready to.

"That night all those years ago, do you know why I was outside the Admiral, why I got fingered for the shooting?"

I shook my head. "You never remembered. Kingston, his name was Kingston, he tried to rough you up when we were first partnered and we were looking into the Brown murder...I threatened him. That night I'd been out drinking with you...I showed up to Liz's work drunk and they threw me out. I went outside to call you, pulled some change from my pocket for the payphone the exact moment Kingston got shot.

"The cop who saw it thought I was reaching for the gun. You! All because of you!"

"You know, this might have been an excellent point for a judge."

"Shut up!" He was fairly frothing.

"It was your friend Alabaster who set up that robbery and sold us out. You again! And then I find the money, I just need a few people dead. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself and what do you do? You let that asshole brother of Liz's get away with most of the loot, Alejandro Javier gets the rest, and that fairy Finnegan saves you from Alejandro when you should be dead. And now you're married to his brother!" He laughed, a maniacal hollow sound.

"You'll be happy to know then I killed Finnegan, and you killed Alejandro. So what are we doing here?"

"Give me your cell phone." He jabbed the gun against my nose and damn it, it hurt.

I fished it out from the pocket of my dress and tossed it aside. He smiled and brought one heavy boot down, heel first, and smashed it.

"I'm here because you need to know what it's like to lose everything."

"I'm living in fucking Honduras under an assumed name! I had to kill a man I truly loved! How have I not lost everything?"

"Liz. I lost Liz."

Fear spread like cold in my stomach. "No."

"No? You must really love him." Bowers peered closely into my eyes, my sunglasses had been knocked off when he dragged me.

"Liz left you because she was a greedy, duplicitous bitch."

"She never would have if we hadn't been forced to hide out in Mexico, thanks to you!" He was nearly screaming now and my heart thudded. Part of me hoped the police would arrive, another part knew if they did I was in as much trouble as Bowers.

"Meet me tonight, by the water. I'll bring you all the money we have. You can kill me and take it, just swear you won't hurt Luis."

He stood up, gun steady on me. "Cunt," was all he said and then he stomped my chest.

The air rushed out and I struggled to breathe, even as the boot came back and slammed into the side of my head. My hat flew off and I crumpled, still not breathing, and watching him run back out to the street.

I tried to get to my knees but I was seeing stars and my chest burned. It took long minutes before I could even gasp for air. I finally crawled to my knees what felt like an eternity later and struggled up the wall to my feet, woozy. I'd been in enough fights I knew I was concussed, but there was no time.

I stumbled out, tripped over my basket and sprawled to the road. Three people helped me up and I rudely pushed them off, stumbling back to the coastal road home.

"My god!" It was Angelita. "Did that man attack you? Let me call the police!"

"No. Police," I wheezed out and began to jog with Herculean effort.

It was only a mile and a half but it felt like a true marathon. The workers were to the far of the field and none took notice as I stumbled up the to the porch.

Our front door had been kicked in and I stumbled in, hearing the sounds of a struggle. A gunshot rang out and I screamed instinctually.

"Marly!" Luis called with panic in his voice.

Please God, I prayed with rusty faith, please let him be ok. Please!

I ran to the kitchen and there Bowers and Luis were rolling on the floor, grabbing for his gun. They were both covered in blood and it was everywhere. I couldn't tell who's.

I knew there was a gun in a draw not far but I was operating on pure instinct. I ran to them, slipped in the blood, and feel hard on my ass.

Tears in my eyes I pulled off my shoe and tied to hit Bowers' head.

"Run Marly, run!" Luis yelled.

Tears streamed down my face as they rolled past me and I got a clear shot. I brought the heel down and Bowers let go of the gun. It skittered a foot away and I shoved as hard as I could, making Bowers sprawl further.

Saw it then: Luis had been hit in the chest. From his rattling breaths a lung had been punctured, was collapsing.

"No!" I sobbed out and fell on him, holding him close. "Luis, no, no!"

"Shhh. Marly!" he weakly called and moved his arm. I heard the gun go off and Bowers cried out, hitting the ground with a thud.

I struggled to my feet and grabbed the gun from Luis. I held it on Bowers, ready to blow his head off.

"Run...Marly...I...Love...You." It ended on a gurgle and he collapsed fully, dead.

I screamed again and without thinking pumped another bullet into Bowers. His quite dead body jumped.

And that was how the field workers found me, and the scene they shared with the police.

***

I was crying now in full force. The young priest's handkerchief was soaked and still the tears flooded the awful prison dress.

Moved he stood and walked over to sit beside me on the cot and put his arm around me, very brotherly.

"Marly, I am so sorry you had to lose your husband that way. But if this is God's will, you must surely know that though all the murders you were convicted of were not yours, there are other you have not had to face."

"Is it really God's plan that so many should suffer?"

