Adultery When We Were Married by DanielQSteele1

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Like a lot of people who held my kind of job, I half wanted the case, yet halfway hoped it would pass to someone else.

And I promised myself that if it came to me, I'd make sure Jimmy, the husband of Debbie's younger sister, Clarice, was called in. I had heard enough to know that he had resources in black Ops he could call upon, and I wanted someone who was of our blood protecting Debbie and the kids if that day ever came.
The routine, the job, was good for me. I stopped thinking about Aline, about Debbie, about the past and what couldn't be changed and the future and what might be coming. I could just do my job.
At 11:45 a.m. Reverend Montgomery stormed in. That is, Cheryl had barely enough time to say, "Mr. Maitland, Rev. Montgomery is headed in to see you."
If this had been a cartoon, steam would have been hissing from his ears. He pursed his lips tightly and gave me what was probably an intimidating stare.
"I don't know what hold you have over Edwards, but I want you to know the black community is not going to let you railroad a good security officer officer into prison, Maitland."
"Well, hello Reverend, and how are you today?"
He breathed hard.
"Extremely upset, Mr. Maitland, and you know why. Despite the urgings of the African American community and the security officer community, you have decided to go forward with this witch hunt designed to put a good security officer officer into that hellhole of a state prison at Raiford. You know as well as I do that that is tantamount to a death sentence.
"What's worse, you have somehow managed to intimidate the duly-elected State Attorney to be derelict in his duties and refuse to order you to step down. I don't know what hold you have on him, but it must be truly powerful to convince him to commit professional suicide."
I tried to be as low key and calm as possible.
"Reverend, I'm sorry I've upset you. At the time we last spoke I told you I hadn't come to a decision on the disposition of Office Smith's case; I since have. All I'm doing is bringing the facts before a grand jury and allowing representatives of our entire community to make the final decision on how to handle the case. I would think you'd be glad to have the decision made by a cross-section of the community and not by one man."
He just gave me a long look and then sat down in one of the chairs and got up again as quickly as if he couldn't bear to be still.
"You truly are smoother than duck shit," he said, dropping the Reverend guise for a moment, "You know the right words and the right tone, but I'm not some idiot reporter or Chamber of Commerce law and order booster. You and I both know you're running this show and whatever happens to Smith is on your head."
"You're exaggerating my influence, Reverend. I think all that 'Angel of Death' nonsense is getting to you. It is quite possible the grand jury will hand down a nolo and refuse to indict Smith. Grand juries tend to be reluctant to indict security officer officers minus some overwhelming evidence of wrong doing."
"Only this time they won't, will they, Mr. Maitland? You think you can get away with this because you have your boss buffaloed. You have some dirt on him or what? But let me give you some advice. You do this and you'd better get ready for protest marches in front of this office every day – for as long as it takes. Our community will picket your home as well, not just YOUR condo, but the house in which your ex-wife and children currently reside. There will be television crews and radio reporters and media trucks and everybody in the neighborhood will know they have a nest of white racists in their midsts."
I stood up from behind my desk. Something must have passed across my face because Montgomery backed up.
"You realize you're threatening my family to frighten me off from pursuing this prosecution?"
"Not at all," and he smiled. A partial smile but he knew what he was doing.
"You know we are perfectly within our rights to picket your home and actually anywhere else we think we can pressure you to drop this unjust prosecution. The Constitution protects our free speech and assembly rights. If it inconveniences some, or possibly causes an illogical fear, that is not our problem."
"Like you said, Reverend, smooth as duckshit. But you and I both know the impact of shouting protesters, camera trucks parked all over neighboring lawns, the crazies that always come out at such events.
"And if something happens to my son, or daughter, or ex-wife, well, you had no idea something like that might happen. Right?"
"No, I don't know that anymore than you know that Shawn Smith will be indicted and probably convicted."
We stared at each other for a moment.
"I don't want to do this, Maitland. I think you're a piece of shit, but I don't want to force your ex and your kids to pay for your persecution of Shawn Smith. However, if you go ahead with this, we'll have to start the ball rolling and they will be sucked in. Don't go to the grand jury. I'm not a bad man, Maitland, no matter what you may think now. I don't want to have to live with myself if anything happens to them."
"We're at an impasse, Reverend. I'll make sure my ex-wife and kids are somewhere else when you start your protests and I'll use every resource of this office to prosecute anyone who makes even a threatening gesture against them if you do find them."
I used my best intimidating stare and tried to visualize him in a prison jumpsuit.
"Maybe I'll be able to nail you. Maybe I won't. You'll have to decide, in the words of that old Clint Eastwood movie, 'Do I feel lucky'?"
Stepping to the door of my office, he said, "I'd ask you the same question, Maitland. Do you feel lucky?"
After he had left, I sat thinking for awhile, and then I headed up to Edwards' office.
Myra said, "He's inside, Mr. Maitland."
I went inside. He was sitting behind his desk, looking through a file.
I stood there and after a few moments he looked up at me. He looked tired. He looked his age, where he usually looked strong and energetic and maybe in his late 40s. Today he looked every bit of his nearly 60 years.
"I just talked to the Reverend. Thank you for refusing to take me off the Smith case."
He shook his head.
"Why thank me for something you blackmailed me into doing. You know that's the only reason I'm letting you go ahead."
"Myra came down and talked to me. She thought you'd say to hell with it and just fire me. Why didn't you?"
He put the papers down and leaned back in his chair. That easy smile was gone.
"I took some time and thought it over. If I let you go ahead, I'll be crucified by cops and the African American community. If I fire you, I'll probably have most of the newspaper and television editorial writers after my head. Worse, the average Joe SixPack that doesn't read beyond the headlines will only remember that I'm another corrupt politician cutting deals. They won't remember the name, just the stink associated with it. That's what will kill me.
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I still think I'm probably sunk in next year's elections, but I think letting you go ahead may be slightly less damaging than firing you. Because you'd do every damned thing you threatened. I know you, Bill."
I didn't sit down.
"I know you disagree with me, but I think you're wrong, Austin. The cops and the blacks will be upset with you, but you have a year to mend fences. And the media will spin this that you're an incorruptible prosecutor willing to take on his own side to find justice. Calvin Coolidge got to be president bucking cops, and Thomas Dewey almost made it as a tough crime fighter. You're not dead yet."
Edwards gave me an almost-smile, then looked down at the desk. I think it was one of the private political, name recognition polls he had run every once in a while to see his standing in the public eye.
"You might be right, Bill, but I doubt it. And I don't think you even realize why you're doing this."
I just looked at him curiously.
"I know you think you're doing this out of deep moral conviction, do the right thing and all that crap. But you can't see yourself clearly. Nobody can.
"From where I'm sitting, you've never recovered from Debbie dumping you. You almost went over the edge and I very graciously sent you on a cruise to recover and you wound up falling for another woman who put you back together again. Now SHE's dumped you."
There was pity mixed with anger in his gaze.
"You're still off-kilter. Your head's not on straight, Bill. I think you're trying to destroy yourself the way you did with alcohol. I think you want to be fired, want to be driven out of a life that's let you down, that's hurt you. I think you want to be forced out of your safe, comfortable womb here and given a chance to start over new somewhere else."
"I can see how it might look that way, Austin. But I don't think it is."
He rubbed his chin.
"Doesn't matter whether I'm right or wrong, Bill. I'm going to give you that chance for a fresh start."
"You're firing me anyway? After what you just said."
"No, go ahead with the grand jury. See it through. But once that's done, in a respectable time, I want you to resign and go somewhere else. Maybe a few months after the start of the New Year. Take until the Spring.
"But I don't want you by next Summer. That's long enough there won't be any appearance that you're leaving because of Smith.
"And," he said, "I'll write you any references or recommendations you want. You are a very good attorney. Anyway, the 'Angel of Death' can probably go anywhere he wants and get a job, prosecution or defense, although it might do you good to go back on the other side for awhile. It pays better and you would have a better chance at a private life."
We were both silent for a long time.
"You sure that's the way you want it, Austin?"
"Yeah, I was pissed at you, but I knew what I was getting when I made you my number one. It's just that I don't think I want you around here anymore. I think it would be bad, especially if I go down in flames next November. I'd look at you everyday and blame you. It wouldn't be comfortable for either one of us."
Finally I said, "All right, Austin, I'll start checking around."
As I walked by Myra I saw her working on her computer. She glanced up at me for a moment, but for the first time in a long time, she wouldn't meet my eyes. She knew.
I sat in my office for a few minutes when I got back. I didn't lock the door but I asked Cheryl to keep anyone away that she could. I sat back, then spun my chair around to look at the pictures on the wall, the plaques, the evidence of a decade lived as a prosecutor.
The kids had been little when I'd taken the job. Debbie and I still had a good marriage. It had been a different world.
Now it was all going away. I wouldn't stay here. I knew that in the moment Edwards had told me my time here was ending, which meant that at least, in a way, I'd be leaving the kids behind. I hated that.
I'd be leaving a job I loved, and now hated at least a little bit. I'd be leaving Debbie. I might be able to start healing if I didn't have to see her every day and remember all the years we'd had together.
The intercom buzzed.
"You have a visitor."
She didn't even tell me who.
I didn't turn around.
"Hello, Bill."
"Hello, Debbie. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I had a minute. Can we talk?"
I spun around. It hit me like it did every time I saw her. Women weren't supposed to look that good when they were approaching 40. Why the hell wouldn't she show her age?
"Talk."
"I just wanted to ask you to be careful."
"Careful?"
"I've heard about the Shawn Smith case. There's a lot of buzz among the cops that he's coming unraveled. They say he's drinking, and talking crazy talk. Talking about getting you before you get him."
"Talk is cheap. He knows things are coming to a head and he's scared. I don't blame him. He's got a 50/50 chance of walking away, but not many people would risk their life on those odds."
"You mean he's a desperate man who carries a gun, knows how to use it, has killed people with it, and thinks you might send him to prison."
"Pretty much."
She surprised me by coming around my desk. I pushed my chair back a little. She stood close enough to me that I could smell her perfume. And under it I could smell her scent. I started getting hard despite myself. She'd always had that impact on me until the last few years when had I gotten so old that that scent didn't make me want to throw her down and spread those luscious thighs? How could I have forgotten? But I had, and now when it was too late all that came flooding back into my mind and my body.
"I've always known more about your work than you wanted me to. People talk. I'd see memos. I looked at your paperwork when you were asleep. You never knew I snooped, did you? When did you start thinking I was just another stupid soccer mom?"
"I never thought you were stupid, Debbie. You were smart enough to leave me out of your life for years, fool me into believing you were still my wife."
"Only because you never cared enough to check up on me. You never cared enough to wonder where I was all those nights."
"Because I promised you once upon a time that I was going to trust you."
"Trusting someone doesn't mean not even getting curious those nights I came in late and never said anything about where I was. I wasn't sleeping around, but any normal husband would at least have asked me where I'd been. You didn't even ask."
"You told me you weren't cheating and I believed you, which makes it worse. You didn't even have the excuse of having another woman to distract you."
I shook my head and pushed myself as far away from her as I could.
"Stop, Deb, I don't want to rehash this shit. It's the past. What's this have to do with anything today?"
"I know you, Bill. Better than you think or know. You don't have the sense to be afraid of things you should be afraid of. Shawn Smith is dangerous. He shot three men to death, one of them in the back. I want you to be careful, look out for Smith and make sure you have someone around you. You've got investigators, people who carry guns. Assign yourself a security detail. If nothing else, for Christ's sake, start carrying a gun."
She was leaning toward me and I put out my hand to stop her. I didn't want her to get close enough to touch. It was hard enough being in the same building with her.
"He's scared, but he wouldn't be crazy enough to shoot a prosecutor, especially when he'd be the first person they look for."
"Scared people don't use logic, Bill. You should know that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
I felt like a trapped animal. She just wouldn't go the hell away and I couldn't get past her without touching her.
"Look, Debbie, I'm touched that you care. I'm not being sarcastic. It's...I know you are probably worried. That's why I never told you everything that goes on here. I knew you would have worried but, really, this is not worth worrying about. I've had people threaten to kill me before, people who could have and would have if they'd had the chance, and I'm still here."
Then she had my hands in hers and she was staring down at me. A simple touch shouldn't be that intense, but for a moment I couldn't breath.
"I'm not asking you for myself, Bill. I know I don't have that right anymore, but you have two kids who love you. You've re-established bonds with them and you're a better father now than you have been in years. Take care of yourself for their sake. I don't want to take them to your funeral.
"Not for a long, long time."
She released my hands and stepped back, then walked out of my office with only one glance back at me. I could feel her touch long after she'd gone.
Why, why, why the fuck had she taken Doug into my bed. I could see her in my mind's eyes screaming in pleasure as he rammed his cock into her, because she'd done it when I fucked her. And I knew I'd never get that image out of my head which meant there'd never be a tomorrow for us.
Only yesterday.
#######################
SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1985 – 9 P.M.
I was scarfing up the remains of a cold pepperoni pizza with some lukewarm and flat Pepsi when the door to the room swung open. Debbie stepped in, as usual preceded by those unbelievable tits.
If I could have sold semen by the quart, the amount I'd wasted in the bathroom jerking off thinking about them and other assorted parts of her anatomy could have financed my college education.
She took in the picture of me on the bed surrounded by books, cold pizza, flat Pepsi and a couple of Playboy centerfolds on the walls of my room that didn't come close to being as hot as she was fully clothed and just grinned at me.
"What am I going to do with you, Bill. I guess you can take the boy out of Palatka, but you can't take Palatka out of the boy."
I had made the mistake of telling her somewhere along the line that when we'd moved south, my Mom and had taken me to Palatka for a year before moving up to Jacksonville. Now she never hesitated to remind me because for some reason, in her mind Palatka was the ultimate hick town.
"It's Saturday night, the middle of the summer, the living is easy, professors are bored, and the girls are horny, and you're in here eating old pizza and reading textbooks and jerking off when everybody is gone."
I guess I started to blush. Even after knowing her for two months, that mouth of hers surprised me sometimes.
"Debbie..." I started.
"Come on, Bill, now you're going to tell me you're the only guy among thousands of males here who doesn't jerk off. Or are you getting so much action you don't need to use your hand?"
"Anybody ever tell you you got a mouth on you, Ms. Bascomb?"
She made a sucking motion and even though she was playing I got so stiff I couldn't have stood up right then without embarrassing myself.
"Actually," she said, gesturing with her hand as if she was giving a blow job, "guys have always told me I have a great mouth."
I tried to think of a clever comeback to that but the words stuck in my mouth. I finally said, "Anyway, what are you doing out alone on a Saturday night? I thought that was against your religion?"
An emotion that I could almost believe was disappointment flashed across her face for an instant, but I knew I was reading something into them that I wanted to be there and, in reality, it wasn't.
"I'm on my way over to CC's place. Some people are getting together there, listening to some music, smoking a little dope, just hanging out. I didn't feel like doing anything so I'm headed over there; halfway there I thought about you and figured this is what you'd be doing. It's depressing as hell, to be honest.
She stood there in front of me and reached out with one slim hand.
"I probably couldn't enjoy myself tonight thinking about you here alone. Come with me and eat something, have a few drinks and a couple of tokes. You might get lucky and hook up with somebody and then you wouldn't have to beat your own meat. You'll go blind if you do that too much, you know."
I pretended I couldn't see her and gestured with my hand as if I couldn't find hers, saying, "What happened? I'm blind."
She pulled me to my feet so hard that we bumped fronts and the soft pillows of her breasts cushioned the impact, but her nipples were hard enough to cut glass. She wasn't so tall that we didn't' press our important parts together. Then she moved back and she might have been breathing hard. I know I was.
"Idiot," she said softly, "you know that's the only reason I hang out with you. You're so weird you make me laugh."
"Whatever it takes," and although I knew she didn't realize it, every word was the truth. If she was with me only because I made her laugh, I'd take it.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Then she looked down at the bulge in front of my jeans and licked her lips, saying, "You might want to take care of that before we get to the party. Unless you want to advertise what you've got to the unattached ladies."

Two months ago I could never have imagined joking so easily with anyone who looked like Debbie, but we'd become something like friends.
"It'll go away. Besides, I want to keep my powder dry just in case..."
She just shook her head, saying as she turned to leave, "You keep it too dry and you'll blow some poor girl's head off when you explode."
"But she'll die happy."
She looked back at me and shook her head, saying, "I think you're a nice, sweet, shy guy and every once in a while I wonder if it's just an act."
"It's all an act."
She started out the door, wiggling that ass and I almost reached out to pat it but stopped myself just in time.
CC was Charles Carter Winfield, heir to the Winfield Tobacco Fortune and more money than I'd ever be able to imagine having. Winfield himself was a roly-poly plumper with a really nice personality for a guy who lived a life 99.99 percent of the human race would never enjoy.
But, then he usually had three super hot women in his bed or jousting for a position in his bed. So who wouldn't be jolly?
His off-campus apartment was a three-story compound with eight bedrooms, game room, pool room, theatre room, room room or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. Debbie pulled up in the circular driveway larger than the house and yard I'd grown up in and let one of the attendants take the keys to her restored 64 Cherry Red Mustang and park it.
We found our way through rooms where wine, tequila, scotch and Coors, which was imported as tradition would have it straight from Colorado although it was now on sale nationally, flowed in fountains and bartenders were available with glasses, bottles, snifters and anything else your heart could desire.
Pot in every brand and species I'd ever heard of, as well as every form- bombers and blunts and hookahs were available from smiling waiters.
Just some people hanging out. I guess in Winfield's world that's what this was.
I followed Debbie as she wended her way from room to room with an ease that showed she'd been here before. I hated it, but I wondered if she was one of the hot babes Winfield fucked in tandem with any friends he felt like sharing with at the moment. If she was, so what. Winfield didn't have to force any woman into his bed. They climbed in willingly.
We found Winfield on a long couch in the movie room watching a movie called "Back To The Future." which I knew wasn't going to be released until the next month. I figured I'd have to wangle a chance to see it before we left.
He turned to look at Debbie as we walked in. He had a sheet covering him and a dark complexioned beauty with naked breasts like ripe Macintoshes was obviously jerking him off under the cover. Then she dipped her head under the sheet and the bobbing shape of her head made it clear what she was doing now.
"Deb, give me a kiss," he said and she leaned forward. As he zeroed in on her, she turned her face slightly so he brushed her cheek. He looked at her for a moment and then at me and laughed. It was a good natured laugh.
"So the stories I've heard are true. God damn, I wouldn't have believed it. It's still good to see you, babe. I've missed you and your-"
I couldn't see her face but something flashed across his and he stopped, then added, "that beautiful face of yours. We've all missed you. Ramone, I think, most of all."
She looked back at me and I couldn't read her expression.
"Bill Maitland, this is CC. CC, this is my friend, Bill."
He reached out and took my hand, then squeezed it as he closed his eyes and groaned. I realized he was cumming in the mouth of the head bobbing under the sheet. Debbie just rolled her eyes.
"Um, damn..."
He just took a few deep breaths and then opened his eyes.
"So you're the knight errant that's captured our Debbie's heart."
She reached out to rap him on the nose, hard enough to make him draw back.
"CC, Bill's not familiar with your...warped sense of humor. Ignore him, Bill. He thinks it's funny to play with people's heads. CC, leave Bill alone until he's had time enough to know when you're joking."
Unfortunately I had no idea whether he was joking or not, but he had to be and it was the kind of joke one of the beautiful and rich people would run on a poor kid who was completely out of his element. The way Debbie had reacted told me she didn't appreciate the joke.
"I've heard a lot about you," I told him, "and it looks like it was all true. Who do you have to kill to become your friend?"
He looked at Debbie and said, "I like him," then to me, "Make yourself at home Bill. Things get pretty relaxed around here. Find something, or someone you like and have a good time. With Debbie around, I don't think you'll have a problem finding something fun to do."
She took my hand and said, "Let's go get a drink Bill."
"Later," CC said and sank back onto the couch as the head under the sheet went back to bobbing and a guy I'd just noticed slipped a hard cock into the pussy of the beauty sucking CC and started pumping her vigorously.
I stood there for a moment just watching and realizing I was getting hard until Debbie pulled on my arm.
"Come on, Bill, unless you want to join the orgy."
"This kind of thing go on all the time?"
"You think I know all about it? You think I'm one of the ones that winds up sucking and being fucked. Asshole."
She was stalking away from me and had walked out of the orgy room when I grabbed her arm and spun her around harder than I expected to.
"Debbie-"
"Asshole - let me go."
I let her go and then grabbed her upper arm again.
"Why are you getting pissed off at me, Debbie? You act like you're a friend of his. I expect this isn't the first time you've ever been here. Why wouldn't you know what goes on here. I didn't say you were fucking or sucking anybody. I do a good enough job of sticking my foot in my mouth without your help."
She jerked her arm away from me but didn't walk away.
"I have been here before, plenty of times. CC is a good guy. There's always plenty of booze, good food, good drugs. And, yes, hot guys. And fun things to do.
"But you see CC having fun and the first thing that pops into your head is that I must be fucking him. Tell me the truth. You saw her sucking him and being fucked and the first thing in your head was me down there doing that. Right?"
"No. Maybe....look you're hotter than hell and I know guys would give their left nut to have you. Why wouldn't you have fun and CC has a reputation for having the best women in his bed? So, yeah, I guess I could see you there. But..."
I stopped because there was a hurt expression on her face that made no sense.
"But why do you care what I think about your sex life? Why would you give a second thought to me? We're – what are we? Friends, I think. I like hanging with you. But we're nothing more than that.
"You and I – you're an eagle and I'm a turtle. We travel in different worlds. I got you out of a tight spot and you saved my ass and kept me in college. I guess you must like me, or you wouldn't keep dragging me to places where I can have a good time. But again, Debbie, why do you care?"
"I – I don't know, Bill. Maybe...maybe because....you saw me at my worst. You saw me at my slutty, stupid worst. I don't give a shit about the others, because they're all shit. But you're different. And every time I see you, I see myself there. And I feel..."
"You remember the first time we met. I told you I thought you didn't want to be around me because I reminded you of what had happened that night. I think I was right, Debbie.
"I like you and I am grateful for what you did for me, but I don't want to keep bringing you down every time we're together. I'll go down and call one of the guys. I can get somebody to give me a ride. You stay and enjoy yourself. Thanks for getting me out of that room, for a little while anyway."
I had made it back almost to the front door when I heard steps coming up behind me.
"Don't go away, Bill. I was being stupid. I didn't..."
I put my hand on the doorknob and sensed people hovering but nobody interfered.
"I don't want you to go, Bill." She put her hand on my shoulder. "You are a friend. You're the only guy I can spend time with and not worry about when you're going to try to grab a boob or get in between my legs."
"Thanks one hell of a lot."
"Don't go all macho masculine on me. You know what I mean. I know you get hard around me, which is sweet, but I think you actually might like me as a person, apart from my tits and there haven't been many guys I've ever known that I could say that about. I like being with you. Don't go off pissed. Stay here and let's get drunk and stoned and have a good time."
"Shit, you can be persuasive when you want to be."
I turned and she hugged me and couldn't help rubbing those sweet yielding mounds against me as she gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was a sisterly kiss, a friend's kiss.
There is no fucking kiss of death in the world that can compare to a sisterly kiss from a girl you want to be more than a friend to. But what could I do? I was a nice guy, and we all know how that story ends.
So I want back in and we shot pool and took a dip in his heated indoor pool and watched a porno featuring John Holmes and ate caviar on crackers, drank Tequila and shooters until we both puked, and then smoked about a pound of pot while watching a Three Stooges marathon and both laughed until we puked again.
I loved that she loved The Three Stooges. Girls generally didn't get The Stooges. Oh, they say they do, but they don't. How often would I ever meet a girl who got The Stooges and could also honestly say that her boobs were bigger than the starlet in the John Holmes feature.
"Did you ever notice that I have big boobs," she said at some point during the evening.
"Nope, I can honestly say I've never noticed," I said with almost a straight face and then both of us started laughing so hard we nearly strangled.
I came into and out of consciousness and at one point I noticed a big, dark haired Latin type sitting cross legged with us with Debbie's head in his lap. He leaned over to kiss her and I started to say something.
He looked up at me and said, "So you're the hero, huh. You don't look so tough."
Debbie opened her eyes and seemed to see him for the first time and rolled to one side and then sat up.
"He's tough enough, Ramone, tough enough. I don't think you would have done what he did, and you would have had a reason to defend me. He was a stranger."
"He's a nobody, a kid, Cara Mia. You can't possibly –"
"He's a man, Ramone. Being a man is more than having a big dick. You're born with that. You have to become a man and, in that, you don't measure up."
"You're just hurt, Cara. She meant nothing to me. She had just...heard about me and...had to satisfy her curiosity. She caught me in a weak moment."
"I was hurt, but that was then. This is now. Get the hell away from me."
"Cara-"
He had grabbed her and was pulling her into his embrace.
It was more of a drunken slap than a punch, but it caught him on the side of the face and in the process of rising it caught him off balance and he went down. An instant later he was up.
God damn, but he was big. He looked down on me from about six and a half feet, all lean muscle and sinew. At that moment I really didn't care.
"You're a little punk," he said, staring down on me with the contempt that big men always have for a little man.
"A little punk who's going to kick your ass."
There were guys in waiters' white uniforms and two black guys even bigger and better put together than Ramone between us and then CC was standing between us.
"Guys, guys, let's not put a damper on the party. No rough stuff."
He smiled up at the glowering Ramone and then over at me and came over and put one chunky arm around my shoulders.
"Hey, I got an idea. Everybody, everybody who's still able to move. Get your asses out to the vans. We're going to fly down to Miami, be there in an hour or two and you can spend all day tomorrow on my dad's yacht in the Bay. You don't even need to bring along clothing if you don't want to. That's right, clothing optional. Come on."
To a chorus of drunken cheers, the crowd was herded out to a fleet of vans in the driveway. I looked over at Debbie. She stared at Ramone with sheer malice in her eyes and then as he watched came over to me and tucked her arm in mine, making sure to rub a big titty all over me as Ramone simmered.
"Let's go, Bill. For once, don't do the right thing. Just come with me and stop thinking about things."
I could have resisted her as easily as I could have flown away under my own power. A few hours later I woke up in the shade of a tent that had been pitched on a gently rolling polished deck. A soft roundness cushioned my head and someone gave me a gentle kiss on the back of my head.
"Back in the land of the living?"
"Maybe. At this moment I'm not really sure."
"Let's get you some coffee and something to eat if you can keep it down."
Within 10 minutes ship's crewmen dressed in starchy whites had given me two cups of the best coffee I'd ever tasted and within a half hour Eggs Benedict, waffles, crisp thick cut bacon, hash browns with mushrooms AND caviar, oysters on the half shell, Oysters Rockefeller, some kind of vaguely Arabic dip with thick cut potato chips and a half dozen more items.
Because I'd grown up respectably poor, I'd never eaten like that before and I'd developed a taste for things I couldn't afford that I didn't think I'd ever shake. I was in heaven.
It didn't hurt that due to some physiological quirk I'd never understand, I didn't' get hangovers no matter how drunk I got the night before.
Over the next few hours the guests and CC did the meet and greet thing, I met some beautiful girls and interesting guys, a few of them very wealthy but not in CC's category.
At some point in the early afternoon, somebody suggested skinny dipping. There was a microsecond of hesitation and then one guy slipped off a pair of tiny blue Speedos and stood proudly in the Miami sunshine. Then the women started stripping and I started getting a hard-on, which grew as first one and then another set of tits and firm asses were bared.
Finally Debbie looked around and as if challenged, stood up and reached down to take my hand. This time I shook my head no. This I wasn't up to, particularly looking at Ramone by the side of the ship. He had a dick that would have given a stallion an inferiority complex and he looked at Debbie with an air of complacent ownership.
She gave me a look I couldn't read and walked toward the railing. She slipped her blouse off, the bra underneath it in one quick motion and stepped out of her shorts and panties. Even the other women stared.
She had a perfect hourglass figure, slender waist and round heart-shaped ass. As she turned to stare at me with another impenetrable glance, her breasts swung on her chest, great teardrop fruit topped by heavy, swollen nipples sticking out more than an inch, the saucer-shaped, plate-sized pink areola puffed out as well. I'd never seen anything so perfectly 'suckable' in my life.
Then she was over the side in one fluid motion, followed by other women and men. Ramone just gave me a nasty smile, swung that dick and then went over the side. In the next few minutes I could hear laughter, shouts, squeals, hoarse grunts. If they weren't fucking they were doing a really good imitation.
"If you're thinking they're fucking, you're right."
I looked up and had to shade my eyes for a moment as the bright Miami sun sent bolts of brilliant lightning into my brain. By the time my vision had cleared, she was sitting beside me on one of the deck chairs that littered the deck.
She was a leggy brunette, hair cropped short to the base of her neck, but, despite the cut, there was no doubt she was female. She wore a pair of shorts cut way beyond THERE. I thought I might have spotted a few curly wisps from her crotch that proved she was a natural brunette. The rest of her, in a light blue tee shirt over what obviously were unencumbered C-cup breasts, was nice. She was pretty as well, not in Debbie's league, but pretty with nice lips and deep brown eyes, kind of a little pug nose. Not beautiful but cute. Perky would probably be the best word.
"I'm sorry?"
She reached out in an old-fashioned handshake, which I took, and said, "You're Debbie's pet. You probably already know this, but she's down there fucking and sucking Ramone, and probably every other guy she can get her hands or mouth or pussy around."
"And you are? And why the fuck should I care who she's fucking and sucking?"
"It's okay, Bill. Don't get pissed. You have to know she's the village pump. She's fucked every guy on this boat, probably most of the crew and maybe some of the caterers. I'm Amy, Amy Sunderland."
She gave me a penetrating look.
"You do know she's the classic definition of a nymphomaniac, don't you? Ramone is bigger than a horse, and he couldn't keep her satisfied by himself. She used to pull trains with four or five guys and nearly work them to death."
I sat back and sipped at a Tequila Sunrise and wondered how a small town boy wound up in a sybaritic dream of a floating orgy while my mom undoubtedly thought I was hitting the books in my lonely little Gainesville apartment.
"Again, Amy, I appreciate the news flash, but I'm just laying here enjoying the sun and a break from classes and wondering why you think I'm keeping tabs on Debbie's activities."
She reached out and laid one slim hand on my leg.
"Don't be so defensive, Bill. Everybody here knows the story. You risked your life to save her from a gangbang she was probably looking forward to, despite her sob story about being drugged and set up. And she's been trotting you out and showing you off to her friends as her newest acquisition. She and her friends have a lot of cars and clothes and jewelry to show off, but nobody else has a genuine hero. You're the flavor of the month."
"But, I wouldn't get used to it," she said. "She goes through guys and cocks faster than condoms, when she feels like using them."
She rubbed my knee a little harder and slid her hand higher. Despite myself, I started to get hard.
"With all this information, you must be one of her good friends," I said tongue in cheek.
She smiled. She had a nice smile.
"We're acquaintances. Debbie doesn't have any friends – male or female. She has girls she uses and guys she fucks. Debbie is all about Debbie."
"Everybody looks out for themselves, Amy. What do you want?"
She smiled and the tip of her tongue darted out as she said, "What do you think?" and ran her hand up to cover and squeeze my already-hard cock. I thought about it for perhaps a fraction of a micro-second, if that.
"Lead on."
Five minutes later we were in a cabin downstairs as spacious as most hotel rooms and I was firmly inside her. She felt good and she smelled good, her lips tasted sweet and her ass was perfectly fine to hold onto while I pumped into her as fast and hard as I could. I thought I was going to cum quickly but I didn't and I was just as happy to settle into a rhythm.
On each downward stroke she gasped and grunted a little and dug her fingernails into the backs of my arms, every once in a while murmuring, "yes...yes...like that..that..."
I pulled her legs over my shoulders, which tended to be my favorite position because it allowed you a full stroke and she moaned a little more often. I happened to glance at her face and noticed her eyes open and a smile on her lips. She was looking at something behind me.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I slowed and looked behind me. Debbie stood in the doorway. She had her shorts and a top back on. Her golden hair hung heavily around her shoulders, still wet. There was no expression on her face, none at all.

