Adultery When We Were Married by DanielQSteele1

[Ramesh_Rocky]

They exchanged a glance and Debbie didn't need telepathy to read their minds. Finally the older one, looking like she was sucking on a lemon, said, "That's Clint...Clint Abbott."

"Who is he? A new professor?"
"I guess you must not have gotten the latest newsletter. He's a visiting Professor, honorary. He's teaching a creative writing section over in Humanities. He's a writer. Pretty well known. I haven't read any of his stuff, but people who have tell me he's pretty good. If you like that kind of stuff. He's not real...literary...if you know what I mean."
She thought about it. She had felt bad about the way she'd treated him all afternoon. It wasn't his fault he just happened to be there when she needed to unload on someone. But still...
Finding out that he had a temporary office in the Humanities building she walked the five minutes to it. By the time she got there she was sweating and her hair, which she'd had up, was escaping in straggles. Her face was shiny and she knew there was sweat stains under her armpits and she had a moment of panic.
But, hell, she wasn't officially in the man-hunting race yet. She didn't have to worry about looking good.
She knocked on the door that read, Professor Clinton Abbott.
"Come in."
She opened the door and as he looked up his face froze.
"Should I duck?"
"I'm sorry. I just came to apologize. I was completely out of line. I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to me, but my only defense is that you were in the wrong place at the right time. I wasn't angry at you – just at men in general."
He relaxed. He stared at her breasts for a minute, but she'd have wondered if he was gay if he didn't. Then he gave her the once over that always followed the breast inspection and his eyes returned to her face.
"Why do I have a hard time thinking that any guy would ever give you problems?"
"Appearances can be deceiving. You don't look like an author."
He gave her a small smile.
"What do authors look like?"
"Kind of pasty, usually with thick glasses...wimpy looking."
He shook his head.
"Such stereotypes. You know what they say about attractive blondes. Stereotypes are stereotypes."
"Stereotypes are true, if you listen to the rumors around here. Blondes are dumb and sex crazed."
"Somehow I find that hard to believe, in your case. Since I've been here I've picked up enough to know that you're a – what – Associate Professor in the Business Department of a four-year state university and to be here you have to have been published. Not exactly what you'd expect of an airhead."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"It's been a really, really bad day and those are the first really kind words I've heard today. By the way, I'm Debbie Mait- Debbie Bascomb."
"You're welcome. Could I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Could I take you out for a cup of coffee? My last class is over and I guess yours is too. There is a Starbucks close to here that I've discovered. They're all carbon copies, but this one has some personality."
"It wouldn't do your reputation any good to be seen hanging around me. I'm divorcing and I have – had – a boyfriend and most people think I'm just a cheating slut who'll go after anything with a Y chromosome. Or a penis, either way."
He grinned.
"Husband and boyfriend and a slut at the same time. How could I resist?"
"Bastard."
He stood up and she saw that he was a little taller than her. Six foot. Slender and not an athlete. He looked like a sloucher. He wasn't muscular like Doug. Older. There was a faint frosting of gray at his temples she hadn't noticed before.
She forced herself to keep her eyes off his groin. Not this time. This was just a nice guy and she had way more man problems than she could handle right now.
"Seriously. I'm in no shape to do anything – even harmless flirting. If you're interested in more...."
He stepped around his desk and grabbed a briefcase.
"I'm a writer, Professor Bascomb. A human sponge. People are my business. You sound like an interesting person. Who knows, I might put you into my next book. Make you immortal."
He grinned at her as he gestured for her to precede him out the door.
"I'm not blind, by the way, or dead. You have to know how you affect men so I hope you don't mind if I ogle you a little bit. But this is purely a little social outing. A coffee. Nothing more."
She hated it, but she found herself tingling a little bit where she didn't want to tingle. Having a vagina was such a bitch at times.
##############################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 4 p.m.
She lay in a puddle of my semen. I probably wouldn't be able to come up with a teaspoonful over the next month, but it had been worth it. She rubbed her asshole and winced.
"Damn, that was worth it, but I will be walking funny for a week. I did tell you that my ass was my best feature. You obviously agree."
I kissed the aforementioned ass and bit it gently. She giggled, an incredibly sexy sound from such a sophisticated looking female.
"I would say the proof is all over you, pretty lady."
She rolled to me and kissed me again. I was getting addicted to those kisses.
"I love this, but I have to get back for a few hours. We can have a private dinner tonight, if you'd like."
"I'd like."
She showered and dressed while I lay sprawled on the big red bed.
She had almost made it to the door when I asked her, "How do you do this, Aline?"
She didn't even look back at me.
"What?"
"When you see Philippe again. How does the woman you are now become his loving wife again? I know people do it all the time, but I've never been able to figure out how? I never did this, but if I had, I know she would have taken one look at me and known."
She walked back and sat on the bed beside me.
"Because Philippe knows. He's always known. Just as I know without his saying a word to me what he's done. You can live with it if you know it going in. I know you don't understand, but it works for us."
She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me toward her.
"Remember what I said. Don't think about it. There is no Philippe. There is no Debbie. Our lives back there don't exist. We are Aline and Bill, and we live in this moment. The moment will end, but everything ends. I want nothing in the world at this moment but to be with you. Can't you accept that?"
"I guess I have to, Aline. I know this is way too fucking serious, but I wish I had met you first. I still love her and I love my kids, but right now, in this moment, I wish I had met you somehow 20 years ago."
She kissed me hard. She was crying.
"Please don't do this. For me."
When she pulled back I said, "Alright. For right now there is no Philippe. And no Debbie. No life for either of us to go back to."
But when she left I knew I was lying.
#############################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 4:30 p.m.
"That's a...sad story. But marriages end. All the time in this country. It used to be that people stayed together for a lifetime and put up with whatever crap they had to put up with. Today, we expect to get more from marriage and if we're not getting it, we look for a better marriage."
She sipped her cappuccino, so dry there was only a hint of coffee, just the way she liked it.
"It wasn't the ending. It was the way it ended. I hurt his pride. I know it killed him to see me with Doug that way, even though we weren't having an affair. God, I wish he hadn't caught us there and – got the idea we were intimate."
Clint sipped his cappuccino and licked the white foam off his lips.
"That hurt, but that wasn't what hurt him to the soul, Debbie. Men can accept, can live with physical infidelity. A lot of times they can take back a woman that's been with another man. Especially if they don't actually see the sex.
"When you see it, it's a lot harder to get by. But, when a woman you love tells you that she doesn't love you any more...that's the kiss of death."
She shook her head and looked down at the table.
"I can't believe I just told you all of this about my life. You're a virtual stranger. How do you do that?"
"I told you, I'm a writer. I'm good at getting people's stories."
She sipped at her drink, taking in more steamed milk than coffee.
"So, Mr. Story Teller, what is your story?"
"Not fair to turn the tables on your host."
"I showed you mine....now show me yours."
He stirred his drink with a straw, sipped and stared out the parking lot at busy Beach Boulevard. Rush hour traffic was beginning either back to Jacksonville or to the Jacksonville Beaches at the other end of the highway.
"I was a reporter about 20 years ago, working for a small newspaper in Palatka, about fifty miles south of here. I was writing the first novel that would let me break away from newspapers and spend my full-time writing. And I was married to a Most Beautiful Lady.
"That's why I understand and sympathize with your story. Elise was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. She'd grown up beautiful and every man who saw her wanted her.
"I wound up marrying her, oddly enough, because I was good with words. A literate, educated man can woo a woman. Words can work magic. And I wasn't too hard on the eyes back then. But..."
"Isn't there always a 'but'?"
"Yes. A man can't hold a woman that beautiful. There were always too many guys after her. I suspected her of affairs, even caught her in a few, but I kept forgiving her and taking her back.
"One of the last lovers was a professional football player, ex-pro actually because he couldn't resist betting on his own games and snorting stuff up his nose that he shouldn't have. But he still had money from his pro career and he wangled a job at Palatka High college as a coach.
"The last night I ever saw her I purposefully came home early from work and caught her getting ready to go out with him. I tried to stop her and he beat me unconscious.
"The last words I ever heard from her were that I was a disappointment...not big enough, in height or penis size, not rich and not able to match her boyfriend in bed. She told me she was going to file for divorce the next week."
He continued stirring his coffee.
"That's rough. I wasn't that bad. How long have you been divorced?"
"Widowed. They were crossing the St. Johns River to East Palatka when the car he was driving veered into the path of an oil tanker trucker. He was drinking or high or maybe just messing with her. Both vehicles went up. The explosion could be heard for miles around."
"There wasn't enough left to identify the bodies, but the accident occurred only twenty minutes after they left me and they found a wallet with her ID a half mile away on the river bank where the force of the explosion had sent it."
"I'm sorry."
"I hated her guts afterward, of course. She'd torn my heart out. But, over time, that hatred dissipated. I realized that it was her beauty, and the reaction men had to it, that had crippled her emotionally. I think she got to the point that the only affection she could accept was for her physical beauty. I loved her for who she was and I think that simply made her contemptuous of me."
He finished his drink and sat silently for a minute.
"That's probably the reason why I was intrigued by you. You're another very beautiful woman, but has it brought you happiness?"
"Can't you see how happy I am, how well my life is going?"
He reached out and grabbed her hand in his.
"I know it seems pretty bad right now, but you're tough. I can read that in you. And you're gorgeous, which while it might cause problems, is a double-edged sword. I think you can use it.
"People do pick themselves up and go on. When I came to and they told me what had happened to my wife, I was shattered. But I put my head down, wrote my first novel, got out of Palatka and never looked back."
He picked up the briefcase and unsnapped it. He pulled a paperback out and took a pen out of his shirt pocket. He wrote in the inside front page and pushed it over to her.
The cover showed a cowboy sitting astride a horse facing a river. A dark-haired woman stood on the other side of the river.
"It was my first novel and my first success. 'Ride On By.' They made a decent little movie out of it that got me independent. It's a western, but you might like it. It might take your mind off things. Read it and let me know sometime what you think of it. Here, here's my cell phone number."
Driving home from one of the worst days of her life, she realized she felt better. She didn't know why, but talking with Clint Abbott had raised her spirits. Even though she didn't care for westerns, she knew she'd read it.
#############################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 7 p.m.
Aline and I sat at a table by ourselves. The restaurant was almost full, but we had a table for six to ourselves. I was going to have to do some serious working out after this cruise because the lack of appetite that had afflicted me for three and a half months had vanished on this trip. I didn't know if it was the cruise, the sea air, French cuisine or Aline. Probably the latter.
Just sitting beside her at that table, crisp linen and the smell of white wine and French dishes mixing with her perfume made me feel young. I hadn't felt this young in a long, long time.
I felt like I was on a date again and even though I had had this woman's body in almost every way a man could have a woman, there was still a newness to it, and a suspense as to what would happen at the end of the date.
It had been a lifetime since I'd known that feeling. It was the difference between dating and being married. No matter how much in love you were, when you were married that suspense was not there.
The suspense – the not knowing – was what made meeting a new woman special. I had thought I never wanted to experience that feeling again.
She leaned over next to me and forked a thin slice of Charolais beef in a mustard sauce and held it out to me. I opened and let her feed me. A drop of mustard sauce escaped and she caught in on her finger and I licked it off.
I refused to remember the way Debbie had fed Doug at the UNF fete. But I couldn't help it.
It took us about an hour to finish. I had worked out an hour earlier in the day and I would have tonight, but I doubted I'd have the time to visit the gym tonight.
"I have a few errands to run, mon cher, but I will try to be back in the room in an hour or two. I will miss you."
She didn't kiss me because even here people could see us, but she put a finger to my lips. It was a lover's gesture.
When she left I sat at the table sipping at a cup of French coffee. I'd always known that French coffee is strong, not as bitter as Cuban but strong. In Paris, Philippe had a barmaid demonstrate how coffee is brewed in a cafetière or French press.
It took me a month back in the U.S. before American coffee stopped tasting like water with a coffee flavoring. French coffee is coffee with balls.
Captain Martel sat down beside me and said, "You are an admirer of French coffee. Most Americans take some time to develop a taste for it. Aline said you had visited Paris?"
"I am an admirer of many things French, Captain."
He smiled, "Aline is a lovely woman."
I just nodded.
"I am happy that you two are friends. Anyone can see that you are...a lonely man...and Aline...."
"I don't think she could ever have been lonely, Captain. You have a lot of beautiful women on this ship, but she's in a class by herself."
"She is a beautiful woman, but life on this ship with all the people coming and going can be lonely. You know that she has smiled more in the last two days than I can remember."
"It doesn't bother you that she's a married woman, and fairly open about ...us."
The captain looked at me and smiled.
"That's the reason we French and many others think of you Americans, despite your wealth and power, as being childlike, naïve. It's the difference in our world views, I think, our religious views. You come from a Protestant world view – you are either saved or lost, evil or good.
"We come from the Catholic world view. The Catholic church believes we are all fallible, creatures of God but also creatures of flesh, constantly striving and constantly failing."
He grabbed the bottle of white wine that still was a third full and poured two fingers into an empty snifter. He took a good sip.
"Men and women, Mr. Maitland, are going to find each other; are going to make love to each other. It's as simple as hunger, as thirst. It's an appetite. It can happen when couples are separated by distance, or it can happen when you're living under the same roof. People do have affairs, fall in love with other people. It has always been thus."
He set his glass on the table.
"I have been married for 38 years. I love my wife and our four children dearly, but I have lived at sea our entire married life. I was a sailor when I met her. We have spent far more time apart than we have together. I treasure our time together.
"But, I know she has not been faithful...in a physical sense. She has been discreet. I have had suspicions but I have never known who she has been with. Our children may suspect, but they don't know and don't ask. She has never embarrassed me. Our children look like me and they carry...certain traits which make me certain they are mine.
"But even if they weren't, they are the children of my heart."
He shrugged.
"For my part, I am a man and I have appetites. I have to be careful because of my position, but I haven't been a monk, and I don't expect any more of my crew than I expect of myself."
He looked at me again.
"I don't know if that horrifies or disgusts you, but it is the truth. I think of myself as a good man. In every important way I have been true to my wife. I have been careful never to endanger her health. I cherish her and when the time comes I hope to be buried beside her...but..."
I could only shake my head.
"I understand what you're saying, but you're right. We come from two different worlds."
####################

Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 8 p.m.
She was finishing grading essays when she heard the front door open and a car pulling out of the driveway.
"BJ?"
"It's me, Mom."
"Have you eaten? I have a half a lasagna in the microwave."
"Nah, I had a pizza at Bobby's."
"Where is Bobby? I have enough for both of you."
"He's out of here."
"He usually comes in to say hello."
BJ stepped into the den.
"He wanted to, but I told him you were probably too busy."
"Why?"
"He makes me feel creepy, sometimes, mom. The way he stares at you."
"BJ, it's just the age. All your friends stare, but they do that with any moms or your teachers, don't they?"
"No like they do....anyway, I had something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Oh?"
There was something in the tone of his voice that made warning tingles go off.
"What?"
"I – uh....I...don't get mad about this, okay?"
"Mad about what?"
"I called Grandma Maitland yesterday. I want to go spend the rest of the summer with her and Grandpa Charles."
" But...what about your summer classes...why?"
"That summer class is a waste mom. I don't even think I'm going to do well enough to get credits. And I can make up everything in the Fall. Anyway, I've met this girl online. She's 15 and she lives in Orlando.
"Grandma Maitland said she'd chauffeur me around on dates. I won't get in any trouble, I promise. Grandma said she's chaperone me."
She put the papers down and motioned to him. He came over and sat on the couch beside her. She took his hands in hers.
"BJ, if this is about Doug...I broke up with him. We're through. He won't be back here. I promise."
He wouldn't meet her eyes.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"It's not that mom. It's...everything....it's dad and the divorce and Doug and...it's just been a real bad summer. I just want to get away for awhile. It's just for a month."

She was determined not to cry.
"Oh..okay. You've got to promise not to be a burden for your grandmother and grandfather. And don't get into any trouble. You know what I mean."
"Yeah....I know."
She found herself hugging him and fighting the urge to cry. It was only for a month.
"Grandma is driving up here tomorrow. She'll be here about three."
"No, tell her to be here at 6. I want to say goodbye to you."
"Awe mom..."
"I'm going to say goodbye to you. Say yes or don't go."
"I'll call her."
When he had gone to his room she sat back on the couch and tried to grade papers. It was impossible. If she was fired tomorrow, she couldn't look at another one.
She tried to turn on the television and watch something, but 30 minutes later she had no idea what she'd been watching.
She picked the paperback Clint Abbott had given her. Anything, if it took her mind off her train wreck of a life.
At 2 a.m. she found herself punching a number into the phone by her bed.
"Hello?"
"I guess you don't get a lot of calls at 2 a.m. from fans."
"All the time, actually. Usually not from weeping fans."
She wiped her eyes.
"I might be a little drunk. Did I wake you up? How did you answer on the first ring?"
"I'm a night owl. I get by on four or five hours of sleep. They say as you get older you need less sleep. And why are you crying?"
"I could say it was that book of yours, but I don't want you to get a swelled head. I'm just in a blue mood."
"Admit it, it was the book."
"Alright, you beat it out of me. Why the hell didn't he go back across the Rio Grande to get her. Her husband was dead and he had been an asshole. He cheated on her all over the place. He didn't deserve a faithful wife. The gunfighter loved her. Why did he leave her alone in that big house?"
"It made a better ending. I'd rather have readers crying than saying, 'awwwww'."
Then: "Besides, it's open ended. There's nothing to say he didn't go back to get her. That's what makes a good novel. You don't know what happens after 'the end'. And besides, if it was real, it all happened a century ago. They'd both be dead now."
She took another sip of Goldschläger and said, "How could a cynic like you write a book like this?"
"What can I say, I'm talented."
"Thank you."
"Well, you're welcome. For what?"
"For letting me get out of my skin, even for a few hours. Anyway, good night."
Somehow she was able to sleep.
##########################
Tuesday, July 19, 2005 – 11 p.m.
I held one of the two most beautiful women I had known in my arms and listened to her breathe. It was the easy, rhythmic breathing of sleep. I couldn't sleep.
It was wrong. I was wrong. I didn't want it to end. But as I'd read somewhere, tomorrow always comes. Tomorrow would come and then tomorrow and the best week of my life in a long time would end.
I felt the way I had the night my father walked out the door. Terrified and helpless.
###############################
Wednesday, July 20, 2005 – 6 p.m.
"Elinor, you're looking well."
The short slender woman looked up at Debbie without smiling.
"Thank you. Is Bill Jr. ready? We're going to have to drive straight through to get back home before early morning. I wish we'd been able to pick him up as we originally planned."
"I'm sorry, but I wanted to say goodbye. I'm going to miss him."
"Too bad you don't miss other important things. You're willing to let other things go. I guess this will just give you more time for....your personal life."
Debbie reached out and almost touched the older woman, but the glare she received stopped her.
"I'm sorry, Elinor. All you've heard is Bill's version of things and I know...I must look pretty bad in it. But...there are two sides to every story."
Elinor Maitland Goldman just stared.
" He risked his life to save you nearly 20 years ago. I told him at the time that he was a fool. A pretty face and a great body didn't make for a good wife. I told him..."
She looked around and made sure that BJ was nowhere around.
" I told him then that you were a slut, Debbie Maitland. No decent woman would have let herself get in the situation you were in. But he let you seduce him and I held my peace all these years. You gave him two good children. I'll give you that.
"But I always knew you'd break his heart. And you did. But I think you finally went too far. Bringing in your 'friend' and having sex with him in what used to be Bill's bed – I hope that finally ended things. He's hurting, Debbie, but he'll find someone else. Someone worthy of him. And you can – resume your old lifestyle."
"I'm not going to fight with you, Elinor, not where BJ might hear. Bill's your son, and I don't blame you for taking his part. I'll let it go at that."
BJ came out with Elinor's husband, a big, stoop-shouldered, gray-haired man. They carried three suitcases. While Charles carried them out to their car, Debbie grabbed BJ and hugged him tight despite his squirming.
"I want you to call me."
"I will, Mom. Jeez, you act like I'm moving to Siberia. It's only a couple of hours away."
He walked out and Elinor lingered for just a moment. She didn't have to say anything. She just smiled a slight, triumphant smile, then turned and walked out the door.
For a long time after the car pulled away she just sat in the den. It was almost as if the room rang with sounds from the past. She could hear Bill asking her if she wanted something to drink, to rub her neck, or telling her some funny story from the world of the law.
She could hear Kelly's stereo or hear her telling her friends what a hunk so and so was. BJ would be popping his head in the door telling her there was absolutely nothing to eat in the house.
The phantom sounds died away. It was so silent she wanted to scream. She remembered the nightmare. It wasn't true, but....Bill was gone. And Kelly was gone. And BJ was gone. And Doug was gone. And Clarice was under the ground.....
############################
Wednesday, July 20, 2005 – 11:55 p.m.
"Hi."
"Oh, hi, Debbie. Read any more of my books?"
"No, Clint."
"I just thought...you sound down...like you've been crying."
"A little bit."
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"
"You said you were a night owl. Could I interest you in a drink, or coffee, or something?"
"You want to go out at this time of night on a college night?"
"No, I thought you might come to...my place. I can give you directions."
"Um...."
"I have coffee, soft drinks, alcohol...anything you might be interested in. Is there anything I could offer you that you might be interested in? I mean...anything..."
"Debbie..."
"Clint, we're grown ups. I don't want to be coy. I want you to come to me. I.....my daughter moved out on me, my son left for a month to be with his grandparents and get away from me, my husband who I'm divorcing is at sea, and I kicked the man I've been sleeping with out of my bed because I didn't think my underage daughter could keep her hands off him....
"I am so lonely I want to scream and I don't want to go to a bar and pick up some stranger and bring him home to fuck. I'm not that much a slut –yet – no matter what anyone thinks...I like you...I think I do....We don't even have to do – do anything – if you don't want to...I just want someone to hold me...someone to be here..."
"I'm sorry, Debbie. It's tempting, but no."
"I'm sorry too. I must sound so damned pathetic."
"No. I'm not blind and I'm not dead below the waist, but it would be a pity fuck or a – I'm lonely – fuck. I have a little pride. When you're out of your mind crazy for my body, I'll be over there, but not tonight."
"Just my fucking luck. I wind up with two saints. Saint Bill who cares about the world more than my pussy and Saint Clint who is too good for a pity fuck. What are men coming to?"
"I'm not a saint, Debbie. Actually...I'm kind of engaged right now. There's a lady in my bed. I caught this call out in the kitchen. I was getting...something to get our energy back up....we're both of tired right now...she's not you, but I'm not going to kick her out of bed. A gentleman doesn't do that."
"Oh God, just shoot me. Or maybe I'll do the job myself. I can't believe I'm begging a stranger to fuck me and he's got another woman in bed."
"Debbie, listen to me. I know you won't believe me now, but you need this. You've never really been alone. But your kids are going to be gone soon no matter what. And Bill will be gone and if you don't have a steady you'll be hitting the bars to avoid sleeping alone and then you really will be a slut...in reality as well as perception. I don't think you want that.
"You need learn how to live alone, whether Doug or Bill or somebody else comes along later...."
"What made you so smart?"
"I lived through it. You'll never be as alone as you are right now...but you can make it...."
#########################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 – 8 a.m.
I woke to a still ship. The constant motion of the ship pushing through ocean tides had ceased. There was a tiny sway as the ship sat in its harbor, but we were home. The warm body in my arms purred and rolled to bury her head in my chest. My cock was so wiped out I don't think I could even remember what a hardon was. But I knew. After this past weekend I knew what great sex was like again. Not married sex. Great sex.
"So we are here?"
"Seems so. Do you need to be anywhere?"
"Non."
She slid down until her mouth was even with my cock and she gulped at it like a hungry early bird after my worm. She licked and sucked with determination, but he was down for the count.
"Merde!"
"I agree. But you killed him."
"He died a good death...in the service of the greater good."
"And the greater good was....?"
"What else? Making me cum and cum and cum.....etc."
"He died a happy death....."
She brought her head up laughing and tried to tickle my tonsils again. We rolled around a couple of times and finally came to rest with her pinning me down.
"I don't think I will let you go. I will keep you a prisoner here in this room. Smuggle in food and drink and occasional pussy to keep you happy for the next few months."
"Would that you could, Aline. Would that you could."
She sighed and then rolled over to lie next to me.
"I am not sorry. And I have no regrets."
I cupped her face in my left hand and ran the fingers of my right hand across those luscious lips.
"I have regrets, more than a few, mon cher, but I'm not sorry. For even one second of what we had."
"Will I ever see you again?"
"Only in dreams. Or you might see my picture on some web site if I get in the news again."
"You could pull rank, get someone else to cover for you, and sail with us next time. It will only be a week. Take a months vacation and sail with us until we leave for our next port of call."
I pulled away from her and sat on the side of the bed.
"No. I couldn't. If I could do that, take time off for someone important in my life, I wouldn't have needed this trip and I never would have met you. There are things I need to do."
She reached out and ran her hand down from my shoulder to my hand.
"Would you have come, even if you could have gotten away?"
I captured her hand in mine and squeezed.
"No. I wouldn't come back. And I won't. If I did let myself, if I let myself be on the same ship with you, the same thing would happen."
"And that would be so terrible?"
"Not for you, Aline. You are comfortable with your life. I....I'm not...and I can't be. I....I won't use the 'L' word, but you know I have feelings for you. And I can't have those feelings for a married woman...who loves her husband and has a son waiting for her.
"I have to live with myself, Aline. I have to be able to look in the mirror and like the person looking back at me."
Her eyes were bright.
"I will think of you, William Maitland, and often. Will you think of me when you return to your office and your life as the Angel of Death?"
"Only every day."
I got up and took a quick shower, then changed into the outfit I'd selected, putting my cell phone in my pocket. I'd had it turned off the entire trip. As soon as I stepped off the Bonne Chance, I'd turn it back on. And real life would resume.
I had one suitcase and it was packed and ready. I had already filled out the manifest with only the gifts I'd gotten for BJ and Kelly listed. But it would probably still take a couple of hours to get off the ship.
I looked over at the bed. She lay naked and exquisite, pink and white against the ruby bed of the sheets.
"You're not going to get dressed and see me off? You're going to sleep in?"
She looked at the ceiling.
"No. I will not watch as you leave the Bonne Chance. We'll say goodbye here. And I won't report to duty until we get ready to start preparing the ship for the next cruise."
I put the suitcase next to the door and sat back down on the bed. I kissed the curve under her shoulder as it ran down to those exquisite breasts, and then gave her a last kiss on the lips.
"It has been my great pleasure to have known you, in every sense of the word, Ms. des-Jardins."
"Likewise, Mr. Maitland."
I stood up to go but I couldn't leave. I sat down one last time.
"Aline, it's not for me to tell you how to live your life. Just...be careful. I know you love this life, but what is it worth if you lose your husband and son to it? Will this life be enough if it's just you? I...would hate to see you make the mistake I did. It's too late for me. It's not too late for you."
I got up, picked up my suitcase and walked out the door. I didn't look back. I had no photographs, nothing of her to bring back with me. But it really didn't matter.
Her face was engrained in my memory. Pictures can be lost or destroyed, Nothing could touch the memories in my mind.
I made my way to Deck Quatre which was where disembarking passengers were already starting to mill around, I saw Dan Jenkins and Caroline. He waved at me and as I approached he came over to shake my hand.
"It was a pleasure taking this cruise with you, Mr. Maitland. You ever need life or homeowner's insurance, give me a call," he said, slipping me a business card.
"I'll be sure to. You take care of your new wife. They don't come along every day,"
As I got closer to the checkout booths where bored customs officers were asking passengers what they were bringing back, I realized Father Dunleavy was immediately ahead of me. He had a one suitcase smaller than mine.
"Father," I called to him and he looked back at me.
"Mr. Maitland, we keep running into each other. Are you ready to resume your life?"
'Not really, but I'll have to. Where are you headed?"
"No rest for the weary. The Vatican has asked me to lead a delegation to Rwanda to try to head off a resurgence in the Hutu-Tutsi conflicts. It's been simmering underground for a few years, but there are fears it's about to re-awaken. I'm heading for the Jacksonville Airport to pick up a ride that will take me to France and from there to Africa."
I shook his hand.
"Well, be careful. I hope you're as successful this time as last."
"That's out of my hands. It's God's will. But thank you for your kind words. I will pray for you in all areas of life."
"I don't do it much, but I'll pray for you, Father."
He turned back to the line and was called forward. I wondered if I'd ever see him again, other than newscasts.
An hour and half later I was walking down the gangplank to the soil of Jacksonville Florida. I took a breath of hot, humid July air. It felt as if I was walking out of a dream back into my life.
As I'd promised myself, the first thing I did was turn on my cell. It rang immediately,
I hit the talk button. No rest for the overworked. I wondered what crisis awaited.
"Hi, Dad?"
"Hey, BJ....what's happening?"
#

[Ramesh_Rocky]