He smiled softly. "The eternal question and the surest test of faith."

"What if I told you something else? What if I told you one secret no one else in the entire world knows, one lie in all my truth?"

"And what would that be?"

"First I ask but one thing. To tell you this I need to know I can trust you. Kiss me."

He pulled back, puzzled. I knew I looked like a soggy, red-eyed mess, hardly appealing, but that wasn't the point. Just once in this ordeal I wanted a sign of affection freely given.

The good father must have seen something in my face because he leaned in. It was a chaste kiss; soft, pure, close-lipped. Very much the kiss f an awkward teenager and I guessed that had been the last time he had kissed a girl.

He pulled back and smiled. "Now what is the one lie in all your truths?"

I had one hour until they put me on a plane to the U.S. to die, and I was terrified beyond measure.

I leaned over to whisper in his ear, and when his hand found mine I knew he had forgiven me.

***

He hadn't been the first priest sent, but I had held out. As cold and calculating as it was I had waited for him; young, attractive, my exact height, a similar slim build.

I wore his robes and cowl with the hood drawn low. They accepted the excuse it was me in the bed, buried beneath the covers, sobbing.

My heart was beating fast as I walked out and nearly stopped when a guard called for me pause. I responded in forced low tones and realized he anted me to sign out.

I looked at the signatures in and found the one to copy and they let me walk out the front door.

He'd borrowed a van from his order and I found it, got in, and started up, almost free. One last gate check to pass and I would escape.

It was early, shift change time, and the yawning guard just waved me through when he saw the van.

The rain was incredible, coming down in sheets. How they thought a plane could take off I had no idea, but that was not for me.

No, I drove to Angelita.

She was good people, had tried to visit me but was blocked. For every day of the three week joke that had been my trial she had sat in the courtroom, nodding to me in support as I watched my life flush away.

She gave me clothes and got me to her cousin who had a boat. The hurricane wasn't going to hit but the rain and storms were pretty bad, but he assured me we'd get far enough from land to handle it.

The journey made me throw up damn near constantly. It took us nearly a week to get to Belize and when we docked I made my guide, Esteban, run and grab hair dye, scissors, and colored contacts, non prescription.

When done I was an unusually tanned blue eyed blonde with hand-me-down glasses that barely worked. I hugged him, kissed his cheeks, and thanked him.

It took a week of grifting, panhandling, and stealing, but I got what I needed. The ID was harder and most of that week was making underworld contacts who didn't want to sell me as slave labor or whore me out.

When I had it all I booked myself a flight to France as a citizen of Spain, coach. I ate little, slept on the plane, practiced my accent for checking in.

I was armed only with an address my husband had given me as well as a bank account and password.

Customs was tricky and I had to sell my story that I had been robbed in Belize of my luggage to 3 different people.

By the time I went to the bank and withdrew the meager Euros not even a million, I was ready to drop. I still had two long legs to go on my journey to that one little lie waiting for me with a promise to outweigh all my hard truths.

On the plane I'd read about how my priest had been sentenced to a month in jail, but it had been commuted thanks to his order. He was safe, I had his blessing, even if he didn't quite know this penultimate step.

I found Monique Merlotte in a fashionable building on a little side street off the Seine, not from Notre Dame. This had set my husband back a pretty penny, and he'd given her close to three million yet two thirds of it was gone a year later.

She was also a mover and shaker who liked men. After Alabaster, the oily American pimp, she'd moved up a small movie star and even a low level politico. She was easy to find on the internet.

I pulled a fast one with charm to get let into her building, the older woman with two grocery bags and a yapping Yorkshire appreciated my help. She remarked how it was shame we didn't talk more and I agreed, hefting my own heavy bag.

I was proud of my French, which I had been studying in prison thanks to the few books they allowed us in solitary to enjoy. Surprising what "The Idiots Guide To French" could teach the motivated when combined with old French movies watched over a lifetime.

I knocked on her door and it almost immediately opened. The smile died on Monique's face when she saw what I saw: damn near a mirrored reflection.

"He was right, the men in my life do tend to fuck women who look like me." I said in English.

"Pardon?"

I sucker punched in the nose and it crunched, broken, just as I'd hoped. She stumbled back I stalked in and kicked the door closed.

I pulled a simple move and got her down. I wanted it to be quick and painless.

"Why!?!"

I readied the towel and leaned in close. "Because you fucked my husband. Because you saw him kill Alabaster and blackmailed him into all of this.

Then I began to smother her. I'd been a cop long enough to know forensics and though it took long minutes she was finally unconscious and slumped.

I slipped off my backpack and put on my gloves, finding her liquor cabinet. Whiskey, Jamesons, shocking. Absolutely perfect.

