Waiting, Just Waiting

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For my wife to kill me.
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JimBob44
JimBob44
5,055 Followers

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes, I need an editor. No, I do not want an editor. Yes, it jumps around too much. Yes, there's too many people to keep track of. Yes it's too long. Yes it's too short. Yes it's in the wrong category. Yes this is stupid shit and yes I am a horrible writer, barely legible, barely literate.

For those that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this little tale.

*****

Chapter 1

The Vo-Tech school rented out one of their classrooms to the Together We Stand Narcotics Anonymous group. They met every Tuesday and Thursday night, seven o'clock until eight o'clock.

"What a bunch of addicts," Bear joked. "Everyone else in the world knows meetings are supposed to be from eight 'til nine, but not y'all."

"So sorry Bear, we'll do better next time," Bronson smiled as he hugged his sponsor.

"No, no, this is fine," Bear sighed.

He helped put the readings out.

"Hell, this way I can get a meeting in, and still have time give Kirsten a resentment," he said.

"Good to have goals," Kirsten, Bear's wife said as she entered the classroom. "Bronson, your coffee sucks."

Bear easily picked up his wife; he was six foot six, she was five feet, four inches tall.

"I ever tell you I love you?" he asked her as they kissed.

"No," she smiled.

"Really? I'd take a look at that if I was you," he said and laughed when she squealed and slapped at him.

"Oh God, sorry I'm late, sorry I'm late," Lauren said as she scurried into the room.

"No problem, gave me a chance do some service work," Bronson smiled and hugged the young woman.

Lauren took over setting up the meeting then complained about the coffee.

"Uh, at least it got made," Dauphine, Lauren's NA sponsor pointed out.

As it was Thursday night, and Thursday nights were their Steps meeting, they talked about the Fourth Step.

"Bronson!" Lauren snapped loudly.

"Huh?" Bronson snapped out of his mental fog and looked around the room at the fifteen faces that were now looking at him.

"I said, you feel like sharing tonight?" Lauren snapped, a little peeved.

"Uh, no, no thanks, I think I'll just listen tonight," Bronson said.

"Because you're doing such a good job of it," Dauphine quipped and many laughed.

"Okay, all of y'all that are perfect, please raise your hands," Bronson spat.

It wasn't the first time he'd had a verbal run-in with Dauphine. The African-American woman was given to over-dramatizations of her problems, long winded monologues, with far too much detail and more complaints than solutions. She often offered unwanted, unneeded critiques of others' sharing; was often quite cutting in her remarks. As she had seventeen years clean time, she believed herself to be the governing voice of the group, even if the Second Tradition stated that they had no one governing their group, other than a loving God.

As was her wont, Jade, an attractive, slightly chubby Asian-American woman piped up with a litany of complaints about her husband Brian. Because Jade often showed up for their meetings with alcohol on her breath, none of the women would sponsor her. Therefore, Jade had no first-hand knowledge of any of the steps, just used the meeting as a dumping ground.

Bronson slipped out immediately after the Lord's Prayer was recited. Dauphine had a habit of being a snide bitch during the meetings, then wanting to make amends and get a hug right after the meeting.

Bronson was not in a hugging mood. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Dauphine's smarky, self-serving remarks.

He had pointed out, more than once to Dauphine, her amends weren't amends so much as they were excuses for her bad behavior. And he just was not in the mood for it.

"Bitch, call your sponsor, huh?" he thought as he drove away.

No one had asked him about Becky. Since it had been nearly three months since his wife had gone to a meeting, many of them just assumed that Becky had gone back out, started using again.

Bronson sighed; it was actually worse than that.

Chapter 2

They had met at the DeGarde Chemical Dependency Unit. Bronson Meddier had developed a problem with prescription pills, after an automobile accident put him in a wheelchair. Becky Trahan had developed a problem with Crystal Meth; a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on snorting the stuff. Then he used her as a source of income to fuel his own meth habit.

"Worse fucking thing?" Becky had sobbed piteously in the group session. "Fucking loved it. God damn, fuck twenty, thirty guys in a row? Pussy so stretched out couldn't even fucking walk and I'm ready for more dick."

"Becky, bring it down, huh?" the counselor asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"And I'd suck so many cocks couldn't even talk, jaw was so sore," Becky went on, unmindful of the counselor's entreaties.

"Ever do anal?" one of the men asked, clearly enjoying this session.