I felt bad for just an instant, guilty. Why, I had no idea. She wasn't mine and you can't cheat on a friend.
I started fucking Amy even harder and this time she did gasp and groan as I hit bottom, hitting her hard enough to bounce us on the bed.. I wasn't showing off. Or maybe I was. When I looked back around the doorway was empty.
Suddenly I couldn't hold back and I was gushing into Amy's warm center and she was putting a death grip on my arms as her pussy spasmed around me. Then I fell to lay beside her and we both tried to get our breath back.
"It never fails," she said in a whisper. "Guys get a whiff of her and they start squirting. I wish to hell I could figure out what she's got, other than the obvious."
I wisely kept my mouth shut.
When I got back up on deck I learned that Debbie had taken a water taxi into Miami with a couple of girls and guys. They were going to do a little shopping. I didn't see them again until 7 p.m., when I rode in to the small private airfield where CC kept his private jet waiting.
As I stepped toward the midsection of the plane I noticed Debbie sitting there in the window seat. There were seats set out in rows of three. I hesitated but then sat down on the outside seat facing the other window in the same row, directly across from her.
She looked toward the window and the front. Anywhere but at me. We didn't say anything for a few minutes as the plane readied for takeoff.
When we were in the air, I leaned over to her and said, "If I didn't say it before, thanks for twisting my arm to come with you. It was fun."
She still wasn't looking at me.
"I could see that. How long did it take that bitch to get your cock out? Thirty seconds? You must have given her a real tussle."
"It just came up," I said and I couldn't help grinning.
She turned to me and gave me a look that would have frozen water.
"I noticed you weren't wearing a condom. If you start getting any burning when you pee, see a doctor. That skank probably is passing around a half dozen known bugs and some that medical science hasn't' named yet. You'll be lucky if you just get the clap."
I couldn't believe she actually seemed jealous, pissed at least. I'd never seen her that way since the first day she walked into my room.
"That's funny, Deb. She thinks very highly of you."
If a look could have stripped flesh from bone, hers would have.
"I know just exactly what that scummy bitch thinks of me. I bet she told you I was giving Ramone and every other guy a blowjob and a fuck in the water, didn't she? Well, watch Ramone carefully when he gets off this plane and you'll see he's limping a little. That's what happens when you nearly get one of your balls torn off.
"I told the son of a bitch to let me alone but he wouldn't listen. He really thinks that if he just flashes that dick in front of a woman she turns to jelly. He's been reading and watching too much porn."
She turned her gaze back to me and said, "And you, you moron, you wouldn't take off your shorts because you didn't want me comparing your dick to Ramone. That was it, wasn't it?"
When I didn't answer, she shook her head.
"Guys! You think we walk around with tape measures and if you're a quarter inch shorter than another guy we're going to throw you back. If it wasn't so stupid, it would be funny."
She lowered her voice.
"Look, Ramone is a freak. Nobody I know of has got a dick like his. Anybody that hangs with us knows about him. Guys bring their girlfriends around and, if the girl is any way decent, their guy doesn't need to worry about being ditched. Of course, he nails a lot of the girls who pass through CC's. But..."
Her voice got even softer. I had to strain to hear her, but I heard every word.
"You already must know that I was with him - and he was fantastic. There is something..exciting...about being with somebody that big. But it wasn't just his dick. I...cared for him. I really did. I didn't go with anybody else while I was with him, but the bastard couldn't keep it in his pants and I finally realized he never would.
"So, I dumped him and I dated a few guys and then another winner got me drunk and doped me for that gang bang that you interrupted. I've been having a lot of luck with guys recently."
Her expression softened.
"I wish you had gone swimming with me. We would have had fun."
She shifted back to stern.
"But you would rather have been fucking that slut. They talk about me, but she's been fucked so many times by doubles and gang bangs it's a wonder you didn't fall in."
If I'd said, "it would have been a hell of a way to go," I think she would have slugged me so I just leaned back in the seat and I was snoring, according to her, before we'd been in the air ten minutes.
Of course, five days later I was on fire when I pissed and I wound up at the campus health center and taking pills and wishing that I wasn't such an easy lay. Debbie laughed until she almost choked when she came by my apartment two days later and she could hear me moaning when I peed.
"A friend would not take enjoyment in another friend's pain," I told her sternly.
"Just remember this the next time you start thinking with your dick.... friend."
The summer went by and we went out for pizza, went to a couple of campus plays, took in some movies on campus and off. Mostly we just hung out at my place, helping each other with our classes because we were both going full time all year, watching TV, talking about girls and guys and sex and life and what we wanted to do with our lives.
She was so smart it was scary. I'd always known I was book smart, but she was one of the few girls I'd ever known who could match me and didn't bother to hide how smart she was. I guess when you're built like she was and looked like she did, you could be smart and guys would still be all over you.
The summer went by even though I wanted it to stop, to stay. I loved every minute I spent with her and she seemed to enjoy my company. I knew this was going to end sooner or later. She could have been going out with a different guy every night, being wined and dined and having serious money spent on her.
I wanted to ask her every day and every night why the hell she was wasting so much time on me, but I could never get the words out.
Then it was Friday, July 19. I hadn't seen Debbie in nearly two weeks, which was kind of unusual. But I'd been busy getting ready for end of course exams as she had and she'd been doing stuff with her family, including going out of town to Disneyworld for a week.
I was still jerking off to fantasies of her as regularly as ever, but I missed her. I'd gotten to like her razzing me and grabbing a pizza on the spur of the moment and talking about anything and everything that popped into our heads.
She had called me a couple of days before to let me know she was back in town. As usual, we didn't make any plans. She popped in on me whenever the spirit moved her.
This time, I decided, I was going to be the one popping in. Let me take her out for once. Even if it wasn't a real date, it would feel more like one.
I had a 1969 Volkswagen Bug that my mom had bought in '80 and I had kept running. I thought it would probably be the only time Debbie had ever had the experience of squeezing into a Bug on a night out.
I pulled up to her sorority house, a two-story structure on sorority row. Or rather, I had planned on pulling into the drive in front but it was a Friday night and the place was jumping. I had to pull into a parking space nearly a block away. It was almost 7 p.m. but still fairly light.
I was walking toward her sorority wearing my best jeans and a short sleeved shirt and clean tennis shoes, thinking what it would like to walk up like a real date when I saw her walking out of the front door. She wasn't alone.
A tall black guy had his arm around her waist and as I watched, he leaned down because he must have been 6-6 or 6-8. She leaned into him and kissed him.
I stood there and watched the two of them walk out without letting go of each other. He took her to a white Caddy and opened the passenger side, giving her another kiss as she stepped in. It wasn't unwelcome. She stretched up to kiss him again. Then he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.
I thought I recognized him. He was Owen Davis-Smith, junior center for the Gators and a lock to go with a million-plus contract to the NBA during the next year. I had even seen him play a couple of times when I'd been given tickets to a few Gator games.
I stood there in the rapidly dying sunlight, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming 18-wheeler.
I couldn't think for a minute. Why was I so surprised? Not surprised, stunned. Why shouldn't she be going out on a date on a Friday night? I hadn't called her, hadn't asked her if she was free. I'd just assumed that she was waiting by her phone for the pleasure of my company.
I didn't even realize what I was doing until I found myself walking back to my Bug, starting it and heading after them. It was stupid. She was out on a date. What the hell was I doing? But I followed their tail lights as they drove away from Sorority Row toward the city's Restaurant and Nightclub Row.
The traffic was fairly heavy for Gainesville but I stayed with them. I wasn't thinking about what I was doing, maneuvering automatically while my head was somewhere else. The Caddy pulled into Merriweather's. Why wasn't I surprised?
It was crowded but not full so when the Caddy pulled into a spot about two rows from the entrance, I was able to find a spot two cars over.
I looked over and through the windows of two cars I saw a blonde head and a black one exchanging kisses and then I saw her head vanish, reappear, drop again and reappear and I didn't need to be a genius to know what I was looking at. She had told me that guys loved her mouth and I could understand why.
Finally it stopped and she rose again and wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. They kissed again and then he came around to open her door. I just slid down in my car and they walked in with his arm around her. I didn't think I'd seen them separated since they'd walked into my view at the sorority house. It was as if they couldn't stand to be apart for even a second.
They vanished into Merriweather's. I thought about leaving. I was still thinking about it an hour and a half later when they walked back out to the Caddy. They were laughing at something. She poked him in the side with her elbow and pretended to swing at him. He caught her hand and pulled her into another hug. It wasn't even a kiss. It was the hug of two people who knew and enjoyed each other.
I followed them to Bugsy's, a pretty hot nightclub on the east side of town where they stayed until 1 a.m. and then to a private home on the city's west side near Highway 301. It was a two-story Tudor.
He pulled into a two car garage and closed it down behind the car. The lights came on in the living room, then in an upstairs room, probably a bedroom. After about 30 minutes the lights went off.
I sat in the darkness until 3 a.m. when I finally regained sanity. It felt like I had literally been out of my mind, not there, for hours. I tried to think back and remember what was going through my head, but there was only a blank there.
This was crazy, literally crazy. A girl I knew and had been hanging out with for a few months had gone out on a date, given some lucky, rich, talented bastard a blow job, and now was being fucked silly in his bed. It happened every night somewhere. She wasn't my girlfriend, my wife, the love of my life. She wasn't cheating.
No, she was just doing what any healthy, beautiful young woman her age should be doing on a Friday night and I was hiding in the dark, stalking her, spying on her like some jealous psycho. This wasn't me. I'd never been like this about any woman.
I drove back to my apartment. It was 3:30 in the morning. Two of my roommates' doors were closed, with the traditional tie around the doorknob. What were the odds both those bastards would get lucky while I was out playing Peeping Tom.
I'd stopped along the way and bought a bottle of Scotch. I sat in the dark, filled a shot glass and started sipping.
I felt the temptation to slip away into that warm and comfortable haze again but stopped myself. It felt like scratching at a scab over a bleeding wound. It hurt a little and made it possible to ignore the terrible pain just below the surface.
I had thought we were friends. We had joked and laughed together and once in a while she had swatted at me, or punched me in the ribs when I was aggravating her. But she had never hugged me like that, never kissed me except in that 'sisterly' way, never held me THAT way.
She and Owen were friends, probably bed buddies. Debbie and I were...what? Nothing except a girl hanging out with a guy she felt gratitude toward and probably more than a little pity.
But I guess I must have known deep down. It was why I had never gotten up the courage to pat her ass, to try to kiss her, because ours was a mostly one-sided friendship, one-sided on my side.
The asshole who was fucking Debbie was tall, athletic, rich and had a life ahead of him I couldn't even come close to imitating. I'd never had a chance from the very beginning, not from the night at the frat house.
Why the fuck had she come to see me? Why the fuck had she played at being a friend, joking about blow jobs and masturbation and keeping me constantly revved up, knowing she'd never touch me the way she'd touched that black bastard.
Half the bottle of Scotch had vanished and Mark and one of my other roommates, Dave, were holding me down while two girls shouted in the background. My right hand hurt like hell and my head was hurting from all the yelling. I didn't know what the hell was going on.
My tongue felt fat and heavy but I managed to mumble, "Mark, what....what..."
Mark had my right hand which throbbed with my heartbeat held down with the weight of his body.
"Bill, Bill, calm down. Stop fighting us. Just stop man."
"Mark...what....let me up....let me up..."
"I will, Bill, as soon as you relax. Stop fighting us. Can you relax?"
I lay back and realized I was on my bed. After a moment, Mark and then Dave eased up and somebody turned on the overhead light and I looked around numbly.
It looked like a tornado had swept through the room. The chairs were snapped and lay in pieces, the dresser had been overturned and the contents strewn around the room and there was a big, big damn hole in the wall next to the bed.
Mark and Dave warily got off the bed and left me lying there. Two girls in various states of nudity came up behind them to stare at me warily.
I realized my hand hurt so bad I wanted to scream. I looked down at it and it looked like I was wearing a red catcher's mitt.
"What-"
"That's what we'd like to know," Mark said, kneeling down beside the bed. "We were...sleeping..and all of a sudden all hell broke loose in here. You had the door locked and were throwing stuff around. We had to kick the damned thing down. By the way, you're going to have to pay for these repairs."
I looked at the hole in the wall and at my hand.
"All you," Mark said. You punched right through the sheet rock and I think you might have broken one or two of the two-by-four support beams. I think you broke your hand all to pieces as well."
Memory flooded back into me.
"Get me to the emergency room, Mark. I'll pay for all the repairs. I'm sorry."
"What happened, Bill?What in the world happened?"
"Growing pains, Mark. I just grew up tonight. I'll explain it to you someday."
Despite all the booze I'd had during the night, I was feeling stone cold sober, mostly cold. I wanted to shiver, despite it being in the 70s. After a few tense minutes, Mark and Dave helped me up and I staggered with Mark to my Bug.
I spent five hours at the Shands Teaching Hospital emergency room where I was x-rayed and splinted and told if I was lucky, I might not have done any permanent damage to the bones, tendons and tissues of my right hand and wrist.
I insisted on driving Mark back to our apartment. It was 9 a.m., the sun was shining and Gainesville was green and beautiful. He got out and was getting ready to come around to my side when I said, "I'm not coming in, Mark. I'll be back in a few days, but I think I'm going to go home."
It felt good to be alone and on the road from Gainesville back to Jacksonville, driving through the small towns and rural countryside of Alachua County. Then I was back on Jacksonville's west side and pulling into the driveway of the small, two bedroom house that had been my home for more than a decade.
I was turning the key in the front door when it opened and my mother took one look at me and gasped, then wrapped her arms around me. She was a small woman, but she seemed to envelop me.
"Oh, Bill...."
"It's OK, Mom. I just want to sleep."
She followed me to my old bedroom, which she'd kept untouched as if I'd never left. I didn't even pull back the sheets. I lay down on my old bed and collapsed into the soothing darkness.
I was disoriented when I woke up. The sun was shining through my bedroom window. Had it been only a few minutes?
My mother was sitting on the bed next to me.
"How long.....?"
"It's Sunday morning, Bill. You slept more than 24 hours."
I rolled on my back and held my hand in its cast up to see if it was still throbbing.
"Why don't you ever listen to your mother, Bill?"
I just gave her a curious look.
"I was trying to spare you. I knew she was going to hurt you, to hurt you bad, and she has. She will again if you go back to her."
I just looked at her.
"You kept calling her name out. I knew you were seeing her and I knew this was coming. She is beautiful and you're a man and I knew you were going to want her, but she is no good."
I lay back and took a deep breath. My heart was beating and so I was still alive. I'd survived the worst night of my life. I hoped it would the worst night I'd ever know.
"We're done, Mom. No need for more warnings."
I stayed in Jacksonville for two days and went back to my apartment. It was awkward wiping my ass with my left hand, I couldn't write worth a damn and driving was a pain but it was okay. Then she called.
Mark poked his head in my door the following Friday and said, "Debbie's on the phone."
"Tell her I'm not in. You haven't seen me today. No, tell her I'm visiting my mom in Jacksonville."
He looked at me with a surprised expression. I hadn't told anybody except my mother, and that an edited version, of what had happened.
"Tell her, Mark."
Saturday I stayed at the campus library till past 9 p.m. when they threw me out, hit a McDonald's for a late supper and saw a movie at the Campus Union, making myself as invisible as possible. I didn't get home until nearly 2 a.m.
Mark had a tie on his door knob but when I walked in he opened it, stuck his head out because he was obviously not wearing anything and said, "She came by about 9 p.m. and again at midnight. What is wrong with you, man?"
"Leave it alone, Mark."
I avoided her the rest of the week, once sitting quietly in my locked room while Mark apologized saying that I had been playing the mystery man for more than a week and they hadn't seen me much. Mark knocked a few times and finally told me through the door, "It's alright. She walked out and drove off."
He stepped inside my room and said, "I'm your friend and roommate, Bill. Explain to me how any sane, straight male could send that away over and over."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Someday. Not now."

He shook his head.
"Who the hell would have thought it would happen to you, of all people. You know this is hopeless, right? You can't hide from her forever."
"I can try."
Forever lasted until the following Monday. I was walking into my sociology class when she stepped out in front of me. I had to put on brakes to avoid bouncing into her and I didn't want, above all, couldn't handle hitting those tits.
"If I didn't know better I might almost think you're avoiding me."
I didn't look her in the eye, just stared beyond her to the doorway leading into the lecture hall and said, "Sorry, Deb, but I have to get in there. I can't afford to be late."
As I tried to slip around her she moved to block me and I had to raise my eyes to meet hers. There was a hint, but not quite, of a smile on her lips.
"Yeah, I know. They'll throw you out of college if you're late to a sociology class during the summer session. They're really strict this time of year."
I had done everything I could do to avoid this, but it was here.
"Look, Debbie. I really do have to get to class. Don't take this the wrong way, but I've got things I've got to get done and I don't have the time to sit around and talk."
"You really are avoiding me, aren't you?"
I met her gaze straight on.
"Yeah. We, uh...I just decided that there's no point....no point in our spending time together any more."
"So hanging with me for a pizza or talking in your room or seeing a movie once in a while is just too much of a strain on your over-booked social schedule?"
Then she noticed my right hand for the first time and her eyes widened.
"What happened? Did-"
"No, this wasn't Ramone or any of your legions of boyfriends warning me off, just an accident. Anyway, Debbie, I appreciate your taking the time to take in movies with me and talk, but it's not going anywhere and it never will. You need to go back to your kind of friends, and I'll go back to my life. It's been fun, but..."
"Just like that?"
"No, I thought about this a lot. We're two entirely different kinds of people. Two different lives. It makes no sense whatsoever for us to hang out. Thank you, but let's call it quits."
"You didn't think about talking with me about this?"
"About what, Deb? We're friends. We hang out. I like you, you like me, but we're just friends and our lives and our interests would have split us apart sooner or later. We're not 'breaking up.' You have to have been together to break up. We were never together. I'm not going to run away when I see you, but I have my own friends, things I do and they're not things I would do with you. Maybe we'll see each other around. We probably will. I hope you don't take this the wrong way."
She stepped back.
"Oh. When you put it that way, I won't."
She gave me a look I couldn't read, but that happened a lot with her.
"See you around....friend."
She walked away without looking back. When she was gone I sagged against a wall, feeling like I'd been gut punched.
I didn't see her, or at least talk to her, for two weeks. I saw her a few times, but she just nodded at me as she walked the campus with friends. A few times I saw her friends huddle around her as we passed, but they never said anything to me. I thought it would get better with time, but I was wrong.
It was near midnight on a Thursday two weeks later. I was lying on my bed reading a beaten-up paperback version of a late 1960s alternate history science fiction novel called "Pavane," particularly the section titled "The Signaller." It was the saddest damned thing I'd ever read, the story of lost love and what it means to live forever without love.
I'd been reading it when I was 15 years old and Sarah Newman, whom I'd loved deeply and without measure as only a high college sophomore could love, had told me she'd fallen in love with the 6-foot-4 right guard of the Lee High Commodore football team. It had taken me a summer to bounce back and I'd read "The Signaller" probably a hundred times.
For some reason it had become my emotional touchstone whenever my heart was broken. Since I was alone, and would be alone forever, reading about somebody even worse off than me had a thebangutic effect.
I envisioned my lonely life through my twenties and thirties and forties and beyond. I would have affairs and there would be women. As a successful and dashing attorney there would be women, but there would be an unyielding mass of ice where my heart had been that would never thaw.
I realized objectively how silly I was being, but I hurt too badly. I wished a thousand times I had never taken that frat house job and never got mixed up in Debbie Bascomb's life. Then realized that no matter what happened, I was glad I was there for her that night.
The door to my room swung open and she was standing in the doorway. I absentmindedly noted the low-cut blouse that showed the swells of those D-cups, the tight white slacks that hugged her curves. But it was her eyes that drew me in. Her lips seemed thinner and her cheekbones more pronounced. We just stared at each other for a couple of minutes and I wondered if I'd fallen asleep and was dreaming.
"How did you..."
"I had a key made," she said, showing it to me.
"What....what are you doing here?"
"I talked to Dave the other day. He told me how you hurt your hand."
When I didn't say anything, she stepped into the room, knelt beside the bed and took my cast hand in her two hands.
"What happened Friday night, Bill? That Friday night."
I remained silent.
"Everything changed that night. What happened? Why did you smash up your room and run home to Momma and decide you didn't want to be around me anymore?"
I still couldn't talk.
"Did you see us, Bill? Is that what this is all about. I didn't see you. Were you at the restaurant, or the nightclub?"
"I didn't see anything except your black boyfriend that night."
I didn't recognize my voice.
"And his cock. When you were sucking him off in his Caddy."
"You were spying on us? Why?"
"I decided for once I was going to surprise you. Got dressed and went to pick you up, but after I saw you loving on your friend I realized you were never going to have any room in your life for a stupid asshole like me."
"You followed us."
"You do have a head on your shoulders. Yeah, I followed you to Merriweather's and saw that blowjob, and to Bugsy's, and then to – that was his house, right? I thought maybe you'd gone there to talk UF basketball with him. But by about 3 a.m. I figured you were in for the night and just gave it up."
"Did you come up and peep in the window? Did you see him fucking me? Did you see him hammering that big black dick of his in my pussy. Did you jerk off watching us? Isn't that what peeping toms and voyeurs and perverts do?"
"No, sorry to disappoint you. I just sat out there in the darkness while you were fucking him and finally figured out there was no you and me and there never would be. I'm slow. It took me months to figure it out. You threw me with those conflicting signals. But I finally got the message."
"You're slower than fucking molasses, Bill. Slower than snails. And perceptive as a rock. The first month or so after we met, I did go out with other guys, and I fucked them. But..."
She straightened up and did something that made those phenomenal breasts quiver deliciously. I was enjoying the show. I doubted I'd ever get as good a view again.
"I started enjoying the time I spent with you. You're a smart, funny guy. You treated me with respect and I could tell you...had feelings for me, even if you never said anything. I enjoyed being with you and – I just stopped seeing other guys. I figured, sooner or later.... That's what CC was talking about. They couldn't believe it.
"It got to be a month, and two months and three months that we'd been hanging out, dating without calling it dating. I was wondering if you might be gay, until I saw you with Amy. Then I realized you were just stupid, and last Friday Owen called me. We've known each other since I was 15. We both went to Forrest."
She stared at me defiantly.
"I like fucking him. He is good. Of course his dick's a little small. He says he's the only black guy he knows with a white man's dick, but he knows how to use it, and, I like him. I was also getting very, very horny. I've never gone three months without some action, not since I was 13. So since you've NEVER asked me out on a date and you hadn't called me, I went out with him. I sucked him off and I spent the night in bed with him."
Her voice trailed off.
"So..."
I sat up in bed and looked up at her.
"So why are you here, Debbie? Owen busy with another one of his basketball groupies tonight?"
"Why don't you have any self-confidence, Bill? You act like you're a complete loser. You don't have much money and you're not the most handsome stud on campus, but you're brave and smart and funny and Amy said you were pretty damned good in bed. But you would have let Ramone have me that day on the yacht if I'd been inclined that way. You didn't even try."
"It's called realistic, Debbie. I know what I am and what I'm not. And guys like me don't end up with women like you."
She looked at me sadly.
"No, they don't, if they're like you."
We just looked at each other. I expected her to turn around and leave.
"You know that you've never touched me. You've never tried to kiss me. Girls - women - don't throw themselves at guys. Maybe a slut like Amy. But women want a man to come after them. If you want someone that looks like me, if you want any woman, you have to take a chance. You have to step out. I like guys, but I'm not going to lay there and spread my legs and beg a guy to take me. I'm better than that."
She stepped as close to the bed as you could get without being on it and looked at me with a gaze that was partly challenge, and partly hope and partly fear.
"You may not be the best looking guy I've ever been with, not the biggest, damn well not the richest. But I think you're the best guy I've ever been with. It doesn't matter though because we'll never be together if you don't grow a set of balls.
"You have to take what you want, Bill. So, the question is, do you want me?"
I knew that someday I'd regret this because I knew that someday she'd tear the heart out of my chest and leave me bleeding. I knew what I should do. But I did what I'd known deep down I was always going to do, no matter what it cost me.
I rose from the bed and pulled her down to me.
"More than my last breath..."
##################
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2005
"How could I have forgotten all of that, doctor? Am I really crazy?"
Teller leaned forward and puffed on his pipe. She had told him what had happened with her aunt and the aftermath in which the embittered older woman had predicted a betrayal by Bill that apparently had never occurred, but which had sunk into Debbie's brain deeply enough to color her feelings toward her ex-husband.
He let the redolent smoke out of his lungs and allowed himself to feel a measure of self-satisfaction. He now had a pretty good handle on the forces that had wrecked the Maitland marriage. Most, if not all, of the pieces had fallen into place. Debbie Bascomb hadn't quite put them all together and he wouldn't push the pace.
For her sake it was important that they came out at the proper time. She needed to accept and understand what had happened, her role and responsibility and her ex-husband's responsibility as well. Psychiatry was nothing if not a way to learn to live with the actions and mistakes of the past, to accept the reality of what was done and could not be undone, and to find a way to make a new life.
"No, you're not crazy, Debbie. This is a somewhat extreme example of a common phenomena, but it happens often. Memories that are too painful to live with are buried in our subconscious. Embarrassments, disappointments, heartache. They are forgotten over the years and never surface until some event or trauma brings the memories forward."
She leaned forward and clasped her hands together.
"I could understand forgetting what happened to Clarice, but how could I possibly have dreamed that it happened to me?"
He took his pipe out of his mouth, tamped the tobacco down, relit and took in another soothing lungful of aromatic smoke. The delay was deliberate to allow her more time to think about her question. Pipe smoking was a wonderfully innocent way of working delay into a conversation.
"You've told me about the role that your aunt played in your life. You told me that she was your second mother in every important way. In fact, she was a combination of a mother and sister. When you were going through your wild teenage years, she was the woman you trusted with your deepest secrets you couldn't go to your mother with. She was the person who never betrayed your trust, who always – to use the common expression – had your back no matter what."
Debbie's eyes misted.
"She was a wonderful woman. I miss her more now than I did after she died. I guess...I guess forgetting what happened was a way of forgetting how much I lost when she died. If she....if her marriage hadn't collapsed and she had been around when I started to....fall out of love....with Bill, I don't think things would have happened the way they did."
"She would....she would have have made me get my head straight. I can hear her now. She would have told me to either tell Bill I was leaving him or....to...forgive my language but it was what she would have said...fuck him until his eyes crossed and drag his flabby ass to a gym and get him back into shape."
Teller saw the raw emotion and wondered if she had ever come to terms with the emotional impact of her aunt's death. Grief and anger at a cheating husband who had contributed to the older woman's suicide were other parts of the puzzle that she could not have known were poisoning her mind and emotions about her ex-husband while it was happening.
"Even now it's obvious how strongly you felt about her. Even more than the emotional bond was the identification you had with her. She was you in a very real way - blonde, attractive, busty. She taught you, you said, to have pride and confidence in your sexuality and your body.
"Without training, she was able to provide the support and encouragement you needed to transcend what was actually early sexual abuse by older men. Women who are initiated into sex at such an early age often fall into a destructive pattern of sexual relationships that mirror those early experiences. With her help and guidance you grew into a strong, sexually aggressive but sexually healthy woman."
He released another plume of tobacco smoke and observed the tears streaming slowly down her face.
"What happened, psychologically speaking, was that you saw yourself in your aunt as her marriage collapsed and she desperately sought the approval and sexual desire of other men to replace what she had had with her husband. You knew, consciously, that the assault happened to your aunt but, in your subconscious mind, you saw yourself as the victim. Because she was you and you had mirrored her life experiences."
She nodded.
"I can see that. I told you about my nightmare....the one where I saw myself growing old and my breasts were drooping..I looked so damned old. It was terrifying. I know now that I was reliving the way I felt when I was cleaning her up in the shower afterwards. She didn't look that bad, but I couldn't believe she was that old. She wasn't even 60, but she had gotten so old...so old...."
Teller nodded. She was putting the pieces together.
"She had always been so beautiful. When I was a little girl I wanted nothing more than to look like her. Men loved her. Even married men who were friends of her husband were always flirting with her. She told me once she'd never be unfaithful to her husband, but that there was nothing as exciting as knowing another man wanted her. I guess...."
"What?" Teller asked gently.
"That was the way I was with Bill. I loved him, the lazy bastard, and I never cheated on him after we got together in college, but I loved teasing men. I loved knowing they wanted me and I never really thought there was anything wrong with it. That was Clarice."
Teller probed a little more deeply.
"In the bad years at the end of your marriage, when you...engaged in manual sex with several men....did you really think that it was acceptable because Bill had betrayed you first, as Clarice's husband had cheated on her?"
She wiped her eyes with one of the tissues in a box in front of her.
"I don't know. I've thought about it. I told him I never believed it, not really. But...I don't know. Do you suppose I really always deep down believed it...and that's why I've been so angry at him?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
She smiled.
"You know, that's the first time you've hit me with typical shrink language, Dr. Teller."
He laughed.
"I know. I couldn't resist. To answer your question, it is possible that doubts about your husband's fidelity, even if you consciously denied it, might have sparked anger at him. Particularly since, just as you identified with your aunt, you probably identified Bill with her husband."
She looked troubled.
"Maybe...but somehow, I don't think that would be enough to have made me ....feel the way I did...do sometimes."
"You're probably right, Debbie. Why don't you think about it until our next session. Try to come up with any other reasons for this deep, stubborn, apparently intractable anger."
He wondered if she would come up with it on her own. She was getting close.
"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, doctor."
"We have a few minutes left on this session. What would you like to discuss?"
"I know we talked about this one time before...but....I appreciate your help. I'm not throwing up and I feel a lot better about myself and my life now. It's just that I can't help wondering what's the point of going much further. Even if I find out what made me so angry at Bill, what purpose does it serve?"
She rubbed her hands together in a classic unconscious exhibition of uncertainty and stress.
"I mean, even if I discover why I was so angry, why I wanted out of the marriage...the fact is I'm out. Our marriage is history. He...I think sometimes he hates me and most of the time I can't blame him. If he had done to me what I did to him, even though I still think he left our marriage first, I'd never forgive him.
"I think sometimes that the only feeling I have left for him is guilt. I know there are times I feel flashes....of something like what I once felt for him. But they're only flashes, so what's the point of finally understanding why everything fell apart."
"I told you once, Debbie, that you could stop these sessions at any time. I think, honestly, that you would eventually figure out on your own the source of the emotions you feel toward your ex-husband. Similarly, although complex, I think you will eventually realize what destroyed your marriage, and he does share a portion of the responsibility for that.
"What you learn about yourself and Bill won't change the past. What happened, happened. The scars you both bear won't vanish. Your marriage is history. But, understanding what happened, and why, might make it easier to form a viable relationship with him in the future. You still share two children and eventually there will probably be grandchildren. You will be part of each other's lives for the rest of your lives.
"No matter what happens between the two of you, you are still a young woman. You will love someone else again. You might yet have more children and start a new life. I can't help but think you will be better able to forge a new life if you understand what led to the end of the old one."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She was silent for a moment.

