We Need to Talk Ch. 02

"Just play along, Myra, take your cues from me like we talked about. You're a good actress and don't be afraid to ham it up. You're very glad to see him, that's important. Go ahead and hold his hand. You can even kiss him on the cheek. And don't defend me. He's going to dump on me but let him, okay?" I said, squeezing her hand. "Oh, one more thing. If you have a choice, I wanted to be seated to his right."

"Okay, Wendell. I hope you know what you're doing. Please don't make a scene and embarrass me."

The Daily Grind was the largest downtown coffee house and the Sunday morning crowd had the place filled. Myra spotted David right away and she did that excited little wave that women do, bouncing up and down on her feet, and she went ahead of me to meet him. I sure hoped she was acting. David stood up and they gave each other a quick, familiar hug and then David turned his attention to me, smiling broadly.

He looked to be about 50, tanned, fit, and his long silver hair was pulled back into a man bun. He extended his hand and, as I had expected, tried to crush my hand in a display of male dominance. I let him.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Wendell. I must say, I didn't expect to be meeting you this fine morning, but I'm glad you came," he gushed.

I smiled weakly with a half-hearted shrug. "Well, whatever...," I said. We all sat down and I decided right away to take the lead.

"Look, David, I know what's been going on, you aren't fooling me, and I know you want to date my wife," I said, looking at him and her, and repeating that weak smile, half-shrug affectation. Myra was beaming and smiling at both of us. I couldn't see her right hand but I was sure she was holding David's left hand under the table.

I continued. "In principle, I'm okay with that, but I need to ensure my wife's safety. Could you please give me your business card? May I take a picture of your driver's license? Would that be alright with you?"

David gave me an annoyed look but said sure, took out his wallet, and handed me a business card. He produced his California driver's license and laid it on the table. I took some photos, put his business card in my pocket, and asked him if I could take his picture. His annoyance factor increased but then his smile came back, no doubt thinking about Myra, and I took a few pictures of his striking face. He really was a handsome man, with a prominent brow, an aquiline nose, and high cheek bones.

"Two things, David, and then we go play. First, you pay for the motel. Second, this first time, I get to watch. Are you okay with that?" I asked.

I could see the shocked look on his face, but he readily agreed.

"Sure, sure, that would be fine with me," he said, casting a quick glance at Myra, who was smiling right back at him.

I continued, "There's a cheap motel out on Airport Road near all the strip clubs, called the JetWay. They accept cash and don't ask questions. They'll ask for 50 bucks, but will take less if you tell them you only need the room for a few hours. Use a phony name and get a room. Park in back and we'll meet you there in a few."

"Why so cheap? That's a pretty seedy area," he replied.

I gave him that 'whatever' shrug again. "I don't know. Cheap and seedy is how Myra and I like it. A dirty place for dirty play, I guess."

His head swiveled back and forth between us, puzzled, like he was trying to decide if we were putting him on. Myra was still beaming her megawatt smile and I was trying to look small and sheepish.

Then, a huge smile swept across his face and he stood up at the table, so I stood up, too. I offered him my hand for another handshake and winced when he crushed it. Myra came to his side, got up on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and giggled like a schoolgirl.

"Gotcha, understood. See you soon," he said, smiling back at us over his shoulder as he walked to the front door.

I sat back down. This had gone better than I had hoped. What a maroon!

"Let's give him a few minutes, make him wait. Did you see that bulge? Do you think he has a big cock?" I said. The look on Myra's face was priceless.

"WHAT? You don't expect me to go through with this, do you?" she said, and I chuckled.

"No, but he certainly does. Now, can you see what kind of a man he really is? That's your coffee buddy. Mr. Newton is a grade A, first class, prime, center-cut asshole. He's planning to fuck you this morning with me in the room watching. To him you're nothing but a piece of ass and I'm a wimp to be humiliated. That's the kind of man he is."

I could see the scales falling from Myra's eyes as the truth finally dawned on her. Her face changed in front of me and she registered open-mouthed surprise. Her overweening pride and Irish stubbornness had kept her from seeing the truth, but now it'd slapped her in the face.

Her face hardened like flint. "Mo-ther-fucker!" Myra said slowly, with emphasis. "What do you want me to do?"

I told her what to do, but I didn't tell her everything.

*****

We made the drive together toward the airport, and it occurred to me that having an old airport in your neighborhood was not good for economic development. The area was blighted and doubtless dangerous at night, but early on a Sunday morning not much was happening. After a busy Saturday night the prostitutes were sleeping late and the strip clubs and bars were still closed. The JetWay motel parking lot was deserted except for David Newton's Mustang. Nice car, I thought, but I wouldn't leave it unattended around here. His shiny white car stood out like a white bean in a black cat's asshole. My thirty year old pickup truck, on the other hand, blended right in.

I pulled in alongside his Mustang and we walked to the closest motel room door. Myra stood in front of the peep hole and the door opened. David was sporting a big smile and not much else, having stripped down to his boxer-briefs. I had to admit, he had a nice physique and an even tan. David saw Myra eyeing his bulge and his smile got even bigger, though that seemed hardly possible. Myra smiled back and I smiled, too.

"Can I offer you something to drink? I brought a rack of beer," he said.

"Maybe later," I replied, "Let's play first."

Myra walked further into the room, swinging her hips, with David following close behind. She stopped at the foot of the bed, turned, and placed her hand on his chest.

