The Perfect Crime Pt. 03: The Crime

WOW... I didn't think I was James A. Michener, or Ernest Hemingway...or even David Webber. But I didn't think the story was that bad, either. To everyone who was disappointed, I apologize. If you don't like the story, don't read it. A bit of Sex, Violence, beginning of a love story, and some ghost stuff.

Please enjoy.

*****

The BEAR

They danced a fast dance, and then 2 slow ones. By the time they were done, she was plastered against him, grinding on his erection. They returned to the table, and he gave her a perfunctory kiss and tossed me a smirk. I fumed, and rose and asked her to dance.

"No, I don't want to," she responded. I glowered at her and returned to my seat. I no sooner lowered my butt into the chair when some other Lothario came over and extended his hand.

"I'd love to," she purred and rose to his embrace. He smirked at me and led her off. When she returned, she finished the wine in her glass and excused herself to go to the lady's room. When she came back, she tucked her soaking wet thong underwear into my suit jacket pocket. The rest of the night was a photo replay.

About midnight, I rose and took her hand, pulling her to her feet shakily to leave." I don't want to go." she fumed. "I'm not giving you a choice. We are going home."

A guy came over and asked her if I was bothering her. I had switched to ginger ale about 3 ½ hours ago, and my Marine training kicked in. I rounded on him and grabbed him by the crotch, and lifted him. I may be a lawyer, but I'm not a wimp. I squeezed, and he shrieked. Two waiters and the maître de came over. I dropped him on the floor.

"This drunk is bothering my wife. I don't know if we'll be back here ever again, Anthony."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Tremaine. This will never happen again. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Carlo, Franco, get this person out of here." I watched as Carlo and Franco picked up the supine piece of crap and escorted him out of the restaurant.

"Again, Mr. Tremaine, my sincerest apologies." Anthony motioned to the door, and the valet and doorman were scurrying. I shook his hand and thanked him while my wife stood there, doing a slow meltdown.

We made our way to the entrance, the door was whisked open, and the Jag was there with the passenger door open to the vehicle. Frederic, the valet, held the door. Simultaneously, the ice queen folded herself into the E-Type, showing a lot of leg and a temperature that caused a climate change in the parking lot. He closed the door and ran around to the driver's side, just as I got there.

"Still runs like a dream, Mr. Tremaine."

"Thanks, Frederic," as I passed him a twenty. I climbed in, the door shut, and I reached over to adjust the heater. She slapped my hand.

"You fucking bastard," she snarled. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone. I can never go back there."

"What makes you think you'll be going back?" I asked.

She turned on me as we accelerated out of the parking lot. "I can go back any time I want to. I can do anything I want to when I want to, and neither you nor anyone else can stop me. You can't even keep me in your bed, you wimpy bastard."

Yeah, we'd just gone from daisy-cutting revenge to nuclear annihilation. It was frigid all the way home.

When we arrived and pulled into the garage, she reached over and plucked the thong from my pocket.

"You won't be needing these," she stated, leveling a malevolent stare at me. She smelled the crotch area, smiled, and licked it. She turned and went into the house.

I was gut-punched. I got out of the car, closed the garage door, and went into the house. Her dress was on the floor in the living room. 'Oh, Christ,' I thought. (Sorry again, God.) I went upstairs to our bedroom and found her standing in the bedroom, with a rather large vibrator shoved up her snatch and a tail butt plug shoved in her ass. She was moaning and twitching while staggering a little bit on her 4 ½" heels. She convulsed and collapsed on the bed, releasing a flood around the vibrator before pulling it out and shoving it down her throat. She looked up and smirked again.

"Better than you ever were, wimp."

I turned and went to the guest room. Locked the door, and stripped off my clothes, and climbed into the guest room shower, with the water as hot as I could stand it. I heard her laughing maniacally. I finished the shower and toweled off. I crawled into bed and felt the rest of my marriage drifting slowly away as I drifted off into a fitful sleep, accompanied by lustful moans from my erstwhile bedroom.

The next morning, I was up and out by 7:00 a.m. and drove the Bronco to church. I knelt and prayed in the back of church all through mass, begging God to help me get thru this.

After church, I went to Waffle House for a substantial breakfast. My usual waitress, Ginger, fussed over me and let me sit through 4 cups of coffee. I finally left and tipped her well before leaving. I always did because my mom had been a short-order waitress, and I knew it was honest but hard work. Besides, she always fussed over me.