"Thank you, doctor. You're probably right that we'll always be a part of each other's lives. Right now I'm losing sleep worrying about him and that cop, Shawn Smith. I don't think Bill appreciates just how dangerous he is, just how much danger he is in."
Teller reached out and took her hand in his.
"I'm aware of the situation, Debbie. I think you underestimate your ex. Bill Maitland might be a driven man who takes risks, but I don't think from my experience with him that he's a foolish or reckless man."
"I hope you're right, doctor, but nobody is bulletproof - sometimes I don't think Bill realizes that.
#############################
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2005 3 p.m.
I have two accounts on my office computer. One is my business account, for anything official. The other is a personal account. I'm on the business account a hundred times a day. I'm on the personal account maybe once or twice a week. My mom still isn't real 'hep' with computers, as she would put it. My kids call me on the phone, and there are very few other reasons for anyone to email me.
Because I almost never go on it, I've set up a pinging alarm for any email messages that do come through. If I'm out of the office, it will be pinging when I turn the computer on, and if I'm on, it will give me the same heads up.
The phone had rung five minutes earlier and Cheryl had told me I had Phil Howser, the President of the Fraternal Order of security officer (FOP) union on the line. I had talked with him a number of times over the years and he'd always seemed reasonable and not too hard nosed for a cop and a union rep at the same time.
"What can I do for you, Phil?"
"You really need to ask, Mr. Maitland?"
"You too? It used to be Bill."
He laughed.
"You never can tell. Someone might be listening in. You know they've got your picture up on some of the targets at the shooting range?"
"Seriously?"
"No, but it wouldn't surprise me. You have some guys over here seriously pissed off at you."
I'm not surprised. I'm told that Smith is popular over there. Somebody prosecuting him is not going to get any love letters."
He laughed again.
"I don't know. I think a lot of guys over here would love to screw you."
"A cop that can use puns. Be careful or they'll drum you out. You probably read without moving your lips."
"The only reason I'm not offended about that Bill is that I've been drinking with you at some of the joint State Attorney/Sheriff's office functions and I know you're just yanking my chain. That's why I haven't come down on you with my guys, because I can't see you being the bastard that people are saying you are."
"I'm a sweetheart, Phil, but I'm not going to back off taking the shooting to the grand jury."
"When do you plan on doing it?"
"I'd hoped to get it to them this week, but some other things are going on and the foreman and vice-foreman of the jury both had personal crises pop up at the same time. Technically we don't have to give them time, but they wouldn't be able to concentrate with that stuff on their minds. They've had those positions since the grand jury was convened and they know what they're doing, besides being good leaders. I decided to wait.
"So it will probably be next week, maybe later in the week."
"That gives us a little time. Look, Bill, my guys want me to do SOMETHING. They pay their dues and sometimes they get the feeling they don't get all that much for their money. It would do me good to show them that at least you were willing to meet with us, let us put our two cents in, and maybe, we might change your mind."
"Never going to happen."
"You know that and I know that, but they don't know that.
"I don't have a problem meeting with you, Phil. When and where?"
"How about Friday, at the FOP Hall on Atlantic Boulevard. We don't ever do anything official on Fridays because no one will show up, so it's a good time for the FOP officers and a few key people to meet. Come by and we'll have some coffee and maybe wings and you can talk candidly with us about what's going on. Sound good?"
"Yeah. Let me ask you something before you go. I'm hearing rumbles that Smith is coming apart at the seams. He braced me in the sandwich shop across from the courthouse the other day and I seriously wondered if he was going to try something in front of a dozen witnesses, including four or five armed cops.
"My ex-wife was just in here telling me I need to start carrying a gun because she's hearing the same rumbles over in the PD office. Do I need to start carrying a gun, and if he's having a breakdown, how come the Sheriff is letting him walk around carrying a Glock?"
There was a silence and then Phil said, "He is getting a little raggedy, I'll admit and he's drinking too much. He's got a lot of friends and they're watching him, babysitting him really. Knight won't pull him because he and everybody else thinks if he's removed from duty, it will just make it certain that the grand jury will decide he's crazy and indict him."
Another silence and then: "He's a good man, Bill. Or, he was. The shooting rattled him...a lot. He's killed men before, but I think the way it went down...it even got to him. I didn't say that, if anybody asks, but even his friends know he went too far. Then, afterwards, his fiancee walked away. He, uh...I think he thought she was the one. I don't think he's been right since she left him. Maybe you can understand that."
The computer pinged. I ignored it. I thought about what Howser had said. Yeah, I could understand a man going to pieces after losing a woman.
"Then, the strain of having this grand jury thing over his head so long, and that civil lawsuit that could wipe him out financially, it's all played on his mind. That's why his friends are trying to help him hold it together until this passes, one way or the other."
"Should I start carrying a gun?"
"It probably wouldn't hurt."
I'd almost forgotten the email but after I hung up it popped back into my mind. I called up my personal account and typed in my password.
It was an email from [email protected]. I just looked at it for a long time. Eventually I hit the button and opened it.
"Dear Bill:
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Paris in the Fall is even more beautiful than I remembered it. Jacksonville and St Augustine and your beaches are very different, but I know you love them as I do Paris. I hope you are as happy today as Philippe and I are. We have found that being apart has made us cherish our marriage more than we once did.
I have told Philippe how you showed me your home town and the great kindness you displayed to me while I was there. I will never forget the two weeks we spent in your city. By the by, Philippe also thinks the Fleur de Lis pendant you gave me is exquisite and I want you to know that I wear it proudly. He said it is the kind of gesture he expected from you, because that is the kind of man you are.
As I know you will understand, I cannot express the joy that seeing André again has given me. He is my life, and as I have done every year since he was born, I am having to struggle with the thought of ever going back to the Bonne Chance. Perhaps this year, my decision will be different.
Finally, I hope that you have found peace in your personal life. I do not know what decisions you will ultimately make about your marriage but, regardless of what happens with Debbie, I want you to know that after knowing you for such a short time, I have no doubt you will find a good woman to share your life with.
I hope you will pardon me for making such a personal judgment, but you are not the kind of man who can lead a life of aimless affairs. You need a woman in the center of your life, and you deserve one. Once you get past the pain you are currently in, I know you will find one.
Regardless, Bill Maitland, I want you to know that I will think of you often. When I wear your Fleur de Lis, I will remember you on the Bonne Chance, and in Jacksonville and St.Augustine. Philippe, too, sends his well wishes and wants me to remind you that friendship, like love, transcends distance and time, and that he is your friend.
With deepest regard, your friends, Aline and Philippe."
I didn't' realize until the letters blurred that I was crying.
#############################
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 2005 3 p.m.
The alarm buzzer went off as I stepped through the security booth at the front of the courthouse. The two bailiffs moved toward me drawing their pistols until they both recognized me at the same instant.
I raised my hands into the air very quickly as all activity came to a sudden stop around me.
The nearest bailiff, an older guy with a few springs of whitish hair still sticking up on an otherwise bald head, put his pistol down but didn't holster it as he stepped toward me.
"Mr. Maitland?"
I pulled my coat back to reveal the Glock in a shoulder holster.
"I have a special permit in my jacket pocket if you'll let me get it out, or you can fish it out yourself."
He looked at the other bailiff, then said apologetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Maitland, but could I see the permit. Take it out slowly, okay?"
"Sure, I'm sorry. I meant to take the Glock out and show you the permit before I went through the machine, but my mind was somewhere else.'
I showed him the permit signed by the Chief Judge of the Circuit and Austin Edwards. He looked at it for a moment, then said, "I really am sorry, but do you mind if I call up to the Chief Judge's office. It's just that this is kind of unusual, even for a prosecutor.
"Sure, go ahead," I said, noticing out of the corner of my eye women and men who worked in the courthouse and knew me by sight edging away from me. Just another story to add to my courthouse legend. There were already stories circulating throughout the courthouse about several members of the largely Hispanic night cleaning crews refusing to enter my office, the lair of the "Angel de la muerte," or Angel of Death.
It would have been funny, except they were as serious as hell.
Maybe they had a point. Half the defense attorneys in the building would plead out clients rather than take me on in court and even some of our own people would take the stairs down rather than ride with me in an elevator.
I had asked Cheryl about it a few days before and she had told me, "You probably haven't noticed Bill but, except for the two weeks when that French woman was here, most of the time, if you're not involved in a case, you usually walk around with a frown, or you glower at people. Or...you just...shit, Bill, you walk around looking like your best friend just died. It's kind of a downer."
I hadn't realized it. I hadn't realized it because even before my marriage went south, I hadn't been the most light hearted of guys. The job kept me from being a happy go lucky soul. But I didn't know that somber had shaded into gloomy and I knew that today I was probably grimmer than usual.
My mind kept drifting back to Aline's email. You didn't have to be a genius to read between the lines. She had managed to patch up her marriage and she had her son back. How could I be unhappy at that? I wanted her to be happy, but that meant I'd never see her again. That made me unhappy.
The bailiff interrupted my musings, handing me the permit and apologizing for nearly drawing on me. I assured him there were no hard feelings and took the Glock back after I'd gone through the screening machine again.
I had gotten the Glock from an investigator, oddly enough the one who'd spotted me with Aline at the restaurant, and was given some minimal instruction in how to use it since I hadn't had any firearms training in nearly five years. So now I was carrying and it felt awkward as hell, but I remembered Debbie's words. I didn't want either BJ or Kelly to come to my funeral until they were a lot older.
I had barely walked into my office when Cheryl buzzed me and I picked up the phone. Mitch McConnell, one of our investigators, was on it, talking so fast that at first I couldn't make out what he was saying.
Finally I understood and I nearly dropped the phone.
"Oh shit. What hospital?"
I barely remembered to alert security as I went out but I had a driver waiting before I hit the street and he drove me in one of the SA car pool to Baptist Medical Center and went to park while I headed to the cardiac section. McConnell was waiting for me as I walked into the waiting area.
"How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad," he replied. "Pat Peterson, the cop assigned to watch him, heard him gasping and found him lying on the floor in the bathroom at about 2 p.m. He was having a really hard time breathing and complaining of a pain in his right shoulder and arm. I just talked to the doctor examining him and he said it's pretty obvious he's had a major heart attack."
The treating physician, a youngish cardiologist who looked like he had just started shaving, came out a half hour later and confirmed what McConnell had told me.
Wilbur Bell, our star witness against William Sutton, had had a major heart attack. They'd had to go in and clean out four blocked arteries.
"What's the prognosis?"
"At his age and with his health problems, not real good. I'd give him 50/50 at best of making it through the night - much worse odds of making it a week or two."
"Shit, shit, shit. Look doctor, the State Attorney's Office, that is the state of Florida, will be paying for his care. Do whatever he needs to improve those odds. If you manage to bring him back, my office is going to be very grateful and our gratitude can be very profitable or useful in a lot of ways. Understand?"
"Yeah, but you understand he's an old, very sick man and I'm not a miracle worker. I'll do the best I can, but it's going to be a long shot."
"Sometimes you have to go with what you've got and hope for luck."
Before I left I told McDonnell to arrange with the Sheriff's Office for an around-the-clock security guard to watch over Bell.
"You really think Sutton would try to get to him in a hospital?"
"I don't know, but any man who'd do what he did wouldn't mind throwing the dice if he thought it would save him from the Death Chamber. He or his mother could hire someone. Nature might do his dirty work, but I don't know if he's religious enough to rely on God taking the old man out without some help."
On my way back up to the office, I wondered if I was glowering again. Probably. That son of a bitch Sutton was halfway home to getting rid of his most dangerous witness. Without the old man I wasn't sure I could nail him, and this was entirely out of my hands. There was nothing I could do to alter events. It was up to the doctor, the old man and God. It was, to put it mildly, irritating as hell.
The only good thing about it was that the anger had driven out the sadness of knowing I'd lost the second woman I'd loved in my lifetime. So far I was batting zero for two.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2005 3 p.m.
I sat in my chair behind my desk and thought bad thoughts. Wilbur Bell had made it through the immediate crisis, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. He could still die and the moment he did Barry Mahon would start pushing for a speedy trial to keep us from digging up any other proof we could use against Sutton. Not that I had any idea what possible other evidence we could dig up at this late date.
The phone beeped. Cheryl told me, "You have a visitor."
"Is it who I think it is."
"Yes."
"Would you remind her that we're divorced."
I could hear her from outside my office.
"Would you remind Mr. Maitland, whose ego is swelling beyond all belief since he's lost a little weight, that every woman, particularly every official with the Public Defender's Office, doesn't come up to his office out of uncontrollable lust for his body."
I just grunted. Why the hell did she have to become more like the girl I'd first fallen in LIKE with AFTER we were divorced. If she would just remain a bitch the rules would be clearer.
"Johnny August would just file a complaint with the Big Man if I refuse to see her, so send her in."
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She was dressed in green and white, crisp and trim. She was obviously still hitting the gym religiously. The dress was cut high enough to show off her legs without appearing too slutty. I knew she was still seeing the writer, Clint Abbott, and I wondered who else she was seeing. Looking like this, there had to be someone.
"So what is so urgent from the PD's office?"
"Nothing. I lied."
I just stared at her.
"Oh, get a grip on yourself, Bill. I didn't come here to seduce you. I just wanted to see you packing."
She smiled and I couldn't help remembering the first time we'd met, all those years ago. She had the same smile.
"I heard through the gbangvine that you took my advice and got yourself armed, a shoulder holster and all. I just never thought of you as a pistol-packing prosecutor and I wanted to see what you looked like."
Very slowly and deliberately I opened the jacket I wore and let her see the Glock in its shoulder holster. I'd received a little instruction in the easiest way to reach in with my right hand and slip it out quickly.
"Don't get fancy," my instructor had said. "Get it out, hold it in a two-handed grip, point it in the direction of your target and start squeezing the trigger. The Glock is a fairly rapid fire handgun. You might get all 10 rounds off in a few seconds. Throw as much lead as you can in the direction of the target.
"Don't get fancy, don't worry if you miss with some. Don't pull it unless you're in fear of your life and then do your best to kill the bastard."
"Wow," she said, grinning that same sexy grin I remembered as well as the smile. "It's true what they say. A guy with a big rod is really sexy."
Even as she said it she realized what she'd said and the grin froze. My thoughts probably showed on my face as well.
"I am so damned sorry, Bill...so sorry. We can't even joke around anymore, can we? You know I didn't mean...."
"I know, Debbie. Someday we're going to have to get over tip toeing around...our history. Someday, But anyway, thank you."
"Thank you?"
"I'm carrying this Glock because of your warning, which was echoed by other people. I hope I don't need it, but if I do, I'll have it because of you.
"I hope you don't need it either, Bill. But...I'm glad you have it."
She couldn't think of anything else to say. She turned around and I remembered once again that she was as nice to look at going as she was coming. I must be getting better, because I suddenly wondered what Heather MacDonald or Meagan Whitcomb or even Myra might be doing this weekend.
Debbie might have broken my heart and Aline might have crushed up what few little pieces were still intact, but at least my manhood had been restored. If Debbie could make me horny again, there was still hope for me.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2005 - 3:45 P.M.
As she had walked into her office three doors down from Johnny August she noticed Dennis Leary bending over Annette Nettles' desk, whispering something into her ear. The red-headed PD giggled at something and Debbie could have sworn she reached out to stroke Leary's crotch.
It was only a second and she could have been mistaken, but she was certain of what she had seen, which wouldn't be a problem except that Annette was married to a DEA agent and she had heard some hair raising stories about his exploits in the never-never land between law and disorder that was the DEA. He was a dangerous man by all accounts.
And Leary happened to be the best attorney on the staff, second only possibly to Johnny August. She decided she'd have to keep her eyes open and possibly have an informal chat with both Leary and Nettles. While it wasn't on her list of official duties, keeping your best litigator from being shot by a jealous husband was somewhere in there.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Thinking about jealous husbands, she kicked herself again mentally. It was as if some dark part of her unconscious kept pushing her to say the things that would hurt Bill the most. She really hadn't meant the crack about "big rods" but she'd known the minute it left her lips what it meant to him and she'd seen it on his face.