Dry six months myself I had to resist the urge to take a swig as I unscrewed the top and got her sitting up against the cream couch. I poured some down and she came too, sputtering. I got her in a hold and jammed the neck down her throat.

It went everywhere but a lot of it got down her throat.

When she was woozy and the bottle was empty I tossed it aside and went for a bottle of vodka. We repeated the process until she vomited, and I simply ignored it and kept going. At long last her pupils were blown and she no longer struggled.

I set down the empty bottle and brought the towel back. This time when she passed out I knew she'd stay that way.

I used her shower, cleaned out, styled myself with her products, changed into her clothes. I packed one of her suitcases with all her toiletries, prescriptions, jewelry, more cash I found, and her clothes. Thank God prison had starved me down to her anorexic weight or it never would have fit.

I stripped her naked, put her in my clothes, found the washer and put her dirtied ones in it and set it to stun.

I found her passport, ID, credit cards, all I needed in her purse, and put them in along with the cash from her account into my new bags. I gave the cheap purse in my bag, put my fake ID in, everything needed to turn her into Marly Jackson.

With her weight and the alcohol I knew she'd be out a good eight hours. When it was all done I grabbed her sunglasses, dumped my cigarettes at her side, and lit a candle in her bedroom. I turned all the gas jets on the stove on high, and then locked up.

I lingered until I knew I'd run into a neighbor.

"Monsieur! Monsieur!"

The middle aged gentleman stopped. "Oui?"

"It's me, Monique Merlotte. Please, a favor?"

"Certainly," he said with a glance up and down my body.

"A woman has been making threats against me. I am going on vacation to get away, but if you see a tall woman, like me, dark hair, please cal the police," I gave him my best French and he barely batted an eye.

"Certainly mademoiselle."

"Au revoir!" I waggled my gingers as I'd seen her do and walked out.

All the hard parts were behind me. Now to face the lie, and die the last little death.

***

The plane was halfway to Bora Bora when the news came on the in-flight entertainment.

In rapid French with English closed captioning for all the Air France patrons, a smiling newsreader came out with the bulletin.

"International criminal Marly Jackson has been reported dead. She apparently died in a gas explosion in Paris after breaking into a resident's home early this morning."

She went on to detail the convictions and I excused myself to the lavatory. I pulled out Monique's cell phone and in flight mode she'd gotten three calls, two from her lawyer.

I called him. "What is going on?"

"Your apartment was broken into, and this woman died there. Marly Jackson!"

"Do you remember when that America I was seeing, the black man, was murdered? He knew her. She'd sent me threatening emails, this is why I am on vacation. Is my apartment ok?" Monique was a vain creature and I had to play her to the hilt.

He counted to ten. "You need to come back. It's gone, all of it is gone. Why did you empty your account?"

"I am going to buy a vacation home."

"Get back now!"

"All right, all right, when I land I'll book a flight back and call you with the number. Satisfied?"

"Yes, but-" I hung up on him.

When we landed and made our way through customs I headed out to a cab. I texted three friends that I, Monique, had met a real Saudi prince and was escaping to his boat. I dumped her cell phone in one garbage, left her wallet out near a hungry looking gang of kids, and gave her clothes and beauty products to a group of women. The cash I put in a tote bought at the airport.

The jewelry I pawned easily, exchanging one necklace for a new ID that was passable, barely. When I unloaded it all I bought new clothes, touristy and comfortable. I dyed my hair back to my brown and paid an eye doctor for regular contacts, missing my green eyes.

When I was done I made my way on shaky legs to the docks where smaller craft were docked.

I walked over a small suspension bridge and paused, my mind flashing to that day in Chile with Finn. Had he heard what I whispered?

"The boat you always dreamed of back on the force, the Flying Finn in Bora Bora...wait for me there, pleas wait."

I looked. No such boat. Had I hit him? I'd been aiming damn close, possibly hit his arm, but no body had ever been recovered. Was it the current, or had Finn survived?

Suddenly a tall figure was walking towards me. Unlike the other tourists he wore a long sleeved dark t-shirt and jeans. His black hair was slicked back, shaggy to his shoulders.

I broke into a run.

Nothing in my life had ever felt so good as when Finn took me in his arms and kissed me until my legs were weak. I was laughing and crying at the same time and so was he.

"Come on," he pulled me by the hand and walked to a small yacht, larger than I had imagined. The Flying Finn.

"You waited," I sobbed out as we boarded.

"I've been waiting since the day I met you in 1991. What was another year?"

"I can't believe you waited."

He dumped my bag when were inside what looked like a lounge and began pulling off my gaudy t-shirt. "I once told you I needed us to be just a man and a woman, and I know you needed it too. It took us a long time but we're here, together, just a man, a woman, and a boat. Michael Finnegan and Marly Jackson are dead, there's nothing left but this."

madam_noe
madam_noe
1,846 Followers