RIDING THE TIGER

Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 9:30 a.m.
My name is Bill Maitland, I am an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida, the number two man in the office that prosecutes wrong doers.
I can honestly say that I have never seen an expression like the one that Austin D. (for Dallas) Edwards, AKA The Big Man, wore on his face as I stepped back away from him. He was seated in his big chair behind his big ornate blonde wood desk and he stared at me as if I was a bigheaded alien that had just stepped off a flying saucer.
As if he couldn't believe what was happening, he reached out with one finger and wiped my lipstick off his lips, where I'd just laid a big one on him. No tongue, but it was a kiss.
Behind me I heard a giggle that could have given a corpse a stiff one and glanced back at Edwards' mistress and unbelievable secretary Myra. She held her arms under those enormous breasts, either because that made them seem even bigger if that was humanly possible or more likely because each one of them had to weigh 15 or 20 pounds and had to hurt her back to carry them around unsupported.
I had stopped on my way into her boss' office and asked to borrow her lipstick, a glossy dark red, and without any questions she had handed me the tube. She had just stared at me with the hint of a smile as I told her, "Don't ask any questions. Just watch."
Then I had walked into Edwards' office, the one where everyone speculated that Edwards, despite edging into his early 60s, probably got his workouts sometime each day manhandling those huge boobs and the curvy body that carried them.
He looked up and said, "Welcome back, stranger. Hope you noticed the building is still standing. We made it without you for one week. It was tough, but-"
He stopped talking as I stepped behind his desk, swiveled his chair and planted a kiss on his lips. It was like kissing a stone statue. We were looking into each other's eyes and it was all I could do not to laugh into his mouth. But I didn't try for any tongue. I kept the lip lock long enough to be respectable and then backed away. My -- or rather -- Myra's, lipstick glistened on his dry lips.
As I looked at Myra she began to giggle again and then laughed and those acres of soft round titties rolled and bounced and jiggled and for the first time in my life, at least since I'd married that cheating bitch Debbie Bascomb, I was really jealous of another man.
I tried to imagine what she'd look like naked and if those breasts would hang down below her knees. Edwards, my friend and mentor, had sucked those things. undoubtedly fucked them because how could any man not, and came inside that mouth and pussy and ass. At least, if I'd been a free man the last ten years since I'd joined the State Attorney's Office, I would have.
But I'd been married and in love with a bombshell of my own. I might still be in love with her, but I wouldn't be married in a month and I'd be free to go after the lovely Ms. Martinez. But, she happened to be the property of my boss and married friend, who already had one beautiful woman in his bed.
And I doubt he'd take kindly on my going after Myra even if I could work up the nerve and there were too examples of what happened when a lieutenant moved in on his boss' woman. Think "Camelot" and you'll know where I'm going.
I reluctantly tore my eyes away from Myra's abundant charms and looked back at Edwards. At least he had started breathing again.
There was a silence in the room until he said, "I knew I said I wanted you to change your luck, Bill, but I never really expected you....to change this much."
"What can I say, Dallas. I just discovered I've had this long standing passion for your body. Why don't we tell Myra to step outside for a few minutes and we'll get better acquainted."
I kept a straight face as long as I could while Edwards looked like he was going to stroke out and finally Myra dissolved into helpless laughter and when I looked around she was laughing so hard I thought she was going to fall on the floor. At least her fall would be cushioned.
Then I allowed myself to grin and Edwards finally got it. He glared at me for a moment and then he couldn't help himself. As he laughed, he said, "You son of a bitch. You had me going. Where did that come from? I've known you for ten years and I didn't think you had a funny bone in that serious body of yours."
I pointed to his face and said, "Wipe the lipstick off before somebody walks in and we generate a whole new round of wild gossip, Boss.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. I made a promise to myself on the Bonne Chance that when I got back I was going to plant a wet one on you and thank you. I guess that's what makes you a good boss. You knew what I needed when I didn't."
He stared at me as he stopped laughing and then glanced at Myra before looking back at me.
"You got laid. Goddammit, you got laid, you dog."
"A gentleman doesn't talk."
To Myra: "Am I good, or am I good?"
She gave him a look that would have melted iron and said softly, "You are very, very good."
Maybe the rumors about his having 12 inches were true.
He blushed and then said to me, "I'm glad you had a good time, man. Is your head back on straight?"
Then: "Are you okay, really?"
"No, not really. I'm a hell of a lot better than I was, but I still have to get myself divorced, and...let's just say I might be a little rough around the edges for awhile. Give me some allowance in case I go off the rails a little bit."
"You got it, as long as you don't go hiding in your office again. Anyway, no rest for the wicked, or the righteous. I have something I need you to handle. I trust your judgment."
"I've been back in town for an hour and a half and I haven't even got my suitcase back to my condo and you're putting me to work?"
"Why do you think I pay you the big bucks?"
I let him tell me and I made a quick decision on what I'd do. There really wasn't much thinking to do. But I've have to go and tell a very unhappy man why he was going to die.
Two hours ago I'd held a lovely woman in my arms and tasted mint on her lips and the only thing that mattered was the world between the four walls of my suite. And now I was back in the blood and guts of reality. This was my real world. The other was the impossible dream.
I walked out and head to the elevator when Myra stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
I turned and she was in my arms. It seemed like half of my body was being massaged by her soft breasts. I kind of froze. This I hadn't expected and I couldn't help looking over her shoulder to see if the Big Man was watching from his office. He wasn't.
"What?' I croaked. My voice wasn't working well.
"Can't a friend give another friend a hug when he comes back to work?"
I was already starting to tent out of my slacks.
"Not your kind of hug, Myra. We've known each other for more than five years and we've never touched. Why-"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Bill. I can't help having big boobs. But I've missed you. We've all missed you. I'm glad you went on that cruise. I can look at you and tell the difference in you already. She must have been a nice lady."
I just stared at her.
"You're not a wham-bam kind of guy and you're bleeding where everybody can see from what the bitch did to you. Anybody that could get through those defenses of yours, and make you as happy as you seem to be, must have been a special lady. Are you going to see her again?"
I finally shook my head.
"No, it's impossible. But she is a very special lady. And how the hell can you be that hot and that smart?"
"Having big tits doesn't automatically make you stupid, although Debbie is a good example of the fact that it does sometimes happen."
We just stood there for a moment and she finally let me go.
"See you around, Mr. Maitland."
As I stepped into the elevator and thought about her words I realized that it might be a blessing that I might not be working here after today. If I kept my job, I don't know what I would do about Myra. She and Edwards weren't married, but she was his. Jesus, I couldn't just keep going around trying to steal other men's women.
##########################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 10 a.m.
She poked her head into his office but he wasn't there. She stepped out and walked until she reached the area where four secretaries in the Humanities used a common area.
"Is Professor Abbott around or in a class?"
The secretaries just glanced at each other and Debbie knew what they were thinking. Fuck them all. She stood there until the silence got too loud and finally one of them said, "His class got out a couple of minutes ago. He'll be waiting for his next class to arrive."
When Debbie didn't move, an older woman said, "Take the hallway to the right and go past the next two hallways. Hang a left and it'll be the first doorway on the left."
He had his back to her writing on the whiteboard as she walked in. A few of the last leaving male students gave her the up and down that she had come to expect but she just ignored them.
"I appreciate promptness, guys, but give me a few minutes okay? Hang outside for a little bit and let me catch-"
They just looked at each other for a moment.
"Hi."
She didn't say anything for a moment, then approached him and kissed him lightly on the side of his face. He smelled of "Old Spice." It was an old-fashioned scent and it suited him.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. For what?"
"For being a gentleman and a nice guy."
"I'll take any kudos I get, but I honesty don't deserve them in this case. I really was occupied."
"I know, but you didn't have to -- let me down easily. I'm so used to guys concentrating on my tits and ass and never even thinking there's a person inside that body. I know you're a man, but...thank you for treating me like a person.
"And for what it's worth, it really wasn't -- just -- an invitation to hop into my bed. I just wanted -- somebody -- there in that house with me. I never realized how big and lonely that place is with just me in it."
"I understand, Debbie. I told you I've been there. At least your husband and your kids are still alive. You may never live in the same house with him again, but he's there. You can pick up a phone and call him. You can stalk him just to remind yourself what he looks like. Imagine what it would be like if he was gone. And you'd never see him again, to cuss him out or tell him you were sorry or to share something your kids have done.
Even divorced, you still have two kids.
"Elise and I had no kids. She was never there again. I couldn't ever get closure. I never had a chance to say the things I wanted to say. You may not believe it, but you're lucky."
She shook her head.
"If this is lucky..."
Then she looked at Abbott and thought about what he had said. And tried to imagine that Bill was gone. Like Clarice..... Gone under the ground and never to be able to share the pleasures of something the kids had done, or to hold their grandbabies when they eventually came along. Even if they never spoke another civil word to each other, at least they would alive to share those memories.
She put her hand to her lips and tried to stifle tears of weakness.
"You know, you ought to hire out as a therapist. Every time I talk to you, Professor Abbott, you either make me feel better or make me look at things in a different way."
"I come cheap. Since you don't have anybody at home, would you consider having dinner with me tonight? There's a very good Thai restaurant on Baymeadows that I've discovered. I love Thai, the hotter the better. And if you feel up to it, we might stop by a nightclub and have a drink? Sound like something you'd be interested in?"
"You know I'm damaged goods. Right now, very damaged."
He stepped up to her and grabbed one hand and held it in his.
"Did I ask you to go to bed with me?"
"No -- but-"
"If we keep seeing each other, trust me, the day will come when I will want you in bed. I'm not gay and my equipment still works. But I'm not planning on bedding you tonight. Look, I can't criticize anyone for how they lead their life, but going to bed with Doug Baker the minute your marriage exploded was a very....unfortunate....thing to do."
"What can I say? I'm a slut. According to my mother-in-law I always have been, and most everybody on this campus still thinks I am."
"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying you were ending an 18-year relationship, you had all kinds of problems and issues with your husband, and before you could even decide that you wanted to end the marriage, you jumped into another relationship. You don't have to be a therapist to know that is suicidal. Your head is completely screwed up. It usually takes months, sometimes years, to put your life back together after the end of a marriage. You didn't give yourself enough time.
"My wife was a total fucking bitch and she tore my heart out, and it was a year before I got her out of my head and two years before I could get into a halfway normal relationship with a woman without Elise's memory screwing things up. That's all I'm saying.
"Look, Debbie, I'm not in love with you. I don't know you well enough to have those kinds of feelings. I might never, because you can like somebody and not have it go any deeper. I know I like you. I know that at sometime in the future I want to have that gorgeous body of yours. But for now, why not take it easy. Just dinner, a few drinks, I'll take you home and probably jerk off like crazy kicking myself for not taking you to bed. But we've got time, unless the world ends tomorrow."
"If this is some new seduction technique, you ought to write it down. You could make a fortune selling it. But the answer is yes. I'd love to have dinner with you, and drinks, and just stay out of that damned house as long as I possibly can."
Abbott dropped her hand just as the first of a stream of students began walking in for his next class, but not before she'd already the first excited buzzing. Great, another entry for the campus gossip mill. To hell with it.
She turned to face the eyes of male and female students, took a deep breath just to get her breasts bobbing for the males' sake, smiled, and walked slowly out of the classroom. She wiggled her ass just enough to make Abbott a hero to his male students and when she'd left the classroom she started walking normally and grinned an evil grin. Give the bastards something to work with. She wasn't going to be here that much longer, so to hell with them all.
#################################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 10:15 a.m.
I walked into the conference room where two men were sitting at a long table and one man stood at the other side of the room, just behind the black man dressed in a prison jump suit. Deaven Thompson was the third of the Thompson brothers who had killed an eight-year-old in a drug war-inspired drive by.
Two of his brothers had previously gone before juries and gotten the death penalty. The way things worked, they might never die in the arms of the state, and if they ever were executed, it might be twenty years from now. But they would spend a good portion of their lives behind bars, living a life that would depress lab rats. And if there was a God in heaven, they'd die in prison in one of those internecine gang wars
Deaven was the last of the three and he was scheduled to go on trial Monday. That was one of the reasons I'd balked originally at going out on the Bonne Chance. I wanted to make sure to cross the 't's and dot the 'I's to make sure nothing allowed him to escape the Death Chamber at Raiford. Now he had thrown a monkey wrench into the majestic workings of the law.
The black man dressed in a nice suit sitting beside him as Anthony Smith, a 40-year-old who I'd gone up against more than a few times. We didn't particularly like each other, but he seemed to respect me and he was a pit bull for his clients. Unfortunately most of them were scum, but lawyers usually can't pick and choose.
The human wall standing behind Deaven was a bailiff named Charlie Case. He usually worked for and in the courtroom of Judge Herman Herring but he was available for any job that needed doing around the courthouse and knowing the reputation of the Thompsons as stone-cold killers who had friends on the outside, the powers that be had decided Case would be a good babysitter outside the jail.
I sat down opposite Deaven who slouched and checked his longish fingernails. His hair was set in corn rows which was really a little too 1990-ish to send the message he intended and even in jail he had managed to get some expensive styling.
Outside he'd have been weighted down by gold and other assorted 'bling.' All that had been left behind at the jailhouse door, but one blinding gold tooth in the center of mouth sent the message that this was a man who had substance. His body language also explicitly said, "fuck you" and that was the message he intended to send.
I opened the folder I'd set down in front of me and pretended to read it. Then I looked up at Deaven.
"So you want to plead guilty to murder in the second and accept a maximum sentence of 30 years? Is that correct?"
He looked at me like I'd look at a floating piece of shit in a toilet bowl and said, "Great. You can read. I thought you were just another stupid, racist asshole like all the other suits around here."
Smith gave him a look of weary exasperation, then shook his head like you would when dealing with a troublesome six-year-old. He looked at me instead.
"It's a straightforward deal, Maitland. He'll be guaranteed to spend 30 straight in maximum at Raiford. No parole asked or expected. He's 26. He'll be 56 when he walks out. Thirty years behind bars, any organization he has will be long dead. The dealers will have moved on. He'll be history. He won't be killing anybody, or any citizens at any rate.
"And you and the state will have saved maybe $100,000 or $150,000, in the expense of a trial, appeals, all that crap. Everybody wins."
"Everybody except Marques Douglas."
Deaven gave me what was intended to be a hard look.
"Who the fuck is Marques what's his name and what the fuck does he have to do with me?"
Smith gave him one of those "how can you be so stupid looks" and then looked at me and dropped his eyes. He knew how it was going to go down.
"Marques Douglas was the eight-year-old whose brains you and your brothers sprayed all over the walls of his bedroom. He was a kid that wore Spiderman pajamas and wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up."
Deaven looked almost human for a second but gave it up as wasted effort, shrugged and leaned back.
"Oh. Well, the kid's gone now. Putting me under the ground isn't going to bring him back. And it was an accident anyway. We had no way of knowing anybody would get in the way of a bullet."
"So, it was just an accident, his getting killed? You didn't plan on killing anybody?"
"No. Somebody could get killed, but we were sending a message to those assholes what could happen if they didn't get out of our territory."
"You almost sound like you believe that. But why am I surprised, Deaven. You're the brains of your outfit. Nigel and Rashon like to play like they run things, but they couldn't blow their noses without your direction. You pull the strings Deaven, and you always have."
"So?"
I pulled a tape recorder out of my pocket and laid it on the table, hit the play button.
"...yeah, we knew the Browns had some rug rats in the house. At least two or three of them. That's why we concentrated our fire on that back bedroom. That's where we were told the kids slept."
"Why the hell were you gunning for kids? Why not go after the Browns. They were the ones poaching on your territory?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"That's Deaven. He's the smart one. He said with any luck we'd get one or two of the rug rats. It would be better than hitting one of the dealers. You can always replace a dealer and everybody knows it comes with the business. But you hit their kids, you take their heart out. That's what he said, you take their heart out. And you send a message to the next crew that will make them think twice."

I hit the off button. Deaven had recognized his brother's voice.
"That mother-fucking idiot, that stupid son of bitch, my brother or not, I'm going to cut his fucking head off."
Smith put his hand on Deaven's shoulder and when Deaven shot him a deadly glance just gave him one as nasty in return and said, "Cool it. Shut up for a second."
Then to me: "You know Nigel could have been angling for a deal by throwing his brother to the wolves. And the deal still makes sense."
"No. No deal. We go to trial."
Deaven stood up in his chair, pushing it back. He looked like he was going to lunge across the table at me until Case laid one huge hand on his shoulder and Deaven remembered where he was.
"We what? You can't. Not when I'm willing to plead. Tell him Smith. You said he couldn't turn down a deal."
Smith looked at me and said, "I don't really see where you can pass it up, Maitland. You're talking about hitting the taxpayers for maybe $200,000, for what? For revenge against a guy whose going to be put away and no danger for more than a generation."
I just shook my head.
"I can and I will. We're going to trial."
"You can't do that."
"Like I said, I can and I will. I talked to my boss about it before I came down here and he'll go along with whatever I decide. Money is not the point of this."
Deaven looked at me as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Then why?"
"Because to make absolutely certain that you die in prison, that you never get out"
I looked at him and smiled.
"I want to be certain that you never breath air as a free man again for the rest of your life. I want you to live a life that would drive lab rats to suicide. Your brothers are murderous thugs and I want them dead too, but if I had to choose, I'd have let them walk to get you.
"I want you dead because you don't deserve to live. You're a mad dog, and mad dogs get put down. You're a fucking monster and I think I'm going to attend your execution to make sure you die and I may drive a stake through your heart just to make doubly sure that you're really dead."
He stood up and this time he would have lunged across the table at me except that Case was behind him with both huge hands on his shoulders and he froze. He knew what Case was capable of.
Then, as if he had turned a switch inside him, he suddenly relaxed and sat back down. He looked at me and smiled. I felt a little chill run through me.
"Okay, you got me Mr. Maitland. You're going to convict me and I'm going to get death and I'm going to Death Row in Raiford and I'll get three good meals a day and exercise and fresh air in the yard and my boys to watch me to make sure I don't get shanked. I'll watch TV and read the newspaper and time will pass. I might even get out someday if they end the death penalty.
"Yeah, I'll read the paper every day, especially the obit section. And someday, I'll see an obit on your wife. And then on your son and daughter. And your parents. And any friends you've got. 'Cause I got friends too, asshole. And you can't watch your family and friends 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Sooner or later, my friends will get them because I won't have anything to do but plan and scheme how to get at them.
"You think you're so fucking tough. The Angel of Death. Bullshit. You're just a punk lawyer. You're not going to be able to stop it and I won't because I got nothing to lose. And I'm going to leave you for last. I want to see if you'll have the balls to off yourself once I take away everything you care for in this life. If you don't, I'll send someone around to finish the job. By the time I'm through, you'll thank me."
He grinned again.
"Oh, I hear your wife is a hot piece of ass. Just cause I like you, before I have her killed I'll have a couple of friends of mine visit her. One of them is a real freak...15 inches long and thick. He could have made it in porn but he's got kind of a -- sadistic streak -- if you know what I mean. He likes tearing his women up. I'll let him do some anal surgery on the bitch. I'll have a video made and make sure you eventually get a copy."
Anthony Smith just stared at him as if he'd forgotten how to talk.
Deaven smiled at me again.
"You're probably taping this, but who cares? You'll never be able to prove I was actually behind any of this and even if you do, so what? They can't execute you twice and I don't think they'll even do it once. So, Mr. DA, Mr. Angel of Death, how tough you feeling right now?"
I just sat there and gave him the best poker face of my life. I didn't want him to know that he'd shaken me, because if I'd ever read a human being, I read him as being absolutely, 100 percent truthful. And the worse part was, he didn't need to have geniuses working for him. As he'd said, you can't protect anyone 24-7, forever.
I looked up at Case who stood over Deaven with an unreadable expression.
"Case, put him in one of the special holding cells. No contact, no phone calls with anybody. Nobody except yourself or somebody you trust is to have any contact with him."
Case nodded and yanked Deaven to his feet. Deaven didn't resist, just said, "You can't keep me isolated forever. I only need five minutes with one of my own, and your family is gone."
I thought briefly about asking Case to twist his head off, but these cells were monitored. I couldn't get away with murder, or ask Case to commit murder. But I was tempted.
Smith just rubbed his hands after they'd left and tried to avoid looking me in the eye.
"I'm sorry, Maitland, I never expected that. But he is a real psychopath. As bad as any I've ever been around."
I stared at him when he finally looked me in the eye.
"Smith, I think you're an honest man. So don't take offense at this. If word of this gets out, and his friends get the message and I can't be sure it was Deaven, I'm going to come for you. If anybody in my family is hurt, I'm going to kill you. It doesn't matter where you run or hide. I hope you believe me."
He just nodded.
"It's okay, Maitland. If it was my family, I'd do the same. I represent these scumbags, I'm not one of them."
After I left I went back into my office and sat behind my desk and thought briefly about making a phone call. I knew they could get to him, even inside the jail, and I couldn't be connected to it. But --
It was like riding a tiger. I could call for a favor, or favors, from a very bad and powerful man who had what he considered a code of honor that compelled him to help me if I needed help. But once I used those favors, I would be in his debt. I would not own him. He'd own me. And I couldn't live like that.
I had some time. I'd try to think of another way. In the meantime, I had an errand to run that might make this visit to my office my last official act. Because I might be a felon myself within a few hours.
#######################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- Noon
"Thank you for working me in, Evelyn."
"It's nothing, Debbie. You've been my patient and my friend for a long time. I'll have those blood samples out to the lab today and we'll have results back probably in 48 hours, at most 72. Say next Tuesday or Wednesday. Tell me again why you're here?"
"I...it's hard to put into words. I'm -- I'm all over the place. There are times when I feel alright and then for no reason I'll be crying. I feel like I'm having my period every day, or PMS-ing all the time."
Dr. Evelyn Crider leaned back and took a deep breath. Debbie thought that one of the reasons they had probably bonded was because Crider was also stacked and a looker and more than once they had laughed as Crider talked about the impossibility of getting the husbands of patients to look her in the eye while she discussed their wives' health. And they had mutually decided that American men, all men, were just walking penises with little brains attached for mundane things like bringing home paychecks.
"Debbie, we've known each other long enough that I can be straight with you. What you're describing is a perfectly normal reaction to what is happening in your life right now. You're going through a divorce ending a long marriage, you just broke up with your boyfriend, your daughter is pissed with you and moved out, and your son moved out too. I don't know any woman that wouldn't have crying spells going through a time like that."
Debbie shook her head.
"It's more than that. I don't know how to describe it. I know I feel bad about Bill and I splitting. And everything else hurts like hell. But....it's like...I can't describe it except to say I feel like the world is about to end, or that I'm going to die. It's a....blackness...inside me. I feel like I'm on the edge of a tall building and I'm about to fall off.
"And....I've started having those nightmares again."
Evelyn sat up straight in her chair.
"About Clarice?"
"Yes. If anything, they're worse."
"I'm not even a psychiatrist, and I can tell you why they're back."
"I know, God, I know. Her marriage and life went into the toilet and it looks like I'm following in her footsteps. I know everything will eventually turn out right, but it's scary."
"Did you ever talk to Bill about them? About everything that was happening with Clarice? About the feelings you were having?"
"No. I couldn't. He was always involved in cases. And there was nothing he could have done. The bastard, Not that he would have done anything. Because it was something I needed, not his precious clients. The son of a bitch."
Evelyn sat back again and stared at her patient.
"Do you ever listen to yourself, Debbie, when you're talking about Bill?"
Evelyn stared at the examining table she sat on.
"Yes. I know...there's something there. I'm the one leaving him. He never did anything terrible to me. I'm the one that was cheating on him. In a real way. I never touched Doug -- oh, sexually anyway -- until our blowup, but I was having an emotional affair. I knew it at the time, even though I couldn't be honest with myself. And he's the one that got crushed.
"But still, I hate him sometimes. Jesus, Evelyn, when your marriage just rots away and it's like a big old oak that is so eaten away that the first strong wind knocks it down, you're not supposed to have any strong emotions left. You're supposed to feel apathy, to feel nothing. You're not supposed to hate the poor bastard you're leaving behind.
"That's another reason why I wanted to see if my hormones might be way out of whack. Messing up my mind....?"
"Honestly, I don't think it's hormones or body chemistry. There would be other signs and indications. Normally problems with hormonal chemistry don't manifest only in psychological or emotional symptoms. They mess with your body as well, and you don't seem to be showing any of those symptoms."
"So you think I'm just going crazy?"
Evelyn reached out and grabbed Debbie's hand.
"I don't think you're going crazy. I think...something...is going on. And I think you need to talk to a true professional. Here."
She let go of Debbie's hand, went to the supply closet at the side of the examining room and came back with a business card.
Debbie looked at the name on it and shook her head.
"No. He knows Bill and he works with Bill. I'm not going to tell him all my secrets."
"He's a good man. And a friend. And a complete professional. I never told you this, but a few years ago Alan and I were going through....some problems. I went to see this man and it took a little while, but I was able to figure out what was happening between us. We managed to patch things up.
"He's a criminal psychiatrist...he works with the criminal system."
"No, he's a psychiatrist, period. He has private patients with no connection to the courts."
"I don't know..."
"Debbie, trust me. I'll call him and try to get him to work you in for a preliminary meeting this afternoon late. Look, you know there's something wrong. If it's more than just the crap of seeing 20 years of your life disintegrate, it might help to talk with a man who is good at figuring out what's in your head."
Evelyn made the appointment for 5:30 p.m. As she walked out of Crider's office, Debbie couldn't help feeling it would be a mistake. But, maybe it wouldn't be.
#############################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 12:15 p.m.
I walked into the hallway where there were a row of offices. It was lunch time and most if not all of the professors were grabbing lunch. I'd checked to make sure of that. Only one was in his office, waiting for a call from the Clerk of the Court's office about an unpaid traffic ticket, which he'd said he had no knowledge of.
The secretary for him and two other professors sat at her desk. She was supposed to be gone to lunch. This was a complication. Carlos and Ernesto walked in behind me and stood on other side of her desk. She looked at the three of us with no alarm, at first. Then as she saw my face she reached for the telephone on her desk.
Carlos shook his head and gently took her hand off the phone. She had started to rise but sat back down, looking from one to the other of us. I gave Carlos a glance and he just nodded at me. I walked toward the first closed door. I rapped on it with my left hand. I rapped again.
"What is it, Carly? Carly? Is that you? I'm waiting on a call. Just come in."
I knocked again and a third time.
The door opened and Doug Baker stood there looking at me for a moment before what he was seeing began to register and his body started to respond. He was bringing his hands up because he must have seen in my eyes what was going down. But he was too late and despite his training too slow.
I whipped my right fist around and a second later felt a satisfying crunch as the brass knuckles encasing my fist crushed his nose. He would have screamed but all that came up was a gulp as he swallowed air. As he fell backwards I followed him, hitting him as hard as I could just under his solar plexus with the brass knuckles.
The blow took the wind out of him and the pain must have silenced him for a second. All I could hear was his harsh breathing. He fell backwards and would have gone over his desk but I grabbed him by the shirt and rolled him, so I could get a clean shot at this kidneys. I hit him hard, twice, the way Carlos had told me.
I was prepared to kick him in the balls from behind but he swung an elbow around and caught me on the side of the head. It dizzied me for a second and before I could shake it off he'd swung around, come off the desk and I couldn't block a punch I saw only for a second before the world exploded around my left eye.
Now I was the one who could have screamed if I could have gotten my head straight long enough. Red and white streamers ran across my vision and the light was dying. I closed my eye in panic. It wasn't so bad looking through one good eye.
Fortunately I saw the next punch coming and was able to move my head just far enough that he didn't take my head off, just glanced off my forehead and left a ringing in my ears as I fell backwards and tried to catch myself on one of the chairs near the entrance to his office.
He put his hand to his nose, which was a mash of blood, and muttered, "You broke my fucking nose, you bastard."
Another punch caught me on the other side of my face and tore some skin off. He must have been wearing a ring, the fucker.
I managed to get my arms up as Carlos and Ernesto had taught me and blocked his next few punches. As he drew back his right again, I managed to block with the brass knuckles catching his fist and this time he screamed.
"Hurts, you son of a bitch? Well, how about this?"
He was trying to hold his right back and punch with his left, but I went under and threw my weight and my body behind a punch to his side and what felt like the snapping of bone bent him over. He fell back and I followed with two more rights to the side, trying to hit a rib if I'd managed to break it already.
He tried to swing at me with his left, but he was a natural right hander and the punch lacked authority. I followed with a right to his jaw that might have broken some teeth and sent him ass backwards over his desk. He wound up with the desk between him and me.
I stood on the other side of the desk and watched him try to get his body under him as he slid into the chair behind his desk. He sat there as I tried not to pass out from the stabbing pain that ran through the left side of my face.
There was blood running out of his mouth. It might have been from his nose, but I hoped I'd done some internal damage. He tried to touch his nose again but winced. Finally he looked up at me.
"Took you long enough, you fucking asshole. I wondered if you'd ever get the balls to come after me. I've been fucking your wife for three months and it took you this long to do something about it. You're pitiful."
"You think I give a shit about that bitch. You need to get yourself checked, if you live through this. She's probably been fucking half the staff here. No telling what kind of bugs you're carrying around."
His secretary's terrified face appeared at the door.
"Professor Baker....are you alright....I'll call security...get away from me you bastards."
She was pushing Carlos and Ernesto away.
"No!"
Doug screamed at her.
"Don't call anyone, Carly. Don't say anything to anybody. Dammit. Keep your mouth shut and don't do anything. Don't worry about this asshole. I'm getting ready to send him to critical care."
She let Carlos and Ernesto lead her away.
He took a deep breath.
"You only put me down at the awards ceremony because I was trying to be a nice guy.... and impress Debbie. I could have killed you. And the only reason you're still breathing is.... because you used those brass knuckles. But they're not going to save you now. I'm going to kick your ass, old man."
I beckoned to him with my index finger.
"Why don't you come over here and show this old man how bad you are?"
He pushed himself up and almost bent over. I could tell I'd hurt his ribs and he had a hard time straightening out. Somehow he did and came around the desk.
He was like a human buzzsaw. I blocked about a third of his shots. The only reason he didn't kill me was that he couldn't use his right fist effectively and winced as if it hurt him more when he hit me than it hurt me. Still he bounced me off the wall and busted my lip and a second shot to my left eye made me scream.
I thanked God for those sessions with Ernesto because even as he was hurting me, I was able to keep thinking. I leaned a little and he reached with his left and I caught him in the pit of the stomach, once, twice and three times and felt him shudder with each punch. Then as he was almost leaning over me, I came up with the top of my head and smashed his face with my skull.
He was trying not to but he was crying tears in pain as he tried to touch his nose and he fell backwards again over his desk. This time he wound up on his ass on the floor behind the desk.
I had to lean over the desk to see him but I waited until he looked up at me and beat up as I was, I smiled and said, "You never learn, do you, moron? How many times am I going to be able to pull that trick on you. Our country must have been in really shitty shape if a loser like you almost made it to the Olympics."
He grimaced and tried to push himself up against using his chair, but gave it up and slumped to the floor.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He took a deep breath and then exhaled. He looked up at me and just shook his head.

"I didn't think you had it in you, you old bastard. I just..... don't know why you bothered to do this yourself. My uncle is a DA up north. You could....make one phone call and I'd be dead sooner or later. You guys are just Mafia....with law degrees. You were really pissed off enough to come after me yourself, knowing I was likely to kill you? Why?"
"Yeah, I could make you vanished. I still might. But I wanted the pleasure of kicking your ass myself, first."
He took a deep breath and winced. I'd definitely done damage. But on the other hand, I was having a hard time staying on my feet.
"Not that it makes any difference now, asshole.... but why the hell are you pissed off?"
I looked at him and wondered if he was even human.
"Why am I pissed?"
"Yeah. You don't have any reason to be pissed at me.... You threw Debbie away. She swore she didn't think you were screwing around on her at your office, but if.... you weren't getting some somewhere you have to be the wimpiest..... asshole that ever walked the earth. She was ripe, and that meant you weren't taking care of things at home. You got..... nobody to blame but yourself. A woman like that, she needs a LOT of sex, and....she wasn't getting it from you."
"You think I'm here because of Debbie?"
"Why else?"
"You fucking asshole....I'm going to kill you for what you did to Kelly."
"Kelly? What I did to Kelly?"
"Don't act more stupid than you are. Debbie wasn't enough for you? The hottest damned woman at UNF. You were fucking her in my bed and you had to take my 17-year-old daughter too. She's a fucking kid...just a kid..."
"I...oh shit..."
He looked like he was trying to come up with a convincing lie.
"I don't know how you heard about it, but.... nothing happened. Not really. Debbie can tell you?"
"Debbie can tell me? She was in the room while you were having sex with our daughter?"
For some reason, that hurt. I had decided that any love I still had for her was going to disappear. But to think that she would give this bastard our daughter...."
"No. I don't know how you found out but Debbie was late for a meeting. She left me asleep...in your bedroom. I wake up and someone is sucking my dick and.... I assume it was Debbie. When I wake up I see it's Kelly. I nearly had a heart attack.... She sneaked in the house sometime during the night.
"When I realized what was happening I pushed her away. I'm not an idiot. Fucking .....the underage daughter of a prosecutor...for Christ's sake...I can get pussy anytime I want it. I'm not risking my life for an underage girl."
"You're a lying sack of shit, trying to save your ass."
"Talk to Debbie. She forgot something and was getting ready to walk.... back into the bedroom when she heard everything."
"That's a nice story, but BJ was home too. He heard the arguing and he heard her throw you out. Why would she do that if you weren't doing something with Kelly?"
He just sighed.
"She was right. Kelly has a crush on me. If I'd stuck around, she probably would have wound up fucking me.... I mean, I'm only human."
"She's a little girl...."
"Oh get real, daddy. She's a hot piece of ass and I'll bet you she's getting fucked by some of her teenaged boyfriends right now..... Have you looked at her tits lately? Or that ass?"
I swallowed blood and beckoned to him again.
"Come on out from behind that desk and let's play again."
He just shook his head.
"I think not. I think what we have here.... used to be called a Mexican standoff. I get up and you'll kill me. You come back here after me and I'll knock your head off. Why don't you just leave..... before someone shows up and calls security."
"Why should you care? I'm the one who'll go down for assault."
"Because I'm out of here. I had a job.... on the string in Chicago for a month, but I couldn't pull the trigger and accept it because I didn't want to leave Debbie. But since we're done, I took..... the job. You already shot my job down once at the awards ceremony. If word gets out about this fight.... you could screw me up before I even start on my new job. I just want to get out of here without any more problems."
I would talk to Debbie. If he was lying, I'd find him again. But something about what he'd said stuck in my head.
"You're getting out of town. You don't need to impress anybody. You're a pussyhound and you went after my wife and took her away from me, fucked her and now you're moving on. Why bother to pretend you care anything for her?"
"I do feel sorry for you, Maitland. I really do. Yeah.... I wanted her and I seduced her and I've been fucking the shit out of her for three months and I..... loved every minute of it. If she had been willing to move with me to Chicago, I would have taken her. She knows that. I'd...... even have taken your brats if they had to be part of the package.
"You really don't deserve her, you know that. She's beautiful.... and hot and intelligent and all she ever needed was a guy that cared enough for her..... to keep himself in shape and spend some time with her away from work. You can blame me and blame her if it makes you feel any better, but..... you're sleeping alone because you walked away from her.
"And you know why she wouldn't go with me? She gave me that crap about I'm too young for her and it wouldn't work, but that....wasn't it. She's still in love with you. You're a fucking clueless bastard, and she still loves you. There's no justice.... man, no justice."
I wondered how he could be a professor in a state university, and be that incredibly stupid.
"She loves me so much that she takes you into my bed the night of our little tussle and she fucks your brains out for three months? Tell me, professor, what would she do to me if she hated me?"
He just shook his head again.
"It's hopeless. You two deserve each other."
"What's going on here?"
The dark haired man stood in the doorway, staring at both of us. I could understand his curiousity. The office was a disaster. I was a disaster. Doug was a disaster.
"Hey man, move on."
"Who are you?" the dark haired man told Ernesto as the big Latino approached him.
"None of your fucking business. Get out of here."
Ernesto stretched out one big paw and grabbed the smaller man's shoulder. The dark haired man, dressed in a suit and tie, looked like a professor. But in one swift movement, he did something and before I could move, Ernesto was on his knees, his wrist caught in one of the smaller man's hands.
"Jesus Christ," Ernesto almost screamed as he tried to pull his arm free. The dark haired man looked at him blankly and then looked up and into the room again and I caught his eye.
As it had on the Bonne Chance, a tingle ran through my spine and the hair on the back of my head began to rise. But this wasn't exactly like that. This was more like the time I'd faced that deadly canine by myself. But this was no animal.
As I looked into his blank eyes I saw something I'd only seen one time before in my life. Seven years ago I'd prosecuted Bernard Van Dilloon, the Welaka Cannibal. Dilloon had, in the small Putnam County town not far from Palatka, murdered 11 people. He had skinned them while still alive and cut off various body parts and ate them while, it appeared, they were still alive.
When the jury returned a guilty verdict of murder in the first degree with aggravating circumstances, he had stood up in chains and shackles and gestured to me to approach him. I'd walked across the courtroom and while everyone stood around us, he told me that one day he would get out and I'd watch him tear my heart out while I was still alive.
The words were chilling, but it was the look in his eyes that really made me shiver inside. It was as if the mask of a human being had been ripped away and something darker and inhuman was peeking out. I wondered if this was the Van Dilloon his victims had seen in their last moments.
And for just that fraction of a second, with one good eye, I had seen a flash of...something...dark and dangerous in the eyes of this mild-mannered college type. And without seeming to even strain, he held a strong young man down to his knees and by this time Ernesto was whimpering.
Carlos was standing in front of him, his hands held out in a placating manner.
"Señor, por favor...please...I apologize for my friend...he is young and stupid. He meant no harm. Accept my apology."
"Paul...let it go, please."
The man looked up from Ernesto and at Doug's battered face.
"It looks like World War III broke out here, Doug. Are you sure you don't want me to call security?"
Doug pushed himself out from behind his desk and stepped by me.
"Look Paul, I know you've heard the gossip about what happened four months ago, three and half probably. About the fight...and my...relationship with Debbie Maitland. Even at Duval, I know... they'd be talking about it.
" My head's been on the chopping block ever since. I just.... got a new position at Roosevelt University. I'm going to be on the staff of the Commerce and Enterprise section. It's a good job.
" If this gets reported, and this asshole -- that's William Maitland -- gets arrested, he'll lose his...... job but all the shit that got me in hot water is just going to be stirred up again. I can't afford the publicity, Please.....just walk away."
Paul stared at him and then at me.
"You're Debbie Maitland's husband? Why would you be so stupid? She walked out on you and you're risking your entire career to beat Doug Baker up. That makes no sense."
His voice was even and calm and there wasn't the slightest hint of the animal that lurked inside him.
"Sometimes you have to do stupid things, because you have no choice."
For a moment something crept into his voice.
"You always have a choice Mr. Maitland. It's the thing that makes us more than animals."
He looked back at Doug and at the same time let Ernesto go. He groaned and would have fallen to the floor if Carlos hadn't caught him.
"You need to have somebody get you to a hospital, Doug. And Mr. Maitland, you're a mess, too. It's a good thing I didn't see anything and don't have to report anything."
And then he walked away.
Carly was standing behind us crying.
"Do you want me to call an ambulance?"
"No," I told her. "My friends and I will take care of him."
He shot me a glance.
"You want to explain this? That going to help you in your new job. Carlos is a boxing coach and teacher and cut man and he's handled more boxing injuries than most doctors. You'll be in good hands."
Finally Doug looked at Carly and said, "I'll be fine, Carly. We just had a little....disagreement. Could you....clean up the office as best you could. Keep the door closed."
I had slipped the brass knuckles into a pocket and walked out leaning a little on Carlos, while Doug walked gingerly with Ernesto at his side. He kept rubbing his wrist where Paul had grabbed him.
"God, Papa, I never felt anything like that in my life. I might have a broken bone. I'll need to get an x-ray myself. Who the hell was that guy?"
"Paul Donnally," Doug answered. "He's head of PR at Duval University. He's over here a lot on conferences with our people on projects. I've met him and his wife at a few parties. Jesus Christ, you talk about hot. His wife is the only woman I've ever met that could give Debbie a run for the money as far as looks."
He looked back at me.
"The only difference is that Debbie isn't a slut. I had to work on her. Paul's wife screws around on him so much it's a major mystery why he's never stumbled onto it. He's the most clueless husband in the western world. Makes you seem like a very perceptive man. But he just walks around calm and quiet while his wife is fucking every male around."
Carlos leaned over to me and whispered, "You saw it too?"
"Yeah. Paul Donnally is a very dangerous man. Married to a very cheating wife. I'm going to remember that name, because I have a feeling he'll cross paths with me again."
"For his wife's sake, I hope not. Ernesto is a young, strong bull of a man. And this man could have snapped his arm. That's freakish strength. It's not something you develop. You're either born with it, or you're not. "
I said to myself, "Yeah, Paul Donnally, I'll remember your name."
####################

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 2 p.m.

