When We Were Married Ch. 06C

© Daniel Quentin Steele 2011

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THE CLEAN UP CREW -- SECRETS

Here's the latest chapter of WWWM. My thanks once again to Curiousss for his hard work on editing, which I definitely think has improved the story. Believe it or not, the next chapter will not be long in coming. It's already written and Curiousss is laboring on it as this is posted. As always, I hope the readers who've stuck around continue to enjoy the story.

DQS1

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My name is William Maitland. I am 42 years old. I almost died a few days ago. I almost lost my job a few weeks ago. I lost the second woman I've loved in 20 years a month ago. I lost the first woman I ever loved and my family and my marriage six months ago.

I have gained a new nickname, international fame, and I'm having sex with women I never could have imagined approaching six months ago and I think I will be having sex with the sexiest woman with the biggest breasts in the Western Hemisphere within a not too distant length of time. That thought frightens and yet exhilarates me at the same time.

I have learned the basics of boxing and beaten the crap out of the man who stole my wife, albeit having the crap beaten out of me at the same time. I have repaired the rupture in my family due to the example of a man who died trying to make the world a better place, and a man who is a savage killer rescued my family and myself from a terrible and legitimate threat.

I have hurt a friend who has been cheating on his wife for years, that I know of, and possibly destroyed his marriage, while a man who has killed hundreds and ordered the murder of thousands has promised to watch my back against a drug cartel that might be coming after me and my family.

It's been a strange six months.

October 2, 2005 --Sunday 10:35 p.m.

I looked out over the sparkling galaxy of lights that was the New York skyline and almost had to pinch myself to make myself believe I was really here. I was 60 stories above the city, in a prime suite, all expenses paid by CBS. I held a glass of really good champagne, not sure what the exact year was but I was never really a Champagne connoisseur. I sniffed the goblet in my hand and let a few of the bubbles rise to tickle my nose.

The beautiful blonde standing behind me tapped me on the shoulder and I looked at our reflections, standing together in front of the glassed window.

"It is something, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"I love Jacksonville and I'm a Florida boy, born and bred, but I have to admit, you could get addicted to this view."

"I know what you mean, Bill. It's why so many men and women scramble and bleed and bust their asses to get to this city. You can't compare it -- I don't think -- to anyplace else on earth."

I turned to look up slightly into the deep blue eyes of Celestial Madonna, now Jane to me as I was Bill to her, and said, "Actually, I might have had this, but I turned it down."

She gave me a curious look.

"A few months back, before I became the 'Angel of Death', an attorney offered me a shot at a defense position in a firm with offices around the country including New York."

"You turned him down?"

I looked back out at the New York night sky and said, "He asked me the same day that my wife told me she was divorcing me. I was kind of off balance and wasn't ready to make any big moves in my life."

She put one slim hand on my right arm.

"That must have been terrible. I've been divorced, twice, but the first time we just grew apart. At the end we were just two friends sharing a place and there was no real pain there. The second time was harder. I've heard that she really broke you."

"That would about describe it. She tore my heart out, tore my balls off, wrecked my confidence in my manhood. She did a number on me."

She ran her hand up and down my arm. I had dressed for the 60 Minutes interview in my trademark black, only this time a black tux with a black shirt and dress pants. Following the interview, Jane had taken me as her guest to a restaurant I'd never heard of before which looked like a hole-in-the-wall dive and served the best French food I'd ever tasted, here or in Paris.

I had agreed to do a series of interviews for a number of CBS and other network operations, but Jane had basically taken over showing me around the city and getting me from one interview to another. Her bosses let her because they figured the bond would get them the best long term results for their dollar.

It was easy to forget that she was Celestial Madonna with the ever-so serious delivery of fluff pieces about the very important life events of very unimportant celebrities. She was funny, charming and didn't seem to be aware of just how unbelievably hot she was, with tight, taut firm C cup tits, a tiny waist, and an ass to die for when she wasn't dressed in her television uniform. This was the real woman, Jane from Pahokee.

"You recovered well, Bill. I'm thinking your ex is kicking herself in the ass right now."