Why in the fuck didn't all men come with a one-size dick. It would make things so much more simple. Bill could have handled her falling for a taller, younger, flat-stomached stud more easily than the fact that Doug had a bigger dick. It was something that hit men where they lived, pun intended, and women had to walk gently around comparisons of dick size.
Of course she knew a lot of the damage she had inflicted, deliberately, in hot blood. It didn't make it any better because she was furious with him for known and unknown reasons. It still had left scars that she knew went back twenty years to when they had first met. He had always been insecure about his size, and like a miserable bitch, she had aimed her verbal blows at his Achilles heel.
But it didn't do any good to keep kicking herself for what was done. If she could just watch her mouth in the future for similar gaffes, they might one day get to the point where they were just a man and woman who were once married and were still co-parents.
At least, at least she thought with some satisfaction, he had gotten to the point where he could look at her lustfully again. She knew that look and he had been stripping her with his eyes. It had been six months since he could look at her just as a man and not a hurt husband. It was progress.
Leary stepped into her office, grinning like a little boy who had just gotten away with something. Despite herself she felt a tingle where she didn't want to feel a tingle. Damn, she had promised Johnny August to keep her legs together, and she knew he and Bill were friends, and she was getting regular sex from Clint, but still....
"Just wanted to pass on a little bit of knowledge, Ms. Bascomb."
Bill had just given her that look and the Irishman was stripping her with her eyes and her nipples were getting hard and scratchy and she suddenly hoped desperately that Clint was home and free tonight.
"And that would be, Mr. Leary?"
"A friend told me Bill is going to pow-wow with the top brass at the FOP tonight at their headquarters on Atlantic."
"He's going to go into the lair of the enemy? Is he going alone? Does he have a bodyguard with him?"
"I don't know. I don't think so, knowing Bill, because, these guys aren't crazy. Phil Howser, the FOP head, will be there and other top guys. I don't think Bill's in any danger."
"That's probably what Custer told his top lieutenants before the party at the Little Big Horn."
The grin faded and he said, "You really are worried about him, aren't you? Does he know you harbor feelings for him?"
"This whole damned office is nothing but a nest of frustrated romance writers. No, I don't harbor feelings for him. But he was my husband for nearly 20 years. He's the father of my children. Of course I'm worried about him. When is he supposed to go there?"
"I heard 7 or 8 p.m."
"Okay, thanks for the information. And..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Thanks."
He stared at her tits for a moment before leaving. She decided to let the matter with Annette ride. She'd get some information before getting into that.
She knew Leary was right and Bill's going to meet with the FOP was no big deal. Nothing would or could happen. Still....
She got out at 5 p.m., headed to her gym where she sweated for an hour and watched lithe young female bodies whose breasts hadn't started to droop and whose asses were still perfectly firm attract the envious gazes of young and no-so-young men.
She received more than her share of lustful glances, so it wasn't jealousy of those firm young bodies that hurt. They might be better on paper if you were scoring individual features, but she knew that one on one there wasn't a one of these young hardbodies she couldn't walk up to and steal a boyfriend from, without breaking a sweat. Her tits and ass still gave her the edge.
But still, it was depressing. Maybe she was more ripe, more desirable, but it was the ripeness of fruit almost ready to spoil. They had youth and she couldn't match that. The damned clock only ran in one direction, and for her it would always be downhill.
She couldn't shake the depression the gym visit left her with. She was alone. Both BJ and Kelly were out, BJ spending the weekend at her parents and Kelly living there full-time now. She had called and talked to Kelly the night before. It had taken time, but she was beginning to repair the breach between them. It would heal.
She grabbed a Lean Cuisine meal from the freezer and microwaved it, then ate it without tasting it. She thought about calling Clint, but for some reason even that didn't appeal to her now.
It was Bill, she realized. Walking into a building filled with armed cops without a second glance backward. Why the hell would he do something like that when he could have met with them in his office or on neutral ground. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. For a smart man, he could be so stupid.
She looked at the clock. It was 7 p.m. He was already there or soon would be. She walked into the den and turned on the Television from Hell. She had thought about getting rid of it because every time she watched it memories of her old life would come flooding back. Bill had been like a kid at Christmas when he came home one day to find that she had purchased it and had it delivered without telling him.
They had been walking through the Orange Park Mall one day when he'd come across a display for the largest television in the world, with the most gadgets and whistles in the world of electronic entertainment. He had been entranced. Of course, he'd already turned into the world's Number One couch potato.
Their marriage had been dying, but there were times when flashes of the old feeling she'd had for him hit her hard, and it had that day. Maybe it was a way of atoning for the things she had already done to betray him, but she had loved the look on his face when he walked into the den.
Thinking about those days, she watched the television without watching it and at 7:30 she suddenly turned it off with the remote, grabbed her purse and keys and walked into the garage. She got into her 2004 Nissan 350Z, opened the garage door, and pulled out.
She'd just sit outside the FOP Union Hall and listen to her PD security officer scanner with channels the public didn't have access to - just sit outside and never even let Bill know she had been there. It made no sense, but she couldn't sit at home tonight.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2005 - 7 P.M.
I pulled up to the one story building that was the Fraternal Order of security officer union hall. The sprinklers had just shut off and I had to step through puddles on the sidewalk walking up. I opened the door and walked in. There was a hallway with a door leading to a large hall where meetings of the membership were held.
I spotted a big bald guy in uniform in the doorway and he waved to me.
I thought his name was Smith or Jones, something like that. He was a Zone Sergeant, the head man for one of four zones the city was divided into for security officer coverage.
He didn't offer to shake hands, but he didn't spit on me so I supposed that was progress.
"Smith? Jones?"
"Delwin," he said. "Steve Delwin."
"Never forget a name," I said, smiling. He just shrugged. As I walked into the hall I saw about ten men in uniform sitting around a table hitting a coffee pot and three boxes of Ronnie's Wings. I recognized most of them, having met or worked with them over the years.
Phil Howser was a tall, thin guy who hadn't put on two extra ounces since I'd met him nearly ten years before. He got up and came around the table to shake my hand, then introduced me to the guys I knew and a few I didn't.
"Thanks for coming by," he said, then glanced at me again. I was wearing a light jacket because it was getting cool in the evenings.
"You're carrying. Did you get armed because of what I said?"
"You and a few other people," I said.
"You wouldn't have to be carrying if you weren't being such an asshole about Shawn," said a big blonde who I recognized as a Narcotics Task Force Lieutenant named Martin.
"Buddy," Howser said, but I waved him off.
"He has a right to his opinion. I know I'm not popular with a lot of you guys right now. That's why I accepted Phil's invite to come out and talk to you tonight. Could I get a cup of coffee before we start talking?"
We talked for an hour and I went through three cups of coffee. Four of the eleven cops were black but they didn't seem any more irate than the white cops. Maybe it's true they all bleed blue blood.
"I'm doing what I think is right," I told one of one of my harshest critics, a SWAT commander named Meyers. "I know you think I don't have the right to sit in judgment on the actions a fellow cop took in a moment of crisis that I have never gone through. I know you feel a bond for him. But...I understand what you're saying and you have to understand where I'm coming from. When you're on the street, when you're in a crisis situation, you can't wait around for guidance on what to do, for a consensus to form that will guide your actions. You have to take the action you think is right and hope it works out."
"That's where I am. There is no one to tell me what to do. Austin Edwards is the boss, but I'm the guy that has to make the ultimate decision because he's delegated that authority to me and I've been doing it for five years. No matter what happens, I have to live with the result, the fall-out, and I have to be able to look in the mirror when it's all over and live with myself."
I looked over at Lieutenant Martin.
"I know everybody seems to think I have it in for Smith. I have to ask myself, why? They don't give me a bonus every time I send a cop to prison. I don't need any more headlines. I can probably coast on the "Angel of Death" crap until I retire. I didn't know Smith before all this started. We've never crossed paths."
"Maybe it's because you identify with those redneck crackers and especially that wife-beating sub-human who was married to my fiancee before I rescued her."
I looked up and saw Smith standing behind Delwin. The two of them had walked into the back of the meeting quietly. As Delwin moved aside I saw the Glocks in each hand. Delwin threw his hands up.
"He caught me by surprise, Phil. I never expected him to show up here."
Phil put his hand down to his Glock which he carried in a holster at his side. Smith trained one Glock on him, letting the other one wave back and forth.
"Don't do it, Phil. We've been friends for a long time, but if you pull a gun on me to save this piece of shit I'll kill you."
"Shawn, put the guns down. You blow me away and one of these guys will take you down. Look at the odds here. Use your head.
Smith bounced from one foot to the other, moving the pistols in his hands back and forth rapidly. He was either drunk or high, or both.
"You really think so, Phil? You sure one or more of them isn't on my side. How'd I know about this little meet 'n greet where my brothers are plotting with the asshole that's trying to railroad me into prison. Maybe a few of them are with me, and when you guys start firing, the guy next to you you're counting on you to have your back is going to blow your brains out. You willing to take that chance."
The cops sitting around me began to look at each other warily. I could see they were starting to worry.
"Now, Phil, all of you, take your Glocks out of your holsters, with your left hands except for Martinez. You use your right. And lay them down on the table.
Howser shook his head, but didn't move his hand.
"I don't give up my gun, Shawn. Not for you or anybody else. If you want to, you open fire and I'll do my best to kill you before I die."
"Looks like a Mexican standoff. Okay, keep your guns but keep your hands away from them and in plain sight. Everybody just stay cool. Anybody moves for a gun, and we all start dying."
Smith turned his attention to me. His eyes were glazed, fiery, the pupils dilated. He had to be on something strong.
"Now you, Mr. Prosecutor. I hear you're armed. Open that coat and reach up with your left hand and take it out with just the tips of your fingers."
I did it, moving very slowly.
"Okay, good. I'm glad to see we're communicating. It's too bad it had to come to this, but you just kept coming after me."
"Shawn, stop," Howser said. "You're having a breakdown. With any luck, you'll get a suspended sentence and have to go into a hospital. It's not the end of the world. There are other jobs out there. You'd be a good private security guy and it might wind up being a better world for you. It's not worth being laid in your grave."
"I'm not going to be laid in my grave. This son of a bitch is. I'm going to walk away from this nightmare and you guys are going to help me."
"You're crazy," Martin said. "Look Shawn, I've been fighting for you. But no way are you going to shoot Maitland in cold blood and have the rest of us back you."
Smith looked at him and said, "In a few seconds, with no warning, I'm going to put a bullet in his head. He'll be dead before any of you can do anything, assuming you want to. Once he's dead, what reason do you have to open fire on me?
"You, Martin? You remember five years ago, when we moved in on that Coke dealer in Avondale. You were first in the door when he leveled that sawed-off shotgun at you. It jammed, but I pushed you out of the way before we knew it was going to jam. I'd have taken the blast. I would have died for you, you son of a bitch. Because you're my brother and we have each other's back.
"Once this cocksucker is gone, you're going to forget that and kill me for this scum? He'll be dead and killing me won't bring him back.
"Every one of you, I've had your back. Martinez, that pretty wife of yours would have divorced your ass and taken your two kids if she'd ever found out about that bitch you kept up in that apartment on 20th Street. But I took the bullet for that and said she was mine and it cost me my girlfriend at the time. But I did it."
Delwin just shook his head.
"I've been on your side, but it's just crazy, man. No way can you get away with it."
The security officer radio Howser carried crackled and voices came out of it at the same time that the radios carried by Martin and Meyers did.
"Howser, come back. Answer please."
Smith looked around the room.
"Turn the radios off."
Nobody did.
"Why not," Smith continued, answering Delwin's comment, "There are 11 cops here, 12 counting me. You're the leaders. If we stick together and give the same story, how are they ever going to break it? Is any jury in the world going to believe 12 cops lied?
"I've got a throwdown that can't be traced back to us. He came here to talk to you guys and when I showed up to try to talk sense to him he suddenly snapped and pulled it out and was going to shoot me. People will believe it. They know he's crazy. Everybody at the courthouse knows about how he broke down. They know he's been out of control since that slut wife of his dumped him.
"That's why he tried to kill me. He told me in front of all of you that I was just another guy like the one who stole his wife. Only I stole the wife of a white man. That's why he hated me, because I was another wife stealer. I tell you, people will believe it."
Howser just shook his head and looked like he'd swallowed something sour.
"No, Shawn. You've gone so far around the bend you don't know how crazy you are. It won't work. Even if you kill Maitland and throw your gun down, none of us are going to let you walk or perjure ourselves to save your ass."
The radios continued to crackle with messages ordering the holders of the radios to check in. No one moved to touch any of the radios.
Smith smiled. It was so confident it raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
"You'll lie for me. Otherwise I'll tell them that you let me walk in and shoot him and didn't raise a hand to stop me. You can deny it, but there are 11 of you and one of me. Everyone is going to be asking, how could 11 armed cops not stop ONE man. You may not serve time, but you're not going to be cops for that much longer and you may wind up serving time."
He grinned again.
"Besides, you said it yourself. I'm crazy. At worst I'll go to some nice mental hospital and after a few years I'll be cured and get out. I might even meet some cute nurse while I'm being cured."
"A good plan."
Smith and everyone else looked at me.
"But it has a few...just....a few flaws the size of the Grand Canyon in it."
Smith's smile was frozen on his face.
"Tell us, Maitland, what are the flaws. You going to strike me down with your Angel of Death powers?"
"No, nothing like that, more down to earth. You mind if I take something out of my jacket pocket? I'll do it slowly."
"Why not. You're about to die. The rest of you, keep your fucking hands away from your guns. I might only get a couple of you, but two of you at least are going to die. Get it out, Maitland."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a device the size of a cigarette lighter. I held it up very slowly, and as Smith watched I pressed a button. After a few seconds I hit another button.
"....I've got a throwdown that can't be traced back to us. He came here to talk to you guys and when I showed up to try to talk sense to him he suddenly snapped and pulled it out and was going to shoot me. People will believe it. They know he's crazy...."
I stopped the recording and watched his face, then looked around at the others. Howser and a few others who were smart enough looked ahead, like a chess master planning out moves three or four steps in advance. They knew. Even if Smith had planted friends, they'd know.
"I hope you guys won't take offense, but I always tape conversations like this. No one will ever hear it, unless they need to."
"So fucking what? You're going to give it to me or I'll take it off your dead body and destroy it. No one will ever hear it."
Moving very slowly and deliberately, holding the recorder in my left hand, I touched two small prongs on the end.
"This is the latest model, Shawn. Maybe you haven't seen them. They're great. It records but it also transmits. There's a relay link in my car which boosts the message and sends it to a record in my office, in a locked desk.
"You can destroy this, but Monday morning there will be people listening to this conversation. It's digital so it's recorded everything since I walked in here. Unless you guys plan on raiding my office, and good luck with doing that without leaving so much evidence behind that my office won't need the recording."
The tone on the security officer radios had turned to desperation before the calls suddenly stopped. The place was very quiet all of a sudden.
I looked at Shawn directly and made myself smile.
"Oh, and by the way, I'm not giving you this. Shoot me and take it."
Before he could react I turned so my back was to him.
"Shoot me in the back, Shawn. You've had experience doing that so it should come easy. Try explaining to your fellow officers, and the guys from my office, how you happened to shoot me in the back as I was attacking you."
"Turn around, goddammit. I will shoot you in the back if you don't."
"But that's not the only flaw in your plan. Just the biggest. There are others."
"Maitland, turn around."
"Shawn, dammit, don't, don't," Howser shouted.
"Your finger gets one inch closer to that gun and I'm killing you, Howser. Don't make me. Delwin, Belmont, keep your fucking hands clear of your guns."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

They were keeping him occupied so I continued.

"Actually, the biggest hole in your plan is the simplest and it's the one that could send every one of you to prison, or jail, or just to another job.
"Say you destroy the recorder and maybe it malfunctioned tonight and there is no record in my office. Then all of you have to decide if you're going to lie for Smith.
"If you lie and agree with Smith that I pulled out his throwdown piece, the first question from everybody is going to be – why did I pull out a throwdown that NOBODY knows anything about when I've got a perfectly usable Glock that everybody at my office knows I'm carrying and which I've been trained by our people how to use? Maybe you can explain how I pulled out a hidden throwdown, but it's going to stink to high heaven.
"Of course, you could forget about his throwdown and fire my Glock after I'm dead and that would make for a simpler story. Of course, that still leaves you with the question of how I got shot in the back while attacking Smith
"But that's not your REALLY big problem. Suppose you decide to hang together and lie for Smith.
"Get real. Twelve men are going to keep a secret that could send people to prison.
"You're cops. You know that's not going to happen. Some one will get drunk, or get an attack of conscience.
"And then it won't be just being kicked off the force. It will be conspiracy to aid and abet first degree murder. It will be being an accesory after the fact, and they'll probably nail you for accesory before the fact because they won't believe a word you guys say.
"All of you, every one, will spend ten, maybe twenty years in prison because Edwards will make an example of you."
I stopped and took a deep breath, wondering if my world would end in the next second.
"And even if you tell the truth and they don't charge you for letting a man be murdered in front of you, like Smith said, you're you're going to be laughing stocks in your own world. No cop is going to respect 11 guys that let one guy with a gun buffalo them.
"The story ever gets on the street, and it will, expect to find a lot of bad guys trying you. But you won't be on the street.
"Austin Edwards doesn't love me, but you can't let cops go around killing prosecutors. Bad for business. He'll pressure Knight and before too long you guys will be gone."
It was so quiet I could hear men shifting positions in their chairs, their asses stuck by sweat to the plastic. I could them breathing. Smith sounded like he had asthma, couldn't catch his breath.
I pointed to the table and said, "They have napkins here, Shawn. Maybe you ought to dry your hands. I imagine you're sweating pretty badly right now. I wouldn't want your fingers to slip."
Why I said that, I don't know. I don't think I have that big a death wish. I think it was just so after he killed me, the cops might tell my kids that story. They would remember me as not being afraid, able to say something cool in a tight spot.
Unfortunately, as I pointed to the napkins the overhead fluorescent lights had sparkled on the Fleur-de-Lis ring. I didn't want anything that would make me want to live so badly right now.
"Those are the biggies. But I would understand you guys backing him up. You are brothers, after all. Yeah, and brothers in blue are loyal.
"Martinez, I know your wife will understand. I saw her at that FOP picnic. God, she is hot. Those tits and that ass, and really pretty. When they send you away for a few years, and your own guys start hitting on her in a few months, I know she'll be faithful. She'll understand. When she's alone in your bed night after night and getting horny, she'll understand the duty a cop has to a fellow officer.
"And when she can't stand it and one of your 'brothers' or some civilian is fucking her one night, she'll feel guilty because your first duty wasn't to her, it was to your brother officer.
"How many of your wives will be that understanding, I wonder? Will live with empty, cold beds because they know your first duty wasn't to them, but the brothers in blue."
I wondered if I'd have enough time to get the rest out.
"And James, maybe your wife will be one of the loyal ones. But I saw your daughter at that picnic. Really pretty for a 13 year old. Too bad daddy won't be around to be a male presence in her life and put the fear of God into all those horny 17 and 18-year-olds that will be trying to make babies with her."
James was a black officer about the size of a refrigerator. I wondered if he'd go for his Glock or just try to take out Smith with his bare hands.
"With any luck, you'll be a grandpa when you get out, something to look forward to."
"You are a dead man, Maitland. Walking and talking, but dead."
"I know you're going to kill me, Shawn. And your life is going to end here tonight, one way or the other. It's a shame. You were a good cop. I think you're a good man who made a bad mistake. Mistakes happen. But you won't face up to what you did and pay the price.
"We have to pay for our mistakes."
I stood there and waited for the sounds I expected. I really had no idea if his fellow cops would actually kill him to save me, and even if they fired on him, he'd probably kill me anyway.
I should have been terrified. I pray to whatever God is out there, but I don't really believe. I think when I close my eyes that's it. The 'me' that wakes up every morning will be gone, like a candle blown out by the wind.
I can't make myself believe in the fairy tale of a gracious heaven where I'll be re-united with my father. I wish I could. It would make things a lot easier.
Thinking of my father, I wondered what went through his mind in his last seconds. Undoubtedly he'd had time to hear the creaking and thundering of rock and timber giving way and he'd been a miner long enough to know what it meant. A second cave-in in that weakened shaft was it. No more rescues.
Had he thought of me and my mother? Had he had any second thoughts at the last minute about the cost of his last decision? Had he regretted that he wouldn't see me grow up, not being around for his grandchildren? I was already regretting not seeing what Kelly and BJ's children would look like, what my two children would be like as adults.
But I couldn't do anything different than what I'd done. Every step, everything I'd done in my life had led me to this moment. And I could wish I'd done things differently, never lost Debbie, but I knew I wouldn't have done things differently unless I'd been gifted with foresight and just never took the SA job.
Thinking of Debbie made me think of Aline, and of all the images that I carried with me the one that flashed into my mind was her standing in the night rain and the darkness in the forward tower on the Bonne Chance looking back at me across a hundred feet as we rode the white caps. If you could love someone before you knew them, I had.
And as she was darkness, Debbie was the light. The picture that was in my mind as I heard the first gunblast was Debbie smiling at me as I walked in the door of our home one day – I don't remember when. I remembered my heart hurting with the knowledge that this woman loved me. Thinking that I'd never see that smile again, I wasn't too unhappy about the way things had gone.
Sometimes, dying is easier.
#########################################
Debbie pulled her 350Z into the parking lot at the front of the long, one story building marked with a big FOP sign. The security officer scanner had crackled with terse messages with numbers and codes unlikely to be understood by civilians, but she knew that a half dozen security officer cruisers had been scrambled and would be pulling in any second. The Under-Sheriff and Zone Commander were on the way in separate cars because someone had reported that Shawn Smith, drinking heavily and armed, was on his way to the FOP Union Hall.
Frantic calls to any of the officers known to be at the FOP meeting, and to FOP President Phil Howser, had gone unanswered. One tense voice let discipline slip and growled, "What the hell is the matter with those guys. Why aren't they answering?"
Another had answered, "Not good. Get the hell over there."
Then another voice with an air of command had ordered both of them to switch over to another, private, security officer channel. It hadn't had to order them to shut up. That was understood.
Somehow she had beaten them all and when they questioned her, the only answer she'd be able to give them was female intuition. As an educated woman, a professional, she'd always scoffed at stories of female intuition, of hunches about children or loved ones in danger. There simply was no scientific proof and nothing close to anything like a scientific theory that could account for such supernatural information.
Even if it couldn't be explained, how else could she explain why she'd left her home to race to a building with no reason to expect any danger.
However, inside her, she couldn't deny it. When she heard that Bill had shown up there, even before knowing that Shawn Smith was also headed there, she'd simply known she had to go. Maybe it was nerves, fear for her ex knowing the animosity most cops had for him, residual guilt over how she had hurt him. She could not have foreseen that Smith would show up, but it might have been a fear in the back of her mind.
As she took her first steps toward the building across the carefully maintained lawn that fronted Atlantic Boulevard the thought came to her – how the hell would she explain to Bill showing up if Shawn Smith wasn't in there. What if nothing more was going on than a spirited debate over the wisdom of filing charges against Smith.
She knew he would look at her and he'd KNOW.
He had been so clueless for so many years, but when he wanted to, he could look into your soul. As Lew had told her months before, he had never looked into her and sniffed the odor of a decaying marriage and her lust for another man, but it had been because he had trusted her.
And when he looked into her eyes he'd see past the lies and the defenses she had put up and would see something else, and he would misunderstand.
She wasn't still in love with him. She had given that up the morning she had called and told him she wasn't in love with him anymore. But...as he had said to her, you can't turn off love that easily, or caring, or affection - whatever word you wanted to use.
She knew now you could hate someone, or at least be angry enough to want to hurt them badly, and still love them, or the memories you had of them. That was all it was. The memories of a better time when they had been young and she had been center of his life and not an afterthought.
She heard the gunfire erupt from the long low building in front of her and even through the walls of the building, the shouts of pain and fear.
In one timeless moment she had a vision. She knew it was a vision and it felt like a true vision, not just a dream-like picture in her mind's eye. She was standing with Kelly and BJ dressed in black and looking down into an open casket. His face was still and calm and composed. He really looked as if he were only sleeping.
She had leaned over and pressed her lips against his and knew then that he was gone and never coming back.
She wanted to scream. This wasn't fair. No matter what had happened, no matter what she had done to him, no matter what he said, no matter how many times he pushed her away, he would always come back to her.
He had told her one night not long after they married and she had told him of the nightmares that had started coming in which he had died after the fight in the frat house instead of recovering, "That will never happen, Babe. I will always come back to you. No matter what. No matter where I am, I will always come back."
Only he had lied and left her behind.
Then she was racing across the damp grass, kicking off her shoes in an instant, running as the hot tears of a young girl streamed down her cheeks.
####################

[Ramesh_Rocky]

AFTERMATH

September 23, 2005
My name is William Maitland. Officially I'm an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida. Unofficially I am THE State Attorney as far as day to day functioning goes, or I was. I think I must be dying. I've been shot by a crazed cop among a whole gaggle of other armed cops who weren't able to save me.
My friends, the few I have, called me Bill. My wife, when I had a wife, called me Bill.
I'm pretty sure the cop who shot me, Shawn Smith, who has made an unfortunate habit of shooting men in the back, got in a head shot because I'm bleeding like crazy, I can't see for the blood running in my eyes and I'm down on the ground. I'm trying to move but it feels like I can't move my arms and legs.
I wonder curiously how long it takes to die and wondered whether you really know what's going on as your life drains away.
I remember, somewhat incongruously, a great movie called "American Beauty" I saw a few years ago, which ends with the main character shot in the head and dying and he says the moment of dying lasts for an eternity.
In the movie the main character says that moment of dying is the afterlife and you spend an eternity reliving your life before the lights go out forever.
I wonder if that's somehow the truth of it and when I will start the long journey back through all the moments of my life.
It must have started already. Through a blood red haze, I see the features of the woman I have loved for 20 years, who convinced me she loved me and then destroyed me by giving her body and love to another man. It would be alright if I could relive the days when we met and when we had a happy marriage.
It's too bad I don't believe in reincarnation or second chances. If I could go back and learn from my mistakes I would never have taken a job in the prosecutor's office.
A man I respect told me once that we are all tools in God's hands and that I had served a greater purpose as a prosecutor by alleviating human suffering and balancing the scales of justice.
In God's eyes, he indicated, that role was greater than that of a husband to the beautiful Debbie and father to Kelly and BJ. I had sacrificed the chance of mere happiness to serve God.
I don't really believe in God and less in Heaven, but if I'm wrong and I wind up on a cloud somewhere staring up at the face of the Almighty, I already know I'm going to tell him to go fuck himself and just give me back the life he took from me, and if he's going to punish me for blasphemy, well let him try to hurt me more than he'd already done.
I don't think even God could do that.
I know he can't as Debbie's beautiful face comes closer. Tears stream down her face and I wonder if somehow I'm dead and watching from heaven.
As memories war within me, I know I hate her. God, how I hate her, but for now I'll just love her and her memory for a while. Maybe I'll just do it forever, if that "American Dream" flick has it right.
##############################
September 23, 2005 -- 8:12 p.m.
"Let go of me, you bastards, let me go."
She struggled against the two men grabbing her arms and trying to keep her away from the bloody scene on the FOP floor. One was black and one was white. She was crying; watching the figure she knew so well covered in blood and spasming on the floor under the grip of two or three cops trying to hold him down.
There were bodies all over. Bill lay there with his head covered in blood. A figure that must be Shawn Smith lay sprawled on the floor a few feet away. He was bathed in blood oozing from what appeared to be a dozen places. Fortunately, he lay face down because there was a large hole oozing blood and white stuff from the back of his skull.
A big black man sat on the floor to the right of Bill and the men with him. A white cop was holding him as he leaned back and another pressed his hand down over the black cop's hand pushing down on his abdomen as blood flowed out around their fingers.
A tall, thin cop with thinning brown hair was being held up by two men. He breathed in and out with gasping sighs. A big bald cop was saying, "Breath in and out, don't force it, Phil. You're going to pass out if you panic and you need to stay awake. Hang in there. Rescue will be here in a couple of minutes, no more."
Debbie tried to kick one of the cops holding her in the balls but he turned so her kick glanced off the side of his leg.
"Let me go you sons of bitches. Let me go. That's my husband."
The cop holding her left arm stared at her and for just a moment relaxed his grip on her and that was enough. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and jerked hard enough to pull free of the other cop. She threw herself down on Bill's bloody body.
There was so much blood, so much damned blood.
Two of the cops that had been holding his lower body down fell back and she pulled his head toward her. She felt the mass of blood that made the back of his head slippery to the touch but she forced herself to pull him until his head rested against her shoulder.
"You fucking idiot," she screamed in anger and fear. "Why? Why?"
"Just....stupid...I guess....."
She almost dropped him, bouncing his head off the concrete floor, but she managed to recover and put her arms around him to cradle his head, letting him lean back so she could see his eyes open through the film of blood that covered his face.
"Bill, you're alive!"
"Jesus Christ," said one of the cops that had been holding his legs down. "Jesus H. Christ I thought you were dead. I though the twitching was your last dying..."
Bill looked straight at him and incredibly a faint smile flickered on his bloody lips.
"Reports....of....my...."
He took a deep breath and blew out bloody bubbles.
"....death.....were....."
Somehow she read his mind and knew what he was trying to say. Being married and together for 20 years made it nothing magical. She just knew him and how his mind worked.
"Greatly exaggerated...." She said.
He smiled at her and somehow that made the tears flow even harder.
A black cop moved her hands away from the back of his head and held a handkerchief to the bloody mess there. Patting away the blood revealed a long gash almost deep enough to put a finger into, running from near the right side of the back of his skull to near the right temple.
She couldn't make herself, but the cop pressed in and a moment later said, "It's deep but it didn't penetrate the skull. No messy brain stuff leaking out. Maitland, you're the fucking luckiest bastard that ever walked the earth."
"Then why..." she asked, unwilling to believe yet, to hope that what she saw wasn't the reality of it.
"There are more blood vessels and they're closer to the surface around the head, neck and face than anywhere else in the human body. You bleed a hell of a lot when you have a bullet put a groove this size in your head, but I don't think he'll bleed to death. We need to mop up the blood. I'll get some rags from the bathroom. We need to clean him up enough to make sure there aren't any more bullet holes in his head, or anywhere else. Can you keep him supported until I get back."
She didn't answer, just held him tighter in her arms. Even now, there was a part of her that was pissed off at him. Why the hell had he risked his life, risked the life of his children's father, the life of his ex-wife's ex-husband so cavalierly. It was as if he didn't care what he was risking, as long as he was "doing the right thing."
But those were only words. She had talked with him often enough about his last memories of his father's leaving to know why they resonated so deeply in his mind and heart. For good or ill, they had scarred and shaped the man he'd grown to be.
But, goddammit, she thought, at some point you have to grow up. You couldn't be a crusader going out to battle evil and not caring if you lost your life in the process. You could when you were single, but when you married, when you brought two lives into the world, you lost the freedom to throw your life away in grand gestures and it seemed like he'd never grown up enough to realize it.
She had only been halfway sarcastic when she referred to him as "Saint Bill," to her mother and children. She had thought sometimes that it was like being married to a secular saint. Everybody looking in from the outside would 'oooh' and 'aaahh' about how wonderful it was to be married to such a noble creature.
But what it meant in reality was that she had never had more than a portion of him. No matter how much he swore he loved her and their children, actions proved more than words. When it came to the way he lived his life, for the last ten years he'd shown over and over again that he cared more for living up to the mythic legend of his father than he cared for the welfare of the people he said he loved the most.
She held him tight to her chest, cradling his head against her breasts, and she knew that if they hadn't torn each other's hearts out he'd have joked about the chance to feel her up making nearly dying worth while.
But they'd never joke like that again. She could still hold him against her and be glad that she wouldn't have to call Kelly and BJ and tell them their father had died in her arms.
He was trying to twist in her arms and she tried to hold him still. She understood why the cops had been trying to hold him still. There could be other injuries, damage to the spine and the general rule was to keep victims as still as possible in such situations, but he kept twisting.
"Bill, try to stay still. Even if the bullets didn't hit anything vital" - and here she couldn't help smiling down at him "and if they only hit your brain they didn't hit anything vital - you shouldn't be moving. Stay still till rescue gets here."
He returned a weak smile and managed to raise one trembling hand and wiped at the blood in his eyes.
"I feel....like shit....and I'm dizzy....but I'm not dying."
She let him twist around and he saw the cops holding up the man they'd called Phil.
"Oh shit!" he said softly. "Phil! Phil!"
His voice was still weak but the big bald man helping to hold Phil up heard and pointed to Bill. Phil looked up, saw him and his eyes widened in surprise.
"I thought you were dead." His voice whistled as he spoke and then he coughed up blood. He was gasping for air.
"What?"
The bald headed guy said, "One of Shawn's bullets must have collapsed a lung. At least he didn't hit his heart. He'll make it. We all thought you'd bought it."
Bill looked over at the black cop whose skin was starting to go a shade of pale gray while a current of blood kept gushing out around the white and black fingers trying to hold it back, now pushing hand towels against the growing tide of red.
"James?"
The black cop looked over at Bill and shook his head.
"You know you're a real pain in the ass, don't you Maitland? Or a pain in my gut, anyway."
"...I'm sorry..."
James took a deep breath, then spit on the floor.
"It's all on him, and he paid for it."
"What..."
The big bald cop glanced over the bleeding corpse on the floor, then at Bill.
"You're alive because of Phil. I think his shot hit Shawn in the neck, enough anyway to where the bullet that was going to splatter your brains all over this room hit the back of your skull and skidded. But Shawn would not go down. He turned and hit Phil while I was pumping into him along with a half dozen others.
"He turned his gun on me and I thought I was dead when James hit him. We must have stopped firing because we didn't hear anything until Shawn stuck his Glock into James' fat gut and fired. When James fell back we unloaded and he finally went down. Son of a bitch. We had to put two into his brain to finally bring him down."
The bald cop looked at the body leaking body and brain matter onto the floor and Debbie thought for a minute a hint of sadness flashed across his face.
"He was a tough son of a bitch. Stupid but tough. Anyway, that's what I remember happening. Things were popping kind of quick."
Bill turned his head slightly and looked up at Debbie. She had grabbed a couple of paper towels and was wiping the blood off his face. He swallowed hard.
"Damn...I'm dizzy, Babe."
She made herself not respond. He was still in shock. 'Babe' didn't mean what it once had.
"You're going to be okay, Bill. You've got a hard head, but that bullet must have shaken you a lot."
He closed his eyes and then they snapped open as he stared into her eyes.
"What....what are you doing here, Deb?"
Her heart flipped in her chest. This was the question she feared. How could she answer it?
"I......Dennis Leary told me you were going to meet with the cops here tonight."
"And?"
He was slipping back into that damned interrogator frame of mind.
"Why are you here?"
He wouldn't let it go.
"You remember I said you don't have the sense to be afraid of things you should be afraid of. I guess....I just wanted to be close by."
"And you were going to be my bodyguard?"
"No, you bastard. I...I was worried about you. You happy now? You got it out of me. I was worried about you. You've got two children that love you and you don't have sense enough to protect yourself for them."
"So you were here for our kids?"
"Why do you have to be a prosecutor right now, Bill?"
"I'm just trying to understand. Why are you crying for someone you don't love anymore?"
She closed her eyes and when she opened them the room was swarming with cops and rescue EMTS and firefighters and high level Sheriff's Office officials. Two rescue types were leaning down and trying to separate her from Bill but she held him tightly.
"I said I didn't love you that way anymore, Bill, not that I didn't love you."
They were pulling him away from her and she had to get out the last words.
"I came here tonight, Bill, because I know you. I know you better than anyone else. You did what you always have done because you're the kind of man you are. I just....forgot....who you were. For a while."
She released him, pulling her bloody hands away while two techs leaned him down on a rolled up blanket. She leaned over and kissed his bloody forehead.
"I'm sorry I forgot, Bill."
He looked up at her and for once she couldn't read him.
"So am I, Debbie."
Then the room descended into organized chaos as rescue personnel swarmed the three wounded men and tried to shoo away the men who'd been caring for them. Debbie stepped back and looked at her hands and dress. Jesus Christ she was a mess. In minutes she knew the television crews would be swarming outside. She needed to call Kelly and BJ. If they heard the first reports that their father had been shot and she showed up on a newscast covered in blood it would not look good.
As she watched the techs clean off his head and face, turn him gently and inspect him for other injuries, she could see that there appeared to be only the deep gouge from the right back side of his head running almost to his temple. It was a flesh wound. He'd live, and she realized she was just now letting out the breath she seemed to have been holding since the second she'd heard the first shots.
So the vision was false. It had seemed so real but it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
They had brought in rolling stretchers, lowered one and, with three men helping, lifted him onto it. Then they raised it to waist level and while talking on their radios began pushing him toward the entrance. She started to walk toward him then stopped.
When it was happening, when everything seemed to have changed forever, she had held him without thought. It was as if the last six months - the last four years - had never happened, but they had.
Now, as she thought about walking to him and holding his hand, she found herself wondering how that would look to the men around her. If they knew what had happened, would they think the spectacle of the cheating wife holding her wounded husband's hand was just a show for the crowd?
She walked beside him without touching him.
"Do you want me to ride with you - in the ambulance - to the hospital, Bill?"
He looked back at her walking slightly behind the stretcher.
"No, that's okay."
She'd expected it, but...
"I'll be okay, Deb. I want you to find Kelly and BJ. Let them know I'm okay. They're liable to say I'm dying on the television and radio casts."
He focused in on her eyes.
"I'm good, Debbie, really. I'll be alright. I won't be quite as cute as I used to be, but..."
If she had said what was really in her mind, she was afraid she'd break down again so she forced a grin and said, "Well, no great loss then."
He grinned back.
"Bye Deb. Kiss the kids for me."
Then they were pushing him out the front door and she was alone with a host of strange men. They were checking her out and, for the first time in her memory, it made her feel uncomfortable, but she walked over to where the big bald cop stood.
"I wanted to thank you, and tell your friend Phil thanks for me too. In case you weren't aware, I'm Bill's ex."
He stared at her and took in her breasts but the smile on his face didn't reach his eyes.
"I know who you are. I've seen you with him around the courthouse, before you screwed around on him."
"We got a divorce. It happens. But I still want to thank you for what you did."
He shook his head.
"I'm divorced. Most cops wind up divorced. Fact of life. But Maitland wasn't screwing around on you, best I hear. You screwed his head. I kinda blame you for this. If you hadn't messed him up, I don't think he would have come down on Shawn like the wrath of God. He might have been more of a human being."
She stared him down.
"Doesn't matter what you think about me. He has two kids that didn't do anything to your friend. Thank you for them."
She turned and walked out. If he had said anything in reply she didn't hear and didn't care.
######################
September 24, 2005 -- 6 p.m.
I lay back in a hospital bed in the St. Vincent's Medical Center trauma ward. I was laying on my side which was not all that comfortable, because a fairly good plastic surgeon had stitched up the back of my head last night after they had brought me in.
The bullet that Smith had tried to put into my brain had come just close enough to breaking through my skull - about as close as the width of a sheet of typing paper one doctor had said - that they felt duty bound to run CAT Scans and MRIs and all that other crap to make sure there wasn't any damage up to and including possible swelling of the brain as a result of the trauma.
Then there was the little matter of a concussion and a coma after my defense of Debbie had nearly gotten me killed the first time. I hadn't thought about that in a long time and it had never caused any residual problems except for a tendency to get headaches if I spent too much time reading or didn't get enough sleep. But that's what they invented Tylenol for and I'd never worried much about it.
Another ongoing effect has been what they called painless migraines, where brightly colored light flashes migrate across my field of vision. These were also triggered by exhaustion or overuse of my eyes and I'd had doctors tell me they might be inconvenient but not dangerous.
However, the doctors who examined me in the St. Vincent's emergency room and the specialists up in the head trauma ward were concerned that brain damage could have been caused by the compound effects of the old and new traumas.
So, for the last 24 hours, they'd put me through every damned diagnostic test I'd ever heard of and some I hadn't. They'd sewed up the back of my head after implanting some artificial cow bone to fill in the large groove so I wouldn't look like a real freak, and kept me from having more than half an hour of uninterrupted sleep at any one time.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I kept drifting off from time to time. In snatches of dream pieces of the previous night and today came drifting in and out of my consciousness.