My name is Bill Maitland. I am the second most powerful man in the State Attorney's office in Jacksonville. The most powerful if you consider that my boss' eye and attention and heart is really centered on the Governor's chair in T,.'assee. Day to day, I run the place.
I was also, at this particular moment in time, looking and feeling like a survivor of World War III. My face looked like one of those mutants in 1950s-Atomic Bomb horror movies My left eye had been a spreading pool of red, brown and yellow before Doctor Gary Wells in the Shands Emergency Room had examined it and covered it with a patch before administering several medications into the eye.
"You say you hurt your eye when you got hit by a doorknob? That was an amazing doorknob. It seems to have possessed knuckles."
"That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
He just shook his head. I had put the three thugs, who had bangd and murdered his wife eight years before as they caught her leaving Shands early on a Saturday morning, on death row in Raiford and Wells had never forgotten. He had remarried, but he still checked with me every few months to see how close they were to dying in the Death Chamber.
"Amazing things they're doing with doorknobs nowadays," he said dryly. "Anyway, I don't think that...doorknob..shattered the bone around the eye, although there might be some hairline fractures that should heal on their own. I'm also pretty sure that the cornea and eye itself haven't sustained any real damage. You need to come in here in about a week and let me check it again."
He gestured at the rest of my face, which was a patchwork of bruises, cuts, a couple of missing chunks in my lower lip, and general mayhem.
"The rest of it is superficial. It will heal in time and I don't think you'll be frightening little children in another week or so."
He touched up my face with a few smaller bandages, antibiotic salves and stepped back to look at his handiwork.
"You're a lucky man, Bill. That doorknob could have cost you your eye. There's a reason why boxing gloves were introduced to the Sweet Science. The 'doorknob' that hit you was really pissed off and knew what it was doing. You are lucky. How did the doorknob do, by the way?"
There was no one around.
"He got his nose broken, a couple of times. He probably won't be able to pose for Playgirl again. And I think I busted a couple of his ribs, but I don't think he suffered any real internal damage. I've got a pro boxing trainer taking care of him."
"I'm glad you didn't hurt him too badly. I know it seems pretty bad right now. When...Sharon...was gone...I didn't think I'd ever wake up again and be glad to be alive again. But now I've got Melissa and little Brad and I'm glad to be alive every morning. It will get better, Bill."
I just grunted. I was happy for him, but right now I was just beginning to see the possibility of a life after Debbie.
I was able to drive and I made my way to Carlos' gym where he was bandaging up Doug Baker. As I walked in Baker and Ernesto were talking about the politics involved in picking the boxers who actually won spots on the Olympic teams. Baker looked up at me sourly and said, "I hope you lose that damned eye. It hurts every time I breathe and Christ knows what my nose is going to look like. I may need plastic surgery. And you broke my goddamned hand."
He held up his right hand, which Carlos had covered in a plaster cast.
Carlos slapped him hard on the back and grinned as Baker winced, saying, "Don't be a baby, Professor. It will give you character. Any woman who turns away from a broken nose probably isn't worth having anyway."
"Thank you, Carlos, Ernesto. I appreciate you being there for me. And Doug, I want you out of town. You say you've got a job in Chicago. Don't dawdle on getting out of here. I want at least a thousand miles between you and Kelly. As soon as possible, understand? I'd kind of like the idea of having you branded a sexual predator and being forbidden from being around kids for the rest of your life. Get out of town. Don't tempt me."
I walked out. I really couldn't stomach seeing any more of the bastard for one day. I hoped he did get out of town.
##################################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 2 p.m.
"Come this way, Ms. Bascomb."
Debbie followed the heavy-set older woman into the office whose nameplate read, "Johnny August -- Public Defender."
She had met August before. She'd met most of the lawyers on both sides of aisle, judges and courthouse officials during the ten years that Bill had been with the State Attorney's Office. As she walked in, she gestured and then realized that was a superfluous gesture and simply said, "Please don't get up, Mr. August. I appreciate the gesture, but it's not needed."
August was a tow-headed 50-year-old who looked 20 years younger. He resembled nothing so much as a country boy grown older without growing up. His hands still looked too big for his body. He looked, she thought, like he ought to be chewing on a blade of grass and looking up at the clouds on a summer day, barefoot and happy.
It was all an act, of course. He was a 6-foot-6 intellectual who had graduated with honors from Harvard and, before he'd lost his sight, was said to have read Plato in Greek and Latin editions. But he had mastered the art of the "aw shucks southern boy" charm that kept getting him re-elected Public Defender term after term.
He looked at her in the pleasant, but slightly out-of-focus way of adults who had lost their sight as adults. He knew what things looked like, knew where he should be looking, but could only see things in shapes and blurred outlines.
"Mrs. Maitland. It's a pleasure to -- well not to see you of course, but to sense you here in my office."
"It's Bascomb, Mr. August."
She tried to keep an edge out of her voice, to keep the honeyed charm that she wanted to wield on this man who, when he still had remnants of sight, had stripped her naked just as readily as any other healthy male.
He had always liked her, she knew that, and for more than her body and face. He was one of those men who seemed not challenged but to visually enjoy the sight of a beautiful female body. And he had actually treated her as if she had a brain in her head at those interminable courthouse events that she had let Bill drag her to during their marriage. Talking with him had been more than the usual interplay of male/female flirting.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bascomb. It's just, that I've known you for too long as Ms. Maitland. It will be hard to break that habit."
She sat down at a chair in front of him and from force of habit crossed her legs and leaned back smiling at him. She saw him gesture to the fat secretary who closed the door behind her.
"I know. It's been a hard habit for me to break, too. That's why I'm going by Debbie Bascomb now. Bill and I will be divorced in less than a month and I -- I need to start carving out a life for myself instead of just being known as Bill Maitland's wife. It still feels funny sometimes to call myself Bascomb...but it's necessary."
He stared at her and she wondered how much sight he actually retained.
"I was sorry to hear about it, Debbie. Nobody ever knows what somebody else's marriage is really like, but that man loved you. Really did....Anyway, I agreed to meet you for old times' sake and because that was an interesting message you left for me. Would you care to elaborate?"
"As to my message, I'm here because I need you and I think you need me."
He just looked in her direction and after a minute she continued.
"I'm here because I'm on my way out at UNF, for reasons that I don't need to explain to you. I know that you know President Myers. I have to believe that he would have called you before indicating that there might be the chance of employment here in -- a different capacity than I've had the academic arena."
"I've talked to him. We're old friends, actually."
"I know you know each other. I did a little research -- actually a lot in a little bit of time -- after I met with him yesterday. And I decided that his hint I contact you had some thought behind it. I just don't understand why he would offer to help someone he evidently loathes as much as he loathes me."
August steepled his fingers in front of him.
"It's not that he loathes you, Debbie. I would say that you...trouble him. You bring up memories he has tried to tamp down. I only know this because we were friends between my second and third divorces and as men sharing similar --experiences --we grew familiar with how we think about certain things. If he truly hated you, he would not have talked to me about you.
"Let's just say that I think he felt casting you out from the comfortable academic womb you're comfortable in and forcing you to sink or swim in the outside world is both a punishment -- and a chance for you to remake your life. Frankly, if you wind up destroyed, he will be able to salve his conscience with the knowledge that he did give you a chance to make a new life. And you didn't take advantage of it."
"Now...as to why I need you?"
"Have you read the paper lately?"
"No, but I've had it read to me."
"Then you're aware that your office is in political hot water almost constantly. You exceed your budgets and have to come back to the state constantly for temporary funding to finish up your budget years, plus money just seems to have a habit of disappearing and no one can tell exactly where it went. Were it not for your personal popularity and the fact that everybody knows you're an honest man, the governor would have sacked you a long time ago.
"Plus, you have a constant roiling of office waters with backbiting among your subordinates, most of whom seem more concerned about sitting in your chair than winning cases, and in general, this office is perceived as an asylum run by the inmates, rather than by a strong administrator."
He sat there and just looked at her with that blind gaze for an interminable time but she kept her mouth shut. If she went down in flames, at least she would have gone down fighting.
Finally he said, "So you're saying I'm a shitty administrator?"
"You're a fine lawyer."
Finally he smiled.
"Very nicely done. You might have a political future. Yes, I'll concede that I might not be the best administrator on the planet. I would only say that guiding an office full of ambitious, contentious young lawyers is akin to herding cats. It's easier said than done."
'I haven't had a lot of time, as I said, to do research on this, but I know that the structure of a typical legal firm is closer to medieval times than the 21st century. You might not know it, but what I've researched and taught has focused on corporate structure and, more importantly, on making organizations more coherent and effective in their core activities."
She leaned forward.
"I would like some time to do some planning and prepare a presentation on how I might be of service to you in this office. If nothing else, you might benefit by having somebody be the 'bad cop' to your 'good cop' when you have to exert discipline or take unpopular actions. A powerful office manager could play that role."
August sat there rubbing the knuckles of one big hand with his other hand and then turned in his chair so that he was looking away from her. You didn't have to be an expert in negotiating to know that was a bad sign.
"All of that is very interesting, Ms. Bascomb. Debbie. But...."
"But...what, Johnny?"
"I probably should at least let you make your presentation, but I will have to tell you that I have some misgivings about bringing you into this office."
"Why?"
"We know each other, Debbie, so let me be frank. It is your....reputation..."
"Could you be a little more specific, Mr. August? Is it my reputation as a big boobed slut that gets wild at office parties? Is that what you've heard? I'm surprised an attorney would take innuendo as fact.
" Anybody ever actually see anything happen between me and any man at any party, except guys rubbing themselves against a woman while dancing? Or maybe a kiss under the mistletoe at an office party?
"I've got a birthmark where it can't be seen under normal clothing. In any of the stories about all the guys supposed to have gotten lucky with me, got my top off or dress down, has anyone ever mentioned that birthmark? Don't you think, Mr. August, that if guys were screwing me left and right the way the stories say, that somebody would have mentioned that?"
"No, but Debbie, let's be honest, you have always been the center of attention for men at those parties and guys have been after you. And, there is the matter of Doug Baker..."
"Which didn't happen until my marriage was dead...and let me tell you despite everybody's loving my soon-to-be ex, he isn't blameless in that marriage's death."
Johnny August swung around to face her and held out his hand to stop her.
"Debbie, understand me, okay. I'm no prude. Men and women are going to get together...inside the office and outside. I have no problem with a very hot, very sexy woman coming to work here, even if most of the male staff start trying to kill each other to win your favor. The problem I have with you is not you -- it's the man who is going to be your ex."
"Bill? You're worried about hiring me because of Bill?"
"Yes. Look. I'm not afraid of Bill Maitland. He's a good, tough attorney and he's run over a lot of my people. But he puts his pants on one leg at a time. He's just a man. But, he is a very powerful man. Austin Edwards lets him pretty much run the office while he's running for Governor.
"The thing is, this is not a popular office. Nobody really loves the Public Defender's Office. Most of our clients, many of them, are scumbags. A lot of them are guilty, if not of the crimes they're charged with, of something else. We don't inspire warm and fuzzy feelings on the part of the public.
"The State Attorney always has the edge. They have us outgunned and outmanned. They've got the cops, investigators, resources we can't match. If you get a real son of a bitch in Bill's position, somebody who's out for headlines, he can crucify people. There are a lot of bad prosecutors around the country.
"Bill Maitland has always been a fair man. He's hard as nails, but he's honest and he plays by the rules.
"And you are his Achilles' heel. For three months he's been snarling around the courthouse like a lion with a big thorn up his ass. Anybody makes any kind of cheating wife jokes, he's tearing them a new one. One of his assistants nearly lost his job for saying something -- unkind -- about you. It's clear to anybody who's not completely blind, that the guy is still hung up on you.
"What I have to ask myself is, what if I hire you and you come in here and you fall or some guy in here falls for you and word gets out that one of my assistants is banging Bill Maitland's ex-wife? You want to know what I think will happen? What I'm afraid will happen?
"I'm afraid that he will take out his anger on everybody associated with this office. Now, like I said, I'm not afraid of him. We'll fight it out in court and I'll still get a paycheck and go home and get a good night's sleep.
"But, the people we represent....they're going to be hurt. Our clients don't have a lot of money. They don't have the resources that your upper middle class types do. They're a lot closer to the ground and can get hurt a lot more by an angry prosecutor."
He seemed to be staring into her eyes as he said, "I guess what I'm saying, Debbie, is that if you can't keep it in your pants, so to speak, you could do a lot of damage to people whose main crime is being poor and powerless. I don't know if I can take that chance."
Finally:
"I appreciate your honesty, Johnny. All I can say is that I need this job and I'll do anything I have to do to avoid jeopardizing it. I can promise you that I will keep mine in my pants if your guys will do the same. I don't see a problem, and Bill and I will work out our...problems. All I can ask if that you at least give me the chance to show you that I could improve this office."
"Alright I will look at anything you want to present to me. And I will promise to try to be fair in evaluating you. I would only ask you one small favor."
"Yes."
"For God's sake, please never wear anything skintight to this office. I don't want a riot to break out in here."
#########################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 3 p.m.
"Oh, My God, Bill- Mr. Maitland, what happened?"
I waived off Cheryl while two other secretaries and a couple of Assistant SAs came out of their offices to look in my direction. With the taped and covered eye-patch, assorted red-yellow-brown bruises and a banged up mouth, I wasn't surprised at the reaction.
"I was coming down the stairs at my condo and missed a step and bounced down a stair or two," I lied, pretty smoothly I thought.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Cheryl. I've already been to the hospital. I'll have to wear the patch for a week or two, but I'll be okay. Make sure everybody get the word so a lot of wild rumors don't start sweeping the office, okay?"
I made my way as quickly as possible into my office. Wild rumors would still sweep the building, but at least I might have headed off the worst of them. I closed the door and sat down trying to think about what was in front of me.
A note on the desk said that a Rev. Montgomery had called twice and was coming by. I suddenly wished I had played hooky for the rest of the day, but I had to try to figure out what to do about Deaven Thompson.
As I'd expected, my phone buzzed and Cheryl said, "Mr. Maitland, Rev. Montgomery is outside. He's insisting on talking with you." I rubbed my right eye, which was starting to ache too, but I couldn't duck him forever.
A moment later Montgomery walked into my office and sat down in front of me without being asked. He was a short, round, black man with close-cropped hair and fairly expensive clothes. He wore a chain with a heavy gold crucifix around his neck and enough gold and diamond rings on his fingers to put the lie to the myth that men of the cloth have no pride of appearance.
"Mr. Maitland? I'm glad we've finally had this chance to talk. By the way, what happened. You look like you've been in a war."
"Reverend, I'm happy to give you some time to talk. I'm sorry that it's been so hard to get together. Oh, and those are just some injuries I suffered in a fall at my home. Get older and you get clumsy."
He gave me a look.
"I've found that public servants usually find the time to talk with people they want to talk to."
"I apologize, but I've been professionally and personally swamped for awhile. It's been very busy."
He bit his lower lip.
"Not so busy that you couldn't take a junket on an expensive French cruise ship for a week while underlings had to do your job."
I held my tongue. He was a powerful man in the African American community both for his position as the leader of a large black church and a political organizer as well.
"That's the first vacation I've taken in three years and I have been...experiencing some personal....stress..."
"I didn't mean any criticism. It's just that there are some important matters that are before you, and people's lives are on hold until you make a decision."
"People like Shawn Smith?"
He played with a large gold and diamond ring on his pinkie finger for a moment and then looked up at me.
"Yes, Patrolman Smith has been left hanging for an intolerable length of time. When is your office going to exonerate him in that shooting and let him get on with his life?"
"You're assuming he deserves to be exonerated?"
Montgomery straightened up in his seat."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Mr. Smith's house was invaded by three large, violent men who had told friends they were going to 'beat that nigger's ass' and take back a woman he was in a relationship with. He was defending himself and his fiancée from these men. There should be no question of NOT exonerating him."

I sat back and thought for a moment. I had to handle this carefully.
"I understand that the three gentlemen in question did make that threat and did use the 'N' word, Reverend. There's not much doubt about that. Of course, a lot of black -- and white -- males use the 'N' word indiscriminately and so that is not proof per se that they were racists out to lynch Mr. Smith.
"There is also evidence to indicate that Mr. Roper, and his brothers, were simply going to Mr. Smith's house to retrieve Roper's wife. She was still married to him, and was now living with Mr. Smith. We have all the ingredients for a fairly standard domestic violence situation.
"Where the situation goes off the rails is that there are indications the three men were unarmed and that Patrolman Smith not only shot two of them to death after they forced their way into his home, but also shot Roper's brother to death as he was trying to run away OUTSIDE Smith's home."
Montgomery's voice rose.
"security officer recovered a handgun that the three men brought into Mr. Smith's home. They came armed and prepared to harm him and his fiancé. He was perfectly within his rights to defend himself and he said he thought the third man was running to their truck to retrieve another weapon."
I just looked at him for a moment.
"Oddly enough, the weapon they were supposed to have taken into Smith's home was not registered and there is no evidence it belonged to any of the Ropers. There has even been speculation that it might have been what is sometimes called a 'throw-down' gun, that security officer drop at the scene of questionable shootings to claim self defense."
Montgomery looked like he was going to explode.
"That is an almost libelous statement, Mr. Maitland. If ..."
"If, what?"
He stared at me. "Let's be frank. If he were white and three black men had invaded his home, you'd have exonerated him months ago. He is being left to twist in the wind because of the color of his skin."
I stared back and tried to keep my expression neutral.
"Let's be real frank, Reverend. You're accusing me of being a racist."
"If the shoe fits...?"
"There's only one racist in this office, and you know who it is. If Smith were white and had shot down three unarmed black men, one of them in the back, you'd have your church and the local chapter of the NAACP marching in front of this courthouse every day."
He just rubbed his chin and then said, "I, and my fellow clergy and members of the African-American community expect you to do the right thing and issue a report clearing Mr. Smith of any wrongdoing within the month. Or we will be forced to take other action."
I shook my head and said, "Not going to happen. I'm going to weigh the evidence and I'll make the decision when I see fit. Not you, not the clergy and not the African American community."
Montgomery slowly got to his feet.
"We are well aware of your reputation, Mr. Maitland. You've gained local fame as the so-called 'Angel of Death,' but you've always been known as a man who does what he wants with the power you wield. You seem to think you stand above and beyond the normal restraints on political figures."
"Because I'm not a politician."
"Your boss is."
"Austin Edwards is not your typical politician."
"No, maybe not, but he is a politician. Everyone knows he is using this office as a stepping stone to the Governor's office in T,.'assee. Do you think he's unaware of the percentage of votes cast in most elections by African Americans? Do you think he's unaware of the mountain he'll have to climb if he is painted as a white racist, or a man who employs a racist as his top prosecutor?"
" I guess you'd have to ask him those questions. I'm not paid enough to consider those kinds of things."
Montgomery reached out and I took his hand.
"Please don't take what I've said personally, Mr. Maitland. It's just that there is a long history as I'm sure you're aware, of black men being ground up in the wheels of white justice in the South. That's not going to happen this time. I hope you come to the right decision in this matter."
I didn't say anything, just let him walk out. I'd come to the right decision. I just wasn't sure if it would be the right decision he was expecting. And I wasn't real sure that Austin Edwards had balls enough to back me in doing the right thing in this case. He had big ones, but he might needs Balls of Steel if a racial donnybrook erupted over this case.
When he had walked out I leaned back and tried to think clearly. I was about to lose my wife -- officially -- whereas I already had in fact; I had to decide what to do to keep my 17-year-old from pursuing a very foolish crush if Baker had been telling the truth; I had to figure out how to shut down a powerful drug dealer who had threatened my family, I had to try to keep my job while going up against a powerful black political figure....where the hell did it all end?
"Mr. Maitland?"
I looked up into dazzling blue eyes. Set in a heart-shaped face, set under flowing red hair that reached almost down to her ass, Atop a five-foot 6 frame wearing a fairly demure pastel blouse.
She bent forward and the blouse gaped open and I couldn't help staring at perfect round, orange-sized breasts.
I pulled my gaze up and met her eyes and recognized her.
"Sheila, Sheila...."
"Simpson, Mr. Maitland. I hope I'm not...disturbing...you, but Mr. Hopper wanted me to drop these documents by on the Trent case."
She didn't have to, but she remained leaning over my desk. And those damned oranges just seemed to be growing larger.
"Trent? Oh, the Trent case."
My tongue didn't seem to want to work. It seemed thick and awkward all of a sudden.
She smiled and said, "I hope you don't mind, but that patch makes you look like a pirate. It's very... intriguing."
She stood up straight, very slowly. She stood very straight, her shoulders arched backward making those breasts poke out prominently against the blouse. She just stared at me, the kind of stare that is a challenge. Once, a long, long time ago, I would have known how to and would have reacted the way a man does to that kind of invitation.
But it had been so damned long since any woman had looked at me that way, except for Aline. I wasn't expecting it. And so she had me off balance.
"Thank you, and thank Mr. Holder."
After a minute she just nodded and walked away. Damn. I didn't know what was happening, but it could be a problem. I had never been tempted to fish in the office pool because I was happily married and because I'd seen it blow up in supervisors' faces. But....I wasn't happily married anymore...and a very attractive young woman who once upon a time would never have given me that kind of stare had just done so...and..
I had an erection I could have driven nails with under my desk. Damn.
Twenty minutes later when I could stand up without embarrassing myself, I told Cheryl I need to get out for a few minutes and I headed downstairs to the first floor to step into the new Starbucks that the county had talked into moving into an old hot dog and coffee shop that had been there for 15 years.
Debbie loved dry cinnamon cappuccinos but I liked plain old-fashioned cappuccinos, but I also liked more foam than anything else. It took 15 minutes because it was the hottest thing in the courthouse. I stood at the counter where they'd served me and sipped the foam.
And I saw her walking away from me down the hall in the direction of the Clerk of the Court's traffic office. She should be helping to prepare the ship to leave again in a few days. But she might have gotten leave to go ashore.
It was her; the same heavy, black hair, the same shape and the same walk and that ass....She was dressed in something unfamiliar; a short green skirt topped by a blue green two-button Worthington jacket. What was she doing walking toward the clerk's office. Had she come to see me? But, she had to know what a terrible idea that would be.
I was walking toward her before I even realized what I was doing. And then someone called to her and she turned back in my direction and I stopped dead still. How could you be grateful and heartsick at the same time.
I made my way to the elevator without looking at the stranger that superficially resembled Aline des-Jardins. Of course it hadn't been her.
I had told her I'd think of her every day, and I hadn't realized just how true that was.
#########################################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 3:15 p.m.
"Send her in, Abby."
Debbie stood there for a moment, then walked in. There was no reason to be hesitant. She'd promised Crider to talk to the man, but after this first time she could walk away with a clear conscience.
He rose to his feet as she walked in and stepped forward to take her hand.
"Mrs. Bascomb, I'm glad to meet you. Did you have any trouble finding my office?"
"No, your secretary's directions were good. I appreciate your being willing to see me, even though..."
Dr. Ernst Teller gave her a look that made her think he could read her mind. He was a tall, angular, brown-haired man with the hair cut in an old-fashioned almost-buzz cut. He was an older man, but she couldn't peg his age. He had a hawk nose, piercing gaze and the ramrod straight posture, He couldn't be called handsome, but he was striking. If she had seen him at a party, she wouldn't be able to take her eyes off him.
"Even though you think this is a waste of your time and you don't plan on coming back."
She gave him a surprised look.
"You must really wow them at parties with your mind reading act, Dr. Teller."
He smiled a gentle smile. He was good, she thought. It was a smile that encouraged her to like the man, but with none of the usual male overtones that she had come to expect every time she met a new male. She knew that most people would WANT to trust this man.
"Thank you, but it's just that that is the usual reaction I get from most people when they enter my office for the first time. Most people come here not sure that they want or need to be here, want or need my services."
He pointed to a small grayish couch behind a coffee table with a unique black and white inlaid Rorschach ink spot design that matched a large painting on the wall.
"Please, have a seat."
"Should I lie down?"
"Not unless you really, really want to." And he smiled again. She sat on the couch and leaned forward. He sat down in an overstuffed leather chair that his body seemed to sink into.
"Now what?"
He shrugged.
"We talk, if you want to. We could sit and stare at each other for the next 55 minutes, but that would be a waste of both our time. Why don't you just start talking and maybe you could touch on why you're here, or why Dr. Crider thought you might benefit from coming to see me."
Thirty minutes later he leaned back in the chair and puffed gently on a pipe he had produced after asking her if she minded his smoking.
"On first reflection I'd have to say I agree with Dr. Crider's assessment. Any woman in your circumstances would probably be experiencing similar emotions. Even if, as it appears, the divorce is something you feel is necessary, it has to be extremely stressful. Divorce, along with the death of loved one, is one of the most devastating events a person can go through.
"You pile on top of that a love and sexual affair with a new man in your life -- you say he's only the second man you've been intimate with in nearly 20 years, the rift in your relationship with your daughter, your son's seemingly rejecting you by going to stay with his grandparents, and an inability to come to some sense of closure with your husband...."
Teller breathed out a ring of aromatic tobacco smoke.
"As a famous wit once said about dancing bears, the wonder is not that they dance so badly, but that they dance at all. The wonder is not that you are having these panic attacks, the sense of your world ending, but that they are not so much more severe and disabling. The true wonder is that you're able to function at all with so much going wrong in your life."
She stared down at the Rorschach inlaid pattern.
"That may be true, Doctor, but if this is functioning, God only knows what it would feel like if I weren't functioning. I need help. I don't feel like I am going to make it at times. And...there's more...."
"What?"
"I've told you a little bit about Bill, and I know you know him. Everybody says Bill is a good guy. My own mother is on his side in this. And I know I've hurt him by filing for divorce, by falling in love -- no, by falling in lust with a younger man.
She looked up into Teller's eyes and for the first time in a long time she didn't feel like somebody was judging her, had judged her, and condemned her without listening to her side.
"I couldn't tell anyone...I couldn't tell Bill....but our marriage has been dying for a long time. He walked away from it. Not me. Maybe I expected too much. He's 41 and he was never a great athlete. He's led a sedentary life and he got fat and physically -- unappealing.
"And me -- well, I've worked hard keeping myself in shape. I've always been --considered attractive and I like the fact that men like me. And I'd lie in bed some nights and look over at him...short, and fat and balding...I know it's not fair, but I...felt disgust.
"I....I like flirting with men. I like knowing that men want me. I....maybe I carried it a little too far at parties...And....there were other things I did.....I never physically cheated on him...I never had sex with other men..but the last few years....I wanted to....I fantasized.....I......wore out a vibrator.."
She looked up into Teller's eyes.
"I'm not that dumb blonde that most men think I am just because I have big breasts and I'm beautiful....not bragging, I just am....but I'm smart.....smart enough to know that Bill never did anything except let himself go, let me go.....he loved me...and every night in my head I was having sex with other men. I wanted to divorce him a hundred times before I called him that day at his office..
"And....what makes me really feel bad...makes me feel like shit, Dr. Teller, is that I knew how much I was hurting him when I told him I didn't love him anymore. It was true but I didn't have to say it that way....but I did. And I wanted to. I wanted to hurt him....and I don't really know why.
"And Crider noticed...I already knew it but I didn't know why....when I talk about him I get angry...I get furious.....I'm the one who was cheating on him in my mind..I'm the one who started flirting with a young, good looking guy that just wanted to get me into bed..I'm the one who froze him out of my life so I'm the bad guy here... but...I hate him...Goddamn I hate him...sometimes..
"I guess....I'm afraid....only a crazy person would feel that way....am I crazy?"
"Crazy is a very imprecise term....You feel guilt because of the way you have treated him, but at the same time you obviously have strong feelings of anger, resentment, even hatred perhaps...
"The obvious question is, has he done anything to deserve that anger? Has he cheated on you? Had affairs with other women?"
"I'm sure....I mean...I don't think so. This is terrible, but I can't imagine a woman wanting him...that way...or...at least...not until recently. The son of a bitch waits until I'm not in love with him, I'm divorcing him, and he starts looking good again. It's like he's doing it to spite me. Sometimes I..."
She stopped.
"You see what I mean, doctor?"
"Has he been cruel to you, abusive? Has he ever struck you?"
She gave him an incredulous look.
"Bill? I could probably take a man into bed while he was there and I don't think -- I know he wouldn't hurt me. He might kill the guy....and I don't understand that either. He's a good attorney and....he's tough as a pit bull, but to physically attack someone? No, I guess that's part of what happened. I lost respect for him physically.
"I -- I couldn't believe it when he attacked Doug at UNF. I am embarrassed, but at the time I was ashamed for him. It was like a toy poodle taking on a pit bull. And...when...when he actually beat him down....it was like he was somebody I'd never seen before. I remember thinking, who is that guy in Bill's body. Because it's not Bill."
He just sat there silently and she remembered what Bill had told her once about interrogation tactics. Silence is always the easiest way to break someone down. People hate silence.
"I -- uh -- he was never abusive. He was -- too nice -- maybe. There were times...at night....that he'd roll over to me and I knew what he wanted. But he was so damned flabby. And I told him no. And he backed off. I mean, I wasn't in the mood. I was working on college things and the kids were always into something and we hadn't been...physical in a while.
"But...he should have made me. He should have taken me. A man would have rolled me over and fucked me."
She looked up at Teller but he didn't seem fazed by the language.
"Sometimes a woman wants a man to be dominant, to take her. But...that isn't in Bill. So I guess I resented him for not...forcing me...That's stupid, isn't it. And unfair. How was he supposed to read my mind. But that's the way I felt."
Teller let out another wreath of grayish-white smoke.
"It's not stupid, Ms. Bascomb. It's common, in fact, for many women to want their men to be dominant, forceful in the bedroom. He wasn't, and while it might seem unfair, that would be another reason for you to be angry at him. Rational, no, but understandable, yes."
"Maybe understandable, but I don't understand....there's something I've never told anyone before. Nothing I say will ever go outside these walls, will it? And you know Bill. You will never breathe a word of what I'm going to tell you?"
He just shook his head.
"One night....I had this dream.....I woke up and Bill was lying in bed next to me.....and I hated him...oh God, I hated him. Not dislike, not anger, but hate. I went to the safe where we keep a Glock for protection. We keep it loaded because it's safely locked away. I took it out and went back to our bed.
"And it was as if there was a fog, or something, surrounding the bed. I could see him lying there, and I knew it was him, but his face was hard to make out. And it was as if I was awake watching myself dream and I knew I had no reason to hate him as much as a did.
"I held the Glock out in front of me with a two-handed grip the way Bill had taught me and I centered it on his head, and I pulled the trigger. Again and again and again until there were no more bullets left.
"I woke up screaming and Bill was holding me and I wanted to hug him and I wanted to push him away. How the hell could he be holding me and telling me everything was alright when I had just blown his head off?"
She looked up at Teller.
"I told you I was crazy. Or maybe he made me crazy. There's nothing he could have done, nothing he ever did, that would make me hate him that much."
Teller was silent for a while, then put the pipe down on a little side table.
"You do know that there's a difference between what you dream and reality, I hope. You didn't shoot your husband. From what you've said, you've never physically assaulted him. Dreams express emotions, and there is some deep-seated, violent anger that you feel toward him. The puzzle is there's nothing in what you've said that could possibly explain the depth or intensity of that anger."
He looked at a large clock on his desk with a image of "The Scream" engraved under the large crystal watch face and said, "I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today, Ms. Bascomb. I think we've definitely got some things we can talk about and explore in the future, if you feel that would be helpful."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She took a deep breath.