I drove home, not knowing what to expect, and arrived at about 11:30. The cunt was gone. I figured I would put the plan into action. I needed a disguise, so I got the field jacket I had bought, the two cards of safety pins, and 4 heavy beach towels. I adjourned to the guest room because I didn't know when she would be coming home. After folding and pinning the towels, I managed to secure them evenly around the inside of the coat. I tried it on and looked in the mirror. I was about 50 pounds heavier.

Perfect! I got the scar appliances, and with a little adhesive, had a decent recent scar on my left cheek and a pretty well healed one across my forehead. I applied the mustache and beard and put on the hat and wig. The guy staring at me from the mirror looked to be about 45 years old, overweight, and nothing like me. Pete would be starting on surveillance Tuesday, and by Friday morning, I would have my evidence. Monday evening, I would get to the Old Oak Bar and look up Mr. Fleming about getting a gun. I changed back out of my disguise and put it all away.

Sunday evening was Antarctica at my house, but Sonia was smirking all evening. She kept sashaying around the house, shaking everything she had to get a reaction out of me. She started humming and making little comments about 'Sunday will never be the same.' I finally stood in front of her and told her I was fed up and frustrated.

"We haven't been intimate in about 4 months, and I don't understand why. I can't take any more." It was the end of October. She gave me that tough shit look and told me, TO MY FACE, "Stick it out till Valentine's Day, and I'll make it worth your while."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." She smirked. We had just escalated to a thermonuclear response, and I think I started to develop a nervous tick.

Monday, I got up early and left for work, stopping at the Waffle House for breakfast. Not terribly healthy, but it sure did taste good. Ginger was there, and she immediately sensed something was wrong.

"Bad night?" she asked. 'Lousy weekend, and probably a really crappy last 8-10 years of my life,' I thought to myself. "Naaah, just a bad weekend." "The usual?" "Yeah, and please keep the coffee coming." I slowly started to feel human again, and the hatred was slowly leaching out.

I finished breakfast, sat thru 2 refills of coffee, and went to pay the bill.

"Feel better, bucko?" Ginger was about 45-50 years old, attractive, and married to a detective sergeant for more than 25 years. VERY married. She was expecting to be a grandmother in about 2 months, as their daughter was married to an Air Force pilot. She had a soft spot for stray puppies, wayward girls, and forlorn young lawyers.

"You need a change, Jimmy." Only my Grandma and Ginger called me Jimmy. I once told her my name was James or Jim to my friends. She said she was sorry, but I looked like a Jimmy, and she couldn't change that. So to her, I was Jimmy.

"I probably will be changing, Ginger. Things are not what they seem."

I went into work and was deep into things by 11:00 a.m. when my phone rang. "Boss, it's your wife," said Janine. I picked up the phone and 'spoke' to my wife. "Yes, Sonia, what do you want?"

"I need your participation Friday night." She said. "The Cancer Society is having a ball, and the Governor will be there. We have to make an appearance, so I will expect you to be there and be on your best behavior. GOT IT?"

"Whatever makes you happy, darling. Will you have any other accompaniment?" Oh, great, now I have to get a new eardrum and a new handset for my phone as she shrieked into the phone and hung up.

Well, at least she won't have any extra-curricular activities on Friday night.

Hmm, maybe this will work out well, with Pete surveilling her. Two weeks of hotel 'meetings' with her fuck-buddy will work out better, and no overwatch on that next Friday night will be for the best. I grinned, and the wheels continued to turn.

Monday night came, and my wife retired early, after polishing off ¾ of a bottle of wine. She was sacked out by 8:30, with the assistance of 2 sleeping pills in the wine. I waited till 10:00 and got into my disguise. Then I slipped through the kitchen and into the garage. I opened the door, backing the Bronco out of the door. No matter which vehicle I took, it would be noticeable.

I would have to work on that.

I drove to the Old Oak Bar and parked around the corner. I walked, slightly hunched over, to the front door, and went in. The interior was dim but not overly darka- good atmosphere for a neighborhood bar. I walked over to the bar like I belonged there and took a seat away from the only other two men at the bar. There was a total of maybe 15 patrons present, most sitting at tables.

It was relatively quiet, and it didn't seem to get any more peaceful when I came in. The Rockets/Sonics game was on the tube. I ordered a draft and took a sip. I got about half of the beer down when the bartender came over to me. The guy 3 stools down on his left got up and moved, but the one on my right didn't seem to take any notice.