###############
Noon:
"Dad. Dad."
BJ and Kelly walked quickly across the private room that the Big Man had procured for me. Debbie walked behind them. Three nurses hovered around. My head was covered in bandages where the plastic surgeon had tried to repair the damage from Smith's bullet. The drugs they'd given me kept me flashing in and out.
I could read the looks on both their faces so I smiled at them.
"It's okay. I look a hell of a lot worse than I really am. I just got a graze across the back and side of my head and they went and sewed it up.."
When they reached me, BJ grabbed my hand, the one with a needle stuck in it, while Kelly stood behind him and grabbed the other.
I couldn't help tears appearing in my eyes.
"It's okay, guys. It's lucky your mom was there last night. Everybody thought I was dead until she showed up and brought me back to life."
Both of them looked back at her where she stood silently. I read the glances and I could almost feel sorry for her. She'd ended her life with me and she'd done damage I hadn't realized to her relationship with the children. I'd wanted her to pay for what she'd done, and only now did I realize that she really was paying for her actions and might for a long, long time.
There was a time I would have loved it, but those emotions had been growing more muted as time went by and I realized that I wanted her to have a good relationship with them. It didn't take away or change anything between us, but they needed a mother.
"Dad, you gotta stop doing stuff like this," BJ said, "I got enough flak about you when they started calling you the Angel of Death, but now - I'm never going to get any action if every girl I try to hook up with is afraid that Heaven's going to be watching us every step of the way."
Kelly half-heartedly slapped him on the shoulder.
"He's such an idiot Dad, but he's right. You gotta stop getting into situations like this. I'm supposed to worry about keeping gold diggers and whores away from you, not letting them take advantage of you because you've been out of the scene for so long, without having to worry about whether some cop is going to shoot you."
I'd been able to stem the flow of tears without looking too stupid. I shook my head as much as I could and said, "I'm sorry guys. I never expected things would turn out this way but it's what I do. Nothing like this will probably ever happen again."
"He's right," Debbie said, the first words she'd uttered since entering the room, as she walked up to my bed. "We were married for nearly 20 years and he's worked as a prosecutor for more than 10 years - nothing like this has ever happened before. It probably won't ever happen again."
We exchanged glances that the kids didn't pick on and I knew she knew about the Welaka Cannibal and his threats, and probably other things I'd always foolishly thought I'd protected her from. I'd come to realize she knew more about my life than I'd ever thought. Maybe if I hadn't tried to protect her...
I shut the thought off. What was done was done and I couldn't change the past.
The phone rang. They were supposed to screen my calls and leave messages at the front desk because the damn thing had rung almost continuously most of the night until the hospital administration let the nurses on call know to hold ALL calls and simply give me a list every few hours, and that only because I'd insisted. Ninety percent were media calls, a few were from people at the State Attorney's or Public Defender's Offices and one was from Sheriff Knight. Nothing that I couldn't call back on.
A moment later an attractive brown-haired nurse, who looked to be in her late 30s or early 40s, walked in quickly and leaned over, whispering in my ear.
"The call was from a gentleman who said you would know him as The Old Man."
She stared at me with the first beginnings of alarm on her face.
"He told me my home address, what music my daughter is listening to on her IPOD in her bedroom, and...."
Tears welled up in her eyes and she leaned in closer, whispering with a glance at Debbie and the kids.
"He......told me.....about the affair I'm having with a friend of my husband. We've only met on Fridays when my husband is out of town. Nobody in the world knows about it except...the man and myself. The....Old Man said if you didn't pick up his next call my husband will receive photographs of ....my friend and I..."
She stopped.
"Please take the call. I love my husband, no matter what you might think. I can't...he would..."
"I'll take it. Get out and don't worry. He's....he likes cruel practical jokes. He won't do anything to you. Trust me. I've known him for a long time. He was just trying to get my attention."
Debbie had heard part of that and her eyes showed her alarm. I motioned to her and the kids.
"I'm sorry, guys, I have to take this. Give me a moment, but don't leave."
In thirty seconds the phone rang again. I picked it up. There was a brief silence, a clicking sound and then a faint static and I heard his voice.
"Hello, Mr. Maitland."
"Hello."
"I trust you are recovering. Our sources within the hospital's medical department said your wounds were not believed to be life threatening but they are taking no chances."
"That was a cruel thing you did."
There was a dry laugh.
"You might have heard, I can be cruel if the occasion calls for it."
I knew he had killed many men and women, had watched men tortured to death, had men and women torn apart in front of him by other men and animals in medieval torments.
"As far as I know, those have all been for business, for matters that you considered crucial to your survival. Tormenting this poor woman wasn't worthy of you."
"What did I do, Mr. Maitland? I did not threaten her family or herself physically. I merely let her know that her betrayal of her husband, that poor, blind, hardworking idiot of a husband, has not gone unnoticed. Do you think that if I, through my contacts, could not discover her adultery in a few minutes, that her poor, blind husband will never stumble upon it?"
There was a short silence. Again the static on the line and the clicking.
"You think that was cruel? To give her a chance to save her marriage, to possibly spare her husband from...the pain that you know all too well? Tell me what I did that was so terrible?"
He was as intelligent as he was cold blooded and possibly even a little more dangerous because of all that. When you have almost limitless power and no moral compass at all, there were no limits to what you could do.
"Why are you calling?"
"Just to check in. When we heard that you had nearly been killed, I was notified and we investigated. This appears to be merely the act of an unhinged man so there is nothing for me to do. I am glad that you came through mostly untouched. I am told the bullet wound should leave no appreciable scar."
"As always, your sources are impeccable. I'm grateful that you are continuing to watch over me."
There was another silence, longer this time.
"You know that I have never loved anything in this life, except for one person. And now there is nothing I love because he died without heir and my line died with him. But he died with dignity and in peace because of you. You didn't know who he was and had no reason to treat him as you did, but you did because of the man you are. I can never repay the debt I owe you in this life, but I can try."
There was another long silence and then I said, "I'm sure you've heard of the Mexican Cartel whose man is scheduled to be tried in the U.S."
"Yes, and the Cartel has already moved against anyone they think will take part in that prosecution. I think I know more than you do."
"Yes?"
"They are already planning ahead and there is one thing they fear."
When I didn't respond, he said, "That is you. The Angel of Death has acquired mythic status among many of the poor in Mexico and nearby countries. The Mexicans are queer for anything having to do with death, and the Angel of Death overlays the pre-Columbian myths about death gods. The Cartel leadership is hoping the trial doesn't come to your office."
"They're frightened of a media myth?"
"Myths are real to those who believe in them and, if the trial does come to you, the Cartel faces a very real danger."
"They face a danger?"
"They cannot allow you to prosecute their man. They would lose so much face rivals would pop up because the myth of their invincibility will have been shattered."
"If they kill me that would solve that problem."
"True, but if they try and fail...."
I thought about that, then, "It's still a long way between here and there, but it brings up a point we need to discuss."
"You need say nothing. If they move against your family, they will pay."
"And I will be your man and you will own me."
"Yes."
"Acceptable. If they hit my family, my life is over anyway. And if they hit me..."
"Protection of your family is guaranteed if we have to kill every last one of them."
"Then it is agreed. I'd appreciate your keeping an eye on things for me. And if they take out my family and myself....unleash hell upon all of them."
"To the last drop of my blood and all who follow me."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Mr. Maitland."
I hung up the phone softly. Whenever I had spoken with him, on the few occasions it had occurred, I always felt like I had crossed over into another realm of being, as far as you could get from the real 9-5 world that most people live in. It wasn't a pleasant experience but it wasn't anything I'd asked for. I had simply showed mercy to another human being and wound up being ensnared in a dark and deadly world that I wanted no part of.
But the Old Man who felt he owed me a debt couldn't be persuaded or threatened into leaving me alone. It was like walking through a dark wood and finding a huge and dangerous wolf dogging your tracks and leaping to engage anything that threatened you. You might not want or need his protection, but how did you call him off? It was a trick I hadn't figured out in more than seven years. Maybe I never would. Until he died, and hopefully those who followed wouldn't feel the obligation he did.
But for right now, that presence of a huge, dark and dangerous criminal organization that had my back, as I glanced at my ex-wife, son and daughter, made me feel better about my life.
As I gestured and they walked back toward my bed, Debbie said quietly, "Who was that?"
"Just a....man who was concerned about my welfare. He's a friend, of sorts."
"I think everybody in the world must have heard about what happened," BJ said excitedly. "I tuned into a French broadcast channel I caught on my friend's Direct TV universal channel and caught a news broadcast. I couldn't understand what they were saying-"
"You would have if you'd paid attention in your French classes," Kelly interjected. As usual, BJ ignored her.
"The only class you paid attention to was Sex Ed.," BJ said, continuing, "Anyway, they showed Dad's picture and some of the shots of people being taken out of the cop shop and I heard what I thought was 'The Angel of Death' in French and I know I heard his name -- William Maitland. France! They were showing it on French television. Can you believe that?"
"Yes, I can believe that and I am sure that there are people in France who will be fascinated to hear about your father's brush with death - some people in particular."
All of us picked up the ice in her voice. The two younger Maitlands couldn't help smiling. I kept my face neutral. I'd known she was jealous of Aline, but I hadn't realized how jealous.
The timing of what came next couldn't have happened again in a million years. It was impossible, but sometimes impossible coincidences do happen.
The phone rang. I ignored it, but a moment later the attractive nurse stuck her head back in the door.
I guess after the last time she wasn't taking any chances.
"Mr. Maitland, there's a lady, French I think, on the phone. She says her name is Aline. You want to take her call? I've got her on hold."
"Send her call through."
It was as if Debbie and I were the only people in the world.
I remembered the last time she had looked at me like that. It was when she had walked in on Amy Sunderland and me fucking on CC's yacht. I had felt guilty for no good reason then but I didn't feel guilty now. I just played back the memory of her going to Doug's aid the night of that UNF ceremony and made myself feel what I'd felt then.
I held her gaze while I said, "Hello, Aline."
There was a terrible hurt in her eyes but I made my heart a stone. She had no right to be hurt by anything I did anymore.
"Bill, are you alright?"
I had thought the pain of losing this woman had gone, but it was as if the morning she had left me alone had never happened. It didn't help that she sounded like she was in the next room.
"I'm good, Aline. Better than good since I'm alive. My son just told me the shooting was on the news in Paris. I couldn't believe it was that big a story."
"As always Bill, you underestimate yourself. The attempted murder of The Angel of Death, a shootout between a rogue security officer officer and a whole room full of armed officers, has been around the world, I believe."
"What did Philippe have to say about my brush with death?"
"I.....I don't know, Bill. He is...he is still at his office. I heard about what they are calling The Massacre when I logged onto the news. Andre is with friends so I took the subway into downtown Paris and found a public phone."
"You didn't want to call me on your home phone or cell? Why?"
There was a long silence.
"I....you must have known that Philippe was with me when I wrote you that email. It -- I would have written it differently if I were alone and not afraid he would find it."
"What do you have to be afraid of, Aline.?"
"I...Bill...it's different. I..."
"What is it, Aline? What aren't you telling me?"
For the first time since the shooting I wasn't thinking about myself or Debbie.
"Bill....it's just that....you remember I told you that I wouldn't know if our marriage would survive until I could look into his eyes. I have looked into his eyes. We have talked. I have been honest with him and I still don't know. For the first time in our lives, I look at him and his eyes are closed to me."
"You were honest with him. About...everything?"
"I was too honest. I know he is hurt, although he hasn't said anything. Both of us have been with others. I thought - I hoped - that we could move beyond....my time with you. He has no reason to be hurt."
For the first time I heard anger in her voice.
"God knows, he has been with many other women and, although he claims to have been discrete, I know who they are - many of them. I've seen them, seen the look in their eyes when we are together. I've lived with that because I've had to. And now - now - because I have been with one man he knows, he is acting the wounded martyr."
"I'm sorry, Aline. I didn't mean for...what we had....to damage your marriage."
"It's not your fault, Bill. None of this is your fault. Philippe and I set the ground rules. We agreed, without many words, but we had an understanding. And he is the one who has broken that agreement! I will not feel guilty for doing what he has done times beyond number."
There was a long silence. I looked up and saw BJ and Kelly exchanging glances. They could only hear my side of the conversation -- much of it -- but they were old enough to put the pieces together. I looked beyond them to Debbie. If looks could kill I would have been only a radioactive spot on the bed in which I lay.
"So....what.."
"Is going to happen? I don't know, Bill. I do not wish to hurt you, but I still have feelings for him. We have made a life together and there is Andre. I cannot just walk away but, I do not know if he wants to be with me. Perhaps only time will tell."
She was silent again. Then:
'I have no right to ask. I am with another man. I have told you that I love him. I am in his bed. You owe me nothing at all, but....If....I know I hurt you when I left that morning. But I could not say goodbye and leave. I took the coward's way out.
"I have done nothing but cause you pain on top of what your Debbie has done to you. Still, if..."
"What I feel for you hasn't changed, Aline. I can't say what will happen if you decide to come back, but I know what I feel right now."
"I love you, Bill Maitland. I am in another man's bed and his life, but I love you. Take care. Don't take foolish chances with your life, because it is precious to me."
"I love you too. Take care. Au Revoir."
I met the eyes of my children and I knew something important had changed in an instant. They looked at me very differently than they had when they'd walked into the room minutes before. Their mother and I were divorced and they were old enough to understand what that meant. They had seen Aline in the flesh and the way I looked at her, but there must have been something in the back of their minds, some memory of when our marriage had been good, that left a faint hope.
And now it was gone.
I looked into Debbie's cold eyes and saw that they glistened. I remembered the look of contempt she had shown me as she stood with her tall young stud boyfriend in the UNF Arena. I remembered how small, old and alone I had felt in that moment. Only a stubborn core of anger had pushed me not to walk away with my tail between my legs.
I remembered her telling me to pay someone for sex because it was obvious I was not man enough to attract any woman on my own merits.
I remembered the first nights I had spent on the River listening to cars in the night, lying alone in a strange bed and knowing the woman I'd loved for half my lifetime was in another man's arms. And there was nothing I could do about it.
There was a part of me that wanted to comfort her. Maybe I couldn't kill it out. Maybe I would always love her, but there would be no comfort now. She had brought all of this on herself. I had pulled myself out of the pit with no help from her. Let her find her own way.
We stared at each other until she finally lowered her eyes and walked out of the room. BJ and Kelly looked at her as she left and then Kelly bent down to kiss me on the cheek and BJ squeezed my hand.
"We'd better go," Kelly said, gesturing toward the doorway.
"Yeah, go on. All this has been a shock for your mom, too. She thought I was dead or dying last night."
"That's not what she's upset about," Kelly said.
"I know but, anyway, I'll probably be out of here by tomorrow. I'll call you guys and keep you up to date. Okay?"
#############
September 26, 2005 -- 12:30 p.m.
They had already checked me out. A young doctor and an old doctor had given me the results of all the tests that they'd tormented me with for 48 hours. Boiled down, they couldn't find anything wrong with me. Other than a lingering headache and a slight ringing in my ears which they said was to be expected when someone fired a high powered pistol at your head from a few feet away, bouncing the bullet off your head.
The headache would probably go away in a day or two and the ringing might last a week or two but it would go away, said the older balding doc with a fringe of white hair running around the back of his head between his ears making him look like a wise old Greek philosopher.
The tall dark-haired young doc, who the nurses couldn't keep their eyes off, had stepped in after the old doctor and warned me, "Apparently you've managed to avoid all of the bad effects of having your brains rattled twice in a lifetime. You could have died 20 years ago and there's evidence on the CAT scan of some residual scarring from that old injury, but nothing serious. And you got past this one.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"But," he said, stepping close to me and lowering his voice as if we were the only two people in the room, "I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you that anytime you start shaking up the brain you're messing with things you shouldn't mess with. I was told that you've been doing some amateur boxing."