"I don't know why, but I do feel a little better. But...I can't help wondering if maybe...there are some things I shouldn't know. Sometimes when you know things..you have to act...and.."
"This is probably the psychiatrist in me, but it's always better to know than to be ignorant. If you know what is behind your emotions, you can deal with them, or accept them. But you have to know first."
She took a deep breath. Even though she had done nothing but sit on a couch, she felt exhausted.
"Alright. When -- when do you want to see me again?"
"How about Monday, Wednesday and Friday, an hour a day, let's say right about now -- 4:15 p.m., at least at the start."
"I don't know that I can afford that"
"I know for a fact that your husband's insurance will cover-"
"I don't want Bill to know anything about my seeing you."
"Alright. Your insurance at UNF covers my services. I know that because I have other UNF officials as patients."
"I don't know how much longer I'll have that insurance."
"We'll work something out, Mrs. Bascomb."
"How?"
"I'm a physician, Mrs. Bascomb, and I come from money. I can treat the patients I want to treat, and you have aroused my curiosity and interest. Don't worry about the cost. We'll work it out."
When she left he leaned back in his chair. Abby stuck her head in the door and said, "Mr. Cassel is here."
"Tell him I'll just be a minute."
Knowing Bill Maitland's background and history with his wife would make her treatment a little easier, he thought. He already knew that there was an underlying gulf between the two caused by Maitland's doubts about his ability to hold or be worthy of his wife. It was very possible she had picked up on that, at least subconsciously, and was aware that he didn't think he was worthy of her.
If she was, the contempt and drawing away was almost inevitable. You walk around with a 'kick me' sign on your back, visible or invisible, and someone was going to kick you. People respond to you the way you expect them to.
But, beyond that, there was no indication in talking with either of them, that they had had a particularly troubled marriage before Maitland joined the State Attorney's Office. That meant a relatively happy marriage for at least eight years. During the last ten years she had drawn away from him, flirting with other men, fantasizing and finally letting herself be seduced by a younger, more physically attractive man.
All of that understandable, almost textbook. But where did the anger, the violent rage come from? If she had been telling the truth and the only thing he did was disappoint her, that rage wouldn't be there.
No, something had happened in the last ten years. More likely the last five. There had to be some triggering event. Something she was hiding, or might not even be aware of.
He smiled. Cases like this were what he lived for. He sometimes thought he must have been Sherlock Holmes in a former life, if Sherlock Holmes had been a real person and if he believed in reincarnation.
He called to Abby: "Send Mr. Cassel in, Abby."
A moment later a tall, stoop shouldered man with thinning brown hair shambled into the office. Why couldn't' he stand up straight? For a moment irritation flared in Teller, but then he let a professional mask of calm slip back over his face. If Martin Cassel was aware of just how pitiful a shambling hulk he appeared to be, his wife wouldn't have cheated on him and Teller wouldn't have had to hold his hand for the last three years.
"Doctor."
"Good afternoon, Martin. This will be our last session together."
"What?" Cassel sat bolt upright. "Why, doctor? Have I --"
"You haven't done anything. It's just that I'm overbooked and I've given your appointment times to a new patient."
"Doctor Teller, you can't do that. How-"
Teller leaned forward and motioned for silence and Cassel abruptly stopped talking.
"I don't mean to be cruel, Martin, but there comes a time when action has to take the place of words. You came to me three years ago when you learned of a continuing affair that your wife was involved in with a coworker. The affair is over. Two years ago. We have discussed the affair and why your wife did it and your responsibility for what happened.
"We discussed your inability to come to terms with what your wife had done and your inability to leave her and forge a new life for yourself. Over the years you have grown to see that while she was at fault, you shared some fault as well. Unfortunately, while you were deciding how you felt about her, she had another affair. So we had to go into depth over that one.
"You still haven't taken any steps to win back your wife, although we decided long ago that that was what you wanted to do. At present, you have not had -- successful -- sexual relations with your wife for nearly three years and you and I both know that if something doesn't change she will either have another affair or she will divorce you."
"I know, Doctor Teller, but-"
"I want you to buy flowers -- I think you said she loves roses --and take them to her along with a bottle of wine -- I think you said she loves white wine -- and I want you to do your level best to get her drunk tonight. I want you to be as sweet to her as you can possibly be. I want you to attempt to have sex with her tonight.
"If she allows it, I want you to definitely have oral sex -- with her as the recipient. Don't worry about yourself. I want you to do everything possible to bring her to climax. Even if she doesn't climax, I want you to focus on her pleasure. If she will not allow you to have sex, I want you at the very least to do your best to stay in the same bed with her and hold her.
"I want you to do the same thing tomorrow. No roses or wine, but find something that she will enjoy. A movie video, a CD of songs she likes. Attempt to have sex with her again. Don't be obnoxious, but let her know that you want her. Again, use your mouth, your fingers, anything she will let you.
"I want you do the same thing every day for the next 30 days. No exceptions. If she is completely unreceptive to physical advances, I want you to try to talk with her. About anything. No television. No work, on your part. If she completely turns you down, no sulking. Find something to do and do it while she ignores you.
"And the next day I want you to do the same thing. Successful or not, I want you to launch an unrelenting attempt to seduce your wife. And if she asks you why, tell her the truth. You've lived with secrets between you for three years. Tell her you're aware of her affairs and that you have decided you want to save your marriage. Tell her you will continue pursuing her until she tells you she wants a divorce."
"What if-"
"What if she tells you she wants a divorce? Tell her that unless she's throwing you out of your house you will continue pursuing her for the remainder of the month. And do it. The worst that will happen is that your marriage will be over. And, to be honest, Martin, what kind of marriage has it been? Really? You've been in pain for three years. Your marriage is not supposed to be the place where you suffer. It's supposed to be the place you go to find comfort and peace.
"I'm -- scared, doctor. If she leaves me..."
"You will survive and I will find a new appointment time for you. I won't leave you out in the cold, Martin. But, this is something you have to do. We can talk about your emotions and what you want from your wife and out of your marriage for the next 40 years, but nothing will happen until you DO something."
"You really think this is the right thing to do?"
"I do. And no matter what happens, I want you back in a month. Hopefully you'll tell me that you and your wife are trying to build a new relationship. I honestly think you have a chance. But you have to step up."
After Cassel had left, Teller leaned back and filled his pipe again and drew in a lung full of aromatic fumes. Sometimes his work was just plain depressing. But, what kept him going was that, sometimes, screwed up people managed to straighten out their lives. He hoped Maitland and his wife would fall into that category.
############################
Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 3:30 p.m.
As I walked into the State Attorney's Office and headed to my office Cheryl darted in front of me. A courthouse bailiff had his hand on his illegitimate .38 in his holster. All courthouse personnel were supposed to be carrying Glocks, but a lot of the older guys preferred their favorite hardware.
"Mr. Maitland, I'm sorry. I tried to stop him but he was so fast. He was in there before I could stop him."
The bailiff, an older man I thought was named George something stepped in front of me with his hand on the .38 and said, "You want me to go in there first?"
I shook my head. It could be anybody. An irate parent wanting a break for a kid busted for pot or a psycho carrying an axe out to kill The Angel of Death.
"What'd he look like, Cheryl? Did he give you a name?"
"Big, tall black man. Very well dressed. Slim. He didn't look that dangerous, but...there's just something about him."
"He give you a name?"
"He just said....Tyrone had come by to say hello. He said you'd know who he was."
It clicked and I knew who he was, although it had been a long time. It would be like him to just stroll in to stir up things. I held a hand out to George and said, "Hang loose just outside the door, but don't come in unless I call you."
I was a little nervous as I walked into my office, but not much. If it was the Tyrone I remembered, he'd be too smart to just walk into a prosecutor's office and shoot somebody. It wasn't his style."
He was standing near my desk looking at the pictures of me with the famous and near famous. He looked around at me and then his eyes widened.
"Damn, Maitland, somebody did a job on you. Tell me who it was and I'll send a couple cases of some good beer to them -- maybe Double Diamond. It's a very understated beer, but quality, man. Quality. Anybody can do that to you, deserves a quality beer."
He wore a designer suit that looked like it came off a New York fashion catwalk, had real --I'm sure -- diamond cufflinks, had no gold teeth but two gold earrings in dollar-signs twinkling with more real diamonds, and I'm sure wore shoes that came straight from Rome. He was slim, his shaved head glistening in a way I just couldn't make mine do.
He had a warm smile, a trim figure on his 6-4 frame, and the charisma of a warm and fuzzy sabertooth tiger. And he had probably murdered a hundred men with his own hands, with guns, knives, ball-peen hammers, and other things I didn't want to think about.
He reached into his jacket and I tensed for a moment, but he came out with a silver cigarette case, opened it and took out a slim cigarette. He moved so quickly I almost couldn't follow him and a similar monogrammed silver cigarette lighter appeared like magic and a touch of flame lit the cigarette.
"There's no smoking in this building."
"Hmmm..I wasn't aware. Well, let me just finish this one and I'll start following the rules."
He look a drag and then released scented smoke. And smiled at me.
He moved toward a chair directly in front of my desk and sat down in one graceful motion. That was the word that described Tyrone Biggs, local homeboy made good, South Florida crime boss, pimp, pusher and murderer; he was graceful as hell.
He looked me over and said, "I saw your picture on a web site and I heard all about that Angel of Death crap, but I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Shaving your head, going black, getting into fights....and you're as whitebread as they come. You must be going through one of those midlife crises I've heard about. Although I don't have to worry about that for awhile."
I sat down behind my desk and wondered if I could get my Glock out in time to stop him if this was more than a social visit."
"Have you missed me that much, Tyrone? If so, come on back and give me a reason. I'll send you to Raiford and I promise to keep in touch once you're inside."
His smile almost wavered and I knew I'd got to him, but he just shrugged and said, "Enjoying the hospitality of the Florida prison system was an educational experience once, and for that I thank you, but once was enough."
I put my hands on my knees and leaned forward. It would only take an instant to get the drawer open and get to the Glock and I had a man with a gun standing just outside my door, but damned, Tyrone was fast.
"So to what do I owe the honor of this visit? You go away and forget all about me for eight years and then all of a sudden you blow back into town. You miss me? Or what?"
He took another drag on the cigarette.
"Nothing special, Maitland. I've been busy down south, but I wanted to come up and see Derrick. You know he's in that prison camp over toward T,.'assee; Got two more years to go and I wanted to make sure he's doing okay. I got people in there watching over him, but I wanted to see with my own eyes that he's okay."
"I'm glad to hear he's alright. Why don't you do him a favor and leave him alone. He's made some mistakes, but I hear from the Camp commander that he's doing pretty good. He's working on his GED, has expressed an interest in learning a trade...an honest one. If he's your brother and you love him, why not give him a chance at a decent life?"
Tyrone shook his head and expelled another puff of smoke that had a vaguely licorice-type smell to it. He didn't go for a lot of jewelry, but he had a lion's head ring on his middle finger with rubies for eyes and a large diamond set in the mouth. I didn't want to even guess what it might have cost.
"Yeah, he's my brother and I want him to work his whole life for just enough to afford a three-bedroom for a wife and three or four brats and never get enough to go the places I've been or see the things I've seen. I want him to settle for some fat broad that opens her legs to him instead of some of the finest pussy on planet earth, which I've sampled and which I'm going to enjoy as long as I live."
"Until somebody you trust, a friend or a subordinate or a girlfriend, slips up behind you one night and puts one in behind your ear. You know that's how it's going to go. You might ride high for a few years, maybe a few decades, but how many guys in your line of work ever retire and live to be old and senile?"
He stared at me and said, "Could be, Maitland. Could be. It's an old argument. Is it better to burn brightly for a few years and then Nova, or die slowly for an entire boring lifetime? I'm choosing to live while I'm here, and I want that for my brother."
Then he gave me a small smile.
"Anyway, I just came back from Derrick and realized I could swing by here and thank you."
"Thank me?"
He sat up straight, and somehow it felt like I was watching a viper coiling itself up preparing to strike.
"You didn't have to hit Derrick with the least time possible. You didn't have to recommend that he go to that minimum security camp instead of Raiford."
"He was just a stupid kid. I didn't do anything for him I wouldn't have done for any other young idiot."
"I don't like you, Maitland. You stole two years of my life. My mother died while I was in prison and I wasn't able to go to her funeral because of you, you son of a bitch. But...
"Most prosecutors are assholes. Most prosecutors if they got their hands on my brother would have used him to try to rattle me or screwed him to the wall to get at me for being smarter than you guys. You didn't. You treated my kid brother as if you'd never heard of me. And you gave him a chance."
"I'm touched, but you don't owe me anything, Tyrone, except getting the hell out of my part of the state before you kill somebody up here.
"Well, whether you want to accept it or not, you've got my thanks. Now I've got business to attend to down south. It's been real, but I hope we don't see each other again soon."
He walked past me to the door of my office and stopped. He looked back at me.
"Oh, by the way, I still have friends around here. Just heard an interesting story. They say some local would-be kingpin in one of your special cells got his head separated from his shoulders. Bad stuff. When people can be killed behind bars, it shakes your faith in the criminal justice system."
He stepped out, moving gracefully around Cheryl who burst into the room saying, "Mr. Maitland, Chief Brown is on the line." Brown was the man who ran the jail.
I picked up the phone.
"Maitland, all hell is breaking loose down here."
"What happened?"
"You know Deaven Thompson, the one you had in that holding cell isolated from everyone? Well, he wasn't isolated from everybody."
"What?"
"He was checked on by Lieutenant Colton at 3 p.m. and he was okay, seemed to be taking a nap. When Colton came back at 3:30....the bunk was soaked in blood and Thompson was under a blanket. They pulled the blanket back and...somebody cut his damned head off. Cut it clean off."
I looked toward the doorway, but I'd have bet Tyrone was not in sight.
"And that's not the worst of it."
"There's worse?"
"They....cut his genitals off...his entire dick and his balls and stuffed them into his mouth. It was gross, goddammit. I had veteran officers throwing up."
"And no one saw anything?"
"Colton and two other jailers had to be down on the second floor to break up a fight, actually two fights. With one thing and another, every officer we had in there was busy for a half hour or so."
"Alright, get someone to pull the videotapes. His cell and the walkway were being monitored, right?"
There was a long silence.
"We do have videotapes, right?"
"That's the first thing I thought of. I went to the command center. Riley and Kitty Wells were on duty monitoring. They were both out cold. They had ordered coffee and said they got it up about 3 or 3:10 and that's the last thing they remember. The tapes for the cameras monitoring Thompson's cell and the corridor and that whole area are missing for the last hour."
"Who brought up the coffee?"
"Jimmy Miller. He's a trustee, but he's due to be out in two months. He's scared shitless. Swears he didn't do anything and just picked up coffee from the commissary. I've already had officers down there checking, but nobody will admit to seeing anything.
And honestly, nobody pays any attention to who goes through there. Who expects their coffee to be doped --in the jail?"
I sat back and rubbed my lower lip. Talk about mixed emotions. I couldn't be sorry the son of a bitch was dead. But somebody had waltzed into the heart of the criminal justice system and committed murder. I knew who had done it, and I guessed why, but I doubted I'd ever be able to prove anything.
"You've got detectives crawling all over everything?"
"Yes. This hasn't gotten out, but what do we tell the press when they start calling."
"Sheriff Knight is in charge, you do what he tells you, but I'd keep my mouth and the mouth of everybody under you, shut tight until we figure out the best way of handling this."
I hung up and when I looked at the doorway, Charlie Case filled it.
"You heard?"
"Yeah" I said. "Hard to believe anyone could do that. And it makes you wonder who would want to kill and leave that kind of message."
He shrugged those huge shoulders.
"Deaven was not the most pleasant person I've ever met. I have a hard time believing he didn't acquire a lot of enemies along the road to the top. Remember, the Browns, the little boys' family and their friends, they're not the most peace-loving bunch around. They wanted a piece of him. And there are other gangs out there."
I looked him curiously.
"That's the strange thing, Case. I could understand his rivals or the Browns having him killed, but the way they did it..."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Somebody wanted him really, really dead."

"No it's more than that. It's a message killing. Somebody was sending a message to his people, but who was sending it and what was the message?"
"Probably the message was that anybody who threatens a prosecutor is not going to have the cops coming after them to read them their rights, but people who will cut their heads off. It's a different kind of threat."
"That makes sense, but the thing is, there are only three people still alive who know about that threat."
Case's expression was unreadable.
"And you and I both know who was behind this. He's well on his way to South Florida. I couldn't stop him because we couldn't prove anything. He said he was visiting his brother Derrick over in the Panhandle. But how did he know about the threat and have the time to set this up. He's good, but nobody is that good."
Case shrugged again.
"I have no idea."
I looked at the other side of my office, in the direction that Tyrone was driving or flying right now and asked, "You've been out of that world for a while now, but you still know people, right?"
"Everybody knows people, Maitland."
"You served time with some of the same hardcases that shuttle between here and Miami. I'll bet you could still pick up the phone and in a minute get a message to somebody down there, if you wanted to."
He looked at me and I could only sense the smile.
"Now why would I want to do that?"
"Hypothetically, if there was a problem that couldn't be dealt with within the legal system, a man with contacts outside the system could go around the law."
He looked at me guilelessly.
"I'm a bailiff of the court. My best friend is a judge and he's the only reason I'm not on death row or dead right now. You don't think I'd betray everything I believe in to have a shithead like Thompson killed, do you?"
He followed by gaze in the direction that we both knew Anthony was headed.
"And even if I had called him and told him what was going down, you don't think a stone killer like Biggs would put himself in jeopardy to save the family of a man who sent him to prison and kept him away from his mother's funeral, do you?"
"No, I guess not. It's just hard to figure."
"Don't give yourself a headache, Maitland. Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. I don't think we'll ever know for sure what happened to Deaven."
He walked away and I sat there for awhile while all hell broke loose as the media discovered what had happened, Sheriff Knight and Edwards started trying to do some PR damage control that would keep the media from comparing local law enforcement to the Keystone Kops.
Eventually I got dragged into it and an never-ending round of meetings with Sheriff's Office officials, jail officers, the media, and internal meetings within the State Attorney's Office.
Along the way I found out that, oddly enough, the tapes of Deaven's cell weren't the only ones that had vanished. Trying to backtrack, homicide detectives had looked for the tapes of the meeting I'd had with Deaven, his attorney Smith, and Case. But they had vanished as well. Actually, all the tapes for that meeting room for the last week had gone missing.
Courthouse staff responsible for the monitoring pointed the finger at the private tech firm that maintained the system. The tech firm fired back at the courthouse personnel as technological idiots who had probably inadvertently wiped those tapes out.
Hour blended into hour into hour until I got out of another in an interminable sequence of meetings and realized it was 8 p.m. and I was fed up with meetings. I told the diehards still meeting over one thing or another that I had put in my time, I'd been injured in an accident, I had just gotten back from a cruise and never even had a chance to get my luggage back to my condo. I was going home.
As soon as I walked out of the courthouse and was heading for my Escalade, I remembered my earlier discussions with Doug. I called Debbie's number and got no response. I tried again. I drove back to the condo and called again. In all, I called six times in 45 minutes with no response.
I unpacked my suitcase. As I put the clothes away they seemed like mementos from the distant past. Had it been less than a day since I'd held Aline's naked body next to me? How could so much happen in so little time? But, how had I met and made a connection with a French woman like none other in the past 20 years, in less a week.
I had thought this little piece of anonymous apartment was lonely beyond reason, but now I realized it was like a little piece of hell. It, and I, were transient. There were no memories here, other than bad ones.
I had to get out. If I stayed here I would remember the early days when all I could think about was Debbie's golden body, or the brunette woman I had just walked away from. I really needed to get drunk and kill all the memories.
I almost drove to The Last Call, or O'Brien's, but something made me turn the car in a familiar direction and it almost drove itself there. I stopped down the block. Something wouldn't let me pull in the driveway. It was dark now, at 9:30, and there were no lights in the house that had been mine and Debbie's.
I shouldn't wait for her, I knew. I had spent three and a half months running as hard as I could to get away from her and the hurt she had done to me. I had refused to talk to her because I was afraid I would either physically hurt her, or burst out crying and shame myself.
Could I hurt her? I would have said never, once. But I had prosecuted men who knew they would never touch their wives or girlfriends. Until that one split second they could not bring back when they had struck out and the one they had loved lay dead at their feet.
I should probably wait and call her tomorrow. But somehow I couldn't bring myself to drive away. I had called her home phone and there had been no answer there as well. That with the absence of lights, told me she was out. At her parents? No, because she would have answered her cell there.
So she was out tonight. Maybe it was work related? Maybe it was with one of her female friends. Maybe. It wouldn't be Doug, if he had told me the truth and BJ had heard correctly when she said they were through. Had she already found another man?
So I sat in the darkness after the streetlights came on and it became 10 and then 10:15 p.m. and finally I saw the lights of her Nissan coming down the street followed by a dark blue four-door Saturn. She pulled into our garage while the Saturn stopped in the driveway. She came out, closing the garage behind her.
A dark-haired, slender man stepped out of the Saturn and followed her to the front door. I got out of the Escalade and walked toward what had been my front door. She turned the inner hall light on and I saw her face and that of the man with her in the light it cast.
They were talking and she laughed. I had reached our front yard and started walking toward them. She laughed again, and tilted her head up in a way that I remembered. I wondered if he was planning on kissing her. Had she dumped Doug and that quickly found another man. No grass growing under her feet.
I was walking quietly and she didn't even notice me approaching.
"You're right, Clint. I love Thai. And thank you for keeping me out of this house. I almost hate to say goodnight..."
"Well, don't let me interfere with your plans, Debbie. I'd just like a moment of your time."
She jumped and stared at me as if I was the killer in a teen stalker movie.
"Bill? What in the hell...."
"I fell down some stairs. Got banged up a bit."
The man turned quickly and gave me a searching glance. He was familiar, but I was pretty sure I'd never seen him in the flesh before.
"Bill, I was just...."
He stuck his hand out and by habit I took it.
"Hi, you'd obviously be Bill Maitland. I'm Clint Abbott. I'm a visiting professor at UNF. I'm glad to meet you. Remind me to stay away from those stairs. They did a number on you."
Debbie continued to stare.
"I'm sorry Debbie. I didn't mean to interrupt your date. Could we talk for just a minute? If -- you've got further plans, just call me on my cell. I'll be up late."
"I'm leaving, Mr. Maitland. Debbie - Mrs. Maitland -- Bascomb -- and I just went out for dinner and a few drinks. I need to get home because tomorrow is a work day."
He turned to leave and she placed her hand on his arm.
"Clint, thank you."
As he started to walk by me the mental connection clicked and I said, "Ride On By."
He stared at me and then a grin grew on his face.
"Guilty. Don't tell me you read it?"
"And saw the movie. I thought you looked familiar. You face was all over the back cover."
"He's got a mind like a steel trap, Clint. I should have warned you. I don't think he ever forgets anything."
I couldn't stop myself.
"Even if I wish I could...."
It was cheap and petty but it made me feel better that she looked a little hurt.
"Well, on behalf of myself and my accountant, Mr. Maitland, thank you for your patronage. It's people like you that have let me skip meaningful hard labor for the last 20 years or so."
"It was a good book. I've liked most of your stuff."
"Not all?"
He grinned again.
"Authors are shameless. We want everybody to love everything we write. But thanks. Coming from somebody as famous as you, I'm flattered."
I just gave him a look.
"Oh, yeah, I've read all about The Angel of Death. Actually...."
He stopped and gave me a speculative look.
"Actually, I had my publisher call me already. He asked me if I thought about doing any courtroom action stuff. It's fairly hot now, what with Grisham. And Scott Turow. And Philip Margolin has done some nice stuff. I haven't done any of that, but....I did do a little research on you after I got the call. You're a fairly interesting figure.
"Have you ever thought of having somebody write you up -- nonfiction. Although fiction is more my line. How does, 'The Angel of Death -- Scourge of the Underworld' or something like that sound?"
I grimaced.
"Like a very, very bad 30s pulp novel. Don't lower yourself."
"I don't write the titles. My first choice for 'Ride On By' was 'The Gunfighter and the Lady.' The publisher would come up with something better. But...it was only an idea. If you change your mind and would like to talk, I'll be at UNF for a few months."
"I won't, but thanks anyway. My life is...there's too much going on to even think about that."
Debbie gave both of us a look like we'd started talking football the way guys would do on her time.
"Good night, Clint. Thank for this evening. I'll see you tomorrow."
He grinned at me and then at her as he realized what had happened and said "goodnight," to both of us and walked away.
####################
She watched Clint Abbott walk away and felt like she was in high college, having one boyfriend show up while she was on a date with another. Of course, it wasn't the same. But it felt the same. She was embarrassed, and she had no reason to be. She stared at Bill's face and remembered the last time she'd seen him that beat up.
"Are you okay? What happened?"
"Not important. I apologize. I wouldn't have come by except that I couldn't get you on the phone."
"Oh, I forgot. I turned my cell off when I went out with Clint -- Professor Abbott."
"Didn't want to be disturbed on a hot date?"
She felt that anger flare again and tamped it down. Naturally he was angry and jealous. He had the right.
"Clint is just a friend, Bill. He asked me to dinner and for drinks. I just....this house is too damned empty. With Kelly and BJ gone...and..."
"Doug, yeah I know -- that's why-"
"I was going to say with you gone, but yeah, Doug is gone too. You know about that already? You haven't been in town for a day? You're good."
"That's why I wanted to talk to you. BJ called me."
"BJ?"
"He was in the house the morning that -- he heard what was happening between you and Doug and Kelly."
"I had no idea. But whatever he heard...."
"He saw Kelly coming out of your bedroom naked, Debbie, while Doug was in there. It didn't matter what he heard. What the fuck was she doing in your bedroom with Doug -- naked?"
His voice rose. She realized what he must be thinking.
"It's not what you're thinking...or not exactly."
"What the hell does 'not exactly' mean. Debbie, for Christ's sake, we're talking about a 17-year-old girl and a 28-year-old man. You know what that sounds like?"
She leaned back against the front door.
"It's bad, but not bad the way you think. Nothing really happened."
"I'm really, really curious as to what your definition of 'happen' is."
She sighed and then said, "I'll tell you everything, Bill. I've got no reason to lie and I know you too well to think that I could. But...can we do this inside? I don't want to talk about this outside."
"I don't want to go inside."
"Why? It's your house?"
"Correction. It was."
"Just for a few minutes."
He gave her a look that should have frightened her, but she knew him too well.
"Debbie for a smart woman, you can be so stupid. You threw me out of this fucking house. You've been fucking another man in our bed. You probably sat in the den watching television with him. You sat in the kitchen and ate with him and then probably went upstairs and let him fuck you, if you didn't do it in the kitchen. It's not my house anymore."
She tried to find the right words. He was the word man.
"Doug is gone, Bill. I can't take back what happened. But it was your house for the last 10 years and I was your wife for 18 years. Doug came and went. It's still your house, it always will be. And I was your wife and I still am for a few days. No matter what happens, we were married for 18 years and together for 20 years and we have two kids. You said you wanted to talk. Can't you stand being in your house for a few minutes?"
He followed her in and said, "The kitchen. For some reason, I don't feel that bad about the kitchen."
They sat at the table, the way they had so many times before. He looked around as if he were seeing it for the first time and when he stopped at the counter near the refrigerator and looked back at her she knew what he was going to say.
"The snow globe?"
"It got knocked off. It completely shattered. I had to throw it away."
"Like a lot of things, Debbie, including me, right?"
She let it go.
"I'll tell you what happened. Doug spent the night and I had a morning meeting at UNF. We must have had lightning hit the house the night before. It knocked out the alarm and I had to jump up and get out. As far as I knew, Debbie and BJ were spending the night at friends. I realized I'd forgotten a folder and came back.
"I was at our bedroom door when I heard them. Kelly...had come in and...was....giving him oral sex. They had no way of knowing I was outside. Doug pushed her off. He told her to get out. He wasn't acting. I could tell. I came in and Kelly was pretty honest about what she was doing."
She stopped and said, "You want something to drink? We have some of your Goldschläger. There's beer in the fridge..."
"The kind of beer he drinks?"
She shut up. How did he manage to drive the needle in with such precision.
"Just beer."
"No thanks."
"Kelly was definitely after him. She has been for awhile. I read her the riot act, she blew up at me and moved out. She's at Mom and Dad's right now. I told Doug to get his stuff and get out. It was too dangerous to have him around her. She's 17 and hormone driven and he's-"
"Very sexy, right, Debbie. And 'so damned big,' right?"
She spoke as calmly as she could make herself.
"He's very attractive, Bill, especially to be around a 17-year-old who's dreaming of getting herself pregnant and married. Anyway, we were going to be through before long. I told him we...needed to make a break."
"So you say."
She almost stood up and felt that familiar anger begin to rise inside her.
"That's fucking IT, you asshole. I'm trying to honest and you keep taking shots. I never had sex with him, you bastard. Yeah, I was flirting. And I shaved my pussy dreaming about him. And I was going to wind up in his bed. Until you made an ass of yourself and ruined my career and Doug's. But...I never fucked him before that night.
"I just kept getting myself off with my handy vibrator, because you sure as hell weren't getting the job done. And I would eventually have gotten the nerve up to break up with you and then after a respectable period of time I was going to let him fuck my brains out."
He looked like he was going to get up but he remained seated.
"It was never serious, Bill. I didn't fall in love with him. I just fell out of love with you. He was there to scratch an itch, but if I'd never met him, I was going to ask you for a divorce. He's a kid, and I knew he'd never keep it in his pants for me. He's too hot. So, yeah, I ended it with him. If you don't believe me, take him in your office and put a lie detector on him."
"I've already talked with him."
There was something about the way he said it that made her know.
"Shit, you must have made him really angry. I hope he didn't hurt you too much."
She saw a smile grow on his face and realized it was the first time she'd seen him smile in three and a half months.
"He was pretty angry, but....well, let's just say he's not going to be the pretty boy he used to be."
"But-"
"You just have no respect for me at all, do you?"
She looked at him again. He was dressed as usual in black slacks and a black shirt, but his arms and shoulders were better defined and his gut didn't bulge out the way it had. She remembered the way he had looked in the gym that night. There was something else, something she couldn't put her finger on. But he was different.
She couldn't believe she was actually asking it, but she heard herself say, "You didn't hurt him too bad?"
The smile vanished.
"You still care for the bastard, don't you? Are you really through with him?"
"I don't want you going to prison, losing everything you spent your life working for. And....I don't care for him..but-"
"He's alive. I busted him up some and he's having a little trouble breathing with busted ribs. And, I broke his nose, but he'll live. In case you haven't heard, he's leaving town."
She just stared at him. What had happened?
"I didn't have anything to do with it. Apparently he's had a job on the table for awhile in Chicago, but he says he was staying for you. He said he would have taken you with him if you'd agreed. Doesn't sound like he thought he was just a way to scratch an itch."
"I don't know about you, but I am going to have a beer."
She opened the fridge, grabbed a Michelob Light and took a sip after taking the top off.
"He -- he was more serious than I thought he would be. He's...just a kid... Bill, actually emotionally I don't know that he's much more mature than Kelly. Just a big overgrown kid."
"You move pretty fast, Debbie. Throw me out, move him in, throw him out, and you've already lined up a replacement. Actually, I have to give you credit for making a better choice this time. That guy Abbott seems alright. A good writer, and at least with him, you won't have to be always looking down."
She slammed the beer down so hard on the table that it sloshed over.
"I never looked down on you, dammit Bill. That was always in your head. You'd think after 18 years and all the times I fucked you until you couldn't move you'd have finally figured out that two inches of height is nothing."
He didn't say anything, just looked around the kitchen as if he were looking at it for the first -- or the last -- time.
"Doesn't matter, Debbie. In a month it'll all be moot. Thank you for telling me what happened between Doug and Kelly. It matches what he said and I have no reason not to believe you because nothing he or you said contradicts what BJ saw and heard."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He got up.

"Goodbye, Debbie. I'll let myself out."
She stood up and almost touched him. She was reaching for him when he drew back and she dropped her hand.
"Bill, thank you. Thank you for talking to me. It's been hard....not being able to talk to you. Even if this was just about Kelly, I'm still glad you were finally willing to talk to me."
He had turned around when she said, "One favor, Bill. Please, call Mom and Dad and talk to Kelly. She won't talk to me. I can understand why. But you're her father. Try to talk some sense into her about Doug."
"I'll call and go by right now. Goodbye."
####################
I sat in my car in the dark for 10 minutes after I left Debbie's house. No matter what she said, it wasn't my house anymore. As long as I stayed away from her, I could remember the house and our life the way it had been. But I had been in there now. I could see him fucking her up against the refrigerator or spread-eagled over the table. Maybe he hadn't, but I saw the pictures in my head.
It was probably a mistake to have talked to her. In some sick way I felt better for it, but I was still sick about it. Talk about a dog going back to its vomit. She was poison. There might be a day when I could look at her and not want to hold her, to kiss her, to bury myself in her. But it wasn't today.
I drove to the Bascombs. I called ahead and got Cathy. I asked if Kelly was there and when she said she was, told her I was coming by to talk to her.
It was 11:15 p.m. when I pulled into their driveway. Roy answered the door.
"She's in her bedroom, Bill. "
It wasn't the first time we had talked since everything fell apart, but they had just been hi and by when I came to pick up the kids.
He stopped me as I walked past him and put his hand on my shoulder.
"I wanted to apologize for what I said...when this all started. I never really believed that she...would throw everything away for a pretty face. That's not the daughter I raised. I know Cathy has talked to you. This thing with pretty boy will end. And she'll come crawling back to you. When she does...just try to remember that she was a good wife for a long time. That's all."
I stood there for a second but there was nothing I could say to that. I went on back to what had been Debbie's younger sister Clarice's room years before. Now Cathy and Roy kept it as a guest bedroom.
I knocked on the door and after a moment pushed it open and went in. She was sitting cross-legged on Clarice's old canopy bed, wearing headphones and doing something on a laptop at the same time.
She wore a light blue pajama set and I didn't have to look too closely to know that Doug had been right. She was a sexually mature, beautiful woman. Except for the hair coloring, she could have been the woman I'd first seen on the University of Florida campus 20 years ago.
"I assume your soon-to-be ex-wife told you a pack of lies about what happened?"
"No, she told me the truth. She told me the same story Doug told me this morning."
She looked up at me and the angry retort she was planning died in her throat as she stared at my face.
"God, daddy, what happened to you? Oh, no, you didn't go after Doug did you? It wasn't his fault."
She tore the headphones off and set the computer on the bed.
"You didn't have him arrested, did you?"
I shook my head and sat down beside her on the bed.
"No, Doug and I just got into a little tussle. He about put my eye out and banged me up and I smashed his nose and broke some ribs, but he's going to be okay."
"Dad, you hurt Doug?"
I shook my head watching the expression on her face.
"Why does everybody seem to find that so hard to believe. Yes, I hurt him, but nothing he won't recover from. And I didn't get him arrested, although I sure as hell could have."
"We didn't do anything."
"Kelly, in the eyes of the law, having oral sex with a 17-year-old would get him sent to state prison and branded a pedophile for life. You've lived with a prosecutor your whole life and you're not stupid. Your mother walking back in was the best thing that ever happened to Doug. Because if he had had sex with you, I'd never rest until he was spending a long time in an all-male barracks at Raiford. Or until he was dead."
"Dad, but I --"
"Do NOT tell me you love him, Kelly. You're 17 and you've got high college and college and a life ahead of you. You're not hooking up with a 28-year-old man who used to be your mother's boyfriend."
She stared at me with an expression of pained innocence.
"You're just mad at him because of mom. But he didn't chase her. She chased him. And she's been flirting with guys for years. I bet you she was fucking them a long time before she put her hooks into Doug. I care for him and I know he cares for me. He hasn't said anything, but I can tell it by the way he looks at me."
I took a deep breath.
"He is not my favorite person on this planet because of your mother's involvement with him. That's true. But that's not the reason why you're not going to get involved with him. He's too old for you. He's had more women than you'll probably ever know about. And you could never trust him. He moved in on your mother when we still had a marriage. What makes you think he would be true to you?"
"He wouldn't cheat on me. I'd keep him happy."
"No one woman is going to keep him happy, baby. It doesn't work like that with guys like Doug. And you say you can tell that he care for you because of the way he looks at you. You're not a little girl anymore, Kelly. He's looking at you the way a man looks at a beautiful woman, and that's what you've turned into. When a man looks at you that way, he doesn't love you. He just wants to have sex with you."
She turned her back on me.
"It doesn't matter what you say. We'll get together. You can't stop us. I'll be 18 in a little while and then you and Mom can't stop me."
I didn't tell her that Doug was going to be 1500 miles away very shortly and if he had any sense would avoid her like the plague until that time. And after that...well, I knew prosecutors all over the country and the ones I didn't the Big Man did. Doug would be watched.
She turned back to face me and she looked so much like Debbie that it hurt.
"Besides, it's too late to protect my virtue, Daddy. Doug wouldn't be the first."
"I know that."
"No, I've had two boyfriends since then. I've been -- with both of them. I stopped seeing Jamie and started going with Charles, but Jamie moved back into town three months ago. We hook up sometimes."
She acted like she hoped I'd be shocked.
"I know this will shock and dismay you, Kelly, but I realize that once you start having sex, most people don't stop. I wasn't aware of your boyfriends, but I can't say I'm surprised. I know that I can't lock you in your room, and put a chastity belt on you, and short of that, if you want to have sex you're going to have sex."
"I -- " She looked really surprised. "I didn't expect you to-"
"To treat you like an adult? It comes hard, Kelly, because you're always going to be my little girl, even when you turn 60. But this is something you'll find out when you have your own kids. You treat your children like children...until you can't anymore. And I can't treat you that way anymore."
I reached out and grabbed her hand and held it in mine.
"I'm not going to tell you not to have sex because I know I can't enforce that, and I don't expect you to respect my opinions because I've made a pretty bad mess of my marriage. But I just want you to remember one thing...and remember it for the rest of your life."
I took my hand and ran it along the side of her face. And beneath those woman's features and her mother's beauty, I saw the little girl I had known years ago.
"I love you Kelly. You're my daughter and you always will be. I know I haven't shown it, but I love you and your brother more than anything on earth. You are the most precious things on earth to me. Nobody except your mother and I, and maybe your brother, will ever love you exactly that way.
"But, if you're lucky, you'll find some man that will love you just as much, in a different way. He'll love you for more than your body and your face. He'll love you if you lose your looks, or that body grows old. It's what every parent wants for their child. I want someone to love you as much as I do.
"I want someone to love you as much as I loved your mother. I want someone who will walk through fire for you, because I would have for your mother. That's gone now, but we had it. And I just want the same thing for you."
I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and walked out. Cathy would have said something but I waved her off. I could barely see for the tears blinding me, but it was okay. I had said what I wanted to say. Now it was up to Kelly. She could make her own mistakes, but I hoped she'd be smarter than her mother had been at her age.
I had stopped at a late night espresso shop for a cup of very strong American coffee that was as close to real French coffee as you could find in the River City. It was 12:30 a.m. before I finally sprawled on the bed in my condo and clicked on the late news. As I'd expected, all the buzzing was about the dramatic murder inside the Jacksonville Jail. A lot of the details were held back, but enough had been released that it would go national the next day.
I punched up a pillow, lay back and sipped at the coffee between swallowing two pain pills with water. My left eye had begun throbbing like crazy again. I hadn't taken the rest that I'd been ordered to. I let the sound of the news wash around me as I thought about the day gone by. It had been the longest day of my life.
It had begun with me in bed with Aline having to break off a budding relationship that I didn't want to break off. In the space of only 17 hours, I had been told by my son that my 17-year-old daughter was having sex with my wife's boyfriend; a vicious killer had made a very real threat against my family;
I'd nearly got my head knocked off extracting a measure of revenge against the asshole who had stolen my wife; I'd received a not-so-polite threat to come down the right way on a racial violence case; had one of the most overt sexual overtures I'd ever received; realized I was lying through my teeth when I told myself I didn't want to see Aline again; met a man who should have hated me but did me a favor I could never repay proving the value of 'Friends In Low Places;'
met with my soon-to-be ex-wife and found that despite whatever feelings I might have for Aline, I wasn't yet over Debbie; and dealt with my 17-year-old daughter as an adult for the first time.
I'd crammed a week worth of living into less than a day. No wonder I was exhausted.
I was about to click off the television, strip and hit the bed when a familiar face flashed on the screen. I ran it back and turned the sound up.
"....official government sources in Rwanda have confirmed the initial reports that Father Eagan Dunleavy, a special emissary from the Vatican, has died in a crash near Kigali International Airport, the primary airport serving Kigali, the capital of Rwanda.
"Sources said that Dunleavy and four others in a small jet, had flown directly from Paris to the Rwandan capital in what was said to be a private diplomatic initiative to ease tensions and fears of a resumption of Hutu-Tutsi violence.
"Unconfirmed reports say that the plane was brought down by one to two surface to air missiles, possibly American-made Stingers stolen or sold to rebel Rwandan military units."
They flashed Dunleavy's smiling face on the screen, a stock shot taken after he'd won the Nobel for his work in Rwanda.
"....Vatican sources expressed the sadness of the Pope and high church officials in the loss of a man who had saved so many lives during his career."
A man dressed in the colors of the Vatican, not a cardinal or bishop but probably a lower level functionary, appeared on the screen.
"The world has lost a good man," the Vatican spokesman said. "Father Dunleavy was one of those special souls who sacrificed much for the good of others. He lived a truly selfless life and his award is waiting in Heaven."
"They must have been really frightened of you, Father," I told the picture they flashed on the screen again. "The bastards shot you out of the air before you had a chance to put your feet on the ground. That's a compliment in a way."
I wondered if he had even had the time to realize that he was about to die. And if he did, I wondered if he had had the time to take the photos of Brianne O'Collins and his son out for a last time
"I hope you see her again, Father," I said, thinking of the pretty Irish colleen he had sacrificed for the greater good of God and man.
And then, remembering the last promise I'd made to him, I leaned forward and although I'd forgotten the prayers of my childhood, I managed to say, "I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, I confess all my sins, and I ask you in Jesus' name to guide the soul of Eagen Dunleavy home...."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES

Friday, July 22, 2005 – 9 a.m.
My name is Bill Maitland. I am the second most powerful man in the State Attorney's office in Jacksonville, about to be divorced from the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life who has fallen out of love with me, and father to a son and daughter that I have ignored for too long while I concentrated on other people's tragedies.
Last night I learned that while I was looking at other things, my daughter had grown from a little girl to a young woman who lusted after the man who had stolen my wife from me. Actually, to be fair about it, I had thrown her to him, but it didn't make living with his presence in my life any easier.
But I'll be damned if I was going to let him screw up my daughter's life as well so I had a little discussion with him that involved brass knuckles yesterday. I had hurt him, but he'd hurt me so I didn't feel at all guilty about giving myself an edge with brass and surprise.
I'd like to say he was a big-dicked coward who showed me he didn't deserve to win my wife, but unfortunately I learned a long time ago that being an asshole doesn't automatically mean you're a coward as well. And he had tried his best to take my head off in our little discussion.
We'd both survived and he was leaving town and my soon-to-be ex-wife, so I guess you could call me the winner, but he'd managed to screw up my marriage and he'd forced me to look at my daughter with open eyes.
Still and all, it was better to live with the knowledge that my little girl was all grown up than to continue to live in a fantasy world where men were not fucking her. It still hurt me to think about, but I would always prefer to think of her as a sexless innocent than a sexually active woman. I didn't have any choice, though.
And then, in a day full of shocks, I'd had the last one early this morning as I learned that Father Eagen Dunleavy, who'd defied hatred and machetes to fight for life in the Hutu-Tutsi killing in Rwanda in the 1990s, had been shot out of the sky while on a mission back to Rwanda.
I'd met him while on a cruise on the French ship Bonne Chance and learned that besides being a good priest, he was a good man. I liked him before I knew that, but knowing that as good a man as he was could screw his life up as badly or worse than I had, made me feel better about my own mistakes.
He had helped me look at my life a little differently on the ship, and even in dying he had continued to help me try to make up for my past sins.
After I walked into my office at the State Attorney's Office earlier that morning, I closed my door after telling my secretary Cheryl that I didn't want to be disturbed.
I dialed a familiar number and a few rings later, my mother said, "Hello."
"Hi, Mom."
"Bill, is anything wrong?"
I couldn't help smiling because I knew she was going to put the needle in.
"Why does something have to be wrong for me to call my mother?"
"Because, you never call your poor mother. Charles tells me that you're a busy man and you're going through a lot, but if I didn't see your name in the paper every once in a while, I wouldn't know you were still alive."
"Mom, I know I haven't called you much lately, but-"
She wasn't having any of it.
"I think the President is pretty busy too, but I hear he makes time to call his mother!"
What can you say to that?
"Your right, Mom. I'm sorry. I'll try to call you more regularly. It's no excuse, but what with the....what with things with Debbie and trials, I haven't had time to turn around?"
"At least you're almost free of that woman. I am counting the days."
"I know, Mom. I know. I am too."
"You're just saying that, Bill. I know you too well. You still love her, but that will change. You just need to get away from her and get out and date other women. You're a successful man and you won't have any trouble finding somebody better."
"Spoken like a mother," and then I realized I'd said the words out loud instead of in my head.
"I know I think like a mother, but I'm not blind or stupid. That woman has had you wrapped around her little finger for 20 years so you don't know how good a man you are, and how other women would look at you if you could see anybody but her. But that will change when you're a free man again."
"Mom...okay. It's going to happen and I know you don't like her, but she'll still be my kids' mother. Try to be careful what you say around BJ, okay? Speaking of whom, is he in?"
"You don't know how many times I've bitten my tongue around BJ, and Kelly. God knows how she turned out as good as she is with that woman as her mother. But, I'll try to hold my tongue around the boy. He is just waking up and was having breakfast with Charles. You want to talk to him?"
"Yes, please."
There was a silence on the end of the phone. Then BJ came on.
"Dad? Did you-?"
"I had a talk with Doug. I don't think he was lying at the end. And I talked to your mother and Kelly. I know what happened. I'm glad you were there, and glad you called me, but I don't think – I don't think anything really happened. I think your mother walked in just in the nick of time. Anyway, Doug is leaving town, and going pretty far away. I don't think we'll have to worry about him much longer."
He was silent and I knew why. Doug had to be a pretty charismatic guy for a 14-year-old boy. I was sure BJ was torn by the fact that he was impressive, and on the other hand he was fucking his mother and possibly had tried for his sister.
"Anyway, BJ, that wasn't really the reason for the call, except to thank you for calling me. The real reason I called was..."
I stopped for a minute and time seemed to crawl. I'd found the words for Kelly, and I wanted to find them for BJ.
"I just wanted to tell you that I love you."
"Dad?"
"I haven't said it very much, because it seemed kind of mushy to be saying to a teenager. But...you're my son and I love you, even though I guess I must have been a pain in the ass to you as far as your friends were concerned."
There was a long silence and then, "...Is everything...alright, Dad?"
"Everything's okay, BJ. It's just that you go along...thinking you've got all the time in the world to let people know...how you feel about them. And I guess you know..or I hope. But....
"Nobody lives forever, BJ, and we never know when we're going to run out of time. Almost the last words my father told me, and I can still hear them, is that he loved me. I've never forgotten and I'm glad he said them when he could."
"Dad, what is...what's wrong?"
"Nothing, BJ, nothing's wrong. It's just that, I won't be around forever. There will come a day when I'm gone. I want you to remember these words on that day. And I want you to know...know how much I love you. You're my son and I'm proud of you and you and your sister are the best things that ever happened in my life."
"Jesus, Dad, have you talked to mom?"
"No, it's nothing. It's silly. I just felt like saying that. I'm not going to be mushy with you again. Just remember. Okay. Now, tell your grandmother and grandfather goodbye. I'm at the office and I'm working. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Okay?"
I hung up.
I called Cheryl and told her I was running out for a minute. For this type of errand it was easier to just call a cab than go to the trouble of taking the Escalade. I called around and the best church for what I wanted was the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church of Jacksonville at the corner of Ocean and Duval Streets. It was an old church and the closest to our offices and the courthouse.
I walked in. It was early and there was nobody around except a woman cleaning. I asked her where I could find a priest and before I could finish a short bald headed guy in street clothes was walking up behind me.
"Can I help you? It's early for visitors."
I looked around and saw a bank of candles burning near one door.
"I'd like to have two candles set up to burn perpetually in memory of some friends."
"They're called votive candles. There is no charge, but we do accept donations. And to burn in perpetuity? That's a long time."
I smiled at him.
"Only until I'm dead and gone, Father, after that they're on their own. As to the donation. How's about a hundred and I'll send you a check for a thousand this week. Should that keep them burning for awhile?"
"Yeah, I'd say so. They must have been good friends."
"One of them was, but both of them were good people. I don't want them to be forgotten."
"What were their names? Let me write them down and we'll set the candles up with name plates."
"Father Eagen Dunleavy and Brianne O'Collins."
He stopped writing and looked up at me.
"You were a friend of...?"
"An acquaintance of Father Dunleavy, but I considered him a friend."
"There's no charge."
I pushed the $100 at him and said, "Then use it for the poor."
As I rode back to my office and started preparing to deal with murderers and rapists and monsters, I felt a little better knowing that a small light was burning somewhere honoring the good there still was in the world.
###########################
Friday, July 22, 2005 – 10:30 a.m.
When I got back to my office I had a message waiting from the Big Man. I headed up to his office. Myra was at her desk busy with someone and she just glanced up at me and nodded to me to go in. Her gaze lingered on my bruised face for a second, but then she dropped back to what she was doing.
"Bill, you still sticking with that fairy tale about falling down some stairs?"
"It's the truth. People die every day falling down stairs. It was just my time."
"You know of course that you can't lie worth a damn."
"I thought I lied very well. Can't be a good attorney without being a good liar. It's in the job classification."
He just grimaced and said, "Yeah, but you can't lie to me. Doesn't matter...I haven't seen any security officer reports so I don't think the stairs are going to bring you up in front of a judicial review. The reason I called you in here was to find out what's happing with the Shawn Smith case.
"Knight is up my ass almost every other day because his union and his guys are up his ass pushing him to do something about Smith's case. And that prick reverend has called me every damned day insisting I get you to get off the ball and give Smith a clearance so he can go back to patrol and get of that desk duty he's been on."
"I'm still gathering evidence. But it's not the only case we're working. I'm trying to get ready for the killer granny which is going to be a big case because I'm going to do everything I can to see that she winds up on Death Row. And we've got that asshole William Sutton, the guy that beat his pregnant ex-wife to death. I'm scratching my head trying to find some way to make sure he doesn't walk after killing two people."
"I know you have other cases, Bill. There are always other cases. And there may be something else on the horizon. I'm hoping it goes away, but there's an outside chance we may get the Mendoza case. That's the one where they killed both those Texas prosecutors. Blew up one with a car bomb and cut the other guy's throat in front of his family.
"Quite frankly, most other offices don't want it. The Mexican Cartel that Mendoza worked for has basically declared war on the U.S. They're trying to hand this one off to anyone stupid enough to take it.
"The point is, there are always crises looming. But I can't keep having the Sheriff and all his men, and most blacks in this city, pissed off at me because you can't make a decision. There's enough doubt about this one, and Smith is a good cop, could you give him a pass?"
"There's more than enough doubt, and that's what a grand jury is for. Why not pass it on to them?"
"Shit, Bill, I can get by with having the cops pissed off at me. Although it hurts. And I can get by with having blacks pissed off at me. Although it will hurt come election time. I CAN'T get by with having the cops AND blacks pissed off at me. And putting this to the grand jury where it will look like we're going after this guy will piss everybody off."
"Alright, I'll try to come to some kind of decision in a reasonable length of time. Tell Knight and the Reverend I won't push this off any longer than I have to. I promise I'll do something to resolve it."
##############################
Friday, July 22, 2005 – noon.
There was a quick knock at her front door. She had taken a break from writing the presentation she was working on for Johnny August to take in a protein shake and probably ought to visit the gym in an hour or two just to clear her head. She wasn't expecting visitors. Kelly wouldn't be back this soon.
She opened the door and her eyes widened.
"Oh, my god, you two killed each other!"
"Just about," Doug said. His nose was completely covered with bandages and both eyes were blacked like something out of a prize-fighting movie. His right hand was encased in a plaster cast. "The son of bitch coldcocked me when I wasn't expecting it. Which is the only reason he's still breathing."
"Coldcocked?"
"It's an expression the old guys at the gym I trained at used. It means the bastard caught me by surprise and nearly put me out with one punch. He was cheating, using brass knucks, and he broke my nose all to hell. He even broke my damned hand. Actually, I fractured it on his face, but then he finished the job with the brass knuckles.
" But I got some good licks in."
"I'm sorry about that. Bill came by last night. I didn't know BJ was here and he called Bill just as he was getting off that French ship. Bill thought you had –"
"I know what he thought. And I'll let you in on a little secret. He wasn't after me just for Kelly. He's still got really hard feelings about me and you."
"I know. But can you blame him? Honestly? Anyway, he said you're leaving town?"
"Yeah. I gave my notice a couple of days ago. They weren't crazy about it, but they're not too torn up to see me go and I got a good sob story from the head of the section where I've got a new position at Roosevelt University in Chicago. I got a job offer from a friend and took it. I'll have a professorship in the Commerce and Enterprise section.
"The guy that was teaching it dropped dead of a stroke two weeks ago. They want young blood. And they want it now. UNF could try to hold me to my contract, but Myers agreed to let me go. He was decent, for an old shit. They've got temp professors finishing my classes."
She looked at him and felt sadness. He had been beautiful. For a man there was no other way to describe it. He had been beautiful. And she knew deep down that what she had done was wrong, and she'd regret it years from now, but God, he had been beautiful.
"Doug, I'm sorry that Bill...hurt you like that. I'm just glad he didn't have you killed. Because he could have. I'm not sorry you're going. I'm glad there's going to be a thousand miles or more between you and Kelly."
He stepped into her and held her shoulders and the picture of him above her sliding that huge cock inside her filled her head and she almost lost her breath.
"Are you glad I'm going to be a thousand miles or more away, Debbie?"
Finally she said, "Yes. We have no future. I loved what we had, but...I need it to be over. You need to make a new life for yourself."
He pushed her back inside the open door and closed it behind him. He could have pushed her down to the floor and she didn't know if she'd let him. She'd only know when he tried it.
"I told you before, Deb, you're making a bad mistake. I know something inside you still loves the guy. And I couldn't get past that. But he will never take you back. Maybe, someday, if you catch him in a weak moment he'd fuck you. But take you back, take you back as his wife....it will never happen."
"I know you keep saying that Doug. Maybe it makes you feel better to think the only reason I didn't choose to go with you is because I still have feelings for Bill. But that's not true. Even if Kelly hadn't been part of the picture, I still would have ended it. We're good physically, very, very good, but a marriage...a life together..is more than sex. Why the hell do you think I stayed as long as I did with Bill? It wasn't for the sex."
He leaned forward and kissed her and she closed her eyes. With her eyes closed she could ignore the damage to his face, ignore the memories of everything that had led up to that point, could just remember the good times when they were together.
"It is not too late, Debbie. I'll be leaving for Chicago later today. But I could get you on in Chicago. I've got friends and I could find a place for you.
"Kelly won't be a problem. She's staying with her grandparents. I know because she called me and told me and wanted to get together. She can stay with them while she finishes college, maybe go to college down here and by the time she ever came back to you, this...infatuation..might be burned out. She'll find some guy her own age.
"And BJ....he could stay with your parents or Bill's parents. Or he could come with us. Chicago is a great city. It's a great place to grow up. And I don't think he hates me. He's upset now...because I'm fucking his mom...but guys learn to live with stepfathers. I'd bend over backwards to live with him."
She opened her eyes and stepped back.
"Why, Doug? We had great sex, and we liked each other. But you've never stayed loyal to one woman long in your life. Even with a broken nose, you're still going to be catnip to women as long as you live. I'm nearly 40 and I'm not getting younger. I don't really trust you to be faithful, but even if you were, why? I know you like sex with me, but there's a whole world out there of willing women? Why would you tie yourself down?"
"Maybe I'm growing up a little. I never wanted this when I put the moves on you. I just wanted you in bed. But something changed. This is going to sound stupid as hell, but I....I want what you and Bill had. I want you in my bed every night. I want to go to movies with you and go ice skating at a rink...I want to eat popcorn with you watching TV at night. I'm almost 29 and that's pretty much 30. I wouldn't mind...having a kid. I never thought I'd want that...but a rug rat doesn't sound so terrible right now...MY rug rat."
She tried to avoid crying and managed to avoid it, but her eyes misted.
"No. I think...I think you might actually be honest about that...but it doesn't change anything. You need a woman your own age, Doug. If you're getting serious, and guys do that sometimes at your age, start looking around for someone you can make a life with, not some other husband's cast-off."
"So, no?"
"So, no."
He stepped away from her.
"Okay. I had to try. I won't try to call or bother you again. If you change your mind..you'll be able to find me. But..."
He leaned over and kissed her once, hard.
"Don't wait too long, Deb. Maybe you're right. Maybe I was just getting to that stage and I didn't realize it. Maybe it was knowing you. But, I'm going to be looking for someone. Someone special. I'm not giving up sex, but I want more. And if I find that somebody, I'm not going to lose them. So if you change your mind, just don't wait too long."
"I won't. – change my mind."
He walked to the doorway and then looked back at her.
"I honestly feel sorry for you Debbie. You threw away one guy that loved you because he got too old. And you threw away another guy who loves you, because he was too young. You're never going to be alone because you're too beautiful...but you may never find anything like what you've thrown away."
And then:
"I know I said this before, but it's true. I wish I had met you first."
And then he was gone, closing the front door behind him.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She walked back into the den, sat down on the couch, and stared at the pictures of Bill and the kids on the walls. When she couldn't see them anymore she realized she was crying. And she had no idea, exactly, what she wept for.

###########################
Friday, July 22, 2005 – 3 p.m.
I leaned back in my chair and examined the paperwork that Detective Heather McDonald had put before me. She was beaming.
"It was such a longshot, Mr. Maitland. I wouldn't have tried if you hadn't encouraged us and talked Sheriff Knight into freeing me up for this one. How did – why did you even suspect something like this?"
"Just a hunch. For a granny, Judy Johansen always struck me as a very hot lady for a 67-year-old. I had a hard time believing she was willing to spend the rest of her life caring for a sick, rich old man incapable of sex and not do anything to scratch that itch.
"In today's world, online matching and dating is the way a lot of people get together. It was just a case of putting the right kind of bait out. And it almost had to be somebody fairly close to the Orlando area if she was going to get together with them on a regular basis.
"But, I just had the idea. You're the one that spent God knows how much time on the case. Does Knight have any idea how much personal time without pay you put in?"
She blushed. She was a 53-year-old former vice and pedophile detective who could look 50-ish and hot, which was why she was perfect for the sting I wanted to run. Dirty blonde hair, a good-sized set of tits, just enough meat (curves) on her to let guys know she was no anorexic kid. She was, if not a MILF, definitely a classic GILF. (That's Grandmother I'd Like To Fuck.) BJ was the one who had first enlightened me as to what a MILF was after his mother and I split.
"No, and I really didn't want him to know if this was going to fall flat. He'd have been royally pissed to learn I was spending so much time on a pet project for anybody else, even you."
"Well, it paid off and you're going to get the credit and the headlines and I'll make sure that you do get official recognition."
She actually blushed. Even blushing made her look hot. I tried my level best not to fantasize about fucking her. I couldn't be this horny less than two-days after my romp with Aline, but damn, for an older lady, she was hot.
"Even so, Mr. Maitland, we can prove they were doing it, but that's a long way from proving she intended to murder her husband. A lot of women have affairs-"
She stopped in mid-sentence and I could read her mind without having any super powers.
"Don't be embarrassed, Heather. I get tired of people tiptoeing around it. I'm not that much of an ogre...I think. My wife is divorcing me, she was fucking around on me...no big deal. Happens a lot. We're getting divorced. And yes, I know a lot of women – and men –have affairs without bumping off their spouses...but....
"The hat trick here will be to find some evidence that will convince a jury that not only did she have the motive to kill her husband, but that she actually did. And if we can't prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, we have to make her look so bad that the jury will WANT to convict her."
She looked at me funny for a moment and then shook her head before getting up, in a way that made nice parts of her body jiggle.
"Mr. Maitland, let me say this with respect, I sure as hell hope you never get angry at me. I wouldn't want somebody like you coming after me."
"Just don't kill anybody and we'll get along fine."
She was about to turn and leave the office when she stopped.
"When is your divorce final?"
" September 19. Why?"
"It's just that...it's been a pleasure working with you. After the trial I'll go back to regular duties...probably never see you again. Which is kind of silly because there's no way a man like you would....have any interest in an old lady in her fifties."
I almost swallowed my tongue.
"Uh...uhm...."
She laughed.
"Relax, I wasn't threatening your virtue or propositioning you. Just making a statement."
"I'm not threatened, Heather...just...flattered and surprised. I – uh...this has never happened to me before."
"Having an old lady tell you she was interested in you?"
"Having any women tell me or indicate in any way they were interested in me – that way."
"Because you're one of those guys that every women here knew never looked at another woman. Now, we expect you to look. Have you ever looked that way at me?"
"Not....not until this afternoon. Honestly."
"But you did this afternoon. You think you might be one of those guys that likes GILFs?"
I think my jaw actually dropped.
"You know...."
"Of course I know what a MILF is, and a GILF. It's flattering to get my age and realize you can still turn on younger men. Do I turn you on?"
I opened my mouth and shut it, then:
"I think you already know the answer to that, Heather. But right now I'm still married and you're a cop working with me on a sensitive case and even thinking that way is going to mess up my head. Can we just let it lie until....sometime later?"
"Sure. Call me when you need to talk again...about anything, okay?"
"Okay."
As she was stepping outside, Cheryl buzzed me.
"Debbie is out here, Mr. Maitland. Do you want to see her?"
"Do I have to answer that honestly? Just ask her what she wants."
I heard her through the phone.
"I'd like to find out why he's scaring our son to death?"
"What?"
"Tell Cheryl to let me in, Bill, before I create a scene out here."
A moment later she was in my office. Why do evil, poison things, always look so good? And why, after more than three months of pretty much successfully avoiding any contact with her, had she made it her mission to get in my face every time I turned around.
"What is this about scaring BJ?"
She put her hands palms out on the desk and leaned toward me. Naturally her blouse bulged outward and I had to fight to keep my hands at my side.
"Why the hell did you tell him you loved him, the way you did?"
"What? I told him I loved him. He's my son."
"And how many times in the last few years have you told him that? And talked about never knowing when you're going to die? And talked about your dead father's last words to you? And wanting him to remember you when you're gone?
"He called me almost in tears and you'll probably be getting a call from your mother if she ever hears about what the call involved. He thinks you're either dying or going to kill yourself. He said he'd come back to talk to you if I thought it would do- any good.
"Is something wrong? I might not be on the top of your hit parade right now, but I'm still your wife. And I'm the mother of your children. If something bad is happening, I'd like to know to figure out how I'm going to handle it."
"Oh shit, I guess I need to call him again. It's nothing, Debbie, at least what you're thinking. I'm not dying. I'm not planning on checking myself out."
"Then why?"
"Alright. When I was on the Bonne Chance, the cruise, I met a guy. He was a priest, named Dunleavy. He was just – one of those people you seem to click with. He tried to help me with – some personal problems. And I learned a little bit about his life. He had been in love with a girl before he became a priest and – she died. He still carried her photo with him. And then, he was killed yesterday."
"Dunleavy? That priest that was on the news? The one who was shot down in Rwanda?"
"The same. I said goodbye to him when I was leaving the ship yesterday morning. The last thing he said was he was on his way to Rwanda to try to stop some more killing. And then, with no warning, they shot down his plane."
"That's sad, but why...?"
"Because I know he wasn't planning on dying last night. Just like I'm not planning on dying. But it's like that Garth Brooks song, 'If Tomorrow Never Comes' You never know when you wake up in the morning if you're going to be here that night. I already talked to Kelly last night and she knows how I feel about her. Now BJ does."
"And how do you feel about me?"
Friday, August 19– 11 a.m.
"All rise."
Debbie rose along with Joyce Linder at her table. Across from them Bill and Lew Walters stood as Circuit Judge Katherine Holden's entered her courtroom. She was a tall woman in her 50s. Not a beauty, but there was grace and confidence there. Debbie thought she would a good model for aging. If there was ever any graceful way to age.
"Mr. Maitland, Mrs. Maitland. I'm sorry to see you here. I had hoped you two would find a way to reconcile."
Debbie had met the judge, and her longtime, on and off-again companion Judge Herman Herring, at various social events over the years. She liked both of
them. The gossip she'd always heard was that Herring was a staunch Catholic and married to another staunch Catholic who would never grant him a divorce. He could never remarry and so he and Holden could never be legal. But they had seemed to really care for each other.
Bill just shook his head. After a moment Debbie did too.
"I gather from your attorneys neither one of you had any interest in counseling?"
Both shook their heads.
"And Ms. Linder, I'm told your client has voluntarily relinquished any interest in support or maintenance, even after a nearly 20 year marriage. Her husband earns substantially more than Mrs. Maitland."
Lew stepped in smoothly, saying, "But Mr. Maitland has agreed to generous child support for both children which will continue for another four years, has agreed to keep up insurance on both and to help with their college educational expenses.
"Also, your honor, Mrs. Maitland voluntarily agreed that it was in the best interests of both parties not to push for support. While Mr. Maitland earns more, Mrs. Maitland will, in her new position with the Public Defender's Office, earn a substantial income."
"And the people in the Twin Towers voluntarily jumped," Joyce Linder said bitterly under her breath. Debbie looked at her, and noted that she'd lost weight. Her face showed new lines. Lew had warned her that most women didn't end up happily after spending time with his partner Norm, but like most women, she'd had to find out the hard way.
Holden glanced at both attorneys, then focused on Debbie.
"And that is your uncoerced decision, Mrs. Maitland?"
She didn't want to, but she stared without blinking into Bill's eyes. She was being screwed over, and not in the fun way, but she'd survive. And he could have hurt her a lot more with the emails if he'd wanted to.
"Yes, your honor. It was my decision completely. I don't need or want Bill's support. I can take care of myself."
Holden looked down at the papers in front of her. Then at Bill.
"I've known you and your wife almost from the first day I came on this bench, Mr. Maitland. Strictly aside from any professional or philosophic feelings I might have about divorce, I have to say I'm sorry it came to this."
"So am I, your honor, so am I. But sometimes..... we'll both survive. Life goes on."
"Your divorce is hereby granted."
She turned to her bailiff and said, "Please call in the next case."
Bill walked out of the courtroom first without looking back while Lew stayed to talk to Joyce Linder. Debbie walked up behind him. He had lost weight. Even in casual clothes, he looked better than he had even a month before. He moved differently, younger than she remembered.
"After 20 years together, you just walk away, without a word?"
He turned back to her and she was shocked to see his eyes gleaming.
"What am I supposed to say, Debbie? It was great fun, but it was just one of those things? Thanks for the memories? Thank you for falling in love with another guy? Thank you for betraying me? Thank you for tearing my heart out? What exactly am I supposed to say here?"
"You could say you're sorry."
"I'm sorry? I'm sorry? You are unbelievable. You bitch."
"I know a lot of it is my fault. But you really don't think you share any of the blame?"
"No, I know it's my fault. I was stupid enough to think that being a good husband and loving my wife and working my ass off for her and my kids for my entire life entitled me to some loyalty. I was foolish."
"So if I'd been willing to just rub your paycheck all over my naked body I should have been happy with the life you gave me?"
"Oh, don't go there, Debbie. You-"
He bit his lip.
"I don't want to do this, Debbie. I spent more than four months doing my best to stay away from you because I must have known deep down that not only were you going to shit on me, but you were going to try to make me believe I deserved it. Maybe I wasn't the husband you wanted, or needed, but I loved you from the days at UF. I still love you, which I think, you bitch, you know deep down."
"You loved me so much that you spent every fucking waking minute that you could away from me and the kids? That's how you showed your great love? And you let yourself get so fucking flabby that I couldn't stand to have you touch me? Until we split and then, you son of a bitch, you start working out and slimming down and getting hot.
" I know that fucking slut of Edwards is after you. Or are you fucking her already? And I've heard about that bitch Jessica. And how about on that cruise? You bang any widows or divorces on that one? I think sometimes that Clarice was right about you all along. You stopped caring about how you looked for me because you were getting all you wanted at the office? Was she right?"
Before she could react he was on her, pushing her backward until she hit the door leading back into Holden's courtroom. He held her arms up over her head. He had moved so quickly she hadn't had time to resist. And when she tried to push back he held her without straining.
"You're talking about your fucking crazy aunt Clarice? You think I didn't know all the crap she was spewing about me? What good would it have done me to argue or deny anything. You were so stupid you didn't realize all that crap came from being dumped by that asshole cheating husband of hers? And you judge me by what he did? How the hell could you have so little faith in me, you stupid fucking cunt. I put my life on the line for you and you listen to your crazy aunt instead of talking to me?"
Then Lew was pulling him off of her and she realized he had banged her head into the wooden door and that she'd bitten into her lip when she hit her head. She looked down and saw blood dripping from her lip.
Linder touched her shoulder and said, "Are you alright, Debbie? My God, he assaulted you right outside the courtroom.
Glaring at Bill, who was being pulled back by Lew, she said, "How damned arrogant can you get? Mr. Maitland, you may think you're hot shit in here, but you don't have the right to lay hands on your wife, assault her in front of everyone!"
Lew almost threw Bill behind him as he slipped between the couple.
"Let's not get hysterical, Joyce. There's no assault here. Bill and Debbie were arguing and he pushed her away from him. That's not assault.:
"The hell it isn't. If there had been a bailiff or a cop out here, I'd be having him arrested right now."
Two attorneys and their clients had stopped in the hallway and were staring. Lew stepped closer to Debbie and ignoring Joyce, said, "He wasn't assaulting you, was he Debbie? Think about how you answer, because if you say the wrong thing, Bill could lose his job...and other things could happen...things you don't want to happen. Think before you speak."
She wanted to send the son of a bitch to jail, cost him his job...how had this happened? How had everything gone to hell in a few seconds? She had been angry at him, for letting everything go without even pretending to care...but...she hadn't planned this. This was that anger Dr. Teller had been trying to figure out for the past month.
But, she thought about the implied threat Lew had leveled. A moment brought her back to rational thinking. She still couldn't afford to have the emails released. And, from a practical standpoint, she had just left a tenured position at UNF to launch into a risky new administrative career. She couldn't take the chance of jeopardizing Bill's job. She still had two kids and she still wanted college for both of them.
"I'm fine," she told a glaring Joyce. "I slipped and Bill tried to catch me but couldn't stop me from banging my head against the door. That's when I bit my lip."
"Oh, for God's sake. I don't know why you're doing this, but I'm an officer of the court and I'm not going to let him get away with manhandling you."
Lew stepped in again.
"There were no other witnesses except you and me and I'm going to say that you were wrong. All you'll do is stir up a shitstorm, and with my word against yours, nothing is going to happen. And your client doesn't want you to do anything. How are you going to justify going forward, Joyce? Look, don't let your...feelings about what happened with Norm...color your feelings about every man. I told you to be careful."
"This isn't about Norm, the son of a bitch, the fucking uncaring bastard. How can you stand to be his partner, his friend?"
"Because he's not interested in fucking me, nor me him. I know what he is, but you went into it with your eyes open."
"Let it go, Joyce, please. It's my fault. Bill was trying to walk away. I went after him. And he didn't hurt me. Please don't do anything."
She stared at Debbie for a minute, then at Lew and finally at Bill.
"I'm leaving, Debbie. I'll send you the paperwork. And Maitland, you need to get yourself into an anger management class before you step into something your friends can't clean up."
When she had left, Lew grabbed Bill's shoulder and said, "Let's get out of here before she changes her mind. And please, stay the hell away from Debbie for awhile...at least until you both cool off."
Debbie stepped between them, dabbing the blood off her lips.
"I'm sorry, Bill. That's not what I intended. I just wanted to....close it out right. But...."
"There is no way to close it out right. What we had got ripped apart and right now I'm bleeding and I'm not safe to be around you. And you need to get some help, because I think Clarice might have made you crazy too. I'm not insulting you. I seriously think there's something wrong with you."
Then he let Lew pull him away. All the dreams of a civilized parting, remembering the good years, and it ended like this. She thought, "maybe he's right. Maybe I am crazy. I know he makes me crazy."
##################
Friday, August 19– 12:30 p.m.
I had to go back to work to prepare for Judy Johansen, the killer granny, trial beginning the next week, but Lew was like a damned pit bull. He wouldn't let go.
Finally, to get him out of my office, I said, "Okay, for God's sake, let me get back to work. It's only another day. But if you won't leave, we'll hit Pelicans tonight. I should be through by six or seven. Give me an hour and a half to hit the gym. Let's say 9 p.m. I'll meet you there."
As he walked out of my office I took a moment to put my head into my hands and take a deep breath. It still felt like it should be pitch black with thunder and lighting and black ravens circling overhead. Something that had been very good, my world in reality, had come to an end today. I was going to live and make another life and another world for myself, but a good one had died.
And it was just another day. It should be more. I felt like I should load a boat with the relics of my marriage, and if I could make myself, Debbie's blonde body, push it off shore like the old Vikings and have a really good marshmallow roast.
I'd have to settle for getting drunk with Lew tonight. Of course he'd try to get me laid. I didn't need or want that. Twenty years of mostly happy times in a mostly happy marriage deserved a night or two of remembrance and mourning. But he would try. He was a better friend than I deserved.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I was feeling restless and it took me a moment to realize why. I got up and went to one of the perks of my office and drew back the curtain that hid a plate glass window. It didn't face on the river so I was actually looking to the north. I could see the city skyline, what there was built to the north of the courthouse and State Attorney's Office.

