Justice Ch. 01: Amos and Andrea

Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

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I sat at the bar, nursing my beer as I contemplated the state of my life and my marriage to Andrea, when I saw him walking toward me in the large mirror in front of me. He looked rather odd for this area -- a tall, lanky man with chiseled features, a square jaw with just a hint of a five o'clock shadow and squinty eyes that looked like they had seen just a bit too much sun. There was something about his facial features that seemed familiar somehow, but I just couldn't place it.

He wore a pair of blue jeans, topped with a white shirt, a brown vest and a floor-length duster. He wore a battered old Stetson along with a pair of cowboy boots. I could even hear the jingle of spurs as he walked. Who wears spurs these days, I asked myself.

Overall, he looked like a character right out of an old western. The only thing missing was a gun belt and a six-shooter, but something told me he had one squirreled away somewhere. He stepped up to the bar stool next to me.

"Mind if I join ya?" he asked. I nodded my head and noted his accent, which seemed to suggest he came from somewhere down south.

"Please do," I said. He smiled and took a seat.

"Name's Peace," he said, extending his hand. "Justice O. Peace." I shook his hand.

"Pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Peace," I said. He smiled and nodded his head.

"Please, just call me Justice," he said. "Mr. Peace was my pa." I chuckled at that. "And you must be a Amos Jones," he added. How did he know that, I asked myself.

"Yes," I said. "How did you know that?"

"You jes' look like a Amos Jones," he said in that drawl of his. "I can tell a lot by lookin' at a man. Take that feller sittin' in the back," he added, nodding at the mirror in front of us. I saw the man he was referring to, a balding, middle-aged man nervously looking around as he nursed his drink.

"Now that's a fella with the weight of the world on his shoulders," Justice said. He shook his head once as he clucked his tongue. It was a gesture I had seen my grandfather make many times growing up. "Shame of it is," Justice added, "it's all his own doin'. Too bad, really." He looked back at me.

"What're you drinkin'?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Beer," I said. He got the bartender's attention with a nod of his head.

"I'll have a beer and get whatever it is my friend here wants," he said, pulling out a small roll of cash. "My treat," he said, looking back at me. I thanked him and watched as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Mind if I... smoke?" he asked. I had quit smoking a few years back, when Andrea and I first got married and was at the stage where the odor of cigarette smoke bothered me, but I decided this was no time to be unfriendly. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Go ahead," I said. He pulled out a cigarette, then pulled out a wooden match from a box in one of his pockets. I couldn't help but notice it was his last match. He scraped the match on his jeans the way I had seen in all those old westerns and lit up. Surprisingly, the cigarette gave off no odor whatsoever. He put the burnt match back in the box and offered me a cigarette.

"No thanks," I said. "I quit a few years ago."

"Smart move," he said. "These things'll kill ya. I think you might like these, though. Rolled 'em myself. Spent years getting' the blend jes' right. Go on. I know you want one. It's okay, one won't hurt ya." At that moment, I found myself actually craving that cigarette. I thought I was past that point, but something about his offer appealed to me. I nodded my head and accepted his offer. He smiled as I put the cigarette in my mouth.

"There ya go," he said, opening his matchbox. I thought he had no more matches, but apparently I was wrong. He pulled out what seemed to be the same match and lit my cigarette. He blew out the match and put it back in the box. It was still the only one he had. How did he do that, I asked myself.

I took a long drag off the cigarette and was surprised that I didn't start coughing. It didn't taste like any cigarette I had ever smoked before and I found myself starting to relax. Justice smiled and nodded his head as the bartender brought us our beer.

"Ain't nothing quite like a beer and a good smoke with a friend to finish the day, is there?" he asked. I had to agree. He lifted the beer and we clinked our glasses together.

"To friendship," I said. He nodded his head.

"Friendship," he repeated.

"So, what do you do, Justice?" I asked.

