The Perfect Crime Pt. 01: The Setup

This story is written for Loving Wives and is my first solo submission. It's vengefully dark and sadistic, but something that just came to me. I'm not really this heartless, but I felt I needed to get it out. A bit of sex and a couple of twists. For those who know me, please "Bear" with me...hehehe.

*****

James

My name is James Tremaine, an attorney, and senior partner in the firm of Tremaine, Anderson, and Dowling, Attorneys at Law. I have been married to Sonia, my wife of fourteen years. She works in a money management firm downtown.

I thought I was happily married, but as they say, the husband is always the last to know. We are a medium-sized litigation firm, and we do quite well. There is a bit of pro bono work, and we also advise the local Archdiocese.

A while back, I began to suspect I had a cheating wife problem. It appeared that she and her associate at work, one Marcus Blaine, were swapping bodily fluids on a regular basis, i.e. every Tuesday and Thursday night, and possibly on Friday evenings. That would have been bad enough, and I was just about to get a private investigator involved.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

Her birthday was approaching, and loving my wife so much, I knew she had always wanted one of those 5G smartphones, so I figured, "What the heck, she's worth it." I got her the one with all the bells and whistles, and an instruction manual about three-quarters of an inch thick. I didn't understand half of it, and I'm pretty computer savvy, but the one thing I noticed, towards the back, was a chapter on the tracker app. Unfortunately, my Gibbs-type phone didn't support it. Y'know, Gibbs from NCIS? Never mind.

So, I sprang for a cheap 5G phone for me to load the app on.

She was over the moon with hers, since she was the first one in her office to get one, and you would think that she would be very appreciative of the gift. But no, a perfunctory "Thank You" was all I got. Even a hearty handshake would have been nice.

Then, one Tuesday evening, when she'd gone to a Library Committee meeting, I figured I would try and surprise her with a little late-night drinks, dinner, and dancing. I drove to the main branch of the City Public Library, to pick her up about 8:00 pm, but the building was dark, locked up tighter than a drum. It wasn't very late; she usually got home about 9:00 - 9:30.

I noticed the security cop parked over by the front door, so I strolled over and asked when the Committee meeting was over. He looked at me like I had two heads.

"What Committee meeting?" he asked.

Stunned, I asked him if they had moved it, or rescheduled it.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He asked again, this time like I'd just inquired about a UFO sighting.

So, okay, something just wasn't right. I tried calling her cell from my new phone, the one she didn't know about. It went right to voice mail.

That's when it hit me. Oh, Christ. Suddenly, I remembered the tracking app on her phone. I scrolled to it, and punched it up. Seconds later, it showed a flashing icon. I tapped the "Show Address" function, and it came up with The North Loop Radisson Blu. Oh, Christ-again. Somehow it started being my go-to exclamation...sorry, Lord.) I drove home and swapped out my Jag for my 1980 full-sized Ford Bronco. I immediately drove to the swanky hotel, parked in the lot, went in, and asked where the City Library Committee meeting was being held.

(Hey, don't judge. I'm college and law school educated, and I'd never claimed to be particularly bright, but I began to catch on.)

The guy behind the front desk must have been telepathically linked with the Library security guard, but he had concierge level standards to uphold.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"There is no City Library Committee meeting here, is there?" I said. Without waiting for an answer, I turned and left. I went out, and got in my Bronco. I began to feel sick, my stomach turning over.

I started it up, and backed out of the space. I drove around the parking lot for about five minutes until I saw her three-year-old BMW. 'Fuck this,' I thought. I pulled up carefully to the driver's side rear quarter panel, dropped the transfer case into 4Lo, then drove the winch bumper into it. Satisfied, I backed up, and went home. As I turned onto the street, I saw her come out of the hotel with Marcus Blaine on her arm. Well, at least I knew who would pay for this crapfest.

After getting home and pulling into the driveway on my side, while leaving her side clear, I got out and checked my bumper. Nothing major, just a small scuff, and a scratch on the black, powder-coated bumper. I got a rag, some rubbing compound, and a can of gloss black lacquer. Five minutes later, it looked as good as new. I went into the house, poured myself a scotch, and turned on the Yankees' game.

She came in about five minutes later, looking pissed.

I asked, "How was the meeting, hon?"

She stared at me, then mumbled something about her car getting wrecked. I bolted up, struggling to cover my amusement, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine," she said.