Most of the skyline was to the south of me, but far to the north was Blount Island, with its berth for visiting and semi-permanent cruise ships. Until today. The Bonne Chance had finished its month's visit to Jacksonville today and in about four hours would be sailing to its next semi-permanent berth in the Port of Miami and from there to points south.
I had seen her in passing cars and walking on the sidewalk far below my office and standing on a corner as I drove by. I had seen her ass twitching away me and the curve of her hip thrust out as she waved to friends. I had seen her running with that long black hair flowing behind her. Of course, it was never her. And more than once – hell almost every day - I had to fight the urge to call the ship or drive over there when it was berthed.
What could it hurt? Philippe was an ocean away and he had his own life. She was never going to leave him so we could play. I could hold her in the night. It had been nearly a month and I'd had no other women in my bed.
I felt stupid. I had run into Sheila a couple of times and every time I went up to see the Big man, Myra was there giving me unreadable glances and threatening me with button shrapnel. Heather and I continued to work together as the killer granny case neared its climax and more and more I could understand the appeal of older women.
After Aline, I knew what I could have if I just could make myself reach out and take it. But I couldn't. I couldn't make myself take any other woman, and I had let her go. In a few hours she was going to be gone and I couldn't make myself imagine ever running into her again. I had my life and she had hers. If I had taken what she'd offered, we'd at least have had a month. Now there was no more time.
I closed the blinds and walked heavily back to my desk. I'd be 42 in less than two weeks, and today I felt like I was 84!
##################

Friday, August 19– 4:15 p.m.
"I don't understand it, Dr. Teller. I was sad. Hell, I was about to start crying. I just wanted to talk to him. And out of nowhere, I was furious with him and he was attacking me. I understand how he feels. I really do. Intellectually. I know I made the first move that destroyed our marriage. But there I was blaming him again."
Teller leaned forward, mirroring her leaning forward over the low coffee table.
"You ended a 20-year relationship today, Mrs. Bascomb. Even if you were the one who wanted out, people have mixed emotions. He is the father of your children. At one time you loved him. We don't say when we get married, "I take this man, until I find someone better....Most people get married with the idea or hope of it being forever.
"It ended, and something died today. Even if it was only a dream you had when you were 21. People react differently to emotional stress. From what you've said, it's obvious he was highly upset as well.
" I'm still not sure where your anger is coming from, although it's clear that it has something to do with your Aunt Clarice's abandonment, divorce and suicide. It appears that while your marriage had entered a dangerous phase before that, with his drawing away from you due to the demands of his job, that the anger and some of the more – hostile – actions you took and your sexual unhappiness, truly began in earnest after your aunt's problems."
"I know it got worse, but..."
He leaned back and looked at her with, a speculative glance. She was surprise to see his gaze traveling from her face to her breasts, hips and back again. It felt odd to have him look at her that way. It felt...insulting...in a way it didn't with other men. Perhaps because in such a short time she had grown to trust him.
"What?" she said with a sharp undertone to her voice.
He glanced at her breasts again.
"Have you ever thought, Mrs. Bascomb, what an odd, ill-matched pair you and your ex-husband present – from a physical point of view?"
She looked over the swell of her breasts and then up to meet Teller's eyes.
"I know Bill wasn't any super stud from a physical standpoint. He was shorter than me – which was always a hard thing for him to take even when he told me it didn't matter. And he was never muscular. He wasn't a really – physical –guy. But he was smart and funny. He could always make me laugh. And I knew from the first time we ever went out that he was already in love with me."
"I would imagine you've always been surrounded by rich, handsome, physically imposing men? How could you be attracted to a man such as your ex-husband?"
She looked down at the Rorschach pattern and spoke without looking at him.
"Doctor, I started developing breasts when I was 11 years old. I was a 36 D cup when I was 13. Despite my parents' best efforts, I had sex with an 18-year-old boy when I was 12. By the time I was 15 I'd probably had sex with 20 guys, some of them grown men. One of them was one of my father's friends. He bought me an album by a group I really really wanted. My dad would have killed him if he'd guessed.
"Having sex was no big deal. Having men come after me was nothing special before I got into high college. By the time I went to UF I'd had pretty guys, guys with really, really big cocks, college quarterbacks, rich guys. I never even had to go after them. They came after me.
"I guess it's like owning your own restaurant. When you can have anything in the world you want to eat, you don't get super-excited about having some special meal. It's all food. What you care about is what YOU really like.
"I knew Bill would never match a lot of guys I'd had. But, I wanted him. He made me happy. And...after what he did....I knew it wasn't just sex. It wasn't just my body. I always knew that guys get tired of you eventually, no matter how hot you are. But I knew Bill never would."
"And yet, he never thought he was tall enough for you. He had to compare himself to the men you'd been with before him. Any man would. Did his doubts ever...make you wonder about the wisdom of your union?"
"Yeah, I guess sometimes. I could read it in his eyes sometimes when we went to parties or some hot guy hit on me. I liked guys flirting with me. I liked the feel of a big hard dick rubbing up against my thigh and knowing the guy who owned that dick would chop off a nut to put it inside me. I was never going to do anything about it, except fuck Bill's brains out after the party.
"But I could tell that he was hurt. And I've have to be extra special loving to him to make him feel better. And most of the time it was okay. But there were times...there were nights.. I wanted to kick his ass and tell him that I didn't want to be his mother and hold his hand.
" I wasn't in bed with those guys. I was in bed with him. He won me, not them. I wanted to tell him to be a man and grow some balls and treat me like I belonged to him, not like I was doing him a favor by being with him."
Watching her Teller knew there were other factors at play, but Maitland's lack of confidence had been a slow acting acid threatening his relationship with his wife. It wasn't fair, but who said life was fair?
Debbie rubbed her eyes. She felt like she was getting a migraine.
"Doctor, I've been coming here a lot over the last month. I know you've helped me, but there are times I wonder, what's the point? I don't....don't love my husband – ex-husband any more....and no matter how we got here, that's where we are. Even if I find out what caused our marriage to crash and burn...it's dead and gone. What's the point?"
"You can stop coming here anytime you wish, Mrs. Bascomb. Whenever you reach the point that you feel you can deal with the pain in your life, there is no reason for you to continue.
" But if you do, resurrecting your marriage is not the point of your visits. You have emotions, you have feelings that have been causing you pain. When you find out why and what caused those emotions, you can deal with them. You may accept them, accept the end of your marriage and move on. You might find that what you truly feel is not what you think you feel. It's possible to misunderstand what we are feeling, to misread our emotions.
"If you were happy with the end of your marriage, if you had accepted it and wanted to create a new life, you would do so. You're still a young woman. And you're stunningly beautiful and you could find another man.
"But at this point, even though you could, and you say you want to, you haven't. That tells me you're grappling with issues and emotions that you're unwilling to confront."
"Why the hell does life have to be so confusing, doctor? Why can't things ever be simple?"
He grinned and she realized again how much she'd grown to like him in a month's time.
"Because then I – and psychiatrists like me – would have to go out and get some real jobs...maybe become ER docs. I prefer working in the air conditioning away from blood and gore."
#########################
Friday, August 19– 9 p.m.
I walked in and looked around. As usual Pelicans wasn't completely mobbed this early, but it was still jumping. I'd changed to light colored blue slacks and an open-necked light blue Signature Twill shirt. Wearing black would have been just too depressing.
As usual when I entered, I stopped and looked around. I've never been a real party animal and unless I'm completely bombed, I tend to stand off a bit. It felt like going to a party in high college when I didn't know a soul. Not seeing Lew, I headed toward the bar and was ordering a Bloody Mary, very heavy on the tabasco with a half dozen green olives in the mix and I felt a tap on my shoulder and smelled a fragrance I should have known.
I turned around to look into Mona Walter's dark eyes. She was as tall as I or maybe a hair taller, hair just as black but utterly different from Aline's. A glance told me her svelte frame was poured into a classic little black dress and she had her high heels dangling from one finger.
As usual a little smile flickered on her lips, as if she was enjoying some private joke. Lew and I called it her Mona Lisa smile, and that's what it looked like. She was a good match for Lew, both of them smarter than hell, young, no kids, both lawyers. You couldn't get much better matched than that.
She leaned over and placed her lips on my cheek near my left ear and murmured, "My God, Lew told me you'd had a bad encounter with a stairwell, but....well, anyway, it makes you look dashing, if battered....Look, Lew was an asshole for dragging you out tonight, but his heart was in the right place. I was sorry to hear about you and Debbie. I would have called – both of you – but I had no idea what I should say."
I held my Bloody Mary in one hand and her right hand in mine as I replied, ""How about, better luck next time? Just kidding. I didn't know when you'd find the time. Every time I look around you're flying off to some country or doing some charity event. It's a wonder you and Lew ever find time to get together."
The smile flicked for a moment as she said, "I wonder about that sometimes too. But, I just wanted to tell you I'm here for you if you want to talk...or a shoulder to cry on."
I kissed her on the forehead, because despite the fact that I wasn't much older than them I sometimes felt like a favorite uncle.
"Thanks, Mona, but I'll be alright. Like they say, life goes on."
I very ostentatiously ogled her body. She wasn't built as big as Debbie, but what she had was very nice.
"Lew is a lucky man, and I keep telling him that."
She hugged me and said, "You're a dirty old man, but you have good taste. I know it's early, but I have some girlfriends and some women I know from various organizations. I can send out the word that a very hot – and by the way if getting divorced has that kind of effect on a guy, I'll have to ditch Lew - powerful guy is free to pursue....if you want me to."
I just shook my head and couldn't keep smiling.
"Thanks, Mona, but...it's too early. I just want to do my job and stay close to my kids and...maybe heal up a little.'
And then, before I could catch myself, I heard myself say, "Speaking of which....,"
Before I shut up.
I had known that kids were a sore point for both of them, but as something passed across her face I wondered if it had gotten even more sore.
"No, Bill, I guess....that's out of the picture now. Not in the cards for us."
I pulled her to me again and hugged her tight.
Speaking to the back of her head, I said, "Kids are overrated Mona. God knows how Debbie and I survived Kelly's growing up and I'm still not sure about BJ. Besides, you guys are young. Anything can still happen. You're successful, you're hot, you're in love. You're luckier than most people."
"Yeah....we're lucky," she said, pushing back and rubbing the corner of one eye.
"Lucky at what?" Lew said coming up behind us with two drinks in his hand. "Oh, Bill, Mona flew in from Washington a few hours ago and when she heard we were going to get smashed she invited herself to our guy's night out. You don't mind, do you?"
"She's a hell of a lot easier on the eyes than you are. I'm glad she came along."
"For that, Mr. Maitland, you get the pleasure of my company," she said, reaching out and grabbing my drink and handing it to Lew who juggled it along with the two he already had. "Find us a table, husband, and when Bill gets tired I might give you a dance."
He just grinned at her and glanced over at two tall blondes checked him out from the bar, adding, "Don't worry, babe, if I get lonely I think I've already get two dance partners ready to go."
"In your dreams, you couldn't handle one of them and if you tried for two you'd need IVs."
He grinned at her again and walked away, saying, "...but what a way to go."
There was live entertainment about four nights a week and they had a pretty good three-piece band playing 90s and current music hits. What they were playing was fairly fast, but Mona and I slow danced like two comfortable senior citizens. She fit into me like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
"You think you and Debbie-"
"Not in this lifetime."
"Lew won't tell me, and if he can resist hot sex he can resist anything, but he did indicate that...what she did would be hard to get past. Did you get tapes or video of her with that professor boyfriend of hers? Is that why you can't ever forgive her."
"That's between me and her, Mona. The fact is, I can't ever get past it, and even if I could, she doesn't want to. The divorce was her idea. The boyfriend was her idea. When she called me to tell me she was divorcing me, she flat out said she didn't love me anymore. That kind of puts a period on it. Why bother to try again?"
"Sometimes people lie..."
"People lie all the time, Mona. If they didn't, Lew and I would be scratching for work."
"Mind if I cut in?"
I looked over Mona's shoulder and saw Sheila Simpson standing behind Mona. She was a little shorter than Mona, but not much. Why the hell did I attract the tall ones? She was dressed in a slinky red gown with a low cut top. These delicious oranges were moving up and down with her breathing. Her lips were redder than ripe Macintoshes. Oh, God!
Mona looked back over her shoulder and something passed wordlessly between the two women. She faced me again and smiled, then whispered in my ear, "And so it begins," and walked away.
Sheila moved forward but didn't touch me until I held my hands out to her.
"You don't mind my being so forward, do you Mr. Maitland," she said, smiling and licking her bottom lip in a way that if it wasn't illegal in most states, should be.
"No."
She moved in close to me and we began to move to the music. Mona was more graceful, but Sheila had her own virtues, not the least of which the way she caressed my chest with those breasts and rubbed her thigh between my legs in what had to be obvious caressing, but apparently it was dark and everybody else must have been similarly involved.
"I'm not after you because you have a lot of power in the office," she said, staring into my eyes from a couple of inches away. Then she leaned in and we were kissing. A chaste kiss at first but it went on from there. She pulled back and said, "I just wanted you to know that. I'm not trying to screw my way up the ladder."
"I never thought you were, Sheila. But you've been at the office for a year. There was never a hint that....you know?"
"I...never thought about you...that way. You..."
"You don't need to explain. A friend told me I had the charisma of a turnip. Fat, balding, middle-aged...not every girl's secret dream. But, I'm still too old for you. What are you, 25? 26?"
"Twenty four."
"Jesus H. Christ. I could be your father, if I'd gotten started a little early. You know how old I am, don't you?"
"Forty one. But you're not my father."
She rubbed me with her knee again and she smiled as I throbbed against her soft flesh.
"No, you're definitely not my father. And some girls like older men."
"I shouldn't ask, but I have to. You're a gorgeous young woman. I know there are guys your age that would crawl across an office full of tacks on their hands and knees to be here with you. I've lost some weight and I went completely bald, but I'm no pinup or stud. If you weren't interested then, why now?"
"A couple of things. You've changed so much. You look younger. You're not flabby anymore. You always move like you're in a hurry to get somewhere. Your...ass looks more like a young man."
She blushed a little.
"I know that sounds crazy, but women notice that. And...you've....got a hard edge. I don't know any other way to describe it. You were always such a sweet guy. You're not sweet anymore. I think your wife dumping you did you good."
"And that's a good thing? That I'm not a nice guy anymore? "
"If I wanted you for a mentor or a boss, yeah I'd like sweet. But...right now, rubbing myself all over you, I'm...you're exciting.....exciting me....if you know what I mean."
As she started rubbing herself against me harder I started pushing back and a little purr started in her throat. I made a quick decision and drew back from her. I tried to be as casual as I could. She looked at me with a question in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sheila. You can tell that you're got me very excited. If...if you weren't working at the State Attorney's Office – and if this wasn't the night it was, I'd be tempted. I'd probably wind up in bed with you. But I just lost my wife of nearly 20 years. It hasn't been 12 hours since I was a married man. I – it's just too soon."
"I'm not throwing myself at you because you're who you are at the office, Bill."
"I'm not saying you are. But I've been watching people in offices for nearly 20 years. And a supervisor having a relationship with a subordinate almost never works out well. We couldn't keep it secret. And people would be jealous of you, and pissed at me.
"And if it didn't work out....if you dumped me I probably wouldn't be able to treat you fairly and if I dumped you, would you want to have to stay and be evaluated ultimately by me?
"Even if we just went to bed for one night, we'd still know what happened and it would change things between us. So, I'm tempted. And if we were to meet sometime in the future and you weren't working for the State Attorney, who knows. But you have to know it's not because I don't want to....."
She stepped further back and was about to head back toward a gaggle of girls her age when she stopped herself and licked her lips again.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

'Okay, Mr. Maitland, do the right thing, but....if I'd ever gotten your dick in my mouth, you'd have been the one crawling across tacks to get back to me. I am very, very good."

As she twitched away from me I said to myself more than anybody else, "I don't doubt that, Ms. Simpson, I don't doubt that one bit."
After that I drank a few more Bloody Mary's and at least two straight Bourbons and one Brandy, after which I should have been hurling on general principles, but somehow I managed to throw up only once after being helped to the gentleman's room by Lew.
I danced with Mona, who flirted with me gently enough to make me feel good but not enough to make me feel guilty about Lew. And I danced with a tall blonde and a short brunette and two redheads who said they were twins working in a lawyer's office two blocks away from our office.
Some of them knew who I was. Some of them, blessedly, had no idea that I was anybody other than a short, bald, middle aged guy who worked somewhere around the courthouse. Even looking like a refuge from a bad boxing movie with a patch over one eye and fading yellowish bruises all over my face didn't scare off a lot of them. They still danced with me. That made me feel good.
I only thought about Debbie a half dozen times, wondering what or who she was doing
About 1 a.m. I told Lew and Mona that it had been fun, but I had to get to the gym. My cases and my divorce were cutting into the important things in my life. Lew reminded me that I'd already been once and then I reminded him there were plenty of days when I made it by twice. Besides, if any of Carlos' boxers were available, I might go a couple of rounds. I hadn't been by there in awhile, maybe a week or two.
Then Lew rather logically pointed out that I couldn't even walk a straight line, much less handle weights and a cycling machine, or get into the ring with a strong, young, sober boxer.
I very logically pointed out in response that you didn't have to be able to walk a straight line to ride a cycling machine. The discussion went here and there but I could never remember the gist of it and the next thing I remember I was waking up, alone, in my bed, with the backlit clock by the bed reading 3 a.m. and I was crying like a baby about something.
Then the world went away again.
###################
Friday, August 19– 9 p.m.
"Hi, Clint."
She put the DVD player on hold.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"How did it go today? Is it done?"
"Yeah. It's done. 18 years of marriage and 20 years of knowing him, and we're through."
"How come you don't sound like you're celebrating?"
"I don't know. Maybe because a guy I thought I'd grow old with let me and our marriage go? And I cheated on him. And now his life is fucked up and I should be happy and looking forward and instead I'm sitting here looking at DVDs of our life and wondering how everything went to shit."
"Would you like to go out for a drink? Just get out of there. Strictly friends."
"No. Thank you, Clint. But I need to be alone. I go out drinking with you and we'll wind up back in my bed. I know I can because I'm single again..but...I can't put it into words. You're the word man. But I don't feel right about it...tonight."
"I had a Jewish girlfriend once. You're ' sitting shivah'....It's the Jewish expression for mourning someone's death."
"We're both still around."
"But something real died today. You can hate the guy, or want your freedom, and still miss him. You had each other's back for 20 years. You don't walk away from that with no hurt, even if it's your choice."
After a long silence she said, "I'm sorry Clint. You're a good friend, but I just don't feel like talking right now."
"Have a good night. Don't get too drunk. And remember, it'll start getting better tomorrow."
She sat back and clicked the DVD player back on again.
They were standing against the railing with the Pacific sun sinking into the sea below them. It was fairly cool but she wore only an ornate low cut blouse showing off her twin splendors along with a low cut back, and he wore a tuxedo. It had been the night of the Captain's Formal Dinner and Dance the 9th day out from Los Angeles en route to Oahu.
The female cruise director who handled the video cam said, "Intertwine your arms and you sip from each other's glass. And then you toast."
They followed her direction and she sipped champagne while he slurped his with a goofy expression that her laugh and the bubbles went up her nose.
She coughed and choked, "Don't do that, dammit Bill. This is for posterity. We'll show this to our great grands on our 50th golden wedding anniversary. Shit. You got me cursing. Can you go back and re-shoot that so we can cut out the curse words?"
"Don't' bother," Bill told the unseen shooter. He leaned slightly up and forward and caught her lips and they tongue wrestled for a long moment. Then he pulled away and looked into the camera. And she thought he looked so heartbreakingly young.
'I want them to see us as we were, babe. We weren't plaster saints. You were a hot piece of ass, the hottest on planet earth, and when you're 70 and old you still will be. And I'm the goofball that swept in and won the hand of the Fair Princess against all the odds. We've lived a fairytale and when we're old and wrinkled and the great-grands won't be able to imagine us burning up the sheets, I want them to know we were young and in love once."
She shut the DVD off and wept.
Saturday, August 20 – 2 a.m.
She rolled in the bed, her heart racing. Something terrible, utterly terrifying was in the room with her. It was one of those nightmares where you know you have to wake up or you will die, but you can't make your eyes open. And worse, she knew in the logic of dreams mixed with consciousness, that she was utterly alone in the house. Everyone was gone. Except her...and whatever was in the house with her.
And then she was on her knees on rough cement and the smell of piss around her. She blinked and the slab of cock filled her vision and it's male smell filled her nose and then it was pushing against her lips. She opened her lips and it slid in. It was big, hard and its owner pushed it in so hard and fast that it bruised the back of her throat before he was pulling it and then quickly fucking her mouth with it.
She would have fallen but strong male hands held her shoulders and were keeping her upright. She found her hands filled with cock and she was squeezing and running them up and down their hardness. It was like riding a bicycle, she thought inanely. You never forget how to jerk a guy off. Hands were placed over hers and helped her rub harder and faster.
"Oh, God, that feels good, bitch. I want her mouth."
"I want that cunt."
"Are you fucking crazy. You have any idea what kind of bugs she could be carrying. Fuck that. You get off in her mouth. That's safer."
"Keep watching the damned door. I don't want anyone coming here to take a crap until I get off."
"Dammit hurry up. I don't want to come with her jerking me. Let me at her fucking mouth."
"Well, come on up. We'll alternate. She's got a pretty big mouth. She might be able to take both of us."
Then there were two of them, and she tried to open her mouth wider, but they wouldn't both fit. Her head rocked back with the force of the open handed slap and she would have gone over if the pair of hands on her back hadn't kept her upright.
"You fucking slut, open wider or I swear to God I'll knock your teeth out. I think they'd both fit then."
She tried and for an instant they managed to wedge one all the way in and the tip of the other could get inside and then there was a sudden gush of warm fluid and she was choking and gasping as the bastard who was coming started plunging it in even faster.
"Goddamn," one of them screamed.
"What?"
"Look at my dick, you fucking idiot. It's bleeding. The bitch scbangd it raw. Goddamn stupid fucking old cunt."
"Sorry man, I think I just gave her a cupful."
"Yeah, you got off, you stupid selfish bastard. I'm fucking bleeding and you got your rocks off. I oughta fuck your ass."
'Hey..."
"Shut up both of you. We got to finish and get out of here. The wrong person walks in here and we're toast."
There was another smashing slap and she went down to the floor and hit her head hard on the cement.
"Alright, dummie, get down there and grab her head."
"Why?"
"I got to cum but I also gotta piss before leave. Why not take care of both at the same time."
"I'm not going to grab her head. I don't want your piss all over me?"
"Just hold her head and stay back. You can wash it off your hands. You don't and I swear to God I'll screw you over bad. You don't wanna be looking over your shoulder for the next six months. Just get down there, grab her head and hold her mouth open. I don't want to waste a drop."
Then she was being dragged to her knees and male hands held her head back and forced her mouth open.
A moment later thick ropes of white cum were spraying all over her face, her naked breasts, her hair. So much hot white cum.
"Whew...I needed that. Now get ready, honey, cause I'll gonna fill your stomach."
A moment later she closed her eyes an instant too late and the burning yellow piss blinded her and filled her nose and went down her throat. She tried to close her mouth but the hand handing her hair yanked so hard she tried to scream but just gulped as the piss pouring down her throat swallowed the sound.
"Hold her good, I got more."
And more and more. Her stomach rumbled as she swallowed involuntarily. She felt it coming back up and vomit and piss met and another hard yank on her hair made her scream, with that scream swallowed as she re-swallowed the upcoming vomit and more piss.
They let her fall to the cool cement and with her head turned she could finally vomit and she hurled so hard her chest muscles screamed in agony.
As she lay there trying to keep expelling the vomit and the foul tasting mix of vomit and piss, she heard them standing around her and laughing.
"God, what a pig. I think I'll take a piss, too."
And then there were twin rivers of hot piss pouring down on her hair and face and breasts and legs. And finally it was almost over. And one of them very carefully placed the toe of his shoe on one fat breast and ground it down hard. The nova burst of pain like nothing she'd ever felt drove her mind into the darkness.
She came to on the floor of her bedroom. She could still smell the piss and the taste was strong and bitter in her mouth. As she remembered how she'd thrown up, she felt her stomach rumbling. Somehow she made it to the toilet bowl before bitter bile and vomit erupted out of her.
She lay against the cool porcelain and kept spitting up drool and bile after there was nothing more solid inside her to expel.
How had she forgotten that night? WHEN had she forgotten that night? It was impossible. Nobody could forget something like that. But she had. Just as she should have told Bill. He would have killed them. Even with their marriage in tatters, he would have hunted them down. But she hadn't. She had just forgotten.
The next morning she woke up and remembered that she had been sick. She lay in bed for hours, somehow unable to get the strength to roll out of bed. What a day. Her marriage ended and some bug hitting her in the middle of the night.
She thought some trace of it must still linger, because her stomach continued to twinge. And worse that that, there was something in the back of her mind. She remembered having a nightmare, but for the life of her couldn't remember exactly what it had been about.
Something terrible. So terrible that she didn't even try to bring it to her conscious mind. She had nowhere to go on a Saturday and so went back to sleep. And there was no one in the house to hear her moans and cries.
########################
Saturday, August 20– 11 a.m.
I had been unable to sleep later than 9 a.m. so I got up and went by Hurly's Gym and spent nearly two hours driving my body to exhaustion. Despite the fact that I felt like my arms and legs were attached to my body by rubber bands, the workout made me feel better.
Physical conditioning was a part of my new life. I had been fat, truly happy and a blind idiot when I had been married to Debbie. Now I was getting trimmer, I was fairly miserable and I figured I probably had a more realistic outlook on life.
I might never be truly happy again, but I could enjoy sex if the opportunity ever arose and I was doing what I was good at. If Teller had been correct, I had sacrificed my happiness to the greater good. Now that my happiness was lost forever, I might as well make the best of the time I had left.
So I was in my office putting the finishing touches on the killer granny case which I had taken for my own. Cheryl and most of the staff was gone, but there were a few ambitious go-getters and loners without a life like me who came in when the office was empty to get work done.
So I had nobody to screen my calls. Despite the distractions I picked up the phone anytime it rang.
"Would this be Mr. William Maitland? With the District Attorney's office in Jacksonville, Florida?"
The voice had an Irish brogue that reminded me of Father Dunleavy, but the voice on the other end of the line was well spoken, if a little brusque. I picked up irritation. Not going to be a friendly call.
"Yes. To whom do I have the pleasure...?"
"I'm Conor O'Collins. I'm calling politely to ask you to leave me the hell alone, and leave my family the hell alone."
I waited a minute to see if he was going to hang up, but he stayed on the other end without speaking.
"I didn't mean to harass you or your family, Mr. O'Collins."
"The hell you didn't. I didn't take your calls at my place of business and somehow you found my home number and when I wouldn't take your calls on that line you somehow talked to friends of our family who work in and for the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions here in Dublin to intercede. I've been asked by three of my friends in that office and an old boyfriend of my wife to talk to you.
"I don't know what kind of strings you're pulling, but my family is fairly powerful in the Republic of Ireland and public officials usually don't care to irritate us, but you must have called in some very large markers. They've told me that they can't call you off and you'll just keep stirring up trouble until I talk to you. I don't want to talk to you."
"Mr. O'Collins, I am not trying to stir up trouble for you. And I can give you my word that if you'll talk to me for a few minutes today, I will never bother you or your family again. On my honor."
There was another long silence on the other end of the line.
"I was referred to a Philippe D'Archambault in Paris. I was told by my friends in the Director of Public Prosecutions that he knew of you and about you. I called him and we talked and he said you were an honest, hardheaded prosecutor and that I could not buy or scare you off. He said it would be easier just to talk to you. So, talk."
"You know I'm calling about your father, Eagen Dunleavy."
"That's our problem. He's not my father and I have no interest in talking about him, Mr. Maitland. I have no idea why you've made this a personal crusade, but the man abandoned my mother when she was pregnant, and his betrayal led her to take her own life. He chose his career with the Vatican over my mother and me. He never made any attempt to contact me as a child. I never was even aware of his existence until I was a grown man.
" For some reason, maybe his conscience got to him eventually, he finally contacted me. I told him then, as I'm telling you now, that he never wanted me in his life, and I have no need of him now. Your attempts to call me make no sense anyway, because he's dead. What difference can anything you have to say make now?"
"Mr. O'Collins, I met your father on a cruise we took together on the French cruise ship Bonne Chance. I...I won't give you details but I think we became friends. He helped me with a personal problem I had. In the course of the week we spent on the ship, he confided in me about your mother and yourself.
"I believe he told me the truth, although I have no way of ever knowing for sure. But as a prosecutor, I've talked to a lot of people over the years and I think I have a pretty good idea when people are telling the truth. He told me he agonized over leaving your mother, but he had a calling to become a priest.
He told me he didn't know your mother had committed suicide and I'm sure he would have gone to her to try to help her if he'd known his leaving her had devasted her enough to take her own life. I believe he regretted his choice, even though he knew it was the right thing to do in terms of his life. And when he found out he had a son, he tried to contact you. He said your uncles beat him up and they used their power to block him from ever seeing or contacting you."
"A very pretty story, Mr. Maitland. And you just believed him? Not a very professional stance from a man used to questioning people. I don't believe my uncles and my grandfather would have lied to me. They said he never attempted to contact me, never had any interest in me or my mother after he walked away."
"I have no way of knowing for sure, but I know he carried your mother's laminated photo in his wallet. And he found a newspaper picture of you receiving some type of award and he carried that. He said he always carried them with him, and I believe that."
"Why?"
I contacted some friends in Interpol and in the French prosecutor's office immediately after the crash and asked to be notified of anything they found in a search of the crash site. I got a call the next day that they had recovered his wallet. His body – remained intact – when the plane went down and was thrown clear of the wreckage. His wallet was still on him."
I walked with the phone in my ear to a fax machine in the office and asked him what his fax number was.
"Why?"
"I want to fax you something. I assume you have fax capabilities at your home. Is that where you are?"
He gave me the number and I faxed several items to him.
He was standing by the machine and told me the pictures were coming through.
"I've got them, Mr. Maitland."
Then he stopped talking.
"The picture was your mother taken several years before her death when they were planning to marry. And the picture of you was-"
"Taken when I received an award for my family's charitable activities among the poor of Dublin. I was 26. But, these could have been taken-"
"Those are the photos he showed me on the Bonne Chance. He carried them with him, I'm told by colleagues, at all times. And he was carrying them with him when he died. Why a man would carry photos of two people he cared nothing about is somewhat of a mystery to me."
After another moment, I said, "Talk to your grandfather, and your uncles. Time has gone by. Your mother and father are both gone. I think you deserve the truth about who your father was. If they love you, I think they'll stop lying to you."
His voice had roughened.
"What good will it do now, Mr. Maitland, to stir up old memories and old hurts. He's gone."
"You're married and I understand have two teenage children. If I'm right, don't you think they have a right to know where you came from, that they are the grandchildren of a famous and a good man? He's part of your story, as much as your mother. And I just think – he would like to know that the breach between you two has finally been closed."
"He must have made – a very great impression on you, Mr. Maitland, to have gone to all this trouble."
"He made a very big impression, Mr. O'Collins. But in every important way, he was a very big man.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Now it's up to you. You do what you think best. I hope...well, I hope you seek out the truth. But I made a promise and I won't be bothering you again. Thank you for calling."

I hung up and leaned back in my chair. I reached into a left-hand drawer and pulled out an IPOD I'd bought for Kelly before her then-current boyfriend had bought an identical one for her. I'd kept it and put a few tunes on it that I liked. I leaned back in the chair, closed my eyes and listened to the words of a tune I liked.
And as the last words rang in my ears, "If tomorrow never comes..." I thanked Father Dunleavy again for reminding me of what is important in this life. If I died today, the two people I loved the most would never question my love for them. In spite of all the crap I had waded through over the past four months, that made it all worthwhile.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 2005 -- 9 a.m.

