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Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:03 PM

I work 24-hours on and 48-hours off at the fire department. It usually wasn't so bad and I have a fairly generous amount of paid time off because of the number of hours I am at work in any given year. It took Darla and the kids a while to get used to my schedule, mostly because I think Darla was afraid that maybe I wasn't going to come home. She got pretty used to that because Randy would apparently go away for days at a time on some week-long bender and then show up drunk on her doorstep. He'd sober up in a day, beg for forgiveness and then repeat the process ad nauseum. Why Darla never left him for good was beyond me.

They also had more than their fair share of fights, too. What started out initially as loud disagreements eventually devolved into yelling, screaming, broken dishes and, finally, with Randy slapping and backhanding Darla across the face. Finally, she had enough and moved out of their apartment, taking the kids with her to her parents' place. Randy took off for parts unknown up in North Dakota, supposedly getting hired on one of the oil reserves.
My 24-hour shift was pretty steady but not overwhelming. It was pretty routine for a Thursday in spring. We only had twelve EMS runs the whole shift and no fire calls. I got back home Friday morning a little after eight o'clock and started my usual routine. But, again, I caught the faintest whiff of cigarettes. As before, none of the bedrooms or downstairs rooms looked out of order.
I stepped out on the back deck again and immediately looked through the spaces in the deck. I couldn't see any cigarette butts laying on the ground underneath the deck. I was about to go back in the house but something in my head demanded a closer look. I went down the steps and got underneath the deck. What I was looking for stood out immediately. The ground underneath the deck was perpetually moist from lack of sunlight and the decaying ground frost from warming temperatures. I could see in the ground my obvious footprints from having been underneath the deck two days ago when I first saw the cigarette butts. But today I saw a fresh set of footprints from shoes I knew I didn't own. They were too small to be my prints and they were too big to be Darla's or the kids'. Someone had been smoking on my back deck. Only this time, they were smart enough to pick up their butts.
I walked back in the house, absolutely furious. Someone had obviously been there. Both Darla and I are religious about locking the house when we're gone, which could only mean that whoever had stopped by had obviously been invited in.
I went ahead and grabbed a shower, stewing about my dilemma the whole time. Who the hell was coming by while I was gone? And why wasn't Darla telling me about it? Just then, I heard my doorbell ring. I jumped out of the shower, threw a towel around me and put on a bathrobe.
Just as I exited the bathroom I heard the front door open as someone let themselves in. "Hello? Daulton? It's me, Danny." It was my best friend and Mason County Sheriff's Deputy Danny Larson.
"Yeah, up here," I answered. "I just got out of the shower."
"Oh, shit. Sorry to bother you, bro," he said, embarrassed.
"No biggie. Just let me finish drying off, throw on some clothes and I'll be right out."
Danny waited in my living room while I finished toweling off and throwing on a set of clothes. As soon as I was dressed, I headed to the living room where I saw Danny sitting in one of my recliners and sipping on a Coke that he had helped himself to from the fridge.
"What's up, bro?" I asked.
"Not a lot, man. I just wanted to come by and talk to you about something," Danny said.
"Gee. Sounds deep, dude."
"It is, Danny. And I'm afraid you won't like it and probably won't really like me for telling you."
I felt acid washing over my stomach at his words. "Go on, Danny."
"Well, Daulton, this isn't easy for me to say. But somebody has been coming by your house while you're at work. My beat covers Royal Fork, you know, and I patrol the whole town about two hours out of every shift. I swung by your house a few weeks ago and saw an old 1980s style Chevy pickup in your drive. I've seen it here several times since then. You drive a Taurus and Darla drives an Escape, so I know it isn't yours."
"Did you run the plates?"
"I really shouldn't have, since I can technically get in trouble for tagging random people," he said, hesitantly. Tagging is a term used by some law enforcement officers when they call in a license plate. "But yeah," he continued, "I ran the plate of the truck. It's registered to Darla's ex."
I swallowed hard but, other than that, I showed no reaction. "Okay," I said.
Danny was confused. "Okay? Is that it?"
"I dunno. What else do you want me to say?"
"I figured you'd have more of a reaction than that, Daulton. Unless," he said carefully, "you already knew."
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a Coke for myself and returned to the living room, flopping down on my sofa across from Danny. "I didn't know it was Randy Jones. But the last few days I have suspected that somebody has been around. I finished a 24-hour shift at Eagle Star a few days ago and when I got home the next morning I was pretty sure I could smell cigarette smoke in the house. I looked all over the house, nothing seemed out of place. But when I went out on the deck, I found a handful of cigarette butts underneath the deck."
"You sure it wasn't the water or electric meter reader?"
"Pretty sure it wasn't," I said. "I don't know if either of those guys are smokers. But even if they are, I doubt that either one of them is hanging out underneath my deck and having a smoke - especially four of them."
"Fair enough," Danny acknowledged.
"Anyway, I had a day off and then worked my regular shift at the fire department yesterday. When I got home this morning, I could smell smoke again. I went outside and looked under the deck and saw footprints. Guessing somebody was smoking on my deck again and went underneath to pick up after himself."
"That's odd. How would they have known?"
"Because," I explained, "I'm a moron. I brought it up with Darla the other night after she got home from work. She tried a gazillion different explanations of who it could have been and she wasn't even remotely convincing. Then, after we went to bed, she completely shut down on me. In the entire time we've been together she has never cut me off from sex. Plus, she laid there in bed pretending to be asleep and I know she was awake for hours."
We were both silent for a few moments. "What do you think you'll do?" Danny asked.
"I'm gonna fucking get to the bottom of this. If Randy is sniffing around Darla again, it is going to fucking stop and stop NOW!"
"Think he is just coming around to see the kids?" he asked.
"Possibly," I admitted. "But why now? Why after all these months? In the entire time Darla and I have been together Randy hasn't asked to see the kids even one time."
"I see your point," Danny said. "Like I said, what do you think you'll do?"
"The only thing I can do, Danny. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this. I'm gonna confront her again tonight and let her know what you told me, too. Once she hears I know Randy has been stopping by the house, she'll have no choice but to come clean."
Danny shook his head sympathetically. "I don't envy your situation, Daulton. And no matter what I've said before, I genuinely like Darla and I really hoped the two of you would work out okay."
"I know, Danny. And I know you're not an 'I-told-you-so' kind of guy. I appreciate that."
Danny downed the rest of his Coke, got up and we firmly shook hands. "I'm really sorry, Daulton. I mean it when I say that I hope this isn't something serious."
"I know, man. Thanks for coming by and for letting me know."
I watched Danny get into his squad car and leave and a fresh round of acid rinsed over my stomach as I thought about the coming confrontation with Darla. I ran a few errands around town and picked up a new garden hose at Delmar's Hardware. When I got back it was late afternoon and Darla and the kids would be home soon.
I browned some hamburger and whipped up some spaghetti for supper, which Darla and the kids loved. Natalie and Nathan both wolfed it down and I couldn't help but crack up watching little Nathan slurp up his noodles one at a time. Darla wanted to try and help clean up afterwards but I told her, "Don't worry about it. I've got it. Just go and wind down a little bit and relax with the kids. I'll come find you in a bit and then you and I are going to have a talk."
Darla froze in place. "What do you wanna talk about?"
"We'll get to that," I said, scrubbing a pan. "Just go and relax with the kids. I'll be done here in about 20 minutes." She turned, very apprehensively, and left the kitchen.
I found her in the downstairs family room watching the kids play Nintendo. I stood there watching them for a few minutes, too. Darla was holding Nathan on her lap while he and Natalie were playing Mario Kart 8. Finally, I said, "Wanna come upstairs and talk for a bit?"
Darla looked uneasy and worried as she set Nathan on the sofa. "Go ahead and play with sissy, okay? Mommy and Daulton are gonna go upstairs and talk about some stuff."
Both Natalie and Nathan were too engrossed in the game to even respond. Darla followed me up the stairs and into the kitchen, which generally put us out of earshot of the kids down below. We both took a seat at the kitchen table and I had put on a pot of coffee, which I probably shouldn't have this late at night. But the next day was a Saturday and neither Darla nor I had to work, anyway.
I looked at her for a couple of moments before speaking. Fear and anxiety were starting to build up and I got a fresh round of butterflies in my stomach. There was only one way to approach this and that was directly.
"I wanna know who has been coming by here while I've been at work," I said.
Her hesitation was a dead giveaway but she lied anyway. "What are you talking about, Daulton?"
"Just be honest with me, okay? I'm trying to have an open and honest conversation and it doesn't work with just one person participating. I want to know who has been coming by here on the days I have been working. I smelled the cigarette smoke again when I got home this morning and I saw footprints under the deck. So, whoever was smoking on my deck again obviously picked up after himself this time."
"Daulton, I wouldn't invite anybody over here while you're gone," she said. Not exactly an admission but not a denial.
"Okay, so who has been inviting themselves over while I'm at work?"
"Why are you asking me this, Daulton? What are you trying to accuse me of?" She was getting visibly agitated and almost squirming in her seat.
"Why can't you just answer my question?"
"Because I feel like you don't trust me! I don't smoke, Daulton! I have no idea whose cigarettes those are! God! You're starting to sound like my ex-husband!"
I got up, walked over and sat down in the seat right next to her. Leaning in close I said, "That's funny you should mention your ex-husband."
"Why is that funny, Daulton?"
"It's funny, Darla, because my buddy Danny Larson stopped by the house this morning while you were at work. His patrol area covers Royal Fork and he spends quite a bit of his day patrolling through the town. And he has seen an old, tan Chevy pickup truck parked in my driveway several times. But it is only there on days when I happen to be at work. Danny works from 3pm to 11pm. Your shift at C,.'an's runs from 7 to 3, which means that the only time Danny could see the truck is during a time when you will most likely be home."
Darla just sat there, getting more petrified and clenching her fists in fear.
"Furthermore," I went on, "I happen to know who the owner of that piece-of-shit Chevy is. Do you know who the rightful owner is?"
Darla just sat there, hung her head, and began crying.
"Yeah, I figured you did." I sat there and let her cry for a few minutes. Once she composed herself, I continued. "Do you wanna tell me how long you have been in touch with Randy?"
Darla got up and grabbed a tissue from the kitchen counter. She dabbed the tears from her eyes and wiped her nose and tried to get herself under control again.
"It started about three weeks ago," she said between sobs. "He came back to town and stopped by my parents' house and asked where I was. My dad wouldn't tell him where the kids and I were living but agreed to give Randy my phone number. The first couple of times he called me when I was working. He finally figured out that I work at C,.'an's and ended up following me home. He just said he wanted to talk to me."
She wiped her nose again and continued. "Randy said that he got a job up north with one of the oil companies as a rigger. They also paid for him to get treatment for his drinking and he's become involved in AA. He told me he's been sober now for almost five months. I wasn't sure what to think at first. But I can tell he's completely different. He's nicer, seems more determined to make things right. And he was absolutely incredible with the kids. He brought them presents and spent time with them and took them to the park."
"So, what's gonna happen?" I asked. "Does Randy want to have visitation and a relationship with Natalie and Nathan? Is that what this is about?"
"That's part of it, Daulton," she sniffed. "But he is also asking for me to give him another chance. Randy told me he still loves me and he's finally figured out how to be happy and not drink. He wants me and the kids to move back in with him and be a family again. The kids were so happy to see him and absolutely fell back in love with their father again. He's finally the man they've always needed him to be."
Now it was my turn to be completely uneasy and afraid. "So, like I said, what's gonna happen? Surely you can't be thinking of going back to him, are you? I mean, what about me? What about the time we've spent together?"
"I'm just really confused right now, Daulton."
I shook my head in disbelief. "Are...are you thinking of leaving me, Darla?"
"I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm not sure what to think right now. This wasn't supposed to be happening! I'm not supposed to be feeling this way about Randy!"
I didn't want to ask the next question. But I did. "Darla, have you been with Randy since he came back to see you? I mean, sexually?"
"Oh, Daulton! I'm so sorry!"
I slammed my fists down on the table and got up and walked back to my bedroom and just sat on the bed, my head in my hands. Darla followed me in and tried to hold me and comfort me but I suddenly couldn't bear her touch.
"Daulton, please! Just please try to understand! Randy should have done this before I filed for divorce! I wanted to move on! I really did! And I wanted it to be with you!"
"When?" I asked.
"When what?"
"When did you sleep with Randy? And furthermore, did you sleep with him here in my house? Did you disrespect the hell out of me and fuck him in my own goddamned house, Darla?"
She gasped in horror. "No! I swear to God no, Daulton! I would never do that! I'm so sorry it happened in the first place! I never meant for it to happen, I swear! It was just some old familiar feeling in me that got stirred up! Randy and I always had a volatile relationship. Sex was the only decent part of our marriage for the longest time, at least when he wasn't blind drunk. For some reason, he seemed so caring and so loving. I just fell for him when we were at his mother's place last weekend and I couldn't help myself. I'm so sorry, Daulton!"
"So that was it? Just one time that you and he had sex?"
"Yes," she admitted. "But it was different. For the first time in a long time, he was so tender. He was so caring. It felt like we were making love instead of just screwing. I don't know how else to describe it."
I was struggling to hold back the tears. "So is that what you want? Another chance with Randy? You're going to throw away the last seven months of our relationship to go back to Randy? In spite of everything he did to you before?"
"I don't know, Daulton. I hadn't made a decision yet. He's still my kids' father. And he's so much different than he was before."
"Sure. People are different when they're not raging alcoholics, Darla. What the hell do you think is going to happen when he falls off the wagon again?"
"He promised he wouldn't do that. He promised to stay sober for me and the kids if we came back."
I burst out into hysterical laughing. Darla was suddenly angry.
"What the hell is so funny, Daulton? Laughing at me isn't going to help. And it sure as hell isn't going to help me decide whether I want to stay with you instead of Randy!"
That was the last straw. "You know what, Darla? It sounds to me like you already made your choice." I opened up the drawers on my dresser and started throwing some clothes in the duffel bag I use for work.
"What are you doing, Daulton?"
"What does it look like, Darla? I'm packing. I'm gonna call Danny and see if I can crash at his place tonight. That way I won't interrupt you as you're packing your stuff and the kids' stuff."
Darla suddenly got an 'Oh-Shit!' look on her face and suddenly realized that everything was starting to get real. "Daulton, please. Let's talk about this some more, okay?"
"What the hell else is there to talk about?" I asked, stuffing some pants into my bag. "Obviously, the relationship I thought I was building with you isn't strong enough to keep you from going back to Randy, or at least thinking about it."
"I never said I was leaving for sure, Daulton."
"No, you didn't, Darla. But that obviously didn't stop you from sleeping with your ex. And the funny thing is, you seem to have forgotten that Randy became your EX for a reason!"
"I told you, Daulton. Randy isn't like that anymore."
"Well, once you're out of the house, you can find out for yourself, Darla. A leopard doesn't change his damned spots that easily."
I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs to the garage. The shitty thing was I had to walk by the family rec room where Natalie and Nathan were still playing Nintendo. I stopped in my tracks and the full pain of Darla's betrayal hit me as I realized that I was not only kicking her out of my house, but also the kids. I had really become attached to them and was becoming the father figure they never had but always needed. I couldn't watch anymore and turned to head out into the garage.
"Daulton, please," Darla begged, following me. "Please! Let's just talk about this some more, okay?"
"Like I said, Darla. There's nothing more to talk about. You obviously don't love me or, at the very least, you don't love me enough to keep from straying and you obviously still have feelings for Randy. This is a completely unacceptable situation. You've had seven months to figure it out and you obviously still haven't. Apparently all of my friends and family were right. I never should have gotten involved with a woman who was still married. Well, I'll never make THAT mistake twice!"
I threw my duffel bag in the front passenger's seat and climbed in.
"Daulton! Please, I'm begging you! Come back in the house so we can talk about this some more!"
I gripped the steering wheel hard and took a few deep breaths. "I'm gonna go to Danny's place for the night. I'm too pissed off right now to talk about this rationally. My advice to you, Darla, is to take the rest of the night and figure out what the hell you want. I'll be back home tomorrow at noon. If you still want to be with me, we'll talk about it. If you decide you want to give Randy another shot, I'll expect you to be gone by the time I get home."

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:05 PM

Darla stood there in the garage, sobbing as she watched me pull out and drive away. Immediately, I began to wonder if I was being irrational and too impulsive by doing what I was doing. Was I running away? Was I cutting my losses? Was I pushing Darla away? Or was I just being a fucking asshole? Maybe it was all of the above. Maybe it was none of the above. I just knew I had to get away to think.

I called Danny on his cell. He was still working and wouldn't be done with his shift until eleven. He said I was more than welcome to crash at his place and to just let myself in. Danny didn't press me for details. I just told him that I confronted Darla and everything went straight to hell in a hand basket. We both had keys to each other's houses so that was not an issue. Danny lives in a nice three bedroom ranch house on the southwest side of Royal Fork. I let myself in and took possession of his spare bedroom. The other spare bedroom he uses for a home office. His basement is fully finished, also, and has two large rooms. One of them is a TV lounge with a pool table. The other room in the basement Danny uses for his large N-gauge model railroad layout.
I used to think he was kind of a kid-at-heart for playing with trains at 30 years of age. But the more Danny told me about his model railroading, the more it intrigued me. I would come over to his place a lot and sit for hours watching him add more detail to the hills, trees, water features and miniature buildings and vehicles. It was almost as intoxicating as sitting and watching a fire. Maybe it was simply a miniature world that Danny could escape to - a small world where the cares and problems of the real one disappeared. As I stood there looking at his layout, I wished it was a real place I could go to so I could get away from my issues with Darla.
Danny got home around 11:15 pm. We stayed up until nearly three in the morning with me going on about my problems. More than a few beers were drunk and more than a few tears were shed. Danny just kept the Coors flowing the entire time and just listened. He would occasionally ask me a question to get me thinking but never made any comments that were judgmental. True, he was never a fan of me dating Darla in the beginning but that was only because she wasn't divorced from Randy yet.
I couldn't figure the whole situation out. What the hell could Randy-fucking-Jones have that I don't? For the first time in their lives I was able to provide a comfortable, safe and loving home for Darla and the kids. They never had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, whether they would have clothes to wear or if the electricity was going to stay on. Randy Jones had never held a steady job for more than six months at a time without being laid off or fired. He never graduated high college but dropped out and never even got a G.E.D.
I couldn't figure out what the hell Darla ever saw in him to begin with, let alone whatever possessed her to marry him. She didn't get pregnant with Natalie until they had been married almost two years. But Randy refused to allow her to work, never let them get involved in any social activities, wouldn't even allow Darla to attend church with her parents. He didn't want her to be exposed to anyone or anything that might get her to see through all of his bullshit.
So what in the hell could it be that would cause Darla to gravitate back to him? Just because Randy was finally sober? How the hell long could that last? Was his sobriety just a ploy to try to get her and the kids to come home? To be back under his thumb again? To be back under his total control again? Was that really the only kind of life Darla had ever known with Randy? The only kind of love she had ever gotten from him?
None of this made any sense to me and it made even less sense the more beer I got in me. I finally crashed on the spare bed around 3:00 in the morning. By the time I woke up, the alarm clock by the bed read 11:20. I sprang up from the bed and immediately threw on my pants and socks, grabbed my stuff and made a beeline towards Danny's front door.
Danny, who had been up for several hours already, was sitting on his living room sofa reading the Red River Falls paper.
"Where the hell you goin', bro?" he asked.
"I gotta get home. I wanna talk to Darla one last time before she goes, in case she decided to leave.
Danny gave me a look that was somehow both sympathetic and disapproving at the same time.
"Alright, man. Good luck. Let me know if you need anything."
"I will," I said as I raced towards my Taurus. Suddenly, I realized that I had made a mistake by not staying and talking to Darla. I realized how much I loved her and the kids and I didn't want them to leave - at least not without talking things out.
As I pulled around the corner to the street in front of my house my heart sank into my stomach. There was Randy's shitty, rusty old Chevy parked in my driveway. There was another vehicle there, in equally bad condition, which must have belonged to Randy's mother. Darla, Randy and his mother were all loading their stuff into the back of Randy's pickup truck.
I parked my car along the curb and got out. I just stood there watching them for a few minutes before Darla realized I was there. All of them stopped what they were doing and just stared at me for a few moments.
Finally, Donna said to Randy, "Give us a few minutes, will you?"
Randy set the box he was carrying down in the back of the truck. Darla walked over to me. We were generally out of earshot of everyone as long as we didn't shout.
"Daulton, I - " she started.
"Don't," I said. "Don't go. Stay for a while and let's talk this out, okay?"
"Daulton, we're almost finished loading."
"Who cares? It's just stuff. The only things I care about in that house are you and the kids. I gotta believe, Darla, that there was a reason you left Randy. There's a reason you ended up here with me. I just don't want you to make a mistake by running back to Randy."
"I'm not running, Daulton. You were right last night. I still have feelings for Randy. And it isn't fair to you to be with you while my heart and my thoughts are with Randy."
I stood there, head down, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"There's a reason you left Randy, Darla. You know it and I know it. After everything else you went through with him before can you really say that you would be happier with him than you are with me? I've given you a home here, Darla. A decent car to drive. Clothes, beds and toys for the kids. You guys never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. Do you really think that Randy can provide all that? Do you really wanna go back to living in an apartment again...with all of you crammed in there like sardines?"
"A home is more than just a house, Daulton. A life is more than just stuff and material things."
"I understand that, Darla. But you still need a good roof over your heads, clothes on your backs and food on the table, too."
"You were really amazing to us, Daulton, while were here. I'm sorry."
I looked away in frustration. I didn't want to be seen crying in front of Randy Jones but it was getting harder and harder to control my emotions by the minute.
"Why couldn't you have been honest with me from the beginning, then? Why sneak around on me? Why cheat on me with your soon-to-be-ex-husband?"
"I don't know, Daulton," Darla said, exasperated. "I guess maybe part of it was because of the fact that Randy and I are still technically married. I suppose part of me felt like I was cheating on Randy with you instead of the other way around."
"What about the kids? Do you really think Randy is going to step up to the plate and turn in to 'father-of-the-year' material?"
"I can't make any promises, Daulton. But he really seems to have changed. He finally seems like the man I always hoped he would become."
I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer and neither could she.
"Please stay," I whispered, trying to hug her. "I know in my heart this is where you belong."
"I belong with my family, Daulton," she sobbed.
"Is it because of how I reacted last night? If it is, then I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. But can't you and the kids just stay so we can talk it over?"
"There's nothing left to talk about. I'm so sorry, Daulton." And she pulled away from me and headed back to Randy's truck. Randy just stood there looking at us with sort of a concerned but smirking look on his face.
"Darla, wait a second," I said. Darla and Randy stood by his truck. The kids were already piled in to the car belonging to the woman I assumed was Randy's mother, Beulah.
I went in the house and quickly disconnected the Nintendo game system and piled all of the games, console and controllers into a box we had by the TV to keep them organized. It only took a couple of minutes. When I came back to the front door, Randy was waiting there for me. I was struck by the urge to punch him right in the throat. It wouldn't have taken much. I'm 6'-1" and Randy was maybe 5'-6" or 5'-7".
"Here," I said, handing him the box. "Take these for the kids."
Randy looked the box over. "Sweet! I'm gonna have fun with this! Hey kids," he hollered, turning and walking back towards his truck. "Look what Daddy brought out for ya!"
It was a punch in the gut as I heard Natalie and Nathan shriek and giggle with delight as they realized their games were coming with them. Darla quickly piled the kids into the back seat of Beulah's car and then gave me one last backward glance before climbing into Randy's truck.
"Darla?" She got back out for a second. I threw her the keys to the Escape. "You might as well take the car. I'll call the bank Monday and have my name taken off the loan."
She said nothing, just walked to the garage and backed her vehicle out. Before she got to the road I stopped her. She rolled down the window as I approached.
"Darla, there's one thing you need to know. If you leave here today, that's it. There won't be a second chance. I'm not going to be anybody's backup and I'm not going to be anybody's Plan B. I deserve better than that."
Darla didn't know what to say other than, "I'm so sorry, Daulton." Then she backed out into the street and I could see the tears streaking down her face. I couldn't understand how a woman could be so sad and emotional as she is ripping your heart out of your chest. In a way, it almost would have been easier if she was being a complete bitch about it.
I stood at the front of my house like a statue watching them pull away until they got to the end of the street before they turned left. I was on auto pilot as I trudged up the stairs back to my living room. The silence was deafening as a once-active house was now as quiet as a churchyard cemetery.
I picked up my cell phone and dialed. A few seconds later, Danny answered.
"Hey. It's me," I said.
"What's up, bro?"
"They're gone, Danny. They just left with Randy a couple minutes ago."
Silence. "Aw, shit, Daulton. I'm so fucking sorry. Hey, I'm not working today. I'll be over in a few minutes, okay?"
"Yeah, that's cool," I replied, monotone.
Sure enough, about ten minutes later Danny showed up at my door. We spent the rest of the day doing what guys have always done when they get dumped - drowning our sorrows. Danny didn't have to work that day and I decided I would call in sick the next morning, which I was pretty sure I would be with all the beer Danny and I were drinking.
Danny ended up crashing at my place that night and hung out with me for a good chunk of the next day, too. He didn't try to offer me a bunch of advice; he just listened and let me get everything off my chest and out of my system.
The worst part, besides crawling into my bed alone at night, was walking by Natalie and Nathan's rooms and seeing them empty - only their little beds remained. I had gotten so attached to them. I'm only a little over 31 years old and have plenty of time yet to start a family. But I couldn't help but come to feel like Natalie and Nathan were mine, too. It was worse than just losing a girlfriend. Instead of one person, I had lost three. The pain was triple that of a typical breakup.
I did my best to try and move forward over the next few weeks. It helped when I could try and focus on anything but Darla and the kids. I also did my best to try and avoid being around people we knew who might want to try and voluntarily tell me about Darla and the kids. The way to accomplish that was not to answer any Royal Fork Rescue calls, so I took myself off the schedule for a couple of weeks.
There are several of us from the Red River Falls Fire Department who live in Royal Fork. All but one of us are also members of the Royal Fork Volunteer Fire and Rescue Department. Several of Darla's friends happened to be volunteers on the department who ran with me on the Rescue Squad, which is what we called our volunteer ambulance service in Royal Fork.
About three weeks had passed and Danny, being the good friend, decided I needed a night out of the house and an opportunity to quit moping. So we put on our boots and headed down to the Half-Pint. It was Saturday, which is always Line Dancing night at the Half-Pint, so the place would be busier than hell. It also meant that the place would be crawling with women, many of whom would be single.
Danny and I sat at the bar swigging on a couple of beers. I realized a long time ago that I would never get invited to be on "Dancing With The Stars". Unlike a lot of people, I needed a couple of beers in me before I had the courage to go out on the dance floor. The Half-Pint was about as typical of a modern day version of the Old West saloon as you could get. In fact, it was exactly that - an Old West saloon - with a few modern updates like electricity, running water and indoor toilets. The Half-Pint was one of the oldest operating bars in the country and was the oldest continuously operating watering hole in the upper Midwest. Even Frank and Jesse James were rumored to have wet their whistles in this bar sometime around 1880.
Danny and I had met up with a couple of our female friends that we knew locally. Meg and Diana were both volunteers on the local Rescue squad, which is how we all knew each other. We had a good time just hanging out with them. Met and Diana were on a 'girl date', as they called it. Neither of their husbands enjoyed line dancing and didn't come to the bar tonight. I had absolutely no interest in either of them and would never hook up with one of them, regardless. I was friends with both Meg and Diana's husbands, who were also local volunteer firemen.
The entire bar poured onto the dance floor around eleven o'clock Brooks and Dunn's song "Boot Scootin' Boogie", which is always the highlight of Line Dancing Night at the Half-Pint. Meg and Diana joined us and we all had a blast, even though neither Danny nor I could brag about our dancing skills. For some reason, women just seem to be more natural and uninhibited on the dance floor for some reason.
We were all walking back to our table when I saw her and stopped dead in my tracks. It had been three weeks since she had left and I hadn't seen her. But there was Darla sitting in a corner booth with Randy. They looked like they were with a group of friends. To his credit, Randy appeared to be nursing a soda while Darla did the same. I was almost disappointed. I guess I wanted to be able to say "I told you so", even though I still wanted her to be happy. I couldn't turn away from her fast enough before she looked up at me. She said something to Randy, who begrudgingly nodded and then she got up and left her seat. I fail to understand why women feel the need to do this but Darla walked over to our table. Immediately Danny, Meg and Diana realized they were in the middle of an uncomfortable situation.
"Hey, Daulton," she said. She then said hello to everyone else who all politely said hello back. I however, pretended to be too busy sipping my beer. "Um, Daulton? Do you have a couple of minutes so we can talk?"
I looked around at my friends, who all looked like they were embarrassed for me. I knew this had to be equally as uncomfortable for them as everyone in town was probably aware by now that Darla had left me. So I simply got up and led the way outside, which was the customary thing to do if one knew they were probably about to get into an argument. Or a fight. Pretty sure it was going to be one or the other. We got outside and rounded the corner and stopped in front of the next door business, which was a State Farm insurance office.
"Well, you wanted to talk to me," I said, curtly. "What's up?"
Darla was obviously taken aback by my abrupt manner. "Uh, well, I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine." She stood there expecting more.
"Just fine?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine, Danny's fine, Meg's fine. Diana's fine. We're all fine. Everybody's fine."
"Aren't you going to ask how the kids and I are doing?"
"Do you want to tell me how the kids are doing?"
"Well," she started, obviously regretting initiating the conversation, "I just thought you would like to know that the kids are good. But I thought you might like to know that they miss you, too."
I said nothing, just biding my time until Darla decided that she wanted to end the conversation so we could go back inside.
"Daulton, come on. Please don't be like that," she pleaded.
"Be like what, exactly?"
"Like this," she stated. "I still want us to be friends, Daulton. The kids still want you to be their friend, too."
"Gee," I chuckled. "Just a few months ago you were telling me how great of a father I could be to them. I think you told me that I was a natural at it and the kids could have a real dad for the first time in their lives."
"We were at a different place then, Daulton. I didn't expect things to turn out this way. But I have to give my kids a chance at being a real family - with the one they started with. Randy has changed so much. In fact, the kids and I all agree that he's become a lot like - "
She was smart enough to stop and not finish the sentence. But I finished it for her.
"Me? Is that what you were going to say, Darla? Randy is a lot like me? Let me correct a few things for you. I have never hit you. I have never swore at you and called you every name in the book. I have never threatened you. I have never been a dedicated alcoholic nor have I ever put my addiction in front of my family. I have never walked out on my family and abandoned them. So, please. Tell me again what it is that you think Randy Jones and I have so much in common."
Darla drew a deep breath and tried to stifle her tears. "I just meant that Randy has changed a lot, Daulton. I want you to be happy for us. I want you to be happy for Natalie and Nathan."
"I'm not happy for you, Darla. I think you left me and took yourself and the kids back into the lion's den. I think it is just a matter of time when Randy gets comfortable and decides that he can start sneaking a beer again, here and there. And pretty soon one beer will lead to another. And another. And another. Until, finally, his drinking will get out of control again and then you'll be in the exact same shit storm you and the kids were in when I first met you."
"No, no, no, Daulton. You're wrong. Randy has changed. He's not that same man anymore."
"You tell yourself whatever you want. But don't come up to me in public anymore, or anywhere else for that matter, and try to get me to be happy about the fact that you cheated on me with and then left me for a man who treated you and your entire family like complete cow shit! Quit trying to get me to feel good about eating a shit sandwich! Now, if you'll excuse me, my friends are waiting for me."

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:09 PM

And I left her crying and walked back into the bar and sat back down with Danny, Meg and Diana. I could see Darla walk back into the bar and take her seat next to Randy. Randy could see she was obviously upset and was talking to her. Darla just shook her head several times and took a drink of her soda. Randy looked over at me with a pissed off look on his face. I just shook my head once and mouthed the word "DON'T".

