The Case of the Rich Man's Wife

"Eat more!" she said, shoving the spoon in his mouth.

My heart sank in my chest, and my mind spun round. With Mr. Randolph tied to a chair, his bodyguards hung upside down, their throats slit. Beneath them, the floor showed bright red, covered in viscid pools of congealing blood. Stripped naked, the men opened up from crotch to breastbone. Their insides were no longer contained within their bodies. Gutted like so many fish.

A wave of nausea passed over me. Clinching my teeth, I fought back, defying the urge to puke. Grinding my teeth, I wasn't going to lose control. I wasn't going to lose control.

From the foundation of the earth until this moment, I was wrong on what my mission was. My mind poured over the new information. Questions formed in my brain as bizarre answers sprang forth.

What was the meat? The insides of the men. Why was she making her husband eat the putrid meat? A punishment administered with passion. What was the punishment for? Well, might be, she's an evil bitch!

She would fill his mouth with food clamp her hand over his mouth and nose. Unable to breathe, forced him to swallow the grotesque meal.

Taking a few steps, I bumped a 2 X 4 on the floor. The slight sound of the wood scraping across the cement proved enough to give me away.

Mrs. Randolph turned to me. Her eyes locked on my eyes. Bright blue eyes spied me, and she smiled at me.

"My protector," she said.

For a moment, I thought she meant me. Yes, I thought she made light of my efforts to shield her. in two shakes of a lamb's tail, I was so disappointed to learn, I was, yet again, wrong. Can you tell me if the moment you know you are wrong is ever free of pain?

Thump, the back of my head shattered again as a fresh jolt of agony joined the old. Gosh dang it, all, this was getting Dang old. This getting my brains assaulted with such cruel vigor was starting to be a bad habit. This time, I thought President Truman ordered another A-Bomb dropped, smack dab, on my head.

The darkness reeled around. The floor rushed up and battered my face. This has to be making a mess of my make-up and hair. What a peculiar thing to think about. Goodness, the fog, a real pea-souper, don't you know. Hazy vaporous clouds, blocking all the light! Darkness once again overtook me.

The bloodstains on the floor, how shall you ever remove them, Mrs. Randolph, ‘Better Homes and Gardens,' wants the formula?

Chapter Seven

"Everything is permissible," her voice was so sweet and loving, "but not everything is beneficial." The elderly woman smiled at me as I fidgeted in my small wooden seat. All the other little girls did like me. "Everything is permissible, but not everything is constructive. Paul tells us. He does not say Moderation in all things, but rather, everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all things. Do you understand, Theodora?" I shook my head yes though I wasn't sure what she meant.

Somehow the past and present all mingled together. "Is murder permissible but not beneficial," I asked Mrs. Adams.

"No murder is a sin, punishable by the electric chair. Do you want to sit in the electric chair and fry Theodora?" she asked, her voice far angrier than I remembered. Never had Mrs. Adams's spoken so mean to anyone. In a flash, I was all grown up, still sitting in that terrible, small seat.

"Murder is a mortal sin."

"Theo, this Mrs. Randolph, and her companion practiced homicide quite often. Over the past several months in different cities around the country," a still young Mrs. Adams gazed at me.

Can't remember her young, not ever.

Mrs. Adams melted into Estelle Parsons Clark-Smith. Telling me what she never learned. "They have murdered prostitutes with the most monstrous glee. You're a terrible sinner, Mrs. Randolph!"

"I am a lowly sinner, and I do not expect forgiveness. However, I don't want forgiveness from you or anyone else, my love." Mrs. Randolph spoke with a silken voice hissing her words like a snake, packed with venom.

My eyes snapped open, the knocking in my head doubled from before. A quite perplexing benefit, while my head ached, my back and legs didn't. My God, I had been dreaming, and I remembered my unconscious flight of fancy. What the hades? Why was the world upside down?

Glancing up, well, no down, but I'm gazing upward. Oh, Lord, my world turned upside down. My dress clung around my holster. The police-special still hidden between my knees. But my hands were tied, dangled below my head. Swaying, I twisted about, giving me a birds-eye view of the room. First one way, returning to the other.

The executed bodyguards hung with me, and I suppressed the impulse to say hello to them. Tatty-tap-tatty-tap, drip, drip, the blood from the men splattered on the floor in a slowing drizzle.

Oh, my, Florence Randolph still fed the deviant food to her husband. And the bitch chastised the poor bugger.

"I'm a sinner, but at least I'm not a brainless twat of a private investigator," Florence said. Added, "Let her down."