My name is William Maitland. I was married, mostly happily, for 18 years to a beautiful woman who I had realized long ago was out of my league. Reality finally caught up with me nearly five months ago when she bounced my ass out of our happy home to take a young stud professor to her bed.
She proceeded to file for divorce and then to bedevil me with attempts to talk about things that it didn't help to talk about.
Once you know your dick isn't big enough to satisfy your wife, know that you leave her cold in bed and the one time you take the bull by the horns, so to speak, take your wife and make her cum with the use of hands, mouth, dick and vibrator, she winds up lying beside you crying in the night, there really isn't much left worth talking about.
Today I am a free man. I'm still living in my postage stamp of a condo not far from the courthouse and the State Attorney's Office where I'm the number two prosecutor. I haven't found a woman to replace my wife in my heart or in my bed. But I have mended fences with my 18-year-old daughter and 14-year-old son, my head is on straight professionally, and I am about to try to send an evil woman to the death chamber.
I walked into the courtroom of Circuit Judge Leonard Pizarro with Jessica Stephens beside me. Pizarro nodded at me. At 70, he was the oldest actively practicing judge on this bench. He was crotchety and a minor tyrant in his domain, but he wasn't a bad judge.
Judy Johansen was already sitting at the defendant's table along with her attorney. I nodded to Lew Walters. As I settled in, he got up to walk over to me and Jennifer. He held his hand out and I took it.
"I'd say may the best man win, but that would be gloating," Lew said with a shit-eating grin. "So I'll just say, may justice prevail. Which means my innocent client will walk away with her innocence and her freedom confirmed."
"You really think she's innocent?"
He looked around to see that no one except Jessica was close enough to hear and said, "Who cares? I'm being paid to defend her and that's what counts. And with me representing her, and your case, she's as good as acquitted."
I couldn't help smiling.
"You don't have any fears at all that the Angel of Death will swoop down and nail your murderous harpy?"
"Come on, Bill. You know the way this is going to go down. You're the grizzled old gunfighter in your last glory days, and I'm the rising young gunfighter. I'm going to shoot your eyes out and walk off in a blaze of glory. It's my time. Maybe you ought to think about moving over to corporate, or handle wills and estates. Leave the courtroom battles to the young, swift and the strong."
His grin took the sting out of his words, and we'd exchanged smack talk plenty of times before as we faced off, but I thought I was going to take particular pleasure if this case went the way I thought it would. He was very good, but he needed to be taken down a peg or two once in a while for humility's sake. Otherwise, nobody would be able to stand being around him.
"Let's just see who winds up standing, young Luke," I said with our friendly Star Wars badinage.
He just laughed and said, "The Old Folks Home for Retired Jedi Masters has a room waiting, Master Obi-Wan-Kenobi."
"As always, humility is your greatest strength."
He laughed and walked back to his client. Judy Johansen was a 67-y-old who could pass easily for a 45-year-old. About 5-foot-four inches tall, she had a 38-26-38 inch body that wasn't Miss America shape, but plenty hot for a granny. She was dressed demurely in a pink blouse and dress that went down to her ankles. Very little skin showing and the blouse, while not a potato sack, showed very little curves.
Lew knew what was coming and didn't want to give the jury a chance to look at his client as a sexual creature.
The case slowly started rolling and we trotted out the basics of our case, spelling out to the jury the facts. Judy Johansen was a three-time previously married divorcee when she had met Clark Carroll in 2000. She wasn't poor, but wasn't wealthy either. Carroll, a 78-year-old snowbird who had left behind a chain of profitable neighborhood grocery stores across the Midwest, was worth approximately $50 million.
They had met at a dance at the gated retirement community where Carroll had moved after his wife of 50 years had died the previous year. One thing led to another and they were living together in a month and married in two months and in six months Carroll had changed his will to leave the bulk of his estate to his new wife. He left each of his two grown children roughly $10 million. That left Judy ONLY $30 million.
Clark Carroll suffered from a variety of ailments, but it was an enlarged heart that had killed him a year ago in their Orlando mansion where they had moved after they married. I explained to the jury that we would prove with expert testimony that Carroll received an overdose of a heart medicine and it was this that killed him.
I told the jury we would also prove that Judy Johansen was the only person who could have given him the overdose. She had the means to kill him. She had 30 million monetary reasons to kill him. And, most importantly, she had one overriding emotional reason to kill him. That was in the form of a 6-foot-3, 40-year-old boyfriend she had been carrying on an affair with for more than a year before her husband's death.
Lew held his fire during our presentation, waiting for the actual case to begin. He made a brief opening statement to the seven man, five-woman jury, to the general effect that Judy Johansen had been tried in the tabloid press and convicted of making a human error, a layman's error, in administering her husband's medicine that killed him.
He confidently stated that the prosecution would never convince them beyond a shadow of a doubt that Johansen had deliberately taken her husband's life.
Our first witnesses, most of them officials from the Orlando area where publicity had swirled so strongly that court officials had decided the case would have to be moved, laid the groundwork.
Dr. Eugenio Amparo had been Carroll's personal physician and testified that although his enlarged heart was a problem, it was a reaction to one of the medications he was taking that actually provoked the heart attack that killed him. Judy Johansen had been the only person in the house when the medicine was taken and she had admitted administering it to her husband.
Then it was Lew's turn at bat. He got Amparo to concede that Carroll had been a very sick man and his care givers were basically balancing a stew of drugs, any one of which could have killed him.
"But as long as Mrs. Carroll had followed the instructions I provided her, there is no reason she should have gotten confused enough to make such a drastic mistake," Amparo said in a strong Filipino accent.
"But you're a professional, Dr. Amparo. My client is a lay person. Isn't it possible that under the stress of confusing or strong emotions, she might have gotten confused?"
"Possible, but she had been caring for her husband for nearly five years. It would be out of the ordinary for her to have gotten confused after being a caregiver for so long."
Lew gave him a funny look, then looked back at me and I knew he was getting ready to carve up Amparo, and by extension myself.
"How long have you been a physician, Dr. Amparo?"
"24 years."
"And you practiced in the Philippines for ten years before coming to this country?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember a Bayani Amicay, by any chance?"
Amparo remembered. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack himself.
"I ....I.."
"Wasn't he a patient of yours, Dr.? You had been a practicing physician for nearly eight years when he became a patient. And he also had similar heart problems. And, oddly enough, didn't a similar confusion about medications cost his life?"
"That was during a period when there was political unrest, a typhoon off the coast, and the hospital where he was being treated was tremendously overcrowded. There was a great deal of confusion."
"But you signed off on the medication, didn't you, Doctor? You, a professional with eight or more years of medical training and eight years of practice, and you still made basically almost the same mistake that Mrs. Johansen did. Were you prosecuted for murder?"
"No."
"Did you lose your license?"
"No."
"What happened?"
"There....was an out of court settlement. The family agreed to it."
"So you basically paid off the family and walked away without a scratch."
"I wouldn't put it that way..."
"I would, Dr. You, more than anyone sitting in this courtroom should be aware of how fragile Mr. Carroll's health was, and how easy it would be to make a fatal mistake. And yet you were willing to sit in judgement of an elderly woman, a non professional, and leave the jury with the implication that there was something suspicious about the mistake she made. Would you care to reconsider your remarks?"
Lew just stared at him until he finally raised his eyes to look at him. Amparo wouldn't look at me.
"Yes. Mr. Carroll was in precarious health and it is quite possible that a lay person would make a mistake without intending to. Sometimes, we doctors tend to forget that -- lay people aren't doctors or nurses."
"No further questions."
Lew gave me a little look that spoke volumes and swaggered back to his table. Alright, he didn't really swagger. That's just the impression I got. But, he was going to find out that the old gunslinger wasn't going to go quietly.
"Re-direct, your honor."
Lew was expecting, obviously, to have taken the wind out of my sails. Let's see how he liked a gut punch directed at him.
"Dr. Amparo, Mr. Walters brought up the situation involving a patient of yours that died as a result of a mistake in medication. You admitted to that mistake. Was that mistake your fault, not a nurse or subordinate."
"No, sir. It was my fault. I made the mistake."
"Alright, that's honest of you. You mentioned there was political unrest, there was a storm and overcrowding. And you indicated that those were factors in your mistake. Could you please give the jury a little more detail. What was the political unrest?"
He looked down at his hands. After three minutes and the judge growing increasingly restless, I walked over to the witness stand and said softly, "I know what happened, Dr. Amparo. Would it help if I gave the details and you simply confirm them?"
I looked at Lew and he was tempted to make an objection, but there are times when you sense things and I knew he was smart enough not to step in a minefield and become the bad guy.
"At the time, Dr. Amparo, more than 15 years ago, there was political dissension in the Philippine province you and your wife and son lived in, wasn't there? And a major storm had hit the Philippines the previous day. Entire villages had washed away, bodies were still being recovered and the hospital you were working in was so crowded almost every square inch was occupied by cots or people lying on the floors. Isn't that so?"
"Yes."
"You had gone in the previous day. You had worked 36 hours without rest, hadn't you?"
"Yes."
"And two hours before you made the mistake with Mr. Amicay, you had received a radio message on shortwave from the Philippine Security Forces, didn't you?"
He just nodded his head and sobbed.
"And didn't they tell you that a unit of rebels had ambushed a car your wife and son were driving in on their way home from providing relief aid in a neighboring village. And the security forces told you the rebels had bangd and shot your wife in the head. And cut your son's head off and place it on a stake near your abandoned car. Didn't they?"
He didn't move.
"They did this because in addition to your being a physician, you were an elected office holder in the province in which you and your family lived, didn't they? They were sending a message to all government office holders in your province."
He remained silent and motionless, head down.
"And when you learned this, Dr. Amparo, did you break down? Go into a room and block out the world? Did you find a bottle and get drunk? Or medicate yourself with the narcotics you had easy access to? It would have been so easy. Your entire world had died that afternoon."
The silence stretched until it seemed like the world had frozen in place. I couldn't even tell that the jurors were breathing. I looked over at Pizarro and even he looked stunned.
Finally Amparo raised his head. His face was wet with tears.
"No. No. I did my job. There were people in there dying, people I could save. I couldn't abandon them. I simply....put my feelings away someplace where they wouldn't hurt. I could grieve later."
I looked up and at Lew and there were no words, but I didn't need any to deliver my message: "Alright hotshot, now that I've cut you off at the knees, let's see how you bounce back."
I turned my attention back to Amparo.
"Doctor, there was obviously a legitimate reason for you to have difficulty concentrating. To your knowledge, on the day Mrs. Carroll gave her husband the wrong medication, had anybody murdered any member of her family? Did she have the responsibility of saving the lives of hundreds of strangers? Was she under any kind of stress similar to what you endured?"
I glanced back at Lew, just daring him to open his mouth and make any kind of objection.
Amparo just shook his head.
"No further questions, your honor."
Pizarro looked over at Lew, and I could swear I saw sympathy in the old judge's eyes.
"Any further questions of this witness, Mr. Walters?"
He just stood at his desk, looked down at Judy Johansen and then at Amparo. I don't normally read minds, but I could read his. There was no way in hell he was going to touch Amparo's testimony now. All he'd do is make the jurors believe he was an unfeeling monster. Checkmate.
"No, your honor."
We went through more cops and ambulance people and others we needed to get on the record, but Lew was going on instinct. I had stunned him, but I knew he'd be back. When we got to the noon hour, Pizarro said, "I think this is a good stopping point. Let's meet back here at1:30. Is that okay with you gentlemen?"
I nodded and looked at Lew. He did also. Then everybody was leaving. Judy J was out on bond and a grown son was here so she went out with him to lunch. When there were only a few people left, Lew came over to me.
"You sure you didn't make a deal with the devil, Bill? Are you really the Angel of Death? How the hell did you do that?"
"Is that you, Lew. You know you shot my eyes out with your blazing guns and I'm helpless here."
He reached out to tap the side of my face and said, "You won't let me live down my big mouth, will you? Why'd you let me step into that shit? You could have brought out all that info and hurt Granny J without making me look like a fucking moron."
"But it was so much fun making you look like a fucking moron."
He rubbed his chin.
"Alright I deserved that. Remind me not to tug on the Tiger's Tail in the future. But you know when all's said and done, I'm going to win. You just don't have enough to convict her. They're not going to send a grandmother to the death chamber, not in this state, not with ammunition you've got."
I stood up and couldn't conceal a small smile.
"We'll just have to see now, won't we young Luke. Anyway, you want to buy me lunch somewhere. Feed me and I might take it easy on you during the trial."
He grinned.
"You know, I ought to try to get you and Debbie back together again. You weren't near this mean when you were fucking her on a regular basis."
I know I clouded up and he tapped me on the side of the face, a little harder this time.
"Come on, man. You're divorced. She's out of your life. You got to be able to take a little shit about her someday. I'm your friend. Probably the best one you got. If I can't razz you about her, you're going to be the walking wounded for the rest of your life. Just get over it, and her, okay?"
##################
MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 2005 -- 10 a.m.
Even though she was new on the job, she had heard enough from the staff she had interviewed when she was coming onto the job that she knew most of the attorneys and staff who didn't have to be working were going to be down in Judge Pizarro's chambers for the showdown between Bill Maitland and Lew Walters.
"You want to go down with me," the cute Irish public defender Dennis Leary asked her, sticking his head in her office door. "If you have any game questions, I can do a play by play of the trial."
"You guys will go down there just to watch a murder trial? When it's what you do most of the time anyway?"
He grinned and her stomach would have flip flopped in a pleasant way except that bile rose in her throat and she had to turn her head away from him for a moment. She had already planned to make an appointment with her physician. Ever since the weekend she had been getting nauseous and had even thrown up several times.
The first thing she'd done was buy a pregnancy test and try it out. No way in hell could she be pregnant because she'd been on the pill for years. But...the test had given her blessedly welcome news. Still, the recurrent nausea wouldn't go away. She'd bought Tums and several over the counter stomach medicines.
She hadn't been nauseous like this in years, and that was when she was pregnant. But she wasn't pregnant. So what the hell could it be?
She pulled her attention back to Leary. She was aware of his reputation among the ladies and she'd felt the pull of his bad boy personality, but he seemed like a decent guy. And she did want to see Bill in his element, as well as watching Lew do his thing.
It was funny, but she realized she hadn't seen Bill lawyering in years, since before he had joined the State Attorney's Office. She'd gotten his views of his job in nighttime conversations, and she had gotten the idea of how the people in his world viewed him. But she had never seen it for herself.
Now that they were finally split, just two people who used to live together, she was curious to see him as something other than her husband. She wanted to see him the way others did.
"It's like watching the NFL finals or the Sweet 16. The Killer Granny trial has gotten people around the country interested. And we have a chance to see Lew Walters, AKA the Shark in action going up against the Angel of Death. They ought to sell tickets to this thing."
It was hard for her to imagine people selling tickets to watch Bill in any kind of action. But she realized it was obvious he had had a life she had never really seen.
She rode the elevator down to the courtroom with Leary and they sat on the left side of the public seating section. It was four rows deep and most seats on both sides were occupied.
There were secretaries and attorneys from the State Attorney's Office and Public Defender, as well as a large contingent of local, state and even national media. The "Killer Granny" story had already made the national television newsmagazines.
Two guys had apparently been saving a spot for them and got up and left as she and Leary sat down.
Leary whispered to her, "This is just the preliminaries. It's like the opening of a boxing match. They're just feeling each other out. But something will break."
As they watched and listened to the two attorneys, Debbie remembered her meeting with Lew. He was still damned hot. Tall and slender and he moved with fluid grace. She watched the women in the spectator section, secretaries, lawyers and some just public types as they watched him. Mona had no idea how much competition she'd have if Lew was even willing to look at other women.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She remembered the way she'd offered herself up to him. Would she have gone through with it if he had taken what she'd offered. She would never know, but looking back she was glad she hadn't had to find out. At the time she had been pissed at Bill and taking his friend had seemed like a good idea.

But if he had stuck his dick in her mouth, it would have opened up a literal can of worms. How would she have handled two men when she had a hell of a time dealing with Doug. And, looking at the two men occupying the attention of the entire courtroom, she felt a sudden stab of guilt.
She had destroyed Bill's pride and his manhood. She knew that. Even if she had made up her mind to leave him, she wished she could have done it another way. Having a woman walk out on you couldn't be good for a man's ego. She had to try to put herself into a man's mind, because she had never been dumped by any man. But taking Doug's side in her anger at the UNF event, fucking him in Bill's bed, that had to destroy Bill's confidence.
And Bill didn't have any friends, not any real friends. Apparently a lot of people respected him, but he wasn't the type to go out drinking and he'd never gone out to a bar with the guys or to sports events. Because he was either working or home watching television with his wife and kids.
It was strange, she thought, that she could recognize that now, when she couldn't before. Bill had spent too much time at work, but any free time he'd ever had he'd spent with her or the kids. Maybe he had been dull as hell, but he had always come home.
His only friend, she realized, was Lew Walters. Lew was the only one he had ever gone out drinking with. Lew was the only guy he'd ever gone to a Jaguars game with. And if she had taken Lew away from him....She felt nauseous again, but this time it felt like heartburn as well.
"How in the hell could I have lived with myself if I had taken the last thing he really had, his only good friend?"
She focused in on her ex. He was dressed in black, slimmed down, head shining under the lights. He moved lightly on his feet. Maybe that was the boxing she'd heard about. She looked around the spectator section and saw that as many of the women were following him with their eyes as were watching Lew.
She shook her head. It reminded her of the night she had seen him at the gym for the first time in his newer, hotter look. This was the first time she had seen him working in his element. She realized now that the parties she had gone to, the social events, were a different world. He had never been a social animal, a party guy, and so she had seen him ill at ease and out of his element. She wished for a moment she had seen him like this.
She watched the cross examination of Dr. Amparo by Lew and winced in sympathy for Bill. She wasn't a lawyer, but she could understand the impact of his destruction of the Filipino physician. Even if he had bruised her, she recognized just how dangerous Lew was in the courtroom.
Minutes later when Bill completely flipped the situation, Leary smiled and had to stifle laughter.
"Is that as bad for Lew as I think it is?" Debbie asked.
"Oh, yes," Leary said. "The old man -- Bill -- sucked him in. He had to have known that Lew was going to go after Amparo and would find that mistake that killed the guy in the Philippines. But Lew got lazy. He didn't dig any deeper. If he had, he would have brought out the circumstances and minimized it so the jury wasn't so damned sorry for Amparo."
"Now," Leary said, "They're thinking that Granny really didn't have much of an excuse to accidentally poison her husband, and they sure as hell don't like Lew. It's a bank shot. Bill sunk two balls that time. That was classic."
"And Lew just walked into that?"
Leary grinned back at her.
"Walters always thinks he's the smartest guy in any group of three people. He is smart, and he's good which is why he's risen so far so fast. And he's a complete mercenary and opportunist. He'd defend anybody or take any case if the money is right. But...that's his Achilles heel. If you think you're the smartest guy in the room, you're wide open for somebody that's smarter or working harder than you are."
She looked at the two men as they skirmished through the rest of the morning. She was as guilty as a lot of other people, she thought. She had looked at the tall, confident, good looking Lew Walters and just automatically assumed he'd have Bill's number. Bill who was shorter, average looking, shouldn't have been in the game.
The same way he shouldn't have laid out Doug at the UNF awards ceremony.
As she was walking toward the elevators, three women were walking ahead of her and Leary.
"mmmmmm....sister.....that Lew Walters could call me any night....it's a damned shame they say he's married and he doesn't mess around..."
"...he's hot alright....but Maitland....he is so damned cold...."
"I know. You know they used to call him the Iceman, back when he was married...."
"....stupid bitch...they say she threw him over for a kid...one that doesn't make half what Maitland did..."
"yeah, he makes good money, he runs that office, and..shit, did you see him when he was doing that re-direct....he's so cold he's scary....."
"...but scary good.....what do you; think he'd be like if you managed to defrost him...."
"...I think he'd be a freak...tie you down and...."
"....you just like freaks...you crazy bitch...."
One of them nudged the other and they quickly looked back at Debbie and Leary.
"Oh, shit," one said and they quickly walked away.
Leary just looked at her and shook his head.
"Get used to it, Boss. Courthouses are always little Peyton Places...everybody's screwing everyone else or figuring out how to do it. Now that he's free, he's on the market and they're going to go after him. Besides, you threw him back..."
########################
MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 2005 -- 1:15 p.m.
"You knew she was in the peanut gallery watching you, didn't you?"
"When?"
We were walking back into Pizarro's courtroom and a lot of the pertinent players were already settling into position. I noticed a blonde with long hair and a fairly sedate neckline eyeballing me and Lew and recognized her from one of the television crews.
"Debbie was in here?"
"Yes, Gomer, she was in here. And while I think she's always had a hidden lust for yours truly, I was able to check her out often enough to know she was checking you out. She was getting into you."
"Bullshit, Lew. Look, I know you're trying to tease me, get me into a better mood, but she's got less than any interest in me. You, you might be right about."
"You are so stupid, my friend. I told her that day in Landers' office that you guys should be the poster children for marital dysfunction. You realize, I don't think she ever saw you in action? It's what you are, and all she saw was daddy and hubby. And that's not you."
"Okay, she came down here. People always come down to watch a case like this, but she's probably down here just hoping for me to slip on a banana peel. She sure as shit isn't burning with lust for my middle-aged body."
"I'll grant you that you'd have to be pretty desperate to lust after that old man's body, but you haven't noticed women looking at you before, during and after this trial? Nobody can be THAT oblivious."
I sat down at the prosecutor's table and gestured for him to get to his corner.
"I appreciate the ego building, Lew, but I'm not you. Women don't look at me that way."
He just shook his head and said so softly that only Jessica Stephens walking up to me could have heard his words.
"I love you, man, but you're so fucking stupid that I sometimes wonder if you should be allowed to live."
Jessica's eyes opened wide at his words but she didn't say anything. After things got started again I tried to unobtrusively keep an eye on the spectator sections. Lew caught my looking a few times and just shook his head. She hadn't come back. Not that it mattered.
I kicked myself mentally. In a way, Lew was right. I was so stupid about women that I should have been neutered at birth so I didn't pose the risk of passing on my genes to a future generation. I didn't care that she had been down watching the trial. But it still bothered me that she hadn't come back. Explain that? I sure as hell couldn't.
We continued skirmishing and Lew didn't fall into any more Tiger traps. He was a hell of a lot more careful now. But we were getting ready to get into the meat of the trial and he and I were both watching each other the way gunfighters would walking out onto a western street. It was going to get real very shortly.
I had just stood up after Pizarro asked me for my next witness and it was nearly 3 p.m.
"Your honor, I'd like to introduce Sergeant Heather McDonald with the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office as our next witness, but I expect her testimony will be lengthy and it's vital to the state case. Could we call it a day?"
When he called it quits, Lew walked over to me and we talked for a bit. Meagan Whitcomb, an attorney in private practice who had been one of our ASAs five years before walked over to the both of us. She was about 5-4, light brown hair, nothing exceptional but everything went together very well. And she was smart as a whip.
She smiled at me then grinned at Lew and said, "Having any trouble getting around on those stumps, Lew?"
He just smiled back.
"Round one goes to the Angel of Death, Meagan, but this is a 10-rounder. I'll wear him down and win in the end."
She grinned. God, she had a pair of dimples.
"I could tell you really had him on the ropes today, Lew. Everybody was talking about the beating you gave him."
She couldn't hold it in and broke out laughing.
He just smiled and pretended to be embarrassed.
"Alright, nobody loves you when you're down and out and you've just had your ass kicked. Suck up to Maitland. But I'm coming back."
Then he turned to me and said, with a little smirk, "I'll leave you to discuss the case with Meagan, Mr. Maitland. Just remember, no matter how....engrossed....you get in....talking...with her, you need to get to bed early....to sleep. You old guys need to husband your strength."
She didn't even blush.
"Bye, Lew."
When he walked away, the two of us were left standing looking at each other and I was wondering what to say.
"Do you have dinner plans, Bill?"
"Uh -- not really. I was thinking about going back to the office to do a little prep for tomorrow. I....thought...you were engaged?"
"I'm not asking you to go to a motel with me, just get something to eat."
She stared at me without a smile on her face. I know I was blushing.
"I know, Meagan, I apologize. You've got to know my divorce just went through. I really don't know how to be civilized dealing with women any more. It's been awhile and I have heard some good things about how your practice is doing. If I haven't stuck my foot so far down my throat that it can't be extracted, I'd love to go out and have a salad or something with you."
She looked me up and down appraisingly.
"A salad? Jesus, Bill, I've heard about how you've changed and I could see it for myself when I sat down in here, but you really have turned it around, haven't you?...And by the way, I'm not engaged any more. If it makes a difference."
"It doesn't, Meagan. I've missed those dimples of yours around the office. You always brightened things up."
"Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, Bill. I've missed the kind of cases I worked on here. Property disputes and slip and falls and malpractice just aren't the same."
"You did the right thing. Sometimes I wish I'd bailed out too."
"You don't mean that."
"Sometimes I do."
As we walked out the three television crews and four print reporters grabbed at me. I gave Meagan a look and she just shrugged and found a seat on a bench outside a courtroom while I did standups for the television crews and short interviews for the print types including Carl Cameron. Normally he wouldn't have rated next to the big boys, but the Big Man was very sensitive to the coverage he got in his home media market so Carl would always get the interviews he wanted.
The blonde with Courtroom Extra did an intro in which she told viewers that "The nationally watched case dubbed the Killer Granny, 67-year-old Judy Johansen, has received even more interest with the involvement of Lead Prosecutor William Maitland, better known recently as The Angel of Death.
"He is facing off against young attorney Lewis Walters, who has received national attention in a number of high profile national cases. Walters has been dubbed "The Shark" for his take-no-prisoners aggressive legal stance. Legal observers have called this showdown the equivalent of a heavyweight boxing match between legal heavyweights.
"Mr. Maitland, do you understand the national attention being directed to this high profile murder case battle being waged by two prominent attorneys?"
"Yes, I do understand it. People are always fascinated by crime and murder is the most fascinating of crimes. But, while I understand the fascination and the lure of this case for media such as yourselves, I want people watching this broadcast to remember that this is not a television show, not a murder mystery movie. These are not fictional characters.
"Clark Carroll, the victim in this case, was a living human being. His life was taken, stolen from him. He was an old man, but his life still had value and he had years of life ahead of him. The state is convinced, and will prove, that Judy Johansen took his life for her own selfish purposes.
"As far as I'm concerned, the sport element of this is simply nonsense. I don't care who gets the credit or takes the win. I want to make sure that an evil woman pays for her crime. I understand why you're here and your interest in this case, but I simply don't care."
I could be candid because the judge had already sequestered the jury and would keep them isolated until the trial was over, and everyone knew there was no way to keep everyone's lips buttoned tight. We had been told we could comment as long as we didn't give Lew grounds for seeking a mis-trial.
When I'd finished, the blonde, Celestial Madonna (where the hell do they get those names?), just looked at me. Apparently the pulpish questions she'd been ready to hit me with stuck in her throat.
"I...I...uh..thank you for your comments, Mr. Maitland."
She made a 'kill it' gesture to her camera man and he stopped filming. She talked to him for a moment, then turned back to me. There was a hint of ...anger...I couldn't pin it down.
She made a gesture, flinging her mane.
"I thought your boss was interested in good PR. This is a fantastic story and that type of shit wasn't the way to get people to come back for more interviews. The Angel of Death crap is a good hook, but you have to work it. You want to try again, be a little more media-friendly?"
"No," I said flatly, enjoying the expression that flashed across her beautiful features. She wasn't used to being treated this way.
"My boss is the media hound. I don't give a shit, nor do I care about enhancing your ratings. As long as I win, my boss doesn't care if I give you the finger or kiss your ass. And I intend to win. Not so he'll get good PR, but so that callous bitch will see her death coming and know what the poor bastard she was married to felt like in his last moments.
"Is that media friendly enough?"
She looked at me hard for a moment, then I saw her expression change.
"Jesus, you're even meaner than your reputation. It isn't an act, is it?"
"All me, Celestial. By the way, that can't possibly be your real name, can it?"
She gave me a small smile.
"Jane....Jane Thurman, from Pahokee, Florida. Actually, that interview will work. A really mean bastard will make a good foil for Walters. He's smoother than duck shit, that's an old Pahokee expression. I've covered him before. A hard nosed SOB will make a good contrast. You really think you're going to win? You're going to put her away?"
I looked into her eyes and for a reason I couldn't pin down, I deliberately let my eyes run up and down her pneumatic form before looking up into her eyes again.
"If you stick around, Jane, you can see for yourself."
She flashed me an expression I couldn't read, but I felt a little tingle run up and down my spine.
Where had that come from? It didn't even feel like the way I talked to women. I'd only been divorced for a few days. What was happening to me?
It took me 45 minutes to get through all the interviews. I fully expected to look around and see that Meagan had vanished, but she walked up to me as I finished the last interview and said, "Look, you're going to be tied up. How about meeting me about 6 p.m. at River City Brewing Company? We can catch up."
I went back to the office and went over strategy for the next day with Heather McDonald and finished up a phone call with Sheriff Knight about the stalled case of Shawn Smith who was still sitting behind a desk while his fellow cops came to a slow boil about my refusal to give him a clearance to go back to duty.
As I was finishing up my duties, I thought about Meagan and those damned dimples. I began to remember some of the errant fantasies I'd had about her when she'd been around me every day. And NOW I was starting to get nervous about having dinner with her. When I was married, Debbie had been the armor that protected me from my own worst impulses. Now everything was on me. I felt very nervous.
########################
MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 2005 -- 4 p.m.
"Are you sure you're feeling well enough to continue, Ms. Bascomb?"
"I'll be fine, Doctor. Let me visit your restroom for a minute."
She stepped into the small restroom and spit into the open toilet. And spit again. There was a terrible taste in her mouth. Bile and....something worse. It was crazy, but it almost had a....urine...smell. Where in the hell was it coming from. She cupped her hands and rinsed her mouth out. She took a Tums from her purse and chewed it up, then took another and started sucking it. The Evergreen flavor helped.
When she returned to his couch and sat, he looked at her with a look of concern and said, "You say you've had these symptoms for more than a day? Have you-?"
"Yes, I've taken a pregnancy test. That's the first thing I thought of. And I've got an appointment with my gynecologist who's also a good general physician as well. I don't know what this is."
"It's probably nothing, but stomach problems associated with pain and nausea could be symptoms of something serious. Please see your doctor without any undue delay."
"I will, Doctor Teller."
She leaned back against the couch and took a deep breath.
"What would you like to talk about today?"
"You know I've taken that administrative position with the Public Defender's Office? Well, there's a big, nationally publicized case beginning today, the 'Killer Granny' case with Bill on one side and Lew Walters on the other. Most of the attorneys who had some free time went down to watch and I went down too."
"I've heard of the case. I wasn't aware that your ex was handling the prosecution side. And I believe that Walters was your husband's divorce attorney. Must have led to conflicting emotions on your part?"
She described what she'd seen.
"And observing the way that other women were looking at your ex....it made you uncomfortable?"
"Not uncomfortable. I understand that he's a free man now and....he's changed his appearance and the way he is....I see that...it's just that...."
He smiled at her and rubbed his chin.
"Ms. Bascomb, it's the oldest cliché in the world. We never want something so badly as when someone else wants it. It's why men and women work so hard to make each other jealous."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He tapped his finger on the marble Rorschach inlaid coffee table as he leaned forward toward her, his eyes running down her body.

"You are, as we both know, a very beautiful, very big breasted woman at what is really the height of your sexual appeal to men. Your husband, despite the fact that he has slimmed down and moves better and bald looks good on him, is still a fairly short, average-looking, middle-aged man.
"You could have a different man in your bed every night without working at it, but it still bothers you that your not-so-attractive husband, whom you divorced - you divorced - is attracting the interest of other women. If he has sex with other women, which he certainly will unless he has a major sexual dysfunction...
"Does he, by the way? Have a major sexual dysfunction? Was he able to have sex with you, to obtain climaxes on his part?"
"Yes. That is, he was able to have sex. I got tired of him and bored with the way he made love, and I'm not sure he really got that much out of it at the end. It was pretty much, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am if you know what I mean...but that could have been me...I wasn't...but he seemed to enjoy it...."
"Well, he appears to be rejuvenated by the divorce, so-"
"So getting rid of my ass, as one of his friends told me, seems to have done him a lot of good? He's Mr. Perfect Victim and I'm the fucking Wicked Witch of the West? Is that what you're saying, Doctor?"
He looked up at her in what appeared to be a little surprise and then a small smile flickered on his face.
"Is that how you see yourself, Ms. Bascomb? I didn't mean to make any reflection on you, just an observation that many men -- and women -- seemed to find new life and energy after a divorce. A stressful marriage can be hard on both parties and when that stress is removed, even with the attendant changes and often loneliness while new connections are being made, people do transform themselves.
"Well, the son of a bitch definitely has done that. Those fucking bitches were practically drooling. If they had been in bed with his flabby ass before...."
She felt a wave of hot bile rising inside her and had to rush back to the bathroom.
Teller leaned back in his chair and listened to the sounds from the bathroom. It didn't appear the nausea was medical in nature, because it seemed her husband - ex-husband -- had gone from enraging her to literally making her sick. He played with his unlit pipe, a nervous habit he didn't worry about because it gave him something to do with his hands.
Part of what she was feeling was undoubtedly buyer's -- or seller's -- remorse. She had decided that her marriage was boring, that her husband did not satisfy her sexual needs, and that she deserved more. In a perfect world, Bill Maitland would have remained crushed by her rejection, fat, flabby, unappealing to women, and suffering alone.
She would have felt guilt and sorrow for her ex, but she would have been assured that she had done the right thing; that he could never have given her the happiness and satisfaction she wanted and deserved. Of course she was being self centered and selfish about that, but hell, that was part of the definition of being human.
But to find the man she had kicked out of her bed as unappealing and sexually unexciting transforming himself physically into almost literally a different person, to see him in his world as the man he had always been but had never shown her, and to see other women lusting after a man she said she didn't want any longer....
He had to retain his professional objectivity, and he couldn't take sides because she was his patient and she was a person, not The Wicked Witch of the West, but he couldn't deny a little twinge of enjoyment in the spectacle of a sex goddess burning with growing jealousy for a man she had dismissed as unworthy of her.
But beyond the human reaction of jealousy, of second thoughts, of regrets, there was more roiling under the surface. There was still that unexplained anger and rage that came through and probably, not certainly but probably, was now being transformed into psychosomatic reactions of physical illness.
Nausea was a classic reaction of the body to emotions and feelings that a person couldn't deal with on a conscious level. He had the feeling that it still all traced back to her relationship with her aunt Clarice. There had been problems aplenty in her marriage and whatever had happened with her Aunt didn't create them, but something triggered a massive psychological change.
When she returned, so pale she was almost white, he said, "You definitely need to see a physician. But, would you consider hypnosis? I'd like to see if you could be put under into a light hypnotic trance and try to see if we could get a better idea of some things that happened in your past?"
"You think that...would help?"
"You told me that these symptoms are recent. If you can remember, did they start occurring about the time your divorce became final, or on the day your divorce became final?"
She put her face in her hands and took a few steadying breaths.
"Actually.....I got some kind of bug....the night the divorce was finalized. I don't remember what I dreamed about, but I must have had a horrendous nightmare. I felt so bad the next day, not just physically, but emotionally, that I basically stayed in bed until that evening. But I know I was nauseous all day long."
She stared at him in sudden realization.
"That was the day all this started. The day we split for real. My God, not only did he ruin my life while we married, but he's making me sick when we're not even together any more."
Suddenly her mood changed.
"You think I could sue him -- for inflicting emotional distress on me AFTER we split?"
His grin answered hers. For being an overly developed sex kitten who had been spoiled and pampered her entire life, there were times when she flashed a wicked sense of humor and he thought he glimpsed part of the reason why Bill Maitland had loved this woman beyond her obvious physical attributes.
"Unfortunately, if that were the case, Ms. Bascomb, half the divorced population of the United States would be paying emotional damages to the other half...and vice versa."
He played with his pipe.
"Of course, it would mean vastly more income for divorce lawyers."
She gave him a sad smile.
"You forget, I was married to a lawyer for18 years and now I'm working in the middle of a whole nest of them. I tend to think like a lawyer. It's like he's haunting me. I guess he's the Spook of Christmas Past."
Teller looked at her and realized something he had always known, but hadn't consciously realized.
"You are a really lonely person, aren't you, Ms. Bascomb?"
She just looked at him.
"Guys are so obsessed with your breasts I don't think one in a hundred ever realize there's an actual person in there, or get that sense of humor. And I imagine women don't want to like you."
"It's okay, Doctor."
She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them slightly, then planted light kisses on each one.
"Flat chested women can tell you all day what an inconvenience big boobs are.
And they are. But when I used to go on dates before I met Bill, I never had to worry about a date being disappointed. I've never had a blind date try to bail on me.
Guys might never look me in the eye, but I've never walked into a room filled with men and been ignored. You have to take the bad with the good."
##########################
MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 2005 -- 11:30 p.m.
"Ohhhh......God...god...that feels good...."
"You like that Mr. Maitland? Feel that?"
"Oh shit, how can you do that? It feels like you're squeezing it with your fingers...it feels good but stop...I'm going to lose it...damn it's like your jerking me inside...."
"There are exercises for the vagina. Any woman can do that if they're willing to work at it, and the younger...aaahhhh that's good....you are the better you get at it...."
I lay my head back on my pillow and took a deep breath and tried not to squirt inside Meagan Whitcomb's soft center. She rested her small breasts on my chest and her weight on her hands on either side of me. Her nipples fascinated me. They had to be an inch long
and thick as pencil erasers. They were red and bruised now because I hadn't been able to take my mouth off of them in the first frantic moments when we got naked together.
"Didn't Debbie ever do that to you?'
"No. God, I didn't know that was possible."
She shot me those dimples again and if it was possible, I got a little harder inside her.
"She just laid back there and let you enjoy that body?"
"No."
I don't know why I felt compelled to defend her, but I did.
"No, she was energetic as hell...a long time ago. She fucked me under the bed plenty of times. It's just that...."
"She was so hot she never had to work at it, did she? Not like me with my little boobs...right?"
I answered her with my mouth, reaching up to suck on one nipple and bit and pull at it until she groaned.
"Meagan, size isn't everything and you damn well know it. I haven't' been able to take my eyes or hands or mouth off those boobs of yours since your bra came off. "
I bit her again.
"You really think you have anything to feel inferior about?"
I cut her off before she could say anything because she had squeezed down one time too many.
"Meagan, I can't-"
She felt it coming and shouted, "Cum, cum baby. Give me everything you're got."
I bucked upward lifting her body which was lighter than it looked while I squirted and squirted and squirted. Where the hell was it all coming from? It seemed to last a long, long time and when I was finished she just rode me for another half minute and then slid over to lay beside me.
After a pleasurable silence, she leaned over and kissed me and said, "You see what you missed out on, Mr. Maitland. You could have had me years ago. But I never pushed it because you were a nice, married guy."
"What is this Mr. Maitland shit? I think you could call me Bill."
She smiled.
"Somehow it's sexier fucking you as Mr. Maitland, than Bill. So, Bill, are you sorry you accepted my invitation to supper?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you enjoyed me, at least there's a lot of you leaking out onto the bed that gives me that impression."
"Shit, Meagan, I've loved every second of it, and you. Do you, uh-"
She leaned up on one elbow over me and kissed me on the nose.
"No, you don't have to call me anytime. And I won't be waiting by the phone. And I won't start stalking you or coming by the office. No flowers. No candy."
"Alright, but-"
"Bill, you don't owe me anything. I invited you out. I came here willingly. I wanted your body and your dick and I got them both. I had a wonderful time tonight. We're two old friends who finally scratched and itch. That's all."
I looked up and down her slender body with her amazing nipples and a small ass and bent down to kiss her left nipple again, this time gently.
"I know, but-"
"Bill, this was just sex. The kids would call it a booty call. No strings. No ties.. Please, don't get weird around me. If we bump into each other or I come by your office, I don't want it plastered in big letters across your forehead: I FUCKED THIS WOMAN. Okay."
"I know, Meagan. I'm only about 10 years or so older than you, but I feel like a grandpa right. When the hell did I get so old and out of touch?"
"The last 20 years or so. You're Rip Van Winkle just waking up to the modern world."
She gave me another kiss and rolled out of my small bed.
"But for an old man, you're pretty damned good in bed."
"Meagan....?"
She smiled down at me.
"No, I didn't climax. But I had a good time tonight. This was our first time. Sometimes it takes awhile."
"I am sorry.....you sure as hell got me off."
"Do I look like I'm leaving unhappy? Look, let me slip on my clothes, call a cab and get out of here. You've got a big day tomorrow and you need your rest. Good luck."
Ten minutes later I walked her out to a cab, came back inside and locked the door behind me. I set the alarm and lay down in the bed that smelled of her perfume and our sex. I tried to figure out how I'd gotten here. I really hadn't planned on having sex with a cute girl I'd had a few fantasies about back when I was married. I hadn't planned on having sex period.
Meagan was only the third woman I'd had sex with in 20 years. It should have meant more than it did. Aline was special. Debbie, despite having torn my heart out, had been and always would be special. Meagan was....was.../ was just a pretty, nice girl that I liked. But.....
It had been casual. That's what it was. It hadn't meant anything. That's what felt so strange. When I'd been married committing adultery, fucking a pretty girl who was willing and eager, would have meant something. Even if the sex was casual, the act of having sex would be a big deal. But now I was single and I could do this and it meant -- nothing?
I felt like I had wandered into a strange land. Stranger in a strange land, that was me.
###########################
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 2005 -- 11:30 p.m.
"Mr. Ballantyne, can I call you Gerry?"
The big dark haired men dressed uncomfortably in a suit and tie fidgeted in the witness seat as Lew stalked around him, looking for all the world like a tiger circling a tied-down pig in a clearing.
"Yeah, that's my name."
Lew looked at him and I swear to God it looked like a bit of drool at the edge of his mouth as he envisioned sinking his teeth into Gerry's tender flesh.
"Alright, Gerry, let's see if we can get this straight. You're a bartender and you like trolling the dating sites for -- female companionship. Is that correct?"
"Yeah. So what. There's no law against hooking up, not the last I heard. I like women, women like me. Works for me."
Lew rested his elbows on the edge of the witness box and leaned forward toward Ballantyne.
"The stats I got say you're six-foot-four, 190. You're obviously a good looking guy. Ever have plastic surgery?"
He grinned.
"Nah, everything is the original equipment, up and down."
Lew rubbed his lower lip.
"There are rumors, not that I've confirmed but my investigators have talked to a number of your former girlfriends, and they tell me that you are -- let's be polite -- abundantly endowed. That's true, right?"
"I got the complete package. Women usually only need one taste and they come back for more."
"I'm sure. What I'm a little curious about is why, with your....attributes...most of your female companionship seems to be a little....how to say this...a little 'mature' for a man of your age. You have testified that you engaged in a year-long affair with Judy Johansen, while she was married to Mr. Carroll. Ms. Johansen is 67 years old. We've confirmed four other fairly lengthy relationships...all with women in their late 50s to 60s. One lady was in her 70s."
"I like older women. So what? They might not be as tight in certain places, but goddamn, they do appreciate a guy who appreciates them. You ought try some. You'd be amazed."
"I'm sure you know what you're talking about, but it does seem somewhat odd that ALL of the female friends we've been able to confirm were women of considerable wealth.
"Several of them are extremely unhappy with you because of your dropping them after receiving some valuable presents. Others still have strong feelings for you despite your moving on, without paying them back for the motorcycles, condos, vacations, etc., that they provided you while your relationship with them was still going strong."
"What are you trying to say?"
Lew leaned back and the smile vanished from his voice.
"Oh, I think you know what I'm saying, Mr. Ballantyne. You have made a living romancing older women and accepting gifts and money from them that has allowed you to live well beyond any income you could legally lay claim to."
"You're fulla shit."
"A lot of people might agree with you but we have extensive proof in the form of receipts, bills-of-sale, sworn testimony to that effect. There really is no doubt as to what you are.
"What I do doubt is your testimony in this courtroom today that Ms. Carroll told you, in your bedroom, that she was going to kill her husband, pass it off as an accident, and spend a lot of the $30 million she would inherit on you."
Ballantyne sat up straighter.
"I swore it under oath. I wouldn't lie. Judy did tell me what she was planning. She didn't tell me exactly when, but I knew what she was planning."
Lew walked to the jury and looked at them while talking to Ballantyne.
"You have lied under oath and I want you to know right now that when Mrs. Carroll is exonerated, I am going to do everything I can to see you charged with perjury."
He turned back to face Ballantyne.
"Detective McDonald testified that after she made your acquaintance on the adult dating site, 'Plenty of Fish' and your relationship had advanced to the point of dating, you bragged to her while inebriated about dating and knowing Mrs. Carroll before her husband's tragic death."
Ballantyne had stopped talking but was looking at me anxiously. I just shook my head slightly. I had coached him to be prepared for what I was sure would be Lew's attack on our star witness.
Lew continued.
"Mr. Maitland has played the tapes made by Detective McDonald which appear to be candid and unrehearsed conversations between yourself and Detective McDonald. You have, as a somewhat unfriendly witness for the prosecution, testified as to the validity of those conversations."
He left Ballantyne and walked to my desk and looked at me with a fairly theatrical expression of disdain.
"You certainly realize by this time, Mr. Ballantyne, that you were ensnared in a sophisticated sting operation spearheaded by Mr. Maitland and carried out by Detective McDonald. I must admit to being a little curious about one thing, though.
" As a good, dedicated, security officerwoman, did Detective McDonald have sex with you to convince you of her cover story as a lonely, wealthy older woman? Did she hold out the promise of future sex as a sweetener for your testimony against Ms. Carroll? How far was Detective McDonald willing to go to convince you to commit perjury?"
I was on my feet striding to the judge, raising my voice louder than necessary to convince the jury that I was really, personally pissed at this point.
"Your honor, I insist that you order the jury to ignore this cowardly attack on the character of a dedicated security officer officer. Mr. Walters knows full well that Detective McDonald did not engage in an unacceptable behavior to obtain Mr. Ballantyne's testimony and that no such illegal or illicit promises of sex were offered for his testimony."
Lew looked at me and flashed me a tiny grin that the jury couldn't catch.
"Unfortunately, your honor, I haven't worked as closely, or intimately, with Detective McDonald as has Mr. Maitland, so I really don't know how far she would go to make her case.
"I know that in the past she has masqueraded as a prostitute, going so far as entering a suspect's bedroom and stripping before fellow officers came in. I'm not sure it's that big a stretch from stripping before a suspect to...going further...to obtain cooperation."
Before I could open my mouth, Lew pivoted, told the judge, "I'll withdraw those comments your honor and you may ask the jury to disregard them."
After Judge Pizarro did exactly that, Lew turned back to Ballantyne and launched what I figured would be his main attack on his credibility.
"Mr. Ballantyne, it's clear from Detective McDonald's testimony that you basically admitted a relationship with Ms. Carroll while intoxicated. Detective McDonald taped those comments and when you sobered up, she and Mr. Maitland badgered you into following up on those comments.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I have to wonder, I must admit, why you were not charged with anything. You admitted you were aware of a plot to kill Mr. Carroll, that you stood to gain financially from the crime, yet did nothing to notify security officer of what she planned. Most lawyers would say you could easily be charged with -- at the least -- with being an accessory to murder. And yet no charges have been filed against you. Why is that?"