"Let's go look," I urged, grabbing a flashlight. We went out to survey the damage.

After several minutes of "Oh, man," and "Awww shit, honey," I asked her if she got the cop's card, so we could get a copy of the police report, for the insurance claim.

"UH-uhhh, ahhh...umm, no." she stammered.

"Why not?" I asked incredulously, now in full lawyer mode.

"It's not a big thing, just a dent," she mumbled.

"Honey, it's a BEEMER. The door frame is bent, the glass in the window is broken, and the door itself is, for all intents and purposes, retired to Florida."

"I was too upset. I just wanted to come home," she defended sullenly.

"We'll be paying for this ourselves." I knew she didn't contact the police, because the report would have listed place and time. And that wasn't at the library.

"Fine. I'll pay for it. It's my car

& & &

Arctic, described the climate in our house for a while.

The next day, I took off for some personal time from work and got her car to the dealership. I gave them her office work number, arranged for her to get a rental, and told them to contact her about the cost.

Then, I went to the local electronic spy shop, and picked up several voice-activated recorders, as well as several motion-activated cameras. I also got a landline monitor for our old-style phone.

I went home, and installed one camera in the living room, one in the master bedroom, one in the master bath, and one in in the kitchen. I hooked up the phone monitor to the landline, and the computer mic input, and put a voice-activated recorder in the bedroom, the living room, and the kitchen.

I didn't think Sonia would bring him home to our house, but everything was covered until I got a private investigator involved.

I went into my home office, and couldn't help crying.

& & &

Sonia

I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of Suite 512 admiring my naked body. Marcus was showering, I was drying myself off and brushing my hair. Not bad for thirty-four, I smirked.

I thought about the nine-inch cock being scrubbed in the shower. When I'd first met James, my husband, he satisfied me for a while with the sex. It was never love-making, although the fool was head over heels in love with me. But I had a degree in financial management, and he had his law degree, so our marriage was a stepping stone.

I'd agreed when he proposed, we married, bought a house, and started to plan a family.

James didn't know about my plan, though, and the steps I'd taken to implement it. I had my tubes tied, because children were the last thing I wanted. Sex, however, and lots of it, was the first thing I wanted. I was screwed, selectively and discreetly, everything I could find, from our wedding until today. I've had four lovers in the last ten months.

Then, I met Marcus Blaine

Marcus is passionate, considerate, and hung. We're now exclusive; he insisted I stop having sex with my husband, and I thought it only fair that he also stop doing his wife. They had three kids, so she was totally not worried about the lack of attention. Marcus and I had plans that would be put into effect in February of next year, on Valentine's Day, no less.

I picked up my lace panties, and slipped them on. Then the demi-cup bra, which just barely conceals my nipples. I retrieved my satin blouse, and pulled it on. Walking out of the bathroom, I went to the bed, and picked up the charcoal panty hose with faux leg seams and Cuban feet, and slowly rolling them on. I couldn't afford to get a tell-tale run. Stepping over to the chair by the desk, I picked up the pencil skirt I'd cast off two hours ago, and stepped into it, smoothing it up over my hips, then pulling up the side zipper. My four-inch Jimmy Choo's came last, and I sat down to slip them on.

Standing to look at myself in the mirror over the dresser, I murmured, "Perfect, he'll never suspect a thing, the clueless clod."

Marcus came out of the bathroom, and picked up his dress shirt. He donned it, and slipped on his shoes. Buttoning his shirt with a grin tossed my way, he tucked it in, and picked up his tie. Strutting over to him with a glass of wine, I pressed my lips to his. As he tied his tie, I redid my lip gloss.

"Hurry, dear, we have to leave to return to our loving spouses."

"You got it, babe."

He finished knotting his tie, and picked up his suit jacket. "Same time Thursday?" he queried.

"Absolutely," I purred. Arm-in-arm, we left the hotel room, and proceeded to the elevator. Descending to the lobby, we walked across to the revolving front door, and proceeded across to our respective cars. As I headed towards mine, I saw something looked amiss and hurried to my BMW. Reaching it, I blanched and stumbled, looking at the destruction of the left side of my Beemie.

"Oh, shit!" I wailed. "Look at this fucking mess!"

Marcus heard my cry and ran over. As stunned as I was, he ran to his Lexus parked ten feet away.