I must've talked in my … would you call my previous state, sleep?

Oh, yes, bring me to the floor. The blood rushing to my head caused my head to hurt more. The war in my brain raged on, with the blows knocking from every which side. Inside I screamed to God for someone to let me down.

With a slight jerk, I rose. Fowling this, I descended. A soft squeaking noise as the rope passed over the roller of the hoist. Pulling my arms up to my chest, I tucked my head. When I hit the deck, landing first on my shoulders, after this, my legs landed on the icy concrete. Almost immediately, I found myself flat on my back. Sitting up, I gazed at Mrs. Randolph, who stared back at me laughing.

"Persistent little, bitch, aren't you?" She took a bite of the wicked meat from the spoon, chewed, swallowing the junk down. Smiling at me, she licked her lips, "You thought I needed protection from Alistair? How altruistic of you. Well, aren't you the sharp one? Yes, you are. Hell, you're the sharpest tool in the shed. Should-a took a hike, cookie."

"Yes, I reckon, I underestimated you," lying back to the floor as I spoke. My skirt hung on me, still hiding the holstered snub-nose. How the two lovebirds missed my gun, luck, providence, the divine hand of God? Let me tell you, brothers and sisters, I'll take whatever or whoever guarded me. If she's a guardian angel, she's one busy cherub.

"You aren't the first," a voice from my right, Tommy ‘The Knock.' What a fine pair of narcissistic sociopaths they were.

The room was chilly, not cold like the outer rooms, but cold enough to hang meat or bodies.

"Eat up, dear this is deep-fried blonde whore. Tell me, lover, do you like the flavor?" Mrs. Randolph kept asking her husband questions with her silky yet harsh voice. "Wouldn't leave me alone to have my fun, would you. Grew a conscience and had to ‘intervene,' well, sweetie-pie, do you enjoy eating whore à la Florence? I do," she said, putting the spoon in her mouth taking another bite.

"And so, do I," Tommy chimed in. he sat at a table, eating the same potion as his doll fed her husband. Straight up, this pair of loons were wacky, bad business. If they were in the army, they'd be out on a Section Eight. As they weren't in the military if arrested and tried, they were so nutty they'd never be executed for their crimes.

The occasion called for me to end this thing. Despite my tied hands, my pistol was under my skirt, and I figured I would retrieve my .38. I supposed I might shoot them as well. I glanced where Florence stood and turned to where Tommy sat.

Well, hot diggity dog, Tomy had a firearm in his hand, my automatic. At least, I thought the weapon mine. Standing, he moved, gun still in his hand, with a ladle in the other. In two quick steps, he reached the pot and stirred the cooking meat. I'm sure the stew was guard's à la insanity. They were nutty as a peanut farm, but they weren't reckless. My hands were tied quite well, and I'd require some effort to loosen the ropes.

Her diatribe belittling her husband went on, unabated as she forced him to eat a disgusting stew of human remains. The aroma of the cooked meat was unlike any other fragrance. My interpretation of fragrance told me the stuff was unique and not the scent telling me anything.

Still, my stomach threatened to be overturned. The grotesque perfume was noxious to me in the extreme. The two lunatics took mouthfuls of their concoction, eating it down with delight. While her husband was forced to eat the meat, his disgust was palpable. Well, shows how wrong you can be.

You really don't understand what the dark is until someone switches off the light.

I had to clear my head and plan my steps. I would have to sit up and fish the gun out of the holster swiftly. Tommy Alberto had to be first. I spied a weapon on the table next to her. Hell's bells, this wasn't going to be easy. They were on opposite sides. Suspicion would begin as soon as I sat up and went between my legs with my hands. Working my hands pressing against the ropes, oh, yes, they were loosening. I didn't have to remove the cords, only make them lose enough to use my hands.

Twisting and turning my hands and wrist. The ropes stretched, a shade. Still, they were tight. To tight! I wouldn't be able to draw the gun from the holster. Come on, Theodora, work the ropes make them loosen!

Moving as fast as I might, I sat. Reaching down, I moved my skirt out of the way, snatched the gun. I held the pistol in my hand, aiming at Tommy's chest, and fired. The miscreant dropped to the floor, with his body jerking for a second, stilled.

I spun towards Florence while she moved for her own pistol. Without taking aim, I did a snapshot, hitting her shoulder. She picked up the gun, turned toward me. She fired, screaming obscenities.

The floor near me, exploded sending flakes of dust and shattered cement, and the whiz of the ricochet echoed.