"You aren't from around here, friend. You a cop?"

"No," I answered, "I am looking for someone who was recommended to me by a friend of a friend."

"Who might this guy be that you're looking for?"

"Myron Fleming. I need to do business with him. I'm not looking for trouble, just Myron."

The bartender leaned in and stared at me and put a small tape recorder on the bar, followed by the double barrels of a 12 gauge shotgun.

"Are you a police officer?" he intoned.

"I am not, nor have I ever been an officer of the law, at any level." I looked him square in the eyes but noticed the guy on the right appeared to be paying attention now.

"I was in the Marines 19 years ago." I held his gaze. He held mine. The next thing I knew, the guy from my right was sitting next to me; the shotgun disappeared, along with the tape recorder.

"So, you have a friend...?" I turned and looked at him. Black guy, about 25-30, clean-cut, reasonably fit.

"Are you Myron?"

"Maybe."

"You come highly recommended. Good quality, discreet, reliable."

"Maybe. What are you looking for?"

"I need a Glock, 9mm, 1 spare magazine, and a box of Hollowpoint ammo, 147 grain. 50 rounds will do."

"What do you need it for?"

"Is it important?"

"Not really, but I try to take care of my customers. I sometimes hope for repeat business."

"That's what my friend said. If this goes right, there will be no blowback, and I probably won't ever see you again."

"What else did your friend tell you?"

I grinned and said, "You told him to wear a disguise."

"In that case," he said, "Listen to the advice. For $2000, you get what you want. For $3000, you get one clean, untraceable. For $4250, you get a brand new weapon."

"I just want one that will fire reliably. I don't care about its heritage. If you got one you want to get rid of, as long as it's reliable, I'll take it."

He looked at me and said, after a brief pause, "Tomorrow night, 8:30. Don't be late or early." He got up to leave.

"One more thing," I said. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"What" he said.

"You're not a cop, are you?".

He looked at me with an incredulous scowl, then started grinning. "I like it. Don't be late." He moved back down to his seat, and I finished my beer, stood, and slipped a $50 bill to the bartender.

"Thanks," I said. I turned and left. I turned the opposite way from the Bronco and walked around the block. I walked up to it, satisfied that my 6 o'clock was clear, got in, and sat for a moment, letting everything stabilize. Finally, I started the truck and drove home. When I arrived at the house, I went into the garage and closed the door. I took off my disguise and stashed it in the truck. Thank God she hated riding in the Bronco.

The next day was Tuesday, and I was up and out before 7:00; Waffle House was always open and was a little crowded. I found a seat and didn't mind waiting until Ginger's area was empty. She smiled at me as she placed a cup of coffee in front of me.

"Breakfast is coming." "You know me too well," I said. Waffles, hash browns, English muffin, and sausage. Breakfast of Champions. I polished it off and motioned for another cup of coffee. She refilled it and took advantage of a slight lull in the crowd.

"Better today?" she asked.

"Nah, just not any worse."

"If you need to talk, my husband is off today. He had to get the Expedition's oil changed. He is a good shoulder to lean on, and he thinks highly of you. He says for a lawyer, you're O.K."

I chuckled, as I was not aware of this. But that was the last thing I needed- to talk to a cop about what I was contemplating. I thanked her, paid the bill with a $10 tip, and left for work. I picked up 2 dozen Dunkins and opened the office about 45 minutes early. Janine was the next one in, followed closely behind by Pete.

"Ooh, you are going to blow my diet. Curse you," she giggled.

Pete picked up a chocolate with creme filling and asked if I thought he was a cop.

"That special favor is in play" he said.

"Thanks," I said.

I loved Janine, like a sister. 5'2½", Janine La Pierre was intelligent, kind, sweet, and married to Sgt. Joseph La Pierre, Texas Highway Patrol, stationed in the Willis Barracks. She has a Bachelors in Business Administration and 5 credits away from her Masters. She also had a minor in criminal law. 42 years of age, she had 4 children- 3 boys and acute as hell little girl. One of my clients once described her Holley Berry with 38 B's. 3 weeks after our first Christmas party, she came into my office, closed the door, and sat down. She looked at her hands in her lap and blushed. Very cute for an African American lady.