"Oh good, my car is okay."

I leveled a scathing look at my current prick of choice, and then back to my car.

"Are you going to call the cops?" he asked

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snapped. "What was I doing in the Radisson parking lot for a Library Committee meeting? That's what the police report would show."

'Fuck' she thought, 'I'm going to have to tough this out.'

All the way home I tried to come up with a valid explanation for no police report. I could deflect, I could concoct some other elaborate lie, but short of dropping to my knees and sucking my husband's cock, I had no answers. Oh, and swallowing. I had never done that for him, and I wasn't going to start now.

& & &

Marcus

I toweled myself off, thinking about the fantastic sex I'd been having with Sonia. She, in turn, had big plans for us, and I felt ready to walk away from my marriage whenever she gave me the go-ahead. I exited the bathroom drying my hair and then running my fingers through it. I picked up my boxer briefs, and slipped them on, followed by my slacks. I paused, watching Sonia slide her pantyhose on, straightening the seams, then reaching for her skirt. Slipping it on, she stepped into her heels.

She came to me with a glass of wine, and watched me knot my tie. She told me to hurry, and I smiled. 'God' I thought, 'Thursday can't get here soon enough.' I picked up my suit jacket, took her arm, and walked us toward the door.

As I opened it, I asked, "Same time, Thursday?"

"Absolutely." she purred. Arm-in-arm we walked to the elevator, and descended to the lobby. We walked through the revolving door, and out into the night, across the parking lot to our cars. As we approached, she began freaking out.

"Oh, shit!" she screamed.

I ran to my Lexus and gasped with relief to see that it remained undamaged. Sonia, in between trying to contain herself, looked at me with disdain.

"Want me to call the cops for a police report?"

"IDIOT!! Why don't we just call James, and tell him we're fucking in a hotel room at the Radisson?" She visibly got herself under control. "No, I'll figure something out, myself." she muttered.

'Damn,' I thought to myself, 'I'm glad I don't have to have this conversation with Alicia.' Sonia was right, though. The cops would write everything down in the report, and I didn't think her husband was quite as clueless as she thought he was.

"You don't suppose James had anything to do with this, do you?"

She looked at me, and, not for the first time, I thought, 'She looks like she thinks all my blood probably still hasn't left my dick yet.'

"James doesn't react violently. He would probably have a private investigator on us by now."

She was only partially right.

& & &

James

Wednesday, I went into work, and sat down to get up to speed on everything that had happened the day before. Everything had pretty much been handled, and I was just going to contact our staff investigator about surveillance of my wife and her paramour, when my secretary buzzed in.

"Boss, we have a situation. A gentleman just came in with a domestic problem, and no one else is available to confer with him. Want to play lawyer for a while?"

I didn't know it then, but this meeting would bring all my problems into focus, and to an end.

"Show him in, Janine."

I cleared some papers off my desk, and stood to greet the gentleman. He walked into my office, with the look of a defeated man.

"My secretary has gathered all your personal info," I said, as Janine placed a folder on my desk.

"Thomas Jalles. May I call you, Thomas? What can you tell me in addition to this here?" I indicated the folder.

"I'm married, have been for sixteen years. I'd discovered my wife had been cheating on me with her boss. I think it may have been a one-time thing. I lost my cool, went to confront him, and I would have killed him. I'd gotten a gun, and I was prepared to use it.

But when I confronted him, he was getting out of his car at work, and I pointed the gun at him. He quailed and almost pissed himself." He looked down at the table for a moment, then continued. "I lost my resolve, and I was just going to tell him I knew and that he should stop banging my wife." His voice became an angry growl.

"That asshole stood up and smirked at me and called me a cuckold. A freaking cuckold! And laughed! That bastard fucking laughed! I saw red, and shot him in the balls. Twice!"

"I turned and left. It happened a little over an hour ago. I drove around, trying to figure out what to do. I was just about to turn myself in when I remembered a friend telling me your firm had helped his cousin out of a jam a while ago. So, I came here. I feel like I'm so screwed."

I got on the intercom, called Janine, and told her to get ahold of Pete, our investigator. Fifteen minutes later, Pete Donovan walked into my office.

"Pete, this is Mr. Thomas Jalles, he will be needing our assistance." I turned to Thomas. "What do you want to do with your wife?" I asked.