"Thank you, Becky," the counselor said loudly. "Diego? Want to share why you asked that question?"

Diego mumbled something, embarrassed. Then the counselor asked Bronson what had brought him to the CDU.

Bronson shared of the excruciating pain, especially when he was learning to walk again.

"God damn, pain in my back, and my hips? See, they got pretty fucked up when that drunk hit me, God, pain was so bad I swore I was going to die," he said.

Bronson smiled tightly.

"Hard to tell how much of the pain was real and how much of it was just my disease wanting me think the pain was real," he admitted.

After a while, Becky admitted to the group that she had gone into the CDU at the behest of her attorney.

"See, Demarcus and me? We got popped, mother fucking pig acting like he's wanting him some and next thing you know them mother fuckers got me and him on the ground and..." she whined.

To Bronson, Becky was just another patient at the CDU. It had been simply a case of finding a friend. But he'd made friends with nearly everyone there, except Diego.

So he was genuinely surprised, and pleased when Becky came up and hugged him at a meeting after they'd graduated from the program. And he'd been genuinely pleased when she'd asked for his phone number, asked him if he'd like to get together for pizza.

She was cute, with long red hair, adorable freckled skin, and large brown eyes in a round face. She had large breasts on her small frame, and almost no ass at all, had long, coltish legs.

He was handsome, a square face, thick brown hair, and big brown eyes.

They dated for a couple of months, then got married right before either one celebrated six months of clean time.

Right after they'd both picked up their one year medallions, Bronson came home and saw a man leaving their rental house. He found his wife cleaning herself up.

"What the fuck?" she screamed as he was packing to leave. "You fucking knew what I was when you married me."

"No, Becky," he screamed back. "I knew what you used to be; you used to be a meth whore. You're not a meth whore now, are you?"

Through her sponsor and his sponsor and a couple of sessions with a non-licensed counselor, they did reconcile.

Becky said she saw that she was wrong, said that she now understood that she was supposed to remain faithful.

"Honesty, right?" she smiled tightly. "I promised God and you I was going be faithful, right?"

"I guess I was wrong for assuming you'd get that," Bronson grudgingly chimed in.

"Know what happens when you assume," Becky smiled.

"Uh huh, well, ain't no assuming here, all right? I keep my pants on, you keep your pants on, all right?" Bronson said.

They picked up their two year medallions and made their group groan good-naturedly when they thanked each other for helping them keep clean and sober.

Then Becky began to get a little lax in her meeting attendance. She had to work late. She was tired. She didn't like Dauphine, or Kirsten.

"Fuck, no one does," Bronson snapped.

Then Bronson found out that Demarcus had somehow pled out of doing any real jail time.

Bronson went to Miller's Electronics and bought a few voice activated recorders.

"It'll pick it up, at least her side of it if she's talking on her cell phone," Brandon, the chubby faced boy behind the counter had said. "Ain't going do much if they texting, though."

Brandon had showed Bronson how to clone her cell phone.

"Illegal as shit," Brandon had whispered. "But, hey, you know? At least you'll know, right?"

Bronson should have been relieved. Becky's cell phone showed that she was calling him, texting him, calling her mom, calling, very infrequently, Stacy, her sponsor.

Her behavior was much more confrontational, almost belligerent with him. As he told Bear, Bronson couldn't remember the last time they'd made love.

If she wasn't in his face screaming, complaining, Becky was nervous, jittery, defensive.

But the key logger he'd installed on the home computer showed nothing. And the cloned phone showed nothing.

Then one day, Bronson heard Becky's purse give a slight 'buzz.'

He saw her phone was on the charger.

At that moment, she was in the kitchen, 'cooking.' Which was basically opening cans, dumping them into pots and heating.

He quickly took the second phone out of her purse and went into the second bedroom.

"Bronson, dinner," she called out a moment later.

"Be right there," Bronson yelled as he hurriedly dashed through the steps to map her phone.

"Now, damn it," she shrilled.

"Fine, fine, God damned bitch," he said.

After an unappetizing meal, Becky grabbed her purse and went into the bathroom.

A minute later, she charged out, screaming for her phone.

"What? It's right there, on the charger, God damn," Bronson yelled, pointing.

"Not that, oh yeah, there it is," Becky said and continued looking all around.

Bronson would have laughed, had his heart not been breaking.

