How High a Price: Another View

"Good idea. Plan to watch me until further notice. I'm at home now."

Early looked at his watch. It was almost seven. He hadn't slept in thirty-eight hours, yet he wasn't sleepy. He was drained emotionally and empty inside, but he wasn't tired. He was hungry. He got into his car, went to a burger joint, and got a meal to go.

When he turned back into his driveway, there was a nondescript Chevy parked out front. A nondescript man exited the Chevy and joined Early as he got to the front door. The man introduced himself as Bill Miller and gave Early his business card showing he was an operative for John Wells.

Early finished his burger and was pleased his stomach felt fine. He was helping the operative inventory when the phone rang. It was John Wells again.

"They're having dinner at the Queen Victoria Hotel on Vancouver Island," John Wells said. "And they have a room for the night."

"Have they already registered?" Early asked.

"Yes," John replied. "They checked in under the name of Mr. and Mrs. John Stickner."

Early felt no anger at hearing Susan being called another man's wife. He knew that was a sign the marriage was over for good.

"Thanks, John," Early said. "I'll call her now, so they'll probably be on the move again. You might warn your operative."

Bill Miller watched Early as he attached the recording equipment to his cell phone. "Did I do this correctly?" Early asked.

Miller checked it and replied, "It'll work just fine."

Early turned on the recorder and dialed Susan's cell phone. She answered on the third ring.

"Early?" Susan said, sounding more perturbed than happy to hear from him. "Why are you calling at this time? Is everything all right?"

"It's been a very long, very hard day," Early said. "How was yours?"

"Long, too, but very productive. I got a lot of things off my desk," Susan said.

"Where are you?" Early asked. He could hear sounds of the restaurant in the background.

"I'm in our bedroom in our home. Where did you expect me to be?" Susan replied testily.

Maybe a guilty conscious caused her tone of voice, Early thought.

"I expected you to be at the house," Early said. "Say, you know that old watch my grandfather left me. I was talking to one of the guys down here about it. He's a watch collector and he thinks he might be worth a bundle, but he can't be sure until he sees the serial number off the back. Will you get it and read me the serial number to me, please?"

Early counted the seconds on his watch. It was nine seconds before Susan said, "Honey, you can't possibly sell that old watch. Your grandfather left it to you, and... and you said you wanted to have a son to leave it to."

"I'm not going to sell it," Early said, "but I do want to know how much it's worth. Now, where did you say you were?"

"In our bedroom," Susan said. Early heard the tremor in her voice.

"On the bed?"

"Yes," she replied. The word caught in her throat.

"Okay, look to your left. See the dresser?" Early asked.

"Early, this is silly," Susan barked.

"Why?" he asked.

This time it was seven seconds before Susan responded. "It just is," she said.

"Humor me. Do you see the dresser?" Early said.

"Yes," she whispered.

"The watch in the bottom left-hand drawer in an old wooden case." He waited a few seconds as if giving her time to get off the bed and look. "Do you see it?"

"No," Susan said.

"Well, I'm at home in our bedroom looking in the bottom left-hand drawer and I see it. What I don't see is you."

Early disconnected from Susan before she could say a word, turned off his cell phone, and took the house phone off the hook. "Will you keep the recording?" Early asked Bill Miller.

"It's best that I do," Miller replied. "That way I can testify as to its authenticity."

"How far is it from Vancouver Island?" Early asked.

"An hour at this time of day."

"Then I have fifty minutes to finish what I need to do," Early said.

"Do you have a firearm?" Miller asked.

"Two of them," Early replied. "I'm licensed."

"Let me have them. I'll keep them for you."

"Good idea," Early replied.

In a moment, he returned with both his pistols in their cases. The operative checked to make sure they were unloaded before taking them to his car.

When the operative joined Early again, he said, "Is this your first divorce?"

"It is," Early replied.

"You're handling it well," Miller said.

"Thanks," Early replied.

Bill Miller looked at Early from his wrinkled, knowing face with its cool, sad eyes. He said, "But the hard part is yet to come. I don't know whether you'll want to immediately go out and get laid, or wait awhile. Each guy reacts differently. Whichever it is, there will be plenty of available women. Getting laid is not the problem.

"The problem is trust. If you find another woman worth marrying, can you trust her? Will your blood pressure rise if she's a few minutes late? Will you think she's lying to you with every breath she takes? Will you think she told you big lies if you catch her in a little one? Will you wonder about her when she's not with you? You can't build a great marriage without trust. And if you don't care enough for trust to be an issue, you shouldn't be marrying her. "

"I can handle it," Early said, but he wondered.

"I hope so. A lot of people can't."

"You sound like the voice of experience," Early said.

"I've been a private detective doing divorce work for twenty-nine years. I've seen a lot of sorrow."

"Have you been married?" Early asked.

"Four times and divorced three," Miller said. "My first wife is also my fourth one. She cheated on me and I dumped her, but, years later..."

"So your comments about not trusting..."

"Comes from here," Miller said, tapping his chest over his heart. "And in here." He put his hand on his stomach. "Not here," he said as he tapped his head. "That's what makes it so hard to trust again, particularly for a guy that makes his living with his mind like you do."

The house was dark inside and the doors locked. The exterior security lights were on, flooding most of the front yard and driveway with light. Bill Miller was leaning against his car ready to video the impending confrontation. Early's Mercedes, packed with the clothes and other items he thought he needed the next few days, was at the curb so it couldn't be blocked in. His reservation at a Holiday Inn was made.