"I'm going to tell you something, and if after I'm done, you want to fire me, that's fine. But I swore to myself I would never lie to you or give you less than my best. I don't like your wife; I don't trust her either. If I were you, I would keep her on a short leash and watch my back."

I was stunned; I didn't know what to think. "Thank you for your candor," I said. "Please keep me advised." I had a slight smile on my face.

"Joe supports me in this. She was hitting on him before she found out who he was. She also tried to put the make on Tony and Gerald."

"I will keep my eyes open," I said. Now her husband resembled the Rock but was a teddy bear.

"Pete told me the same thing."

"Thank you, Janine. I do appreciate it."

At 8 o'clock that night, I left in mufti for my appointment. Sonia had never come home, just texted me a snide little comment:

"I have some business. Make yourself useful, and get me a couple of bottles of wine."

I pulled to my same spot up the block from the Old Oak Bar, checked my watch, got out, and crossed the street. I walked thru the front door at 8:29, strolled over to the bar with a slight hitch in my gate, and sat down precisely 8:30.

"You're right on time," Mr. Fleming said at my right side. He placed a Walmart bag on the bar, and I gave him an envelope from the Marriott with $3500 in it. He looked in, counted it quickly, and said, "There is a little extra here."

"I pay for good service, and discretion," I said. I had made a slight withdrawal from Sonia's stash, so it was no skin off my nose.

"Thank you for your business, sir. Let me give you the same advice I gave your friend. Wear a disguise, and don't overextend yourself. Know your capabilities."

"Thank you, Mr. Fleming. I hope to never see you again."

"Likewise, sir."

I left the bar and went around the block in the opposite direction from last time, checking my back all the way. I came around the last corner from the other way, with a nice long view up the block. I crossed the street and got in. I checked the mirrors, started it up, and drove away. I stopped at a liquor store and purchased 2 boxes of wine for my 'beloved wife'. What do I look like, a servant? I got home and took off my disguise, carefully putting everything up.

I went in and left the wine on the granite countertop. I went upstairs, took a shower, and went to bed in the guest room. At 11:15, she came in. For about 5 minutes, all was quiet. Then I heard,

"You fucking bastard."

I smiled and rolled over to go to sleep.

The rest of the week slipped past. Wednesday morning, there was a small blizzard in the house because of the wine. Sonia left for work and came home at about 5:00 p.m. She didn't say anything, but she kept glaring at me. Bedtime was cold. Thursday morning, she told me about her committee meeting to start preparing for Friday night's fundraiser.

"Remember, we are going out. DO NOT EMBARRASS ME!!" "I will probably be preoccupied most of the night, but I'm sure you can keep yourself amused."

'Yeah,' I mumbled.' I'll bet your fuckbuddy will be there too.' I finished dressing and left for breakfast at Waffle House, about 20 minutes after her. Ginger saw me come in and had coffee ready as I sat down.

"The usual?" she said.

"Sounds good to me, "I replied. I had been making this a regular breakfast stop but eating my other meals at various locations. This had to stop. 'Soon,' I said to myself.' Very soon.'

I arrived at work and tried to occupy my mind. Janine watched me for the better part of the morning.

At 11:45, she came into my office with her purse and said, "Come on, let's go to lunch."

I looked at her, thought a minute, and said, "Sure, why not?" We left the office and went to my Jag. She looked at me as I was opening the door.

"I had hoped you brought the Bronco. Oh well, next time." She slipped into the car, and soon we were on the way to the Texas Road House. We got a table, and soon we were nursing sweet teas and waiting for ribs and a rib eye.

Janine looked at me and said, "O.K., big guy, what's eating you?"

I sighed, looked at her, and said, with as straight a face as I could manage, "Janine, I'm madly in love with you. I want to have an affair with you, and I won't take no for an answer. We can be very discreet and have a great time. What do you say?"

She looked at me and disintegrated into laughter. "One thing you don't know about me is I can't tell a lie. I start to tell a serious lie and bust out laughing. Oh, I can lie about surprise birthday parties, and Christmas presents, things like that. But otherwise, I'm pathetic. A standing joke between Joe and I is, every day, when he gets home, he gives me a big kiss, and asks 'Did you screw anybody today?' 21 years, Boss." "Now," as the waitress brought lunch, "What's REALLY eating you?"

I sighed and spilled the beans about Sonia and me. "And we have this affair tomorrow, and her 'friend' is going to be there."