He answered with one word, "Divorce."

"Okay, Pete, here's what you do. Start surveillance on his wife, no holds barred. Also, find out what happened to the boss. He was shot twice in the groin, at his place of work. Surveillance on him, also."

"Got it, Mr. Tremaine." He left to start his assigned tasks.

"Now, Mr. Jalles, where did you get the gun? What caliber and make was it? Was it yours, and what did you do with it?

"Understand, attorney-client privilege applies; I am recording everything, and I need you to be absolutely truthful with me. If I am going to represent you, I do not need any surprises from the D.A."

He fidgeted a little, and finally said, "I'm a manager in a shipping company, down at the docks, and I know a guy who knows a guy... anyway, this guy can get you a gun, for cash, no questions asked. I got a 9mm Glock-he met me at a bar-and when I was done, I took it to the river and tossed it way out."

"I could have pitched it in the harbor, right off our pier, but I didn't want anyone to see me, in case I was a suspect. Also, the guy I got the gun from suggested if I was going to use it to 'clean up a problem,' as he put it, to wear a disguise. It would make it harder to identify me if I became a suspect. So, I wore a mask."

"I told him not to worry, and not give the cops anything by way of help. Go home, shower, do laundry, and then wash your hands with a real good solvent, scrubbing everything." I would see him tomorrow, and bring him up to date.

This situation had dropped into my lap right and I really liked the way this was coming together, and several ideas were beginning to swim in my subconscious, and I had almost completely forgotten about my Sonia problem.

& & &

That was at approximately 10:00 am this morning. I had Janine check public records of incorporation for the by-laws and incorporation papers of Haslow Corporation, where Mr. Jalles's wife worked in the executive secretary suite, along with about ten other women. I had gotten the name of the guy who got the gun for Jalles, one Myron Fleming, and the name of the bar he frequented. I kept thinking "disguise, disguise" and started working on what I would need.

I went back to work, and at about 4:45 pm got a text from my wife about a Cancer Committee meeting that night. She said she'd be home about 10:00, as it was downtown at the Mercy Hospital North. Yeah, right. Not even a phone call. I waited until about 5:30, taking care of some minor details. Then I turned on my trick new phone, and spooled up the locator app. There she was, at the Radisson hotel. 'I've got to talk to Pete about surveillance,' I thought, 'when I see him next.'

I was just about to turn out the lights and lock up, when I got a phone call from Pete.

"You still in the office? he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Turn on Channel 7, quick. Stay put, I'm on my way."

I clicked on the TV, got to Channel 7, and once there, I saw their ace crime reporter, Chris Trelawney, standing outside the hospital.

"Repeating our top, breaking-news story, at approximately 9:00 am this morning, a Mr. Dirk Worns was shot and critically wounded as he arrived for work. Mr. Worns is an Assistant Administrative Supervisor at Haslow Corporation. He was rushed to Mercy Hospital North, where he underwent surgery."

"After surgery, at around 12:15 pm, two female secretaries from Haslow Corporation attempted to visit Mr. Worns, followed by Mr. Worns's wife. Three more women, also secretaries working under Mr. Worns, arrived to visit also. An altercation ensued when two of the single women found out Mr. Worns was married. All five of the secretarial staff were unaware that they were all being seduced, and coerced by Mr. Worns."

Just then, Pete arrived, with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Ah, good, you're at the juicy part" he laughed. "It appears that Mrs. Jalles was the most recent addition to Mr. Worns's stable. No one, including Mrs. Worns, was aware of his spreading his charms in the secretarial pool."

Pete had set up the tails on Mrs. Jalles, as well as Mr. Worns, effective as soon as he got out of the hospital. His guy showed up at the hospital following Doreen Jalles, came over to Pete and briefed him.

"Boss, you want the good news or the great news?"

"Good first," I said.

"When they heard at their office what happened, two of the women immediately left for the hospital. Everyone else stood around, screaming at each other, except Doreen. She remained quiet, and just listened. Then the two single women left, and about twenty minutes later, Doreen grabbed her purse and her keys, and dashed out the door." Pete grinned as he took a breath to continue

"Jake followed her, and risked at least three tickets staying with her. She pulled up just as Channel 7 was setting up. She arrived about thirty minutes behind his wife. She walked in, and the shit-storm was in full flow." He shook his head before telling me the next part.