"No, she found a young stud to play with and then an older guy who turned out to be an alright type. I couldn't hate him even when I wanted to. I think she might have some regrets, only because we were together for twenty years. But...."

"Trust me, she's kicking herself in the ass."

I turned to her and couldn't help grinning.

"It's okay Jane. You don't have to keep selling. You've already got most of the taping you needed and before I leave the city you'll have some good stuff."

She stepped in toward me until our faces were almost touching.

"I'm not selling the show, Bill Maitland."

"Then what are you selling?"

"I'm buying."

She leaned in and we were kissing, first with closed lips and then open mouths and her free hand dropped to my rising erection and began rubbing and squeezing it.

I pulled away from her and said, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I think it's a great idea."

Then she was dropping to her knees, her long legs in sheer stockings visible crouched underneath her, unzipping me and she took almost all of me in one fluid motion. I looked down at her and still couldn't believe the woman I'd watched on television for a few years was on her knees sucking me off.

She pulled away and held my wet dick in one delicate hand and said, "I've wanted to do that since that day in the courthouse. I don't know what it was but, God I was hot, probably because I could almost smell that detective's pussy that was with you. She was dripping. You guys were so fucking obvious. Everybody around you knew what the two of you were going to do. I heard you fucked her in one of your empty offices. Is that true?"

"A gentleman never tells."

She squeezed, sucked and jerked and I finally broke down and said, "Yeah. Yes. We did it in one of the empty offices."

"Was she good?"

"I don't know. If you're starved and you're eating the best steak in the world so fast you don't even chew it, you don't know if it's good or not. You just know you have to have it."

She sucked hard and then let it go and looked up at me, smiling.

"Are you starved now?"

I pushed her down and knelt beside her, running my hand under her panties. She was dripping and my fingers came out wet. I started coming out of the tux and trying to get my pants down at the same time.

"The dresser," she said, pointing to a dresser near the entrance to the suite. I went over and opened it, finding a packet of condoms.

'You little slut. You were ready for this, weren't you?"

"Since you got to town. I've never fucked an Angel before."

"I hope I'm not a disappointment. That's a big rep to live up to. And as you can tell, I'm not the biggest guy in the world."

She reached down and squeezed.

"Big enough, baby, big enough."

I slipped the condom on and knelt between her long legs. I ran my fingers down her slit and they came up dripping. I held it to her lips and watched her lick them clean .

"You are such a fucking slut."

I lasted about five minutes the first time. Twenty minutes later she got me up again and I lasted twenty minutes before I came inside her mouth. I'd used a second condom but when I got close she had me pull out and slip it off and stick my cock, which was so hard it actually did hurt, into her mouth and she made it feel better.

The third time came about two hours later as we lay in a bed that reminded me of the one on the Bonne Chance, at least in its size. This time she mounted me and did a reverse cowboy. I'd seen it on porno films, but I'd never actually done it before. I guess I've been kind of slow, sexually speaking. Missionary, doggie, anal and oral had always been enough for me with Debbie and then Aline.

It was a strange sensation, watching her and visualizing her in her television persona and superimposing that over the naked figure slipping up and down on my cock wet with her juices. I almost felt like I was outside my body watching myself, except the sensation of hammering myself into her as far as I could go every time she rammed herself down on me was all too real.

Later she lay with her back against my chest and I cupped her sweaty breasts and played with the inch-long nipples.

"I still don't really believe this."

"Believe it, Mr. Maitland. This is all real and you felt very real inside me a few minutes ago."

I kissed the back of her neck and said, "I could never even have daydreamed this six months or a year ago."

She rolled over into me and kissed back.

"It's only been six months, Bill. It didn't feel real for me for more than a year after my split with my second ex.. I felt -- honest to God -- like I was cheating on my ex, and we'd been divorced for awhile. But, sometimes -- and I didn't fuck around all that much -- when I'd wake up next to a guy I'd have this momentary flash of guilt and wonder how I could be doing this to him -- my ex. And I'd only been married for four years."

'It took a year?"