**********
A couple months had passed by and I felt no improvement in my personal situation. I just didn't have the desire or the energy to jump back into the quest for female companionship and the elusive chase for my one-and-only soul mate. I thought I had such a thing with Darla and we all know how well that turned out.
Part of the problem was that people always felt the need to let me know how Randy, Darla and the kids were doing - regardless of whether I asked or not. When she first left me, some of Darla's friends and family felt it necessary to let me know through casual conversation that she and the kids were doing well and they were as happy a family as they had ever been.
But after a while, things seemed to taper off. Even Meg and Diana, who had become some of Darla's closest friends, started dropping hints that things might not have been what they seemed with Darla and Randy. I kept stoic about it and never pressed for further information, despite knowing that both Meg and Diana were itching to tell me more.
It was around the first of July that year when Danny suggested heading into Red River Falls and grabbing some dinner and a few beers at The End Zone, which is a very popular sports bar and grill. Getting away from Royal Fork sounded like a good idea. We initially invited Meg, Diana and their husbands to go along with but the four of them declined. So it was just me and Danny on a bro date, I guess.
We got there around five o'clock that evening and the place was just starting to fill up. It was only an hour until the Twins and the Brewers were set to play an interleague game and there were plenty of TVs at The End Zone to catch the action. I ordered a massive double-decker guacamole burger and Danny ordered a Cowboy Griller, which was a sandwich of one beef patty, a pork patty and loads of bacon, onions, lettuce, tomato and a generous amount of jalapenos. Danny would need the beer to put out the fire in his mouth later.
We had been there for about an hour or so and Ricky Nolasco had just fanned his first two batters before giving up a solo home run to the Brewers' catcher, Jonathan Lucroy. And just like that, the good guys were down 1-0. I figured that was going to be the worst of the night. But I was wrong. I was so very, very wrong.
"Aw, shit," Danny said.
"What's up, bro?" I asked, turning from the big screen TV above the bar.
"Look what the fucking cat just dragged in," he said.
I looked towards the main entrance. Walking in was none other than Randy Jones and four of his friends. Randy immediately saw Danny and me, said something to his friends and started walking over to the bar where we were seated.
"Danny... Daulton," he said. "How's everybody doing tonight?" he asked with a completely fake air of congeniality.
"Do you really give a shit, Randy? Or are you just making polite conversation to help pass what I think we can all agree is a really fucking awkward situation?"
"Jesus, Daulton," Danny whispered, trying to calm me down. "Dial it down a notch, okay?"
"Yeah, Daulton. I'm just trying to be friendly here."
"Were you just trying to be friendly when you came back and stole Darla and the kids back from me?"
"Hey, Daulton," he said, getting pissed, "I'll have you know that that was MY wife you were with for seven months. The least you could have done was to wait until the divorce was final."
"Yeah? How many times did you fuck Darla in my house, huh? Or did you at least have the decency to do it on my deck outside? After all, that's where I found all your damned cigarette butts."
"Okay, okay," Randy said, backing off. "Clearly I've struck a nerve with you by interrupting your guy date with Danny here. So I'll just go back to my friends and leave you two love birds all alone."
"Watch it, Randy," Danny said, irritated. "I'll keep Daulton from ripping your throat out but you and I ain't exactly friends and you sure as hell don't want me for an enemy, either."
Randy had a cocky grin on his face as Danny stared him away from our seats. Finally, he was seated with his friends on the far side of the restaurant a good 60 feet or more away.
"Shit, Danny," I said, regretting the whole incident. "I'm sorry, dude. Maybe we should just pack it in and head home, huh?"
"Hell no! We came here to have a few laughs, eat some good food and drink some great beer and watch the Twins lose with dignity. If we get up and leave now that asshole wins, Daulton."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. We should be good to drive with another round, right?"
"Sounds good to me!"
We sat there watching the ballgame for a while when we noticed one of the waitresses, who all dressed like bikini model versions of referees, brought out a large tray full of tall beers. She ended up at Randy's table and the beers were passed out to each of the men.
"Boy, I've waited a long time for this! She sure is gonna taste good," I could hear Randy say.
"Uh-oh," I said, nudging Danny. "Looks like old Randy's about to fall off the wagon."
"Jeez, Daulton," he started. "Would you just forget about - " Danny couldn't finish the words as he saw Randy take a swig of his tall pilsner of beer. "Oh, shit. That sure as hell doesn't look like non-alcoholic beer."
I couldn't help but stare at them as they all downed their first round of beer quickly, which was followed by another round shortly thereafter. They kept up the pace for much of the time while we were there. Finally, about 9 pm, the Twins had lost by a score of 7 to 2 to the Brewers. I continuously threw glances over at Randy and his friends during much of the time. At one point, Randy even saw me and raised his glass to me in a mock toast while all of his friends laughed at the 'cuckold who wasn't'.
We were just getting ready to settle up our tab for the night. Danny and I had each had a total of three beers along with our meals during the nearly five hours we had been at The End Zone. It was almost ten o'clock and we had just settled our tabs and were getting ready to head for the door. I felt a tapping on my shoulder and turned around to find myself staring down at Randy Jones.
"Hey, Daulton," he slurred. I guess that confirmed whether the beer was NA or not. "I jis wanted to tell ya that there'sh no hard feelings, okay?"
"Back off, Randy. You're drunk," Danny warned.
"I ain't that fuckin' bad," he whined.
"Tell me something, Randy," I said. "Just exactly how far did you have to go when you fell off the wagon. Did it hurt?"
"Oh, I get it," Randy drawled. "You're still pissed about Donna, right?" Randy continued to follow us out of the restaurant, with his equally inebriated friends in tow. "You wanna know the real reason why Darla came crawling back to me, Daulton? It's because she loves my cock, dude. She can't get enough of it. Maybe I'm not as tall as you and Danny, but I got a fuckin' SLEDGEHAMMER in my pants!" he yelled. His buddies just continued laughing at us. "By the way, I wanna tell you that I appreciate the fact that you don't have as big of a cock as me. Darla's pussy was just as tight as I remember. Did you know that both our kids were born by c-section? It's true. The only thing that's ever reamed out that pussy was my own dick!"
I couldn't take much more. And Danny knew it. "Daulton, just calm down. He's just trying to get under your skin, okay?"
"Yeah, well he's almost there," I said as we got to my Taurus. Just then, Randy made the critical mistake of putting his hand on my shoulder and spinning me around.
"Hey, dude," he slurred. "It's pretty fuckin' rude to walk away when I'm talkin' to ya."
"All of you guys back off right now!" Danny warned. "I'm a Mason County Deputy Sheriff and I will have all of you arrested for public intox if you don't turn around and walk back into the bar!"
"I ain't afraid of no dip-shit cop," one of Randy's friends challenged.
"Yeah, what the fuck, Daulton? You need your buddy for protection?" Randy jeered. Then Randy proceeded to reach forward with both hands and violently shove me into the side of my own car hard enough to leave a dent where my left hip slammed into it.
Without thinking, I went on auto pilot. I immediately threw an uppercut haymaker and caught Randy Jones right on the underside of his chin, causing his head to be thrown back wildly as he collapsed on the parking lot pavement and struck the back of his head hard. He was out cold before he hit the ground.
"Aw, shit, Daulton!" Danny yelled as two of Randy's friends made a move towards him. Danny initially disabled the first attacker by utilizing a wicked pressure-point hold on the guy's wrist and forearm and brought him to his knees. But Danny quickly realized that simply neutralizing them wasn't going to work as we had three more guys to deal with. Danny immediately applied an insane amount of pressure to get his opponent to shriek and then kicked him in the chest, knocking him back on the ground. The bad guy wasn't out of the fight but Danny had given him plenty to think about.
"Come on, asshole!" I yelled to one of the other guys. That got his attention and I immediately brought my hands near my face in a defensive/offensive position. I made a few juke-type moves as he closed in, with another of Randy's buddies close behind. Just as I feigned that I was about to strike the guy in the head I lunged forward with as much force as I could and kicked the guy in the crotch as hard as possible. In his drunken state, he was too slow to react to my fake attack to the head and couldn't defend his balls. He let out a blood curdling scream as he, too, collapsed onto the pavement.
The guy standing behind him was shocked by what had happened. I lunged forward towards him, keeping the momentum of my attack going. My right hand was still hurting from the first punch I gave to Randy and I opted to throw a vicious elbow right into the left side of his face. I could immediately feel his jaw give way as he, too, hit the pavement.
I looked over towards Danny and he had obviously had his way with the two clowns he had been dealing with. Fortunately for us, all five of the men were way over the limit and weren't nearly coordinated enough to mount a serious fight. But one of the men Danny had been fighting was slowly backing away from Danny. He reached behind his back and clumsily fished out a fairly large buck knife.
Immediately, Danny's training kicked in and he quickly drew his concealed Springfield XD .45 from inside his waist. It suddenly became clear to me why Danny always wore shirts that were extra long in the waist and never tucked them in.
"Mason County Deputy Sheriff!! Drop the weapon!! Drop it now!!"
Randy's buddy immediately got a terrified look in his eyes. Even in his drunken haze, he was smart enough to throw the big knife to his side. I immediately looked to my right and could see the guy that I had kicked in the nuts moments earlier was now getting to his feet. He gave me an evil stare and appeared to be getting ready to make a bum rush towards me. I cut off his attack by sprinting the short distance to him and threw my right knee into the side of his face as he was struggling to get to his feet. My knee made good contact with his left ear and jaw and he flopped back to the ground completely unconscious.
Danny was yelling at me but, in my rage, I couldn't hear a word he was saying. I immediately looked back towards Randy Jones who was now semi-conscious and struggling to get back to his feet. Randy got to his knees, shouted something completely unintelligible to me and attempted to reach out and grab me.
I put every last ounce of my body weight into it and threw the most pulverizing overhand right cross that I could - and made exceptionally good contact with the bridge of his nose. The blood immediately started gushing out as my punch sent Randy flying backwards again onto the pavement. I also felt an immediate and excruciatingly sharp pain in my right hand and knew that I had broken at least one bone in my right hand. It was at that point, when I knew that all five of the men had been neutralized, that Danny's voice finally became intelligible again through the fog of my own rage.
"Daulton!! For God's sake, stop!! It's over!! If you keep this going, we're both going to go to jail and lose our fucking jobs!!"
I stopped in my tracks and looked around. Danny still had his weapon drawn and was keeping it on the man who previously had the knife. Four men were lying on the pavement and we were starting to draw a crowd of onlookers and I could hear the sounds of approaching sirens. The entire fight had lasted barely over a minute from the first moment Randy had shoved me into my car. In the light of the overhead parking lot lights, I could see a piece of red mass lying on the pavement along with a couple of white specks that I knew had to be teeth. As for the reddish mass of flesh, I would find out later that I had inadvertently caused Randy to bite off the tip of his own tongue with my first punch.
Soon, the first black-and-white squad car from the Red River Falls security officer Department had pulled into the lot and made an abrupt stop. The officer got out of his car and immediately drew his own firearm and pointed it directly at Danny, who still had his gun drawn on the guy with the knife.
"security officer officer! Drop the weapon! Drop it now!" the cop shouted.
"Mason County Sheriff Deputy," Danny answered, showing the officer his wallet badge with his left hand and keeping his gun aimed at the dude who had the knife. "This man drew a knife on me and my friend a minute ago. He threw it over there," he gestured. "You just about ran over it with your right front tire. I'm going to disarm the weapon now and place it on the pavement."
The nervous young officer watched as Danny did so and then visibly relaxed. Still, he keyed his lapel microphone and radioed for backup that he had a 10-10, or fight, in progress. Within two minutes three more security officer cars showed up, including one belonging to one of the security officer captains, Pete Sturgeon. Danny was none too happy to see Sturgeon, for whatever reason. He never told me why but it was clear he didn't care for the man.
I was mortified when two ambulances from the Red River Falls Fire Department showed up and began attending to the "wounded". I had really done a number on Randy Jones and his face, as well as his friend, Wade Ryan, who was the guy I knee'd in the face a while ago. When a friend and co-worker of mine, Monica Banner, approached me and asked me if I was okay, I just said "yes". I knew my hand was probably broken and I was delaying the inevitable. At some point, I was going to have to get my hand looked at.
Danny and I got questioned over and over again about the fight - what led up to it and who threw the first punch? It appeared like the security officer officers were absolutely giddy over the fact that they had a sheriff's deputy on the hook for being involved in the fight. About 30 minutes after the whole fiasco started a Royal Blue Ford F-150 Crew Cab pulled into the parking lot. I saw Danny visibly take and exhale a deep breath as he watched the Ford get parked. I couldn't tell if it was a sigh of relief or one of impending doom. As the driver exited I could see that it was Danny's boss, Pat Quinn, the Sheriff of Mason County.
He walked directly over to where Danny and I were standing by one of the RRFFD ambulances. Danny was going to try and say something but Pat just gave him a stern look and said, "not now." Pat stopped a few feet away and then approached the security officer captain, Pete Sturgeon.
"So, what's the story, Pete?" Pat asked.
"Well, looks like one of your boys was involved in an altercation tonight, Sheriff."
"Yes, it would seem that way," Pat said, annoyed. "But what is the story you have so far on how it started?"
"Well, two of the guys have already been taken to the hospital. Seems your deputy and his friend worked them over pretty good. The other three said that their friend, Randy, was provoked by Anderson and your deputy."
"I hope you thought to get Danny's side of the story, too, Pete," Quinn said, obviously irritated.
"We're going to get everyone's statement, Pat, to ascertain exactly what happened. Trust me; I know how law enforcement works, okay?"
"Yeah, well, I'm going inside to talk to the manager," Pat said, walking off towards the door.
"What good is the manager going to do, Pat? She was inside the whole time."
"You see those little bubble-looking things on the corners of the buildings, Pete? Those are called video cameras. I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that at least one or more of those caught the whole incident on tape. I'm also gonna go out on a limb and assume that there are cameras inside the building that probably caught whatever led up to this, too."
Sturgeon was obviously caught flat-footed. "Yeah, I know there are cameras, Pat. But we still have to get statements, too."
"Well, you might save yourself some time if you just go in and ask the manager to check out the video and audio," Quinn said as he walked into the building. "Tell you what, Pete, I'll go ahead and do it for ya."
Three patrol officers, a security officer sergeant and a security officer lieutenant did their best to stifle giggles and snickers as they were obviously embarrassed by their captain's lack of observation. But, to their discredit, none of them had seen the cameras, either. In fact, only now that Quinn had pointed them out did I even notice them myself. To a casual observer, they looked like anything but a camera and more like a burned out light as they closely resembled the rest of the exterior lighting of The End Zone.
Sturgeon ended up grudgingly following Quinn inside the restaurant. They were inside for nearly 30 minutes and my hand was hurting more and more each second. Finally, Sturgeon and Quinn came back outside. We were informed that Randy Jones, Wade Ryan and the rest of their buddies were going to be charged with assault, public intoxication and disorderly conduct. At this time, Danny and I were told we were not going to be charged with anything but that we shouldn't get our hopes up as the investigation was going to continue and there was the possibility we could each end up with a disorderly conduct charge. Danny didn't think it was likely, since they didn't charge us initially, but I didn't know the difference and I was kinda worried.
It was almost midnight by the time the security officer had everything wrapped up. Randy Jones and Wade Ryan would be informed of their arrest at the hospital. We all received either a field breathalyzer test, or blood alcohol test for Randy and Wade, but Danny and I both only blew a 0.04 and 0.05 respectively - well under the legal limit. The other five had tested between a 0.15 and a 0.2.
"Well, are you guys proud of yourselves?" Quinn asked as he came back to me and Danny.
"Look, Pat, it wasn't our fault," Danny tried to explain.
"Yeah, I know. I saw the tapes. You guys got provoked inside the restaurant and let those idiots follow you all the way out to the parking lot and allowed them to goad you two into a physical altercation! The part that was your fault was not having the common sense to call a cop and put an end to it when the five of them started to follow you out here! What the fuck did you two think was going to happen?!!"

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:12 PM

Danny and I could only look away in shame.

"Guys like that, gentlemen," Pat continued to scold, "are only looking for one thing; a reaction. Well, guess what? You gave 'em exactly what they wanted!"
"Look, Pat," Danny started, "I can explain. You see - " Pat cut him off.
"Don't even start with me, Danny. How do you think I'm going to feel having to explain to people that one of my deputies was in a bar, drinking alcoholic beverages, proceeded to get into a very public confrontation and then, to top it all off, ended up drawing his own firearm during the confrontation?"
"Jesus, Pat! The guy drew a fucking knife on me! I had legitimate reason to fear for my life!"
"I know, Danny! I'm well aware of that! Hell, if we're being technical, you probably would have been totally justified to put two slugs in his chest! Would that make you feel any better?"
"No," Danny said like an admonished child.
"It's my fault, Sheriff," I chimed in, trying to deflect some of Quinn's heat away from Danny.
"It is both your faults," Quinn corrected. "How do you think Chief Van Dyke is going to react when he hears about this? Think Jerry will give you a big pat on the back?"
"Uh, definitely not," I said, sheepishly. My boss, Chief Jerald Van Dyke, was ridiculously concerned with the image of his department and I could easily be looking at a suspension, whether I was charged or not.
"Yeah, you didn't think about that little detail, did you?"
"Well, I'll probably have plenty of time to think about it after the fact. I'm pretty sure my right hand is broken."
"Yeah, I'm sure Van Dyke will absolutely love you for that. I'd imagine he'll be paying some pretty hefty overtime to cover your shifts for the next few weeks, huh?"
"Alright, alright, Pat. You made your point," Danny interrupted. "Look, we got goaded into a fight, alright? But it wasn't just some random bar fight, okay? This guy had it out for Daulton. He confronted us the minute they walked in the door and was being a smart ass from the word 'go'. Daulton had been in relationship with Darla Jones for over six months. She had been living with him for...what...three months? Four?" he said, looking at me.
"A little over four," I replied.
"Yeah, four months," Danny continued. "Darla and Randy were getting a divorce. They were only like a month away from finalizing it. Then Randy comes back to town, makes all kinds of overtures and promises, gets in her head and starts sleeping with Darla behind Daulton's back and she ends up leaving Daulton to go back to Randy. Tonight was just Randy throwing it in Daulton's face and provoking him, basically trying to make Daulton look like some kind of wimp-ass sap or cuckold in front of the whole fucking restaurant!"
I winced as Danny said cuckold. But the funny thing was I noticed that Sheriff Quinn did, too. Immediately, Quinn started calming down and rubbing his face. Gone was the bad cop and the good cop was starting to make an appearance.
"Randy Jones, Randy Jones, Randy-fucking-Jones," Quinn said, shaking his head and pacing.
"You know who he is?" I asked.
"Hell yes, I know who Randy Jones is. He's a fucking idiot. Christ, I gave that douche canoe his first OWI about six years ago when I was still on Red River PD."
Danny and I both chuckled a bit.
"Look, guys," Quinn said, much calmer. "I'm gonna get off my soapbox now, okay? Like I said, people like Randy Jones are only good at one thing in life; provoking people and getting a reaction from them. I expect you, Danny, to be better than that. And I know Chief Van Dyke expects you to be better than that, too, Daulton. You guys are the good guys. People like them would love nothing better than to bring you down to their level. You guys are the ones who have something to lose, not Randy Jones and his clown-ass friends, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," I said.
"I read ya, Pat," Danny said.
"Danny, take Daulton over to the Emergency Department to get that hand fixed up, okay?"
"Will do, Pat."
I handed Danny the keys to my car as he was obviously in better shape to drive than I was. But before we could get far, Quinn walked back over to my vehicle. I rolled down the passenger side window so we could talk.
"Just one more thing, Daulton," Quinn started. "I know you said your relationship with Darla Jones was over with. But have you considered how all of this might affect her?"
"No," I replied tersely. "And, frankly, I don't really give two shits, either. I told her the day she left that I wasn't going to be her backup plan. I even warned her that it was just a matter of time before Randy's dumb ass fell off the wagon. Frankly, I'm surprised it took this long."
"Yeah, me too," Pat said. "But, you wanna know something? My ex-wife and I ended our marriage on anything other than good terms. In fact, we got even less friendly after the divorce was finalized. But even after everything that went down between us I still care about Clarissa. I'm going to bet that you probably still care about Darla, too. So, if I were you, I'd be concerned about how tonight's festivities might impact her and their kids, if they have any."
"They have two, a boy and a girl," I replied.
"You and Danny did a pretty good number on Randy and his friends tonight. Once Randy gets sober and gets bailed out of jail, how is that going to sit with him knowing that he got his ass whipped by his wife's ex-lover? Just some food for thought. But if I were you, I'd think about keeping an eye on Darla and the kids in case Randy really takes a swan dive off the old crazy board."
Jesus. I hadn't even remotely thought about that. Fuck. "I'll do that, Sheriff," I said. "Hey, Sheriff? Do you think there's still a possibility that Danny and I could get charged with disorderly conduct?"
"Not a chance," Quinn smiled.
"You sure? What if the PD asks for charges from the county attorney? They seemed awfully giddy about getting a deputy in trouble tonight."
Sheriff Quinn chuckled out loud. "Don't worry about that for one second, Daulton. I can be pretty damned persuasive when it comes to the County Attorney, Marion Lawson. If I say you won't be charged, then you won't be charged."
Quinn laughed all the way back to his truck and Danny proceeded to drive me to the Emergency Department where an X-ray revealed that I did, indeed, have a broken third metacarpal - the bone just below my right middle finger. They proceeded to put a cast on it and I would be off work for the next six to eight weeks. Fortunately, we have short-term disability through the city and I wouldn't have to go the entire time without being paid.
Needless to say, Quinn was right. Chief Van Dyke was not happy. He didn't suspend me but he did try to give me a formal reprimand, which basically meant that I would be suspended without pay if I incurred any future disciplinary action - regardless if on duty or off - in the next two years. Fortunately, my International Association of Fire Fighters union local got involved and filed a grievance on my behalf. The physical and video evidence was proof that I was not the one who instigated the altercation. A civil service board hearing was convened to consider the matter and it was resolved in my favor. Chief Van Dyke growled about it but accepted the decision.
The whole affair gave me some time off for the rest of July and a good chunk of August. I tried to stay as busy as I could and worked on some projects around the house. I could still mow my own lawn without much trouble and worked on a few other things, as well. My scheduled shifts at Eagle Star were canceled for the next couple of months, with relatively little hassle. One of the full-time flight paramedics there, Alex Trotman, was more than happy to pick up some overtime along with the rest of the crew.
Even though I wasn't allowed to work at RRFFD while on sick leave, I still decided to answer the pager for the Royal Fork Fire and Rescue for medical calls only, as long as I didn't try to lift the patient. We had a pretty good crew of people who always responded to calls and it was rare when we had less than four or five people show up.
And so it was in late July we were in the middle of a very, very nasty heat wave. Temperatures were constantly in the mid 90's, which isn't so bad compared to some places in the Southwest. But in the upper Midwest, you have to take into consideration the incredible humidity that we are prone to getting, which had been consistently 85% and higher for most of the heat wave. When the humidity is that high you can't cool off because there is so much moisture in the air. You can sweat but it won't evaporate and you just feel warm and sticky all the time - and not in a good way.
July had not been a good month so far for Randy Jones. He had indeed been charged with assault, public intoxication and disorderly conduct. Oh, and he was missing a few teeth. He was probably going to serve a minimum of 30 days in jail and possibly up to 60 days. And that was only if his court-appointed attorney could get the charges reduced from misdemeanor assault to simple assault. The public intox and disorderly conduct would only get him a night in jail, if that. But Randy was also looking at the very real possibility of losing the lucrative welding job that he had working for one of the oil companies up north. He had been getting paid about $50 an hour, which meant he was easily pulling down over six figures with overtime.
He had been staying at company-provided housing up north for a week at a time and then spending a week at home. He was working twelve to sixteen hour days and making good money. The problem was, he was spending it just as fast, too. And nobody knew what he was spending it on. Darla and the kids were staying in the same apartment building that they had been before the divorce was filed. So Randy had obviously not improved their financial situation much.
And so, if you combine the insufferable heat wave with a whole host of personal and legal problems, it can create nothing short of a time bomb. And anyone in EMS or law enforcement can tell you that domestic assaults skyrocket during heat waves.
It was a Friday afternoon. The temperature was still 96 degrees with 95% humidity out and the whole day had been absolutely insufferable. Our aging town pool actually had to turn people away due to the number of them trying to find relief with a cool swim.
The pager went off that day around 4:30 pm.
"Royal Fork Fire and Rescue, Royal Fork Fire and Rescue. You are needed for a medical response at 431 4th Avenue Northeast. Again, you are needed for a medical response at 431 4th Avenue Northeast in Royal Fork for a female patient who has been assaulted. Mason County deputies and State Patrol have also been dispatched. Time of call is 16:27."
Oh, shit! That was Darla's parents' house! I grabbed my keys and jumped in my car. I sped to the fire station, which was located on Main Street. The ambulance had already been pulled out of the station and was waiting with the emergency lights already activated. I parked the car and quickly jumped aboard the ambulance. Jake Herman was our driver today. Meg and Diana were both on board as was Misty Kiefer, another volunteer EMT. I sat up front with Jake and manned the radio.
"Mason County dispatch, this is Royal Fork Rescue Adam 4-0-1. You can show us en route to 431 4th Avenue Northeast. We'll be staging approximately two blocks away until you advise law enforcement is on the scene."
"10-4, Adam 4-0-1. Mason County deputy 17-15 is almost on scene and will advise when it is safe to approach. I show you en route at 16:31."
It took us less than two minutes to arrive in the area and my stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with two million butterflies.
"Dispatch, Adam 4-0-1 is in the area. Please advise when we can approach."
"Copy, Adam 4-0-1. 17-15 advises that the suspect has left the residence and it is safe to approach."
"10-4, dispatch. You can show us on scene." We quickly sped the last two blocks until we pulled up in front of Darla's parents' house. The house was a typical ranch home with a one-stall garage. It was in decent condition. Darla's dad, Butch Kent, had worked at the town lumber yard his whole life. He wasn't exactly made of money but he did okay for his family.
Danny greeted me as we approached the house. He said nothing but just shook his head when he saw me walk up the front porch stairs. We entered the front door of the house and I saw Butch and Cecelia, Darla's mom, both of them weeping and kneeling by the sofa next to their daughter. I felt the blood literally rush out from my face as I saw Darla's battered and bruised little body. Darla's left eye was completely swollen shut and she also had a nasty open cut above her left eyebrow that had bled badly. Her left cheek appeared swollen but also misshapen. He bottom lip had been punched so hard that her lower left eye tooth had completely punctured through her bottom lip.
She had all manner of bruises and abrasions on her forearms. It appeared that she had done her best to defend herself. Her right wrist was badly broken and looked like it had needed a road map; such was the severity of the angle due to the break. Darla was also clutching her ribs and abdomen and she had no doubt been repeatedly punched and kicked in both places.
"Butch, Cecelia, can either of you tell me what happened?" I asked gingerly.
"That son of a bitch Randy," Butch sobbed. "Cecelia and I were gone for just a couple of hours. That asshole came over here and beat the shit out of her!"
Suddenly, it hit me. "Where are Natalie and Nathan?"
"They're next door playing," Cecelia sobbed. "The bastard at least had the sense to not do this in front of them!"
I started examining Darla from head to toe. There didn't appear to be any cerebrospinal fluid leaking from her ears and there was no bruising behind her ears, either, which might indicate a basal skull fracture. That would have been very, very bad. Both of her pupils were equal but dilated as I very gently opened her eyelids. She obviously had a concussion and she didn't really recognize that I was there at first. She had some well-defined bruising starting to form around her neck. Randy had obviously tried to strangle her, which was almost synonymous with domestic abuse.
Darla's chest had deep bruises on both sides. I listened intently to both of her lungs and was relieved to hear good air flow on both sides. She flinched a bit when I gently examined her tummy. Again, I could hear good bowel sounds in all quadrants of her abdomen, which indicated there was probably no internal abdominal bleeding or perforated hollow organs.
I didn't want to expose her too much in front of her parents, but I had to check her entire chest. I gently lifted up the t-shirt she was wearing. Darla hadn't been wearing a bra, for some reason, and I was startled and horrified by what I saw on her breasts - human bite marks, at least a dozen of them. I immediately put her shirt down and said nothing as I'm sure her father, Butch, would have blown a gasket right then and there and probably would have gone looking for Randy to surely kill him.
"Let's get the cot in here and get ready to transport," I told the rest of the crew. Jake and Misty went to the ambulance to retrieve the cot while Meg and Diana monitored Darla's vital signs for me. Her blood pressure was slightly elevated at 145/95, her pulse was 55 and her respirations were between 8 and 10 per minute. These were signs that there may, indeed, be a closed head injury. It also might be just temporary due to the concussion. We wouldn't know until she had a head CT scan at the hospital. Her oxygen saturation was 97%, which was good.
We gently moved Darla from the sofa to the cot and strapped her in. She had whimpered a little bit as we did so. We quickly got Darla moved to the ambulance and got ready to go. Jake jumped back up front to drive while Meg, Diana, Misty and I took care of Darla in the back. I grabbed the IV kit and immediately started an IV in Darla's right hand. I was thankful at that moment that I was left-handed and could still even start an IV. A good sign was when Darla woke up immediately, opening her right eye as I poked the needle under her skin. Darla absolutely hated needles and had an abhorrent fear of them, as well as bees and other stinging insects.
Darla seemed lucid for a few moments as I started the IV and a horrified look came over her face as she recognized me. She was obviously humiliated and embarrassed for me to have seen her this way and she immediately closed her one good eye and turned her head to the left to look away from me.
"Darla, can you hear me okay?" I asked softly.
She said nothing, only nodding her head yes as she began to quietly weep.
"This is only going to sting for a little bit until I get the IV in, okay?" She only winced as I poked the needle forward. I hit a good vein in her left hand and was rewarded with a quick show of blood in the IV catheter's flash chamber. I removed the metal stylus, holding pressure in the vein, and attached the IV tubing and started a slow drip of Normal Saline. Diana had applied the patches from our cardiac monitor, which showed us that Darla's heart rate had increased to around 70 beats per minute and her blood pressure was now showing 132/88, which was also an improvement.
I continuously asked questions of Darla as I continued to treat her and care for her on the way to the hospital. I took a bottle of sterile water, wetted a wash cloth and gingerly cleaned up some of the blood on her lips, nose and eyes. We had also applied a splint to her right wrist, which was obviously and badly broken, although she still had a good pulse and color in the right hand, thankfully.
Darla would only answer questions by tenderly shaking or nodding her head. She continued to cry softly, refusing to look at me. I sat there looking at her and felt completely helpless to do more to alleviate her pain and suffering. Suddenly, it became clear that my confrontation with Randy just a few weeks ago had played a large part in what happened to Darla. I began to feel immense shame. But it was obvious that Darla felt an even larger degree of shame, embarrassment and humiliation. Everything that I had predicted would happen with Randy had come to pass.
For some reason, I couldn't help myself. I stood up from my seat, straddled the lower end of the ambulance cot and sat down, facing Darla. I gently lifted her legs up and scooted towards her, unbuckling the belts that secured her to the cot. I gently helped her to a sitting position, which was all the more awkward due to the soft splint that I had on my own right hand. I gently placed Darla's injured right arm and hand behind my back - and ever-so-softly pulled her into my embrace. Darla immediately buried her head in my shoulder, being careful of her swollen wounded left eye, and began sobbing uncontrollably.
I said nothing, nothing at all. I just looked forward towards the front of the ambulance and just held Darla in my arms; doing my best to let her know that, at least for the moment, she was safe.
"Oh, God, Daulton!" she sobbed. "I'm so sorry! I'm so fucking sorry!" She continued to wail and I could feel the tears build up in my own eyes.
The other three girls in the back of the ambulance said nothing, just watched us. They, too, all got tears in their eyes and both Diana and Misty had to cover their mouths to keep from sobbing. I nodded to Meg and asked her to please make a quick report to the hospital to let them know that we were getting close, which she did.

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:14 PM

I continued to hold Darla in my arms, gently soothing her and telling her everything would be alright. By the time we got to the hospital, she had calmed somewhat but was still whimpering from time to time. I rose from the cot, gently laying her back down and securing the cot straps back in place. I took her left hand in mine as we wheeled her from the ambulance into the Emergency Department at Holy Family Medical Center. We then gently slid her from our cot to the bed.

Shelley Stebbens was the nurse in the ER who took charge of Darla. As we wheeled her in I could see the look of shock and horror on Shelley's face, dumbfounded as to the kind of monster who could do this to someone they professed to love; someone who was the mother of their own children.
"Thirty-year old female. Personal physician is Doctor Laughlin. Victim of an assault. No blood or CSF present in the ears. Obvious right wrist fracture, severe laceration and swelling to the left eye and a puncture wound to the bottom lip. Heavy bruising to right and left side of the ribs. Abdomen is soft. Lung sounds and bowel sounds are all clear and present. And there's, uh, bite marks to both the right and left breast. "I could see and hear Shelley gasp as I said that. "Eighteen-gauge IV in the left hand with normal saline, running TKO."
"Um, uh, did you give her anything for pain?" Shelley asked.
"Negative. Good chance she has a concussion, at a minimum, and we didn't want to suppress CNS any further."
"Okay, Daulton. Thanks. I'll take it from here," Shelley said as she started getting Darla settled in.
"Daulton?"
I turned and looked back into the room as Darla weakly called out to me.
"Yeah, hun?"
"Daulton, please don't leave me. Will you please stay with me?"
I didn't know what to do. I didn't really even know what to say.
"Uh, well, your mom and dad are both on their way to the hospital. In fact, they're probably here right now. Your kids are gonna stay at the house next to your parents."
"I don't care, Daulton. Will you stay with me? Please don't go."
"Um, I have to go, Darla. I need to go back with the ambulance. I have to write the report and help get the ambulance back in service. I'm sorry but I really can't stay." Darla started crying again as I gently pulled my hand away from hers and walked to the door of the room. I gave her one last look before leaving. And suddenly, I felt like the biggest asshole and heel in the world. But I couldn't stand to look at her beaten body anymore. I couldn't stand the shame.
I walked back out to the ambulance garage and saw the rest of the crew just finishing up getting the ambulance put back in order. I had grabbed the necessary paperwork and hospital insurance forms and set them on the front passenger's seat. It dawned on me that Jake, Misty, Meg and Diana were all staring at me.
"What?" I asked, somewhat annoyed.
"Daulton, can we talk?" Diana asked.
I put down the paperwork and followed her outside and around the corner from the ambulance garage.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm helping get the ambulance back in service."
"Yeah, I can see that. But, why?"
"Uh, because the call is over and it's time to go home," I said.
"You need to get back in there and be with her, Daulton."
"Her parents will be here any minute now. And she's got plenty of other family and friends who can take care of her from here on out."
"Bullshit! You know damned well that she needs you more than she needs anyone else right now, Daulton! Don't deny it!"
"What the hell do you want me to do?"
"What I want is for you to man up, Daulton! All of us saw what happened in the back of that ambulance on the way in here. The best thing you could have done for her today is exactly what you did - just be there for her. Holding her like that was the best medicine she could have gotten today!"
"Well, I did it. Now it's time to go home."
"Uh-uh," Diana said. "You don't get off that easy."
"What more do you expect?"
"Daulton, you're part of the reason for why this happened!"
"Bullshit! I do not fucking accept that! And you have no business trying to dump that on my head! Jesus, Di! I don't control Randy-fucking-Jones!"
"Oh, come off it, Daulton! You and Danny beat the living shit out of Randy and his friends a few weeks ago. They all get charged with assault, public intox and disorderly conduct while you guys get off scot free. Then today, Randy finds out he's gonna get fired if he doesn't show up to his job tonight. But he can't leave because he's out on bail and can't cross state lines. He sees you as the root of his problems and he automatically makes a connection to you through Darla. Are you getting it yet?"
"Yes, I get it, Diana. But that doesn't make any of this my fault!"
"It might not be all your fault, Dalton. But you can't deny that you have some responsibility for this."
"Oh, yeah? Well, if you want to put it that way, then this can all be traced back to the day when Darla left me bawling my fucking eyes out in front of my own house when I had to watch her and the kids pack up and leave so she could run off with Randy again!"
Diana tried to compose herself. "Yes, I know, Daulton. I know she hurt you. Hell, we were all disappointed when she decided to go back to Randy. None of us could believe it. We all hurt for you, too, Daulton. But all of that is water under the bridge. You saw what he did to her today. You saw what a monster he is! Yes, it is all a chain reaction of events. But you're a link in that chain. You have a responsibility to her, Daulton. And right now she needs you more than anything!"
"I have to go back, Diana. I still have a report to write on this and - "
"Oh, for shit's sake, Daulton! Give me the fucking paperwork! I can write a stupid patient care report as well as anybody! I know your password to the computer. I'll just type it up and sign your name, okay?"
I just turned and shook my head. If I didn't get out of there I was going to explode.
"Fuck it. Let's just go. I can always come back later."
I turned around and walked back into the garage. It was obvious that Jake, Misty and Meg had all been listening to the whole conversation. They just stood there looking at me, disapproving. I stood there as the four of them piled back into the ambulance. I took a seat in the front passenger seat.
Jake was about to turn the key when he paused for a few moments. "On second thought," he said, "I think I'll ride in the back with the girls." And he got out from behind the wheel and jumped in the back with Meg, Diana and Misty.
I sat there dumbfounded for a few minutes. They were all pissed at me and were letting me know it. I got out and walked around to the other side of the ambulance, hopped in and turned the key. It was kind of awkward driving with the splint on my right hand but I could manage.
"Anybody wanna stop for a beverage or food on the way back?" It was customary to grab something after a run to Red River Falls. But the dead silence I was greeted with was answer enough. I could have used a nice cold Coke right about then. But there was no sense looking like a bigger asshole and stopping for one. Besides, they all probably would have left me there if I didn't make sure to take the keys in with me.
Needless to say, it was an extremely quiet 40-minute ride back to Royal Fork. I helped restock the ambulance in absolute silence along with everyone. As soon as that was finished Meg, Diana, Misty and Jake all disappeared like four farts in a whirlwind and left me alone at the fire station to finish the run report.
I got home another half-hour later and grabbed a beer from the fridge, effectively ensuring I would not be answering any more EMS calls that night. It was for the best, anyway, given the way my co-volunteers on Royal Fork Fire and Rescue obviously looked at me. I slumped into my favorite recliner and flipped on the tube, hoping to catch the Twins/Red Sox game. But even with the noise of the TV and a cold beer in my hand, nothing could allow me to escape the reality that my house was somehow even emptier than it was when Darla and the kids left. I began to wonder if the day would ever come when I didn't feel like an asshole anymore.
**********
My phone rang early the next morning. It was one of those mornings where I just didn't want to get up but I begrudgingly reached over and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Daulton?"
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"This is Cecelia."
Aw, shit. "Hi, Cecelia," I said, sitting up in bed. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, Daulton. But I'm not the one you should be worried about."
"Oh, right. How's Darla?" I asked, taking the bait.
"She has surgery scheduled for this morning. She asked me to call you and see if you could be there."
"Surgery? Surgery for what?"
"Randy really did a number on her wrist. He managed to break it in three places when he stomped on her with his steel toe work boots. They scheduled her for 10:00."
I ran my hand over my face in frustration.
"Uh, well, I'm not really sure I can make it by then," I said, glancing at the clock.
"Daulton," Cecelia said, sounding stern, "Darla really needs you there. You're the one man who has ever stood up for her."
"I'm also the reason she got the shit beat out of her yesterday, Cecelia. I can only imagine how pissed you and Butch are at me right now."
"Stop it, Daulton! Get off your pity pot right now! Randy has deserved to get his ass kicked for years! I'm surprised it took this long! You might have been a part of what led up to this but you did not force Randy to do what he did. That was his decision. Now what the hell time can we expect to see you?"
I let out a sigh of frustration. "Let me get cleaned up and grab some coffee and breakfast. I'll be over there as soon as I can."
"Thanks, Daulton. This will mean a lot to her."
"I know."
I hung up and proceeded to grab a shower, which was a lot easier these days with the splint on my right hand that I could just take on and off instead of that damned plaster cast I had for three weeks after I rearranged Randy Jones's face. It was almost 9:00 by the time I got on the road. I figured Darla's hand must have been really screwed up if they were so concerned about it that they were willing to schedule surgery for a Saturday morning. Hopefully, there wouldn't be too much nerve damage or circulation damage and she'd eventually regain the use of her hand fully.
I got to the hospital too late to see Darla before they took her back to pre-op. Cecelia said Darla was disappointed I wasn't there yet but seemed happy when Cecelia told her I was on my way. Maybe part of me was subconsciously procrastinating and avoiding having to see her.
The surgery took about an hour-and-a-half. I sat in the surgery waiting room as Cecelia and Butch went back to see her when she made it back to recovery. They were in there for about twenty minutes when Cecelia came out and asked me if I'd like to come back and see her.
"Uh, no, I don't think so. I'll be fine waiting out here."
"It's fine, Daulton. They only allow two at a time, anyway. You and Butch can spend some time with her back there. I know it would mean a lot to her to know you were here."
"If I go back there to see her, Cecelia, I'd kind of like to see her alone...ya know?"
"I understand," she nodded. She ended up going back to the recovery area and she and Butch emerged a few minutes later.
"Go on back, Daulton," Butch said. "She's still pretty out of it but she'll at least know you're there."
I kind of half-hoped they wouldn't be back for a while. Truthfully, I should have just taken the opportunity to leave when they went back to see her in the first place. But I got up and walked through the double doors and was greeted by the nurse who led me to the recovery room. I was probably lucky to see her at all as many hospitals don't let visitors see patients in the recovery room. Darla was still sleeping. They had managed to skillfully close the gaping wound above her left eye. Hopefully, you wouldn't be able to see the scar as it should almost blend in with her eye brow. The large hole in her bottom lip where her tooth had punctured was neatly closed, also.
Her right hand and wrist were wrapped in an Ace bandage with some kind of soft splint in place. I'm sure a cast would be put on in the coming days. Ironic, in a twisted way, that we should both happen to have injuries to our right hands.
I stood there for almost twenty minutes just staring at her battered little body. There was a time when I lusted after her five feet and one-inch of curves and sex appeal. I could imagine all kinds of ways to worship that small altar of passion and lust. But now, just the simple act of reaching down and tenderly holding her hand send a cold shiver through my body and I immediately let go for fear of somehow inflicting further injury on her. As I did so, Darla briefly stirred and asked who was there. I said nothing and decided it was time to go. I couldn't look upon her for one more minute because of the knowledge that I had helped put her there. Tears began streaming down my face - not of sadness, but shame.
I walked back out to the waiting area and found Butch and Cecelia still sitting there. They asked if anything was wrong and I said no. I fibbed and told them that she was stirring a bit and asking for them. They both smiled and said 'thanks' and immediately got up and started heading back to the recovery room.
I was just about to the end of the hall and had just punched the elevator call button when I heard Butch behind me.
"Daulton. Wait up a second." I turned and saw him rushing to approach. "Daulton, I just wanted to say that Cecelia and I really appreciate everything you've done for Darla."
"Pshht. Yeah, right," I said, fighting tears again.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
The elevator opened. "It means," I said, stepping inside, "that I'm half the reason for why she is in here in the first place." Much to my surprise, Butch stepped inside with me.
"Now you listen to me, Daulton. This is not your fault."
"Yes it is, Butch. I'm surprised you and Cecelia can even stand to look at me right now. I let Randy goad me into a fight and he went and took it out on Darla."
"Yeah, he did, Daulton. But you're the first one that's ever stood up to that little bastard. He knows damned well that you're not gonna take any of his shit. If I was twenty-five years younger and in better health I would've done it myself!"
"My friend's boss was right," I said, shaking my head. "He even warned me this would happen. I just didn't listen." The elevator opened on the main level and I started walking to the front entrance with Butch following close.
"Cecelia and I tried like hell to talk Darla out of even going on a date with that little turd but she wouldn't listen. I know as well as anyone how stubborn Darla can be. But I also know for a fact that, if you give her another chance, she'll never let you down again, Daulton."
"I don't, Butch. I think I've caused enough damage. I think it's time to just fade back into the wood work." I turned towards him, shook his hand quickly, and started speed walking to my car. Butch, with his bad hip, could never keep up.
**********
Darla got out of the hospital the following day. The only reason they kept her another night was because her blood pressure was a little low following the surgery. She ended up going back to her parents' house and staying with them for a few days. The problem was nobody seemed to know where Randy Jones was. An All-Points-Bulletin had been released along with a BOLO - Be On the Look Out - for his vehicle. Everyone had decided it was in Darla's best interest to find a safer place to stay. C,.'an Manufacturing was gracious enough to give her a leave of absence until she got all of her affairs in order. She wouldn't be paid, unfortunately, but she at least wouldn't lose her job.
Darla and the kids ended up moving into the Karen Cumberland House a few weeks later, which was a modern state-of-the-art secure women's shelter in Red River Falls. The place had complete video monitoring of the entire outside and interior of the building with panic alarms placed sporadically throughout the facility so a resident of the shelter could press one and immediately call law enforcement without needing to dial 9-1-1. Any panic alarm would send law enforcement rushing to the scene and know the exact area of the building in which the alarm originated.
Heavy reinforced doors and bullet-resistant windows made the place nearly as secure as a prison with the exception that it was designed to keep the bad guys out instead of in. There was also a secure room at the entrance where visitors could wait for a resident and they could be searched prior to entering the facility.
I had gone back to work at the fire department shortly after Darla and the kids had moved into the Cumberland House. My hand still hurt from time to time but I could still easily lift patients and perform all of my paramedic skills with little to no problems.
I had pretty much avoided Darla since she got out of the hospital. Mostly, it was because it still hurt too much to see her because she left me. But it was also because of increasing acceptance of my part of the blame for her getting hurt. I still tried to deflect responsibility when people called me out on it. I'm not really sure how much face I thought I was saving with people. I guess I just didn't want them to think I was a bigger asshole than necessary.
Eventually I found the backbone to go see her and I drove over to the Cumberland House after one of my shift at work. I brought along some gifts for Natalie and Nathan and a nice bouquet of flowers for Darla. I stayed away from the roses and went heavy on the carnations. I'm not sure what sentiment I was trying to avoid expressing but it just felt like the thing to do at the time.
I walked in the front entrance and rang the buzzer at the security door. A small opening, similar to a mail drop slot, opened and I could see the eyes of an African-American woman staring back at me. I also knew that someone inside could see me on the video camera, as well, so she probably knew I wasn't brandishing a weapon before she opened the slot.
"What'chu want?" she demanded in a thick, urban accent.
"Uh, I'd like to see Darla Jones, if possible," I sheepishly replied.
"Darla know you's lookin' fuh her?"
"Well, no, not really."
"You's 'posed to call ahead if'n you wants to see somebody," she warned.
"Oh, I see. I'm sorry. I guess I can come back, then. Can I just leave the flowers and gifts with you?"
She ignored my question. "What kinda uniform is dat you's wearin'?"
"My uniform? Uh, well, I work for the Red River Falls Fire Department."
"Fire department? You kinda look like da po-po."
I laughed. "No, I'm definitely not a cop. See here?" I asked, pointing to the patch on my right sleeve. "That's the patch of the Red River Falls Fire Department."
"Mm-hmm," she mumbled. "You still look like da po-leece. What yo name, anyways?"
"Daulton. Daulton Anderson."
"Wait right dere," she said as she closed the slot. I could hear her call out on the intercom system. "Hey, Darla Jones. Dey is some firemen here fuh ya. Kinda cute for a white boy, too!"
I'm sure my face turned beat red as I could hear women holler out cat calls and whistles at the announcement. Soon, I heard a loud buzzing coming from the door indicating that it was momentarily unlocked and I proceeded to let myself in. There on the other side stood Darla.