"A little bit o' this, a little bit o' that," he said. "I pretty much go where the wind takes me. Mostly, though, I help fellas who've been done wrong. Fellas like you, for example."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, I know you work hard, and you're damn good at what you do," he said. "I don't understand all that newfangled tech stuff you do, but I happen to know you're the best." He was right about that, I thought. I'd been doing computer and IT work for as long as I could remember. Right now, I worked as a field service technician, taking care of our clients' networks and servers and often helped end users with desktop issues. It was good money and I made sure everything I did was done right the first time. The only down side was the periodic trips I had to make out of town.

"I also happen to know that you put in a honest day's work for an honest day's pay, you don't cut corners and you never cheat," he told me. I began to wonder if this guy was some kind of private investigator. "You always put your family before yourself and always think of your pretty little wife. But something's gaining on you, Amos, isn't it? What's gaining on you? Wait, let me guess... It's your wife, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I said. "How do you know that?"

"Like I said," he told me, "I can tell a lot about a man just by looking at him. How long has your wife been cheating on you?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"I don't know," I said. "I've suspected for a while now, but I found out last night when I got home."

"Tell me about it," he said. I told him everything -- how Andrea and I met, fell in love and got married. How she worked as a secretary for a law firm that used our company for their IT services and how I met her while on a service call. We dated for a while, fell in love and got married. That was almost five years ago.

Then she started to change. It was just little things at first, but over the last year she had become a total bitch about everything. I wondered if she was having an affair, but I couldn't afford to pay for a private investigator.

A few days ago, I was sent to a remote site in the next state and finished up a day early, so I thought I'd surprise Andrea by coming home and taking her out on an unannounced date. It turned out I was the one who got the surprise.

It sounds so cliched -- I drove up to our two-story house and found a strange car in the driveway. I parked on the curb and went in the house. I could hear them screwing in the master bedroom upstairs.

"Fuck me harder," she screamed. "Do it! Cum inside my married pussy!" I went upstairs and saw her on her back, naked, with a strange man between her legs. He had just finished inside her and was pulling out when I got to the bedroom door. I could see his semen dripping out of her and felt like I had been gut-punched.

He turned to look at me and I recognized him -- Roscoe Jennings, her boss at the law firm. He was a fairly powerful attorney and was well-respected in the community. He was also much bigger than me -- in every respect -- and I knew he could mop the floor with me in a fight. They laughed as I slowly made my way back downstairs. I sat on the couch and could hear them talking, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

They came downstairs after a few minutes. Roscoe grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He stopped just before he left and looked at me.

"Hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to a beer," he said, laughing. I said nothing in return. Andrea sat on the couch and looked at me.

"What are you doing home?" she asked. "You were supposed to be gone for another day at least." Wow, I thought. Not even a hint of remorse.

"For starters, I live here. I got done a day early and thought I'd surprise you," I said. "Looks like I'm the one who got surprised. Why, Andrea?" I asked. "Aren't I enough for you? Don't I treat you with love and respect?"

"Why?" she asked, laughing. "That's simple. He's got a nine-inch cock and he knows how to use it, that's why. And he's rich and powerful. And available. Not like you, always working, going off to take care of clients."

"He's also married," I said. "With kids." She shrugged her shoulders.

"So?" she asked. "Look, now that you know about us, there's no reason for me to hide it anymore. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to have Roscoe over here more often from now on. Sometimes, he'll stay the night. Sometimes he won't. He might have some friends join him. It doesn't affect us in the least. You're still my husband and I expect you to perform your duties. When Roscoe comes over, you'll be expected to watch. Of course, your spot in the bed is now his, so you can move into the guest room. I'll expect you to treat him with respect and do as he says." I just looked at her. Surely she wasn't serious about all this.

"You can't be serious," I said. "This is my house. You're my wife. I won't stand for it." She smirked.

"That's right, I'm your wife," she said. "And this is my house, too. And I can have anyone here I want. You can either put up with it or get a divorce, but I promise you, you'll get your clock cleaned. Roscoe will see to that personally."

"What about his family?" I asked. "Don't you give a fuck about that?"

"Roscoe and his wife have an open relationship," she said. "They pretty much do whatever they want with whomever they want."

"And you want that for us?" I asked, shocked.

"No," she said. "I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want and with whomever I want. I expect you to remain faithful to me."