He managed to complete mapping her second phone, then kicked it underneath the couch.

Becky found it later that night and felt both relieved, and agitated. She was relieved to have found her phone, but agitated; she knew she had looked under the couch, not once, not twice, but at least three times.

While all this insanity was playing out at his home, Bronson's professional life was climbing up the ladder. Gordon King of King Sanitation was a good man to work for and believed in rewarding his employees. Bronson was next in line to head the accounting division of the company.

"Bronson, by the way, I just love that name, that is the coolest name," Gordon said.

"My dad was a huge fan of the 'Death Wish' movies," Bronson admitted. "So, he named me after Charles Bronson."

"One bad ass mother," Gordon smiled. "Anyway, was talking to Arnold the other day and he said you'd be his first choice to take over the Santa Barbara office."

"But we do all the accounting already," Bronson said.

"No, no, not just the accounting, the whole office," Gordon said.

"Huh," Bronson said, stunned.

The latest series of messages between his wife and Demarcus had broken his heart all over again. Becky had gone from snorting meth to actually smoking it.

Becky had quit her job; that was a running joke at most NA meetings. Some people quit doing drugs because it starts to interfere with their work. But an addict will quit work because it interferes with their drug use.

Bronson had immediately frozen their joint bank account, cancelled all the credit cards, and thanked God his mother had 'suggested' that he put the collection of gold coins into a safe deposit box. The key to that box was on his keychain.

But, even more painful to Bronson than the fact that his dear, sweet Becky was smoking met, was the fact that she was once again declaring her love for Demarcus.

It hurt that she was having sex with her boyfriend, hurt tremendously. But her messages of love for Demarcus, that broke his heart into a million pieces.

"So, go home, talk to your wife about it, let's see, it's Tuesday, think you could give me an answer by Friday?" Gordon was saying.

"Yes sir, I think I can," Bronson said, stood and shook the man's hand firmly.

"By the way, if you were looking for a lawyer, who would you recommend?" Bronson asked just before leaving the office.

"Donald Pellichet," Gordon said immediately. "Been my attorney and my friend for going on fifteen years now."

At his own office again, Bronson made an appointment to meet with Donald Pellichet on the following day.

Then he sat back and wondered if he should even tell Becky about Gordon's offer.

Chapter 3

Donald Pellichet did look at the text messages Bronson had managed to copy. Then he solemnly shook his head.

"These were obtained illegally. Therefore, we can't use them. And you just told me, kid that showed you how to do this? He told you it was illegal," Donald said as he read the latest exchanges between Becky and Demarcus.

"Besides that, this is a 'No Fault' state; you don't need a reason get a divorce," Donald said.

Bronson told Donald about the upcoming promotion.

"Damn, then we need hurry up and file before Gordon makes that promotion official, huh?" Donald said.

While Bronson and Donald were filling out the paperwork, Becky was discovering that her credit cards did not work. She also discovered that her debit card would not work at the ATM.

Bronson answered the telephone after the fifth ring.

"What, Becky? I'm at work," he snapped.

"My cards don't work," Becky shrilled into the phone.

"I told you someone stole them when I went to the St. Thomas meeting, I told you that," Bronson lied. "So I had them frozen before the son of a bitch could run them up."

Donald chuckled and Bronson smiled at him.

"But how am I supposed to..." Becky screamed.

"Well, where are you? I'll be right there and buy you whatever it is," Bronson smiled, actually enjoying her panic.

Becky hung up.

"What up?" Demarcus demanded, coming down hard.

"Cards got stolen so dumb ass mother fucker cut them up," Becky screamed.

"Now how the fuck we, aw bitch, come on, how 'bout them rings, huh?" Demarcus demanded.

"My wedding rings? You out of your mind?" Becky screamed.

A couple of slaps to her face changed Becky's mind.

That was how Demarcus had persuaded Becky to start selling the pussy. A few lines of meth, then when she started coming down, he suggested she might want to fuck a few of his boys. She had refused at first, but a few slaps to her face had changed her mind.

That was part of what really injured Bronson's pride; his wife was willing to betray him, betray his love, for a son of a bitch that thought nothing of slapping Becky, thought it right to use a wire coat hanger on Becky if she didn't acquiesce to his demands.

At the Tuesday night Together We Stand meeting, Bronson did talk a little bit about his possible promotion. He did not talk about his breaking heart.