"I- you'd have to ask Mr. Maitland."
"I don't think I need to ask him. I think the jury is smart enough to figure out why you haven't been charged. I think they can understand while you were attempting to seduce what you thought was a wealthy older woman, or bragging to her in bed with her, that you would brag about a relationship with a woman involved in a national case.
"And once you had admitted to that relationship, and had provided information about hotel and motel stays, telephone records and the like, Mr. Maitland and the security officer could threaten to file charges against you -- UNLESS you lied under oath that Ms. Carroll had planned to murder her husband.
"I believe, Mr. Ballantyne, that you did have an affair with Mrs. Carroll. That is reprehensive, to be sure, action on the part of a married woman, but as we've made clear, you're a very good looking, skilled seducer of older women. But I believe that there was never any confession by her of plans to kill her husband.
"I think that has been the state's view since the day he died as a result of a tragic accidental poisoning. I think the state, under Mr. Maitland's direction, trolled the adult dating, matchmaking sites under the assumption that Ms. Carroll had been having an affair.
"I will give Mr. Maitland and the state credit for undertaking an audacious scheme that must have been daunting. Talk about searching a needle for a haystack. And yet their scheme worked. They confirmed your affair with Mrs. Carroll, which gave them a motive they could argue for her to kill her husband."
He walked over to me and he was very, very good. I don't think anybody that didn't know him intimately would be able to tell that the anger was faked.
"But, unfortunately, Mr. Maitland has let the publicity about his being dubbed 'The Angel of Death' go to his head. He has mounted a crusade to send every defendant he prosecutes to the state Death Chamber, whether they deserve death or not. Truth or the facts be damned.
"And so he wasn't satisfied with being able to blacken Mrs. Carroll's character. He had to go for the it all, to provide faked testimony that would make her guilt undeniable. Mr. Ballantyne, I submit to you that Mr. Maitland and Detective McDonald threatened you with prosecution.
"Even if Mrs. Carroll escaped the death penalty, being tried separately you might still be convicted of a lesser charge. And even a lesser charge might send you to prison for years. Unless...you were willing to 'remember' her telling you of her plans to kill Mr. Carroll. I submit that your testimony against Mrs. Carroll was coerced, and false, designed simply to save your own skin."
I rose to my feet.
"Objection, your honor. Mr. Walters has spun a completely fictitious story to discount Mr. Ballantyne's damning testimony. He does not have a single fact to hang his account on. He has carelessly charged me with violating legal ethics. If he is really certain of his facts, he should have me called up before the State Bar. And he should have Detective McDonald brought up on charges of illegal security officer conduct.
"But he won't, because he knows all of this is a smokescreen designed only to distract the jury from the facts in this case. Mrs. Carroll was having an lengthy affair with Mr. Ballantyne. She did confess to him her plans to murder her husband. No threats were made against Mr. Ballantyne to coerce his testimony."
Pizarro gave Lew a jaundiced glance. He wasn't upset. He waded through oceans of legal crap during his 30 years on the beach. But he did say, "I'm not going to admonish the jury to disregard your comments, Mr. Walters, because you do have the latitude to present alternate views on the case.
"However, most of the time, you have to have some small, frail framework of facts on which to hang your theories, and I will leave it to the jury as to whether you have laid any such foundation."
Lew let it wash off him. He turned to the jury and said, "I'll leave it in your capable hands as to how much of what I've laid out is speculation. Just remember when you go back into the jury room to consider this case, the character of the state's main witness; a man who has made a living off of seducing and abandoning older women.
"Ask yourself if you believe he would lie about a former lover to avoid prison time. Just use your common sense and I have no doubt what conclusion you will come to."
"No further questions."
I stood up and on redirect asked, "Mr. Ballantyne, Mr. Walters has made the claim that Detective McDonald secured your testimony by having sex with you, or promising sex. Are either of those claims true?"
He looked over at Heather, looking hot and professional at the same time, and gave me a sour look,
"Yes to the second, no to the first. She had me hotter than hell with cyber and telephone sex. God, she has a hot voice. And when we met she kept me revved up with some kisses and she let me do a little petting. But the bitch never went quite far enough. I thought I was good, but damn, she had me with my tongue hanging out.
"That's probably how she got me drunk enough that I'd promise the moon to get into her. I never would have spilled the beans about Judy if that bitch -- sorry, Detective McDonald - hadn't had me thinking with my co- with my genitals. She definitely promised me sex to get me to talk in the first place.
"But she was all business after she got me to talk about Judy. Once she got enough details, she never let me touch her again. And as far as talking about Judy's plans, you didn't threaten me. But I'm not stupid. If I tried to testify for Judy, or clam up, then you would have come after me as an accessory.
"The only way I could protect myself was to come clean and tell you guys everything I knew. That way, whether you nailed her or not, I'd be in the clear."
As Pizarro closed down the court for the afternoon, Lew ambled over.
"Pretty good, Master Obi Wan Kenobi, but your key witness is tainted. The jurors know he's a miserable scumbag gigolo who would sell his own mother out. His testimony isn't going to be enough to get you over the top."
"You didn't do a bad job, Lew, but we already knew he was a miserable scumbag. You work with what you have."
I looked around at the rapidly emptying court room. She was sitting on the left side of the spectator seats. She was dressed a hell of a lot more demurely than I could even remember from UNF. It didn't help. She could be wearing a potato sack and she'd still radiate pure sex. She was looking at both of us and I couldn't read the expression.
"Why the hell don't you go over and say something to her."
"Nothing to say."
"Shit, man, this is like sixth grade all over. You want me to slip her a note that you like her and would like to talk to her."
"Lew! There's nothing to say."
"How about, 'now that we're divorced and single I'd love to fuck your brains out, no strings attached'."
She got up and walked out and as usual, just her walking away was a symphony.
"I wish to hell she hadn't taken that job. This is hell having to see her every day."
"You ever think that's why she did take it. To flaunt what she's got in front of you every day? Maybe encourage you to take a second bite of the apple?"
"It's a poisoned apple."
##########################
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 2005 -- 4 p.m.
I was walking toward my office as I spotted Cheryl waving at me. I turned to see what she wanted. They talk about being frozen in place. I stopped in mid-step and almost literally froze.
A blonde memory from the past stood in front of me and then she had her arms around me and her large soft breasts pressed against my chest. I probably was as stiff as a statue as she pressed her lips to mine. Then she backed away and gave me a funny look.
"I know you divorced Debbie, that stupid bitch, but did you divorce me too?"
After a stutter I managed to get my tongue going again.
"Clarice....where did you come from?"
Debbie's younger sister, not quite as pretty, not quite as big-tittied as her older sibling but still one hell of a eye-pleaser, reached out and grabbed my face and planted another one on me.
"You know that's a hell of a welcome after seven years, brother-in-law, especially for a girl that's had a crush on you for 20 years, give or take a few."
"I'm sorry....baby....I didn't mean...to...it's good to see you."
"Baby..."
She smiled and over her shoulder I could see Cheryl's look of amazement and curiousity.
"Debbie's younger sister," I mouthed to her.
"You remembered, Bill. Am I still your baby?"
When I had met Debbie, Clarice was barely 12 years old, although like her older sister she'd already started developing. Her crush was so obvious and embarrassing that I had had to handle her with kid gloves, including always calling her 'baby sister.' And 'baby' she had remained until she'd moved from the U.S. with her husband Jimmy nearly a decade before.
"Of course, Clarice, you'll always be my baby."
She gave me another hug and said, "I came up after Mom told me what's happening. She's written me and we've had a few phone calls. I couldn't believe it."
"Let's go into my office, Clarice."
I closed the door behind me and she sat in one chair and I saw in the other face her. She wore a green pants suit/blouse combo that did nice things for her eyes. As with her sister, her chest strained the blouse, but not so ostentatiously.
"So..."
"So, I talked to Debbie by phone when I got into the airport this morning and I'll talk to her this evening when she gets home. I told her she was a stupid bitch."
"Easy, Clarice. People get divorced. Happens all the time. It was just our time."
She reached out and placed one warm hand on my knee.
"Bullshit. Mom told me about Doug. About her throwing you out and bringing that son of a bitch into your bed. I don't understand why you didn't burn her ass. You're an attorney, in tight with everybody here. You could have ripped her heart out if you'd wanted to. And I can't imagine why you didn't want to."
"Everything isn't so black and white, Clarice. I'll let her talk to you about it. I'm prejudiced. She had her reasons, apparently. She thinks I was the bad guy, if you listen to her."
She reached out again and grabbed my hand in hers.
"Jimmy and I have been gone a long time, Bill. And I know people change. I could see you guys divorcing. Anybody can split up. But not the way she did it."
I squeezed her hand. I could still see the 12-year-old in her.
"It's history now, Clarice. We're divorced. We're history. She's making a new life for herself, and I'm trying to move on, too. Don't let....don't let what happened get between the two of you. You're sisters...blood...I'm just an ex now."
"No, you're not an ex. You're James Jr. and Kathleen's uncle. You'll always be their uncle, and my favorite brother-in-law."
I had seen pictures, but never seen my niece and nephew in the flesh.
"They're with you? Are you back for good."
"They're at Mom and Dad's right now. I want you to promise to come by. Tonight if you can but sometime in the next week. We'll be here for a week. Jimmy couldn't get off. But we've put in not to extend our contract. We'll transfer over to a civilian branch within the year and be home in a year or a little more."
Clarice was employed by an agency contracted to the U.S. State Department and Jimmy was employed in the same general area but I'd always suspected he was a government spook, possibly CIA. They'd been stationed all over the world for the past 10 years, the last five years in Tokyo.
"You coming back to Florida?"
"I'd like that but we may be stationed in Washington."
"Close enough. It'll be good to have you back in the states. I wish...I wish you guys had been here...while things were still good."
"So do I. But just remember, no matter what happens with Debbie, no matter who she ends up with, you're family and you always will be."
"I feel the same way, Clarice. Kelly may remember you, but I don't think BJ will. . He was too young. I hope we can arrange for them both to see you and the kids before you have to leave. By the way, what is Jimmy up to?"
She just grinned and said, "Oh, you know, this and that."
Then she said, "I've got to go home now. Promise me you'll come by Mom and Dad's. "
She got up and was ready to turn when she turned around and hugged me.
"You look younger than I remember you. I like the new look. Deb has got to be eating her heart out seeing you get younger and hotter. You know, of course, that if I didn't love Jimmy, I'd be putting the moves on you. I spent years waiting for you to dump Big Sis and realize I was the girl you should have chosen."
I smiled at her, seeing that little 13-year-old who bugged me and her sister unmercifully.
"And now I'm free and you love your husband. Who said God doesn't have a sense of humor?"
After she left I sat back in my chair and thought about the good old days. Until it got too painful and I turned my attention from the past to the future.
############################
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 2005 -- 5 p.m.
"Focus your eyes on the watch," Teller said in a soft, even tone. He had turned the lights down to dim, but it was still possible to see objects. Debbie lay on the couch and he sat in a chair next to the couch, having moved the marble Rohrschach coffee table out of the way.
He held his grandfather's pocket watch which hung at the end of a silver watch chain about ten inches long, above and in front of Debbie's face. She was looking upward with her neck at a slightly uncomfortable angle. He had a recording of a grandfather clock playing softly as background.
"Stare at the watch, only at the watch, Ms. Bascomb. Let your eyes follow it," he said, as he let it swung almost imperceptibly in a very short arc back and forth in front of her eyes. "Think only about the watch. Look at the way the light plays on its surface....back and forth....back...and forth...and back...and...."
It was a classic hypnotic suggestive trance method, going back about a hundred years, but it had always worked for him and thought it would probably work here. The woman was intelligent, strong willed and despite stereotypes, those were the types of people who were often most suggestible.
He wasn't sure how effective the first session might be, especially if the memory was painful and deeply buried, which it appeared to be. But most memories would eventually surface.
"You're feeling very, very tired, Debbie. Your eyes are getting heavier. It has been a long, long time since you've slept soundly, deeply. You are so tired. You're trying to hold your eyelids open, but they are getting heavier...heavier...heavier...."
In five minutes she was breathing heavily. He got up, grabbed a towel from the bathroom and came out and placed in on her chest, tucking it in under her neck.
"Can you hear me, Debbie?"
"Yes, Doctor Teller."
"Do you know where you are?"
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
"In your office."
"I want you to relax and think about nothing. You're floating in the center of a featureless void. There is nothing around you. Are you floating?"
"Yes.....it feels good...."
"You're beginning to feel a rumble deep inside your stomach....there is a rising bitter taste in your mouth...your throat is beginning to spasm...you are swallowing hard trying to keep the bile down....but it keeps getting stronger...are you getting nauseous?"
"...y...yessss....oh...."
"Freeze the moment. You are frozen....not sick, not nauseous..just....frozen...you are a statue..."
She breathed deeply but didn't appear to be gagging.
"Now, Debbie, I want you to go back....go back to just BEFORE that terrible taste and gagging sensation came over you....where are you? What are you doing?"
For a second he didn't recognize what was happening, then the open, slurping, sucking motions she was making with her mouth, distending her mouth so it looked like she was about to scream, the yanking motions she was doing with both hands as if she was milking a cow were unmistakable.
"Uhh...ummmm...uhhh..ummmmummm"
Stunned, for a moment he thought the expression on her face was sexual frenzy, excitement so great that it could be mistaken for pain, and then he had grabbed the bucket he'd placed near the couch and had her head and was cradling her as she vomited into the bucket."
"ohhh....oohhhhh....ohhhh....ohhh...ohhhhhhhhhh....oh....ohhh.."
The spasms as she tried to empty everything in her stomach were interspersed with huge choking sobs. He cradled her head, despite the fact that she was vomiting on him, the table and the floor.
Finally there was only dry sobbing and he continued to stroke her blonde hair .
"It's okay, it's okay Debbie, it's over, it's past, you're okay now," he said, disregarding the smell, the mess on his clothes. It was obvious that something of a sexual nature had occurred, had precipipated the violent nauseau...but what?
Finally, he was able to place her back on the couch, took the filthy towel, emptied the bucket, took washclothes and cleaned the office as best he could. Before he left he'd call the office cleaning staff to come in and leave it spic and span. He had kept most of the worst off her. He used a washcloth to get spatters off her blouse, her arms and hands.
Finally when everything was as clean as he could get it, he leaned close to her and whispered into her ear, "Debbie, wake up. Wake up."
After a moment she opened her eyes and instantaneously tried to rise off the couch, but he held her by the shoulders and kept her down.
"It's okay, Debbie, it's okay. It's Doctor Teller. You're in my office. You're not---not back there. Do you remember anything about what just happened."
Her eyes were wild as she looked around the office. It was only sinking in on her where she was. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of vomit hit her.
"Noooooo....no...where...what happened...what...."
"I tried a hypnotic regression to see if I could discover what's been causing your nauseau. And I -- you went back to a very unpleasant episode in your life and became very sick. If it's not clear in your mind, don't try to bring it forward. Just relax now."
She lay her head back and began to cry.
"What the hell is wrong with me, Doctor?"
He looked at her and decided there was no way he could tell her what he'd seen. He wasn't really sure what he'd seen. He knew what it looked like, but there were a lot of things he could have seen -- anything from a voluntary sexual encounter, to a violent bang to a vivid nightmare.
"I don't know, honestly, Debbie, Ms. Bascomb. But I know that we made progress today. Whatever is at the root of your problems is accessible through hypnosis. We'll just have to approach it more carefully next time. In time we'll see it for what it is..."
"I don't know if I want to. I don't remember it and I still feel terrible."
"Do you want to be sick like this, feel like this... forever? If you don't face this, it might keep coming back."
"Doctor...I'm frightened...I'm really scared...I don't know why...but my heart is pounding..."
He reached out and grabbed her hands in his own.
"You're still alive, Ms. Bascomb. No matter what it was, no matter how badly you were hurt physically or emotionally, you survived. You're still here. It's like a physical injury. With time and the proper treatment, you will heal."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

#############################

FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 2005 -- 4 p.m.
I stopped at Lew's table. He had stepped away to talk to someone in the spectator section. Judy Johansen sat looking at me with an amused expression. I hadn't talked to her one on one at any time since the trial had started, although I'd spent time cross-examining her. I'd hurt her, but I didn't think I had sealed the deal.
"You know you're a terrible person, don't you, Mr. Maitland," she said with a trace of the Georgia accent from her childhood.
"Takes one to know one, Ms. Johansen."
"That's Ms. Carroll to you. And I'm an innocent widow. You're a vicious monster who's trying to railroad a grandmother into the Death Chamber. How do you live with yourself?"
I leaned over the desk and stared into her eyes.
"I was about to ask you that question, Judy. The man married you, loved you for five years. It wasn't his fault that he was old, that the medicine he was on kept him from giving you the sex you got from your boyfriend. He cut his own children out of his will to make you a rich woman.
I looked around and no one was close. We weren't supposed to talk to defendants when their attorneys weren't around, but who cared.
"I've often wondered, Judy, how do people like you live with themselves? Even if you get off and you're a rich woman, don't you see his eyes while you're drifting off to sleep. Don't you have nightmares? You must have been a human being once upon a time. You were a little girl. You had parents you loved. Where did you lose it. Or are you one of those monsters that just look human?"
She looked at me and I don't think anyone might have ever seen it, but the mask slipped for a moment. She wasn't crazy, like the Cannibal, but there was something cold and dark inside her.
"I'm going to sleep very well, Mr. Maitland. My husband loved me and he would want me to enjoy all his millions. And I'm going to. I might send you postcards from Fiji, or wherever I go to spend my millions."
"Nobody sends postcards from Raiford, Judy, and that's where you're going."
"You prepared to bet $30 million on that?" And she smiled.
"No, but you are."
########################
I acted like I was going through papers on my desk. I was actually shuffling one particular piece of paper while I let the suspense built. We had finished all our witnesses, Lew had made what I thought was the mistake of putting Judy on the stand to try go nail down the impression for the jury that she was a poor little widow woman -- worth $30 million. And in doing so he'd left me a last shot.
I knew he'd thought he'd won. All other things being equal, he probably had. He was about to bust with barely concealed triumph. I loved the guy, but he could be a real pain in the ass.
But the game wasn't over. There was one last roll of the dice.
I approached the jury. There were seven women and five men, and that was another reason why Lew thought he had an edge. Three of them were in their 60s, the rest in the 40s and under.
"There's been a lot of testimony, ladies and gentlemen, and Mr. Walters has done his level best to confuse the issues in this case. I congratulate him because he has done his usual masterful job. But, this is a fairly simple case.
"Judy Johansen married a very wealthy man and her husband changed his will to make her a very wealthy woman -- upon his death. For a year before his death she engaged in a sexual affair with a man 25 years her junior. Whether you believe the testimony of Mr. Ballantyne, her lover, or not, the fact is that she cheated on her husband for a year.
"Then she made a...mistake. One that very fortunately made her a wealthy woman, removed the inconvenience of a troublesome husband, and gave her the freedom to spend his money buying as many boy toys as she could handle. Fortunate...that accident.
"Now we can argue about how likely or plausible that fortunate accident was, but remember please that the law does not require that we prove our case beyond ANY doubt, only any REASONABLE doubt.
"We have proven, beyond any reasonable doubt, that Ms. Johansen had more than sufficient motive to murder her husband, her story of a 'mistake' in providing medication is a joke, and she didn't care enough about him to remain faithful in the last years of his life."
Lew was looking at me with a pitying glance, figuring I was desperately throwing anything at his client hoping something would stick.
I walked back to my desk and picked up the pile of papers. Jessica nodded at me, aware of what I was about to do. I walked over in the general direction of Lew and his client and shuffled through the papers.
"In the process of discovery, my office found a number of documents from her husband. One of those documents is this one. I don't believe Ms. Johansen has ever seen this. It was found in her husband's possessions after his death. It was a card that he planned to give to her on her 66th birthday, which would have occurred six days after his death."
I walked to a point near Johansen but out of the view of the jury so they had a clear, unobstructed view of the widow.
"Judy...I am writing this because as you know, I am not a man good with words. When I try to tell you how I feel about you...my tongue gets tangled. I am just a grocer...nothing less.....I loved Ethel all my life, but I don't think I ever told her anything but I love you. We haven't had those years....but I want you to know....I have loved you.
"I know you married me for my money...that's okay....I'm an old, fat man...I have not been able to be...a man...for you since early in our marriage...you are still a beautiful woman and I know men look at you...I know more than that....and you know what I am saying...
"But what I want you to know is that...it does not matter. I'm not sure I ever loved Ethel...the way I feel about you....she was a good woman..but at the end of my life, I have finally learned what it is to love a woman...your happiness is more important to me than my own. And I guess that is what it is all about....
"I will not be around much longer...I'm not stupid..just not that book educated...and when I am gone, all I can hope is that you will remember me and remember that I loved you as much as I could...."
I glanced at Judy for a moment, then toward the jury, with particular attention to the women.
"He never signed it, but handwriting analysis proves it was written by Ms. Johansen's husband."
I looked back at Judy and saw what I expected to see. I walked over to the jury box. One woman was in her 60s. She was a retired teacher. Her husband had died of cancer five years before.
"There are tears in your eyes, Mrs. Cochrane. You didn't even know the victim. Why are you crying?"
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Nothing...just...uh....I thought of Steve....my husband.....he was a very unemotional kind of man. He bought me a vacuum cleaner for our anniversary one year. But I know he loved me. It sounds like what he would have written...."
I searched the faces of the jurors. The women's eyes were bright, the men looking down the way men do when they're faced with emotional scenes.
I pointed to Judy Johansen and every juror followed my direction. She stared at them like a deer caught in a car's headlights in the night. They were open wide and she was trying to look stressed, but....
"Mrs. Cochrane, you didn't even know her husband, but his words roused your emotions. Because you have loved a man. Look at Mrs. Johansen. All of you look at Mrs. Johansen. I think she's a pretty good actress but I'll rely on your judgement of human nature gained through your own lives. Do you see even the faintest shred of sadness, of love in her eyes?
"I could have been reading a grocery list. But these were the words of her husband, a man she says she loved, a man she lived with for years, a man who made her wealthy. He's been gone a year. But do you completely lose all feeling for someone you loved....even someone you liked..in a year's time?"
I walked back to where she sat with Lew and for the first time I saw a shred of doubt in his eyes.
"I've laid out the state case and Mr. Walters has stressed the doubts you should have about the state case. But remember, as I said, to convict Ms. Johansen of murder, you don't' have to eliminate ANY doubt, just reasonable doubt. And the key to deciding her guilt is, I put to you, what was in her heart when she made that mistake with his medication.
"If you believe that she loved her husband and her mistake could have been a mistake, you should acquit her. If you believe that she was a greedy, money hungry opportunist who never loved her husband, I think the facts we've presented more than justify a conviction of first degree murder."
I acted like I was going to step away, then turned back toward her and leaned in toward her. She didn't retreat.
"I think Clark Carroll was happy to die, Judy. I think in his last moments when the pain hit him, he knew what you had done. He already knew about your affair, and despite 'just being a grocer' he knew what the pain meant. I think he loved you. And I think when he knew how you felt about him.... "
I deliberately walked away from her without looking back.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2005 -- 1 P.M.
I was in the office talking to a cop in a small county about the case of the man who had beaten his pregnant ex wife to death and was probably going to get away with it when Cheryl stuck her head in the door. She looked terrible, flushed, nose running, eyes weeping.
"They just called, Bill. They're got a verdict in the Judy Johansen case."
"Call Heather McDonald and tell her to get to the courtroom and then get somebody to cover for you and go the hell home before you infect everybody in the office. Really, Cheryl, you look like death warmed over. Get out of here, get in bed with some chicken soup and just call me every few days so I'll know you're still alive."
"You're a sweetheart, Bill. I didn't know you cared."
"It would take me too much time and trouble to train a replacement."
But she smiled as she left my office.
I grabbed a briefcase and was out the door. The jury had had the case for five days. The judge had kept them deliberating all through the weekend without letting them go home. It made for some unhappy jurors but Pizarro was a stern old bird. He just told them to keep hashing it out until they came up with a verdict.
It had been a good weekend. I'd gone over to the Bascombs and seen both Kathy and Roy while visiting Clarice and my new niece and nephew. They seemed like good kids. Kelly had come by and she looked so much like her mother it hurt to look at her. BJ had even been drive up by mom and Charles.
I was expecting things to be tense, but Debbie stayed out of the way. Clint Abbott had come by and taken her out before I'd been there more than a few minutes. When she came out of her old room after talking with Clarice I didn't think she looked good. Pale, she gave me strange looks but I tried to ignore her.
When Clint came by we shook hands and were able to talk. Debbie's parents seemed to actually like him, or at least they were warming up to him in a way they never did to Doug.
It still felt strange, but we were almost able to slip around each other like we were long lost in-laws.
And now I was walking into Pizarro's courtroom. Lew was already there. I was pretty sure he paid off somebody on Pizarro's staff to always give him a heads up on things like this.
He walked over to me and held his hand out.
"It was a good fight, old man. I'm sorry I had to beat you down. No hard feelings."
He couldn't help grinning at the end.
"Just try not to cry when you lose, kid."
Heather walked in behind me and touched me on the arm. I swung around. How she could get hotter, I'll never know. But she wore a light blue blouse over tight jeans and....She had to be the sexiest grandmother that ever walked the earth.
Lew noticed my look and said seriously, "Sergeant McDonald, I'm sorry I had to rough you up in court. It was nothing serious."
He held his hand out and she ignored it.
"I don't know why you'd want to shake hands with a slut who screws men to get their testimony?"
He backed up a bit.
"It's all part of the game, Sergeant. Nothing personal."
She stared through him.
"I took it personally."
I touched her on the shoulder.
"You may not believe it now, Heather, but he's a nice guy. I wouldn't be his friend if he wasn't."
"I don't see how the hell you could be, but he sure as hell isn't mine."
Lew pretended to shiver, then shrugged and walked away.
"He's an asshole."
"He has his moments, but he's had my back when I needed him, Heather."
She laid one soft hand on my waist.
"I still think he's an asshole, but for your sake I won't spit in his eye."
We were surrounded by incoming reporters, attorneys, camera crews hustling in from outside, but standing there with her hand on my waist, it felt like we were alone. I had to turn away because I was afraid I was going to embarrass myself. I put my hand on her elbow and said as professionally as I could, "Have a seat up front Heather. The judge will be in in a minute."
As she turned away from me with that ass twitching in those tight jeans I saw Debbie walking in the courtroom. We exchanged glances and I couldn't help it. I tried not to. Hand to God, I tried not to. But I couldn't help smirking.
Within five minutes the courtroom was packed, reporters had notepads and a pool representative of the media who'd gotten the role of televising it for everybody, had a hand-held video camera going. Judy came in and stood briefly at the desk talking with Lew. Then she looked over at me. We smiled at each other like old friends, for different reasons I'm sure.
Then the jury was back and everybody was staring at the short, heavyset male mechanic who had been chosen jury foreman. The judge asked if they'd reached a verdict and when the foreman said they had, he asked the foreman to stand up and face Judy.
I watched his lips moving before the words actually penetrated. Then I was watching Judy's face as they hit. And Lew's face.
"...guilty of murder in the first degree...."
I'd never seen it before, but reporters actually raced out of the courtroom. Judy's 40-ish son was on his feet yelling at the jury, several extra bailiffs had come toward the spectator section. And Heather was in my arms. She had come around the desk and before I could move was hugging me. Which led to a kiss.
"We did it, Bill, we did it. We nailed her."
I tried to rev back on my emotions, but God, it felt good. I looked at Judy Johansen for a moment and it was like we were the only two people in the room. I wondered what it would be like to have the world by the tail one moment, and be in Hell the next. I don't know that I'd ever seen despair in a human being's eyes, but I did now.
I couldn't say I felt happiness, but I felt satisfaction. For just a moment the world made sense, the scales balanced.
I sank back in my chair with Heather squatting down beside me, holding my hand. Pizarro ordered Judy taken into custody, thanked the jurors and released them. People milled around for awhile. Lew spoke to Judy before she was taken away with his hand on her shoulder, then talked to her son after bailiffs took her. Then he sat down too.
When I looked over at the spectator section, Debbie was gone.
Then Lew was standing in front of me. He just shook his head.
"God damned, Bill. God damned. I really didn't think you could do it."
"Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes..."
"Remind me never to play poker with you, Bill. You're getting help from a higher power."
He walked away and then came back.
"I had to be sympathetic, but honestly, Bill, she was guilty as sin. She killed him. And we both know it. So the good guys won."
I walked out of the courtroom with Heather beside me. Local, national and a couple of international television crews were waiting for me. I was going to talk to Celestial Madonna, when I felt a sudden pressure on my hand. I looked over and Heather was squeezing my hand.
"Oh, don't you remember, Mr. Maitland, we had that....debriefing we needed to get to. Before you do any interviews."
I gave Celestial a quick smile and said, "I'll be back in ten to fifteen minutes. Don't go anywhere."
We barely made it to the State Attorney's floor. It was lunchtime and there were a half dozen SAs out. I knew that Raul Castro was out with the same flu that had probably claimed Cheryl. I stepped into his office, closed the door and locked it behind me.
She had slid out of those jeans, slipping them down on the floor. Her panties followed. She was unzipping me before I could get my fingers into that wet pussy that she was pushing up against me. I pulled her up and we tried to strangle each other with our mouths until she pushed me away and said, "Get out of those pants, Bill. They'll have my pussy smeared all over them if you try to keep them on. I'm sopping wet."
She had a point. Thirty seconds later she was naked and I only had my shirt and tie on. Before I could move she had a condom out of her purse and had it on me very smoothly. Then I was buried all the way to balls in the center of her and was trying to push it in further.
"Fuck me harder you bastard....hammer me...god harder....slam it in me...."
She kept slipping away from me and I kept slipping out until I grabbed her and threw her on a desk on her stomach, spread her legs wide and rammed it in on one smooth motion. This way I could pound her doggy-style with every ounce of strength in me and not lose contact. I don't remember if we talked. I remember her making noises and I must have said something, but I could never remember afterward exactly what.
She was pushing back in a corkscrew motion and grabbing one hand and pressing it so I'd squeeze first one breast and then the other. And then, it wasn't 60 seconds, I felt it coming and I started going home. It seemed like every time I thrust into her as deep as I could go I squirted out high-pressure streams of me.
Then I was leaning forward on her and she had flatted herself out on the desk. It occurred to me I'd have to get in here before Raul got back and clean up the mess, as well as dispose of a used condom in such a way that it wouldn't be discovered and launch a new round of rumors.
I pulled out of her and somehow managed to stay on my feet as she slowly pushed herself away from the desk and turned to face me. She looked down at my deflating dick and said with a grin, "I think you really, really like me, Mr. Maitland."
Then:
"I don't know about you, but I really, really needed that."
I looked at her wet pussy and said, "I guess I did too. I don't know that I've ever come that fast in my life."
She reached out to touch my cheek and said, "I guess we both did. I've wanted you for months. It just seemed like today....it seemed like the thing to do."
"It's a good thing we made it here. The way I was feeling, I might have taken you in the courtroom."
She laughed.
"And I would have let you. Hey, think you could get to a bathroom and bring me some paper towels or toilet paper...so I can clean up the mess you made."
Afterwards, somehow without anyone catching us, I walked her back to the elevator and avoided holding hands with her when we passed anybody.
"Uh, Heather...."
She reached out and shook my hand formally for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.
"We both got carried away, Bill. We've been working together for awhile and we were both really excited and we were dying to celebrate today. There are worse reasons for -- what we did."
"It was a hell of a celebration."
She released my hand and said, "Go on, you've got interviews. I think we actually did it in 15 minutes. "