Early was walking around his house one last time when tires squealed and John Stickner's Lexus roared onto the driveway. Susan flew out the moment the car stopped. Bill Miller had the video rolling and was slowly moving toward the action.

From the shadows, Early saw Susan, who was dressed in the slinky black cocktail dress taken from her closet. He had never seen her like this. She was distraught beyond his imagination, near hysteria, with her makeup running down her tear-streaked face. She stopped when she saw the for-sale sign and her mouth fell open. Stickner, out of his car and beside her, tried to touch her and she jerked away.

Susan saw a movement in the shadows. "Early?" she gasped.

Early came into the light, but he was walking toward the for-sale sign, not Susan.

"Early!!" she screamed. She ran toward him, arms outstretched.

But when she got close to him, Early hissed, "Don't touch me."

His voice, so cold and dead and threatening, stopped her in place, where she stood as if frozen by the icy blast of his tone. He picked up an envelope leaning against the sign and withdrew a legal document.

He handed the document to Susan, saying, "You are officially served with a lawsuit filed today in the case of Conroy vs. Conroy, a petition for divorce on grounds of adultery. Mr. Stickner is named as your correspondent." He handed her the stack of photographs. "These are pictures of you two love birds happily fornicating. They will be a small part of the evidence at the trial."

Early turned to walk away.

"You fucking asshole," John Stickner growled as he grabbed Early's arm.

Early didn't think. He let the red-faced adulterer turn him around, and saw Stickner's fist coming his way. He took Strickner's blow on his shoulder and delivered one of his own. He felt the spatter of Stickner's blood on his face and saw Susan faint, dropping the pictures documenting her adultery on the grass around her.

"Did you get it all, Bill?" he asked the operative.

"Of course. Now get the hell out of here. I'll clean up."

Early glanced at Strickner groaning in the grass with the side of his face crushed in. He looked long and hard at the woman he once had loved sprawled unconscious beside the for-sale sign with pictures around her.

He went to the Holiday Inn, registered, and went to his room. He filled the room's ice bucket from the ice machine. He returned to his room and poured himself a large bourbon on the rocks, filling the crystal highball glass he brought from home. He hated those cheap plastic motel glasses. He took off his shoes, propped his feet up, and turned on the TV. He stuck his bruised and battered hand into the ice bucket and sipped his whiskey.

He was still sitting there twenty minutes later when someone knocked on his motel room door. He ignored them.

"Early, it's Bill Miller," the voice at the door said.

Getting out of that chair might have been the hardest thing he did all day, but Early managed, trudging to the door and opening it. Miller was standing there with another man about Miller's age. "This is Sergeant Simmons, Seattle P.D.," Miller said.

Early motioned them in and collapsed in his chair again. Miller shut the door behind them, took Early's hand, and looked at it. He pushed and pulled, making Early wince. "I don't think it's broken," Miller said.

The policeman cleared his throat. "Mr. Conroy, Mr. Stickner wants us to file assault charges against you. You messed him up pretty good. A surgeon is trying to repair his broken cheekbone now."

"Life's tough all over," Early said in a flat tone. His eyes were dead and no emotion registered on his face.

"You don't care that the man is facing multiple surgeries to repair what you did," Sergeant Simmons asked.

"How do I repair what he did to me?" Early asked the policeman without looking at him.

"I could arrest you for assault, Mr. Conroy, but Bill here assures us it was self-defense and he has the video to prove it, although I haven't seen it yet," Sergeant Simmons said.

"You'll get it in the morning," Miller said.

"So what happens now?" Early said.

"No arrest will be made until we've seen the evidence. If Bill's wrong, and your punch wasn't in self-defense, we will file charges. That's the law."

"It's a stupid law," Early said in the same flat tone.

The sergeant studied the despondent man before saying, "You can expect a civil suit."

"Not hardly," Early replied. "Law suits bring facts out in the open and these two lawyers will want to bury this like a cat buries its shit. I can guarantee you of that."

Sergeant Simmons waited as police officers do so well. When he thought sufficient time has passed, he said, "Aren't you going to ask about your wife?"

"I don't have a wife."

"Your wife..." the sergeant began.

Early jammed his feet on the floor and sat up as if to spring into action. "Aren't you listening to me?" Early said loudly. "I do not have a wife."

The sergeant stood. "Don't leave the county without clearing it with me. And, Mr. Conroy, don't do anything rash."

Early only nodded.

"Want me to stay in here?" Miller asked Early. Early shook his head. "I'll be outside in my car if you need me. I go off at midnight but someone will be there. Take care of yourself."

"Thanks, Bill, for everything," Early said.

The two men left Early alone.

It was done. The divorce papers were filed. His confrontation of Susan was over. His life with Susan was over. Gone like dust in the wind.

Early was too tired to undress. He downed the rest of his drink, crawled into the bed, and pulled the covers over himself. He began to cry, fighting his tears until they overwhelmed him. He cried until he had no more tears to give, leaving a man broken but unbowed.

Early knew he would get up tomorrow and go on. He knew the weekend would be hell, but Monday morning he would go to work and bury himself in the familiar routines. He knew his life would get better day by day, and be good again someday. He knew someone else would come along for him.

He knew all that in his mind.

In his heart and in his gut, there was a gaping, bleeding, black, empty hole. He felt like a deer that had been gutted, its entrails ripped out and fed to the dogs with the carcass left hanging in a tree. He wondered if he would ever be whole again. He wondered if he could ever trust again.

With that thought, he slept like the dead.

The End