"Yes."
"I won't tell you that you can't keep doing it, but I'd strongly suggest that you ALWAYS wear headgear. And if you ever drive a motorcycle, never, ever get on one without a helmet. You've been a very lucky man, Mr. Maitland, and you might stay lucky, but I wouldn't bet it all on staying that lucky. Understand me?"
I thanked him and asked him in passing how Officer Howser and James were doing. I knew they'd both been admitted, but I hadn't heard anything about either one since Saturday.
I knew in the instant that I asked the question - I just didn't know which one it was, but his face closed up. The old doc stepped forward. I guess he'd had more experience at it than his younger colleague.
"Sergeant Howser appeared to be responding well to treatment. His system suffered stress from the bullet wound and the collapsed lung was a strain on his heart. He had some problems that had never surfaced but they would have responded to medication. His physicians expected he'd been able to leave today."
"But?"
"Apparently, his wound resulted in a blood clot forming in his lung and it made its way to his brain last night. There was no warning - no way to really anticipate it or take action until it was too late. He suffered a major stroke at 2 a.m. It was....quick....if that makes a difference. I hope it did, for his sake. It is possible that it happened in his sleep and he was never aware of what was happening."
I felt myself sitting back on the hospital bed. The young doc stepped forward and grabbed my shoulder.
"Are you alright, Mr. Maitland? Sit back and take a few deep breaths. You can lay back on the bed for a moment if you're dizzy."
Phil Howser was gone. Why the hell had I agreed to meet with him, when I knew I was never going to change my mind about Shawn Smith. He'd still be alive today if I hadn't agreed to help him with a little internal politicking to keep his members happy.
It wasn't my fault, I knew. None of us had any idea what Shawn Smith was going to do. But, yet - he had saved my life, and it had cost him his.
"I'd like to see his room."
"His body was removed early this morning."
"I'd still like to see it. Is another patient in there?"
"No," said the old doc.
I stood at the entrance to the semi-private room where Phil Howser had breathed his last. The hospital bed he had died in was fresh and the sheets were tight and starched. I remembered the way he'd looked in the last moments before Shawn had burst in, relaxed and happy and holding court with his buddies.
"He liked you, you know."
I didn't want to turn and face her, but I made myself. She was a little shorter than me, a heavy set brunette with brilliant blue eyes and a normally ruddy complexion. Now she was pale and bloodless.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Howser. God, but I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault, Mr. Maitland," she said, looking around the room with the same expression I'd probably had. As if we neither one could believe that he still wasn't around here somewhere.
"He knew Shawn was wrong. He needed to pay for what he did. He just couldn't say it because they were both cops. But...he told me a few times that guys like you were the only good thing about those 'candy assed pencil pushing shysters in the SA'."
"That sounds like Phil. Are you...are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"
She looked back at me and licked her lips.
"No, I'm not okay. Both our kids are out of town. Bert is in the Army on a tour in Iraq and Molly is working at Jackson Memorial in Miami. She's an emergency room nurse. She's flying home tonight. I think Bert will be coming in in a couple of days. So it's just me.
"Used to be me and him.
"Now....it's just me.
"It feels....wrong."
"If there's anything I can do...."
"There's nothing anyone can do, nothing."
When she turned away and began to shudder silently, I stepped away from her and left the room. I could hear her crying I walked to a nurse's station and rang up Cheryl. Two of our female ASAs would be at the hospital within a half hour and would stay with her until her children showed up. She wouldn't have Phil, but she wouldn't be alone.
######################
I was going to go by and visit James anyway, but I found that I had a bad feeling about him because of what had happened to Phil. I found out where he was and went up to his floor, in the intensive care unit. I know a gut shot is dangerous, but I wasn't sure why they'd have him there three days after the shooting.
As I approached the room a nurse moved to intercept me.
"I'm sorry, visitors aren't being allowed to see Mr. James."
"My name is Maitland. I'm the Assistant State Attorney who was shot Friday. James saved my life. Could you let me in there for just a moment to say hello?"
An older nurse stepped toward us and had heard me.
"You can go in, Mr. Maitland. His wife is in there with him, but we can bend the rules for just a moment. But..."
"What?"
"He's not well. He's running a high fever right now. He might not be too coherent."
"Why?"
"I won't bore you with the full name, but it looks like he's infected with one of the two or three super-resistant strains of bacteria that you find in a lot of hospitals today."
"Resistant? That means-"
"Only that it's going to be hard to knock down. We're hitting him with super doses of antibiotics. It will kill every bacteria in his body, hopefully, which will leave him vulnerable to anything around him for a few days or weeks until his natural resistance builds back up. If we can keep him alive, and if he's tough enough, he'll make it."
I noticed the 'ifs'. She wasn't being super-optimistic. I had known that bullets to the stomach or abdomen are bad news because they are good sites for all kinds of opportunistic infections. But a super bug on top of that? I decided I'd have somebody light a candle for him beside the ones I'd had lit for Dunleavy and O'Collins at the downtown Catholic church.
And I'd say an extra prayer. Most of the time I think it's just praying to a fantasy. But on the one in a million chance there was somebody or something up there actually listening, it couldn't hurt, and he deserved it.
I walked in behind her. He was a horse. He seemed to dwarf the bed, but he was tangled in cord and tubes. His skin still had that sickly gray sheen. A pretty black woman about a third his size held a cup with a straw up to him holding the straw to his mouth.
"C'mon baby, you need to drink. Just sip a little."
She didn't notice I was in the room until I had approached James from behind her. Sweat covered his face and there was the smell of male sweat in the room. He must have soaked through his hospital gown. And he was a big man so he could sweat a whole bunch.
I didn't register at first. I imagine so many doctors and nurses streamed through here that she was used to strangers walking in. But then she recognized me.
"You haven't done enough?"
Something about her tone roused the big man and he forced his eyes open. There was almost a smile on his lips.
"Maitland. God damn."
She was a very pretty woman. Deep, black eyes, lips that didn't look natural with the hard line that had frozen them now. Hair straight and down her back. She was petite but everything was there in abundance. James had been a lucky man until he ran into me.
"Mrs. James, I'm very sorry for what happened. I never meant for any of this to happen."
"I'm glad to hear that. I'd hate to think that you meant to put my husband into this hospital bed while you walk out of here."
"Elexus."
James managed to put a little strength into his voice.
"Baby, don't be that way. Maitland didn't shoot me. It was all Shawn. If the asshole hadn't been screwing around with that white woman.."
He started to cough and then spit up green slime. Elexus James put the cup down and grabbed a cloth. A nurse behind me bustled toward him and helped him sit forward. He coughed and spit for a moment and then calmed down. The nurse helped him lay back on the bed.
After a moment he opened his eyes again and said, "Got to tell 'ya, Maitland. I feel like shit. Probably look like shit too, right?"
I smiled at him and said, "You're still a fine figure of a man, James. I imagine the wife has to beat the nurses off you with a stick."
He lay back and closed his eyes, "...only in my dreams.....only in my...."
And then he apparently drifted off and I could hear him snoring in a moment.
I stood there but I couldn't think of anything else to say. Elexus James just continued to stare at me with a look that would have skewered me to the wall if it had had physical force.
Finally, I said, "James. I hope you feel better."
I reached over and took one his huge hands in mine. His skin was clammy and warm. I squeezed it twice, then let it go.
" Mrs. James, if there's anything I or the State Attorney's Office can do, call us."
I turned to walk out. She caught me before I hit the door, touching me on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Maitland. I know....I know...you didn't do this. You didn't put him here. But, we've been together since I was 13 and he was 16. I used to sneak out to meet him after my parents fell asleep. We've been together 20 years. Never been another man in my life. Never wanted anyone else. And they're not saying it, but - he could die. I never been so scared in my life. I don't know what to do. I don't know - if I even want to live if he goes. But we have a daughter. I can't leave her. I'm so damned scared."
"I know you're scared. The only person I've ever lost was my father when I was a little boy and I didn't know enough to be scared, but I know what you're feeling."
"The thing is - they thought I was dead and I survived. James is a big, strong guy. The nurse told me they're hitting him with every antibiotic they have. It depends on his will to live and he's got you and his daughter to live for. I think he'll make it. That's not much, but you have to have faith that he'll walk out of here. He's a good man. If there's any justice, he will."
I left her there holding his hand and wishing to God that my words would turn out to be true.
September 26, 2005 -- 3:45 p.m.
I walked back into the floor where my office was located and noticed the hush that swept through in my wake. Secretaries stopped their telephone conversations and stared at me. A couple of Assistants stepped out of their offices to stare at me also.
As I approached Cheryl's desk she stood up and I stopped. She came around the desk and hugged me - hard!
She was wetting my shirt, my black shirt. The Big Man had insisted on black a while back and I'd given in. I bought all my outfits in black, except for a couple of casual wear things, shorts and that kind of thing. Today I was dressed in black slacks, a black button down shirt and a black dress coat.
Finally I pushed her away.
"What is this, Cheryl. You're acting like I almost died or something."
Funny, but I felt tears welling in my eyes. I was turning into a fucking woman myself.
She sniffed.
"Don't make jokes, Bill. You could have died."
"I could get hit by a car crossing the street from the parking lot on my way into this building. It was pretty dramatic, I'll grant you that, but it's over, Cheryl. Now I just have to survive the media onslaught."
"God, tell me about it," she said, pulling back and checking out the bandages that wrapped the back of my head in a swath. "We've had over 200 calls from media outlets all over the world. There hasn't been much time to get any work done today. Of course, Mr. Edwards isn't TOO unhappy."
I grinned at her.
"As long as they spell his name right, right?"
I didn't wait for her to answer, but headed for my office. I opened the door and stopped. There was a tidal wave of paper on my desk, telephone notes and post-its. I pulled up the first few - New York Times, Sky News, the U.K. Guardian, then I started wading through the rest of the pile.
Six months ago I'd been an unknown Assistant State Attorney in a big/little Florida City/Town. My fellow lawyers here and there might have known me, but as far as a public presence, I was happily unknown. I had never wanted to be famous. Oh, I had the stray daydreams of fame and fortune but I'd never really needed that.
I had a wife I loved, two kids who were turning into insufferable pains in the asses as they were supposed to in their teens, a job I believed in and sufficient income. Who needed more than that.
Now I was the fucking Angel of Death and people around the globe were apparently vicariously living my life for me. I knew I'd have as much luck withdrawing back into my personal world as I'd had of convincing the Old Man to leave me alone.
Cheryl stuck her head in my door.
"We have another call. It's CBS in New York. You want to take it?"
"No, hold all my calls, all of them. If you think it's one I might want to take, stick your head in the door."
I sat down at my familiar desk and put my head in my hands, then buzzed Cheryl and asked her to get somebody to go down and get me a Starbuck's Cappuccino, mostly foam, and then tried to collect my thoughts.
Twenty minutes late my door opened without a knock and I looked up curiously. There was only one person who did that and I didn't expect him.
Austin Edwards walked in carrying my Cappuccino and handed it to me across the desk.
He sat down in the chair across from me and we looked at each other curiously for a minute or so. In the meantime I sipped the foam and licked it off my upper lip.
"Are you trying to steal my job?"
"That's been the plan for the last 10 years. When did you figure it out?"
"It's pretty obvious, based on the media interest and the calls I've been getting. I think some people want to put you in for Sainthood. Others just think I should abdicate, walk away and leave the office to that heroic Angel of Death who has no fear."
"It is kind of overwhelming. I feel like I'm going down a mountain with no way to stop."
"Get used to it. Calvin Coolidge and Teddy Roosevelt became public heroes and look what happened to them. You should start practicing your speeches."
"Not going to bother. Look, Austin, this is your bag. You're the guy with the ideas of making a better world, serving the public and all that other crap. All I am is a lawyer who knows how to talk and deliver a final argument. I like what I do and I think I'm pretty good at it. I'd be out of my depth doing anything else."
"Like they say, if you can learn to fake modesty, you can do anything."
I gulped more steamed milk.
"Do I have to move up my timetable for looking around for another job? Since there won't be a trial, I could start sending out resumes anytime. At your pleasure."
He shook his head and looked down at his fingers, which he'd steepled in front on him on my desk.
"No, whether you stay or not is up to you. Maybe you'd be uncomfortable working with me now. I won't ask you to stay on if things have gone too sour for you to be able to keep working here."
"Not up to me, Austin. You told me when this was over you wanted me to move on. Odds are you're still going to be hurt by this, so what's changed?"
He stared into my eyes. I felt the old awe come over me for a minute. I'd been a fledgling prosecutor when he had hired me, mentored me and finally gave me a chance to do something that very few men or women my age and with my experience got to do. He'd been the man I looked up to and tried to model myself after. Even now, I thought that in a lot of ways he was a better man and a better attorney than I'd ever be.
"You know, I hope you know, that it was more about my opinion of the case than pure politics. I really thought there was serious doubt about whether we should be pursuing him. I honestly thought you'd gotten your personal problems mixed up in this case and the thing - with Debbie - had made you harder than you used to be."
"You know as well as I do the power we wield. We can crush people if we want to, and get away with it. I'd always thought you'd done as good a job as anybody I ever saw in using the power of the office the right way. After Debbie, I really thought you were just pissed at life in general and that was coloring the way you thought and your decisions. Now..."
He looked down at his hands, then back at me.
"I need to know, for my own peace of mind, that you know I wasn't willing to sell my soul to reach the Governor's Chair. It wasn't all political calculation."
"I know that, Austin. I knew it was a close call and that an honest man might come down differently than I did. I knew the political end of it bothered you, but it was more than that. If it had been simply that I thought you were trying to cover your ass, protect your run next year for Governor, I would have walked, right then, and gone public, because I couldn't have kept working for you. But I know you better than that. You forget, I've worked for you for 10 years. I know the kind of man you are. You're more than just another politician."
"So you want to stick around?"
"Until you ask me to leave."
I finished slurping the rest of the Cappuccino and licked the foam mustache off my upper lip.
He stood up.
"By the way, I've already had a preliminary poll run and it matches the calls I've had. There are a lot of African Americans in this community who are happy we didn't let a cop get away with murder, regardless of his color, and what Smith did shooting at his own fellow officers has pretty much eliminated all of the support he had at the Cop Shop. The general public just thinks we prosecute bad guys no matter who they are or where they work, and that's what they want.
"The only problem I see is that more people are starting to know your name than mine. "
But he smiled when he said the last.
"So doing good paid off?"
"Looks like it."
"Who would'a thought?"
He was almost to the door when he stopped and looked back at me.
"A little birdie told me that you rode to the hospital without Debbie, who was there somehow when this was going down, and I think she was kind of wanting to ride with you."
I nodded.
"And I believe your French girlfriend called you in the hospital. Is she flying back to your side?"
I just shook my head no.
"So you're in between romantic entanglements?"
"On the administrative chart, where does being nosy about your subordinates' romantic lives fit?"
"A good administrator is always concerned about his staff being happy and content. A happy and contented staff is a productive staff. Managerial science 101."
"If it will allow you to rest easier at night, no, I don't have anybody in my life right now. As far as important relationships go, I'm batting zero for two."
He put his hand on the doorknob.
"I just thought you should know that a female member of my staff has been very interested in your personal life since your -- blowup -- with Debbie occurred. She waited patiently for you to get past Debbie only to see Aline des-Jardins swoop in and grab you. Now that you're between women, I thought you might think about at least asking her out for a coffee or something."
"Do I know this lady?"
"You see her every time you come up to my office."
A couple of things kept me quiet for a moment.
"Are we talking about-"
"Yes."
"Austin...I...we....she..."
He just waited me out.
"Okay, Austin, assuming you're serious. One, why in the hell would she need to have you run interference for her. Every male in this building would give his left nut, or both, to have a chance at her. She probably is wined and dined every night. She sure as hell doesn't need me. Secondly, why didn't she pick up the phone or come by here. And lastly....what about...I mean....you...."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"First. Yeah, any male with normal hormones and equipment would like to be with her. But she doesn't go out with every male who wants her. Secondly, why the hell do you think? Most women don't like chasing men. You think she does? Somebody that looks like her doesn't want to chase a man. And lastly..."

He gave me a small smile.
"And lastly, things aren't always the way they seem. Think about it."
He walked out the door leaving me with my mouth gaping open. Before I'd had the chance to do more than shut it, he stuck his head back in and said, "By the way, how about letting Chambers and Hennessy handle the day to day stuff for the rest of the week while you focus on doing as many media interviews as you can humanly fit into your schedule. At least for the rest of the week. You're hotter than hot right now. Let's strike while the iron is hot and get those television, radio and newspaper interviews done, AND, be sure to mention how the driving force behind the office, the guy who pushes you to chase these bad guys, is Austin C. Edwards. Okay?"
I just grinned at him. Why in the hell he wanted the headache and aggravation of the public spotlight and the demands of public life I'd never understand. But if it made him happy...
"You got it boss."
####################################
SEPTEMBER 27, 2005 - 3P.M.
I walked up to the desk in front of Austin Edwards' office with feelings I'd never had before on that walk. She looked up from a document and smiled.
"Good morning, Mr. Maitland, or should I say, Mr. Angel...."
"Don't say that Myra."
The smile vanished.
"I'm sorry Bill. I heard about that security officerman. I shouldn't have tried to joke about people dying. I just thought...."
"It's okay, Myra. Everyone can't walk around in sackcloth and ashes forever. It's the past. I'm just glad I'm standing here right now. I might not be anywhere."
"I'm glad you're here and...Mr. Edwards said you guys have...you're going to stay on."
"For the foreseeable future."
She looked at his office door.
"I don't have you down to see him. You want me to call or you could just go in."
"I didn't come to see him."
It only took her a second, then her smile changed.
"Then why are you here?"
"I generally take a coffee break at Starbucks about this time of day. Is there any chance you could take off for a few minutes and let me buy you a Cappuccino or something? You do like coffee, right?"
The smile vanished and something that was almost a smile flickered on her perfect lips.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"We worked together for more than seven years and you've never offered to buy me coffee before, much less a Cappuccino."
"For most of that time I was married. Might look bad, a married man taking the hottest woman in Jacksonville down for coffee, much less a Cappuccino."
"The hottest woman in Jacksonville?"
"Alright, Northeast Florida."
She took a deep breath and I marveled.
"Why now?"
I took a moment.
"I'm divorced and free. No entanglements. There's nothing wrong with a single man asking a single lady to have a coffee with him."
"No entanglements?"
"None at all and why, if I may ask, am I getting the fifth degree about a Cappuccino?"
She took another deep breath and watched me as I watched her.
"A woman has to be careful who she goes out with -- even for something as simple as a cup of coffee. Something simple can change your life."
I tore my eyes away from her bosom.
"Well, I understand that. It's okay. If you're busy we can do it another-"
"I'm free. Let me buzz Mr. Edwards and let him know I'll be out for 15 to 30 minutes."
We went down the elevator and out to Starbucks, running the gauntlet of amazed stares. Nobody but Austin Edwards was ever seen with Myra Martinez in the courthouse, much less a man in black with a bandaged head. I tried to walk behind her a little because her movement was a symphony.
We had three people in front of us but the male barista on the left hand side of the counter somehow maneuvered to wait on Myra before anyone else and grudgingly took my order as well.
There were only five stand-alone tables for the Starbucks crowd and they were all occupied but, as we stood with our Cappuccinos, four young men at the nearest table decided they had business elsewhere, motioning to Myra that she could have their table. They got up but it took them a long time to leave the area.
"I wonder what it must be like to be you?"
She looked beyond me and I saw Debbie standing with Dennis Leary and a female PD across the entrance to the courthouse. Leary was staring at us, trying his best to conceal a smile and Debbie followed his gaze to our table.
"You lived with someone like me for 20 years. You ought to know what my life is like, except I haven't had anybody like you in my life."
A parade of emotions ran across Debbie's face, Leary said something to her and she shook her head and started walking toward us.
Myra just smiled sweetly.
"Hello Bill. Ms. Martinez."
"Hello Ms. Bascomb. You're looking very, professional, today. I admire a woman who knows how to - mute - her female assets for her job."
"I'm sure you do. You might think about it yourself - just a suggestion. Bill, I'm glad to see you're feeling better. Has Aline called you since Saturday. I thought it was very touching when you told her you still loved her in the hospital. Don't you feel a little guilty about keeping the poor girl hanging like that?'
"Not that it's any concern of yours anymore, but I haven't talked to her, Debbie. And yes, I'm feeling better. Thank you for your concern."
Leary walked up behind her and tapped her on the arm.
"Ms. Bascomb, we have that meeting upstairs. I don't want to rush you, but..."
"You're right, Dennis," she said, turning and running her hand down his arm and giving him a smile that should have roused erections for miles around. "Thank you for reminding me."
She looked back at Myra and I and said, "Well, have a good day, both of you. I'm going to."
She walked away ostentatiously twitching and Leary looked back at me and winked, then followed her.
"She is so damned jealous she could spit," Myra said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have deliberately antagonized her like that."
"If she's going to work around here and stay under my ass, she's going to get used to seeing me with other women. Speaking of which, what about the Big Man?'
"What about him?"
"I don't understand what's going on. I thought you and he..."
"Have I asked you about Aline? Or that security officerwoman?"
"No, and there's nothing going on with Aline, if you're interested. She's back with her husband and son. I don't expect to ever see her again. But, I thought, everyone thinks....."
"That I'm his private brand?"
"More or less."
"What I do, and have done, in my personal life is just that - personal. But the fact that everyone thinks we are an item cuts down on the distractions. I don't have to spend half my time fending off every horny attorney and cop in the downtown area. If there's somebody I like, I see them away from here."
"Well, I'm glad to know you haven't been a nun."
"Not quite," and she grinned.
She picked up her Cappuccino and sipped. I did too and because as usual mine was mostly foam, I had a milk mustache when I put it down. Before I could move she leaned forward and ran her finger along my upper lip, collected the foam, popped the foam and her finger in her mouth, and licked it off.
I just stared at her and wondered if I'd be able to get up and return to my office in less than a couple of hours without starting all kinds of rumors.
"You shouldn't do things like that."
"I didn't want that delicious foam to go to waste."
"Don't be offended, but I'm not going to be able to stand up anytime soon."
"I'd be disappointed if you could."
"I know we're just flirting here but, Bill, I just wanted you to know up front, this is just playing. I'm not a wham bam kind of girl. I like to know guys before...anything happens."
"You don't know me after seven years? Not that I have anything against going slow."
"I know the office Bill, Mr. Maitland, the Ice Man. I'd like to know the other you."
"That works for me. The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic, anyway. Austin has me lined up for media interviews all week and I'm actually going out of town for a couple of days. And next week won't be too much better. He says we have to strike while the iron is hot, that we may never have this much media exposure again. So..."
"So why today?"
"I just wanted to let you know I'd like to see you when time permits. My life has been a roller coaster the last eight months. I don't know from one day to the next what's going to happen, but I don't want to lose the chance...to ...get to know you away from the office."
"Take another deep drink," she said, pointing to my Cappuccino.
I had no idea why, but I did. When she used her finger again to stroke the foam from my lip and work the finger in and out of her mouth with sucking sounds and a few sighs of enjoyment, I had to fight to avoid making a mess in my pants.
She took the finger she'd been sucking like a professional porn actress and rubbed it against my lip.
"We're going to take it slow, but I just wanted to let you know it will be worth your while when we do get to know each other."
'I never had any doubt," I said as I looked around and tried to think of the dullest book I'd ever read to make it possible for me to get up from the table and walk her back to her desk.
###############################
October 1, 2005 -- 11:55 p.m.
"oooohhhhhhh..." she said, letting out a long shuddering breath. She lay against him, her breasts flattening against his chest, feeling his hard maleness beginning to soften.
"That was nice," he said, laughing.
"Only nice?"
"On a scale of 1 to 10 in niceness, that was a 200," he said, catching her lips with his and she let their tongues tangle for a minute. Then, as he was sliding out of her, she let herself fall to his side and rested there comfortably. They hadn't been together that long, but already he felt comfortable and - safe. That was the only way to describe it. She felt like she'd known him a lot longer than the brief period since that first day at UNF.
He wasn't Doug. Hell, she wondered if Doug had even been human. She sometimes thought looking back that he must have been half Satyr. He could go and go and go. She had sometimes thought he would literally fuck her out of her mind. But Clint Abbott was...
She kissed the side of his jaw and he glanced over at her with a small smile. He'd never have been able to read her mind but, while he wasn't Doug, he was a nice guy with a really, good, hard cock and he knew how to use it. He wasn't superman, but he was a good, hard man. Like the song said, they were hard to find, and harder to hold onto.
"Have I told you lately how glad I am I bumped into you that day?" she asked, licking his face and ending up tangling tongues again.
"Likewise, Debbie Bascomb."
He ran a hand down to her breast, hefted it in his and let the flesh run through his fingers, squeezing the nipple as it filled and milking a groan out of her.
"You ready for another round? Keep that up and I will be."
He reached down and pulled his limp, wet cock up, then let it fall against his stomach.
"Hell no, you'll have to call in reinforcements."
She gave him a glance without thinking and he just shook his head and kissed her.
"I was teasing, Deb, teasing. Someday you're going to have to stop being so sensitive about it, The day will come when you and Doug and Bill will be old news, old gossip, and no one will care anymore. The Scarlet 'A' will fade."
She buried her face against his chest. Her emotions were all over the place. Bill's near death experience had stirred up memories and feelings that had been strangers to her for years. It hadn't made her fall back in love with him. There was still too much anger there. And seeing him flirting with that fucking cow at the Starbucks had left her pissed for the rest of the day.
But it had reminded her of why she'd loved him in the first place.
More than anything else, she felt sorrow. Sorrow that they'd both changed so much, lost what they had had long ago.
She wondered if she'd ever have that again. Clint was...Clint was a friend, a good guy, a man she admired and liked, but there was no fiery, burning love. Not what she'd had with Bill in college and after. She had never for a second felt for Clint what she'd felt in Bill's bed in that shabby apartment the first night they'd fucked.
Lying there naked, her skin against his, caressing the cast of his mangled right hand, she'd felt like someone who'd been blind from birth and suddenly could see. After months of being friends, of spending hours and hours with him, he had suddenly become a stranger.
She had looked over at his familiar face, the half smile on his lips, and felt an emotion she could only guess at. It felt like what she'd known as love, but it was different. And it was only when he opened his eyes and smiled at her, and she felt a fear she'd never experienced before, that she realized for the first time what real love felt like.
She had never really cared about guys before. They came and they went. New ones would always come along and the bittersweet pain of crushes was enjoyable, coming and going. But this was....she realized this boy could hurt her. Hurt her more than she'd ever been hurt before.
Her first impulse was to roll out of the bed and get away from him, get the hell out of there and find two or three or more guys to fuck. To fuck and suck and fuck again until she forgot all about this night.
But when he reached for her, she went to him.
Clint brought her back to the present by rolling away from her and sitting up on the side of the bed.
"I need a beer. You've dehydrated me, woman. You want some wine, or a beer?"
"Wine will do."
When he came back he handed her a glass of white wine and sat down naked and cross-legged on the bed.
"You going to spend the night?"
"I should probably go home. I have some things I need to do to get ready for Monday. Kelly is at my mom's and BJ is with friends, as usual, but I should go home."
He sighed theatrically.
"I know. I'm just a piece of meat to you. You use me and then want to spend the night in your own bed. It's so degrading."
She reached over and grabbed his limp cock, squeezing it and finding a sudden tension but then it went soft again. Hell, he'd cum twice in the last several hours and he was in his 40s. She was amazed she'd left him with any life in it.
"And that's a prime piece of meat, my friend, no doubt about it. But I don't want to break it. Besides, there will be plenty of other times when I'll be happy to abuse and degrade you. Trust me."
He gave her an odd look.
"Actually..."
She thought about it for a second.
"Don't tell me. Are you breaking up with me? You've bedded the campus sex symbol and now you're moving on?"
He took a sip of his beer and looked her square in the eyes.
"I'm not breaking up with you, but I am moving on."
"What are you talking about?"
He put the beer down on the side table and slid down to lie beside her.
"I was planning on telling you, but you were so fucking hot tonight, as you always are, that I just - put it off. I'm taking an early leave from my contract with the university. It was going to expire in April anyway, but my contract was written so either side could break it without penalty. I'll inform the university on Monday and they should be able to get a lecturer in to replace me for the rest of the six months or so left on the contract. There are always writers who want a place to hang their hat and a regular paycheck for awhile."
"But why?"
"Something's come up."
"Just like that - something's come up?"
"You know I alternate between fiction and freelancing articles. Well, about two weeks ago the company that has given me a fair number of longer freelance articles contacted me about another assignment."
"You couldn't wait until your contract expires? You told me once there are always new assignments coming along. You've got a good reputation and you're not hurting for cash. Why this one? And why give up a cushy writer in residence assignment?"
"Not for this one."
In answer to her unspoken question, he said, "There's not a lot of time to waste on this one and it could mean really big bucks. There's this little piece of hell tucked away in central Africa. It's claimed by two or three countries. There are some mineral rights, some diamonds, maybe some oil. There are three or four government armies and about a half dozen private armies tangling with each other on any given day."
"The worst of the worst, they say, is a local warlord. Some say he's a former French mercenary, others that he's a Brit. Whatever, he's a son of a bitch. They say he eats babies, but that's probably just propaganda he puts out. For sure, his favorite execution method is tying a man's hands and putting him over a sharp pointed spike anchored in the ground. The point of the spike is....aimed right at the...asshole. It's high enough that you can't touch the ground with your feet. You can try to hold yourself up with your hands, or use your thigh muscles to keep a grip on the stake. But eventually gravity does its dirty work."
"Oh, God."
"Exactly. He's covered whole fields with dozens, some say hundreds, of men -- and women -- planted on those spikes. A real class act."
"But what does that have to do with you?"
"Here's where the story gets interesting. As you might expect, the poor bastards who live in this little corner of hell have been human fodder for every gang of marauders passing through. They eat the locals' food, bang their women, and enlist their men and boys in their armies. Like something out of the 12th century. Naturally, the local residents are sheep. Their resistance was broken a long time ago."
"Until a couple of years ago. Stories started coming out about this Saint who had shown up out of nowhere. The people are primarily Roman Catholic going back to the 17th and 18th centuries when Catholic missionaries were active in the area. The stories said this Saint, a woman, could heal the sick, raise the dead, calm storms. All the typical Saint-type stunts. But - and this is where it gets good - they said that wherever she passed, flowers bloomed. Whole gardens of beautiful flowers. Now that's something you don't hear about too often."
Debbie just stared at him.
"You believe this? Flowers grow where this woman walks? Sounds like something out of a fairy tale."
Clint rubbed his hands and took a chug of his beer.
"Of course. Can't be true, but the people there believe the stories. They believe it enough that they've started resisting the top warlord and the other asshole mercenaries working the area. They're refusing to cooperate, killing mercenaries who get caught away from their buddies. They're letting themselves be tortured and killed rather than give any information about the resistance.
"It's driving the tough guys crazy. Nobody's ever stood up to them, and then this WOMAN of all things shows up and suddenly the natives develop backbones. So every army there has a bounty on the head of the woman they're all calling 'The Saint of the Flowers'."
"What does all this have to --"
He just looked at her and she knew.
"No."
She sat up and without realizing what she was doing slapped the beer bottle and it sailed across the room spraying beer in its wake. She swung at his face with a open palm and he barely caught it.
"Debbie..."
"Damn you, Clint Abbott. You stupid bastard. Is every man in the world a motherfucking moron with a death wish?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

He enveloped her with his arms and held her while she tried to hit at him.