Taking aim, I fired, hitting her again, this time, above her breast on her right side.

The bitch managed another volley, and I bullet whizzed by my ear. DAMN, too, close for comfort.

Steading my nerve, I aimed at her head, dead center. With her screaming bloody murder at me, I pulled my trigger while controlling my breathing. My volley landed in the middle of her forehead. As the back of Mrs. Randolph's head exploded, blood and brains sprayed over the floor and wall behind her. Some blood and gray matter spattered across Mr. Randolph's face and shoulders.

Florence Randolph's hung straight. After a second or two, she slumped to the floor in a heap. The gun was still clutched in her hand. As she slumped to the floor, Mrs. Randolph pulled the trigger twice. The concrete sparked and jumped up as the rounds ricochet off without harm.

Out of nowhere, a groan took my attention, and I went to my right. Well, I'll be dad-blamed fit to be tied, Tommy knelt on one knee, taking aim at me. Hell, I thought he died, I fired, this time hitting him square in the center of his chest. Down he went again.

Once satisfied he was dead, I lay back. Letting the gun fall to my side, I began to wrestle with the ropes, which bound my hands.

"Next time you have a problem, Mr. Randolph," I said, using my teeth on the rope to help loosen them, "hire someone else!"

"I think I will pay you 20,000 more. Don't you agree you have earned a bonus?" Alistair Randolph said.

Sitting up my hands-free, I nodded in agreement as I struggled with the ropes on my feet.

"Hot damn straight, I earned it," I said as I freed my hands.

"Another thing," Randolph said, "about my being rude in your office. Seeing Aaron, worry he might be in danger, I cracked up, you must understand ..."

"He's your kid; I get you, brother. What I didn't realize, sir was you knew."

"Don't tell him. Some day, I'll tell him when the time is right."

"Mr. Randolph, he wants his parents. With his mother already dead, you're all he has left. Understand this, Aaron doesn't want your money, and I doubt he'd take any from you. Please, talk to him."

"Okay, Miss Drummond, I'll tell him."

****

Limping from my car, oh, Lord love a duck, another busted heel! The sunshine hurt my eyes. A new day had begun. Wasn't worth a plugged nickel, for I wanted to sleep. Between making statements to the cops, depositing the $30,000, and writing my own report for our files, the night got away from me.

"Haven't seen you for a few days, Miss Drummond," the newsy said me as I walked by. "Worried about you."

"Haven't been home for days, Joey," stating the obvious.

"Your friend, the gossip lady, was murdered along with her secretary. They were murdered by a Richman's wife, the Randolph fellow that owns …"

"Is that true? How terrible." Picking up the paper, I dropped a silver dollar into his box. Joey made no further comment but treated me to a quizzical look. I smiled at him, "I heard the news before it went to press." He nodded at me.

"You know Miss Drummond …"

"Save the spiel, Joey. Been through the cost before."

"I was going to tell you the kids in your apartment. Umm, Aaron, right?"

"Oh, sorry, brother, thanks. Yes, his name's Aaron."

I strolled to my building. I made my way up to my apartment until, at last, I sat in my chair beside the liquor cabinet. The squeaking of the door opening comforted me. The lack of bourbon in the cabinet pissed me off!

"Hey, Aaron, you here?"

"Yes, ma'am, was doing your dishes, collected your laundry …"

"Well, how kind,"

Popping his head of the kitchen, "Mr. Randolph is my father. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't want to lose you," I said. The first honest thing I told Aaron about his parents was I didn't tell him about them.

"Well, he did offer me a job," Aaron said.

The ocean rolled over me, sinking me down into the pressure of the depths. My mind hunkered down, prepared for the worst. Things went well before Aaron, and I'd adjust to a new realm. As an iron maiden, I needed no man to have a complete life. Yes, I'd do just fine without the boy.

"How sweet of him. So, tell me, Aaron, when's your last day?"

"Let me think, a minute. How does the 12th of Never sound? Oh, I'll spend time with him, but he had 18 years to let me in on the secret."

Breaking surface, with the shore a short swim, the relief washed over me, pushing me to safety. Still an iron maiden, my life a little easier with Aaron in it rather than not. Rummaging inside my bag, I pulled out the gold case, fished out a Camel, and packed the tobacco.

"The 12th of Never sound, about right, to me," I said. Lighting my cig, I drug the vapors deep into my lungs.

"I'm about to fix you a bourbon on the rocks," Aaron said.

"Can't baby boy, out-a booze."

