The Cheating Bandit

The Cheating Bandit

This is a silly little story about betrayal and revenge. Think of it as a mild instance of BTB without the baseball bat to the knees. It's one of those stories that just popped into my head and the only way to remove it was to write it.

It begins with a little introspection.

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Anniversaries come and anniversaries go, but this one was worth celebrating. It was the one-year anniversary of the day I discovered that my marriage was over.

I know what you're thinking: "Who celebrates something like that?" Well, I'm not so much celebrating the pain as I am pausing to recognize that I lived through it and came out the other side stronger.

It was one year ago today that I was sitting in my office thinking, "I didn't sign up for this, did I? I remember the vows: '...for better or worse, in sickness and in health till death do we part.'" Death was starting to look like a way out. It was my exit strategy.

You see, that day I learned that my lovely and loving wife of six years, my best friend, the woman who was everything to me, was a cheating slut! I know what you're thinking. You think the signs were there, she was staying out late, taking showers as soon as she got home, always too tired for sex, and getting snippy with me over every little thing... Nope. There was none of that. I was just a clueless bastard.

So how did I find out? It was a Wednesday and nearing the lunch hour. I was on my way back to the office after making an unplanned office visit to a client, and I was thinking that I'd grab a fried fish sandwich at a little shop I know. They call it The Whale and it's fresh fried with tartar sauce, lettuce, and tomato on a sub roll. It's like fish and chips on a bun. You know how it is when things are going well, everything is falling into place, the clients are happy, and you're enjoying thinking about a good lunch that's just minutes ahead of you? That was me. I was fat, dumb, and happy. That's when it happened. I was stopped at a light when I saw my lovely wife coming the other way make a right-hand turn into the parking lot of the local no-tell motel. I thought, "What the hell!" I made a right into the gas station parking lot, pulled into a spot, and watched as she got out of her car and walked straight to one of the rooms. She knocked, the door opened, and in she went like she'd done it a thousand times. "What the fuck?!"

You're probably thinking that I ran across the street and started beating on the door. Then I broke down the door and beat him with my bear hands. No. Now you're thinking that I slipped across the street and walked to the room where I found the curtains slightly parted. I looked between the curtains, and I saw everything I need to know. No, not that either. I needed to know, but I didn't need for her to know I knew. I just found a place where I could sit quietly in my car and watch that door. An hour after she arrived, she left. Five minutes behind her was a man wearing an expensive suit who got into his Lexus and drove away. Typical. I always thought a Lexus was an overpriced affectation for someone who was showing off.

I was useless that afternoon. I didn't even try to work. I just sat in my office and researched divorce on the web. It was as bad as I'd heard. Whether I went with no fault or adultery, the outcome was the same. Damn her! They were going to pay. Then I realized that I didn't even know his name. How was I going to make him pay when I didn't know who he is?

That night the fates intervened. I'd hardly said two words to her all night, and she was asking me what was wrong? What the hell did she think was wrong? Was she feeling guilty? Was she afraid I knew something, or was her thinking so disconnected and her behavior so compartmentalized that she didn't put my attitude and her actions together?

I was watching the late-night news and there was a local story about a bank being robbed at the lunch hour. They had footage of the robbers and the woman looked passably like my wife. She was wearing a COVID mask, but the hair and eyes along with her height and built made her a good twin for the woman I'd married. Of course, I knew it wasn't her because she was in that motel room laying it down for that shithead with the Lexus, but I can play dumb with the best of them. Hell, maybe I'm not even playing.

The next morning I called the police department and asked about the robbery. I was told they were "working several leads", which is cop-speak for "We got nothin'.", so I ever so innocently told them that the woman looked a lot like the woman who lives down the street from me and I gave them her name. I also told them that she recently bought a new car, which was a half-truth because I bought it, and I happened to know that she wasn't at home when the robbery occurred. That last bit was sure as hell true!

I figured they'd knock on the front door, have an embarrassing talk with the slut, and at the least I'd get a good laugh out of it that would carry me through the next few weeks as I filed divorce papers. Oh no, it went much better than that! When the cops saw that she really did resemble the robber to a remarkable degree and she couldn't explain where she was at the time of the robbery, they took her to the station for what they euphemistically referred to as "an interview" where she was forced to admit to where she'd been and who she'd been with. It wasn't hard for anyone who heard her to guess what she'd been doing. By the way, that's how I eventually got shithead's name.

They kept her while they checked out her alibi. That's a sanitized way of saying they put her in a cell and went to the shithead's house looking for him. When they didn't find him, his wife gave them his work address. The interest in her husband did not escape the attention of his wife. When he tried to deny the affair, they went to the motel and pulled the records. His electronic signature did not help his credibility with the police, but it did provide them both with an alibi. It turns out that lying to the police really is a crime, and so they returned to his home that evening to charge him with a minor offense. I secretly suspect they waited until he was home so they could arrest him in front of his wife. It didn't result in any great fine or jail time for shithead, but it did get him divorced.

The story was just too juicy to contain, and the matter of the cheating bandit became a running joke at the station that was soon told to the spouses. The spouses told their friends, and their friends told their friends, and pretty soon my wife and shithead were the laughingstock of the town. Even the judge who heard my divorce plea laughed when he realized who she was.

Eventually, the divorce was final. She did all the expected things and said all the usual clichés, but trust was broken, and it wasn't going to mend in this lifetime. She heard the whispers and the stifled laughs behind her back wherever she went, and she soon left town not far behind shithead. I have no idea where she is or whether they are together, and I can no longer care. I am moving forward.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder if it was worth the effort. I knew she cheated on me, and I was content to divorce her for it, but I wanted to hold her up to public ridicule as the cheater who had to confess her affair to avoid being arrested for armed robbery. I imagined her having to admit, "Sure, I'm a liar and a cheat, but I'm not a thief!" There was less satisfaction in it than I had hoped, but I have to admit that I would do it again if faced with the same situation.

Eventually, two police officers paid me a visit. You can't do anything with anonymity anymore, so they knew full well it was me who called them and tipped them off to my wife. Officially, they were not amused. Unofficially, I offered to buy them each a beer and we decided to call it even. It seems one of them was divorced and the other was getting divorced, and they admired my creativity. "Just don't do it again" was all they told me. I wasn't sure whether they meant reporting my wife as a bank robber, or marrying her in the first place, but either way I agreed to both.

So here I am a year later. I've rid myself of the deception that plagued me, and I'm rebuilding my life. I had a few minor friends, who were really friends of my wife, that knew about her betrayal, so I had no difficulty cutting them from my life. Then I doubled down on the good friends who stood by me. I didn't date until the divorce was final. I took that time to work through my emotions. Then about a month ago I met a delightful woman my age. She, too, is divorced from a cheat. We have that much in common. She, too, is rebuilding her life, and she, too, has made it her life's work to find the very best bourbon made on Earth. We consider it our sacred mission and we take our mission very seriously. Maybe we'll make it and maybe we won't. We're taking it very slow. For now, I'm enjoying every minute I get to spend with her and tonight she's helping me celebrate my divorce. Wish me luck.