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:16 PM

She looked terrific. Well, she at least looked a helluva lot better than the last time I saw her. There was just a slight scar above her left eye brow and a slight one below her bottom lip where the tooth had punctured. All of the bruising to her cheeks and neck were gone and the only other visible reminder of her ordeal was the removable cast still in place to her right forearm.

"Hi," I breathed, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Hi, yourself," she said smiling. We hugged awkwardly and briefly, mostly because of the flowers and the gifts I was carrying, but also because we were unsure of each other.
"I just thought I'd drop by on my way home from work and say hi to you and the kids," I said, trying to sound casual.
"That's so sweet, Daulton. They've really missed you," she said. "We all have," she added, visibly fidgeting with her hands.
"Uh, can we go see the kids? I have some presents for them."
"Sure! They'll be thrilled! They're upstairs in the play room."
Darla led me out into the great room, which covered a lot of the main level of the building. She explained that the great room served as kind of a multi-purpose facility and was also served as the dining room. The kitchen was a commercial one and all of the shelter residents assisted in preparing meals. The shelter's business offices were also located on this level.
We passed through another set of secure doors as Darla led me upstairs to the second floor, which is where the residences were located. Some were single rooms with only one occupant and many others had multiple rooms in a single residence, which were reserved for those women who brought children to the shelter. Darla's residence consisted of two small bedrooms and a small common room and a small bathroom. It was only about 20 feet long by 10 feet wide but she said it was more than comfortable for the three of them.
We passed through yet another set of secure doors to get to the third level, which contained more residential rooms and a large activity area for the children to play in. As Darla led me to the play area both Natalie and Nathan shrieked "DAULTON!" and came running for me. I hugged them as though I was never going to see them again and immediately got a lump in my throat.
The kids gave me the grand tour of their play area and told me how much fun they were having at the Cumberland house. I was happy for them, in a sense, as they were thrilled that there were so many other children to play with. But I also couldn't help but take note of the obvious fact there were, indeed, so many children there as well as the fact that the shelter was filled nearly to capacity.
I had been there for nearly two hours when Darla was called away to begin helping the other women prepare lunch. The shelter did have two full-time cooks on staff but the women staying at the shelter were also expected to help out with preparing the meals, too, as well as daily cleaning of the facility. Most of them were only too happy to do it as it helped pass the time and gave them something to think about other than domestic violence.
Darla and the kids insisted that I stay for lunch. I suppose I have to admit that if it was just Darla asking, I probably would have said 'no' and gone about my business. But Natalie and Nathan were so excited to have me there that I couldn't refuse them. The kids each sat on one side of me and literally talked non-stop throughout lunch. Darla just sat across the table from me and mostly ate in silence as she watched me with the kids. She had a bit of a wistful look on her face and her eyes were moist with tears that she refused to let fall down her cheeks.
I couldn't get over how much better she looked than the last time I had seen her. And yet, something was definitely off with her, as well. Visiting her in the shelter was neither the time nor the place to have a big talk. And, frankly, I didn't know if there was really much more to talk about. But there was one big piece of news that I did have to tell her and I wanted to wait until it was time to leave before I said anything. But first, I had to pry myself away from Natalie and Nathan who continually begged me to stay just a little bit longer.
Finally, I said my goodbyes to the kids as Darla shooed them back upstairs to the play room. They were grumpy about it at first but soon were immersed in playing with their friends and showing the toys that I had given them, an American Girl doll for Natalie and a small train set for Nathan.
Darla led me back to the secured front entrance and, as I was leaving, it dawned on me how much of a microscope I had been under the entire time I was there. Every woman in the place had their eyes glued on me from the moment I walked in; some of them eyed me with no small amount of fear and mistrust, while the others looked at me with pure lust.
"Kind of felt like a slab of beef at times in there," I said as Darla walked me to the front door.
"Even though they have been through some terrible times, they still appreciate a good-looking man when they see one. They're still women, after all. But they also know a good-hearted man when they see one, too."
"Guess I'm not used to that kind of attention."
"Yeah, well, they've heard a lot about you, Daulton," Darla said.
"All good, I hope," I laughed, sheepishly.
"Like I could ever hope to tell them anything different, Daulton. You're one of the few examples of good men that a lot of these women have ever seen. And I've done plenty of bragging about your ever since the kids and I moved in here," she said, looking down.
I knew she was looking for a response but I couldn't think of one. But suddenly, I remembered what I was supposed to tell her.
"Oh, shit! I almost forgot the reason I came over here!"
"Wasn't it to see me and the kids?" she giggled.
"No! Uh...I mean, yes, but the original reason I wanted to stop by was to tell you that Danny called me this morning."
"Okay, what did he want?"
"He called to tell me that Randy got arrested last night. Up in Kalispell, Montana. Did you know he has a sister up there?"
"Yes! His sister Rhonda lives up there!" Darla was suddenly ecstatic and I couldn't help but notice how much more beautiful she was when she was happy.
"Well, believe it or not, his sister was the one who called the security officer and turned him in. She ended up doing a silent 9-1-1 call where she dialed but didn't answer. Randy had gone to sleep thinking he was in a safe place but then his sister was waiting for the cops at the front door and she led them right into his room!"
"Oh, my God! That's fantastic! That is so totally just like Rhonda to do something like that, too! Out of Randy's family, Rhonda was the one I was probably the closest to. I'm sure she was none-too-happy when she found out what he did."
"Yeah, I suppose not," I said, suddenly finding myself staring into her eyes. I forced myself to break my gaze. "But, yeah. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that they found him and he's finally in custody."
"Thank you so much, Daulton," she said, with that soft glow in her eyes again. "And thank you for everything you've done for me and the kids. We couldn't have gotten through this without you."
I scoffed. "Psssht. Darla, let's be honest. You wouldn't have gotten into this mess if it wasn't for me."
"Daulton, don't! I don't need you to feel sorry for me. I'm a big girl. I can take ownership of my choices and responsibility for my mistakes."
I stood there silent for a few moments. "Well, anyway, I better get going. Thanks for letting me see the kids. I had a great time." I pulled Darla in for a hug, putting my hands on her shoulders only. I figured it would be less threatening and also made it easier to pull away.
Darla stood there and watched me leave, looking disappointed and crestfallen. She knew the truth as well as I did. I was running away.
*****
One benefit of Randy's arrest was that Darla was able to petition the judge for an immediate divorce since they had only delayed the divorce proceedings when Randy had attempted to become husband and father of the year. Now that he was wanted for assault, battery and interstate flight - as well as the drunk and disorderly charge and public intoxication charge from the night I had knocked his teeth in - Randy was probably going to become a convicted felon soon. As expected, he had also been fired from his lucrative welding job with the oil company up north. The public defenders in Mason County weren't that good that they could do much with the charges, which meant that Randy was likely going to spend some quality and lengthy time way down in Sioux Falls.
Darla and the kids only stayed at the Cumberland house for about another month. Randy was being held without bail, which was unusual for anything other than homicide cases. But he had already proven himself to be a flight risk and was determined to be a further risk to Darla and the kids.
Butch and Cecelia insisted that Darla and the kids move back in with them. Butch had even single-handedly built two bedrooms in the basement for the kids, along with a nice family room and rec room down there, and had updated and remodeled Darla's old bedroom.
It had been nearly two months since I had seen Darla and the kids. It was a Friday night and I was doing ambulance standby for the high college football game in Royal Fork. It was early autumn but unseasonably warm for the time of year. I was working with the usual gang of suspects that night with Jake, Meg, Diana and Misty on our crew. We had brought along lawn chairs as we sat next to the ambulance waiting for one of the players to get hurt but hoping and praying that none of them did. The Royal Fork Raiders were down by a touchdown early but were driving towards the end zone.
I could see a smile break out simultaneously on Meg, Diana and Misty's faces, but it wasn't because of the ballgame. Jake Herman just stood up with his jaw dropping. I looked to my left and saw what they were all gawking at. My heart nearly stopped and time suddenly stood still.
Darla was sauntering casually over our direction. She was wearing a sleeveless knee-length denim western cut dress and a pair of ankle-high cowboys boots. The belt she wore loosely around her waist made the dress perfectly accentuate her hips. The over-sized rodeo-style buckle caused the belt to sag just a bit where it hung resting on her pubic bone and immediately drew my attention to her most precious erogenous zone. The vision of her approaching made her look like the star of a Miranda Lambert music video.
She approached our group and Meg, Diana and Misty all exchanged hellos with her. Jake still sat there dumbfounded.
"I could sure use a Coke," Diana said.
"Me, too," chimed Meg.
"I think I'll go along, too," added Misty.
Jake continued to sit there drooling.
"Jake! Let's go get a drink," Diana demanded.
"Nah, I'm alright," Jake said, oblivious.
"Jake! You're thirsty! Get your ass over here and get a pop!"
Jake finally snapped out of it and begrudgingly walked away and somehow managed to still stare at Darla nearly the entire trip to the concession stand.
I returned my attention to the game as Darla sat down in Diana's chair next to me.
"Boy, I'll give you one thing," I said. "You and the girls sure know how to ambush a guy."
"I had to get your attention somehow, Daulton."
I sighed. "What's the point?"
"You know damned well what the point is, Daulton. How long are we going to keep avoiding one another? How long until we finally clear the air?"
"I'm not avoiding anyone, Darla. As far as I'm concerned, there's really nothing else to say. We tried something, it didn't work. You went back to Randy. That didn't work. Now you're single and I'm single. We're both free to pursue whatever we want."
"Really? That's it? It's that simple?"
"Well, Darla, it sure seemed simple enough the day you left. I wanted you to stay and talk that day and you didn't."
"And I wanted you to stay the night before and talk to me but, instead, you ran off and spent the night getting drunk over at Danny's house!"
"Psssh," I scoffed.
"Don't blow me off, Daulton! Dammit, we both keep making the exact same mistakes as the other person and then think we have the right to punish the other person for the same mistake we made. It's time to put an end to that, Daulton. It's time to start with a clean slate."
I laughed out loud. "Really? You think after everything that happened we can just pretend that it didn't happen? Just start over from scratch? Come on, Darla. Surely you, of all people, can't be that naïve."
"I'm not naïve, Daulton. And, no, I'm not going to pretend that all the crap over the last five months didn't happen. But the only way we can truly get past it is to actually sit down and do the one thing we never did from the beginning but should have. Talk!"
I shook my head. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Bullshit! You wanna know what I think? I think you still have feelings for me, Daulton. I think you still have feelings for me and that scares the shit out of you. It scares the shit out of me, too, Daulton, because I know that I still have feelings for you. The difference is that I'm not too big of a coward to actually face up to it!"
"Oh, horse shit, Darla! I am not a fucking coward! I go into burning buildings for a living! I pull people out of mangled cars! I do a lot of stuff for a living that most people either can't do or won't do for a living!"
"Then prove it!"
"How? And why?"
"By actually having the courage to finally sit down face-to-face with me and getting all of our shit out in the open once and for all."
The crowd suddenly roared as Royal Fork scored a touchdown and would tie the game with an extra point. We let the lull in the conversation last until Royal Fork got ready to kickoff to their opponent. At that point, Darla stood up.
"Do you work tomorrow, Daulton?"
"No," I said, grumbling. "Back on shift again on Sunday."
"I'm going to be at your house tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock sharp, Daulton. I expect you to be there awake, dressed and ready to talk. You might think to have coffee ready."
Darla turned and walked back over to the main bleacher area, presumably where her parents and friends were sitting. Her dad, Butch, is as rabid a football fan as you'll find. There seemed to be just a little bit more of a sway in Darla's hips as she sashayed back to the bleachers. My God, but she looked amazing in that little dress. Those killer curves were on full display for anyone who cared to look, along with her ample cleavage, and I suddenly realized that I was sporting an absolutely raging erection. Damn her.
"Miss us?" Diana asked, sarcastically, as the four of them returned to the ambulance.
"Like a bad headache," was my acerbic reply. "You gals really know how to put on the full court press, don't ya?"
"Only when we need to."
"Yeah, well you can ease up. Not gonna do much good, anyway."
"Jesus, you're dense, Daulton. What's it gonna hurt to just talk to the poor girl?"
"What's it gonna help?"
"Maybe you," she said. "I'm not saying everything is going to be rainbows and unicorns, Daulton. But maybe you can at least start over. Or else maybe you can have a clean break and at least not hate each other."
"I don't hate her."
"Well, you have a funny way of showing it."
"I thought I did okay during the ambulance ride."
"There's more to it than just putting Band-Aids on boo-boos, Daulton."
"Yeah, well I wish there was a Band-Aid they could put on my heart then." I got up and headed for the concession stand for a Coke of my own and let Diana ponder the thought.
*****
I slept very little that night knowing that Darla and I were going to have it out in a few hours. By six o'clock I was pretty much awake and running on full adrenaline. I had seen the woman naked, for God's sake, and yet I had never been this nervous around her in the entire time I had known her. Apparently, she was eager to get it going, too, because she showed up and let herself in right at 7:50.
"Most people knock," I said, mildly annoyed at her sense of liberty.
"Yeah, well, I'm not most people."
"I'll give you that," I said, handing her a mug of coffee. "Cheers," I said in a mock toast.
Darla sat down at the table, cupping the mug in her hands. I could tell she was just as tense as I was. We both knew that what was said over the next few minutes or hours would probably solidify whatever type of relationship we would have with one another for the rest of our lives. While I was fairly certain, at that point, that it would most likely end with us being anything other than a couple I was also worried that we might come out of it not even being friends - even friends from a distance.
"Well," I started, "you wanted to talk. Why don't you go ahead and start."
She took a few moments to compose herself. Her voice was quiet and meek. She had actually gotten quite sassy and brassy towards the end of our dating relationship...right up until she went back to Randy, who violently put her back in what he thought was her place.
"Daulton, I...what I mean, is..."
"Take your time, Darla. We have all day."
The tears started flowing, though she wasn't full-blown crying. I half-rolled my eyes as it seemed to be just another ploy at fucking with my emotions. But as she got going, I realized it was no act.
"Daulton, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...for everything. All of this is my fault and I'm not just saying that to try to get you to feel sorry for me. Everything that happened since I left this house has happened because I allowed it to. I allowed Randy to get back into my head. I allowed him to manipulate me. I allowed myself to get taken in because I allowed myself to fall back into something familiar - even though the unfamiliar future I had with you was so much better."
"That doesn't make any sense, Darla," I said, confused.
She took a deep breath. "All my life, Daulton, men have been attracted to me. My...entire...life. It started when I was a little girl, about 8 or 9. An older boy in our neighborhood started taking an interest in me. He was fifteen. He showed me a lot of attention and I thought it was just because he liked me. Late one night, my father caught that boy looking into my bedroom window. My father never told me exactly what he was doing outside my window but I have a pretty good idea. Needless to say, my father was furious. He took that kid and literally dragged him two blocks back to his house. My Dad was screaming and the kid was bawling his head off. Dad told the kid's parents that if he ever caught him anywhere near our house again that he'd gouge out his eyeballs and run him lengthwise down the big table saw at the lumber yard.
"When I was twelve years old, I was barely outgrowing a training bra. But by the time I was thirteen, Daulton, I was already in a C cup. By the time I was fifteen, I was in a D cup and then a DD by the time I graduated. Suffice it to say, I started getting a lot of attention from the boys early on. And it wasn't always the kind of attention I wanted.
"Other girls hated me because I was more developed than they were and got most of the attention from the boys, which was only made worse being in a small town. Most of the boys only liked me because of my breasts. They didn't like me as a person. They never wanted to get to know the real me. They only liked what they saw, which was my chest. Every time I went out with a boy - every...single...time - as soon as we were out of view of any adults, their hands made a beeline for my breasts. It got to the point that I hated everyone - boys, girls, adults - it didn't matter. At one point, Daulton, I seriously thought about taking my own life. I used to fantasize about how good it would be not to have to feel sad, humiliated, threatened or ashamed.

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:18 PM

"Then Randy came along in high college. He said all the right things and he did all the right things. He got me to let my guard down. I didn't realize at the time that what he was doing was manipulating me. He definitely took his time. But Randy was only after the same thing that everyone else was. He didn't love me for me. He just wanted a toy that he could control. He made so many promises and broke every single one. He would tell me that other men would only ever want me so they could just use my body and that he was the only one that ever loved me. By the time I knew any different, Daulton, I was already married and had two kids and a future that looked bleaker every day.

"Randy always promised that things would get better. But with every job he'd lose or not get hired for, he started drinking more and more. Pretty soon, the insults started. And then he started yelling and blaming me and the kids for all his problems. He'd leave and get drunk with his friends and be gone for days at a time. He'd come home all liquored up and start slapping me around. I would literally have to hide the kids in the apartment or hide them at one of the neighbors just to keep them away from their dad when he was acting like that."
I came over and sat down across from her at the table. "I know all about your history with Randy, Darla. You've told me how he treated you in the past. But what does that have to do with us?"
"It has to do with us, Daulton, because I have a long history of making bad choices. It got to the point where that was the only kind of love I knew. Because no matter how drunk he got, he would always eventually sober up for a while and tell me how much he loved me. He'd be fine for a while until his next big disappointment came along or his next failure."
"So why stay with him?"
"It's because I was never strong enough to leave. I never understood, either, why women don't just leave their deadbeat or abusive men. The fucked up part is, you don't even see yourself that way when you're in the relationship. You try so hard to focus on the good parts of the marriage - if not for yourself, then for your kids. You think that abuse only happens to other people and not you. And then you don't even recognize it when it IS happening to you."
"So, what do you want to happen? What is your expectation from here on out?"
"What I want to happen, Daulton, is for me to start making good choices in my life instead of the shitty ones. I want to make the good choice of getting rid of Randy, once and for all. And I got a big jump on that when my lawyer petitioned the judge for an immediate dissolution of my marriage. Randy is in jail and is probably going to be there for a long time, so he is not an immediate threat."
"Okay, I guess that's a start. What's next?"
"Next, Daulton, I want to make the choice to have you as part of my life. Ideally, I'd love for us to be together romantically. But I'll even settle for just being your friend...even if I have to watch you have a relationship with another woman from afar."
"But, Darla, you already had me in your life once. And you still went back to Randy. So I have two questions for you. First, what assurances do I have that you're not going to make another shitty decision in the future and either go back to Randy or run off with some other asshole? And, second, why me? Now that you're single, you could probably get just about any guy in Royal Fork or even Red River Falls or pretty much any guy in Mason County and beyond."
"First of all, Daulton, Randy is history. He will never bother me or my children again. Even if he gets out of prison and somehow manages to gain some kind of visitation with the kids, he will still never lay a hand on us in anger. And just in case he does, my father gave me a little present when the kids and I came home from the Cumberland house." She reached in her purse and drew out a Taurus snub nose .38 revolver.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Jesus! Okay, okay! Put it away!"
"What's the matter, Daulton? Afraid of a little lady pistol?" she giggled. "See what I mean? If Randy ever comes anywhere near me again, he's gonna change from a rooster to a hen with one shot. I'm not going to shoot to kill. I will shoot to maim!"
"Yeah, okay there, Annie Oakley. Go ahead and put the gun away, okay?"
"Fine," she said, tucking it away. "But one of our dates in the future is going to be spending a day at the shooting range. Dad took me there a few weeks ago and I gotta say I'm hooked."
"So," I said, switching gears, "what makes you so sure we're going to date? Are you sure I can even compete with Randy? Especially since he is so well-endowed and you're absolutely crazy over his cock!"
"WHAT??? Why in the hell would you say something like that?"
"Because he told me that at the restaurant that night. The same night I beat the shit out of him."
Darla burst out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It was several minutes before she was calm enough to even continue our conversation.
"Oh, my God! That is the funniest thing I have ever heard in my life! I can't believe you guys are so obsessed with your dicks! And the hilarious part is that you're almost a half-foot taller than Randy is, Daulton!"
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"I'll be blunt and explain it to you, Daulton," she said, trying to get under control, "only because I care about you so damned much. Randy has absolutely nothing on you in the penis department. Trust me when I tell you that you are bigger in every way. I had seen a few pics of guys with decent sized dicks in a porn mag once but I had never seen a guy with a decent sized dick until I met you, Daulton. Whatever Randy said to you was an absolute lie and just to piss you off. No one has ever filled me up the way you do, Daulton."
I wasn't sure how to respond to the compliment and I sounded like a puss when I said, "Yeah, well, it still pissed me off."
"Come on, Daulton," she said, more serious. "Please just give me another chance. We'll take it slow, I promise. I'll work my ass off to regain and build up your trust. I'll do whatever it takes, babe, I promise. To answer the second part of your question, I don't want any other guy in Royal Fork. Or any other place, for that matter. I want you. I deserve you!"
"Deserve me?"
"Yes, I deserve you. For too long I settled for what everyone else thought I should get. I settled for what everyone else thought I deserved. Guys like you, Daulton, were never in my league."
"Oh, that is so not true!" I scoffed. "You're just another example of why good guys always finish last."
"Yes, yes it is true! You're the kind of guy most girls want. Some of us only go for the bad boys because we never see ourselves having a shot with the good guys. I was always too afraid. I just assumed that all of the guys were the same and, because I was never around anyone decent, I never got to know guys like you. I just assumed you wouldn't go for a girl like me. All the other girls portrayed me as a slut. I never figured I had a shot with someone like you. And during the time we were together before, Daulton, I was always afraid that it was going to end."
"What did I ever do to give you that impression? Don't you see how unfair that is to me? You automatically assumed the worst about me!"
"I know, I know! I didn't say it was fair, Daulton. I just said that it was how I was thinking at the time. I don't even know myself that well, to tell you the truth. I don't really even know what kind of movies I like or what kind of music I like or even what kind of food I really like. When I panic, I just go for something familiar. That's how I ended up back with Randy."
"Okay," I said, incredulous. "How is it possible that you don't know any of that stuff after twenty-some years?"
"Because whenever we went to the movies, we always just went and saw what Randy liked. Whenever we listed to the radio we listened to whatever Randy liked. Whenever we went out to eat, we just ate wherever Randy wanted to eat. The truth be told, Daulton, I don't think I even like your spaghetti all that well. I just eat it because the kids like it and I didn't want to upset you."
Ouch! That hurt!
"Really? You don't like my spaghetti?"
"Not really," she said, half-crying. "I'm really sorry, Daulton."
Suddenly, it all made sense. Everything was starting to take shape. Here was a woman who for years had tried to make everyone but herself happy. She was a woman whose sense of value and self-worth was tied entirely to what those around her thought of her. If Randy and the kids were happy, she was happy. If everyone else around her was satisfied, she was satisfied. If Randy thought she was beautiful, then she felt beautiful. If he called her a slut and a whore, then she probably figured she was a slut and a whore. Although, to be honest, I doubt she ever stepped out on Randy the entire time they were married, even though no one would probably have blamed her if she did.
Darla Jones was literally a blank canvas and for the first time in her life, she and she alone had the opportunity to decide what the colors and shapes of her life would be. As someone once told me a long time ago, a ship is useless if it is dragging an anchor. And so the anchor must be cut loose - not because the anchor is worthy but because the ship is. It was time for Darla to set her own course for the future and she could do that now because Randy was gone for good. She had gotten a taste of her freedom when we were together before and had a deeper appreciation now that she knew for certain that Randy had nothing to offer her or the children.
Maybe I'm a chump. Or a sap. Or a big old softie. Maybe I'm just pussy-whipped. I don't really know. All I knew as I sat there staring into Darla's eyes across my kitchen table was that if I was indeed pussy-whipped, then I sure as hell wanted Darla's pussy to be the one whipping me.
"Do you like Chinese at least?"
"Chinese? Jesus, Daulton. I don't even know if I like hamburgers or hot dogs better," she said, wiping away her tears.
"Well, we better figure it out then because I absolutely love Chinese food. Where are Natalie and Nathan?"
"Um, they're at Mom and Dad's. Why?"
"Well, let's go get 'em."
"Where are we going?" she asked as I got up and grabbed a jacket.
"We're going on a field trip."
"What kind of field trip?"
"A field trip to discover the real Darla Jones."
We got into my Taurus and drove over to Butch and Cecelia's to pick up the kids. While we were there, I made Darla run in and pack an overnight bag for herself and for the kids. I still had my work duffel in the car so I already had a change of clothes. I did make sure that we had swimsuits along, though.
Natalie and Nathan were ecstatic about the impromptu mini vacation. We headed east and eventually caught I-94 and followed it all the way into the Twin Cities. I kept the destinations a secret and I had gotten a buddy and co-worker of mine, Neil Boyd, to trade shifts with me so I could have the next day off. I would work the following week for one of Neil's shifts.
We got to Minneapolis just before noon and headed south into Bloomington, one of the bigger Twin Cities suburbs. We made our way to the Mall of America. Darla and the kids had never been here before and I had been over here numerous times, both as a kid when it first opened and later on in life. Like most people, I still call the amusement park Camp Snoopy instead of Nickelodeon Universe.
Natalie and Nathan, of course, were practically bouncing off the walls wanting to go on all the rides but I told them we had to eat first. So we ended up on the top level of the mall in one of the newest restaurants, the Imperial Szechuan Palace, a gourmet Chinese restaurant. The aroma was absolutely intoxicating to me the moment we walked inside - at least it was to me. The Palace, as it is called, offers sit down dining where you can order off the menu. But during the lunch time, they also put out the most spectacular buffet you've ever seen in your life.
"Oh, my God!" Darla exclaimed. "I don't have the first clue what to get! Some of it looks delicious but some of it looks kinda gross, too."
"Well, why don't you just grab a plate and kind of take small samples of everything and see if there is something you like?"
"Okay," she said. I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched her pore over all of the items. There were nearly 50 entrees to choose from. Finally, she picked a few things to try and we all sat down. Natalie and Nathan got a kick out of chicken on a stick and loaded up on crab Rangoon, which was absolutely outstanding here.
All-in-all, Darla managed to take and eat bite-sized portions of about fifteen different items. But at the end of the day it was obvious that Chinese food just wasn't going to be her food category of choice.
"I'm sorry, Daulton. I just don't think it's for me. Everything is just either too spicy for me or way too salty. I know you like this kind of food, but it's just not me."
"That's okay," I said. "No biggie."
"You're not mad?"
I shook my head. "Why would I be mad? I mean, aren't you at least glad that you know for sure that you don't like Chinese? It's not a crime if you don't like all the same things as me."
Darla responded by reaching across the table and just held my hand. God, it felt good to just look deep into her eyes again. But I knew, for my own good as well as Darla's, that we couldn't rush things.
I paid for the meal and we headed back out onto the concourse again. Since I knew Darla was less-than-thrilled about the Chinese dinner I suggested we stop by the A&W food stand and grab some root beer floats, which went over HUGE with Natalie and Nathan. Darla even ordered some onion rings for herself.
"Now these I can DEFINITELY say I like," she chuckled. It was good to see her smile again. Little by little I was immersing myself in the warm feeling of just being with Darla, Natalie and Nathan again. It was starting to feel almost like a family again, although I didn't want to rush things.
We spent the rest of the afternoon taking the kids on just about every ride in the amusement park right there in the middle of the mall. The kids just couldn't believe that such a fantastic place existed in the world. Natalie was big enough that she could go on just about every ride in the park, which the exception of one or two. Nathan did get a little bit upset that he couldn't go on some of the bigger rides but I did manage to sneak him into Paul Bunyan's log ride, thanks to the slight chaos of a long line that day.
By six o'clock I told everyone it was time to call it a day, which elicited groans of extreme disapproval from the kids. Darla immediately scolded them, telling them they were lucky to be here on a weekend at all. But I also told them that I had another big surprise for them and we literally drove just a few blocks north and checked into a large suite at the Radisson Hotel, which was also home to the Waterpark of America, one of the largest indoor waterparks in the Midwest.
We all got checked into our suite, which included a king size bed and sleeper sofa in the main room and a separate bedroom for the kids with a set of bunk beds. We ended up swimming for the rest of the evening until ten o'clock, which just about gave Darla fits because the kids were used to being in bed by nine at the latest. Needless to say, the kids were both completely worn out from the long and active day and were asleep almost as soon as their precious heads hit the pillows.
Darla objected when I insisted that she sleep in the bed while I took the sleeper sofa.
"Daulton, that is absolutely insane. There is more than enough bed here for both of us."
"Look," I sighed. "If we're going to reboot this and give it another shot, then I think we should take it slow. I don't want us to blow it twice."
"Well, then, can I at least get a kiss goodnight?"
"Now, that I can do." We kissed tenderly and briefly, though Darla tried to lean in for something more passionate. Instead, I just held her in my arms and savored the feeling of how good it felt.
Several times I awoke during the night, which apparently roused Darla, too. We stared into each other's eyes and Darla would rub the open space next to her in a silent invitation for me to join her. As tough as it was, I just smiled and jokingly chastised her for trying to break my will.
"Can't blame a girl for trying," was her giggling reply.
We all slept in late the next morning and I had even paid for a late checkout. We spent the late morning and afternoon at the Minneapolis Children's Museum. I was initially going to schedule a jump time at one of the Sky Zones but decided against it as I didn't want to be too worn out to drive home. I decided to save that for a future trip. Besides, we all had a blast with Natalie and Nathan and all of the amazing interactive activities to be done at the children's museum.
By the time we got back to Royal Fork that night, it was nearly nine o'clock. Both the kids were fast asleep and had to be carried into Butch and Cecelia's.
I felt bad because I knew Darla had to work at C,.'an's the next morning. As I got ready to leave, Darla followed me out to my car to see me off. I had barely turned around to tell her good night when she grabbed my shirt and pulled me into the most incredible, steel-melting kiss I had ever received. By now I was too weak to resist and I just pulled her into me and matched the fervency of her kiss with my own.
When she finally let me up for air all she could breathlessly say was, "Keep going, Daulton. I'll be waiting for you at the finish line?"
"Huh?" I said, dumbfounded.
"You said that nice guys never finish first. I just want you to know that I'm waiting for you, Daulton. No matter how long it takes, I won't give up on you. You deserve to be happy and so do I. You made me so happy this weekend, Daulton. And I want more. I deserve more." Then she pulled me in for another tongue lashing kiss, turned away and jogged back into her parents' house and closed the front door behind her. All I could do was take my raging erection, get in my car and drive home.
*****
We kept things casual or at least as casual as we could, minus an awful lot of steamy make-out sessions. Things continued that way through Halloween that year but by the time Thanksgiving rolled around Darla and the kids were back living in my house. The fervor and passion of our kissing crossed over into our lovemaking and the results were absolutely explosive. What I thought had been a good sex life during the first time we lived together absolutely paled in comparison to the sex we enjoyed now.
Darla was all I thought about but not in a possessive or all-consuming way. It simply felt as though we were truly becoming one the way we were supposed to. Maybe God or the fates dictated that we had to take this fucked up journey to get to this point, I don't really know. Perhaps sometimes we can only appreciate how good things are only after they have gotten really shitty; kind of like appreciating sunny days after a week straight of storms.
"I'd give anything to make those months we were apart disappear," Darla said one night during a late candlelight dinner.
"Are you sure?" I asked, taking a bite of my steak. Steak, by the way, was one food we both agreed we loved.
"Absolutely! Are you saying you wouldn't?"
"No, I'm not saying that. But I just wonder sometimes if it had to happen to make us appreciate what we have all the more. Like some kind of cosmic test."
"Well, I'm sure I hope like hell it never happens again. I lost you once, Daulton. I pray I never lose you again."

Ramesh_Rocky · 19-03-2025, 09:20 PM

"You won't, sweetheart. I love you, Darla!"

"Sometimes I can't hear that enough, Daulton. Because, even to this moment, I still have trouble believing it. I bet if I asked you to name ten things you love about me, you'd have a hard time coming up with all ten."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Well...no. I mean...I dunno. I was just saying..."
I got up from my seat and kneeled down on the floor next to her and took her hands in mine.
"Darla, I love you. I think I have since I first met you. I love things about you that you didn't even know were lovable. I love the fact that you're a wonderful mother. I love watching you read bedtime stories to the kids and tucking them in at night. I love the fact that you have been their rock and their world during some of the shittiest times in their lives. I love your smile, even though you think your teeth are crooked. I love and am infatuated with your feet, even though you think they're your worst feature. And I really, really love how uncoordinated you are when painting your toenails and manage to get just as much polish on the bathroom floor as you do on your toenails."
Darla giggled at that last one but also had tears in her eyes.
"I love the way it feels lying next to you in bed, naked, with our flesh melting into one. I love the fact that you snore, ever-so-slightly, even though you vehemently insist you don't! I love the fact that you work so damned hard at C,.'an's because it is the first real job you've ever had and you like showing the guys you can work just as hard as them, if not harder. I love the way you smell when you come home from work, even when you're all hot and sweaty."
"Gross! I couldn't feel any less sexy than when I get home from C,.'an's!"
"I don't care. I have no idea what it is but there are fewer times when I desire you more. Grunge sex is some of the best sex! The sweat mixes with your natural pheromones and just sends me into beast mode!"
"You're weird," she said, leaning in for a kiss.
"I love that you think I'm weird and actually have the brass to tell me. I love how you look when you come to bed dressed only in one of my t-shirts and that I'd rather see you in that than the most expensive lingerie. But most of all, I love the fact that you chose me. I just hope I can live up to it and prove that you made the right decision."
"Oh, Daulton," she said hugging me and crying softly. "You've made me so happy."
"I want to marry you, Darla. I want you to be my wife and my lover. I want your children to become my children and I want you to be the mother of our future children. I want to live with you, laugh with you and even argue with you sometimes because I know we can handle it and become stronger through it. Will you have me? Will you make one more good decision and take me as your husband?"
"Yes! Oh, God, yes!! I love you so much! I love you so very, very much!"
"I love you, too, soon-to-be Mrs. Darla Anderson!"
*****
Epilogue
I didn't give Darla a ring that night. I wanted to keep with the theme of allowing Darla to grow and gain more control over the direction of her life. Instead, I gave her a budget that I was comfortable with (around $4,000, which still just about blew her away; me too, for that matter) and still allowed us to set a reasonable budget for a modest wedding the following summer. In short, I wanted Darla to choose a ring that she liked, one that fit her style and personality, and one that she would feel comfortable and confident wearing for the next five or six decades.
We chose to have a fire-themed wedding where I simply wore my dress uniform, especially since Danny Larson was my best man and the groomsmen were all co-workers from RRFFD. I thought all the law enforcement and firefighters looked pretty sharp in their dress uniforms. Natalie and Nathan served as a junior bridesmaid and ring bearer, of course.
At the end of the ceremony, we all filed out of the Methodist church I grew up in and were whisked away on the old beautifully restored open-cab Seagrave fire engine that belonged to our firefighter's union. It had belonged to the Red River Falls Fire Department back in the late 1920s and 30s and was painstakingly brought back to her former glory by our members.
Darla looked absolutely stunning in a simple silver sleeveless knee-length dress. It had a low neck line with an open back and thoroughly accentuated her ample cleavage and her gorgeous hips. She might as well have been wearing a sign that read "Danger: Curves Ahead". She had also started a five-alarm fire in my loins that would only be doused during our consummation that night!
Darla's side of the bridal party had included Diana, Meg and Misty, whom she had gotten very close to. Diana and I had hit a pretty rough patch while Darla and I were on the outs last year. Diana had done everything she could to nudge Darla and I back together, at least as friends if not as a couple. I hadn't always been very nice to her, either, especially since she was there for me right after Darla had left me. She had been one of my closest friends for the longest time and I had been too much of a jackass to realize she had been in my corner all along.
I helped Darla navigate her way to her seat on the old fire engine so she wouldn't trip in her heels. Natalie and Nathan stood behind the seat in the hose bed as there were rails they could hold on to. We wouldn't be driving very fast in the old engine. I turned around and waved to all of the guests who were still blowing bubbles and tossing bird seed at us. I saw Diana standing there, holding her small bouquet and I deliberately walked over to her and bear hugged her.
"I love the friggin' shit out of you. You know that, right?" I said into her ear as I hugged her.
"I know," was her teary response.
"I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you."
"Damned right you wouldn't," she said, laughing and hugging me even tighter.
"Thank you...for everything," I said as I pulled away from her embrace.
"My pleasure. Now go take your wife and kids for a fire truck ride, you perpetual little boy!"
My wife and kids! My heart swelled as those words rang in my ears and sounded so good!
I took Darla's hand in my own as I maneuvered the old engine into the street in our own little parade of fire trucks. One of our reserve pumpers and backup aerial ladder truck from RRFFD also joined the parade, along with a reserve pumper and backup tanker from the Royal Fork Fire and Rescue - all of which also carried or were driven by respective members of the wedding party.
We toured the city, honking and occasionally blaring the sirens and were escorted by members of the Mason County Sheriff's Department, courtesy of Sheriff Pat Quinn who drove his SUV with lights flashing to allow our little convoy safe passage through some stoplight intersection. I imagine Red River PD didn't care for our entourage but I didn't really care, either. This was our day and we wanted it to be memorable. Some citizens in the community would probably bitch and moan, too, but Chief Van Dyke had approved it, so long as we reimbursed the fuel usage, which was no big deal for a 25 to 30 minute cruise.
As we drove down the main drag through Red River Falls, I was as happy and content as I had ever been.
"You know what the best part of all of this is, Daulton?" my lovely bride asked.
"What's that, my love?"
"We effectively killed the theory."
"What theory is that?"
She squeezed my hand and said, "The theory that nice guys finish last. They don't. And the icing on the cake is that, sometimes, even nice girls finish first, too!"
"You did it, you know? You kept your promise. Even when I said that it wasn't going to be a race, you were patient and waiting for me at the finish line. Just like you said."
"It's funny, in a way. You rescue and save people for a living. And you literally saved me."
"I'd die for you and the kids. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."
"And me for you," she said with a quick kiss. "I love you, Daulton."
"I love you, too, Mrs. Anderson!"
Just like the silver bell on the old fire truck, her new name definitely had a nice ring to it!
SB

Ramesh_Rocky · 23-03-2025, 04:05 PM

Getting Back to Square One

I was in a shitty mood when I wrote this. Although this story takes place in Red River Falls, it has absolutely nothing to do with anything regarding my other stories. I just wanted to write something about a guy getting some self-respect back. This story is pure BTB all the way. If you don't like that kind of story, that's fine; to each, his own. Just move along. If you're just gonna throw hand grenades, just move along. Go be a jerk on someone else's time.