She said, "Hold it right there, Romeo. I've got something for you to see."

She walked to the far side of the bed and stopped, and while looking over her shoulder, pulled her silk blouse out of the waistband of her tailored slacks. Then she turned around to face us, smiling all the while, and began unbuttoning.

"Watch," she said.

David was fascinated and forgot all about me.

Big. Mistake.

I came up behind him, put him in a headlock with my left arm, and put the cold muzzle of my revolver in his right ear.

"Don't move a muscle, David. Don't even breath," I said evenly. He froze in place. Across the room, Myra covered her mouth with a silent gasp. I smiled back at her and winked.

I pulled back the hammer and the pistol made that smooth, metallic, double-click sound of a pistol being cocked. The vibrations must have gone into the deepest recesses of his brain because he immediately began whimpering and begging.

"Please," he said, in a small, tremulous voice, "please, please, please."

"It's a .22 short, David, a subsonic round, so it's pretty quiet, even without a silencer. The noise won't be out of place in this neighborhood anyway; guns are poppin' all the time. Not much power, though; it's just a target load. I doubt it will even come out the other side of your head, just rattle around inside." I was surprised how calm I sounded and how easy this was. "All we have to do now is wait for the next jet to fly over."

David started to cry and blubber. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, please, please, please, I'm soooo sorry."

"Here's how you can make this right, David," I said. I wanted to give him a glimmer of hope just before I took it all away.

"An hour after we leave, David, you get in your little hot rod and head back to California. Don't cheat on the full hour, don't stop at home, don't call anyone, just leave. You can have your shit boxed up and shipped back home later, I don't care, just be gone. Don't tell anyone anything. I'd recommend you don't call the police. You see, David, you didn't take the time to find out who I am, who my friends are, what I've done, or what I'm capable of doing. I might be a little crazy, too; you should have considered that possibility."

I was monologuing like a villain in a movie. Easy to do, I was discovering, but it was time to wrap this up. I could hear a jet coming.

"In the future, David, don't mess around with another man's wife. It could be very, very unhealthy for you."

The jet was growing louder now and David was quivering like a little bird. I smiled at Myra and gave her another wink and a nod.

"Well, Myra, what shall we do with Mr. Romeo? Let him go? Or shoot him?

"Shoot him," she said.

"Okay. On the count of three. One, two, three."

I pushed the gun harder into his ear and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell with a hard snap and David fainted dead away. I smelled urine.

I stepped over David and picked up, from the top of the television, a small black object the size and shape of a box of dental floss. Then I found his shirt and removed the pen from his pocket. I looked in the bathroom and all around the motel room. Nothing else.

"Let's go," I said to Myra. She handed me a handful of Kleenex to grab the doorknob and we were gone. I looked around the parking lot. No one had seen us. We'd been in there less than ten minutes.

We were quiet until we got on the freeway to get back home. Then we both started laughing.

"What was that thing you took off the TV?" she asked.

"A video camera. It was aimed at the bed, and the pen is an audio recorder. I noticed it at the coffee shop. He's such a slime ball, I figured he would hide a camera, too, once I saw the phony pen."

"Wendell, we could really be in trouble. Our text messages are on his phone," Myra said.

"Doesn't matter. We met for coffee in a public place, other people saw us, and we left separately 20 minutes apart. Besides, he used his credit card for all of us, so we're all friends. No biggie, no reason for us to act guilty. I met him to warn him away from you, simple as that. We parted amicably. I don't think anybody saw us at the no-tell motel. At least, no one who paid us the slightest bit of attention or who has the capacity to remember anything. We're good," I said.

We drove along in silence for a few miles. At the freeway offramp, while waiting for the light, I sent a quick text message.

JetWay motel, room 6.

"One thing you don't know, Myra. I called Rich Williams at the police department this morning. David Newton was disbarred in California two years ago for misappropriating his client's money. He was making restitution, but recently a bench warrant was issued to arrest him for fraud. He won't be going to the police about us, that's for sure, and Rich just might be looking for him at this very moment. And he has a wife back in California, very much alive. What business he has with your boss, I don't know, but it might be a good time for you to look for another job, or just quit working to stay home and take care of me. I need help, you know. I'm a weak man."

The light finally changed and we began driving again.

Myra guffawed. "Weak man? What did you just do back there? You just held a gun to a man's head to protect me. That's pretty gutsy."

"An empty gun," I said. "Seriously, I'm an alcoholic, Myra, I love my booze. I'm going to go see an alcohol counselor next week, maybe join AA. I'm going to see my doctor, too; I need a health check-up, I need a bunch of labs, and I need to lose a lot of weight. Physician, heal thyself, and all that. The question is, do I need to see a divorce attorney, too? Tell me now, Myra, because I intend to fight like hell to keep you." I couldn't hide the quaver in my voice.

"No, Wendell, l'm not going to divorce you. You're an asshole sometimes, a clever asshole for sure, but you're mine. Let's not throw away 29 years of marriage and disrupt our families. Our kids and grandkids are depending on us."

"Grandkids? Do you know something I don't know, Myra?"

"No I don't, but we have every reason to hope."

Finally, we were back home. I shut off the engine and watched the garage door go down in the rear-view mirror. At last I could relax and I let out a huge breath of air. I took off my seatbelt, turned toward Myra, and we held each other tight. We were both sobbing.

*****

Hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading. Chapter 3 is bubbling on the back burner.