"To stop feeling guilty? No, about six months. But I still dreamed about him for another six months."

She leaned back.

"I know it must feel like a hundred years ago since you were single, Bill. But we were all single before we got married. There is a life outside of marriage. There are millions of us, and most of us are pretty happy, most of the time. Just, stop being so serious. Have some fun and, if it's meant to be different, it will happen."

Sometime that morning I woke up with her nestled against me, her sweet smelling fragrance all around me, and realized where I was and who I was with. And, for the first time, other than the nights I'd spent with Aline, I didn't feel as if I'd awakened into a nightmare, lost and alone.

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October 5, 2005 -- Wednesday - Noon

Bad things happen in threes.

I stood behind the widow, in the second row of mourners. We were standing as the police honor guard fired their rifles into the brilliant cloudless skies. She wore black, as did her daughter. It looked like half the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office was in attendance.

I caught some hard looks when people thought I wasn't looking. Some of them didn't bother to look away, just stared at me when I caught them. Sheriff Knight stood in the front row. He had looked at me as I walked into the church filled with blue uniforms. I stared right back at him. I didn't blame him for his feelings, but I had gotten James killed. The least I could do was attend his funeral.

I had driven my own car to the Evergreen Cemetery on 45th Street. Traffic was blocked for miles as the funeral procession filed into the cemetery. I had to walk nearly a half mile and I was hot and sweaty by the time I got to the burial site. They had chairs for nearly a hundred people, and there must have been another 400 standing.

I made my way through the crowd of blue and they melted away as I walked among them. When I got to the row of seats immediately behind Elexus James I stared at the cop sitting behind her. He didn't have to, but he got up and moved away. I sat behind him and tapped her on the shoulder.

I hadn't seen her since that day in James' hospital room. He had fought a good fight. It had taken him another four days to die. It looked like she'd aged ten years in the four days.

"Mrs. James, I'm sorry I was out of town when your husband passed. I didn't want to talk over the phone. I couldn't get back any sooner, but I wanted to come and express my condolences in person. He was a good man."

She just looked at me for a moment. Her eyes were red, but dry. It looked as if she didn't have any more tears in her to shed.

She still didn't say anything but the pretty teenager sitting next to her started crying and said, "You....you..."

"No, Conisha! No!"

She looked from her daughter to me.

"She's young, Mr. Maitland, and this has - hit her hard. Please, forgive her. She's young, and we're..."

I was wrong. She had a few tears left.

Knight stood beside her and put his arm around her. He sat down beside her and held her through the funeral. She never looked back at me again. Neither did he.

As I sat there and listened to the minister my mind wandered back to the previous Thursday. It looked like the same group of men in blue had surrounded Howser's wife, daughter and son. His son wore the Ranger uniform he hadn't even changed after arriving from Afghanistan via Jacksonville Naval Air Station on a straight fly-in.

Howser's parents had flown in from Michigan and he had a brother and sister who had flown in from Alabama and California respectively with their children. I had deliberately come late to the Oaklawn Cemetery on San Jose Boulevard, but the cops knew who I was, as did the television and press photographers who took my picture.

This funeral took place under an overcast sky that threatened to rain at any minute. The relative darkness seemed more appropriate for saying goodbye than watching men carrying the casket containing your mortal remains to your final resting place on a day when you should have been going to the beach. It was a typical Jacksonville October day, unseasonably warm.

Back on Thursday, I had waited until the minister had finished, the police squad had fired into the sky and Howser's friends had said go

odbye to his widow. Knight just nodded at me. I had a feeling he was going to be a long time, if ever, getting over the hard feelings he had for me.

Finally, there were only the television crews waiting a good distance away with the still photographers, Howser's family, a few cops and myself. I walked up to Mrs. Howser and she held her hand out. Her son and daughter stared at me with unreadable expressions. I don't know what I would have felt looking at the man in some way responsible for the death of my father.

"I'm glad you came, Mr. Maitland. I wanted Molly and Bert to be able to meet you. I've told them about what happened and why, and I've told them that their father admired you. I didn't want them to have any false impressions of what happened."