Getting Back to Square One
The lights were off in the entire house and I sat at the kitchen waiting for them to come in. I knew who, I knew what and I knew where. I just didn't know why. Sometimes, it is absolutely amazing that you think you know a person so well that you can finish each other's sentences. And then, something comes out of the clear blue sky, which makes you realize that person was a complete stranger all along. Or perhaps they were someone who was just wearing a mask, hiding their true self from you. Maybe they were just a fraud. Yeah, that's a good word for it. A total fraud.
Either way, it didn't matter. I could try and analyze it all I wanted to but everything that happened did so because of choices; because what matters in the end are the choices we make. She made her choices. My friend made his choices. The problem was that her choices and his choices didn't match up well with my choices. And when I found out about everything going on from a source intimately close to the situation, I decided to make a new choice of my own.
I chose to unleash hell.
My house, I refuse to think of it as our house anymore, was a simple tri-level with a two-stall garage in a fairly comfortable middle-class neighborhood. My name is Tyson Peterson and I happen to be a Sergeant with the Red River Falls security officer Department. Technically, I was supposed to be on duty that night. I work from 15:00 to 23:30, which is a shift I rather enjoy. My Lieutenant, Rich Striker, is a pretty cool guy. Our boss, Captain Pete Sturgeon, is hard to read most of the time and he can be a complete dick some of the time. Since Rich was off work today, though, I had to tell my Captain about my little problem. Much to my surprise, Captain Sturgeon actually said he understood and told me to take the rest of the shift off and let him know when my "problem" was taken care of.
And so, there I sat waiting for the proverbial fecal matter to strike the oscillating cooling device; waiting to unleash hell on a couple of people who will be rather surprised to experience it. My only concern was whether I could keep myself from going too far.
I heard the keys insert into the lock of the front door. Suddenly, a man and a woman who had obviously been drinking, stumbled and fell through the doorway, laughing.
"My God, it's dark in here!" my wife exclaimed. "The timer lights should have come on, at least."
"Doesn't matter," the man said. "We're not going to need lights for what we plan on doing!"
I could see their silhouettes merge into one as they embraced and engaged in some heavy kissing. It confirmed what I already knew but I still couldn't keep the acid from pouring into my stomach.
"Oh, God, you don't know how much I look forward to my one trip to Red River Falls each year," the man said. That man was Marty Parker, my former good friend, who lived in Brainerd, Minnesota with his wife Marsha. Marty and Marsha had been friends of Liza and mine for ten years. How in the hell Liza and Marty could do something like this to me and Marsha was beyond me. But there it was, right in front of me and only a few feet away. And in my own damned house!
"I look forward to this, too, Marty. But shouldn't we have gone to your hotel? I mean, Tyson will be home at 11:30. That doesn't give us much time."
"I'm gonna be here for three days, Liza. I'll more than make it up to you the next two nights, I promise!"
"You better," Liza said, pulling him in for a deep kiss. "But before we get started, I'm gonna grab another glass of wine from the kitchen. Want some?" she asked, slipping off her heels.
"What I want is for you to head upstairs to the bedroom and slip on that sexy lingerie I bought you. I'll get the wine. Just tell me where it is."
"Boy, you don't waste time, do you!"
"I didn't get to be successful by fucking off...except when I come to see you!" God, Marty was nauseating.
"Okay, give me a few minutes and I'll call you up! Don't take too long with the wine."
"Not a chance! My cock can't wait much longer! It needs to be in that incredible pussy of yours and soon!"
"And I can't wait to taste that cock of yours in my mouth!"
My heart sank once again. Getting a blowjob from Liza was a novel treat after twelve years of marriage; and a treat I didn't get to enjoy very often. But here she was making it sound like she'd do anything for Marty. I'd always heard that was the ultimate betrayal of an affair; the fact that your spouse does things for a lover that they won't do for you. If I find out Marty ever got to fuck Liza in the ass, I'll break both of their fucking necks!
Marty stumbled towards the kitchen, groping for a light switch along the way. I was standing in the corner of the adjoining dining room, out of the way but where I could still see him as he probed his way into the kitchen. Finally, he found his way to the fridge and took out a bottle of chilled wine. I knew that I hadn't bought any wine recently, which could only mean that Liza had been preparing for this evening.....just as my source said she had.
Marty held the fridge door open to light up the kitchen and seemed to take forever as he looked for glasses. "Hey, Liza?" he finally yelled. "Where are the glasses?"
"Top cupboard, just to the right of the dishwasher," she yelled back.
Marty dutifully grabbed the bottle of wine and managed to find the corkscrew in its drawer. He then grabbed two wine glasses and made his way back to the living room to head for the stairs. As he did so, I could see Liza coming down the stairs towards the living room. She was back lit by the light coming from the hallway and a wave of sadness cascaded over me as I could see how amazing she looked in stockings, garters, see-through crotchless panties that showed off her trimmed bush and pussy, a thin brassiere and some type of see-through top. Normally, I would have thought she looked downright heavenly or amazing. And 99 out of 100 men would have thought so tonight. But not me. Seeing her in that outfit simply brought out the beast mode.
I maneuvered in behind Marty as he stood there with his hands full, taking in the sight of Liza in all her glory. I deftly reached behind the china cabinet and flipped the hidden switch that illuminated the entire living room. Both Marty and Liza were taken aback by the sudden offense to their night vision. Suddenly, Liza realized it was me standing there and let out a blood curdling scream. Marty, still feeling the alcohol, turned dumbly to look behind him just as I brought the full weight of my collapsible baton down on his left leg just behind his kneecap.
Marty collapsed in a pile, suddenly bewildered by my sudden assault, and was too shocked to even scream or yell in pain. He didn't even have time to process the fact that it was me that had struck him. I shoved him forward onto his stomach, just like I would any perp that I was trying to take down and show some tough love to while making an arrest. Liza continued to scream.
"Liza, shut the fuck up!" I yelled. "If you don't stop screaming right this instant, I swear to God I am going to punch you in the face so fucking hard that you'll still be dizzy a year from now, you hear me?"
Liza, to my amazement, stopped screaming immediately and just nodded her head. She was scared shitless and shaking like a leaf. Suddenly, modesty became important, for some reason, and she covered her crotch with her shaking hands.
Marty tried to turn over, still reeling from the pain in his knee.
"Tyson? Is that you? Jesus, man, I --"
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! I punched him in the face repeatedly numerous times, shattering his nose and causing blood to spray all over the living room carpet.
"Oh, God, Tyson! Please stop! You'll kill him!" Liza shrieked.
"You just shut the fuck up, if you know what's good for you!"
I stood over Marty's body as I watched him gasp for breath. He was bleeding badly from his nose and from a few broken teeth, but not so profusely that he was in danger of bleeding to death. But we were definitely gonna have to get the carpet cleaned when this was all over with.
"Tyson, please! Enough already!" Liza pleaded.
"I'll decide when enough is enough!"
"Tyson, I swear to God! It's....it's...."
"It's what? Not what it looks like? Are you fucking kidding me, Liza? Are you seriously going to use that fucking cliché on me right now? How the fuck do you think I knew what was going on here tonight if it's not what it looks like? How do you think I knew to be here at this exact moment?"
Liza just stood there, horrified, trying to figure out some way of downplaying the whole scenario. But she had nothing. There was nothing to try and take away what had been going on for three years. THREE...FUCKING...YEARS!!! For three years, Marty made his little three-day business trip to Red River Falls and scheduled it for days he knew I would be working; a schedule he could only get from my lovely wife, Liza.
"Tyson," Marty said, trying to get up and spitting blood as he spoke, "it isn't as bad as it looks, I swear. It's just...a little fantasy, that's all."
"Bullshit, Marty. You can't even remotely sound convincing. Both of you should know that I know the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I knew what was going to go on here tonight and I know what has been going on for the last three years!"
"No, Ty. It isn't like that, man. I swear! This was the first time we were gonna-"
WHAM! I cold-cocked that motherfucker right in the mouth again.
"Do you like getting punched in the fucking face, Marty? Because every time I hear even a hint of a lie or any other bullshit coming out of that mouth of yours, I'm going to do my level best to try and punch my fist all the way down your fucking throat! Do you understand me?"
Marty just held up his hands in defeat as he laid there gasping for breath and trying to grit through the pain from my assault.
"Both of you are lucky I locked my gun in my safe. I really had a strong inclination to shoot you both in your cheating fucking heads."
"How...how much...do you...know?" Marty stammered.
"I think the question you want to ask, Marty, is 'how much do Marsha and I know'?"
Marty laid there and closed his eyes as he realized who had given him away.
"I gotta hand it to your wife, Marty. She's obviously a helluva lot less naïve and not even remotely as stupid as I am. Somehow, she figured out that you were going to be on business (finger quotes) in Red River Falls, the same town where your supposed good friends lived. Marsha wanted to know why you'd schedule a business trip here and not mention anything. Then, apparently she looked at your schedule from last year and figured out you made a trip here back then, too....and never said a fucking word about it."
"I...I never...I mean..."
"Don't even waste your fucking breath, Marty. She was on to you. And she followed through. Apparently, you don't know a whole helluva lot about phone security. Because she was able to get somebody to crack your phone and dig up almost TWENTY-FIVE-FUCKING-THOUSAND text messages between you and my wife going back over three years! Three years of the two of you planning to fuck around behind Marsha's and my back! Three years of you planning to dupe us and humiliate us! Three years of treating us like we were the lowest form of life on earth!"
"No, Tyson," Marty objected. "It was...never like that. We never...wanted to hurt...anyone," he struggled.
"Marty's right, Sweetheart," Liza stammered, quietly sobbing. "We would never intentionally hurt or humiliate either of you! That was never what this was about! It was just an attraction we couldn't control!"
I dropped my arms to my side and menacingly approached my wife, still clutching my security officer baton in a threatening way, a look of absolute hatred and loathing on my face. Liza could see it. She had never seen that look on my face before.....and she was scared.
"First off," I said softly, "don't ever...ever...EVER...call me sweetheart again! Don't call me lover...or honey...or babe...or any other term of affection, for that matter."
Liza just stood there shaking and nodding her head.
"And secondly, you most certainly did have every intention of hurting and humiliating me."
"No, swee -- er, I mean, Tyson, no!"
"Do you have any idea...what it's like to read a text message...where your wife talks about giving her cheating lover...a fucking blow job...and tells her lover...how she plans to kiss her husband...ME...later on that day...without brushing her fucking teeth? So that she still has the taste of her lover's penis and cum on her lips and breath and tongue when she degrades and humiliates her husband later on that day when he comes home from his ridiculously dangerous job of protecting this town and her citizens? Really, Liza? Do you have any idea...how that makes a man feel? To know that his wife has that little respect for him? After twelve years of marriage?"
Liza looked at me in shock and horror. "Tyson...I mean...how..." and then she collapsed on the stairs in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing.
"Tyson," Marty lisped through his swelling lips and broken teeth. "Come on, man...don't...take it out...on Liza, bro. I'm...the one....you should be...pissed at," he stuttered through the pain.
"Bro? Did you just call me bro? Are you fucking kidding me? Let me paraphrase from a text message you sent Liza earlier today when you talked about how you couldn't wait to fuck Liza in our marital bed so you could claim her pussy as yours. Let me remind you of how you told her that you even wanted to go so far as to fuck her on MY side of the bed so that I would have to sleep in your dried up cum and Liza's cunt juices that very same night! Does that sound very brotherly to you, you fucking asshole???"
Marty just lay there and cowered, looking away from me in his shame. But it was only shame in the fact that he got caught, not the fact that he was fucking his friend's wife in the first place.
"Oh, Tyson," Liza sobbed. "I'm so, so, sorry! I'm so terribly sorry!"
"You know? I can never figure out why it is that people who get caught cheating are so remorseful when they get caught. I can't understand why it is that the idea of getting caught and all the damage it could do to the relationship NEVER crosses their mind while they're getting their fucking rocks off!"
"Wh...what...are you...gonna do...Ty?" Marty stammered, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding face.
I paced the room for a bit, trying to get my thoughts together.
"I'll tell you what's going to happen, Marty," I said, menacingly. "I've been trying to do the math in my head on this, know what I mean? I'm thinking that you've made three previous trips to Red River Falls for the sole purpose of 'conducting business' and fucking my wife. So that's three years and three business trips for a total of nine days, sound about right?"
Marty nodded, looking worried and wondering where I was going with this.
"So," I continued, "you've been here for nine days and hooked up with my wife each day that you were here. Reading over the twenty-five-thousand-plus text messages, I'm going to guesstimate a bit here and assume that you fucked her at least two, maybe three times each day that you were here. After all, you only get here once a year so you're probably going to make the most of it, right? According to your text messages you even got Viagra so you could make sure that you made the most of it! So, that's three days times three fucks per day, which is nine fucks per annual visit, times three previous visits so far."
I walked slowly towards Marty. "So, the way I see it," I said as sinister as I could, "I owe you twenty-seven bloody ass kickings for fucking my wife twenty-seven times!"
"No, Ty," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "It...wasn't that many...I swear...to God!"
"Oh, I'm sure it was at least that many, Marty! Again, don't forget that I have all of your text messages!"
"Fine," Marty said, trying to be defiant. "If you think...kicking my ass... will make up for it...then...you've got me here. Just...finish...what you...started! Just...get it...over with!"
"Oh, you mean, you want me to just beat you within an inch of your worthless, fucking life right here and right now? All in one shot?"
"Yes! I'm never...coming back here...anyway!"
"It really doesn't matter whether you come back here or not, Marty. I owe you and I owe you BIG TIME! I am going to get my pound of flesh from you, one way or the other. As a matter-of-fact, twenty-seven ass kickings will probably take a long time. Just to be generous, I'll lower the amount to just two per day for a total of eighteen. That's only because I'm a nice guy, Marty!"
Marty just looked away from me in despair and shame. Gone was the flamboyant business man who was full of brio and bravado just a short while ago as he was about to plunge his cock into the married pussy of the wife of his so-called friend.
"Another thing, Marty," I said coldly, "you're never going to know when I'm going to show up and kick your ass. I didn't know anything about you showing up in Red River Falls to fuck my wife. So you're never going to know when I might show up in whatever town you happen to be in to beat your fucking ass!"
That got his attention. Marty just looked at me with shock on his face and I could see him gulp in fear.
"You're never gonna know when, you're never gonna know where, you're never gonna know how. But I will find you, Marty. Make no mistake about it. I will find you and I will beat the shit out of you. And I'm going to do this eighteen times. And, if you want to try and fix things with Marsha and your kids, you're going to just suck it up and take it like a man. Don't worry, though. I'm not going to cripple you. You still have a family to provide for. But make no mistake; you will get hurt and you will get the message. Understand?"
Marty just sat there and nodded.
"Now get your bloody, worthless, cheating ass out of my house! And I should warn you, Marty, if I find out in any way, shape or form that you took this beating out on Marsha, I will come find you and I will kill you, Marty. I will bury your body with a shovel and I will bury the fucking shovel! And the only things that will even care that you're gone are the worms that will feast upon your miserable, rotting corpse! Do I make myself clear?"
"What...is there...to stop me...from going to the cops...and telling them...what you did to me...Tyson?"
"I can only say that would be a grave mistake, Marty. And I do mean grave! I happen to be a security officer officer and most cops I know don't take kindly to the men who cheat with the wives of security officer officers. Those assholes rank right up there with the fucking douche bags who cheat with the wives of military men who are overseas stuck in the shit fighting for our freedom. I can only say that that would end very badly for you, Marty!"
Marty just looked at me. Then he cast one more glance towards Liza as she sat, still petrified and crying softly, on the stairs. Then he opened the front door, leaving a bloody hand print on the knob and hobbled his way to his Lexus. A couple minutes later, the engine came to life and he drove off. It wouldn't be the last time I'd see him, however.

Ramesh_Rocky · 23-03-2025, 04:08 PM

I turned and sauntered over towards the stairs where Liza sat.

"Oh, Tyson," she sobbed. "What's going to happen to us? I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "Can't you please forgive me?"
"What's going to happen to us? I'll tell you what's going to happen to us. Nothing is going to happen to us...for the time being."
Liza seemed to perk up a bit when I said that.
"However," I continued, "there are going to be some consequences and some stipulations laid down that you're going to have to follow. And they are going to be consequences and stipulations that you're not going to find very palatable. But if you want to even have a prayer of saving our marriage, you will follow them. Do you understand?"
Liza eagerly nodded her head and wiped her eyes.
"First of all, I want to thank you for being so stubborn in your refusal to ever have children. I can only imagine how devastating this would have been if we had a family."
"I know," Liza said. "I guess I'm grateful for that, too."
"Secondly," I continued, "it would seem that your proclivities involved a lot more adventure with Marty than you ever have with me; so many things that you did with and for Marty that you never did for me."
"I'm sorry, Tyson," she said, hanging her head and sobbing again. "I'm so, so, sorry. I'll do anything you want, Tyson! I swear! Anything! Just ask!"
"First of all, you're going to schedule an appointment with the clinic and get an STD test. I have no idea what Marty has and neither do you. If he's fucking you on his business trips, more than likely he is fucking other women on business trips, too. Obviously, you are never to see or correspond with him in any way, shape or form."
Liza looked up in surprise and shock. She hadn't considered that little detail. Funny how many 'other women' and 'other men' think that they are the only ones their affair partner is cheating with.
"Secondly, and this is the part that will be hard for you, I think it is only fair that since you denied me and went after your own satisfaction for the last three years that I now deny you and go after my own satisfaction."
"Marty, what do you mean? I just told you that I promise to deny you nothing! I'll do anything you ask! I swear it!" she pleaded.
"That's not the point. It is the denial and the cheating and the secrecy. You got to go out and have your fun. Now I want to have some of my own. And, as a test of your resolve to save our marriage, YOU will be the one to help make that happen!"
"Me? What would you want me to do?"
"You, Liza, will seek out women for me. You will do whatever you have to in order to find them and arrange for them to meet me. You will explain to them that I have your full blessing to do anything with them that they and I want to do. And I will do anything with them that I want to and anything that we can think of. And when my dates with them are over I will come home with the taste of their mouths, their pussies and their asses on my lips and I will be sure to kiss you deeply and passionately...before brushing my teeth!"
"No! No, Tyson," she said, shaking her head furiously. "I won't do it! You can't make me do it! I won't share you with another woman!"
"Yes, you will do it. Or I will share with the entire city of Red River Falls how you, the wife of a dedicated security officer officer, cheated with malice aforethought REPEATEDLY on your dutiful and selfless-serving husband. I will make public every last text message and piece of correspondence between you and Marty. I will make you a fucking PARIAH in this town or whatever town you choose to crawl to if you leave me and Red River Falls. I will make sure the stench of your affair with Marty follows you around like a damned fart in a car! Do I make myself clear?"
Liza just sat there on the stairs - cowering, afraid and sobbing. Finally, she nodded her head yes.
"Good. Now get upstairs and take off that damned lingerie and get your ass to bed. I'll be sleeping in the guest bedroom indefinitely."
Liza slowly and gingerly did as I instructed. She took off the lingerie, grabbed her bathrobe and slowly walked towards the master bath while I took off my uniform and prepared to move some of my things to the guest room. She purposefully did not put on her robe as she walked by me as she knew I would admire her body, as I always have during our marriage. As she walked by me, sniffling, I couldn't help but stare at her ass. I had always been in love with my wife's ass. Suddenly, a pang of anger came over me and I reached out and slapped her hard on her right ass cheek.
She let out a high-pitched yelp as I did so. "What was that for?" she asked, afraid and clutching her bathrobe.
"Just a quick question. The entire time we've been married, your ass has been off-limits to me. Was your ass off limits to Marty, too?"
"Yes, it was, Tyson. I swear. Marty tried to put a finger in there once but I made him quit. I didn't like it and it felt dirty. He licked me there a couple of times, which was okay. But we never had anal sex, if that's what you're asking."
"That is what I'm asking. And, for some strange reason...I actually believe you. But I may make you prove it with a polygraph test someday soon. So I guess if we ever get to the point where our marriage is healed enough for us to have sex again, maybe we have some virgin territory to start from. It could be something to prove that you love me and are serious about making our marriage work."
"I am serious, Tyson," she said, putting the robe on the bed. "I am dead serious! And, if you want me to prove it to you, then you can stick that big dick of yours up my ass right this very minute!"
I stood there looking at her. It was a tempting offer. But as mad as I was right then and there with everything that had happened that night, it was a bad idea. I would have just ripped her cherry ass apart.
"Go take your shower, Liza. Our marriage isn't healed yet, not by a long shot. Take your shower and then get to bed. You've got some work to do tomorrow finding my women."
Liza stood there, disappointed. Then she grabbed her robe, went into the bathroom and closed the door. I noticed she didn't lock it.
*****
ONE YEAR LATER
It has been exactly one year since that fateful night in our house. Some interesting developments have occurred that have led me to this moment. I sat in the living room waiting for Liza to get home from the grocery store. I have since switched from the afternoon shift to the day shift. Not as much excitement on the day shift from 07:00 to 15:30 as there was on my previous shift. But it kept me home more with Liza to see what she was up to. Liza says that she was thrilled as she felt it gave us more time together, even though she struggled from time to time having to go without sex. She whined a little but was pretty quick to shut up before I had to put her in her place and remind her of what got us here.
To her credit, she did exactly as I asked. Liza set up a profile on a married dating site and also a profile on a couple of swinger's sites. What she didn't know is who exactly was responding to those profiles. I made Liza handle all of the correspondence back-and-forth between the would-be sex partners and my profile. She did all of the messaging and I even made her handle the hotel reservations when I went out on my "dates".
Marsha and I continued to correspond, as well. For the sake of their three children, she decided to try and make things work with Marty. I couldn't really fault her for that. As I told Liza, I thanked God that she and I never had kids. That would have made this whole situation exponentially worse.
I found out from Marsha exactly what Marty's business trip schedule was like. The first time I found him was down in Hastings, Nebraska. He was staying at an economy hotel, presumably for anonymity, and I was able to locate him after he got back to the hotel from a local bar. To his credit, he was with his clients and no women. But it didn't keep me from sneaking up on him, slamming him face first into a wall, giving him a knee to the balls, three hard punches to the gut and a vicious elbow smash across his left cheek bone.
I wanted Marty to feel pain. And I wanted him to know if was me without knowing so I wore a ski mask and a hooded sweatshirt. I couldn't risk punching him in the face with my fists as it would certainly lead to telltale bruising if Marty ever pressed charges. So I just gave him a quick three-point beating; head, gut and groin. It was a signature that was repeated in Vermillion, Pierre, Minot and Bismarck. Again, to his credit, he took them all and never pressed charges.
All of that leads to this moment. I sat in my recliner in the living room and watched as Liza brought two bags of groceries into the house. She chattered about this and that and never really made eye contact with me. I assumed that was probably because she was trying to be stoic as she dealt with the idea of me 'dating' other women and wondering when that would end so she could resume her wifely duties. When she finished putting her groceries away, I called her into the living room.
She sat in the sofa opposite my recliner.
"I have something for you," I said as she sat down.
"Really? What is it?"
"I have a letter for you. It's been a year since...well...you know...and I want you to know that it all comes to an end now."
"Oh, thank God, Tyson. If I had to watch you leave for another one of your dates again, I was afraid I was going to absolutely die!"
"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore."
"Does this mean that we can finally, you know, be intimate again, Tyson?"
"I need you to read this letter first," I said, handing it to her.
"I'm going to do better this time, Tyson, I swear. I'm going to be the best wife ever! I'll deny you nothing! You'll see."
"Just read the letter, Liza," I said, somberly.
She was smiling as she opened the letter and pulled out its contents, eagerly thinking that the worst was behind her and she could finally move forward. Her lovely smile disappeared as she read the first page.
"What?" she shrieked, standing up quickly. "What the hell is this? A petition for dissolution of marriage? What the hell is this, Tyson? Is this some kind of a sick joke?"
"No, Liza. It isn't a joke. Like I said, everything ends today. It's all over with."
"Are you fucking kidding me? After everything I put up with to make it up to you? This is how you treat me? After watching you leave this house and crying every minute you were gone while you were on one of your dates with those whores I had to scrounge up for you? You're actually divorcing me now?!!"
"There were no dates, Liza."
"Yes there were! I even got messages from those bitches telling me how much they loved fucking you!"
"No, there weren't. I never went on a single date with any of those women. Because none of those women even existed."
"What are you talking about, Tyson?"
"All of those women's profiles were fake. They were all created by me."
"What? Why? Why would you do this?"
"First of all, hardly any men who go onto those married dating sites ever carry out an affair. There are hardly any women who even register on those sites and the vast majority of those women's profiles are fake, just like the ones I created.
"Second, if I were to go out and have sex with other women, that wouldn't make me as bad as you. It would make me worse than you. While you did things that you knew would hurt me, I believe you did a lot of them because you were caught up in the novelty of the affair and wanted to do whatever you could to make it exciting and to keep it going, especially for Marty's sake. I have come to learn, through my therapist, that you probably didn't do it specifically to hurt me. But if I had sex with other women, I would be doing it specifically to hurt you and punish you. And that would be worse in the long run.
"And, so, that's where I really was when I was out on my dates, so to speak. I was actually seeing a therapist," I concluded.
"Well....then why? Why would you do this?" Liza asked.
"To prove your loyalty to me. To prove that you would actually carry out what I asked you to."
"Well, I did, Tyson. I did exactly that. And because I did it, this divorce makes even less sense!"
"One of the things I told you, Liza, was that I never wanted you and Marty to see or contact one another ever again."
"I haven't seen him, Tyson! I swear to God!"
"Yes, I know. I had a GPS tracker installed in your car."
"Well, see? If you know I haven't seen him, then this divorce doesn't make sense, unless you're trying to be cruel!"
"Just because you haven't seen him, Liza, doesn't mean you haven't heard from him."
"Tyson, you can check my phone! Check the computer! Check all of it! I haven't sent anything to him with my phone or the computer! I swear!"
"Oh, believe me. I have. I checked your smart phone and the computer. In fact, I even secretly installed a GPS tracker on your phone, too. And I know you haven't seen Marty because Marsha also had a GPS tracker installed on Marty's phone and vehicle. So, yes. You are right. You haven't seen Marty."
"So, then, why in the hell are you doing this to me, Tyson?"
"Because I told you that I didn't want you to correspond with Marty in any way, shape or form."
Liza just looked at me. She knew something was wrong. I reached into my left pocket and withdrew a small prepaid cell phone, just as basic a model as you can get. You can call with it, but you can also text with it, too.
"You see, Liza, I had a friend come over one day who is very good with electronics and computers. She did a sweep of our house and found a very faint signal coming from your walk-in closet. The light socket in your closet; you screwed a secondary socket into the main light socket that also has an old-fashioned two-prong electrical outlet on it -- just the right socket to charge a cell phone with as you don't need a three-prong outlet. And you did a very good job of hiding it amongst all your shoeboxes and shit that you had piled up on the shelf in your closet."
Liza slowly sat back down on the couch. She knew it was over.
"And to make matters worse, not only did you keep and hide this secret cell phone from me, there is only one phone number programmed into this phone. Care to take a guess as to whose number it is?"
Liza bowed her head in shame, began crying softly, and just shook her head 'no'.
"I told you specifically that I didn't want you to have any correspondence with him in any way, shape or form."
"I..I was afraid...that you were going to hurt him," she sobbed.
"I was going to hurt him. You knew that I was going to hurt him. And I did hurt him. Several times. But that shouldn't have been your main concern. Your main concern should have been doing everything I told you to in order to save your marriage. You didn't do that, which tells me that you obviously don't feel that your marriage is worth saving. Hence, the divorce papers sitting in your hands."
"Oh, God, Tyson! I'm so sorry!"
"I no longer believe that, Liza. But look at it this way. We're both fairly young, in our early 30's, and we can each go out and find what we truly want. Me? I've always wanted children and you never did. So now I can find a woman who either has some young children I can help raise or I can have children of my own with her."
"No, Tyson! Please! If you want children, I would gladly give them to you!"
"What, are you kidding me? You've never wanted children! If you did, we'd have one or two by now. And we sure as hell aren't going to have kids just to try and save our marriage! That would be the stupidest and most irresponsible thing we could do. Trust me, this is for the best. And besides, you are free to chase Marty all over hell and back now if you want to."
"Why would I want Marty? We're done with each other and he is still married to Marsha."
"Not for long. If it makes you feel better, and I'm guessing it probably won't, but Marty is getting handed the same set of papers right now that you are. So, congratulations. You and Marty have ruined two marriages, not just one."
Liza was sobbing uncontrollably. "Where...where will...you go? What...will you...do?"
"Me?" I asked, incredulously. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here. This house was bought and paid for with my money. You work part-time as a librarian making $9.50 an hour. Do you really think you can afford this house? Give me a break. No, we'll split our bank account. You can keep your car and I'll keep mine. I'll keep my pension, too. I'll refinance the mortgage and give you half the equity. You can get a fresh start and work wherever you want to. And when you can afford it, you can buy a place of your own."
"This is...so unfair! I deserve more than that...after twelve years," she sobbed.
"No, you don't, Liza. You deserve far less. You're only getting that much because I'm generous."
"Then...I'll fight for the rest...in court!" she stammered.
"Then you'll lose, figuratively if not actually. If you insist on fighting me on this, I swear to everything holy that I will make public every last message between you and Marty. I will bring Marsha -- quite willingly, I might add -- sobbing and wailing into court to tell everyone what a whore and a home wrecker you are. I will make your parents and your siblings and our nieces and nephews watch the whole spectacle in awe and wonder. You will be metaphorically wearing a Scarlett Letter, if not wearing it in actuality. Do I make myself understood? I will make you want to crawl into the deepest hole in Mason County and you will NEVER want to see daylight again!"
Just then, there was a honk from out in the street.
"Get your stuff packed. Your sister Emily is here to pick you up. Just take what you need for a few days and you can pick the rest of your stuff up in a few days when we have had a chance to split everything 50/50. I'll even arrange for you to do it on a day when I'm at work so you don't have to see me."
Liza did her best to compose herself and gather up her things. Her sister Emily and I have always gotten along well and she was the only one I told about the affair. At first, naturally, Emily didn't believe me. But when I showed her many of the text messages between Liza and Marty, Emily was quite shocked. I swore her to secrecy and adamantly told her not to tell the rest of her and Liza's family or parents. I felt doing so would give me an extra poker chip to throw on the table when it came time for the divorce. It seems my gamble paid off.
Thirty minutes later, Emily helped Liza put the last of her things in her and Liza's cars and then Liza walked out of the house for the last time as my wife. I couldn't help but feel sadness as I watched her drive away. I would have to look forward to a new future -- one without Liza. While daunting, I couldn't help but be a little hopeful, too, as I had always wanted a family and now had the chance to pursue having one.
Liza was now free to find whatever it was she was looking for, too; whatever it was that she thought she had found with Marty. But as she drove away that day with tears in her eyes looking back at the man and the home she was forced to leave behind, I think it dawned on her that she had lost far more than she would ever find again.
SB

Ramesh_Rocky · 26-03-2025, 01:27 PM

Flowers for All Occasions

For more information on the characters in this story, please read the following:

What Mother-in-Law Wants
Badge of Betrayal
Clarissa Gets Served
Grab Life by the Balls
The Ghost of Red River Falls
Darla's Dilemma
Getting Back to Square One
***WARNING*** This is a long story. How do I know? Because I wrote the damned thing. If plot development, character development and dialogue are important to you, then read on. If not, don't waste your time, especially if you are just going to head to the comments and bomb me with 1-star votes. There is sex in this story but if you are looking for some quick jack-shack material, this isn't it! Move on!
***WARNING #2*** This story deals with a couple of heavy topics - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and ---c extremism. If reading these topics makes you feel uncomfortable, then please move on and skip this one. I won't even know so I won't be offended. As always, supportive comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. If you're just gonna throw hand grenades, move along. Go be a jerk on someone else's time. For the rest of you, I hope you enjoy my offering. - SB
Flowers for All Occasions
A Sheriff Pat Quinn Story
I couldn't get to my Expedition fast enough but once there I turned the key, threw it in gear and slammed my foot on the accelerator. I reached down to the center console and flipped on the emergency flashers and siren. We had installed hands-free radio systems with Blue Tooth headsets in all of our department vehicles for just such an event as the one I was now involved in. I hoped it would make it easier for me to get control of the situation as I sped like a bat out of Hell towards the south side of Red River Falls.
"Dispatch, 17-01!"
"17-01, dispatch. Go ahead."
"Dispatch, contact Minnesota Highway Patrol! Have them contact all sheriffs' departments on their side of the border and establish traffic control points on all bridges and roads leading in from this side! Make sure they understand that both subjects are armed and dangerous!"
"10-4, 17-01. I have Minnesota State Patrol on point-to-point. Stand by for confirmation."
I was headed to the location of the suspects' house and hoped like hell I might be able to catch a glimpse of them before they got too far away. If they were already on the Minnesota side of the border, it might be too late. There are a hell of a lot more highways and byways that they could get lost in than there were in our state.
"17-01, dispatch."
"Dispatch, 17-01! Go ahead!"
"Minnesota State Patrol advises they have units in place on all bridges between Red River Falls and Fargo. Also, they advise that all bridges between Red River Falls and Cherokee Flats should be controlled within ten minutes. They are also asking if you want all border crossings manned as far south as Sioux Falls."
"10-4, dispatch! If they've got the personnel to do it, tell them to go ahead and shut it down! Contact the Border Patrol and advise all international crossings to be on the lookout as well, in case they break for Canada! Relay the vehicle info as soon as it comes across!"
"10-4, 17-01. We have the vehicle info now and will send it via the net. Suspect vehicle is a black 2014 Mercedes E-Class sedan. Mason County plates Lincoln-David-Adam-Seven-Six-Five. Registered to Ibrahim Walad-Hammadi, age 28 with D.O.B. of 4-16-87. Secondary suspect is Muchtada Walad-Hammadi, age 26 with D.O.B. of 3-21-89."
"10-4, dispatch."
I turned off Highway 120 and roared west on 25th Street Southwest towards a fairly affluent section of Red River Falls. The Hammadis lived on Fairway Drive, a long and winding cul-de-sac near the country club. As I pulled up to the front of the Hammadi's McMansion-style house, there were already several Red River Falls PD cars on site as well as Deputy Brian Kelley. Brian ran over to my vehicle as soon as he saw me.
"We just missed 'em, Pat! The father says they were just here, grabbed a couple of duffel bags and took off. He either doesn't know where they're headed or he's refusing to tell us! According to a neighbor, it looked like he was going to go with the sons but they took off as soon as they heard sirens! Red River PD is detaining the old man, for now! "
"What about the mother?"
"She's in the house, screaming and crying for all she's worth! Red River PD is still in the backyard with the girl's body and waiting for BCI!" Even from my Expedition I could smell that putrid odor.
"Which way were they headed?"
"One of the neighbors said they took off and headed east on 25th Street!"
"Alright, let's get turned around and head towards 120 again!"
"I'm right behind ya!"
I whipped the big Ford into a u-turn and nearly took out several mailboxes. I gunned it back down the cul-de-sac towards 25th street and turned east towards Hwy 120, which is also Broadway Avenue and the main north-south thoroughfare through Red River Falls. I was frantic, at this point, because I had absolutely no idea where the two men were headed and I was dreading the kind of threat they posed to the public. Fortunately, my luck was about to change.
"17-01, dispatch."
"Dispatch, 17-01. Go!"
"We just received multiple 9-1-1 calls of a black four-door sedan traveling southbound on Highway 120 at a high rate of speed. Vehicle matches the description."
Yes! They were still on this side of the border!
"Good copy, dispatch! All units! All units! Converge on Highway 120 and prepare to stop! Be advised suspects are armed and extremely dangerous! Be prepared to use deadly force if necessary!"
I looked in my rear view mirror, just for good measure, to make sure Brian Kelley was still behind me as we turned south from 25th onto Highway 120. We both floored it with lights flashing and sirens wailing as we flew by the Auto Mile and headed south out of town. I had no idea what the specs were on a Mercedes E-Class but I knew enough about the quality of Mercedes in general to know that it was a fine brand of automobile.
Both Brian and I quickly kicked it up to 120 miles per hour as we headed south. I was driving my 2014 Ford Expedition while Brian was operating a 2015 Ford Taurus security officer Interceptor Sedan, which had effectively replaced the venerable Ford Crown Victoria as the security officer cruiser of choice for many departments. Each shift lieutenant also drove an Expedition while each shift sergeant drove a Ford Explorer security officer Interceptor SUV. The shift deputies all drove the Taurus sedans. The purpose was to ensure, given the variety of terrain we cover, that we would have at least one 4-wheel drive vehicle available per shift.
"17-01 from 17-03," called Lieutenant Deputy Chris Hayes.
"17-03, go!"
"Pat, I have 17-04 and 17-19 both following me. We're gonna head west on State Highway 5 towards Royal Fork! That way we can cut down either county roads T-65, T-40 or T-15, if we have to, and hopefully stay ahead of them if they cut west."
"Stand by, 17-03. All units, all units! Are there any available deputies or state patrol south of county road Y-29?"
"10-4, 17-01! This is 17-15! I'm just pulling up to the intersection of Y-29 and Highway 120 along with State Patrol 83! State Patrol 95 is northbound about a mile behind us! We're setting up a TCP now!" A TCP is a Traffic Control Point, or road block in layman's terms.
"Do any of you have stop sticks you can deploy?"
"We do, 17-01, but they may not be effective. We can keep the subjects from going south on 120, pretty easily, but that gravel lot on the northwest corner of the intersection gives them a lot of room to bypass us!"
Fuck! I'd forgotten about that. Years ago the state Department of Transportation had set up a flat gravel area at that intersection. They often stockpiled road construction materials there, such as base rock for paved roads and gravel for the rural roads, and also sand during the winter.
The other problem was that Highway 120 was now four lanes wide. The junction of Y-29 was an at-grade intersection, meaning that the two roads met directly at a T-intersection. It had been a complete waste of money to widen the road to four lanes. But our state's lone congressman, Republican Representative Ben Reynolds, had been able to get an entire barrel of pork money to get it done. It was completely unnecessary to have the interstate linking Fargo, Red River Falls, Cherokee Flats and Sioux Falls along with a now four-lane US Highway 120.
Deputy Billy Shoemaker, 17-15, along with the two State Troopers could effectively block the road going south but there was no way they could cut them off with only three squad cars if the bad guys headed west. They could also jump the median and try to bypass the road block also. Hopefully, they would take Y-29 west if they did anything at all. Otherwise, we could be in for a long and dangerous chase. So "herding" the bad guys west on a narrow two-lane road could be our best bet. I cursed Congressman Reynolds under my breath for widening the damned road just because he could!
The good news was that Lieutenant Hayes (17-03), Lieutenant Angel Ryerson (17-04) and Deputy Amanda Comstock (17-19) were westbound on Highway 5 and had a good shot at cutting them off, provided the bad guys took the bait and headed west on Y-29. If there was a good time for any of this awful shit to happen, at least it happened near afternoon shift change when we had more deputies available.
"17-01 from 17-10, I have State Patrol 67 with me now and we are headed east on Y-29! We can easily cut 'em off at the junction of T-15, 40 or 65!"
Yes! Thank you, Sergeant Danny Larson! It was almost 45 miles from Highway 120 to Royal Fork but at least we had good options for an intercept!
"10-4, Danny! Be advised, these guys might be coming right for you!"
The other thing we had going in our favor was that, of all the roads we were dealing with, only Highway 120 and County Road T-40 were paved roads leading to the county south of Mason County. It was highly unlikely that the subjects would try their luck with the local dirt and gravel roads that could land them, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Both T-15 and T-65 dead ended at County Road Y-29.
"Dispatch, 17-01!"
"17-01, go ahead."
"Dispatch, activate the statewide alert system. Send out a notification that law enforcement is involved in a high speed chase with suspects who are armed and dangerous. Advise them that the chase is in progress near Highway 120 and Y-29. Give a vehicle description and be sure to tell the public not to approach or interfere in any way!"
"10-4, 17-01. The message will go out shortly."
Thank God for Liz Harrison, our lead dispatcher. She was cool as ice under the most extreme circumstances. A lot of people think it is easy for the dispatchers who are sitting in a nice air-conditioned office in front of a bank of computer screens and radios and just sit and listen to the action. But most dispatchers will tell you the anxiety of listening is almost as nerve-wracking as being there - only they have no way to help us other than to relay information. It can be very hard on them. For that reason we always make sure to invite them to attend any time we have a Critical Incident Stress Debriefing. Liz Harrison always makes sure her dispatchers attend if they are involved in a particularly bad call. They don't have to talk but just being there often helps a great deal.
The Statewide Emergency Notification System, or SENS, is a coordinated system that sends out emergency messages - either statewide or in a specific county or region. This is how we send out Amber Alerts, weather alerts or any other necessary emergency notifications. It has been very popular and the state has over 80% voluntary participation amongst all cell phone users and 100% automatic notification of all landline phones. The legislature passed a law this spring that will soon include mandatory participation amongst all cell phone providers. Liz would send out both an electronic message and recorded voice message, depending on the receiver.
WARNING! LAW ENFORCEMENT IN MASON COUNTY ARE CURRENTLY ENGAGED IN AN ACTIVE HIGH-SPEED PURSUIT! THIS PURSUIT IS OCCURRING IN THE VICINITY OF THE JUNCTION OF US HIGHWAY 120 AND COUNTY ROAD Y-29. SUSPECTS ARE DRIVING A BLACK 2014 MERCEDES SEDAN WITH LICENSE PLATE L-D-A-7-6-5. SUSPECTS ARE TO BE CONSIDERED ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS! ALL CITIZENS IN THE AREA SHOULD IMMEDIATELY EXIT THE ROADWAY AND AVOID THE PURSUIT! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO AID LAW ENFORCEMENT IN ANY MANNER! FOR YOUR SAFETY, AVOID OR LEAVE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY!
We began to crest a small hill. Once at the top, we could look far enough ahead to see the intersection of Highway 120 and Y-29. Even in the daylight, I could easily make out the flashing strobes of a deputy cruiser and two state patrol cruisers. A small dark shape was rapidly approaching the intersection, which I estimated was less than a half-mile front of me, with Brian and me rapidly closing. The Mercedes wasn't running as fast as I thought.
"17-01, 17-15! Subjects are approaching the intersection!"
"10-4, Billy! Be safe!"
I continued to rapidly close the distance, my gaze fixed less than the half mile ahead. As I descended the hill towards the intersection, it appeared the black sedan slowed way down. HOLY SHIT!! The unmistakable site of rapid puffs of light gray smoke and sparks indicated the sustained firing of automatic weapons! The sedan then sped off obviously squealing the tires and headed, sure enough, westbound on Y-29.
"All units, all units! This is 17-15! Shots fired! Multiple shots fired!"
"Billy, this is Quinn! Are you okay?"
"I'm okay, Pat, I'm okay!"
"What about the troopers?"
"Uh...I uh...I think they're okay, too! But I think all of our vehicles have been shot to hell, Pat!"
"Hang tight, Billy! I'll be there in a second!"
I already had the accelerator buried to the floor but the last quarter mile seemed to take forever to cross. I slowed rapidly and locked up the brakes, screeching to a halt. Billy sprinted to the passenger side of the Expedition and hopped in the front seat, clearly out of breath, his face nearly white as a sheet. As soon as he was in, I stomped the gas and sped off after the black Mercedes.
"Jesus-H-Christ! Those goddamned, rotten, raghead mother fuckers!!" Billy shouted, slamming a fresh magazine into his AR-15.
Behind me, it appeared that Brian Kelley had picked up one of the two troopers. Both Billy's cruiser and one of the State Patrol cruisers had been shot up bad with fluids leaking all over the place. The other State Patrol cruiser still appeared to be operating and followed behind Brian as we continued the chase.
"Are you okay? Are you hit, Billy?"
"No, not hit! I'm okay! Just seriously pissed-the-fuck-off! Those worthless, motherfucking camel humpers! Fucking fully automatic AK and an SKS!! How the fucking shit did they sneak those in here???"
"That's a helluva question, Billy, and one the BCI is gonna wanna find out, along with the ATF and FBI, I'd imagine!"
"Oh, my God, Pat! I swear to God I'm gonna put a fucking slug in both of their Haji skulls!!"
Normally, I probably would have found that funny. But I was too tense. The shit was real and it wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.
"How'd your windshield hold up?"
"My what?" Billy shouted.
"The windshield! How'd your damned windshield hold up?"
"Oh! Right! Fine! Really good, actually," Billy said, still trying to catch his breath.
"That's terrific to hear! Thank God! Money well spent, huh?"
"Damned right it is, Sheriff! You probably saved my life and both of those troopers' lives! They took cover behind my cruiser when those fucking camel jockeys showed up!"
I briefly pondered the thought while keeping my eyes on the sedan in front of me. Every frontline interceptor in our fleet had been retrofitted with thick, heavy bullet-resistant glass. It was an essential addition that I strongly felt would ultimately save the lives of my Deputies. Shortly after I became Sheriff, we had a very large seizure of methamphetamine worth over $1 million on the streets. Along with that seizure was approximately $630,000 in cash.
Once the trial was over, which went fairly quickly as one dealer after another rolled over on their superiors, we petitioned the US Attorney for a share of the seized and forfeited funds. The majority of the time in a federal case, the seized money just goes into the government coffers. But surprisingly, US Attorney Lane Danielsen was in a generous mood and granted my department $410,000. Since we were the petitioner for the funds, it went directly into my department accounts and bypassed the County Supervisors and the County Treasurer.
And so, I immediately pressed the funds into service by ordering replacement of the front windshields and both the front driver and passenger side door windows with ballistic glass that could withstand multiple impacts from rifles ranging from .22 caliber all the way to .308 caliber, and from pistols ranging from .22 caliber all the way up to .45 caliber.
We were closing quickly on the Mercedes and I wasn't sure why. Surely an E-Class sedan could hold a respectable high speed.
"One of those cocksuckers is in the back seat, Pat!" Billy exclaimed. "That way he can shoot from whatever side of the car he wants and doesn't have to shoot past his brother! That's why the little butt fucker was able to empty sixty goddamned rounds from both of those weapons!"
The good old Kalashnikov AK-47, the most mass-produced weapon in the world. The SKS was a cheaper Chinese variant but equally as deadly. They both fired the standard 7.62 X 39mm round that packed one hell of a wallop.
"17-01 from State Patrol 35."
"35 this is 17-01, go ahead!"
"Sheriff, I'm just about to the intersection of T-40 right now! I'm gonna plan like they're heading this way and I'll get stop sticks out right now!"
"Good copy, 35! Thanks for the assist!"
"No problem, Sheriff! We'll get these suns-a-bitches stopped!"
Stop sticks at the intersection of T-40 would definitely give them something to think about. We were quickly approaching the intersection of T-65. I could see lights flashing coming down from the north. It was a white SUV and a white cruiser, which meant that they had to be mine.
"Units southbound on T-65, identify!"
"This is 17-02, Pat! I've got 17-11 with me! We're gonna try to cut 'em off or at least join in!"
"You're not gonna make it! Stop where you are or they'll fire on you for sure! State patrol 35 is gonna throw out stop sticks! Just block the road so they see they can't get around you but stay the hell back!"
"Good copy, Pat! We'll stay put!"
Captain Ben Villanueva (17-02) and Deputy Chad Goodburn (17-11) were the two deputies on T-65.
"Shit! They're shooting at 'em, Pat!"
Sure enough, more rapid puffs of smoke burst from the passenger side of the sedan as they flew past the intersection of T-65.
"17-02! Are you guys okay?"
"10-4, Pat! The passenger side of my windshield took a hit but we're both operable and falling in behind you!"
"Good copy!"

Ramesh_Rocky · 26-03-2025, 01:28 PM

Just then, more smoke erupted from the sedan as the shooter blew out the back windshield of the sedan and was now actively shooting at us.

"Billy! If you grab that Persuader and stick it out the window, can you fire it?"
"Damned right I can!"
"Good! Give 'em something to at least think about! I'm gonna gun the accelerator while he's changing magazines!"
I was weaving all over the road. We were about a quarter-mile behind the sedan. One thing about firing an automatic rifle is a phenomenon known as "climb". The longer you fire an automatic weapon on full auto, the front barrel tends to move upwards due to the constant recoil. It is extremely difficult to accurately aim a fully-automatic weapon unless it is mounted to something solid, like a tripod with a fixed traversing and elevation mechanism. The T&E device, used on machine guns, keeps the automatic weapon firing in specific horizontal and vertical planes to keep the rounds shooting in a specific area. As such, the rounds from the AK were not accurate and were pretty much all flying overhead, with the exception of one or two rounds that hit my light bar.
The form in the backseat stopped shooting after two separate and distinct shooting bursts. I floored the accelerator and quickly caught up and held a distance of about 30 to 40 feet behind the sedan. Just as the subject in the back seat popped up to start shooting, Billy let loose with the big semi-automatic 12-gauge and fired six rapid blasts of .00 buckshot - peppering the back of the sedan and causing the trunk lid to pop open, obscuring the vision of the shooter in the back seat.
"Yeah, bitch! That's right, you little cocksucker! Run away, you fucking pussy! Woooo-hoooooo!" Billy shrieked as he slammed fresh shells into the shotgun.
That must have caught their attention because the E-Class started rapidly accelerating again. Soon, we were hitting speeds of 120 mph. Fortunately, Y-29 was fairly straight as it headed past large farms and sheep and cattle ranches.
"17-01, this is State Patrol 35! I've got the sticks out on the east side of the intersection of T-40!
"Good copy, 35! We're about 3 miles out!"
Most people have the impression that stop sticks are just a line of spikes that law enforcement put out to try and get someone to run over. However, each spike is also covered by a plastic tube that then lodges in the tire and keeps the hole wide open, which even defeats most types of run-flat tires.
I could see the flashing lights of Trooper 35's cruiser up ahead. His vehicle pretty much blocked the entire westbound lane of Y-29. With steep ditches on either side of the roadway and barely any shoulder to the old road, the Mercedes would only have one way to go and wouldn't be able to avoid the sticks without putting the sedan in the ditch. If he hugged the far left lane, he might be able to avoid blowing out all four tires but he would still be running on the rims of the right side wheels.
We were trailing by about a quarter mile when they got to the intersection. We could clearly see Trooper 35, whose name was Marv Rockney, with his gun drawn and using his cruiser as a shield. The driver of the sedan obviously realized he was about to run over the stop sticks and slowed down dramatically but too late as he swerved to the left to try and avoid them. Sparks flew as the two right side tires caught the sticks and blew out.
But the shooter in the back seat unleashed a heavy volley of automatic weapon fire, shredding into the state patrol cruiser and causing Trooper Rockney to fall over backwards into the ditch. Trooper Rockney would be unable to pull the sticks before we got there and so we had to stop and get them out of the way.
As we did so we heard him scream on the radio, "This is 35! I've been hit! I've been hit! Officer down!"
Billy jumped out of the Expedition to take care of the sticks as Brian Kelley pulled up behind us. Trooper 83 jumped out of Brian's vehicle and ran down the ditch to aid Trooper Rockney and Trooper 95 pulled his vehicle over and grabbed a medical aid kit before he, too, ran down to assist the fallen officer. All security officer, deputies and State Troopers are required to be certified First Responders in this state.
"Dispatch, 17-01! We have an officer down at the intersection of Y-29 and T-40! Roll EMS and launch Eagle Star to the scene immediately!"
"10-4, 17-01. We'll be paging Martindale Fire, Red River Falls Fire Department and Eagle Star."
Billy jumped back in and I floored it again to catch up to the wounded sedan.
"17-10, this is 17-01! Hold fast near the intersection of 29 and T-15! Establish a block! They're coming right for you! They hit the stop sticks and are running on two wheels!"
"10-4, Pat! We're a ways east of there already, but we'll hold our position!"
Brian Kelley, Ben Villanueva and Chad Goodburn continued to follow us. Suddenly, the last of the rubber of both tires on the black sedan flew off and the sedan was now riding a wave of sparks coming from the bare rim on the asphalt. The steering was obviously becoming more and more difficult and the driver was desperately trying to keep the sedan going straight but he was steadily losing the fight.
To my horror, there was a large John Deere tractor towing a large farm implement and starting to pull out of a field and onto the roadway. He realized too late that the chase was in progress and probably hadn't heard the message. He stopped dead in the driveway with the nose of the tractor sticking part way out into the westbound lane. The driver of the sedan over corrected trying to go around the tractor, causing it to swerve wildly before making contact with the gravel shoulder of the roadway and striking and knocking over a road sign. His bare rims were stuck in the soft shoulder of the road and he had no traction to get out.
As I drove around the nose of the tractor myself, the driver was just getting out of the Mercedes and the second shooter was scrambling out of the vehicle on the passenger side. The driver, positioned between his open door and the vehicle, leveled his own AK-variant assault weapon and loosed a burst of automatic fire point blank. My windshield clouded over from the multiple impacts and I lost site of the shooter.
I punched the accelerator once again, knowing I was pointed directly at the vehicle and immediately brought the Expo up to full speed and T-boned the big Ford violently into the side of the Mercedes, driving it forward a good 25 to 30 feet across a second driveway and nearly into the ditch. I didn't stop pushing until I had slammed the Expo and Mercedes into a large tree by the entrance to the field. There was a massive "BANG!" as my airbag simultaneously deployed but, somehow, the passenger side bag failed to activate. I was stunned by the airbag and momentarily lost track of my senses.
Billy immediately bailed out of the Expedition, with his Glock drawn, as Brian Kelley pulled around to the left and slammed the brakes in front of the pulverized Mercedes. Billy headed down into the ditch while Brian exited from his side and moved forward, tactically, with his Glock in front of him. The impact of the crash had flung the backseat shooter forward and down the side of the grassy embankment. He was stunned but not critically injured.
The shooter immediately grabbed his nearby AK-47. As he tried to figure out who to shoot at first, both Brian Kelly and Billy Shoemaker let loose an intense, rapid fire barrage of .40 caliber rounds. The shooter, who turned out to be Muchtada Walad-Hammadi, was dead before he even hit the ground. Of the 30 shots Brian and Billy had fired in less than 5 seconds, 21 had found their mark and turned Muchtada's head and torso into bloody Swiss cheese. The shooter had fallen backwards against the steep ditch embankment and almost appeared to be standing - except for the fact that he was dead. No wonder so many of Brian and Billy's bullets were on target.
"Pat! Pat! Are you alright?" Ben Villanueva had arrived and threw open the door to the Expedition. I fumbled with the seatbelt and struggled to get the cobwebs from the airbag explosion out of my head.
I stumbled out and regained my shaky footing. "Yeah, Ben. I'm okay, I'm okay."
"I called for additional ambulances from Royal Fork and wherever we can get 'em. Danny and Trooper 67 are headed this way. Trooper Rockney is hurt really bad, too. They're setting up for the helicopter, which will be there in about 5 to 10 minutes."
"Okay, sounds good," I said, still trying to get my bearings.
"Oh, sweet Jesus," Ben whispered in horror. "Look."
The front of the Expedition had only slightly crumpled from the impact, as it was designed to, due to the large combination grill protector/push bumper. But it had penetrated and become entangled in the side doors of the Mercedes.
And sandwiched between the Expedition and the Mercedes...was Ibrahim Walad-Hammadi. The bumper had caught him waist-high. His body, too, was enmeshed amongst the twisted metal of the Mercedes and the Expedition. But, morbidly, he was still alive. Somehow, the pressure of being pinched between the two vehicles was enough to keep blood flowing to his vital organs...for now. If the two vehicles were separated, he would surely die within seconds.
I walked slowly to the front as Ben and Chad kept their guns drawn on Ibrahim. The weapon he had been firing at me had been thrown a good 30 feet when I slammed into him. The side of his abdomen had ruptured and a good portion of his intestines had fallen out. But beyond that, there was very little blood. Most likely, the abdominal portion of his aorta and vena cava were completely pinched off.
"Ambulances are on their way," I said softly, "but I think you probably know that you're not gonna make it. Even if you're still alive when they get here, you're probably not gonna survive getting you untangled."
"That...is fine...with me...Sheriff," Hammadi struggled. "Although...I'm sure...it gives you...some satisfaction...knowing you took...my life."
"No. No, it does not. I'm going to be wondering why this happened for years to come."
"It...happened...because it was...God's will."
"You expect me to believe God wanted you to do what you did? Especially to your own sister?"
"It was...for her own...good." He was struggling to breathe.
"How can what you did to her possibly be for her own good?"
"She was...corrupted...by this culture...by Tristan. She was...no longer...my sister. This place...had turned her...into a whore. She...looked like...a whore...she dressed...like a whore...she smelled like a whore...she acted...like a whore. She...turned away...from her faith...from her family. She deserved...to die...like a whore."
"So you murdered your sister and her fiancé because of the way she dressed and because of the man she fell in love with?"
"He...was not...her fiancé. He...never...asked for...her hand. My father...would...never...have given it...to an...infidel."
"Was it worth it? Are you happy with the fact that taking their lives is going to cost you yours? It already cost your brother his life. He's lying dead in the ditch behind you."
"My brother...has died...firm in...his faith. I...will meet him...in paradise."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes...I'm sure. My...soul...is prepared."
"Well, it won't be much longer now."
"I shall...welcome death...when it..." He never finished. His head flopped down and his torso fell forward, resting on the hood of the Expedition. His eyes were still open but quickly glazed over. I couldn't help but stare as I watched the color and the life drain from Ibrahim's body.
"What a waste," I said as Ben led me away. "What a fucking waste."
"Hey, Pat," Danny Larson said. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. Just a little stunned from the crash and the airbag blowing up in my face. Anybody got any word on Trooper Rockney?"
"Yeah, Eagle Star just picked him up and took him in to Holy Family. Sounds like the other two Troopers got most of the bleeding stopped. He took a couple rounds in each arm and got peppered in the legs real bad. But they got tourniquets on quick. His vest did the rest."
"Thank God. Let's hope he makes it. Two funerals are going to be bad enough."
"You got that right," Ben agreed.
*****
The Bureau of Criminal Investigation, or BCI, was on scene within two hours. They had sent multiple units to investigate due to the presence of three separate crime scenes that they had to process. Nearly every investigator, forensics analyst, and a whole host of other personnel from BCI were called in to assist, given the enormity of the crimes that had been committed. Agents from the FBI and ATF in Minneapolis were reportedly en route and would be on scene within the hour.
I stayed on scene long enough to answer questions from about five separate investigators, which I thought was overly excessive. Finally, about 20:00 that evening, I turned things over to Ben Villanueva and the lead BCI investigator for the site, Tom Forsythe.
At one point, I took advantage of a lull in the action while waiting for BCI and the Feds to arrive and called Shannon. She was ecstatic to hear from me, as always, but had no idea at that point what had happened since she was at work. I told her that something major had happened and that she would be hearing about it soon, if she hadn't already. I told her that I just wanted to let her know that I was okay and would call her after I got back to Red River Falls.
To her credit, Shannon didn't push it and just told me she loved me and would wait for my call.
Since my vehicle was involved in the shooting it needed to stay at the scene and would eventually be towed to the state crime lab. Besides, with a completely clouded over windshield, the Expedition wasn't drivable anyway. Danny Larson volunteered to give me a ride back to Red River Falls. I told him to go ahead and take me straight to Tristan's house so I could see how the investigation was coming there.
"You sure you're doing okay, Pat?" Danny asked as we left the scene.
"I dunno, Danny. I think so. But I'm not really sure. I don't really know what bothers me more - what happened to me or what happened to Tristan, ya know?"
Danny let out a long, slow sigh. "Yeah, I hear ya. Never thought something like this would happen to us. You always think it is going to be some bigger city and department that has to deal with something like this. It's what I always liked about Red River Falls - nothing ever happens in a town like this."
"I guess you could say that nothing like this is ever supposed to happen in a town like Red River Falls."
We rode in silence for a few minutes before I decided I needed to cut through the tension.
"Was your buddy Daulton Anderson one of the flight medics on the helicopter today?"
"Uh, no, he only works on the helicopter one or two days a month. He was actually in one of the ambulances that Red River Falls Fire sent to the scene. He ended up getting stuck hauling in both of the shooters to the morgue. Kind of gross, if you ask me, but Daulton said he's never been more pleased to have to drop someone off at the morgue than those two."
"Nice," I said, chuckling. It actually felt good to laugh a bit. "Say, how are things going between him and his wife, Darla?"
"Things are going quite well, actually. They're expecting their first child together."
"Jesus," I chuckled. "I guess those two didn't waste any time."
"You're telling me! She's only about six weeks along and their wedding was back in June. He just told me a couple of days ago. The rest of the family didn't even know about it, at the time he told me, and they haven't told Darla's kids, Natalie and Nathan."
"Do he and Darla ever worry about Randy?"
"Who, Daulton? Why? Haven't you heard?"
"Heard what?"
Now Danny chuckled. "You seriously haven't heard what happened to Randy?"
"No. Clue me in."
"Okay, okay," Danny chuckled. He was bordering on laughing hysterically as he drove. "So, Randy got convicted last spring, right? They got him on a felony assault charge for beating Darla to a pulp. Next, they convicted him of interstate flight since he bailed out of Royal Fork and made a run for Kalispell, Montana where his sister lives. She waits until he's asleep, calls 9-1-1 and doesn't answer. They send a couple of cops over to her house to check out a '9-1-1 hang up' and she leads them right to the spare bedroom where Randy's out cold. Talk about a rude awakening!"
"Yeah, no shit!"
"So anyway, there's like zero room at the state pen up here. So they end up shipping him all the way down to Sioux Falls and paying them to house him down there. So, anyway, (*chuckling*) Randy's in there for a few weeks and he starts getting 'the urge', if you know what I mean. So, for some reason, they've got Randy in a minimum security wing. Why? I don't have the first clue. But anyway, minimum security is where they also house most of the homosexual prisoners. You know, to try and keep them away from the really violent cons and predators, right?"
"Sure," I agreed.
"So Randy, by this time he doesn't care, and he tries to get in good with the queers. He's all really nice to them and stuff. Pretty soon he strikes up a thing with one of them and gets his knob polished on a regular basis. Well, down there, the Aryans pretty much run the place so if you wanna do anything with anybody, you gotta go through the Aryans. And those guys run the pimping trade in Sioux Falls!"
"Go on," I encouraged.
"So, (*giggling*) a couple of the Aryan dudes figure out that one of their bitches is giving it away for free. So they buy or bribe their way into the minimum security wing and they catch Randy at his job in the kitchen. They absolutely beat the fuck out of Randy Jones! They tell him that if he ever propositions one of their bitches again without paying up he's gonna get his throat slit. There's also a rumor that they may or may not have forced Randy to eat a dick or two that day, not that he'd ever admit to it regardless."
"Boy, I bet ol' Randy learned a tough lesson that day," I surmised.
"No, Pat! He didn't! (*laughing*) That's the best part! Old Randy has as big of a Napoleonic complex if there ever was one! I mean, we're talking major Little Man issues. So, what does he decide to do?"
"Go out and get revenge?"
"Bingo! He either makes, steals or buys some kind of a shank in there. Then he bribes his way into the Gen Pop, walks right up to one of the guys who beat him up, and proceeds to stab the dude right... in...the...throat," he emphasized, gesturing. "And he does this right in front of the entire Gen Pop during lunch time, no less! So every C.O. in the cafeteria sees him do this!"
"No...fucking...way! Did the guy live or die?"
"Miraculously, the guy lived! Randy barely, and I mean just barely, missed the guy's carotid artery and jugular vein. He only got about two stabs in before he got piled on by a bunch of Aryan dudes who pretty much beat the living shit out of him for a second time before the C.O.'s cleared everybody out of there with a couple of rubber-filled grenades and flash bangs. I'm sure he got some serious jail cred for doing it, but damn!"
"So, I'm sure they brought him up on charges, right?" I asked.
"Oh, absolutely! They even have a courtroom right in the prison down there! He didn't even bother fighting the charges! He knew they had him dead to rights, so it was like, 'what's the point'? The only problem was, his fresh-out-of-law-college public defender didn't tell him what the true consequences were and the only trick the rookie lawyer knew was to get Randy to plead guilty to felony aggravated assault instead of an attempted murder rap. So, if you combine the felony assault conviction for beating up Darla with a felony eluding and interstate flight conviction, AND throw in yet another unrelated aggravated assault charge, what does that all add up to? BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"

Ramesh_Rocky · 26-03-2025, 03:44 PM

"Three strikes and you're out!" I applauded and laughed. "Career felon, automatic life sentence! No wonder the prosecution didn't push an attempted murder rap! They got him for life, anyway! Oh, my God! That's one of the most beautiful stories I have ever heard!"

"With the possibility of parole, however", Danny added. "But no matter what, it is going to be at least 25 years before he ever sees the light of day again. So Daulton, Darla, the kids and even I, for that matter, don't have to worry about Randy Jones for a long, long time."
"That's great to hear, man. It really, really is."
Danny finished the story just as we pulled up to 832 North Monroe Avenue. The house was a simple brick one-and-a-half story home with large dormer windows on the second floor that gave the place an elegant New England look to it. Numerous people were bustling in, out and around the residence. As we got out of Danny's Explorer, we were greeted by none other than the Chief of security officer for Red River Falls, Roy Banks, and one of his two Captains, Pete Sturgeon. Both had extremely somber looks on their faces and the levity that Danny and I had shared on the way here was short-lived and gone.
"Pat," Banks said as he extended his hand. I took it. "I speak for every last man and woman on my department when I say how deeply, deeply sorry we are. I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but in times like this we all gotta come together. If there is anything, and I mean anything, that my department can do for yours, please don't hesitate to ask."
"Thanks, Chief. That means a lot."
I turned to my right and saw Pete Sturgeon extending his hand. I took his, also.
"I really don't have the words, Pat, so I'll just echo what Chief Banks said. Please do let us know if there is anything we can do to help. I hope you don't feel offended when I say that it feels like we lost one of our own today, too. At the root of it all, Pat, we're all on the same side."
"Those are very warm sentiments, Pete, and I truly appreciate it."
"Pat," Chief Banks said gesturing to his right, "this is Gregory Skerritt. He's the Agent-in-Charge from BCI. They're processing the house right now but he'll answer any questions you may have."
"Sheriff," Skerritt said, extending his hand, "I, too, want to say how sorry all of us at BCI really are. As much as we all want to do our jobs, we hate having to process scenes where an officer went down in the line of duty."
"Thank you, Mr. Skerritt. Can you just kind of give me the whole run down on what you know so far?"
"Absolutely, if think you're ready. I'm not gonna lie to you, Sheriff. It's pretty gruesome in there."
"I'm ready. I need to see it with my own eyes."
"Okay, then. Follow me to the BCI truck. I'll have you put on some non-latex gloves and some booties for your feet, as well as a disposable surgical gown. We're just about finished with the initial processing but we don't want to take any chances of cross-contamination between your scene on the road and this one."
"Very well. Understood."
A few minutes later and I was dressed out. Danny decided not to come in. He wanted to remember Tristan the way he was the last time he saw him.
I followed Skerritt to the front entrance. The stairway leading to the second floor met at a landing directly in front of the entrance. To the left was a dining room, which led to the kitchen in the rear of the home. To the right was a fairly good-sized living room with a fireplace at the rear. The walls around the fireplace, as well as the brick hearth and mantle, were all pock-marked from numerous high-caliber rifle fire. A yellow tarp covered the body, except for the right hand that stuck out from underneath it. There was an unbelievable amount of blood all over the walls and a massive pool of blood underneath and around the body - so much so it had been seeping underneath the sliding door that led to the back patio. The air was heavy with the metallic stench of blood and gunpowder.
"Okay," Skerritt said. "I'll get started. There was no sign of forced entry, none that we could find anyway. So we assume that the shooters were invited into the home, probably by the female."
"Miriam," I said.
"Who?"
"The female. She has a name. Miriam."
"Uh, I'm confused. I was told her name was Nazeem."
"She changed her name when she became engaged to Tristan and started going to church with him. She decided to convert and took on a more Christian name. It became legal about two weeks ago."
Skerritt looked at me for a moment, nodded his head, and proceeded. "So Miriam probably answered the door and invited her brothers into the home. We don't believe they were here for very long."
We walked closer to the body.
"Shortly after they arrived," Skerritt continued, "an argument ensued. One of the brothers was seen wearing a trench coat. He was almost certainly hiding the weapon when they entered. From what we could see, Tristan was blocking the female - uh, I mean, Miriam - and took several rounds to the abdomen. The shots put him down on the floor, of course. One of the shooters then proceeded to grab the girl and dragged her outside to their car.
"We ended up getting video of the entire scene in the living room on video but the angles of the cameras didn't allow much to be seen at the front entrance. Were you aware, Sheriff, that there was a surveillance system in the home?"
"Yes, I was. Tristan confided to me that he had reason to believe his life was in danger, as well as that of his fiancée. So I recommended he talk to a friend of mine who now specializes in that sort of thing. Kind of surprised she overlooked the front entry way."
"There was actual video from the outside that captured the two men entering the home, as well as driving up to the house. It was just hard to see who actually answered the door, is all, but we're pretty sure it was Miriam."
"I see. Anything else?"
"Uh, yeah, there is. Tristan didn't die right away. The second shooter probably thought he was dead or else thought that he would be dead soon. Out of twenty-six rounds fired from the weapon, only 8 or 9 actually struck Tristan. Our ballistics expert, Lee Ireland, thinks the shooter was spraying back-and-forth as he shot; like something out of Hollywood. The final shot was fired point blank at close range and was a shot to the head. He ended up shooting Tristan just below the left cheekbone and it exited just in front of his right ear.
"That's significant, Sheriff, because he would assume Tristan to be incapacitated, if not killed. However, the shot missed his brain entirely. As the shooters left with the girl, he dialed 9-1-1 from his cordless land line. Even though he couldn't talk, he knew an officer would be sent to check out a 9-1-1 hang up. Then, he painstakingly typed a text message that was found on his smart phone when the PD arrived. He identified the shooters and even knew the make and model of the car. In a way, he captured his own killers. But by the time EMS arrived, he had already expired."
I knelt down by the body and proceeded to lift the corner back and started to expose his head.
"Uh, I wouldn't do that, Sheriff," Skerritt warned. "It's pretty gruesome under there."
I simply looked over my right shoulder and gave Skerritt a "back off" look.
"Okay, then. Have it your way. I'll be outside."
I pulled the yellow tarp back further and gazed one final time at Tristan's face. He was such a handsome man in life and was so thoroughly traumatized and violated at the end of it. His eyes, so utterly lifeless, seemed to stare at something thousands of miles away. His courage and willpower astounded me; to be able to be in such pain and agony after being shot by a large caliber weapon and still have the ability to call 9-1-1 and type out a message identifying his attackers. He was truly the very model of what a Law Enforcement Officer should be - even until the very end.
I placed the tarp back over his face, knowing that I was almost surely looking at him for the final time. Almost certainly, he would have a closed casket funeral, which was probably a blessing. Everyone could remember him the way he was in life and not in death.
"What can you tell me about Miriam?" I asked Skerritt after I went back outside.
"The two brothers dragged her from the home and took her back to the family's residence. She resisted the entire time, sounds like, even with a bullet wound to the leg. Apparently, when they got to the house, the mother tried to intervene on the daughter's behalf. The father held the mother back, and the two brothers started beating their sister within an inch of her life. Apparently, she refused to go back to Dubai with them. So they took her out back, doused her in gasoline and lit her on fire. Then, they hauled ass. We were able to determine that they planned on catching a United flight out of MSP. Fortunately, your Deputy's ability to identify the attackers kept them from getting too far. Absolutely unbelievable, if you ask me."
"Yes, yes it is," I agreed. "Thanks for giving me the walkthrough."
"Sorry it was necessary, Sheriff. Oh, by the way, the shooters; what exactly were they doing in Red River Falls? It's obvious they were quite affluent."
"Their father, Khalid Hammadi," I explained, "owns mineral rights to a number of oil shale tracts up north. He's been a key figure in helping develop some and has been a wealthy oil man most of his life. Until today, he and his family were well-liked and highly respected in Red River Falls. This is going to come as a huge shock to everyone."
"I see," Skerritt said. "Damned shame. It'll be interesting to see if the sons were somehow radicalized."
His remark caught me by surprise but also made sense. Did we have a terror problem on our hands? If so, what should we expect from the rest of the family?
I got back to the BCI van and quickly tore off the gloves, gown and booties. Danny hadn't said a word the entire time since we got here. I could see tears in his eyes and knew that he was struggling with everything that had happened today. Tristan wasn't Danny's best friend in the world but the two of them had shared a genuine friendship and socialized often with other members of my department.
"You gonna be okay, Danny?"
"Yeah, Pat, I'm okay. I just wish we could have done more. I'm in awe of what Tristan did today. He went down fighting for his girl, ya know? Absolutely nothing more noble than that."
"Damned right he did. We may not have caught the bastards if it wasn't for him."
"If anything ever happens to me," Danny said, choking up, "I only hope that it means something like Tristan's death did."
I couldn't think of anything to say at that moment. Danny was expressing what every LEO inevitably thinks about and hopes for - that if we have to give our lives that it at least has some sort of meaning or purpose. Even in death, Tristan had managed to ensure that justice was served. All I could do was just reach out and bring Danny in for a hug. We probably embraced for almost a minute with everyone, including neighbors and other bystanders, watching. Of those who saw us, many started quietly crying.
"Pat?" a voice called from behind me. I turned and saw the county administrator, and my good friend, Mitch Monahan standing there.
"Mitch," I said, reaching out. Mitch ignored my hand and grabbed me for a hug also, though shorter, but equally as heartfelt.
"God as my judge, Pat, I don't have the words. I really don't."
"None of us do, Mitch."
"I was out on the highway scene for a while. I didn't want to bother you while BCI were questioning you. I can't believe what a beating your vehicles took today. Yours wasn't too bad, but Deputy Shoemaker's car was outrageous!"
"Yeah, that ballistic glass is something else, isn't it?"
"Hell yes it is, Pat. I'm sorry I ever questioned you about it. I feel like an ass now. One of those things you never know you need until you need it, right?"
"Well, Mitch, I just got to thinking one day about how many law enforcement officers are killed on an annual basis and I was struck by the numbers of them who were killed in their own vehicles. A lot of them get shot during car stops when a perp gets out of the car and starts shooting right away. The front windshields are especially vulnerable."
"It was a hell of an idea, Pat. You probably saved yours and Billy's lives today. Does the ballistic glass affect the vehicles much?"
"How so? Driving, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"It definitely adds a lot of weight but we made up for that with the heavier struts and shocks. Tires need to be watched more closely for additional wear and to make sure they stay rotated and balanced. Same thing for the front end alignment."
"How much weight does it add?"
"It varies on the type of vehicle. I didn't have driver and passenger side glass added to my and Ben Villanueva's vehicles, only the windshields. The rest of the Expeditions, Explorers and Tauruses all have both front and side ballistic glass. The glass weighs about 35 pounds per square foot, though."
"Wow," Mitch said, impressed. Then he changed gears a bit. "Have you talked to your fiancée yet, Pat?"
"Yes, briefly, when I was still out at the scene. She knows something big happened but doesn't know the enormity of it yet."
"I wouldn't bet on that. The local TV and radio stations have been flooding the airwaves for the last four hours, at least. Media are pouring in from all over. Somehow, word got out that a possible terrorist attack occurred here."
"Well, that's not exactly far from the truth now, is it?"
Mitch was shocked. "Jesus, Pat. You're not really gonna spin it that way, are you?"
"Well, let's see, Mitch. A beautiful Arab woman falls in love with one of my deputies. She's a '., no less, and my deputy is a Christian. She decides to leave her faith and her family to be with and marry this man. The family, especially her oldest brothers, hate this idea and do everything they can to threaten them. When their threats fail, they spring into violent action and end up murdering the man and woman whom they discovered they couldn't control. Seems like the very definition of terrorism to me, doesn't it?"
"Pat, listen to me," Mitch said softly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. "We have a lot of Middle Eastern people who are living and working in this area because of the oil shale boom. Many of them, like the Hammadis, have been in this country for well over a decade and many more who are life-long citizens and love this country as much as you and I do. We can't afford to offend them and turn this whole thing into something it is not."
"What is this whole thing, Mitch, if it is something that it isn't? What the hell does that even mean?"
"I mean, Pat, that we don't need to blow this out of proportion."
"I think the two shooters did that when they blew away one of my deputies and then kidnapped, beat the crap out of and then burned their own sister to death."
"In their culture they consider it an honor killing. They felt their family was disgraced by her actions."
"Honor killing? Explain to me where the honor is in what they did, Mitch," I said, getting testy.
Mitch held up his hands. "Pat, truce, okay? Look, I'm your friend. I've always liked you and always admired the job you've done as a deputy and as Sheriff. You're a helluva lawman. But my one criticism of you is that you sometimes get too passionate about things and lead with your heart instead of your head. We have 45,000 people in this entire county who need you to lead with both right now."
"So, what are you saying, Mitch?"
"What I'm saying, Pat, is focus on the crime and not the culture. Focus on the actions of the men and not their religion. We have an awful lot of good people in this county we have to look out for. I confess that I don't know what it is like to be in your shoes right now having lost one of your own. But I do understand how angry you are. The bad guys are gone. Two families and our entire community are going to be devastated by this. Please, Pat. Don't put any targets on our citizens by blowing this up any further."
What Mitch was saying made a lot of sense. As Sheriff, I would have a lot of explaining to do in the coming days, weeks and months. He was right. I was extremely emotional right now. For the third time in my career, I had taken the life of another human being. For the third time, I had done it to protect others. Mitch was right. I needed to cool off. I needed to get my head straight. And I needed to get my anger under control.
"I'm gonna need you to help me keep my sanity in the next few days and weeks, Mitch."
"I'll be here for whatever you need, Pat." And then we hugged again. "In the meantime," Mitch said, as we broke our embrace, "I think I see just what you need."
I turned to my right to see Shannon running up the sidewalk. She had one hand over her mouth and a look of extreme pain and anguish on her face. She knew. She obviously knew. All I could do was just hold my arms open and swallow her in a hug that I never wanted to let go of. The warmth of her body was a welcome and soothing relief from the cold rage that I had been feeling. Sometimes, only the touch of the woman you love can soothe and calm the beast in a man and I needed her more than ever.
We probably held each other for close to five minutes, with Shannon sobbing profusely and me with tears streaking down my face. security officer officers, deputies, BCI and other agents and civilians all stopped what they were doing and just stared at us. We were alone in our own universe, though, and couldn't care less. No one said a word. For most of them, they undoubtedly knew how we felt; understanding for me at the horror of having to take a human life, no matter how justified; empathy for Shannon being the loved one of someone who risks their life.
When Shannon finally composed herself, she took both of my hands in hers and led me to her vehicle. "Come on, babe. Let's get you home. You must be exhausted."
"Truthfully, sweetheart, I don't care where we go as long as you're there."
We rode mostly in silence. Shannon drove with her left hand and held onto my hand in a death grip with the other. She was trembling by the time we got to Rattlesnake Road to turn for home. Just hours ago I passed by the turnoff for my home while engaged in a high-speed pursuit of some really bad men and I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability knowing how closely they passed by the house where my soon-to-be wife and children and I sleep. The wolves are never really that far from the front door, I guess.
Shannon had sent Bridget and the boys to her parents, Jack and Suzanne Sullivan's ranch. They were only too happy to welcome them all in. Jack and Suzanne had become absolutely wonderful grandparents to my two boys, Nick and Jake, and treated them like they did Bridget. Nick, my oldest, really hit it off well with Jack and loved helping him do chores around the ranch and riding with Jack on his numerous tractors and other machinery.
Shannon led me upstairs to our bedroom. I locked my Glock 22 in its safe and set my equipment belt in its proper place next to the bed. I stripped down to my skivvies and headed for the bathroom where I hoped a good, hot shower would help relieve some of my stress. I dropped my boxers and stepped into the steamy stall and felt the water cascade all over my body. Suddenly, I was almost overcome by the sensation of all that adrenaline finally leaving my body. I had been so amped up and for so long that I now realized I was crashing hard.
I had been standing there in the shower for several minutes and didn't even notice when Shannon had slipped into the shower behind me. Suddenly, I felt her body melt into mine as she hugged me from behind. It was an overwhelmingly pleasant sensation with the hot water flowing over me with Shannon clinging to me, as well.