"Debbie, don't go crazy on me. It's not what you think."
"Let go of me, let go of me before I scream bang and get your sorry ass thrown into jail. I should do that anyway. Keep you from killing yourself."
But he wouldn't let her go and finally she stopped struggling.
"You're going to do it, aren't you?"
"The company has contacts and they think they can get me into the country with an experienced war correspondent/journalist. The guy is good, from what they say, and has been in and out of a dozen war zones without getting a scratch. If we can interview 'The Saint of the Flowers' and her followers, get pictures, we can write our own tickets. It's a joint enterprise. He'll have his clients for short articles and I'll be contracted to get a book out of it. It could make me a pile of money. Enough so I wouldn't have to work again if I didn't want to."
She pulled away from him and the vision of Bill covered with blood filled her mind.
"Or you could end up a rotting corpse in an African field with a spike up your ass and crows eating your eyes out and hyenas fighting over what's left. Are you insane?"
He reached out and touched her face gently.
"I know part of this is because of what happened with Bill, but I'll be with experienced people and people get murdered on the streets of Jacksonville. I don't intend to die in an African field. I intend to walk away with a book that will get me on The Morning Show and Today, and probably Oprah."
They held each other in the center of the bed and she could hear cars faintly as they roared past on the highway. It was hard to believe there was a world that could hold butchery and Saints outside this room, but it was real.
After awhile he said, "I shouldn't be more than a few weeks or a month or two but, whatever happens, I'm not coming back here."
"Why?"
"You remember when we talked about you and Bill and not having closure. You reminded me that I seem to be hung up on a woman who cheated on me and died nearly 20 years ago. I got to thinking about it and you were right. It's been almost two decades and I've never had a serious relationship with another woman. There's something wrong there."
The moment stretched out.
"When I come back, and I will come back, I'm going back to Palatka. I never said goodbye properly. I was too hurt. I'm going to put a really nice tombstone up in her memory and try to say goodbye. And then look around for someone I can love - the way you loved Bill."
He just smiled at her.
"Don't say it. We're friends. We're good friends, but that's all you feel for me and all I feel for you. I want more. I want what I had. I'm going back to Palatka and I'm going to put up a tombstone that reads, 'Here Lies A Most Beautiful Lady,' from the Masefield poem, and I'm going to move on with my life."
They were lying together and after awhile she told him, "Turn the lights out. I changed my mind. Do you mind if I stay the night?"
As they lay together in the darkness and she eventually felt him relax in sleep, she wondered how it had happened.
She'd always had men in her life, attracted them without effort. And now the man she'd loved for half her life was in another bed, the man she'd left her husband for was halfway across the country, and a man who was probably the best friend, male or female, that she'd ever had was going to go off a half world away and get himself killed.
In the darkness she wept quietly for everything that had been lost and would be lost.
################################

[Ramesh_Rocky]

THE CLEAN UP CREW -- SECRETS

Here's the latest chapter of WWWM. My thanks once again to Curiousss for his hard work on editing, which I definitely think has improved the story. Believe it or not, the next chapter will not be long in coming. It's already written and Curiousss is laboring on it as this is posted. As always, I hope the readers who've stuck around continue to enjoy the story.
DQS1
###################
My name is William Maitland. I am 42 years old. I almost died a few days ago. I almost lost my job a few weeks ago. I lost the second woman I've loved in 20 years a month ago. I lost the first woman I ever loved and my family and my marriage six months ago.
I have gained a new nickname, international fame, and I'm having sex with women I never could have imagined approaching six months ago and I think I will be having sex with the sexiest woman with the biggest breasts in the Western Hemisphere within a not too distant length of time. That thought frightens and yet exhilarates me at the same time.
I have learned the basics of boxing and beaten the crap out of the man who stole my wife, albeit having the crap beaten out of me at the same time. I have repaired the rupture in my family due to the example of a man who died trying to make the world a better place, and a man who is a savage killer rescued my family and myself from a terrible and legitimate threat.
I have hurt a friend who has been cheating on his wife for years, that I know of, and possibly destroyed his marriage, while a man who has killed hundreds and ordered the murder of thousands has promised to watch my back against a drug cartel that might be coming after me and my family.
It's been a strange six months.
October 2, 2005 --Sunday 10:35 p.m.
I looked out over the sparkling galaxy of lights that was the New York skyline and almost had to pinch myself to make myself believe I was really here. I was 60 stories above the city, in a prime suite, all expenses paid by CBS. I held a glass of really good champagne, not sure what the exact year was but I was never really a Champagne connoisseur. I sniffed the goblet in my hand and let a few of the bubbles rise to tickle my nose.
The beautiful blonde standing behind me tapped me on the shoulder and I looked at our reflections, standing together in front of the glassed window.
"It is something, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"I love Jacksonville and I'm a Florida boy, born and bred, but I have to admit, you could get addicted to this view."
"I know what you mean, Bill. It's why so many men and women scramble and bleed and bust their asses to get to this city. You can't compare it -- I don't think -- to anyplace else on earth."
I turned to look up slightly into the deep blue eyes of Celestial Madonna, now Jane to me as I was Bill to her, and said, "Actually, I might have had this, but I turned it down."
She gave me a curious look.
"A few months back, before I became the 'Angel of Death', an attorney offered me a shot at a defense position in a firm with offices around the country including New York."
"You turned him down?"
I looked back out at the New York night sky and said, "He asked me the same day that my wife told me she was divorcing me. I was kind of off balance and wasn't ready to make any big moves in my life."
She put one slim hand on my right arm.
"That must have been terrible. I've been divorced, twice, but the first time we just grew apart. At the end we were just two friends sharing a place and there was no real pain there. The second time was harder. I've heard that she really broke you."
"That would about describe it. She tore my heart out, tore my balls off, wrecked my confidence in my manhood. She did a number on me."
She ran her hand up and down my arm. I had dressed for the 60 Minutes interview in my trademark black, only this time a black tux with a black shirt and dress pants. Following the interview, Jane had taken me as her guest to a restaurant I'd never heard of before which looked like a hole-in-the-wall dive and served the best French food I'd ever tasted, here or in Paris.
I had agreed to do a series of interviews for a number of CBS and other network operations, but Jane had basically taken over showing me around the city and getting me from one interview to another. Her bosses let her because they figured the bond would get them the best long term results for their dollar.
It was easy to forget that she was Celestial Madonna with the ever-so serious delivery of fluff pieces about the very important life events of very unimportant celebrities. She was funny, charming and didn't seem to be aware of just how unbelievably hot she was, with tight, taut firm C cup tits, a tiny waist, and an ass to die for when she wasn't dressed in her television uniform. This was the real woman, Jane from Pahokee.
"You recovered well, Bill. I'm thinking your ex is kicking herself in the ass right now."
"No, she found a young stud to play with and then an older guy who turned out to be an alright type. I couldn't hate him even when I wanted to. I think she might have some regrets, only because we were together for twenty years. But...."
"Trust me, she's kicking herself in the ass."
I turned to her and couldn't help grinning.
"It's okay Jane. You don't have to keep selling. You've already got most of the taping you needed and before I leave the city you'll have some good stuff."
She stepped in toward me until our faces were almost touching.
"I'm not selling the show, Bill Maitland."
"Then what are you selling?"
"I'm buying."
She leaned in and we were kissing, first with closed lips and then open mouths and her free hand dropped to my rising erection and began rubbing and squeezing it.
I pulled away from her and said, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"I think it's a great idea."
Then she was dropping to her knees, her long legs in sheer stockings visible crouched underneath her, unzipping me and she took almost all of me in one fluid motion. I looked down at her and still couldn't believe the woman I'd watched on television for a few years was on her knees sucking me off.
She pulled away and held my wet dick in one delicate hand and said, "I've wanted to do that since that day in the courthouse. I don't know what it was but, God I was hot, probably because I could almost smell that detective's pussy that was with you. She was dripping. You guys were so fucking obvious. Everybody around you knew what the two of you were going to do. I heard you fucked her in one of your empty offices. Is that true?"
"A gentleman never tells."
She squeezed, sucked and jerked and I finally broke down and said, "Yeah. Yes. We did it in one of the empty offices."
"Was she good?"
"I don't know. If you're starved and you're eating the best steak in the world so fast you don't even chew it, you don't know if it's good or not. You just know you have to have it."
She sucked hard and then let it go and looked up at me, smiling.
"Are you starved now?"
I pushed her down and knelt beside her, running my hand under her panties. She was dripping and my fingers came out wet. I started coming out of the tux and trying to get my pants down at the same time.
"The dresser," she said, pointing to a dresser near the entrance to the suite. I went over and opened it, finding a packet of condoms.
'You little slut. You were ready for this, weren't you?"
"Since you got to town. I've never fucked an Angel before."
"I hope I'm not a disappointment. That's a big rep to live up to. And as you can tell, I'm not the biggest guy in the world."
She reached down and squeezed.
"Big enough, baby, big enough."
I slipped the condom on and knelt between her long legs. I ran my fingers down her slit and they came up dripping. I held it to her lips and watched her lick them clean .
"You are such a fucking slut."
I lasted about five minutes the first time. Twenty minutes later she got me up again and I lasted twenty minutes before I came inside her mouth. I'd used a second condom but when I got close she had me pull out and slip it off and stick my cock, which was so hard it actually did hurt, into her mouth and she made it feel better.
The third time came about two hours later as we lay in a bed that reminded me of the one on the Bonne Chance, at least in its size. This time she mounted me and did a reverse cowboy. I'd seen it on porno films, but I'd never actually done it before. I guess I've been kind of slow, sexually speaking. Missionary, doggie, anal and oral had always been enough for me with Debbie and then Aline.
It was a strange sensation, watching her and visualizing her in her television persona and superimposing that over the naked figure slipping up and down on my cock wet with her juices. I almost felt like I was outside my body watching myself, except the sensation of hammering myself into her as far as I could go every time she rammed herself down on me was all too real.
Later she lay with her back against my chest and I cupped her sweaty breasts and played with the inch-long nipples.
"I still don't really believe this."
"Believe it, Mr. Maitland. This is all real and you felt very real inside me a few minutes ago."
I kissed the back of her neck and said, "I could never even have daydreamed this six months or a year ago."
She rolled over into me and kissed back.
"It's only been six months, Bill. It didn't feel real for me for more than a year after my split with my second ex.. I felt -- honest to God -- like I was cheating on my ex, and we'd been divorced for awhile. But, sometimes -- and I didn't fuck around all that much -- when I'd wake up next to a guy I'd have this momentary flash of guilt and wonder how I could be doing this to him -- my ex. And I'd only been married for four years."
'It took a year?"
"To stop feeling guilty? No, about six months. But I still dreamed about him for another six months."
She leaned back.
"I know it must feel like a hundred years ago since you were single, Bill. But we were all single before we got married. There is a life outside of marriage. There are millions of us, and most of us are pretty happy, most of the time. Just, stop being so serious. Have some fun and, if it's meant to be different, it will happen."
Sometime that morning I woke up with her nestled against me, her sweet smelling fragrance all around me, and realized where I was and who I was with. And, for the first time, other than the nights I'd spent with Aline, I didn't feel as if I'd awakened into a nightmare, lost and alone.
################
October 5, 2005 -- Wednesday - Noon
Bad things happen in threes.
I stood behind the widow, in the second row of mourners. We were standing as the security officer honor guard fired their rifles into the brilliant cloudless skies. She wore black, as did her daughter. It looked like half the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office was in attendance.
I caught some hard looks when people thought I wasn't looking. Some of them didn't bother to look away, just stared at me when I caught them. Sheriff Knight stood in the front row. He had looked at me as I walked into the church filled with blue uniforms. I stared right back at him. I didn't blame him for his feelings, but I had gotten James killed. The least I could do was attend his funeral.
I had driven my own car to the Evergreen Cemetery on 45th Street. Traffic was blocked for miles as the funeral procession filed into the cemetery. I had to walk nearly a half mile and I was hot and sweaty by the time I got to the burial site. They had chairs for nearly a hundred people, and there must have been another 400 standing.
I made my way through the crowd of blue and they melted away as I walked among them. When I got to the row of seats immediately behind Elexus James I stared at the cop sitting behind her. He didn't have to, but he got up and moved away. I sat behind him and tapped her on the shoulder.
I hadn't seen her since that day in James' hospital room. He had fought a good fight. It had taken him another four days to die. It looked like she'd aged ten years in the four days.
"Mrs. James, I'm sorry I was out of town when your husband passed. I didn't want to talk over the phone. I couldn't get back any sooner, but I wanted to come and express my condolences in person. He was a good man."
She just looked at me for a moment. Her eyes were red, but dry. It looked as if she didn't have any more tears in her to shed.
She still didn't say anything but the pretty teenager sitting next to her started crying and said, "You....you..."
"No, Conisha! No!"
She looked from her daughter to me.
"She's young, Mr. Maitland, and this has - hit her hard. Please, forgive her. She's young, and we're..."
I was wrong. She had a few tears left.
Knight stood beside her and put his arm around her. He sat down beside her and held her through the funeral. She never looked back at me again. Neither did he.
As I sat there and listened to the minister my mind wandered back to the previous Thursday. It looked like the same group of men in blue had surrounded Howser's wife, daughter and son. His son wore the Ranger uniform he hadn't even changed after arriving from Afghanistan via Jacksonville Naval Air Station on a straight fly-in.
Howser's parents had flown in from Michigan and he had a brother and sister who had flown in from Alabama and California respectively with their children. I had deliberately come late to the Oaklawn Cemetery on San Jose Boulevard, but the cops knew who I was, as did the television and press photographers who took my picture.
This funeral took place under an overcast sky that threatened to rain at any minute. The relative darkness seemed more appropriate for saying goodbye than watching men carrying the casket containing your mortal remains to your final resting place on a day when you should have been going to the beach. It was a typical Jacksonville October day, unseasonably warm.
Back on Thursday, I had waited until the minister had finished, the security officer squad had fired into the sky and Howser's friends had said go
odbye to his widow. Knight just nodded at me. I had a feeling he was going to be a long time, if ever, getting over the hard feelings he had for me.
Finally, there were only the television crews waiting a good distance away with the still photographers, Howser's family, a few cops and myself. I walked up to Mrs. Howser and she held her hand out. Her son and daughter stared at me with unreadable expressions. I don't know what I would have felt looking at the man in some way responsible for the death of my father.
"I'm glad you came, Mr. Maitland. I wanted Molly and Bert to be able to meet you. I've told them about what happened and why, and I've told them that their father admired you. I didn't want them to have any false impressions of what happened."
Molly Howser just stared at me, shook her head with the tears running down her face and stumbled away. Her mother followed her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to her.
Bert Howser was almost a younger carbon copy of his father, rail thin, six-foot-two, but with a full head of sandy hair. He put his hands behind his back, as if he was on parade inspection. His uniform was rumpled, but his shoes were shined.
"My mother has told me....about what happened, Mr. Maitland. I appreciate your coming by here. Dad would have appreciated the gesture."
"He was a good man and a good cop - it's Sergeant, isn't it?"
"Yes. I...uh....if..."
He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.
"I'm a soldier, Mr. Maitland. I enlisted knowing that I might not come back. I've got a fiancee and she's....she knows what the deal is. But, you don't expect your father...."
He shook his head and looked into the distance beyond me.
"He loved what he did. He was a little disappointed that I decided to make a career in the military - but he understood and I understood him. I'd never tell Mom but, I think if he knew he was going to die, he'd rather have gone out this way than die slow with cancer or something."
He looked down at the ground and rubbed his lip with his forefinger.
"The doctors told us they found heart problems in the autopsy. In a few months or more he probably would have had an attack or had symptoms. They'd have taken him off the street and given him a desk job, if they didn't put him out to pasture. He would have hated that."
I held out my hand and he shook it without looking at me. I walked away leaving him standing alone near the place where his father would be buried. I thought that at least he was lucky in that he would have a grave to visit. I hadn't been back to the mine where my father lay buried since I was eight years old, and I probably never would.
I'd heard the clicking of cameras as I'd shook his hand and figured they'd appear somewhere.
As I walked away from James' funeral the same cameras were clicking. I knew the stories that were coming.
"Maitland's deadly touch continues."
People died around me. Good or bad. It had seemed almost humorous when I'd first been tagged as the Angel of Death and people started treating me differently. It had stopped being funny a while back, especially because I'd begun to wonder myself.
Oh, and the third bad thing...
Two hours after I'd walked away from Bert Howser I drove down the paved road under the arch reading Old City Cemetery. It was a smaller cemetery in the largely black section of downtown Jacksonville. It was seemingly deserted except for Channel Four and Channel 12 television trucks parked just inside the entrance.
Camera crews stood outside the trucks and stared at me as I pulled in, but I was already by them before they could get their cameras aimed at me. I drove down a winding road until I saw a small knot of vehicles off to the right. I pulled in behind one and got out. A small group of people, maybe thirty in all, was standing near an open grave site. A casket was set up on a stand and a black minister stood in front of the casket.
In the front row of mourners was a small black, white-haired woman surrounded by three good-sized men. As one of the men, alerted by the murmurs of the crowd, turned to look at me I saw the resemblance. It was an older, heavier Shawn Smith. All of them turned to look at me as the first man to spot me came toward me at a fast walk.
"Get the fuck out of here," he said, his fists clenched. He was about six-two, heavily muscled. He was trembling. One of the other men with the old woman walked up behind him.
"Eddie, don't. Don't do this in front of momma."
"I'm gonna kill him with my bare hands if he don't walk his ass out of here. Now."
I held my hands in front of me, palms out in a conciliatory gesture. He had six inches and probably a hundred pounds on me. Even with the boxing lessons I'd had, I didn't want any trouble with him, especially since in his shoes I'd probably feel the same.
"Mr. Smith? You'd be Eddie Smith, Shawn's older brother, right? And you're Carl, right?"
Carl Smith put his hand on Eddie's shoulder and told me, "Mr. Maitland, please get out of here. My brother is a law abiding man, but this is a bad day for him, for all of us. Don't make it worse."
Eddie Smith pushed his brother's hand away and stared at me.
"Where are the photographers, you piece of shit? Just couldn't pass up another chance to get a little more publicity. 'Angel of Death comes to the Killer Cop's funeral.' I bet the tabloids will eat it up."
"No photographers and I won't stay long, if you'll give me just a couple of minutes. I was going to stay at the back until the service was over and have a couple of words with your mother, if I could."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"You get the fuck away from her, from us. I'll kill you before I let you hurt her more. You killed her baby, you fucking asshole. My baby brother."

"Edward!"
The white haired woman had come up behind him. She leaned heavily on a cane. She looked like she weighed 100 pounds if she was soaking wet, and yet she had borne four bruising sons.
"Momma, go back. This is that piece of shit- "
"Edward, I'm not one of your floozy girlfriends, and this is your brother's funeral. You will not use that kind of language on this day."
She stared at me, Her face was lined and the lines had lines. I couldn't imagine when she had been a young woman conceiving and bearing these sons.
"Mrs. Smith."
"Mr. Maitland, why are you here?"
"I came to express my condolences for your loss, Mrs. Smith."
"You fucking hypocrite. You got him killed and you have the balls to come here and-"
"Edward, show some respect for your brother. Mr. Maitland, you could have sent a card. Why did you feel it necessary to show up in person.? You have to know that my sons are very upset. Shawn was my baby, our baby, and they helped raise him after my husband died when he was just a toddler."
"I'm very sorry to intrude on your personal grief, Mrs. Smith. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry it turned out this way. I never intended for it to end like this. I knew that Shawn might, probably would, have to serve some prison time, but people go in and come out all the time. He could have built a new life, a different life, and he had a lot of friends. He could have come back."
The brother who hadn't spoken, Cyrus, had joined us.
"As what? A crooked cop who shot a man in the back and killed him? How do you come back from that? I tried to talk sense to him, but he thought it was the end of everything. When he lost Elise, it was like the heart went out of him. I knew he was going to do something crazy, but he wouldn't have, and he wouldn't have lost Elise, if you hadn't kept hounding him."
"I thought he had murdered a man, maybe in passion, but it was still murder, and I couldn't walk away."
"It's done now. It's over, Mr. Maitland. We'll bury my son and go on with our lives. I appreciate your having the decency to come here and talk to me."
Eddie Smith said, "We'll go on with our lives as the family of the killer cop who murdered three men and then shot down two of his fellow cops before they shot him down like a mad dog. That's what we'll go on with and what we'll have to tell his nieces and nephews and grand nieces and nephews when they come along. That's what we'll tell them about my baby brother."
I shook my head and reached out to take his mother's hand. She stiffened, but didn't pull away.
"No, tell them that your baby brother, your son, Mrs. Smith, was a good and a brave cop. He saved lives and shot down bad guys. He earned commendations. He was liked and respected by the men he served with. He served the public for ten years. He never had a blemish on his record, but then he fell in love. Love makes people do strange things. He made a mistake and it cost him his life, but the way he died doesn't change the way he lived his life. Maybe the public will always look at him as the Killer Cop, but you can tell his nieces and nephews that he was a good cop and a good man, and there are records to prove it."
As I walked back to my Escalade I knew they'd probably never forgive me for the part I had played in Shawn's death. But they hadn't committed Shawn's crimes. They just had to pay for them for the rest of their lives. I hoped my words would help them, even a little bit, to remember the good that Shawn Smith had done in his short life.
I felt tired as hell - maybe it was finally all over. However I didn't know as I drove away from Smith's family that James would die in the hospital within 36 hours. I'd have one more funeral to attend before I could start trying to forget about Shawn Smith. I also knew that, try as I might, I never would.
The gunfire in the FOP hall had only taken seconds, but the ripples of those seconds would change lives for years to come. The sad thing is that I had learned over the past ten plus years that that's the way it always is. Episodes of violence never ever end nice and neat, maybe because life isn't that way.
########################
October 5, 2005 -- Wednesday - 3 p.m.
She had thought she was too late. By the time she had found parking at Jacksonville International Airport, made her way to the departure terminal and found the ticket counter for United, it was already 3 p.m. She knew that Clint was flying out on a 5:30 flight and he'd said he had to be at the airport by 3 at the latest to make that flight.
She looked around trying to make out his slender frame topped by dark hair streaked with gray, but there were so many people. This was a silly, foolish thing to be doing, but even though they'd said goodbye the night he told her about his African adventure, she felt like there was too much unsaid.
He found her. She turned around and he was standing there, two suitcases at his feet.
"You're really trying to make it hard for me to leave, aren't you?"
She was in his arms and kissing him as hard as she could. She heard laughter and even a little applause from passengers streaming around them. Finally they separated and she saw that his shirt was wet with her tears. He looked at her strangely and she realized his eyes were misting.
"Why are you doing this, Debbie? I know you don't love me. I'm your friend but I never thought or said I was anything more. Have I been misreading the signals all this time?"
She took his hand and said, "Can we talk? Do you have a few minutes?"
He looked around, then said, "probably a few minutes. Let's find someplace to sit down and have a coffee, but I can't take too long."
They found a Starbucks and he ordered while she sat at the one free table in the place. In a few minutes he came over with their Cappuccinos and said, "Somehow this feels like Déjà Vu all over again."
She drank, to have something to do with her hands and to avoid having to look at him directly.
"I'm glad you came, Debbie. I'm glad I had a chance to say goodbye, but what's going on? What the hell was that kiss all about?"
She finally made herself look up at him. He was just Clint. That made her feel so damned good, yet terrified her at the same time.
"I know..."
She took a breath.
"I know that you said you didn't love me. You've never made a secret of that and I never said I loved you. We're friends with benefits, but I love you like a friend. You don't know how important you've become in my life. No matter how shitty I've felt, no matter how guilty I've felt, no matter how bad I've felt, you've been there for me."
He grinned that familiar grin and made a casual gesture toward her body and said, "Okay, Deb, but it hasn't been hardship duty. There's a world full of guys that would have killed for the pleasure of consoling you. As the old saying, goes, it's a rough job, but a man's got to do what a man's got to do."
"I know, Clint, but all I gave you was sex and you could have gotten that a lot of places. You helped me keep my head on,"
He reached out and took her hand.
"You value yourself too lightly, Deb. You remember what I said. There are guys who would die for your smile - not your body, not sex with you, but your smile. If I could have loved anybody, if I could ever have got my head on straight and got over my wife, I could have seen myself with you. The thing is, by the time I got there, you'll be back with Bill. The timing was never right for us."
"Why do you say that? Why won't you believe me when I tell you Bill and I will never get back together, ever?"
He smiled and ran a finger along the side of her face.
"You'll never know, unfortunately, what it's like for a guy just to look at you. You can't think like a man, so you'll never know how we look at female beauty. Trust me, you're a very rare treasure. Why I'm so sure you'll be back with Bill? Because you still love him, because you get a look on your face when his name is mentioned, because you get so damned angry when his name is mentioned. You don't get angry like that at people you've left behind."
"I'm not going back because I don't want to. Our marriage died a slow, painful death and I won't go back to that but, even - even - if I wanted to, he would never take me back. I can't tell you why, but he won't. He's moved on."
"I won't say writers are psychics, but we do have a pretty good grasp of human emotions, and I'm pretty good at reading people as an old newspaper reporter and writer. He was in love with you that night that I met him at your place. It was written all over him."
She sipped at her drink and said, without looking up at him, "Maybe, but you didn't see him the night that we met him and Aline at his condo. Maybe he did love me, and I was egotistical enough to to think he always would, but he's in love with her now."
"He wouldn't be the first man, or woman, to be in love with two people at the same time."
She turned her attention back to her drink. After a moment, she said, "Even if you don't love me, I know you love fucking me. If you think what we had was hot, stay with me, don't get on that damned plane, and I'll drain you so dry you'll need IVs every night. We'll try every position in the Kama Sutra and come up with a few new ones of our own."
He just smiled at her.
"I don't think any woman, any person, has ever paid me that great a compliment, Deb. If it was just the sex, shit, I'd stay. If I didn't know you were in love with another man, I'd think seriously about winning you for myself. I have no idea what it would feel like seeing that look in your eyes for me that you have when you hear his name. I have a feeling it would be wonderful, but..."
"But...?"
"I don't know how to explain it and I wish I could. I just feel like this is something I need to do - something I have to do. It's just like when I had to write that first novel, and it changed my life. I don't know what I'll find in Africa, but I feel like I can't live the rest of my life not knowing what I've missed."
Then she was crying again and hating it.
"I don't know why I can't make you understand, Clint. I have this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that when you walk away to the boarding area, that will be the last time I ever see you. I don't think you're coming back. I think you're going to die over there and that thought....devastates me.
"Bill - Bill is never coming back. Doug is gone and I won't see him again, and you've getting ready to leave me. My husband, my lover, my friend. It feels like I'm losing everything."
He moved around to put his arms around her.
"It might feel that way, but you're not. You've got your kids, a good job, friends and your ex working in the same building. He's alive and I will come back. Your feminine intuition has been wrong before."
He put his arms down and reached into his wallet. Not looking at her, he took a crumpled check out and put it on the table. He motioned to it and she picked it up. It was a check for $10,000 -- made out to her. Beside it he put a folded piece of white copy paper.
"What?"
He deliberately looked down at the table rather than meeting her eyes.
"I -- uh...I need to ask you for a favor, Deb, a big favor and I don't want you to get upset when I tell you what it is, okay?"
"What kind of favor?" But even as she was asking the question she remembered their late night conversation and knew what it was.
"I plan on coming back but, nothing in life is certain, and if I don't..."
He took a last sip of his Cappuccino.
"I would like you to cash and deposit this into your account and hold it. If I don't come back, this will pay for a pretty good sized marble monument. I want you to have it put up on her grave. It's in Palatka Memorial Gardens cemetery. There's just a little marker there now. I....after she died I wasn't.....real happy with her and I didn't put anything but the bare minimum at her grave site."
He reached back into the wallet and pulled out an old and frayed color photograph. It had been sealed in plastic so it had stood up pretty well to the ravages of time. The woman, who had long, black straight hair down to her waist, sat in the bend of a huge tree trunk on a lushly manicured lawn with a large building that had to be a courthouse behind her.
She wore a green blouse over a dark green short skirt that rode up on her thighs as she sat forward, smiling at whoever had taken the photo.
"I've carried it for 25 years," he said, biting his lip, "It's the last picture I have of her -- when she still loved me."
He ran his thumb over the picture.
"You can see how beautiful she was. Too beautiful to die as young as she did. She was only 24 - only 24."
He stared at it and Debbie felt that he had gone somewhere where only two people existed.
He took a deep breath.
"I should have done this a long time ago. She uh....she was an only child and her parents are gone now. My parents died a few years ago and my brother never really knew her. He lives up in Canada. All our friends are long gone, scattered to the four winds."
He looked up and met Debbie's eyes. She wondered if any man would ever again look at her the way he looked at the faded photo on the table.
"She was so beautiful. Before it all fell apart, she was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. But I'm....the only one left alive who knows how beautiful she was, how wonderful she was. If something happens to me..."
He took her hand.
"It's not right that she should be forgotten like that. If we had had children, there would be somebody to mourn her, somebody to bring flowers, to keep her memory alive. It's not much, but all I can do is put up a memorial, a granite marker, to tell people who pass by that somebody special lived and is buried there.
"I want you to have her name -- Margaret Elise Abbott -- put on the marker, and the dates January 3, 1956 and November 7, 1980, and these words -- 'Here Lies A Most Beautiful Lady.' The $10,000 should more than cover the expenses."
"No."
She tried to pull back but he held her hand.
"I don't expect you'll have to. I expect to come back and I want to do it myself. I want to say goodbye to her properly but, I couldn't stand the thought of dying and letting her be forgotten. I don't want you to do anything until you know I'm not coming back. Do this for me, Debbie. Be my friend. "
She closed her eyes and felt him release her hand. He slipped the check under her palm. He kissed her cheek and stood. When she opened her eyes he and the photo of the love of his life were gone.
#########################
October 5, 2005 -- Wednesday - 4:30 p.m.
I had returned from James' funeral and was diving back into the accumulated paperwork that had piled up over a week. I make it a habit just to glance at arrest reports, to see if anybody interesting might have entered the system. I almost overlooked it, but something caught my attention and then I realized the name I was looking at.
I rang the Lieutenant in charge at the jail and asked him about the prisoner who'd been brought in Monday and had sat in the jail for the past two days.
"The charge is aggravated battery and attempted murder but there's no bond. Why?"
"He was going to go before a judge Tuesday morning," Lieutenant "Red" Butler said with his Arkansas HillBilly Twang that 20 years out of the Ozarks had never eroded.
"He nearly killed a woman, tried to strangle her, but he didn't finish the job. He scared the hell out of her and she filed an order to keep him the hell away from her regardless of the charges the arresting officer filed. However, before he could go in front of the judge, the son of a bitch nearly killed two inmates in the general holding cell where we were keeping him. He also sent one of my guys to University with a dislocated shoulder when he tried to get in the middle of it."
"What happened? Why weren't more charges filed against him?"
"Two of our alleged tough guy thugs moved in on him Monday night. Before it was over, he'd crippled one guy -- smashed his knee up, broke his arm and collarbone - and beat the other guy so badly that he's in the hospital in a coma. Harrington, Bob Harrington, was on shift duty and came in to try to save the guy. The 'victim' did something that nearly tore Harrington's shoulder out of its socket."
"Why the hell no charges?"
"Cameras caught the whole thing. He was defending himself. The two guys in the hospital started it all and he -- uh -- he tore them up before anybody could do anything to stop him. When he realized that Harrington was a jail officer, he backed off. He even helped pop his shoulder back in its socket before the other officers could get in there."
"You're absolutely sure?"
"Cameras don't lie. We have audio as well. One of your guys told us we'd be lucky if he didn't wind up suing us and making a bundle off the city for not protecting him better than we did."
"Where is he now, and has he seen a judge?"
"No, we couldn't charge him, but in light of everything that happened, and the fact the woman he nearly killed is terrified and begging us to keep him behind bars, we managed to put off a court appearance for a few days. That gives us a chance to figure out what the hell is going on and maybe let this guy cool down. We're keeping him in a solitary holding cell. It's not safe to leave him in the general population."
"I'm coming down, Red. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Don't tell him I'm coming."
"To what do we owe this honor? You don't usually come down for a face to face with anybody."
"It's personal."
Butler himself was waiting at the entrance to the maze of halls and walkways that make up the jail when I got down there. They buzzed me in through the admitting door and he led the way. It took 10 minutes to reach one of the few individual cells we kept for dangerous visitors or those who were in danger themselves in the general population.
There was a hallway about four feet across, bars and a room with only enough space for a cot, a sink and an overhead television. A dark haired man lay on the cot, his arms folded under his head, staring at the television which was broadcasting soap operas at that time of day.
Butler stood beside me and he noticed that I didn't get close to the bars, or close enough so that the man lying relaxed on the cot could get to me before I could move back.
"I guess you do know the guy," he said.
"Paul. Paul Donnally."
After a moment, Donnally turned his head toward me and glanced at both of us. Butler he didn't recognize, but I could tell he remembered me. I looked for what I'd seen in his eyes the day I'd fought Doug at UNF, but they were simply blank. He turned his head back away from me to stare at the ceiling.
I told Butler to get me a chair and when it came I sat down across from Donnally.
'Mr. Donnally, I need to talk to you. Could you give me a few minutes of your time?"
He was silent for an unnerving amount of time, then sat up on his cot so quickly I almost leaned back away from him.
"I guess I've got the time, Mr. Maitland, but what brings a man of your stature down to talk to a simple wife beater?"
"Not beaten, the hospital records said she might have permanent damage to her vocal cords. You strangled her so severely you actually broke a number of blood vessels in her throat. They say it's a miracle she didn't die there, choke to death on her own blood. That was your wife, your wife of nearly 20 years. Why did you try to kill her?"
He looked at the floor as though studying the tile pattern, then said, "I didn't try to kill her. If I had, she'd be dead."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"You came very close."