"Understand they got N.A. meetings in California too," Bear commented.

"Yeah? You sure about that?" Bronson joked.

Again, Dauphine went on and on about her problems, made a few snide comments aimed at Bronson, and again Bronson slipped out just as soon as they finished saying the Lord's Prayer.

Becky wasn't home when Bronson got home. So he cooked himself a frozen dinner in the microwave.

He brought the steaming tray of meat loaf with creamed potatoes into the living room, set the tray on the coffee table, and went to turn the television set on.

And noticed it was gone. The mounting brackets had been ripped from the wall, severely damaging the sheetrock.

"Mother fucker! You are kidding me!" Bronson screamed. "There goes our security deposit too, thank you so fucking much, Becky!"

Even though his appetite was gone, he forced himself to eat the microwaved meal. Then he called Becky's cell phone.

She didn't answer, so he left a message that someone had stolen their television.

She returned a few minutes later, claimed complete ignorance about what could have happened to the television, but tried to keep Bronson from calling the police.

"What, Becky? If I didn't take our television, and you didn't take our television, then our television got stolen, Becky," he snapped.

She tried to jerk the phone out of his hand and actually bit his hand when he held her at arm's length.

The police sent Elise Richards and Eric Miller out. The two took statements, photographed the wall, did a walk-through to determine if the 'criminals' took anything else, and then promised they'd do their best.

"She look like she was strung out to you?" Elise asked her partner when they got back into their cruiser.

"And coming down hard," Eric agreed.

Inside the house, Becky scratched at her face; the itching was driving her crazy.

"See? 'Oh, we'll do our best find it.' They ain't going do shit, biggest fucking waste of time," she screamed at Bronson.

"But at least our insurance will get a copy of the police report," Bronson screamed back.

"Oh," she brightened. "They buy us another one?"

"Thousand dollar deductible," Bronson reminded her. "But after that? Yeah. And our landlord will get a copy too; God damn, eight hundred dollar security deposit. Really? Eight hundred dollars?"

"But we can get that back?" Becky asked hopefully.

"Uh, yeah, when we move out," Bronson said. "But without that police report? He'd take that torn up sheetrock out of it."

The computer was almost five years old and the monitor was older than that; it was an old CRT style. It did not even support the latest graphics interface. But Bronson made sure to back up any personal data onto a flash drive. Then he deleted the information off the hard drive.

Bronson very seriously doubted if Demarcus was smart enough to know how to use that information. But he still did not want to take any chances.

Chapter 4

Cash for Gold pawn shop showed Elise and Eric the footage of Becky and Demarcus bringing in the television set, along with some jewelry.

"Told you," Elise and Eric said together.

"Jinx," Elise said. "Now you can't talk until someone says your name."

"Shut up," Eric laughed. "God, how old are you? Five?"

Vanessa Leblanc, Demarcus's parole officer provided them with the last known address for Demarcus and the two went there.

Demarcus's mother's house was a small house that had seen better days. Many homes in the Kimble neighborhood had seen better days.

Because it was in Kimble, Elise and Eric called for a Kimble unit to back them up. The backup met them two blocks away from the target; they coordinated, then Eric drove the cruiser back to the house.

"Open up! Police!" Eric screamed, hammering on the door.

"Freeze, my boy," Elise said when Demarcus came running out the rear door of his mother's house.

While Demarcus was being put into one police cruiser and Becky was being put into a second cruiser, Bronson was telling Gordon King he would be taking the Santa Barbara job.

"Excellent," Gordon smiled.

"But, please hold off on making the promotion official," Bronson asked.

"The wife?" Gordon guessed.

"Mr. Pellichet tell you?" Bronson asked.

"Huh? No, no, remember? Client lawyer privilege? No, it's kind of written all over your face," Gordon admitted.

While Bronson was eating a roast beef po-boy at Tommy's Po-Boys, eating not because he was hungry, but eating because he knew he needed to eat, Becky and Demarcus were sullenly chewing their bologna and American cheese on white bread sandwiches.

Then Bronson went to the NA meeting at St. Thomas Aquinas high school.

After the meeting, Bronson told Bear about the theft, Becky's reaction.

"Really?" Bear growled. "Really? Shit like that and I don't hear about it until next day?"

"But I didn't use over it," Bronson tiredly pointed out.

"There is that," Bear agreed.

JimBob44
JimBob44
5,055 Followers