Ramesh_Rocky · 26-03-2025, 04:29 PM

I turned around to face her. As always, it is an earth-shattering experience just looking at her magnificent body in the nude. She was wet from head to toe and looked absolutely stunning as she ran her fingers through her hair. I watched intently as the water dripped from her perked nipples and the way it streaked down her tummy and that sexy bump above her pubic area. All I could do was just soak in the sight and feel a brief rush of terror at the thought of never being able to see Shannon in her magnificent glory again.

Without warning, a wave of emotion and lust washed over me and I almost instantly started sporting a rock hard erection. Shannon must have felt the same emotions, too, because she reached down and gripped my manhood while at the same time my fingers reached her labia and found wetness that wasn't from the shower. She stood there and lightly massaged my penis while I continued to stroke her lips and her clit as she adjusted her stance wider to allow me more access.
Suddenly, her breathing quickened to short gasps for air and she closed her eyes for a moment. She was on the brink of orgasm but stopped short. She quickly reached behind me to shut off the shower, exited the stall and handed me my terry cloth robe while she quickly donned hers. I was somewhat disappointed as I quickly dried off, using the robe and a towel. Shannon returned to me, however, and kissed me deeply and passionately while stroking my shaft again.
She turned and led me by the hand back to our bed, which was already turned down. She forced me down on the bed and quickly opened my robe, fully exposing me. Then, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, she dropped her own robe and straddled me, leaning forward to kiss me deeply again. Effortlessly, she slid her own hips back and expertly guided my rock hard penis into her moist, velvety vagina in one smooth motion.
She lay forward on my chest, grabbing both sides of my face with her hands and kissing me with abandon while I wrapped my arms completely around her and held her so tight a tornado could not take her from me. We quickly established a rhythm where she would slide her hips backwards as I thrust upward. Slow and rock steady; we both savored the passion of our kisses and the exquisite sensations of her warm, tight and soaking-wet pussy gliding effortlessly up and down my rock hard shaft. Soon, we broke our kiss and lay there grinding one another cheek-to-cheek as our breathing picked up quickly. Both of us relished the building of our respective orgasms.
I could feel her vaginal walls tighten like a vice as her relief approached. I could feel the building tension in my big, heavy testicles as the fluid prepared to launch its release.
"Oh, God, Patrick!" she whispered, clutching my hair. "Oh, you make me feel so good! Oh, God, it feels so good!"
I began grunting and soon a shock wave of intense sensation rocketed from my groin to the tip of my penis as I began shooting every last drop deep inside of her. Shannon quickly sat straight up and began grinding and squeezing for all she was worth, willing every last bit of my seed into her womb as her own orgasm washed over her. Wave after wave consumed her and she viciously reached back and dug her fingernails into my thighs, which added to the ferocity of my own cumming. Her body visibly trembled as she savored every last sensation. The room was heavy with the scent of our sex, which only prolonged our shared bliss.
Finally, after a good minute or two, Shannon collapsed back on top of me and we again embraced each other as though for the last time. Before I knew it, she was softly crying again, which eventually built into all-out sobbing. Her body was wracked with spasms as she cried profusely. The sense of finality and mortality - that moments like we had just had while making love could come to a permanent end - was suddenly a stark reality.
"Oh, Patrick," she sobbed. "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you."
"Don't worry, sweetheart," I said, stroking her hair and back. "I'm not going to let anything happen to me. I promise."
We laid there for a good 15 or 20 minutes before we finally settled into a spoon position and pulled a sheet over us. Almost immediately both of us crashed hard into a deep sleep, the stress and insanity of the day finally taking its toll on us.
It was not a blissful sleep as both Shannon and I woke several times during the night from horrific dreams. She dreamt that it was me who was killed defending her that day instead of Tristan and Miriam. As for me, I dreamt several times of slamming my Expedition into the side of that Mercedes - only this time, I didn't have a ballistic windshield and the bullets tore into the Expo, shredding both me and Billy Shoemaker.
Neither Shannon nor I were in a lively mood the next morning after having been robbed of so much sleep. Even the comfort of sleeping next to her nude body didn't have the sedating effect it normally did. And so, Shannon called in to Holy Family and took an unscheduled personal day, which no one at the hospital even balked at. Her supervisor, the Director of Nursing for the entire hospital, basically told Shannon to come back when she was ready and that they would cover for her no matter how long she needed. I was grateful for that.
I hadn't set the alarm and we ended up sleeping past eight o'clock, when we both finally reached a point where we could actually get back to sleep from the nightmares. I called into the office and told my secretary, Karen Landingham, that I would probably be in around 10 o'clock. She seemed genuinely surprised that I was coming in at all but I knew things around the office would be chaotic if I didn't.
When I was finally dressed, ready and had a couple cups of coffee in me, I kissed Shannon good-bye and she hugged me as though it was for the last time. It wasn't, I promised, and I told her that I would try to get home early just to prove it. She watched me like a hawk as I pulled out of the driveway in my Ford F-150 Crew Cab and didn't stop watching until I was out of sight. I know because I watched her just as close in my rear view mirrors. She was going to leave soon, anyway, to go pick up the kids from Jack and Suzanne's. So I felt better knowing that she was at least going to have something to do and be around people she loved and trusted.
Sure enough, there was an absolute media circus surrounding the courthouse when I arrived at work. TV trucks and vans from as far away as Minneapolis, Des Moines, Omaha, Denver, Cheyenne, Billings and everywhere in between were camped out in front of the building. Trucks with huge satellite uplink dishes were beaming reports all across the country and around the globe. Just as Mitch feared, it was getting blown up from a cultural family dispute to a domestic terrorism incident.
I broke my own rules and decided to park my personal vehicle in the Sally Port, which is a two-stall garage where prisoners are brought into for processing into our old, cramped county jail. Only a few more months until the opening of our new public safety center that will house a new jail, sheriff's offices, security officer department, fire station, National Guard armory, YMCA and a host of other city and government offices. The whole north end of Red River Falls was getting a makeover because of the project with a litany of new retail stores and multiple unit apartment buildings. A new Double Tree hotel and small convention center, which the area desperately needed, were also on the plan for revitalization of the area, thanks to my brain child.
Even the building that housed Tonya Fulbright-Hayes' computer repair/music store was going away to make room for the project. So was the adult book store next door, which pissed off a sizeable group of people who frequented it. The city and county were only required to pay fair market value for the properties (which paid Tonya about $10,000 more than she bought it for!) and then also zoned the book store out of city limits. That meant the adult book store would have probably had to build a store, due to new codes and ordinances severely restricting sexually-themed businesses, and the owner couldn't afford it. So he took the payoff and ran. The building, with its nasty arcade and glory holes, were torn down a week later.
I took the elevator to the top floor of the courthouse, which is where the Sheriff's Office currently is. Stepping into the main office area I was greeted by my secretary, Karen Landingham, who said nothing and just hugged me. I wasn't used to this from her as she is generally very quiet and reserved.
"Oh, Sheriff," she said through her tears, "I just don't know what to say."
"None of us do, Karen," I said, trying to be comforting. I was failing.
When she finally let go she wiped her eyes with a tissue and said, "Some men are here to see you. They're in Captain Villanueva's office."
"Okay, thank you, Karen." I made my way towards Ben's office but was greeted with hugs and handshakes by everyone in the entire office along the way. By the time I got to Ben's office, I could see him in there along with Chris Hayes and three men in suits. Feds.
"Ah, Sheriff," Ben said, standing. "Sheriff, these gentlemen are with the Bureau from the Minneapolis office." All three of the men stood as I entered Ben's office.
"Sheriff, my name is Special Agent Bryce Cooper, FBI. I'm the Agent-in-Charge that will be assisting with the BCI's investigation of yesterday's events." Cooper reached out and we shook hands. "Along with me are Special Agent Miles Pender and Special Agent Hiram Fleischman." We all shook hands as well.
"It's great to have you all here helping out," I said.
"Our pleasure," Cooper replied. "Sheriff, I wonder if we might step into your office for a bit."
"Sure thing," I said, leading the way. I got to my office door and unlocked it and gestured to an empty seat in front of my desk as I closed the door behind us. "What can I help you with, Agent Cooper?"
"First of all, Sheriff," Cooper said taking a seat, "I want to extend the condolences of everyone in the Bureau for your department's loss."
"Thank you. We truly appreciate that."
"It's never easy losing our own in the line of duty. We're all in awe of everything your deputy did in the last few moments of his life to help catch his own killers. Truly the stuff of legend. He must've been a helluva deputy."
"He was all that and so much more, thank you."
"I'm sure you probably have some questions about the whole incident that you probably want answers to, especially about the Hammadis."
"I don't have so many questions about the Hammadis. I understand it is some sort of twisted cultural thing, not a religious thing. What I do have a question about, though, is how in the hell a bunch of fully automatic weapons made their way into my county."
"I thought you might ask," Cooper said, opening up a small laptop. "We have reason to believe that the weapons in question came from a group called the Minutemen Militia."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "The Minutemen Militia? Seriously?"
"The Federal government takes militias quite seriously, Sheriff."
"I'm sure they do. But where in the hell did the Minutemen Militia come from? The last I knew, they just called themselves The Minutemen and were some fringe offshoot from the Tea Party. They were a political entity. When did they graduate to a militia?"
"The government considers them a militia group, Sheriff. We have for quite some time. And they have been a lot more than just politically active. Many of their members are Civil War, World War II, Korea and Vietnam re-enactors. We believe their re-enactment activities are just a cover for more clandestine private military training."
"You can't be serious," I said, still grinning.
"We are absolutely serious, Sheriff," Cooper said, annoyed that I found him incredulous. "We have numerous statements from them indicating possible threats against Congressman Ben Reynolds and Governor Jane Reynolds. Along with that, more than a few members of their group are former military and several others have previous weapons charges on their records."
"Any of them ever been convicted of any weapons charges?"
"Not yet," Cooper said, somewhat dejected. "But it is just a matter of time before we get the evidence we need. And we will be charging them with terrorism when we do. The weapons we believe they acquired and subsequently sold to the Hammadis are just the tip of the ice berg. The government has a case. And we will see it to its logical conclusion."
"I'm sure you will, Agent Cooper. I don't mean any offense, I really don't. But I happen to know a few people associated with the Minutemen and I just have a hard time seeing them dressed up in camouflage and running around somebody's farm or ranch playing Army, ya know?"
"Lots of people make the mistake of underestimating these people, Quinn. You aren't the first." I noticed he dropped the Sheriff title and just called me by my last name only as a slight. So he was going to be like that.
"Well, Agent," I said standing and signaling his time with me was up, "I'm sure you'll have more info when the time comes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure you can see we're pretty swamped here and I need to get to work."
"Sure thing," he said, trying to cover the fact that he was annoyed. "We'll let you know the minute we have any new developments for you. I hope you don't think we're stepping on your toes, Quinn, but the Bureau is asking me to take a fairly active role in this investigation. I'll share what we find out and I'll expect the same courtesy from your department, as well."
"Absolutely," I said, extending my hand. "It was great meeting you and I look forward to working with you," I lied.
"Likewise," he said, equally full of shit. "Gentlemen?" he said, nodding to Pender and Fleischman. They gathered up and started walking towards the elevator. I watched them until they were all in and the door closed.
"What an asshole," I muttered as I returned to my office. I no sooner got sat back down in my office chair when Mitch Monahan showed up at my door.
"Pat? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Uh, being the Sheriff?"
"Jesus, Pat!" he said, having a seat. "You're supposed to be gone. It's department policy any time a deputy is involved in a shooting that they get 30 days of administrative leave. You have no business being here right now!"
"First of all, Mitch, I'm not a deputy. I'm the actual Sheriff."
"I know that, Pat. But you know what I mean!"
"Secondly, I'm already down three deputies as it is. Tristan is gone and both Brian Kelly and Billy Shoemaker are already on administrative leave. And, technically, I wasn't involved in a shooting. I slammed a full-size SUV into the Hammadi kid, I didn't shoot him."
"Again, you know damned well what I mean, Pat," Mitch said, kinda pissed.
I held my hands up in truce. "I know, I know. But you gotta understand things from my viewpoint. I'm down three deputies and everyone else's workload just increased. I need to be here for a lot of reasons, as well as just to be seen. I can't afford to be seen as non-existent around here, considering what this entire department is going through."
"I admire your desire to lead from the front, Pat. But I also need to know that you're taking care of yourself, too."
"I have a phenomenal support network at home in my wife-to-be. She'll see to it that I'm taking care of myself or she'll damned well do it for me. One of the benefits to marrying a nurse," I chuckled. It was a fake chuckle and Mitch could tell as he just smirked out of courtesy.
"I'm gonna keep an eye on you, Pat. We need you but we need you whole. If I think for one second that you're anything less than 100%, I'm going to order you to stay away from the courthouse and your office. And don't think for one second that the Supervisors won't back me up, either."
"Fair enough, Mitch. I appreciate you looking out for me."
Just then, Karen Landingham buzzed my desk phone.
"Sheriff? You have a phone call on line 2."
"Thank you, Karen," I replied. I picked up the receiver and punched the button for line 2. "This is Sheriff Quinn. To whom am I speaking?" For some reason, Mitch Monahan was still sitting there. I didn't mind. It wasn't like I had anything to keep secret from him.
"Sheriff? My name is Major Del Harrison. I'm with the State Patrol, Commander of the Southeast District."
"Yes, Major. What can I help you with?"
"First of all, Sheriff, I want to personally extend my sympathies to you and your entire department on your loss. It's my understanding that Deputy Tristan Embegwe was a superb law enforcement officer."
"Those are very warm sentiments, Major. Deputy Embegwe was, indeed, a consummate professional."
"Secondly," he hesitated, "it is my sad and unfortunate duty to inform you that Trooper Marvin Rockney died of his injuries this morning."
I immediately stood up as though I got an electrical shock. I could feel the color drain from my face and a wave of nausea washed over me. I quickly glanced to my right just to make sure that my office waste basket was nearby. It was.
Mitch could tell something was wrong and he stood with me, a look of fear and concern across his face.
"How...I mean...when?" I stuttered.
"Trooper Rockney succumbed to his injuries about 45 minutes ago. It's believed that he developed a blood clot near the point where his right leg was amputated. Most likely it traveled to his lungs. He was on a ventilator following surgery. Had he been awake, he might have been able to say he was in pain or having trouble breathing. As it was, it was too late by the time he went into cardiac arrest."
I just stood there, unable to process Trooper Rockney's death. By the time I went home last night, the prognosis for him sounded so promising. But now, to find out they had to amputate and there were complications...I couldn't seem to wrap my thick skull around it.
"Sheriff? Sheriff, are you still there?"
"Yes...yes, I am. I'm sorry. I'm just...flabbergasted. I really don't know what to say other than I'm deeply sorry for his family's loss as well as the entire State Patrol. Please extend my regards to his family and let us know if there is anything we can do for them."
"I'll do that, Sheriff. His wife was the one who asked me to contact you. She and the children are there, of course, but the rest of Trooper Rockney's extended family has yet to be notified."
"Thank you, Major. I appreciate the courtesy."
"Take care, Sheriff. I'm sure we will talk soon."
I was staring off into space as I put the receiver back down.
Mitch closed my office door. "Jesus, Pat," he half-whispered. "Did I hear what I thought I just heard? Trooper Rockney?"
"Yeah," I answered, still stunned. "He...he died...about 45 minutes ago."
"How? I mean, last night they said he was doing well after surgery."
"They, uh...they had to...amputate...his right leg. They think he, uh...developed a blood clot...and it probably traveled to his heart and lungs. He was sedated and didn't even know what was happening to him."
Mitch and I just stood there, trying to figure out what to say or do. Finally, I walked to my office door and opened it, walking out into the main office floor where almost the entire department was congregating. Many were talking with BCI agents who were still working on reports. But many of my deputies just decided to hang around work just to be around each other.
"Can I have everyone's attention?" I half-shouted above all the noise and conversations. Ben Villanueva came out of his office, as well, along with Deputy Lieutenant Chris Hayes. Quickly, the din quieted down and everyone looked at me. "I'm afraid I have some sad news, everyone," I said, trying to steel myself. "I just got off the phone with Major Del Harrison from the State Patrol. I'm sorry to report that Trooper Marvin Rockney passed away this morning."

Ramesh_Rocky · 26-03-2025, 06:29 PM

I could hear a collective gasp from everyone, including the BCI investigators.

I continued. "The State Patrol has been kind and gracious to us for our loss and I'm sure you all join me in expressing our deepest sympathies for our Trooper brothers and sisters, as well. At this time, if you all would, please stop what you are doing and stand and join with me in a moment of silence for our fallen brothers."
Everyone did as I asked and stood. Many of them were now quietly crying but trying to remain stoic for the moment. After about a half-minute or so, I said, "Thank you. Let's remember these fine men as we continue our jobs of keeping our citizens safe today. And let's honor them by continuing to look out for one another, as well. God bless you all and stay safe on your patrols today. Make sure everyone goes home at the end of their shift."
*****
The next couple of days were a blur and were spent mostly in preparation for the funerals of Deputy Tristan Embegwe and Trooper Marvin Rockney. Assisting with the funeral prep for a State Patrol member seemed like the least of what we could do considering everything Trooper Rockney did to help stop the threat that day. But out of all the tasks I needed to accomplish, picking up the parents and family of Deputy Embegwe at the airport was the hardest. I tried to anticipate their anger and sadness and prepared for whatever questions and range of emotions they might have.
I drove to Fargo's Hector International Airport. Even though we have a decent-sized airport in Red River Falls, we were currently between providers of our local carrier service. Since it is most decidedly unprofitable for a major carrier to provide service to places like Red River Falls, we have to rely on what is called "essential air service", which means occasional flights involving puddle-jumper aircraft that are heavily subsidized by the federal government. When Northwest Airlines was still in business and based out of Minneapolis, we never had to worry about air service since Northwest Air Link provided four flights a day to and from Red River Falls. Now, it seems like we are changing services at least once a year - if not more. The new service, Northland Com-Air, wasn't scheduled to start operations until November.
I greeted the Embegwes at the main terminal. Tristan's father was a rather tall, balding man of around 60 years old with a gentle smile on his face as he greeted me. His mother seemed to be the one bearing the emotional brunt. Although very gracious to me, I guessed that her tears had not stopped flowing since she was told of Tristan's death. Tristan had three brothers and two sisters ranging in age from 13 years old to 24 years old. All of them, including the oldest ones, were single and the two oldest had followed Tristan's footsteps to university.
Tristan's father, Daniel Embegwe, rode up front with me while his wife and the five children rode in the back. I knew they were probably hungry for some decent food and so we decided to stop at a Perkins Restaurant just off I-29. I had my department credit card with me and I told them all to order whatever they wanted. I could tell, just by watching them that they had never seen a menu in any restaurant with the abundance of food that they now saw before them. It was a stark contrast of the world Tristan had left behind and the one that he had chosen to build a life and a home in.
Despite my initial ignorance Daniel Embegwe, a professor of economics in Uganda, was extremely well-educated and spoke perfect English, as did his entire family. I thought about how much my own two boys, Nick and Jake, griped about having to go to college and actually having to learn something while they were there. And yet, the entire Embegwe family talked at great length about Tristan and his time in college and at university. All of his children talked with great enthusiasm about their various studies and were incredibly educated and intelligent, especially when one considers that most inner-city colleges in the U.S. are better equipped than the ones in Uganda, where Tristan and his family are from.
Perkins isn't anyone's definition of haute cuisine. But if there is one thing they do well, it is definitely breakfast. Most everyone, including myself, ordered breakfast and were so delighted in their meals that they nearly forgot why they were even here in the first place. But I was reminded of that when Daniel Embegwe looked at me as he quietly sipped his coffee and said, "I must ask you something, Sheriff."
"Ask me anything you wish. And, please. Call me Patrick."
"Thank you, Patrick. I appreciate your candor," he said, as he took another sip. He was obviously carefully pondering his question. "What I wanted to ask you was, did Tristan's death mean something? Was there a purpose behind it?"
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and carefully considered my response.
"Well, Mister Embegwe," I started.
"Please. Call me Daniel. You extended the courtesy to me and I must return it."
"Thank you, Daniel. You want to know if there was a meaning behind it or a purpose to it."
"Yes, Patrick. I must know...for myself and for my family."
I looked around the table and everyone had stopped eating and was looking at me. Whatever I said in the next few minutes would ultimately determine what they thought of me and what they thought of their son's decision to make a life for himself in America. While I wanted to put the best face on that, for Tristan's sake, I also knew that I needed to be honest with his family.
"Daniel, your son and his fiancée were viciously attacked and murdered. It is difficult for me to sit here and try and attach some sort of meaning to that, let alone a purpose for it. So, no, I cannot say that there was any meaning or purpose behind his death other than to say it was a statement of brutality on the part of the men who took their lives."
I could see a crestfallen look befall Daniel's face as well as those of his wife and family.
"But what I can say for certain is the fact that Tristan died honorably. And while that probably isn't what you want to hear, it is the truth. What Tristan did in the final moments of his life ensured, without a doubt, that his killers and those of his fiancée would face justice. His actions undoubtedly saved lives by ensuring that we were able to corral and entrap those evil men before they could get too far and eliminated the risk of a much larger shooting spree in a populated area. While the meaning and purpose are lacking, Tristan showed his true character as a man of courage, honor and conviction before he died. He died a hero. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that is how he should be remembered."
Daniel Embegwe sat there and began nodding his head. Soon, tears were streaming down his face but a smile emerged and his face lit up with a mix of joy and sadness. The rest of his family were all crying but smiling, too.
"Yes, Patrick! That is my son! That is how he shall be remembered!"
Something had happened just then that changed the dynamic completely. They finished their meals with great relish and the mood for the remainder of the trip to Red River Falls, while not exactly joyous, was one of reserved contentment and fond remembrance.
I dropped the family off at St Paul's Lutheran Church, where Tristan was a member. One of the more well-to-do members of the church, a local convenience store franchisee, had paid the way for the Embegwes' trip to America and was going to host the family during their stay through the funeral.
college had just started and I met Nick, Jake and Bridget as they were getting off the bus. We all walked into the house and the kids were buzzing about their day and all the latest gossip in the college hallway.
"Hey, Dad," Nick called. "Wanna play some 'Call of Duty' with me and Jake?"
"Uh, not right now, boys. I've got a lot of work to do."
"Please, Dad? Just for a little while?"
"No! I told you! I've got stuff to do! Just go play with your brother," I scolded him. He just stood there as I headed upstairs disappeared into my room.
*****
The next few days were a flurry of activity as we planned and coordinated Tristan's funeral. St Paul's Lutheran Church was the largest Lutheran church in Red River Falls with well over 2,000 members. St Paul's is where a private funeral service would be held for Tristan. It was the second largest church overall behind St Matthew's Catholic Church, which was where Trooper Marvin Rockney's private funeral would be held the same day as Tristan's.
But due to the expected arrival of so many law enforcement officers to attend, it was decided that a combined public funeral service would be held for both fallen officers at the spacious Red River Falls High college gymnasium. Overflow seating would be easily provided in the high college performing arts auditorium as well as the Red River Falls Middle college gymnasium. Nearly 5,000 people would be able to be seated and closed circuit viewing would be available for those in the overflow seating.
Well over a thousand law enforcement officers from all over the Plains and Midwest began making their way into Red River Falls. The Minneapolis and St Paul security officer departments sent a combined bag pipe and drum corps and several other agencies sent their honor guards. As a sign of solidarity, the Red River Falls PD, Mason County Sheriff's Office and the State Patrol would provide the firing squad for the combined funeral.
The day of the funerals arrived. Regrettably, I could not attend both services at their respective churches. But I was asked by Daniel Embegwe to give the eulogy for Tristan during the public service.
All of our department's vehicles fell into line with the cortege that included both hearses transporting the bodies of Deputy Embegwe and Trooper Rockney to the college. Brian Kelly drove my Expedition, along with his pregnant and very pretty wife Reba, who rode up front. Shannon and I sat in the back and held hands as we rode to the college. Starting two blocks from the college, the roadway was lined shoulder-to-shoulder with law enforcement officers who saluted in unison as the cortege approached.
Once we arrived at the college, two separate teams of casket bearers retrieved the coffins and brought them into the gymnasium along with a color guard. They all worked with such polished precision that it would have made the most diehard military Veteran proud.
Both caskets lay in state for one hour while the public was seated in the auditorium. Both caskets were guarded by a multi-departmental Honor Guard who kept their solemn watch without wavering. The Red River Falls Fire Department had their huge aerial ladder extended all 100 feet with an enormous American flag hanging from it and blowing majestically in the light wind. Every last man and woman from the fire department was also present and at sharp attention as the procession took place.
Surrounding both caskets was nothing short of a multi-colored sea of flowers. Every flower shop in town had to have been sold out of every variety of flower. Both funeral homes were also inundated with so many flowers that they actually had to turn arrangements away and a good number of them ended up at the Sheriff's Office. When we became too overloaded with flowers, we started sending some of them to the local nursing homes to help brighten their day.
Finally, the service started and invocations were given by Pastor Hellevik from St Paul's Lutheran Church and by Monsignor Flannagan from Holy Family. The music was powerful and, yet, soothing. A combined brass band and bag pipers played the most incredible and moving version of "Amazing Grace" that you will ever hear in your life and there was not a dry eye or Kleenex in the place by the time they finished.
And then, it was my turn. I left Shannon's side and slowly made my way to the podium. The eyes of everyone in the gymnasium were on me but all I could focus on for a few moments were the two flag-dbangd caskets in front of the dais and wonder how in the hell all of this had come about. But I reminded myself that I had an important job - to provide a eulogy for Tristan and his family that would provide a final summation of his life. I took a sip of water that had been provided at the podium and unfolded the pages of my eulogy. I spoke slowly but methodically.
"Tristan Daniel Embegwe was born in Kamapala, Uganda on October 27, 1985. He was the first born of Professor Daniel Embegwe and his wife Maruna. Tristan was given a lifelong love of learning from his father, a professor of economics. He finished grammar and secondary college, where he excelled as an athlete and gained local notoriety as a very skilled cricket and soccer player. He would continue his athletics as a player in both disciplines at Kampala University, where he studied both economics and international relations, earning high marks in both fields of study.
"When Tristan had finished his third year of university, he was recruited in 2006 by the American company Kellogg, Brown and Root to serve as a security specialist for U.S. forces serving in the Middle East. Tristan demonstrated himself to be a model employee and volunteered to serve with American forces in increasingly dangerous assignments and with more responsibility. Tristan would serve a total of two years with KBR and was ultimately rewarded with a student visa to travel to the United States.
"After coming to America, Tristan was awarded a scholarship to continue his studies at St Olaf College, in Northfield, Minnesota. Tristan would ultimately receive a degree in Liberal Arts and Sciences with honors in 2010. It was during this time that Tristan developed an intense interest in law enforcement and began to pursue that interest. He took additional courses from the University of Minnesota and obtained an additional degree in Criminal Justice in 2012.
"At that same time, Tristan was granted permanent resident alien status. And so he applied for and was accepted to the Minneapolis security officer Academy and graduated in late 2012. He completed 5 months of field training and was subsequently hired as a Patrol Officer with the Cottage Grove, Minnesota security officer Department in 2013.
"In 2014, Tristan took and successfully completed the law enforcement reciprocity examinations for both North and South Dakota. It was with great joy that I was able to extend the offer of employment to Tristan as the first deputy I would hire after becoming Sheriff of Mason County.
"Tristan demonstrated himself to be level-headed, extremely professional and very calm and collected at all times. He possessed what I called a million-dollar smile and could often defuse intense situations simply with a smile and his soothing demeanor. He had a gift for instilling calm and reason into people who had neither at that particular moment. It was often joked around our department that Tristan could write someone a speeding ticket with the maximum fine and conduct himself in such a way during the entire event that the offending driver would feel compelled to genuinely thank Tristan for the experience," I related to light laughter from the audience.
"Most of all, Tristan quickly demonstrated himself to be someone we could all count on. He accepted every assignment with gusto. And he reminded us all of how great it was to be an American as he relished every moment he got to spend here, especially the joy he felt when he purchased his first home. He became immersed in numerous fraternal and service clubs, as well as his church, St. Paul's. And I'll never forget the joy on his face and the joy we shared with him at the State Capitol the day Tristan officially became a United States citizen.
"But of all the things Tristan loved in life, nothing would exceed the love he felt for a woman named Miriam. Tristan met her shortly after moving to Red River Falls. Almost immediately, forces came into play that would try diligently to keep them apart. But the heart wants what it wants. And Tristan's heart and Miriam's hearts yearned for each other and they soon became engaged to be married. And although the forces of evil would ultimately take their lives they could not take away the love they had for each other, a love that will now live on for eternity in Heaven.
"Godspeed, Deputy Tristan Daniel Embegwe. We will miss you."
I returned to my seat next to Shannon and she took my hand in hers and gave me a quick kiss. Mitch Monahan had been sitting in the third row behind the families and I could tell from the look on his face that he didn't approve of my mentioning the relationship between Tristan and Miriam. He had warned me ahead of time not to play it up in my eulogy but I felt it would be a disservice to not mention it.
As the service ended, we followed the procession from the building as the two caskets were again loaded in their respective hearses. The cortege following Tristan's hearse would be short and made up only of Mason County Sheriff's personnel and vehicles as we escorted Tristan's body to Hector International Airport for his return home to be buried in Uganda. Numerous deputies from surrounding counties volunteered to patrol Mason County while the funerals were in progress.
The remainder of the nearly 1,000 law enforcement officers on hand for the funeral formed a motorcade to the cemetery for Trooper Rockney's interment. Nearly 500 members of the Patriot Guard preceded the cortege and lined the entrance and roadway with each of them holding an American flag. To say that the entire day was moving was a gross understatement. The outpouring of support from the public was massive and incredible.
Once at the airport, Tristan's casket was removed with solemn dignity by the casket bearer honor guard. I and all of my deputies stood at attention and slowly rendered salutes as the casket was carefully loaded onto a lift and secured in the cargo hold of the belly of the aircraft. My immediate thought was how perverse it seemed to place him there, along with luggage and other inanimate objects. For a moment, I started to lose my composure as I was overwhelmed with the thoughts of Tristan being all alone in there. As I did so, nearly everyone else standing with me did the same. Soon, Tristan's casket was out of sight in the belly of the metal bird and we all slowly lowered our salutes. And that moment was the last I would ever see of Tristan Daniel Embegwe.
*****
The ride back to Red River Falls was quiet. Neither Brian nor his wife Reba said much, nor did Shannon and I. All we did was just ride in quiet and hold hands, immersed in our thoughts. For Brian and me, our thoughts were constantly replaying the events of the day that had led to this. For Reba and Shannon, their thoughts were undoubtedly obsessed with the horror of how close they came to being widows.
We returned to the Sheriff's office where Shannon and I retrieved our vehicles. We had driven separate so she could be home when Bridget got out of college. Both Nick and Jake were going to Clarissa's house for a while after college and I would pick them up after supper. I wasn't looking forward to that in the least bit, especially as I could sense some kind of growing panic from my ex-wife the closer Shannon and I got to the wedding. I wasn't sure if Clarissa held out some kind of hope that we wouldn't go through with it or if she just wanted things to torpedo because she was a malevolent bitch. Probably a bit of both, I figured.
Shannon and I hugged for a long time and shared more than a few tender kisses. She still wasn't ready to let me out of her sight but I needed to at least make an appearance at the Knights of Columbus Hall where a funeral lunch was being held for Trooper Rockney's family. I had to show my support for them and all of the State Patrol, given the amount of support they gave to my department.

Ramesh_Rocky · 27-03-2025, 04:03 PM

I spent nearly three hours at the KOC hall visiting with law enforcement officers from all over the upper Midwest and Plains. It was nearly 17:00 and there didn't seem to be much point in going home just to have to come back and pick up the boys from Clarissa's. And so I went back to the office and worked on a few items but didn't really get anything done. I just felt like I needed to be somewhere doing something.