"You're out of your fucking mind," I said. "How long has this shit been going on?"

"A few months," she said. "Not that it makes any difference. He's been over here almost every night you've been gone. I used to go out of my way to make sure everything was cleaned up afterward but I won't be doing that anymore."

"What if he gets you pregnant?" I asked.

"So what if he does," she said. "Your name will be on the birth certificate so you'll be responsible."

"No," I said. "Because I refuse to touch you as long as you're screwing him or anyone else. Has there been someone other than Roscoe?"

"There's been a few," she said. "But if that's the way you want it, then I guess you'll just have to live in a sexless marriage, because I don't intend to stop."

"This isn't going to end well," I said.

"That's where you're wrong," she said. "Look, I still love you, just not the way I used to. I need to do this. I don't know how long it'll last, but once I'm finished, I'll be yours again. Just let me have this." I shook my head.

"You're crazy," I said. "How can you say you love me and then expect me to live like this?" She smirked.

"Of course I love you," she said. "I just like the way Roscoe and his buddies fuck me, that's all."

"What's next?" I asked. "Where do you see this going?"

"Roscoe's coming back Friday," she said. That was just the day after tomorrow. "You'll be expected to symbolically hand me over to him. You'll put his cock inside me, then you'll sit and watch him fuck me. Then you can eat his cum out of my pussy. Of course, that means you'll have to sit and listen to us put you down and belittle you, but that's just part of your new role."

"My new role?" I asked. "What the fuck is that?"

"You'll be my willing cuckold from now on," she said. I looked at her, disgusted.

"You're out of your fucking mind," I said. I grabbed her ring hand, and pulled off her wedding ring along with the engagement ring I gave her -- the one passed down through five generations. It had once belonged to my fourth great-grandmother, Elizabeth, who married Grandpa Elijah a few years before the Civil War.

They had two children before he was killed by a Confederate bullet during Sherman's March to the Sea. Elizabeth never remarried, but made sure her children and grandchildren knew about her heroic husband. His story was passed down from generation to generation, along with the engagement ring he gave her. My parents still had an old picture of Elijah and Elizabeth that was taken before he left to join the Union Army.

"What are you doing?" Andrea asked. "Those are my rings."

"Wrong, bitch," I said. She recoiled as I had never spoken to her like that. "That engagement ring has been in my family for well over 150 years and I'll be damned if I let you corrupt it. You can have these back if I feel you've earned the right to wear them again."

"Fine," she said, standing up. "Have it your way. Now, are you coming to bed?"

"Hell, no," I said. "I'm not going to touch you so long as you're fucking that piece of shit. For all I know, he has AIDS. You'd better get yourself tested for STDs. Who knows what he's stuck his dick into."

"Alright," she said. "Be that way. But you'd better be on your best behavior Friday."

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

"Call it what you want," she said. "But I'm warning you, if you fuck it up, you'll be the one paying the price." She stomped upstairs and slammed the bedroom door, locking it behind her.

I slept on the couch and the next morning, I went up to get dressed. The master bedroom door was still locked, so I kicked it in, breaking the door jamb. It took a few kicks, but I finally managed it. Andrea sat up in bed, surprised.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting dressed, bitch," I said. "Unlike you, I have to wear clothes to work."

I stopped my narrative long enough to take a sip of my beer and another drag off my cigarette. I was surprised that it hadn't burned all the way down by now. Justice sat silent, listening to my story.

"And you spoke to an attorney today?" he asked. I nodded my head.

"I did," I said. "It seems Andrea was right. The way the laws are set up, I'd get screwed, royally. In fact, the lawyer said I'd be better off financially if I just went along with what she wanted. Can you believe that shit?" He shook his head.

"So what're ya gonna do?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, Justice," I said. "I've never been in this kind of situation before. Part of me wants to run, but another part of me wants to strangle them both."

"An old friend once said that no man in the wrong can ever stand up to a fella in the right that keeps on a-comin'," Justice said. "What kind of man are you, Amos?"

"I'm a man in the right that's been wronged," I said.

