Eliminating the Competition

Skipping work, Fran drove to the hardware store and looked for Raul's SUV, but it was not there. She waited until the store opened and went to the customer service desk. She asked the woman if Raul was working today.

"We haven't seen him for a few days. He just upped and left. Maybe somebody ought to file a report on him. I don't think he has any relatives around here, and I don't know if he has a lot of friends. There was one guy in here a few days ago asking about him, though," the lady said off-handedly.

Fran tensed.

"Someone was asking about Raul? Did he say what he wanted?"

"He was just some guy wanting help with a plumbing project. Said he heard that Raul was really sharp with plumbing, which is funny, because I never knew him to be interested in anything but woodworking and paint."

Fran felt an itch in the back of her neck, like some nerve jangling in her spine.

"Do you remember anything about that guy? I think maybe I know who you're talking about."

"I can't really remember. Just some Anglo dude, medium height, brown hair. They all look alike to me," she replied.

Fran drove to Raul's house. She had been there with him the only time they'd had sex, and it was hard to find the way. It was true what people said about San Antonio streets. They looked like they were laid out by a drunk Indian on a blind mule in a sand storm.

Raul's garage door was open, but there was no car. She parked and tried the doors, but they were locked. She knocked but got no answer. Then she tried the neighbors. No one home on the right side, but an old fellow answered on the left.

"Yeah, I saw him a few days ago, coming home as usual. I was watering plants that evening. Came in, drove into the garage, closed the door. Then I heard a bunch of honking going on in there. I thought he was trying to get someone in the house to hurry up, maybe. A few minutes later, he pulled out again and drove away. That's the last I saw of him. He never even closed his garage door. You think something might be wrong?"

"Yeah, I think maybe something is very wrong. Are you sure it was Raul?" she asked.

"I never did see who was in the car. It was his car, though. With those tinted windows, you know? I guess it could have been anybody driving it."

+++++++++++++++

One year later...

Fran was on top this time, her sweat mingling with her husband's, grinding her hips in tight circles as their breathing eased and their orgasms subsided. With one last ragged breath, she collapsed on Paul's chest and slowly slid off to his left, onto his outstretched arm, his deflated cock plopping wetly onto his upper thigh.

When the post-sex dream state began to fade, and before sleep could overtake them, Fran whispered something. She knew her man would know what she meant. They had that kind of psychic connection.

"I understand why you did it."

He didn't reply immediately. Then he turned to her and kissed her lips sweetly.

For a year, nothing had been said between the couple about those horrible days. Fran had grieved for weeks, but Paul was always there to support her.

"I'd do anything for you. You know that, sweetheart."

"Of course I know that. And what you did, you did out of love for me. I was in a situation I couldn't handle, and you fixed it for me. You're my real soul-mate, Paul. It hurt me, but it was for the best. Things would only have gotten worse. Sometimes it has to hurt before it gets better. I love you so much, Paul."

They kissed and fell into a deep sleep, cuddled together.

+++++++++++++++

The sudden disappearance of Raul confounded the police, but no one took the time to delve into phone records. Too many other crimes were on the front burner, resources were limited, and no relatives were putting pressure on them to come up with an answer. His case went cold.

The old man who lived next door died suddenly a month later of a heart attack.

On that vast ranch in South Texas, Raul's body was reduced to bones in the blazing sun.