Finally, about 18:30 I got in my truck and made my way over to the condo complex where Clarissa lived. I pretty much had to drag myself to her door and force myself to ring the bell, not because I didn't want to pick up the boys but because I just really didn't want to deal with Clarissa. But ring the bell I did and she answered. She was dressed in a light cream-colored mid-length one-piece form-fitting dress that seemed overly formal - and even a bit inappropriate given how closely it seemed to hug her figure.
The thing, or things, that stood out were sitting on her chest. Clarissa had always had a very trim and athletic figure. She was a good looking woman, make no mistake about it. I had never griped about that. One would never guess, however, that a black lump of coal beat inside her chest in the same spot that most people actually have a heart. Perhaps that lump of coal where her heart should have been was responsible for fueling the fire of insanity that seemed to have been lit where her brain should have been. Regardless, it wasn't my problem to worry about anymore, save for where my boys were concerned.
But while Clarissa had always been a very attractive woman, voluptuous was a word that no one had ever described her with; which made me wonder just exactly where the new pair of sweater kittens came from that now graced her upper torso. The entire time Clarissa and I had been married she had sported a set of A-cups that I never once complained about. They did their job adequately in nursing our kids and I had always paid them their proper and due respect every time I made love to her in the past.
Now, however, she was sporting what was clearly a set of enhanced "C's" or maybe even some low-end-of-the-scale "D's". I wondered whether her mother, Caroline and her extremely wealthy companion Martin Belmond, had paid for the "enhancements" or if Clarissa's on-again-off-again romantic interest, Tom Wellington, had ponied up for the chest pillows.
But against my efforts not to stare, I apparently glanced a bit too long as Clarissa answered the door and she noticed my extensive gaze, as evidenced by the half-smile half-smirk that crossed her face.
"Good evening, Patrick," she almost cooed.
"Hello, Clarissa. Are the boys ready to go?"
"They're just finishing supper," she said. "Have you eaten? I can fix you a plate before you go. Just some tater tot casserole, but the boys like it. Want some?"
"No, thank you. One thing about funerals is that there is no shortage of food and flowers."
"Well, the boys will be finished shortly," she said, turning away and obviously arching her shoulders back to push her new boobs out forward in full display. I just shook my head in disbelief. No matter how hard she would try, her tits were no match for Shannon's. And best of all, Shannon's were real!
I waited impatiently for the boys to finish eating and was becoming more and more agitated, especially since Clarissa wanted to engage in endless small talk the entire time. She was slowly sipping on a glass of wine and doing her best to try and look sexy while doing it. No matter how good she looked, she would never again hold any sexual interest for me; not after what she had done to butcher our marriage by fucking numerous other men while still married to me and planning to destroy my life at the same time by plotting a very lengthy prison sentence for me, as well.
"Come on boys, let's finish up already," I finally said, losing my cool.
"I want seconds before we leave," Nick said. "I love Mom's casserole."
"Come on, Nick, get your stuff. We're leaving. If you're still hungry when we get home, we've got plenty of stuff there to eat."
"Dad, Mom made a lot. Can't I just have some more before we go?"
"Nick, I'm warning you. Get your backpack and let's go. Your brother is ready to go and so am I. You can get something to eat when we get home, okay? I've had a very long and stressful day and I'm just ready to get home, okay?"
Nick stood there like I had run over his puppy. But I was getting irritated with him as he generally never challenged me. But he seemed to be getting more surly since he hit his teens.
"Come on, sweetie," Clarissa said. "I'll put some in a Tupperware container for you to take home."
"Okay," Nick said, dejected.
"Grab your stuff and you and Jake can head on out to the truck," I ordered.
Nick reluctantly did as I said but not before giving me a look of death in the process. For a brief moment, I was actually tempted to smack him but I held back. He took the container of casserole from his mother and stormed out of the condo, followed by Jake.
"Patrick," Clarissa said. "I understand you have had a horrible day and week. But the boys don't understand that. Whatever you're feeling right now, you don't have a right to take it out on them."
"Oh, give me a break, Clarissa! You knew damned good and well what time I was picking the boys up tonight. They should have been ready to go. But no, you were just feeding them as I was getting ready to pick them up."
"Yes, dinner was a bit late, but I wanted to actually spend some time with the boys and we lost track of time. I'm sorry, Patrick."
"Oh, please. I show up and you're wearing a form-hugging dress to show off your brand new tits, slowly sucking down a glass of wine and wanting me to have a glass with you, all the while you're dragging way past the time you're supposed to have them."
"What, you think I wore this to try and seduce you or something? Boy, do you have some ego!"
"Give it up, Clarissa! The only reason I even let the boys spend time here is out of the goodness of my heart and not because I have to. Keep this up and I'll enforce the actual terms of our divorce and you can see the boys every other weekend!"
I left Clarissa standing in her doorway, mouth nearly dropped to the floor, as I stormed off back to my truck. As Sheriff, I might have to put up with a lot of people's shit on a daily basis.
But I didn't have to put up with Clarissa's.
*****
With the funerals behind us I could finally start to focus on the wedding, which was coming up in only a couple of short weeks. There was still so damned much to do that I was almost dreading it. The church was reserved, we knew who was going to be participating in the wedding party and we knew where the reception and dance was going to be. Now came the part of figuring out all the minutiae that would tie everything together.
I decided to take a day off work and spend it with Shannon helping her get some of those things figured out. First of all we needed to get the flowers finalized. We were working with Cherbourg Floral who had a flower shop in the Red River Mall. Our local shopping mall isn't much to brag about and has had a lot of trouble keeping decent stores in there. Mostly, it was because so many people made the trip to Fargo and St Cloud to the bigger malls. But we felt it important to support a local business and the Cherbourgs had been in business for over 40 years.
A weird thing happened while we were in the store, though. A cold wave washed over me and it was all I could do to keep my hands from trembling. I started sweating and my heart began to feel like it was going to fly out of my chest as it was beating so fast and so hard. Worse, I also felt a range of emotions take hold of me; a combination of both fear and rage. There didn't seem to be an explanation for it. I excused myself from store and went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. I was in there for almost ten minutes before I felt calm enough to return. I decided not to say anything about it to Shannon and would just claim an upset stomach if she asked.
We had just finished giving the final order to the florist and decided to grab a snack from Pretzelmaker. As we strolled through the mall, I saw someone who looked so familiar and, yet, so very different. The identity was confirmed - not by recognizing the person - but by recognizing who she was with. And that person was none other than my predecessor, former Mason County Sheriff William "Bud" Roberts. And the person he was with was his emaciated wife, Margolene Roberts.
I was shocked as I looked upon her. A smile crept over her face as she saw me. She had never been what I would call an obese woman but Margolene had never been tiny, either. She now looked so terribly thin and her cheeks appeared sunken in. She walked slowly, holding Bud's hand. Her skin was pale and almost ashen. The dead giveaway was the fact that she was wearing an immaculate silk bandana to wrap her head in. Margolene obviously had cancer.
"Patrick!" she exclaimed in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper.
"Margolene! What a surprise!"
She delicately reached out to me and took my hands as I leaned in and gave her a platonic kiss on the cheek.
"It is so good to see you, Patrick! It has been too long."
"Yes, it has. Yes, it has. Margolene? This is my fiancée, Shannon Sullivan. Shannon, this is Margolene and Bud Roberts."
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Shannon said, shaking both their hands. I damned near felt the need to get an empty ice cream bucket to hold all the drool that Bud was slobbering as he ogled Shannon.
"She's your fiancée?" Margolene asked. "I didn't even know you were seeing anyone, Patrick, let alone engaged. How marvelous! And I must say, you are absolutely gorgeous, Shannon!"
"Why, thank you!" Shannon blushed. Bud just stood there and gawked at her, which royally pissed me off.
"Uh, I don't mean to pry," I said, delicately, "but are you doing well, Margolene?"
"Ah, yes. The head wrap gives it away. I was diagnosed with breast cancer this past January. Sixteen weeks of chemo and radiation. But I'm determined to take Old Man Cancer the full fifteen rounds and give it all I've got," she said with false motivation.
"How far are you?" I asked, afraid to know.
"Well," Margolene said, hesitantly, "I was stage 3 when I was diagnosed and officially stage 4 by the time I finished my first round of chemo."
I was taken aback by her statement. Stage 4 following her chemotherapy could only mean one thing - her cancer was terminal.
Margolene could tell I was shocked by her admission that her cancer was so advanced. Meanwhile, Bud just stood there and said nothing. Worst of all, he acted like Margolene and I were just talking about the weather. It was obvious that he didn't give two shits about his wife's cancer.
"Margolene, I really don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything, Patrick. We're not out of options yet and I don't intend to go quietly into the night," she said, reaching out and taking Bud's hand. Bud seemed to shake out of a daydream as he looked at Margolene and flashed her a politician's smile. "But please, Patrick. Tell me about the wedding. I don't think I ever received an invitation," she said, both hopeful and slightly hurt.
"Oh, gosh," Shannon said, coming to my rescue. "That's probably my fault. I'm the one who put the guest list together and I wonder if I just overlooked it. I'm so sorry. But here," she said, handing Margolene an invite from her purse. "I just happened to have one on me! I'm sorry it isn't personally addressed but, of course, you are cordially invited!"
"Oh, how wonderful! Wow, it's really getting close! Only a week from Saturday! But I think we are actually free that day! Oh, I'm so excited!"
"Well, we'll be so excited to have you both!"
I gave Shannon a look of 'what the hell?' But she just reached over and grabbed my hand as a sign of reassurance.
"Would you mind sitting with me for a while, Shannon? I'm a little tired and need to rest for a bit and I'd love to visit with you and get to know you a little better."
"I'd love to," Shannon replied. And the two of them sat down on a bench in front of the Walden's book store.
"I'm gonna go look at something in Sears real quick," I said. "I'll be back in about five minutes."
"Okay, babe," Shannon said.
I didn't really have anything to look at. I just needed to get out of the immediate vicinity of Bud Roberts and I knew that Shannon would be safe as long as she was in the company of Margolene. Plus, she knew all about Bud Roberts and Clarissa.
I was just doing some window shopping for some Craftsman tools when a familiar and unwanted form came up behind me.
"You decided to excuse yourself from the girl talk, too, huh?" Bud said.
"No, Bud. I just decided to change the scenery," I acidly replied.
"Fair enough," he said, downtrodden. "Look, Patrick, I know you don't owe me anything. I've accepted that. But I want you to know that I was sincere when I apologized to you about everything that happened. And now, with everything going on with Margolene, I realize more than ever what a fool I was and how badly I hurt my family."
"Really? I'm supposed to think you had some epiphany from God that made you see your evil ways?"
Bud looked at me for a bit. "I suppose I deserve that. And, no, it wasn't an epiphany. It took me a long time to get there and to admit to myself what I'd done and how I hurt so many people. And, in the process, I also hurt myself, too."
"Yeah, you looked really broke up about it at the time."
"Look, Patrick. I know I can't expect you to forgive me. But I've learned that I can't live the rest of my life waiting for people to forgive me, either. So, I've basically had to learn to forgive myself; to allow myself to be human and make a human mistake."
"Look at me, Bud," I said, moving face-to-face. "What you did was no mistake. You preyed upon my ex-wife. You took advantage of everything you knew about me and everything you knew about my ex-wife and you used that to manipulate me. You let me believe we had a friendship and a solid professional relationship. And you used both of those things to move in on my wife and my family and to generally plot my eventual destruction. Your plan involved framing me for a lot of shit I didn't do and to have me thrown in fucking jail, you self-centered prick! None of that was a mistake! It was all planned! So get over your damned self!"
Bud sighed and tried to look defeated. "I understand how you feel, Patrick. If I was in your shoes I would probably feel the same way. I just want you to know I'm sincere."
"You know what the problem is with insincere people, Bud? They always have to try and tell everyone how sincere they are. Because nobody believes them."
"Look, Patrick. My wife is...dying. I'm not dealing with it very well and I'm truly trying to come to grips with some of the decisions I've made in the past. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that the mother of my children is getting ready to transition from this life to the next. I'm going through a hard time, here."
I took a deep breath and faced away from Bud. "In deference to Margolene, a woman I have the utmost respect for, I'm going to cut you some slack. But don't think that this means we're friends. I'm only doing this for your wife and kids."
"Thank you, Patrick."
"How are your kids these days?" I asked, trying to change gears.
"They're fine, they're fine," Bud said. "Billy works as a software analyst for Harley-Davidson in Milwaukee. Absolutely loves it. Bruce works for IBM over in the Twin Cities. Abigail works in public relations for United Airlines, also in the Twin Cities, and Melissa is still going to the University of Minnesota with a major in mortuary science. God only knows where she picked up that interest but no doubt she'll have a job for life."
"I guess we never know how our kids will end up. We can only support them as best we can."
"Yeah, you got that right," Bud said. "So, uh, how are your boys doing these days?"
"They're good. Nick is in 8th grade and has the attitude to prove it. Getting to the point where he's got it all figured out. But he's a good student and loves playing football. Jake is in 6th grade. He's discovered he likes soccer more than football, which gets him a lot of crap from his brother."
"Ah, yes, soccer," Bud mused. "I've always liked Mike Ditka's philosophy about soccer. He said, 'if God wanted us to play soccer, he wouldn't have given us hands'", he chuckled.
I had to admit it was a good line. And for a brief moment it almost felt like Bud and I were friends again - the way we were before I found out he had been fucking my wife for over a year. But the elongated pause that took place told me that Bud was just dying to ask about Clarissa. I decided not to take the bait and, instead, just let him twist in the wind for a minute or so before he finally got the balls to ask.
"And their mom?" he finally asked.
"Clarissa? What about her?" I said, narrowing my eyes. Bud obviously didn't get the hint.
"She's, uh...she's good?" he asked, sheepishly.
"She's fine," I replied, tersely.
Bud just nodded, obviously realizing the danger of going much further. Truth is, I really didn't give a shit about him and Clarissa anymore. Or, at least I thought I didn't. But I did get a kick out of seeing him anguish over the fact that he couldn't have her and the fact that Clarissa really didn't want him anymore, even if she thought I didn't care if they were ever together again. But it was pretty damned distasteful that he was asking about his ex-lover while his long-time spouse with cancer was literally just yards away.
"I think it's time to end this conversation and get back to Shannon and Margolene," I said, turning to go.
"Right, right."
"Find anything interesting over there?" Shannon asked as I returned.
"Nothing we can't live without," I said, forcing a smile.
"So, I guess we'll see you a week from Saturday then! Oh, gosh, I just can't wait," Margolene said, ecstatically.
"It was so nice visiting and getting to know you," Shannon said. "It will be an honor for us to have you there!"
"Yes, it will," I added.
"I'll go get the car and pick you up at the entrance," Bud interjected. "I don't want you to have to walk that far."
"Thank you, sweetheart," Margolene said, squeezing his hand.
We visited a few more minutes with Margolene until Bud arrived with the car. She mentioned how she felt Bud wasn't taking her illness very well and how she thought he was in denial and she worried about how he would take care of himself after she was gone. It was tough hearing someone talk about the end of their life and the whole thing made me uncomfortable...and extremely angry. A lot of the old anger was resurfacing, especially because this woman loved Bud Roberts but had absolutely no clue about the depth of his betrayal to her...or me, for that matter. And I never had the guts or the heart to tell her.
Shannon took Margolene's arm and walked her the short distance to the front of the mall and helped her into Bud's vehicle. Bud, of course, didn't bother to get out and help, being the caring husband and all.
"I know how tough that was for you, Patrick," Shannon said. "But I also know how much you like Margolene and I can see why. She's one of the most genuine and caring people I've ever met. Something about her seems so real."
"She is," I replied, kissing her. "She reminds me a lot of you. You're right. She's the real deal. Besides having an affair with Clarissa, I just can't get over the fact that he would do something like that to Margolene."

Ramesh_Rocky · 29-03-2025, 02:26 PM

We walked around the mall for a bit longer and returned home.

*****
It was the week of the wedding and I was getting all sorts of stressed out. I knew that Shannon, her mother Suzanne and her friends pretty much had everything planned and under control. They kept telling me over and over again that all I had to do, as the groom, was just to show up.
I had spent part of the day at the office, much to Mitch Monahan's dismay, but Brian Kelley and Billy Shoemaker were both still on their mandatory leave. As I pulled in the driveway, I immediately knew something was amiss as I saw a strange car parked in the driveway. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as I saw the Iowa license plates on a brand new blood red Cadillac CTS.
I walked in the front door and was immediately greeted by Shannon, who looked flustered and nearly out of breath. She gave me a quick kiss and a hug.
"Patrick," she said, hesitantly, "there's someone here to see you."
"Let me guess. My father?"
"Yes, he's waiting for you in the family room."
"Oh, joy," I said, squeezing her hand.
"Do you want me to leave you two alone?"
"You're welcome to come and go as you like but I can't promise that things won't get a little heated. My father is an arrogant ass and he doesn't like it when I call him out on it."
"I've already visited with him for the last hour while he's waited. He's also a shameless flirt," she said, rolling her eyes. I immediately sensed my stomach tying itself in a knot.
"I'll try and get this over with. I'm sure he's probably just pissed that I didn't invite him to the wedding."
"Good luck," Shannon said, giving me a wink.
I walked into the family room and saw my father sitting in my favorite recliner, which kind of pissed me off. He had always made a big production about how his chair was HIS chair and it would be considered extremely rude for anyone to walk into his home and make themselves comfortable there. Conversely, he also said it was one of the biggest honors he could give to a guest by inviting them to sit in his chair, also. It sounded dumb to me at the time but now I suddenly realized that he was disrespecting me in a way that would be imperceptible to others but was an outright slap in the face to me.
And he knew it. Allow me to introduce you to my father, Sean Patrick Quinn, Sr.
"Ah, Sean Junior! You're finally home!" he exclaimed with false enthusiasm. I could feel the hair rise on my neck as though someone had run their fingernails across a chalk board. My father knows how much I detest being called Sean, let alone Junior.
"Patrick, Dad. Everybody I know calls me Patrick," I corrected as I sat down.
"Oh, come now, son. Old habits die hard. How about a drink for your old man?"
"Sure thing. How about some Templeton Rye on the rocks?"
"Surely you can do better than that, can't you?"
"I've got half a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue but I only save that for special occasions," I replied, getting in a dig of my own.
"What, having a drink with your old man isn't a special occasion?"
"What are you doing here?" I asked as I handed him a tumbler. He took a long pull of the Templeton and grimaced.
"Would you believe that this stuff isn't even made in Iowa anymore? Pathetic, if you ask me. The last time I had this it didn't even taste the same. But this stuff actually tastes okay," he said sounding surprised.
"Yeah, it's made in Indiana now and then bottled in Iowa and the recipe isn't the same as the one used during Prohibition. This is one of three bottles from 1999 that I have left, which is why it tastes original. But, once again, what are you doing here?"
"Well, it's been forever since I've seen my son and grandsons. I had some time in my busy schedule so I decided to pay a visit and ask my son face-to-face why his old man didn't seem to rate an invitation to the wedding."
I swallowed hard on my own sip of Templeton. "Well, Dad, I guess I figured you would be too busy to attend and too indifferent to really care one way or another."
"Oh, nonsense, Sean. Why in the world would you think that?"
"Why would I not?"
"Are you just gonna answer all of my questions with a question, Sean?"
"I dunno, Dad. Are you gonna ask any questions worth answering?"
"All of my questions are worth answering, son."
"Let me ask you a question then, Dad. If being here and feeling the heart strings tug for your family means so much to you, then how come you never bothered to see me when I was in the hospital?"
My father took another long pull of the Templeton. "I figured my presence wasn't wanted."
"You expect me to buy that bullshit?"
"It wasn't bullshit, Sean, and you know it. You and I hadn't spoken since your mother died and I didn't know if you'd want to see me then."
"I was in a drug-induced coma for eight days, Dad. I had been shot several times from a 12-gauge shotgun. I was literally on my death bed. And it never occurred to you to fly or drive up from Iowa to see me? Maybe for the last time?"
"Like I said, Sean. Things weren't particularly good between us at the time. Besides, by the time your ex-wife bothered to even call me about it, you were already past the danger point."
"Eight days, Dad. Eight fucking days. You expect me to believe that she didn't call you for over a week after it happened?"
"I don't know exactly when it was, Patrick. All I know is that it was several days after the shooting and you were still around. You obviously pulled through or were at least going to pull through eventually. And, yes, I'm sorry that I never came to see you."
"Well, better late than never, I suppose," I retorted, getting up for a refill. "Want another glass?"
"Don't mind if I do," Dad said, obviously as irritated as I was.
"So, why did you really come here?" I asked, handing him a fresh glass.
"I told you. I wanted to know why you wouldn't invite me to the wedding."
"And I already told you."
"I don't think you did."
"Yes, Dad, I did. I said specifically said that I didn't invite you because I didn't think you'd care nor did I think you would bother to attend."
"Look, son...I know that things have been pretty strained between us. But I came here in good faith to try and clear the air on some things, okay?"
I thought carefully. "Why should I believe you?"
"I don't exactly have a reputation for being a liar, Sean! Tell me, exactly, what have you possibly got against me after all these years?"
"I think I could ask you the same thing, Dad."
He threw his arms up in frustration. "There you go again. Answering my questions with a question of your own. Can I just get a straight answer for once? You're making me feel like I'm taking a deposition, for God's sake!"
"Alright. You want an answer? My answer is resentment."
"What the hell do you resent me for so bad, Sean?"
"Why do you resent me so bad, Dad? Why was I never good enough for you? Why was I always such a disappointment to you? What the hell kind of father doesn't visit his own son in the hospital after he has just damned near been shot to death?"
"I never looked at you as a disappointment, Sean. I was just...I dunno...frustrated I guess."
"Why?"
"Because I set everything up for you, Sean! And you never wanted any of it! Everything I ever did, everything I ever built, I did for my family! And you wanted nothing to do with it!"
"Everything, Dad? You did everything for your family? What about Mom? What about all those other women you slept with? Did you do that for your family, too?"
My father just stared at me, seething. "I worked my ass off, Sean, building a law firm from the ground up. Few men can say that they've been as successful as me, Patrick. I started out in Sioux City and now I've opened offices in Omaha, Des Moines and we're opening offices in the Quad Cities. I have seventeen dedicated partners and over 50 associates working for me now in just about every facet of law."
"Yes, I know you did, Dad. And you sacrificed every family moment you could in order to build your firm, too."
"Sacrifices have to be made, son. I don't apologize for that."
"You were never there for us, Dad. Ever. You were always too busy for us. I never understood it. Beth never understood it. And Mom never understood it."
"Oh, yes, she did. Your mother understood very well."
"The hell she did, Dad. She ignored every one of your affairs with those young, hungry female associates. What was it you always used to say to your buddies at cocktail parties? You can teach 'em to file motions, you can teach them how to make a final summation but you can't teach 'em to grow tits?"
"Your mother was content in our marriage, Sean. She knew the demands and the pressures of what I was doing and never minded if I found a little relief outside of our marriage."
"Bullshit! You were gone so damned much! You weren't there to see her cry herself to sleep all those nights you were gone...knowing what you were doing with some associate, clerk or intern. But Beth and I were. Beth and I knew at a young age what you were doing with a lot of your non-billable hours!"
"What I did with my non-billable hours was my own damned business! You didn't seem to mind growing up in a nice house, going to a Catholic college instead of a public one or having a nicer car to drive in high college than any of your friends!"
"That's because I was a kid, Dad. I took whatever kind of attention from I could get. So did Beth."
"Beth? Really? She sure as hell doesn't throw me the same kind of bullshit resentment in my face that you do! She and Tom were pretty damned happy when I talked to them and told them I was coming up here."
"Well, she's more forgiving than I am, I guess," I spat, getting up for another round of Templeton.
"Why don't you pour me another one while you're at it?"
"Because I didn't offer you one. And besides, you've still gotta drive when you leave here shortly."
"I was hoping I could crash with you, maybe have a chance of getting to know that beautiful fiancée of yours a little better; maybe find out what exactly it is that she sees in you."
"She sees plenty in me, Dad. Far more than you ever did."
"Think she'll be happy being the wife of a cop? Think you'll be able to make her any happier than you did Clarissa?"
"Shannon is twice the woman Clarissa is...in so many ways. And as far as making her happy? That's my problem to figure out, not yours. So butt out of it!"
My father got up, smirked and just toyed with his empty glass tumbler. "All I ever wanted, Sean, was for you to realize your potential. I'm a world class lawyer. I built an incredible firm right in the heartland of this country, something that nobody should have ever been able to do. I've got clients all around the country and all around the world. People come to Iowa to do business with me! Because they know that I can get things done! Don't you see that, Sean? I set it all out for you! It all could have been yours! And you threw it all away!"
"Because it was all tainted, Dad! If living your life that way and becoming that type of person was the cost of success, then I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. And being in law enforcement is just as good and important as practicing the law."
"And what did that get you, Sean? An empty house? A divorce? At least I managed to stay married to your mother. At least I never caused my kids to grow up in a broken home, splitting time between their parents."
"What's the difference, Dad? You were never there for me and Beth anyway."
Dad set his glass on the table. "I was there for you, Sean. You just chose not to see it because you wanted it to be on your terms. Making a living and building a business wasn't good enough for you. Despite everything you say about not wanting to be like me, you're just as spoiled as any other golden-spoon trust fund baby. I guess I'll be going now. I apologize for everything I tried to do for you, Sean. Or I guess you want to be called Patrick, don't you? Guess even my name wasn't good enough for you."
"Oh, wow! Listen to you! Such a victim! That sympathy card doesn't play around here, Dad. Don't even bother."
"Sorry that my unmitigated success is such a disappointment to you, Patrick. Since I didn't rate an invite to the wedding maybe I'll get in touch with my former daughter-in-law and see if she wants to have lunch."
"Find, Dad. You do that. While you're at it, tell her to have the boys ready on time next time I'm there to pick them up."
"Tell her yourself. Oh, and by the way, better give your sister a call. She might have some news for you that you ought to find interesting." My Dad just looked at me one last time, shook his head and left the house. I could feel my fists clenching so hard that my fingernails were digging into the skin.
"Everything okay, Patrick?" Shannon said, coming back into the room.
"Yeah, babe. Everything's fine. Just needed to clear the air on some stuff."
"Sounded like it was getting pretty heated. Did you guys get some things worked out?"
"Oh, hell no. But at least we know where each other stands. I gotta make a call real quick, okay? I'll just be a few minutes and then we can relax a bit together, okay?"
"No problem, sweetie," she said giving me a quick kiss.
I pulled out my smart phone and punched in my sister's number. She picked up on the second ring.
"Hey, big brother! What's up?"
"Hey, sis. Not much. You'll never guess who was just here for a visit."
"Yeah, I know. We were surprised he was here this soon, too. We weren't expecting him until the day before the wedding."
"You knew he was coming?"
"Well, of course, Patrick. Why wouldn't he be?"
"Because I didn't invite him."
"What, to the wedding?"
"Yes."
"Are you serious, Patrick? You seriously didn't invite Dad to the wedding?"
"Serious as a heart attack. And since I didn't invite him, that means he came up here to see you and Tom. Wanna tell me what that is all about? He said that you would have some interesting news for me."
"So, I take it that Dad didn't tell you."
"No, he did not."
I could hear Beth let out a long sigh. "Patrick...Tom, the kids and I are moving back to Iowa. Dad's opening a law branch in the Quad Cities. One of the more senior partners is going to be moving there to serve as senior partner there along with several associates and we're moving to Des Moines. Dad offered Tom a partnership. He would be the main tax and probate lawyer and would have all the work he wants or could handle. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Dad's known all around the country and Tom would have a ready-made clientele."
I was stunned. "You guys are leaving Red River Falls?"
"Yes," she said, hesitantly.
"Why wouldn't you tell me? Why keep it a secret? Does Tom's family know? I mean, he grew up here."
"Yes, Tom's family all know and they're very happy for us. We didn't really try to keep it a secret, Patrick. We've been kind of overwhelmed ever since Dad offered it to Tom. Tom's gonna have to divest from his current firm and tie up a lot of loose ends there. He's been a partner here for almost ten years and you can't just up and leave like you can with any other job."
"Yeah, I get that part. I guess it just took me by surprise, ya know?"
"I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner, Patrick. I hope you're not angry with me. In fact, I hope you're happy for us. This is a huge opportunity for Tom. And, it's not too late for you, Patrick."
"I have zero interest in going back for a law degree now, Sis. And besides, I think you and I both know how well me working with Dad would go over. Like a lead balloon."
"Patrick, you can't keep this going on forever, you know. I know you're upset about Mom but she obviously dealt with Dad in her own way."
"I know, Beth. Some things are just harder to get past for some of us than others. And I'll always be pissed at and despise Dad for the way he treated her."
Beth was silent for a few moments. "I'm really sorry we didn't tell you sooner, Patrick."
"I know, Sis," I said, hanging up.
Wow. Mind blown. I had just had a typical conversation with the father I hadn't seen in almost three years, only to find out that my sister, her husband and their family were moving to Des Moines to join his business and, of course, to fall right in with my father's sphere of influence.
Not me. I had no intention of letting that happen to me. As I pondered all of that, my cell phone rang once again. The caller ID simply read, "UNKNOWN NUMBER". Few people had my cell phone number and I had all of the pertinent blocks in place for telemarketers. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of me.
"Hello?" I answered.
A pause. "Is this Sheriff Quinn?"
"Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?"
Another pause. "One who is displeased, Sheriff."
I was getting irritated. "Who is this?" I demanded.
"Who I am, Sheriff, is not your concern. Who you are is the concern."
"And why, exactly, is that?"
"Because you are the guilty one, Sheriff," the voice hissed.
"I beg your pardon?"
"No," the voice answered.
"No, what?"
"You asked me to pardon you, Sheriff. My answer is no. I will not pardon you."
"Pardon me for what?"
"For the sin you have committed, dear Sheriff."
"I'm gonna ask you this again. Who the hell is this?"
"Hell is exactly right, Sheriff."
"How so?"
"Because that is what your life will soon become, Sheriff. A living hell!" (*Click*)
I stood there staring at my phone. Someone was obviously fucking with me. And playing some sort of game. I wasn't sure what the hell was going on. But I was pretty sure of one thing; I had just been threatened.
Someone would need to pay for threatening a Sheriff...especially me. This was one phone call that would NOT go unanswered. And the caller was unlikely to enjoy the response.
*****
The news of my sister and brother-in-law moving back to Iowa to work with my father took the wind out of my sails a bit. Actually, a lot - almost as much as that damned cryptic phone call. It seemed like one more small victory, of sorts, that my father could claim over me. It also sucked that it was all happening so close to the wedding.
Shannon and her family had gone all out, despite my insistence that they really didn't need to. I constantly had to remind myself that, although I had been through it before, that this was still Shannon's first wedding and it should be the day she had always dreamed about.
The wedding party was going to involve Shannon and her best friend and Matron of Honor, Marcy Beemus, whom she also worked with at Holy Family. In addition, my sister Beth would be one of the bridesmaids, along with two other friends she worked with at Holy Family.
On my side would be me and my best friend, Deputy Danny Larson, who would be my Best Man. Deputy Chris Hayes, Captain and Chief Deputy Ben Villanueva, and Deputy Brian Kelley. Both of my sons, Nick and Jake, would serve as ring bearers and Bridget, of course, was our flower girl. I, along with all the men in my wedding party, would be attired in our dress department uniforms, to include our firearms and utility belts, of course. That gave Monsignor Flannagan a bit of heartburn but he didn't put up much of a fuss. And I thought we all looked pretty sharp for the pictures. Six other members of my department served as ushers.
The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner went off without a hitch. Per Shannon's instructions, she decided to spend the last evening before our wedding at home with her parents, with strict instructions that I was not to see her prior to the moment where she was walking down the aisle. That sucked because the anticipation of how amazing she was going to look gave me an unrelenting and vicious erection that seemed to take forever to go away. Fortunately, it did without me having to rub one out. I wanted to save every last bit of myself that I could for the consummation on our wedding night!

Ramesh_Rocky · 29-03-2025, 02:28 PM

The church filled up quite quickly and everyone was in place. Father Flannagan led me to the front of St. Matthew's and soon the music began filling the air. One by one my groomsmen began escorting the bridesmaids down the aisle. Everyone looked absolutely immaculate and I couldn't have been more proud of my boys as they escorted Bridget down the aisle.

As I stood there waiting for Shannon, it happened - again. I wasn't exactly sure what it was or why it was happening. The amount of flowers that Shannon, her mother Suzanne, and friends had gotten was enough to fill a small greenhouse. The smell of the roses, carnations, orchids, lilies and myriad other flowers began to fill my nostrils and overpower my senses. Immediately, my palms began to sweat profusely.
My heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of my chest and my head suddenly started to throb. My vision got blurry and even my ears started ringing. I was suddenly gripped in fear and embarrassment the likes of which I had never experienced. I was suddenly struck with the thought that I never knew a person could even feel the way I was. I couldn't figure out what was going on but I felt like the entire world was literally shattering all around me. The sound of the pipe organ and trumpet was suddenly overwhelmingly loud and felt like the sound waves were nearly enough to push me to the floor.
And then, the rear doors to the church opened and there stood Shannon, arm-in-arm with her father, Jack. She was an absolute vision of perfection and beauty and I knew at that moment in time that no other woman on the face of the planet could match her. Immediately, my vision cleared and she came into perfect focus. My heart remained fast but calmed in the ferocity of its pumping.
Shannon continued her slow march towards the front of the church. Her dress was absolutely elegant, hugging her statuesque form. The shoulder straps of the stress hung off to the side, showing off her neck and shoulders beautifully. Her ample bosom and cleavage were perfectly framed by the plunging neck line and the dress cascaded down her abdomen, hips and shapely legs before fanning out into the most perfect and elegant train.
There were no patterns, pearls, sequins, faux gems nor any type of elaborate sewn-in patterns. It was plain but simultaneously the most elegant, sexy and beautiful article of clothing and I couldn't figure out whether Shannon complemented the dress more or if the dress complemented Shannon. The sight of her spectacular and nearly-over-exposed cleavage in the middle of a Catholic church ultimately decided things in Shannon's favor.
Shannon could instantly see the look of the remainder of my panic attack written all over her face but her smile returned after I flashed her one and took her hand in my own. Her father Jack shook my other hand vigorously and I could see a tear in his eye. Jack Sullivan was a man who never, EVER cried - except when he had to give away his only child and daughter.
The simple act of taking Shannon's hand in my own further calmed whatever beast was trying to rear its ugly head within me. My face started to cool a bit as the profuse sweat began to evaporate as my pulse and blood pressure returned to normal. When Shannon mouthed the words 'I love you', the incident was most decidedly over.
The rest of the ceremony went normally. Thank God we don't do in Catholic weddings what they do in some Protestant ones, where the preacher asks if anyone has any objections to the union. But I had thoroughly scanned the church and saw no sign of my ex-wife nor my father.
Finally, Shannon and I had exchanged our hand-written vows and Father Flannagan gave us a final blessing before pronouncing us man and wife.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Father Flannagan smiled and boomed, "it is my distinct pleasure to introduce to you, with the blessings of God Almighty in the presence of our Savior, Jesus Christ, Mr. and Mrs. Patrick and Shannon Quinn. Mr. Quinn, you may kiss your bride!"
I turned and kissed Shannon tenderly but not overly garish, so as not to embarrass ourselves or Father Flannagan. As I did so, the church broke out into applause and the organist began playing the postlude as Shannon and I walked arm-in-arm down the aisle. I couldn't help but beam ear-to-ear. Suddenly, images of the last couple of years began flashing through my mind of everything that had led up to this moment.
It culminated as we walked past the aisle where Margolene and Bud Roberts were sitting. I guess it looked good, in a way, that Bud was there. Perversely, the appearance of a friendship between us was actually good in a way. But I was equally dumbstruck as I saw Margolene. Her face had taken a decidedly ashen and grayer appearance than when Shannon and I had seen her at the mall. She looked even thinner and frailer and I knew she didn't have much time left. As happy as I should have been at that moment, it was most decidedly a tempering moment.
We made our way outside the church to form a receiving line and greeted everyone. It was a beautiful September day and unusually warm at 82 degrees. Most of the attendees were congregating around the wedding party before heading to the Knights of Columbus hall.
Soon, we headed towards a motorcade of Sheriff's Department vehicles, which included my brand-new and freshly washed and waxed 2015 Ford Expedition command vehicle. My previous Expo was still being held for evidence and the county Treasurer, who oversaw my department's budget, expedited the purchase of a replacement vehicle. The old Expo would be repaired and then sold, with the money going back into the treasury to offset the purchase. Given what that Expo and I had been through, the county Supervisors decided not to remind me of the experience by forcing me to keep using the same vehicle. It didn't seem like a big deal initially but the idea grew on me as time went on. I helped Shannon climb into the Expo and I piled in after her. Once again, Deputy Bryan Kelley and his lovely and heavily pregnant wife Reba served as chauffeur and chaperone for us and we joined in the motorcade headed to the Knights of Columbus hall.
The reception dinner was amazing and the toasts given by Marcy and Danny were both funny and poignant but simultaneously heartfelt. Glasses clinged constantly, signaling our guests' limitless demands for kisses from Shannon and I. We were only too happy to oblige.
When the meal had concluded, the bar was operating at full capacity and people were enjoying themselves immensely. The DJ began playing "When I Fall in Love" by Clive Griffin and Celine Dion, which was one of Shannon's favorites. She and I moved to the middle of the dance floor and I took her in my arms for the first dance. The lights were low and we just stared into each other's eyes. For the few minutes the song played we were in a universe of two. Only when everyone started clapping at the end of the song did we snap out of our trance.
The rest of the usual dances followed; Jack danced with Shannon while I shared a dance with Suzanne as I couldn't dance with my own mother. The bridal party had a dance of our own and then the floor was opened to everyone. The old standbys were played; the Maracarena, Strokin' by Clarence Thomas and, of course, the Chicken Dance, for the kids in attendance. Bryan Kelley took charge at one point and implemented the dollar dance where the men would pay a buck to dance with Shannon and the women would pay a dollar to dance with me. By the time that was over with, Shannon had earned almost 400 dollars! Me? Bryan Kelley said he pimped me out for a grand total of 83 bucks. Figures.
Finally, we got to the part where Shannon threw the bouquet, which was aggressively wrestled in by none other than one of my deputies, Amanda Comstock!
After that, the men placed Shannon in a chair and it was time for me to remove her garter. Everyone made a big deal about the fact that, if I was a REAL man, I'd use my teeth to remove the garter. At a risk of embarrassing Jack and Suzanne, I decided to go for it. I got on one knee, gently lifted up her dress and dove in. As I grabbed the ornate little garter with my teeth I got a glimpse of the exquisite white silk panties that Shannon was wearing. After a long day of wedding activities, the reception and several hours of dancing, Shannon had worked up the most intoxicating, inviting and musky scent and it was all I could do to keep from burying my face in her Holy Grail right then and there!
But my job was to retrieve the garter and retrieve it I did, simultaneously bearing the biggest shit-eating grin I could muster. I turned my back to the crowd of males jockeying for position and slung-shot the garter a good 30 feet in the air before it floated back down right in the middle of the crowd where none other than Danny Larson outwitted, outplayed and outlasted the rest of the Neanderthals battling for the little silk and lace symbol of virtue. To my relief, Jack and Suzanne were laughing and applauding with everyone else. Suzanne even yelled, "Bravo!"
Shannon and I said our goodbyes to everyone just before midnight but not before the DJ informed everyone that the bar was still open and no one had to leave just because the bride and groom were. Bryan Kelley brought my personal vehicle, my trusty Royal Blue Ford F-150 Lariat Crew Cab to the entrance and I proceeded to drive my now beautiful WIFE Shannon to our hotel at the Holiday Inn and Suites.
I employed tradition and carried my gorgeous and exhausted wife across the threshold and into our bridal suite. I set her gently down onto the King-sized bed and just marveled at how amazing she looked. Thankfully, all of our luggage had been brought to the hotel.
I began peeling off my dress uniform. Shannon sat up on the edge of the bed and I began silently unzipping and helping her out of her dress.
"Oh, my God," she moaned. "As much as I dreamed about this day all of my life, I have been dreaming for the last three hours of the moment where I can get out of this dress!"
"We've been waiting for this day for so long and now it seems like it was over in an instant!"
"I know," Shannon agreed. "But now I'm equally looking forward to the rest of our lives together! And you can start by helping me get out of this dress!"
"My pleasure, Mrs. Quinn!"
"Mmm," she cooed. "I definitely love the sound of that!"
I helped Shannon shimmy her arms through the loops and then she let the dress fall as she stepped out of it. She then gingerly laid the dress on a chair next to the bed. Shannon then stood there in front of me and I absolutely could not believe my eyes. The vision was absolutely magnificent and angelic. Shannon was now wearing only the small white silk strapless bra that were straining to hold her magnificent breasts in place. She also had on her luscious white silk panties that, to my pleasant surprise, were also a thong. She also had the sexiest white silk stockings on that brought out the most intense feeling of lust in me. And Shannon could see it written all over my face.
"Easy cowboy," she giggled. "Plenty of time for that after I grab a quick shower."
"Uh-uh. No way," I demanded. "I absolutely have to have you right now. And I mean, right now!"
"Oh, my God, Patrick! I'm absolutely disgusting. I'm tired, I'm sweaty and I'm completely gross right now, especially down you-know-where!"
"I absolutely don't care," I said, furiously trying to shed the rest of my clothes. "I've been waiting and dreaming of this all damned day. And when I took off your garter tonight, I could almost taste you. It was all I could do to keep from taking you right there on the dance floor."
"Patrick, please. I-" She never got a chance to finish as I began almost attacking her breasts with my mouth. Once I had one of her nipples in my mouth she began to lose all resistance. I gave each of the "girls" ample attention. There seemed to be an invisible telegraph wire that ran from Shannon's breasts to her vagina. Playing with her breasts and nipples activated a signal for her pussy to begin lubricating. I placed a hand inside those beautiful panties and immediately found wetness. As I continued my ministrations on her breasts, I could feel her clit swelling and her knees nearly buckled under her.
I gently laid her back on the bed with her feet hanging over the edge. I kneeled down and gently peeled down her thong and was again greeted with a powerful sexy, sweaty and musky scent of her womanhood. I slid her butt closer to the edge and brought her legs up and her feet on my shoulders. Her beautiful pussy spread and blossomed right in front of me and was covered in a glistening sheen of her arousal fluid.
"Patrick, are you sure you want to - " she started to say.
"We've got plenty of soap, shampoo and toothpaste," I interrupted. "So, yes, I really want to!" And with that I dove in and gave her luscious honey pot a long, slow, flat-tongued lick all the way from her taint to her clit. I took her swollen nub in my mouth and gave it a loving swirl. By now, all resistance was gone and Shannon just cupped my head with one hand and ran the fingers of her other hand through my hair as she silently guided and willed me to do my best. I continued to lap up all of her juices as they continued to well up and flow from her pussy. The room began to fill up with the smell of sex and it only made me more insane for her. The fact that I was now making love to my wife Shannon, instead of my fiancée Shannon, only made the situation more intense.
Shannon hung onto the edge of a powerful orgasm until I lowered myself and gave her beautiful sphincter a sharp lick of my tongue. Shannon had a definite anal sensitivity, though she didn't like to admit it, and her body shivered with a powerful orgasm! She wouldn't encourage me to do it but had some of her most intense orgasms any time I got frisky and decided to give her beautiful brown balloon knot some intimate and needed attention.
She was coming down from her first orgasm when she breathlessly whispered, "Patrick, please! That's enough! I want you inside me!"
"Nope," replied. "I'm all in and I can't get enough of you right now!"
I returned my face to her beautiful pussy and continued to give it the loving attention it deserved. I gently slid two fingers into her willing love canal and began slowly but rhythmically stroking them in and out while I continued to lick and suckle her labia and clit.
Shannon was breathing rapidly and heavily, as though trying to catch her breath. The impending orgasm was strong and intense and threatening to consume her.
"Patrick...(pant)...I...oh, God...I'm...gonna...cum! Ooooooooooooh..."
She grabbed my hair violently while driving my face hard into her soaking wet vagina and bucking her hips wildly. She curled upward into a half-sitting position with a look of exquisite and beautiful pain on her face, too wracked with orgasm to even speak. Finally, she broke free from the orgasm as she plateaued and collapsed back on the bed, absolutely gasping for air. I'd never seen her cum that hard in the time we had been together.
I didn't even give her a chance to rest as I wanted to compound her pleasure further. I stripped out of my boxer briefs, finally releasing my rampant erection from its cotton prison. I'm not a huge man, only about 6 ½ inches in length, with a little over average girth. But I have freakishly huge low-hanging testicles with a ball sack that ranged somewhere between the size of an orange and a small gbangfruit. I was also an extremely heavy cummer. Sometimes, I could get Shannon to cum, if she hadn't already, just by ejaculating a massive load inside of her. Tonight would be a gusher, I just knew.
I brought Shannon's legs up and rested her ankles on my shoulders. I brought my cock head level with her entrance and guided effortlessly into her hot, wet, silky slit. The sensation was overwhelming but I was determined to go the distance tonight. I entered her balls-deep and stopped, with the head of my cock gently pressing against her cervix. I held the position to let us both get used to it and I could see another pained expression on Shannon's face as another orgasm was close at hand.
I began slowly stroking in and out but stopped again as I felt my orgasm start to build quicker than I wanted.
"It's okay, Patrick," Shannon cooed. "I'm close, too. Come on, babe! Let's do this! Take me to the moon and back, my love!"
Fuck it! I withdrew and began ferociously jackhammering my beautiful wife's pussy. Fortunately, the speed of my relentless pounding allowed the feeling to subside a bit and I held out for a good 7 or 8 minutes while taking Shannon to the edge. Her pussy was absolutely flooding and I could feel her juices splattering on my legs as my huge scrotum relentlessly slapped her ass over and over again.
Suddenly, Shannon reached up and grabbed my faced and forcefully pulled me in for the most sensuous and steel-melting kiss ever. Generally, whenever I've been giving Shannon's beautiful, puckered anus the attention it deserves, she is adamant about not kissing me afterwards until I've cleaned up. Not tonight. She absolutely ravaged my mouth, not caring a damn where it had been earlier. Sloppy, sensuous kisses with generous amounts of tongue were exchanged over and over again.
Finally, I could hold it no longer as an earthquake began to build in my groin.
"Oh, God, Shannon! I'm sorry. I...I can't...hold it anymore!"
"It's okay, sweetheart! I'm ready! Cum with me!"
I gave her about ten hard, rapid thrusts before I completely tensed up and buried my cock as deep as I could. I shot out rope after rope of hot, sticky cum. Shannon actually screamed out loud as I could feel her pussy repeatedly gripping and squeezing my cock, trying to get every last drop out of me. So intense was her orgasm that she dug her immaculate nails into my shoulder blades and dragged them down the entire length of my back. I was almost afraid she drew blood but the pain was both intense and pleasurable at the same time.
I collapsed on top of my beautiful bride and just lay there, completely spent and out of breath. I gently massaged one of Shannon's breasts with my hand and made the mistake of playing with the nipple. Shannon immediately slapped my hand away and said, "Stop it!"
"I'm sorry," I said, afraid I had upset her.
"It's okay," she giggled. "I'm just in major sensory overload right now. I couldn't handle another orgasm right now if I tried."
"If it makes you feel better," I said, heaving, "I'm not ready yet for another round, either."
We lay there basking in the afterglow of our first, intense coupling as man and wife. By the time I had the energy to even stand up, Shannon still hadn't relaxed enough to let her vagina loosen enough to release my cock. It was still semi-hard because it was squeezing so tight. I forced a withdrawal as I stood and was amazed at the sight. The side of the bed where we had been fucking looked like somebody had knocked over a small glass of milk and spilled it on the floor, so prolific and copious was the amount of fluids we had released. It was absolutely SOAKED. No way was that gonna dry by morning. I decided I'd have to leave a tip for the maid as her minimum wage didn't justify having to clean that up.
I crawled over Shannon and laid down on the bed, totally spent. I mustered up enough strength to grab Shannon's hand and guide her in next to me with our arms and legs intertwined. I don't remember saying another thing that night as we both fell into an exhausted and deep sleep.
Sometime around three in the morning, I awoke. As I opened my eyes, I was greeted with Shannon smiling and gazing into my eyes. She leaned forward and gave me a sloppy, sensuous kiss. Immediately, I felt myself getting hard again. Shannon caressed my chest and stomach and inadvertently, I think, brushed her hand across my hardened rod.