"I know you're in the right," he told me. "That's why I'm here. What do you say we bushwhack 'em tomorrow night? You and me, together." I looked at him.

"You'd do that?" I asked. "You'd help me?"

"Sure," he said. "You'd have to do the heavy lifting, but I'll be right there with ya. What do ya say? Are ya up to it?"

"Hell, yeah," I said. I don't know what it was, but something about this guy gave me a feeling of confidence I hadn't had in a long time. He smiled and we spent the next hour discussing our plan. By the time we were finished, I was ready to take on the world.

"I'll see ya tomorrow night, pardner," he said as he got up. I watched him leave and I felt better than I had in a long time. I put my jacket on and headed home. Sure enough, Andrea was home when I got there, and she wasn't very happy.

"Where have you been?" she yelled when I walked in.

"What do you care?" I asked.

"You've been drinking," she said when she got close to me.

"Yeah, so what?" I asked. "At least I haven't been out chasing whores."

"I've been worried about you," she said. "I thought you'd go and do something stupid. I know you saw an attorney today."

"So, you and your fuck buddy asshole having me followed now?" I asked.

"What if I am?" she asked. "And yes, I know you were down at that bar, drinking, talking to yourself the last couple hours." Talking to myself? If she was having me watched, surely whoever was watching would have seen me with Justice. I knew the bartender saw him -- hell, he even served him a beer and took his money.

"I have a lot on my mind," I said.

"Tonight's the last night you can have me exclusively," she said. "So, are you going to come upstairs and fuck me, or what?"

"No," I said. "I told you, there's no way I'm sticking my dick in that diseased swamp you call a cunt. Not as long as you're with Roscoe fucking Shithead."

"Have it your way," she said before heading upstairs. Fuck her, I thought. Fuck her and the horse she rode in on. I put my hand in my jacket pocket and felt something. I pulled it out -- it was one of Justice's cigarettes along with a fresh match. How did that get there, I asked myself. Fuck it, I thought. I grabbed a beer and walked out to the back porch.

I opened the beer, put the cigarette in my mouth and scratched the match over my jeans the way Justice did. To my surprise, the match lit right up. I took a long drag off the cigarette, savoring the flavor. I began to relax as I sat down on the porch swing I installed last summer. The next thing I knew, Andrea was standing on the porch, looking down at me.

"When did you start smoking again?" she asked.

"Tonight," I said. "What's it to ya?"

"You mean to tell me you'd rather sit out here and smoke than fuck your wife?" she asked angrily. I looked at her and was instantly disgusted with what I saw. The once-beautiful face I knew so well had morphed into something sickening and ugly. Was that the result of the cigarette, I wondered.

"I don't have a wife," I said. "Not anymore. She's dead to me." Stunned by my words, Andrea sat on the porch swing and reached out to me, but I moved away, disgusted by her very presence.

"Please don't say that, Amos," she said. "I'm still your wife. Please come to bed with me." I shook my head.

"My wife would never have taken up with that scum-sucking maggot," I said. "She would have told him to go fuck himself. But you didn't, did you? No, you spread your legs for him and let him do whatever he and his buddies wanted. And now you expect me to be okay with it. No, you're not my wife. Just someone who lives in the same house as me. You make me sick to my stomach. Now go away before I throw up."

"Oh my God," she said, tears falling down her cheeks. "You really do hate me, don't you?"

"You just now figuring that out, bitch?" I asked. "What did you think I was going to do when you hit me up with your bullshit yesterday? Celebrate? Maybe get up and do a fucking dance? You have one chance to make this all go away right now. It's up to you, bitch. It's either me and our marriage or Roscoe fucking Dickwad. What'll it be?"

This was something Justice and I had worked out earlier. He suggested I give her one last chance to end it with Roscoe, primarily for my own conscience. If she accepted, Justice said he could take care of the details. I'm not sure how he could do that short of turning back time and erasing my memories, but I trusted him. In reality, though, neither one of us realistically believed she would jump on the opportunity.

For a moment, her face appeared to soften and I she looked like the woman I had fallen in love with and married. I thought she was going to take the opportunity I had presented her.