Molly Howser just stared at me, shook her head with the tears running down her face and stumbled away. Her mother followed her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to her.

Bert Howser was almost a younger carbon copy of his father, rail thin, six-foot-two, but with a full head of sandy hair. He put his hands behind his back, as if he was on parade inspection. His uniform was rumpled, but his shoes were shined.

"My mother has told me....about what happened, Mr. Maitland. I appreciate your coming by here. Dad would have appreciated the gesture."

"He was a good man and a good cop - it's Sergeant, isn't it?"

"Yes. I...uh....if..."

He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.

"I'm a soldier, Mr. Maitland. I enlisted knowing that I might not come back. I've got a fiancee and she's....she knows what the deal is. But, you don't expect your father...."

He shook his head and looked into the distance beyond me.

"He loved what he did. He was a little disappointed that I decided to make a career in the military - but he understood and I understood him. I'd never tell Mom but, I think if he knew he was going to die, he'd rather have gone out this way than die slow with cancer or something."

He looked down at the ground and rubbed his lip with his forefinger.

"The doctors told us they found heart problems in the autopsy. In a few months or more he probably would have had an attack or had symptoms. They'd have taken him off the street and given him a desk job, if they didn't put him out to pasture. He would have hated that."

I held out my hand and he shook it without looking at me. I walked away leaving him standing alone near the place where his father would be buried. I thought that at least he was lucky in that he would have a grave to visit. I hadn't been back to the mine where my father lay buried since I was eight years old, and I probably never would.

I'd heard the clicking of cameras as I'd shook his hand and figured they'd appear somewhere.

As I walked away from James' funeral the same cameras were clicking. I knew the stories that were coming.

"Maitland's deadly touch continues."

People died around me. Good or bad. It had seemed almost humorous when I'd first been tagged as the Angel of Death and people started treating me differently. It had stopped being funny a while back, especially because I'd begun to wonder myself.

Oh, and the third bad thing...

Two hours after I'd walked away from Bert Howser I drove down the paved road under the arch reading Old City Cemetery. It was a smaller cemetery in the largely black section of downtown Jacksonville. It was seemingly deserted except for Channel Four and Channel 12 television trucks parked just inside the entrance.

Camera crews stood outside the trucks and stared at me as I pulled in, but I was already by them before they could get their cameras aimed at me. I drove down a winding road until I saw a small knot of vehicles off to the right. I pulled in behind one and got out. A small group of people, maybe thirty in all, was standing near an open grave site. A casket was set up on a stand and a black minister stood in front of the casket.

In the front row of mourners was a small black, white-haired woman surrounded by three good-sized men. As one of the men, alerted by the murmurs of the crowd, turned to look at me I saw the resemblance. It was an older, heavier Shawn Smith. All of them turned to look at me as the first man to spot me came toward me at a fast walk.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said, his fists clenched. He was about six-two, heavily muscled. He was trembling. One of the other men with the old woman walked up behind him.

"Eddie, don't. Don't do this in front of momma."

"I'm gonna kill him with my bare hands if he don't walk his ass out of here. Now."

I held my hands in front of me, palms out in a conciliatory gesture. He had six inches and probably a hundred pounds on me. Even with the boxing lessons I'd had, I didn't want any trouble with him, especially since in his shoes I'd probably feel the same.

"Mr. Smith? You'd be Eddie Smith, Shawn's older brother, right? And you're Carl, right?"

Carl Smith put his hand on Eddie's shoulder and told me, "Mr. Maitland, please get out of here. My brother is a law abiding man, but this is a bad day for him, for all of us. Don't make it worse."

Eddie Smith pushed his brother's hand away and stared at me.

"Where are the photographers, you piece of shit? Just couldn't pass up another chance to get a little more publicity. 'Angel of Death comes to the Killer Cop's funeral.' I bet the tabloids will eat it up."

"No photographers and I won't stay long, if you'll give me just a couple of minutes. I was going to stay at the back until the service was over and have a couple of words with your mother, if I could."