"Umm, no, I talked Mr. Jenkins into letting pick up your order."

"How sweet of you," I said. Getting up, I walked to the roll-top desk and put the snub-nosed .38 in the desk along with its holster. Opening my handbag, I removed the .45, setting it in its usual niche.

Drawing more smoke into my lungs, gazing into my handbag, something caught my eye. A scrap of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it. At this point, my headache was bearable, but the stabbing was the worst ever. I pulled the note from the bag and, sitting down, I picked up my phone.

"Are you up for some fun?" Aaron asked as he walked toward me, my drink in his hand.

"Sure, let me talk to this feller first."

****

The bed invited me to slumber, but Aaron, being 18, had other plans. With some measure of competence, he kissed me and undressed me. Having no idea whether his confidence came from our experiences or learning his father could buy the state of New York. However, his technique suggested he was a fast learner.

While he undressed me, we kissed with sweet, languorous, shameless caresses. Once he had me naked, other than stockings and garters, he stripped himself. All the while, he paid attention to every inch of me.

Touching me, squeezing parts of me, running his hands down to my crotch, exploring every fold. The boy became a man and brought me to the edge before he guided me to my bed. Spreading my legs, he went down on me, using his tongue, for the first time, as if he understood what he was doing.

Orgasms came fast and furious. All the while, Aaron dined on me. Gave me attention, which no man ever paid to me. As he learned how to please a woman in the particular way, women please women. After he satisfied me, oh, so many times, I rolled him over and returned the favor.

This time, I showed him how appreciative I might be, I mounted him. We made love for two hours, falling asleep, his limp cock, on his belly, me laying on him, we slept for hours. At some point, parting but still touching.

What a swell merry-go-round we rode for the next 24 hours. A little slumberland, some loving, more sleep, more lovemaking, Z's, sex, and so it went. The 24 hours renewed me, bringing me back to life.

For the foreseeable future, talk of love was tabled. Are 12 years, too, many years apart, to allow love to be successful? Who needs love when you have sex without the hassle? With this said, I'm still quite fond of the boy.

Running my fingers over his ear, down his neck, tracing a road from his head to his heart. I contemplated our future. While he slept, I pondered love. What a Dreamboat my man was. However, either he was young, or I was old, but were the years between us, too, much overcome?

Time would tell.

****

The gurney was quite warm. The heated blankets covering me were excellent. Gazing up at the ceiling tiles, I wonder how many were in my field of vision. The clear fluid hanging from the hook had a steady drip, and I became drowsy.

"I hate, dangnabbit, hospitals," I mumbled, stating this to anyone in earshot and no one in particular.

"Miss Drummond, you have to have this done. You remember what the doctor said," Aaron spoke softly with concern in his voice.

"Besides, Theodora, my girl, it is way overdue." Slat's face came into view about a mile above me. God, he is one tall s-o-b.

"I remember you asking me constantly if you might go home and spend time with your new wife when we were in the middle of the case where I got my souvenir. Thanks for being here for me, Slats. But why don't you go on home and spend some time with her? I am in excellent hands here, and they tell me my operation is a walk in the park." I treated him to a bleary smile as I squeezed his hand with what little strength I had.

Slats grinned as he squeezed back. "Hey Theodora, you're family, and I think a lot of you. So if you don't mind, I'll hang around till they bring you back. I can keep all these other mugs companies."

"Hey, guys, I'm naked under these sheets. Don't you want a peek?" I said, moving my eyebrows up and down in my best Groucho Marx impression, but I didn't no takers, a few belly laughs.

"And how are we doing this afternoon?" this far, too, cheerful voice asked me.

A woman's face replaced Slats' ugly mug, smiling down at me. "I'm Nurse Jefferson, and I'll wheel you down to surgery, and we'll start. okey-dokey?"

Okey-dokey? You have to be joking, I thought but didn't say so. The babe's cheery nurse route was part of her stick. The thing that ticked me off, she kept making doll-eyes at Aaron.

She read my chart.

"Okay, let's remove the nasty, ole bullet out, shall we?" laying the chart on my legs, the nurse pushed me down the hall.

Oh, crap, the ceiling tiles are flying by. My eyelids grew heavy. Yeah, strong meds, and I predicted I'd take an extended slumber.

"Okay, miss," the man said, hovering over me; a green cap and mask covered all but his eyes. I understand they dress this way, so you can't identify them afterward. "We are going to remove the blankets and roll you over on your tummy. After we make you comfy, I'll put a mask over your mouth, and when you wake up, the bullet will be out."