Ramesh_Rocky · 29-03-2025, 02:30 PM

"Oh, my!" she said. "Looks like someone else is awake early this morning, too!"

She immediately broke out embrace and gently took my rigid member in her hand and lowered her head onto it, swallowing me whole in one smooth motion. She set to work giving me the most incredible blow job I had ever received. Both of us were still covered in the scent and remains of our earlier lovemaking session. Shannon didn't care. I had to playfully fight with her to allow me access to at least play with her pussy and tits, which I eventually won. Soon, her vaginal juices were flowing freely again.
She sat up, crawled over and straddled me. She slid her hips backward deftly and her pussy absolutely inhaled my cock. Shannon let out a coo and a moan as she adjusted and got used to the fullness again. She began grinding her hips back and forth as she was determined to be the one controlling the pace of the action this time.
She laid down on my chest and grabbed my head, pulling my face into hers as we began making out and gently rocked at the same time. I gently massaged her breasts and tweaked her nipples. We weren't consummating this time, we were simply enjoying making love in the early morning hours.
Soon, we were both steadily rocking towards pleasurable orgasms, even though they weren't nearly as intense as earlier. I washed her insides again with another blast of semen, though not nearly as prodigious as the first time. We lay there for a while before she slid herself off and, again, fell asleep in my arms. No matter how I had imagined our first night as man and wife, I couldn't imagine it being more blissful than this.
We slept in until about 10:00 the next morning. By that time, we both laughingly agreed that showers were definitely a must as we both smelled like dried sweat, pussy and cum - which isn't as bad an odor as it sounds, at least not when you're sexually aroused. But I followed her into the bathroom and into a steaming shower and we had more fun soaping and lathering each other. This, of course, led to a third intense round of lovemaking under the cascading shower head, which was followed by another round shortly before checkout at 1 pm. We were bound and determined to get our money's worth out of the room.
We never did make it to the pool or hot tub. But our in-room activities more than made up for it. And the room service wasn't bad, either!
*****
We met up with Shannon's parents again at their ranch home when we picked up the kids. Our overnight at the hotel was just for us to have some time together after the wedding. We had decided from the beginning that our actual honeymoon was going to be a family one. Shannon, the boys, Bridget and I would be going to Florida over Christmas break for a Disney cruise that would allow us a 5-day cruise and another three days in Orlando along with a three-day pass to Disney World and all of the Disney parks.
We were enjoying a nice dinner that evening with Jack, Suzanne and the kids when my phone rang again and I had to excuse myself. Once again, the caller ID showed "UNKNOWN NUMBER".
"Hello?" I answered.
I heard a pause and then, "I assume your weekend went well, Sheriff?"
"Yes, it was," I said, getting pissed off. "I'm flattered that you have taken such an interest in my life, whoever the fuck you are."
"Flattery isn't my intention, Sheriff. But you are right about my interest."
"Why? Why are you so interested? You know I'm going to find out who this is eventually, don't you?"
"No doubt you will, Sheriff. By then it may be too late."
"Oh, a threat. Nice. That will go nicely with my report to the FBI."
"You think I'm scared of the FBI, Sheriff?"
"I don't really give a shit whether you are scared or not," I said. "I'm going to find out who you are, where you live and what the purpose of these stupid phone calls are."
Another pause. "You really want to know the purpose of my calls, Sheriff?"
"I'm going to find out either way."
"Do you feel the butterflies in your stomach, Sheriff? Do you feel the anger and frustration building within you? Do you feel the fear and trepidation as you see my blocked number appear on your caller ID when I ring?"
A pause of my own. "Maybe," I said.
"That is the purpose of my call, Sheriff." (*click*)
I stood there staring at my phone and doing what I could to prevent from throwing the phone against the wall. Just as I did so, I saw Shannon standing there watching me.
"Is everything okay, babe? You looked strange as you took the call," she said.
"Oh, I don't know. Just a prank call or something."
"On your cell phone? Who would do that, especially on your work phone?"
"Not really sure, sweetheart. I'm gonna get to the bottom of it, though."
Despite my reassurances to Shannon, I don't think she believed me. Given how quiet she was during the rest of dinner, I think she suspected the phone call was more serious than I led her to believe.
I wasn't supposed to be back at work yet but I went ahead and went into the Sheriff's office Monday morning. Shannon, too, went back to work early, since we were going to be taking a vacation at Christmas anyway. My first call was to Mitch Monahan to let him know I was in the office but not to freak out as I had just a few tasks to finish up. He wasn't happy but I told him I would stay no later than lunch. Among some of the items I needed to look at was the list of qualified candidates to replace Deputy Embegwe.
But I also needed to look into the cryptic phone calls. I reviewed what I knew about the caller, which wasn't much. First of all, they spoke very good English and with a predominantly American accent. I say predominantly because the diction and annunciation was more prevalent than you would find in most Americans. That's what gave me an inkling that the caller was somebody who was either foreign or at least born and partially raised in a foreign country.
Also, the caller sounded like an adult but not a mature adult. I don't know how to explain it but the voice had a boyish hint to it.
My first thought was that it was someone from the Hammadi family or at least someone associated with them. The Hammadis had lived in the US for at least 10 years. Both Muchtada and Ibrahim spoke perfect English but had distinct accents, as well. Obviously, the caller was neither of them as they had both been killed.
In addition to the two oldest boys and Miriam, the Hammadis had three younger sons, 17 year-old Jaffar, 15 year-old Muhammad, and 12 year old Jamil. The three boys had returned to Dubai with their father Khalid, mother Sarabi and the bodies of the three oldest children to be buried in their homeland. As far as I knew there were no other relatives of the family who remained in Red River Falls or anywhere else in the Dakotas, Minnesota or the Upper Plains.
During my career as Sheriff if there was ever a time I needed to know some key and, I dare say, intimate information, my first call was always to a woman named Tonya. Actually, I should say Tonya Fulbright-Hayes. Tonya had become a dear friend at the beginning of my career with the Mason County Sheriff's Department as I battled to fend off a serious threat to my freedom and ended my marriage on MY terms and not my cheating, whorish ex-wife Clarissa. Ever since then, if there was any kind of threat to my career or my family, Tonya and her husband, Lieutenant Chris Hayes were my first phone call.
"Patty Pie!" Tonya shrieked as she picked up.
"Hey, Tonya! I hope I haven't called at a bad time."
"Never a bad time for you, Sheriff," she said in a sultry manner. I would never cheat on Shannon nor cheat with the wife of a friend. But if I lacked the moral fiber preventing me from doing so, I would probably have a whole lot of fun with Tonya.
"Well, I need some off-the-books assistance, if you know what I mean."
"Ooooh! Kinky! What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Patsy?" she giggled.
"Well, that's the problem, love. I'm not really sure just yet."
"Well, my skedge is pretty full today. What's the possibility of you and Shannon coming over for din-din tonight?"
"I'm pretty sure we could can make that happen. What's a good time?"
"How's six-ish sound?"
"Pretty good-ish," I chuckled. "See you then!"
"It's a date!"
*****
Shannon was thrilled to hear we were having supper at Chris and Tonya's house. So were the boys, as Tonya had an insane amount of computer equipment, tablets, and other devices. She was also a gamer and had every kind of gaming system from an original Atari to the most modern Xbox and Playstation. I knew the kids would be well-occupied.
Because Tonya was absolutely brilliant when it came to computers, I was also fairly confident that she wouldn't get caught if I asked her to do something not exactly within the bounds of established law. Tonya knew and could navigate the Dark Web better than I could find my way around my own house.
We finished our dinner which, as usual, involved a lot of flirting from Tonya to my wife Shannon. Tonya had what I can only describe as a major crush on Shannon, which was kind of kinky to see on one hand but also kind of annoying on the other. But Tonya also knew where the line was and never crossed it. All in all, Shannon and Tonya were quickly becoming the best of friends.
Tonya and Chris took me into her basement office where I couldn't tell if I was in someone's house or the Bat Cave, given all of the electronics. She also had a workshop down there where she actually repairs a lot of computer equipment, as well. Her technical support work far outpaced her repair work nowadays but she was still very skilled and capable at fixing stuff.
She was using something called Tor and explained that whatever we were looking for would be nearly untraceable. I had given her virtually every piece of information about every member of the Hammadi family I could. Tonya worked nearly silently for almost 30 minutes, breaking the lull to occasionally ask me a question or two.
"Okay, sexy," she said turning to me. "The bodies of all three were released to the family within 48 hours after the shootings. Technically, they are supposed to have the funeral and be buried within 24 hours after death. But ---c law allows for some discrepancy when a person dies so far from home. They were then driven to Minneapolis where the bodies and the family all boarded a Delta flight to Atlanta. In Atlanta they connected to an Emirates flight that was non-stop to Dubai."
I looked at the information she brought up. There didn't seem to be anything out of place that stood out right away.
"And the flight landed in Dubai early the next morning," Tonya said. "No stops or diversions in between."
Tonya even pulled up pages from the local English newspaper in Dubai that referenced the "tragedy" that struck the Hammadi family while in the USA. Interestingly, it made no mention of the fact that the two oldest sons murdered two American law enforcement officers in cold blood and then butchered and incinerated their own sister.
"Oh, shit!" Tonya exclaimed.
"What?!"
"Just a sec," she said, furiously typing the keys. "I totally missed this! The Hammadis had to switch planes from the Delta flight to the Emirates flight in Atlanta!"
"Right," I acknowledged. "But we already knew that, didn't we?"
"Yes, we did," she continued. "But what I didn't check initially was boarding pass check-in."
"Okay, so explain that."
"Pat, the Hammadis would have disembarked at the Delta gate. In order to board the new flight they would have had to check-in at the Emirates gate. In Minneapolis, you can clearly see that five people properly checked in and boarded the flight. BUT, in Atlanta, five people clearly got off the flight but only FOUR had boarding passes and embarked on the Emirates flight for Dubai!"
I could feel my face go cold as the blood rushed from it. "Can you find out which one of them didn't board the flight to Dubai?"
A few more clicks of the keyboard. "It looks like one of the boys, Jaffar Hammadi."
Shit! That explains it. The 17 year-old. My intuition about the age of the caller was right on. And considering the fact that the shootings and funerals were now over two weeks ago Jaffar could easily be back in the Red River Falls area.
That could only mean one thing ... Jaffar Hammadi was coming after me.
"Whatever you do," I told Chris and Tonya, "not a word of this to Shannon or the kids."
"You really should say something to Shannon, Pat," Chris warned. "She needs to know what to look for. You don't know for sure that he isn't gonna try and get to you by getting to your family first."
"I understand, Chris. But I don't want to say anything until I know for sure. I'm gonna call Special Agent Cooper in the morning and let him know what's going on. Hopefully, the Bureau can get on it and track him down before he gets here, if he isn't here already."
"Okay, Pat, but I'd tell her as soon as you hear from the Bureau."
"I'll tell her soon enough," I assured them both.
We spent some more time with Chris and Tonya while the kids enjoyed playing a variety of new and classic games on Tonya's game consoles. Pretty sure my boys could move in there and never come out for a month, save for food and bathroom breaks.
On the way home Shannon took my hand and said, "Did you, Tonya and Chris all find what you were looking for?"
"Not exactly, no," I lied. Truthfully, I couldn't say 100% that the Hammadi kid was the caller and I couldn't say definitively that he was a threat. But I sure as hell couldn't rule it out, either.
"Well, maybe whoever it is will grow up and get tired of their little game," Shannon said, hopefully.
"Yeah," I smiled. "Probably just some stupid kid," I added, less than convincingly.
I got up early the next morning and took my favorite horse, Blackjack, for a morning ride. It was one of my favorite things to do to relax that, frankly, I just didn't get to do enough. And I hadn't been out for a ride since before Tristan was killed. I rode for nearly an hour around my property as well as some trails on the neighboring properties around mine for which I had permission from the landowners.
I got back to the house just in time to see Shannon get ready to leave for work and the kids to get on the college bus, so I got hugs and smooches from all before they were gone for the day. Suddenly, I was all alone and felt vulnerable. I reached down and patted my hip to be sure that my Smith and Wesson Model 686 .357 magnum was still secured in its holster. Part of me kind of felt like a cowboy wearing it but now it felt like a necessity.
I rode Blackjack back to the barn, unsaddled him and put away the tack. I always hung my saddle by the horn to keep it off the ground and away from any place the mice could get to it and chew on the leather. Same for the bridle.
I then led Blackjack back to the barnyard and released him. His beautiful raven black hair had a bright sheen to it from all of his sweat and he immediately found a nice spot to lay down and roll on the grass and dirt. Then he popped back up to his feet and shook violently to shake off the excess dust and dirt. He was now filthy but happy and I rewarded him with an apple from one of the trees on my property, which were just coming into season.
I made sure the horses' tank was full of water and threw out a few slices of hay for all of them before heading back into the house to shower, change clothes and figure out how to spend the rest of my day and week. This was going to be the last week I took off from work, regardless of what Mitch Monahan says. I was going nuts being away from the office and away from the action.
Once I was freshly showered, shaved and had some breakfast and coffee in me, I went to my home study to make a phone call. I dialed the number and a pleasant-sounding female answered the phone.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation, Minneapolis office. How may I direct your call?"
"Uh, yes. My name is Pat Quinn, Sheriff of Mason County. I'm looking for Special Agent Bryce Cooper."
"One moment please."
I waited nearly ten minutes while the secretary or receptionist periodically came back on the line to ask me to hold a little longer. Well, it was longer. And getting longer.
Finally, Cooper came on the line.
"Sheriff! Good to hear from you. What can I do for you?"
"Hey, Agent Cooper. Good to talk to you, too," I lied. "I have a bit of a problem I was hoping you could help me with."
"Absolutely, Sheriff. After all, I'm with the government and we're always here to help," he chuckled. What a douche.
"Well, I've been getting a series of cryptic phone calls from an unknown number over the last couple of weeks and they've been sounding more and more ominous with each one."
"Oh? What can you tell me about the caller?"
I spent the next ten minutes telling Cooper everything I knew, including the information I had discovered about five Hammadis getting off the plane in Atlanta and only four boarding the plane for Dubai. I did not, however, reveal how I knew that last bit of information.
"I really don't think the Hammadis are the ones bothering you, Quinn," Cooper said. "It's quite possible that the Hammadi boy decided to stay with relatives or friends. Given his age, I'm guessing he is a student in high college in Red River Falls, is he not?"
"Well, sure he was. But why would he fly to Atlanta with his family only to turn around and come back to Red River Falls? And why could we not find any information about a return flight to the area? If he is back here, who would he be staying with?"
"Quinn, it seems like you've dug into this quite a bit to find out all this information so far. First of all, I'd check with the college to see if he's been back in college or not. That ought to be the first indication if he's still in the area or not. Secondly, I seriously doubt that he is going to try and take out a local sheriff."
"What the hell would he be doing back here?"
"I don't know, Quinn, but our investigation revealed nothing to indicate that any of the men in the Hammadi family had been radicalized. We scrutinized the hell out of their social media activity and the rest of their online activity. Absolutely nothing to indicate they were radicalized. You don't have a mosque or ---c center in Red River Falls but, by all indications, they never traveled to the one in Fargo, Sioux Falls or anywhere else within 200 miles, or at least not often enough for anyone at any of the ones we checked to remember the Hammadis going regularly."
"Can you at least check and see why the Hammadi kid didn't go back to Dubai with the rest of the family?"
"I'm telling you, Quinn. He's a 17 year-old kid whose been living the majority of his life in the USA. The rest of his family is going home and, most likely, probably going to end up staying there. Dubai is a cool city and all, but even a place like Red River Falls would be preferable to staying there long term. The kid probably just decided to stay here and is shacking up with a buddy's family."
Jesus, he was pissing me off. "Can you guys at least look into it for me?"
"Quinn, I'm already looking into something for you. I've got all the work I can handle digging into the background and activities of the Minuteman Militia, which you seem to refuse to acknowledge is a problem in your area. If you're really looking for something to be scared about it's your friendly, neighborhood militia, which is chock full of white supremacists and anti-government whackos."
All I could do is just roll my eyes. "Fine. I'll check with the colleges and his known friends and associates to see if they've seen him. But if they haven't, I'm gonna be calling you back, Cooper. And then I'm going to want to know why the FBI refuses to cooperate with me and my department in tracking down the younger brother of known killers who already murdered two law enforcement officers and their own sister. And the public is going to want to know, too!"

Ramesh_Rocky · 29-03-2025, 03:07 PM

"Jesus, Quinn! This wasn't a terrorist act! This was a couple of guys going off the reservation over a FAMILY and CULTURAL dispute!"

"It is whatever the media says it is. And, in Mason County, the media says whatever I say it is." And I hung up.
So the FBI doesn't want to help track down the kid brother of a couple of cop killers.
Fine. I'll do it my damned self.
*****
I was right about Mitch. He was pissed that I came back to work early but I just couldn't stay gone longer. I had to get to work on the sad and somber task of getting Tristan's replacement candidates interviewed and eventually hire one of them. I couldn't do that by hiding in my home office all the time. Plus, I now had the extra task of trying to find the Hammadi kid and determining if he was a threat to me, my family or anyone else.
On Thursday of that week, Karen Landingham informed me that I had an unscheduled visitor who wanted to talk with me.
"Sure, send him in," I told her.
A smartly dressed gentleman entered my office in sport coat, vest and tie with an impeccably tied Windsor knot. He had a tweed hat and a light jacket on his arm and reminded me of a college professor. He was foreign and I initially pegged him to be from India or somewhere else on the Asian subcontinent.
"Hello! Welcome! I'm Pat Quinn, Sheriff of Mason County," I said, offering my hand.
"Good morning, Sheriff!" he said with a very thick Indian or Pakistani accent. I never could tell the difference. "My name is Salah Udi Pradesh," he answered, grasping my hand.
"Please, have a seat," I offered, sitting down myself. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pradesh. What brings you by today?"
"Well, Sheriff," he said, taking his seat. "I wanted to stop and introduce myself. I was pleased to hear that you were back in your office following such tragic events."
"Yes, it was a difficult time for everyone, I'm sure."
"Indeed, Sheriff. That is why I wanted to speak with you. And to ask for your help."
"Oh? What sort of help do you need?"
"Well, Sheriff, I happen to be fairly close to the Hammadi family. I, too, am a '., though I was born and grew up in Pakistan. I teach at the university in Fargo."
"So, how did you come to know the Hammadis?"
"I was beginning the process of starting an ---c center here in Red River Falls and came to know them because of this."
"Oh? I was told we didn't have one in Red River Falls."
"That is correct, Sheriff. For now, anyway. We have rented space in a small building here in town."
"May I ask where?"
"Absolutely, Sheriff. We have nothing to hide. The address is 818 and ½ North Madison Avenue. It is an older, small commercial building attached to a smaller home there," he explained. As he did so, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I just nodded as he described the building and its purpose. But the warning bells were already going off.
"Well, I appreciate you coming by and informing me of your friendship with the Hammadis and I wish you the best of luck with your ---c center," I said, trying to sound friendly enough.
"That is not all I came to talk with you about, Sheriff," Pradesh continued. "I also asked for your help, remember?"
"Oh, yes of course. What kind of help did you need, exactly?"
"I need your understanding, Sheriff."
"My understanding? I guess I don't follow."
"Sheriff, what happened to your friend and deputy and the state security officerman was terrible and I pray daily for ,.' to have grace upon their souls and invite them to Paradise. But I want you to understand that it was not terrorism nor was it an attack on Christians by a '.."
"Well," I started, desperately trying to be diplomatic, "I think many people will see it many different ways. And I'm not sure how I can affect that impression, necessarily."
"You can affect it, Sheriff, by seeing it for what it was. Those young men felt a sense of duty to uphold their family honor. Muchtada and Ibrahim believed they were protecting the honor of their sister and that of their family. While it is an aspect of ancient Middle East culture that I do not expect many in this country to understand, it is something that was central to their cultural history and something they believed in since they were children."
I had to think for a moment. "Uh, Mr. Pradesh, I'm not really sure how I can change people's impression of those events. And while I recognize that honor killings are a part of Middle East culture they are most definitely NOT a part of American culture. And it is also my understanding that the practice of honor killings actually predates ., in many Middle East and Asian cultures, which is why I'm trying hard to get people to understand the separation between the two and not see this as some kind of terrorist act. I should think you would be pleased with that, Mr. Pradesh."
"In this case, Sheriff, I am asking you to simply look at this at a microcosmic level instead of the macro one. This needs to be viewed at the level of the individuals involved and not the larger society. The culture and upbringing of the individual and their sense of responsibility to that history is what is important here."
"Are you trying to get me to not see this as a criminal act, Mr. Pradesh?"
"Their cultural upbringing formed the basis for their sense of right and wrong, much the same way you were brought up with your own understanding of right and wrong, Sheriff. In their eyes, what they did was not wrong but a sense of duty to their family, their culture and, to a lesser extent, to their faith."
I was at a loss for words.
"Uh, again, Mr. Pradesh...I don't see how that is relevant. Individuals in this country are still required to obey the law - the civil law, which supersedes any religious or cultural laws in this country. While I have every last measure of respect for you, your culture and your faith, I cannot in good conscience try and excuse the behavior of the Hammadis because of it. And I don't wish to be rude, I truly do not. But I think it is best if we leave this subject and simply agree to disagree."
Pradesh studied me closely before breaking into a forced smile.
"Agree to disagree," he said. "That is a common euphemism in this country. And yet, Americans are always talking about open communication and dialogue - even on the most difficult subjects."
"I won't disagree that this is a difficult subject. But an open dialogue on allowing murder to be excused or overlooked because it is viewed as a responsibility to one's cultural upbringing or religious convictions is probably not going to result in a long conversation," I concluded.
"I like to think that, in my country, it would be a matter of serious debate."
"I'm sorry," I said, "but where in Pakistan did you say you were from?"
"I do not believe I told you, Sheriff. But since you asked, I was born in Abbottobad and attended university in Karachi as well as Cambridge in England," he said smiling broadly, obviously quite proud of his elite education.
"Abbottobad," I said, reflecting. "Isn't that the city where the US Navy SEALs found Osama bin Laden?"
The smile disappeared. "Nine hundred ninety-nine out of a thousand Americans could tell you nothing about Abbottobad. But the ones who even know my city exists know it only because of Sheikh bin Laden," he said, disappointment hanging in his words.
"Well, he too, used his culture and religion to justify taking a life - 3,000 of them."
Pradesh was visibly taken aback at that comments - and obviously deeply offended.
"Well," he said, standing. "This is not how I had hoped our conversation would go, Sheriff. I only hope that this does not prevent you from searching your heart and seeking the truth behind what I've told you. The Hammadi brothers, while committing a crime against the laws of this country, were certainly not criminals at heart. That is what you should take away from this."
"Thank you for coming," I said, standing and offering my hand. Pradesh shook it with much less enthusiasm this time.
He smiled again and said, "I will see myself out, Sheriff."
I watched him all the way to the elevator at the end of the hall and watched out the window to make sure he left the building. Then I wrote down his name and made a note to check out his credentials. He said he taught at the university in Fargo, which could only mean NDSU. I'd definitely be checking out the faculty and make sure he was legit.
The ---c center bothered me. It was not believed by the FBI that the Hammadis attended any mosque or ---c center within 200 miles of Red River Falls. There were '.s in the area, several of whom were terrific and highly reputed doctors who worked at Holy Family, along with other engineers and scientists who worked up in the oil shale fields. I'd have to have my people interview some of them to see if they attended any sort of religious services in Red River Falls or if this was just a ruse between Pradesh and the Hammadis.
Why did an ---c center bother me? It didn't, per se. Actually, it wouldn't bother me in any way, shape or form if it was located anywhere other than its current location, which was exactly one block away from Tristan's house. If I was a betting man, I'd wager that the ---c center only cropped up in the last couple of weeks since the killings.
Not long after 9/11, a group of '.s wanted to open a religious center near Ground Zero in New York City. When this was announced, all hell broke loose over it. It is widely believed that '.s often establish Mosques on or near the areas where they have won a battle against infidels. In 689, following the '. conquest of Jerusalem, '.s built a mosque on the Temple Mount - one of the holiest places on earth to Jews. Following the ---c conquest of Constantinople, the Hagia Sophia was converted from a church to a mosque.
Could Pradesh have established his ---c center in its current location because the scene of Tristan's murder was only a block away? Yes and no. When you look at the history of ---c expansion throughout the Middle East and into Europe and the Iberian Peninsula, it only stands to reason that the '.s would build mosques in those locations. Did the building of mosques serve as a symbol of victory or the natural manifestation of the proliferation of their faith? More than likely, it was as natural a progression for them as it was for Catholic missionaries to establish missions throughout the American Southwest, Mexico and Central America.
Was I reaching here? Was I overreacting? Was I blowing things way the hell out of proportion? Maybe. The smart part of my brain told me that Pradesh and his fellow '.s has as much right to an ---c Center or mosque as any Christian did to a church. But the reptilian part of my brain was still bugged by the proximity to Tristan's house. Could be something or could be nothing at all. But I was a firm believer in Ronald Reagan's old adage "trust, but verify".
A check earlier this week with Red River Falls High college revealed that Jaffar Hammadi was not currently enrolled as a student. And if Jaffar Hammadi was back in Red River Falls, I just found the number one suspect who may be harboring him or at least aiding him in some way.
Jaffar might not be in college.
But I had some homework to do.
*****
"BAHAHAHAHA!!"
That was the text I received from my unknown caller. The phone calls had stopped for about a week and now it was annoying and stupid text messages. Most of them were as equally inane and written in typical text abbreviations that could stand for just about anything. Or nothing.
Digging into Salah Udi Pradesh's background revealed little, other than to verify that he had, indeed, been born and raised in Abbottobad. He did, indeed, attend university in Karachi and subsequently in Cambridge, England. Teaching at NDSU was his third professorship since coming to the United States, which I thought was a little odd since most professors stay at one college or university to obtain tenure track. Other than that, there was absolutely nothing else significant or alarming about him. He wasn't on anyone's watch list and had absolutely no criminal record. Even the folks at NDSU were very cooperative and gave me the results of his background check, which were pedestrian in every respect.
So far, all attempts to ascertain the true number and identify of the phone had failed. Whoever the caller was obviously had some type of encryption that blocked any kind of back door access to the phone.
Agent Bryce Cooper and the FBI continued to be absolutely ZERO use to me. For some strange reason they had no interest in the fact that it appeared that Jaffar Hammadi had not boarded the flight in Atlanta. They referred the matter to the Atlanta security officer Department but nothing had followed through. Cooper's main problem was that I couldn't prove the calls were even coming from Hammadi or anyone he was associated with. But I couldn't prove they weren't coming from him and that worried me all the more.
*****
BLINDSIDE
I never would have believed I could have screwed things up so badly, even though Chris and Tonya Hayes both tried to warn me. It never even dawned on me that I had been so focused on and engrossed in the whole Hammadi situation that I completely ignored a brewing storm at home. Sometimes the persons that need help the most are the ones who refuse to ask or are unable to ask for help. And I never imagined that I was one of those.
Sitting at my desk on a Friday afternoon, I was one day shy of being married for three weeks. I was poring over some information Tonya had sent me to try and help me deal with the mystery phone caller when my cell phone buzzed. I had expected initially that it was yet another text from my mystery prankster.
It wasn't.
As I looked at the screen, I saw that it was Shannon's number. I smiled initially as I knew she would be soon on her way home from work. The boys were at Clarissa's condo for the weekend and I hoped she was going to tell me that Bridget was spending the weekend at Jack and Suzanne's place.
WE NEED TO TALK.
Uh-oh. That was never a good thing. I quickly shut off my computer, gathered my things and locked up the office. On the drive home a million things went through my head as to what Shannon could want to talk to me about. I tried vigorously to think of all the positive scenarios but none of them seemed to stick in my brain for long and were replaced by a sense of impending doom.
As I pulled into the driveway, I saw her Fusion parked outside instead of in the garage, like usual. It shouldn't have struck me as particularly odd but it wasn't exactly right, either. As I entered the front door, I saw her sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. It was obvious that she had been crying. Oh, shit.
"Hey, sweetheart," I said, gingerly. "What's going on?" I asked, taking a seat across from her.
"I don't know, Patrick," she said, trying to hold back the tears. "You tell me."
"Uh, well, I don't know, either. You sent me a text saying you want to talk. I walk in the house and you're sitting here, obviously in tears. Was it something I did?"
"Well, (sniff) it was more like what you didn't do," she said, obviously steamed.
"Look, sweetheart, whatever it was, I'm sorry. Please tell me what I can do to fix it."
"You can't just fix it, Patrick! An apology isn't just going to make this go away! We obviously have a serious communication problem and a very serious trust issue!"
"What do you mean, Shannon? I trust you with my life!"
"Well, then, why can't I trust mine with you?!!"
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Oh, God, Patrick!" she said, obviously frustrated. "I had lunch with Tonya today! At her request! Can you imagine the bombshell she dropped in my lap today?"
Oh, holy-fucking-shit. All I could do was just look down sheepishly and say, "I thought she understood that I didn't want her to say anything."
"Don't you dare be mad at Tonya, Patrick! Or Chris, for that matter! How could you do that, Patrick?! How could you keep that from me? How do you think that made me feel to hear her tell me that there might be some lunatic who wants to sneak back to Red River Falls and try to kill you?!! Or me and the kids, for that matter? Did that even occur to you? That he might try to get at you by coming after me and the kids?!! Don't you think we at least had a right to know that, Patrick???"
"Look, Shannon, I know you don't want to hear an apology. But I had no proof that this was a credible threat. All we knew was that the Hammadi kid's boarding pass didn't get checked in Atlanta. And we have no way of verifying that he did or didn't land with his family in Dubai."
"Do you think that makes any difference, Patrick? We're married now! We're supposed to be a team! If there was some kind of threat to you, me and our family, I deserve to know about it!"
"Yes, you do. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just didn't want to scare you and the kids or worry any of you until I had more credible information. I didn't want to blow it out of proportion."
"Oh, what a BULLSHIT excuse, Patrick! Apparently you felt it was important enough to call the FBI!"
"I was hoping they could verify some things, yes."
Shannon just looked away, shaking her head in disbelief.
"This is NOT how we are going to start our marriage, Patrick! Not on lies and deceit, even if they are lies by omission! And not telling me and our kids that there is a real and credible threat to your and our safety IS a lie!"
"I guess I didn't see it that way, sweetheart, and I'm sorry."
"That isn't the only thing, though, Patrick. You've been a million miles away from us the past couple of weeks. This explains all of that. Our first week together after was got married was wonderful. I've never been happier. And I want more of that. But the last couple of weeks, your body has been here but your brain is in outer space!"
"Look, sweetheart, I'll admit that I've been preoccupied with this whole situation. But I'm still focused on you and the kids."
"No, you're not, Patrick! Do you have any idea how many times I've seen and heard you snap at your boys the last few weeks? You've never talked to me or Bridget that way but you have been ridiculously hard on the boys, especially Nick! You always used to play with them and spend time with them. They were your best buds in the whole world but now you act like you wouldn't even give them the time of day!"
"That's not true! I've been busy, that's all!"
"Patrick, the boys ASKED to go to Clarissa's this weekend. They have NEVER done that before. And I don't have the foggiest idea what I'll do if you ever talk to my daughter that way!"
I was stunned, not just by the boys asking to spend time at their mom's, but by the fact that, for the first time in a long time, Shannon didn't refer to Bridget as our daughter.
"Don't you mean...our...daughter?" I asked, choking up.
"When it comes to protecting Bridget, Patrick, she will always be my daughter."
My heart felt like it was going to burst inside my chest.
"Just remember," I said, choking up, "I nearly died saving your daughter."
"I've never forgotten that, Patrick. But that doesn't excuse the way you've been behaving. I want the man I fell in love with. And lately, he's been nowhere to be found."
"So, what do you want me to do?"
Shannon took a moment to compose herself. "I want you to take this weekend to think about how important the people in your life are. I want you to think about your definition of trying to protect us. I'd rather be scared shitless and know what the threat is so I can watch out for myself and our kids rather than be happy and ignorant and get blindsided by a threat I never knew existed! And with everything that you've been through in the last couple of months, I want you to decide whether you're going to deal with it or not!"

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