"I just lost it for a minute but I didn't want to kill her."
He could have been discussing the weather, or the last Jaguars game.
"You know that you're a very dangerous man, don't you?"
He shook his head.
"We're all dangerous."
"You nearly kill your wife. You send two big bruisers to the hospital, one with life threatening injuries. You nearly tear a jail officer's shoulder off. That makes you more dangerous than most. That makes me wonder if I should do anything I can to keep you off the streets and away from other people you could hurt."
He looked at me for a moment, dropped his eyes and then looked back at me and I almost jumped out of my skin. Whatever it was that he was hiding flashed across his eyes for a moment.
"I guess you're probably right, Mr. Maitland. I probably shouldn't be let out of here. I'll make it easy on you. I'll plead guilty to aggravated battery and attempted murder. That should put me away for a while."
I just stared at him for a moment. I wondered what was going on behind those blank screens of eyes. I still had the certainty in my gut that he was a very dangerous man, but I just didn't get the vibes that he was a bad man, and yet he had nearly murdered his wife. Forget the two thugs, they'd deserved whatever they got, but he had nearly strangled the mother of his two college age children.
"Do you want to talk?"
"No."
"Would you mind - are you going to raise legal hell with us if we keep you here a few more days investigating what happened - before you go in front of a judge? You could get out quicker if you ask to see the judge."
He shook his head again.
"No, I'm fine here. It's good for thinking, no distractions."
"I'll be back, Paul. Is it okay if I call you Paul?"
"Why not? It's my name. You mind if I call you Mr. Maitland?"
I shook my head. How the hell could I like the guy, and not want to be in the same cell with him?
I stood to leave. He looked at me again and I didn't see the darkness in him.
"You ever think, Mr. Maitland, how we wound up like this? Me in here with a wife I love more than life itself and want to strangle until her heart stops, and you out there with a wife that you gave your life to, and she threw you away. How do things like that happen?"
"I wish I knew, Paul. I really wish I knew."
I was walking across the street and back to the courthouse when I saw Debbie walking in from the Bay Street entrance. She carried the briefcase she'd started using since she'd started with the Public Defender's Office and as always she looked good. She also looked like she'd lost her last friend and it was plain she'd been crying.
I kicked myself, but there was always the possibility that something was wrong with the kids. I knew that's what I told myself but I knew it just kept her thinking that I still cared about her and, of course, I didn't - I really didn't!
I cut her off and it was an indication of how deep in her thoughts she was that she didn't see me until I was standing directly in front of her. She had to stop abruptly.
"Bill. I didn't-"
"Is everything okay, Deb? The kids alright?"
"The kids? Yeah - they're both fine, I think. Haven't talked to Kelly in a couple of days. BJ's back in college and seems to be doing okay, if I can stay on him to do his homework."
"Then?"
"Clint...just flew out of JIA."
I couldn't help feeling a little twinge of, something, but I had liked the guy.
"I'm - sorry, Deb, I know you liked the guy. Is he coming back soon, or at all?"
She clouded over and I knew I'd said exactly the wrong thing.
"Why are all men such fucking macho idiots?"
"To give women something to work with?"
She looked at the big clock on the wall of the entrance to the courthouse and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to check in with Johnny. You're looking good, Bill. That head wound cleared up nicely."
Then she walked away. Something felt odd about that encounter and then I realized she hadn't been the one pushing for us to talk. She must have really developed feelings for the guy and, again, I didn't know quite how that made me feel.
When I got back to my office there was a blonde guy in the waiting area who looked vaguely familiar, although I wasn't sure where I knew him from. Cheryl said, "This is Mr. Tucker, Mr. Maitland. Do you have a moment?"
I headed into my office and told her to send him in.
He folded his long, lanky frame -- he had to be about six foot three or four -- into the chair opposite me and said, "It's Gil Tucker; we met on the Bonne Chance. I could see you trying to place me. Remember, at the Captain's Dinner."
I remembered. I was surprised that Ms. Stein hadn't eaten him alive but he looked none the worse for wear.
"Yeah, it's good to see you again. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to talk to you about Paul Donnally and see if I can get permission to see him. The officer on duty down there said he was being kept away from the general population and not receiving visitors."
"How do you know Donnally?"
"We used to be next door neighbors, for years, and I'm his best friend."
"What kind of guy is he? Did you have any idea he was going to try to strangle his wife?"
"No. Not that she didn't deserve it. Actually, that's kind of strong but, anyway, Paul is the last person on earth anyone would ever expect to do ANYTHING violent. It's not in his nature, or it wasn't. I don't think I've ever seen him get really angry in all the years I've known him -- until recently."
"What happened?"
"Too long to go into. She's been cheating on him for years and he was blind. She's the...the kind of woman...I'll tell you the kind of woman she is. Paul is my best friend. He pulled me out of Hell when my own marriage fell apart. Even knowing what she's done to him, if she showed up at my apartment at 3 a.m., I don't know that I wouldn't fuck her. That's the kind of woman she is. Anyway, he found out what she was up to, the kind of woman she really is, in the worst possible way. I had to scbang up what was left and try to put him back together again. He might have been able to walk away, but the bitch wouldn't let him alone. He tried to avoid her but....and when he met her....he snapped. That's all I can figure. I still don't understand it."
He was silent for a moment, then said, "I need to talk to him. I can get him the best defense attorneys around. I have a little money, actually, a lot. I worked for Bell Labs and I have a few patents. I'd like to get him out of the jail."
"He doesn't want to get out. I was just down there and he's in a single cell for the safety of everybody else down there. He put two inmates into the hospital and nearly put one of the jail officers out."
"Paul? Paul did that?"
"There's things about the man you obviously don't know."
"Obviously. It's like finding out that the world is flat. But I'd still like to see him."
"Sure, I'll call down and let them know to let you in. Do I need to remind you not to bring in any files or hacksaws?"
He smiled back.
"Attorneys are much more effective."
As he stood to walk out, he looked back at me and said, "He's not the kind of man you think he is, Maitland, he really isn't, no matter what it looks like."
I watched him as he went out the door, thinking that everybody deserved one friend like Gil Tucker, or Lew Walters.
##########################
October 6, 2005 -- Thursday - 6:30 p.m.
I was in my Escalade heading for Baymeadows, where the woman with the biggest, or at least the sexiest, tits in the world was waiting to go out to dinner with me when my cell rang. I saw that it was an SA number.
"What is it, Mitch? DO NOT SAY an emergency has come up."
"An emergency has come up."
"I told you not to say that. What is it?"
"We've got a lady here who apparently is a cousin of Wilbur Bell. She's doing her damnedest to talk old Wilbur out of testifying against Sutton. I've got the room bugged so I could hear what was going on and she's telling him he's wasting his time because they'll never convict Sutton. Also, Wilbur's daughter might 'come into some money' if Wilbur conveniently develops amnesia about the whole thing."
"That asshole and his mother never quit. Let me get over there and see if I can convince the cousin to roll over on Sutton and momma. It would be nice to put them away for jury tampering even if we never get him on murder charges. Get her out of there but don't let her get away. Wilbur is too far gone to even let him be disturbed by shit like this. Sutton will get the same benefit if she precipitates a heart attack and kills him off."
It was a gamble because we couldn't use the information obtained by the bug if the cousin turned stubborn on us and refused to admit she was trying to tamper with a witness. However, it gave us a shot, and that made it worthwhile to leave the biggest tits in the western hemisphere unexamined for another few days.
I punched in Myra's number.
"Hello, Bill. Please tell me this is to confirm that you're on your way over here. I got dressed up and this one has buttons strong enough to hold me in but it's low cut enough to be....interesting."
"I wish, Myra. Something has come up. I've got to go. It's important or I'd be over there in 30 minutes. Is there any chance that, maybe, we could get together for drinks later tonight?"
"Tomorrow's a work day Bill, you know that, and some of us need our beauty sleep. Besides, you show up on my doorstep at 11 p.m., we get to drinking and we're liable to do something we'll regret."
"You might, I won't."
"I don't think so. Besides, it's not like you're dying for - relief, is it?"
"That means.....?"
"A little birdie told me that Celestial Madonna was grinning ear to ear when you left her in New York this past weekend, and it wasn't just because you give good interview, was it?"
"Myra, you think I'd mix business and pleasure?"
"I think you're a man."
"It was an interesting weekend."
"You'd have had more fun with me, but that's too catty. I'm glad you had a good time. Let's try to reschedule."
"I'll call you tomorrow or come up and see you. I don't know about this weekend, but we will get together."
"I'm looking forward to it. Right now I guess I'll get out of these clothes, lay down naked on my satin sheets and rub lotion where I need it. Bye."
I ALMOST kept going to her apartment, but the ghost of my father whispered in my ear and I did the right thing. I drove to Baptist Medical Center, made sure Wilbur was still breathing, spent a frustrating hour trying to threaten or cajole the cousin into rolling over on the Suttons but finally gave up. She was either too stubborn, too stupid or too greedy to be rollable, but I made sure the nurses and staff knew this lady was never to be allowed in or anywhere near Sutton's room again.
Then I went home and for the first time in a long time jerked off to a porno about a huge breasted nympho on one of the better computer porn sites. It helped -- a little bit.
###########################
October 7, 2005 -- FRIDAY - 9 a.m.
I stood up in front of Judge Larry Martin, a young black judge only a few years older than myself, and watched Paul Donnally being walked by bailiffs to the defendant's table from the area where prisoners were kept before they were called. Johnny August stood at the table waiting for him. That alone was enough to raise a stir among the knowledgeable courthouse watchers. The Public Defender never appeared on first hearings before a judge. The newest and lowliest of the low did this scut work, but not today.
Before Donnally had even gotten into place, August turned his nearly sightless eyes toward me, then looked back at the judge and said, "Your honor, I want to formally protest the action of Assistant State Attorney William Maitland. The bond he is requesting is an affront to decency,"
Martin looked at me and asked, "Mr. Maitland, do you have anything you want to say about this matter. Not that I have any doubt that you do."
Before I could answer, August in his best tone of feigned outrage, interrupted, "Your honor, how can there be any justification for a million dollar CASH bond in a case that -- at worst -- might involve attempted first degree murder and will likely be pled down to a much less severe offense. Serial killers and terrorists don't face million dollar CASH bonds. It is unheard of, unless Mr. Maitland thinks we're dealing with a multi-millionaire cold blooded murderer who will run to a country without an extradition treaty as soon as he walks out of here. My client is a public relations professional at a local university, a white collar worker of limited financial means, who has never been guilty of even a traffic infraction, much less a serious crime. I am more of a flight risk than Mr. Donnally."
Martin let August make his spiel, then directed his attention back to me.
"I'll grant that a million dollar cash bond is unusual, your honor, but I do think it's justified in this case. First, the defendant is charged with attempting to murder his wife by crushing her throat with his bare hands and almost succeeding. His wife sent a letter to my office begging us to keep her husband in custody because of her very real fear that the next time he sees her, he will complete the job. She has hired private security preparing for the possibility that he might make bond.
"Secondly, while in custody, he became involved in a disturbance with fellow inmates that left one in a coma and the other with serious injuries, both of whom are still being treated at University Medical Center. In the same incident he ripped a jail officer's arm literally out of its socket. He attempted to aid the officer afterwards and it appears the officer might not suffer permanent damage.
"To sum up, while in custody and being overseen he did serious bodily damage to three grown, good-sized men, with his bare hands. I leave it to your imagination what he might do to a five-foot-four, 120 pound woman with those same bare hands. Also, we are dealing with a domestic situation here. You and I are both aware that some of the most heinous violence we see comes in exactly such situations. Finally, the bond is appropriate because Mr. Donnally has requested and agreed to such a bond."
August must have been warned because he quickly said, "It's clear, your honor, that Mr. Donnally is under severe emotional pressure and quite honestly feels so guilty about the attack on his wife that he feels being kept in custody is an appropriate punishment for what he's done. Nonetheless, bond is not our system's way of punishing people for what they've done. Mr. Donnally has friends and family who will stay with him and monitor his behavior to avoid any recurrence of such an incident."
"Ask Mr. Donnally," I told Martin. "Ask him what he thinks."
Martin looked at Donnally, in handcuffs and leg chains unlike any other inmate brought over from the jail. Both his bailiffs were carrying security officer-issue Tasers as well.
"Mr. Donnally, is what Mr. Maitland says true? You asked for and agreed to a million dollar cash bond?"
"Yes, your honor?"
"Why?"
"I asked for a high cash bond so I couldn't be bonded out. My wife and I, are having serious problems and she will not leave me alone. I am afraid that, if I wind up in close proximity to her again, I will kill her, and we have two children. I'm doing this to protect her until it's safe for me to be free again."
"You realize, Mr. Donnally, that we are not running a free hotel and recovery unit in our jail? It wasn't designed to give individuals such as yourself a place to get your emotions under control before venturing out again."
"We are, as are his friends, in the process of obtaining psychiatric counseling for Mr. Donnally," I told Martin, "The state has no intention of turning the Duval County Jail into a recovery facility. This is a short term strategy to prevent a tragedy, your honor. No one will be served if Mrs. Donnally is murdered, her husband becomes a murderer, and their children are deprived of their parents. We merely ask that you let this bond remain in place for a relatively short period of time."
"The state might have the best of intentions, your honor, but this is not the proper way to go about it," August said.
Martin thought about it for a half minute, then said, "I tend to agree, but in the interests of public safety and with the understanding that this will be brought back before the court shortly to be changed, I'll set the bond at this time."
October 7, 2005 -- FRIDAY - 3 p.m.
David Brandon, one of the other two ASAs equal to me (on paper) in the State Attorney food chain walked in without knocking. There were only three people in the department who could do that. Even though I carried the most weight in the office, Brandon had been here longer, had taken my leapfrogging him to head the office under the Big Man with good grace, and basically was an all-around nice guy.
"Hi, guy," he said, extending a letter to me across my desk.
"Hey Dave, what is this?"
"Read it and be astounded."
I opened it and read.
------
"Mr. Brandon,
"I wish to formally rescind my previous request that my husband, Paul Donnally, be held in the tightest custody possible. I would like to request that he be released as I am formally withdrawing my complaint against him.
"I know that formal charges have been filed against him for assault, but those charges are not valid. We had a fight and I attacked him with a knife and he was defending himself. If anybody should be in jail it should be me, not him. He took the blame for the assault because that is the kind of man that he is. I accused him of choking me in anger over a fight we had and faked the injuries. I had a friend choke me after my husband left our home to leave marks and he accidently choked me harder than he realized.
"I will not testify against my husband, regardless of what action the State Attorney's Office decides to take against me. I regret the actions I have taken and am ready to take responsibility and any legal punishment that may result from this letter."
"Sincerely, Paula Donnally."
------
"Are you believing that crap?" Dave said, shaking his head.
"Not really. I wonder if she knows that he's already shown how dangerous he is and that there is no way in hell anyone is going to believe her story about her faking those injuries."
"I know. I talked to the officer who took the call. She was terrified when they showed up. She could barely breath and she was trembling and hyperventilating. The officer is a veteran and he said no way was she faking. She was scared shitless."
"So why would she try to retract her testimony, get the husband who came within an eyelash of killing her out of jail, and face prosecution for faking an assault and a criminal charge? Does any of this make any sense at all to you?"
He shook his head.
"No, but you know that at this point if Donnally wanted to walk, I'd probably suggest that we let him. If she's serious about retracting her accusations, even if we have physical evidence, we'd have a hard time winning a case. It's hard to overcome a weeping wife testifying that she lied to get her husband in trouble after a fight. As to the jail, hell you know that we'd face liability there. I think the Big Man would tell us to let him go before we piss him off enough to take us to court."
I couldn't argue with his conclusions, but something in me rebelled at the thought of turning Donnally loose on the world. I needed to look into the attack on the wife try to figure out what was going on before I did anything I couldn't take back.
"Anyway Bill, she called about an hour ago and asked to come in to talk with us about the case. I figured we could work something out and maybe make this whole thing go away."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I don't know Dave. Maybe I should sit in on-"

"Shit, Bill, you put in about 90 hours a week as it is. You've got other stuff on your plate. Look, I'll have Gary Matthews sit in with me and I won't do anything. I'll call or email you over the weekend and tell her we can't do anything until Monday, so you'll have the final say if you really have doubts about all this. Okay?"
I did have a hell of a lot of other stuff to wade through. I was a little bit curious about Paula Donnally after what Gil Tucker had said, but I guess after you've seen one fucking cheating slut, and I had been married to her, you didn't need to see any more. Alright, I know that didn't apply to my former wife exactly, but there were still plenty of times when I felt like it did. However, if Gil Tucker was right, Paula Donnally was in another category altogether.
"Okay, hey, didn't your kids have that softball game this evening. I thought you said you had promised Darlene that you'd get off on time for a change."
If there was anyone in the world who was more married than I had been, it would have to be Brandon. His wife wasn't the hottest woman I'd ever seen. She'd put on weight after three kids, but love is blind. Brandon doted on her and his 16-year-old son and two seven-year-old twin girls. Just knowing there were marriages like his around made me feel better.
"I'll make it in plenty of time. The game is under the lights and it doesn't start until 6. I've been promising Darlene I'd get off earlier. It shouldn't take more than an hour, two hours to finish up with Ms. Donnally and then I'll be out of here."
I finished by 7:30 p.m. and called down to Brandon's office but there was no answer. I had gone by Myra's earlier but she had plans with -- female -- friends she'd already made.
"I'm a little hurt that you'd go out with female friends when you have a chance to be wined and dined by an internationally famous legal superstar," I told her, making sure to smile so she'd know that I knew this was all bullshit.
"These are two of my oldest friends, Bill," she said, bending forward to make sure I got a nice view of world-class cleavage. "I don't have many female friends, for obvious reasons. I know you better than to think you don't understand that. They're in town this weekend so can we have a raincheck till next week?"
Thinking of Lew Walters and Gil Tucker, and how empty my life would have been if there had been nobody like one of them in it when my life crashed and burned, I said, "Yeah, I do understand. Have a good time. I'll just take a lot of cold showers."
By the time I made it by the gym and got out and grabbed a late coffee it was past 10 p.m. I hit the Liberty Street condo, I could never call it home, and watched a little late night television. It would never be home, but it wasn't the empty Hellish chamber it had once been. or maybe it was just me that had changed.
Saturday I popped over to the Bascombs, had coffee with Cathy and Roy and talked Kelly into going out for breakfast at an IHOP. I built up at least a three-hour exercise debt I needed to pay to work off the calories, but it was worth it. We could talk now and I learned a little about all the terrible and wonderful things that were happening in a beautiful 18-year-old's life. Oddly, I felt closer to her than I had when we had been living under the same roof.
BJ was off on an overnight with a friend so I was at a loose end. I called Heather McDonald and Meagan Whitcomb but couldn't reach either of them, so I wound up driving over to St. Augustine. I walked the beach, threw popcorn to the seagulls until an avian riot broke out, and sat in the dunes that night watching the stars, wondering exactly where Paris was on the night horizon in front of me.
I was back to the condo by 11 p.m. As I turned on the television and grabbed a Diet 7 Up, it hit me. I looked around the small and by now familiar rooms as I had the night before. It would never be home, but it was really me that was changing. I was getting used to this life, this lonely life. Deep down I'd never really thought that would happen, yet it had. I didn't know if that made me glad, or sad.
October 10, 2005 -- MONDAY - 9 a.m.
I had hit the gym early in the morning and got in only at 8:45 a.m. I was involved in paperwork on four upcoming cases when Dave Brandon walked in. He seemed a little nervous, but otherwise the same old Dave I'd known for more than 10 years.
"You didn't e-mail me or call me, Dave. I was expecting to hear the outcome of your meet. Was she lying through her teeth or do you think she might have faked the charge?"
"Gary and I did our damnedest to shake her. I threatened to have her taken out in handcuffs after we arrested her for filing a fraudulent criminal charge, told her it was a felony, that we made an example of people that filed those kind of fake charges and that she'd serve AT LEAST a year in the county jail - nothing! She swore up and down she had faked it, gave us the name and phone number of the guy she said she had called who came by and did the fake strangling.
"We grilled her for two hours and still couldn't shake her. She's either a complete sociopath who has no concept of the difference between truth and lies, or she's the greatest actress in the history of the world."
"So you believe her?"
He sat across from me, rubbed his chin and thought about it. Then he grabbed his ear and tugged it as he thought some more. He hadn't come to any snap judgements. This was something he had thought about. There was something else, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe he had doubts about what he was going to say, or second thoughts.
"Yeah, bottom line, Bill, I guess I do. I, uh, in a way I guess I wouldn't blame the poor bastard if he had tried to kill her. You'd have to see this woman, Bill. I always thought Debbie was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, except for Myra Martinez of course, but Paula Donnally is - I don't even know if a description would do her justice. You'd have to be in the room with her. She has a, presence, I guess, that's hard to describe."
I looked at him in amazement. This didn't even sound like the man I'd worked with for a decade.
"You didn't fall in love with her, did you?"
He almost physically jumped when I said that and gave me a guilty look. Jesus Christ! She HAD gotten to him.
He laughed and even the laugh sounded fake.
"No, of course not. If anything, I might have fallen in lust for a few hours. I've never even thought about, other women, like that. Except, but if I wasn't married, God knows if I wouldn't have hit on her. But, what I was trying to say is, I can understand that poor bastard being devastated when he learned what she's been up to, for almost a decade, she said. She said when she finally faced him and admitted what had been going on, he didn't get violent. He went catatonic, she said, just froze and wouldn't talk to her, then walked out."
"So why would he confess to trying to kill his wife and ask to be kept behind bars."
"She said he found out what was going on almost a month ago and she's been trying to meet with him face to face to talk, to put an end to their marriage. She said she wants out, but he's been ducking and dodging. He managed to avoid her until this past weekend and it's like he blacked out and just wouldn't listen to her tell him she wanted out, wanted a divorce. I think he's using us as just another way to avoid facing the truth about his wife and his marriage."
I leaned back in my chair, watching him.
"I don't know if we shouldn't help him out, for a little while. He's too dangerous. Even if he didn't attack her, he could kill her in a few seconds if he wanted to."
He shook his head again.
"He might be dangerous to others, but you heard what August said. The guy has NO criminal history. He's never raised a hand against anybody, until the other night in the jail - and that was in self defense. Paula says that he never even looked like he was going to attack her that night. She said he just pissed her off so bad when he walked out on her that she lost it and decided she was going to fry his ass and get him tossed into jail on that fake assault charge. She's not worried about his actually physically attacking her."
So now it was 'Paula' and not 'Mrs. Donnally.' Now I was beginning to regret that I hadn't sat in on the meeting. This woman had to be something else to affect a man like Dave Brandon, and his theory that Donnally had never lifted a finger against anyone else was horse shit, but I couldn't tell him about the day that Doug and I had our little go-round at UNF.
"Bottom line, I don't think he's any danger to his wife. I think the charge was faked, I think we're incurring legal liability the longer we hold him and I think we ought to get Martin to immediately lift the million dollar cash bond. Paula said she'd bond him out the minute we do that. All she wants is to sit down with him, and he can have an attorney hired by his friend Gil Tucker. She just wants to get some closure on her marriage, get him to agree that it's over."
"What should we do about Mrs. Donnally? She's admitting to filing a false security officer report and that's what started this whole mess?"
He looked at me and grinned.
"If you can guarantee me a jury of 6 women, all of them straight, I might take her to trial, but if you have one straight guy and/or lesbian, I don't think you'll ever convict her."
"She's that hot?"
"You'd have to have seen her in person, but yes."
"You think Matthews would agree with your assessment?"
"Yes, we talked after she left the office."
"What time did she leave?"
"About...5...I think. Look, the longer we hold this guy, the more risk we take. I really think we need to cut this guy loose. I know the mayhem at the jail looks bad, but he was attacked."
I leaned back and thought about things.
"How'd your son's game go?"
"What?"
He looked at me as if he hadn't understood my words.
"Sorry, I was just thinking about something else. You told me once that Jerry was a promising pitcher. He threw a no-hitter once. How did he do Friday night?"
"Oh, he had an okay game. He struck out all but four batters and only allowed two runs. Pretty good game for him, but not his best. Anyway, unless you have a real strong problem with it, I'm going to pop down to Martin's office and ask him to remove the cash bond. Donnally can be let out on his own recognizance or a pretty low bond."
"Why don't you wait, Dave. Let me think about it for just a little while longer. Let's say I'll get back to you in an hour. I'm pretty sure I'll cut him loose, but I just have some, reservations. I know you've been in that situation before. Just let me get my head straight, okay?"
"Sure, but I'll send Martin's office a heads-up that we will probably be down there this morning."
After he'd walked out I just stared at the door for a few minutes. I knew and trusted Dave Brandon but I remembered what had stuck in my mind watching him. I'd played poker with him at a couple of friendly games and anybody who played regularly knew that he had a 'tell' or unconscious tic he displayed when he was bluffing - he pulled on his right ear. No one had ever told him about it because people loved taking his money. He never did figure out why he always lost at poker.
Then there was that 'Paula.' Dave was a formal kind of guy so it should have been 'Mrs. Donnally.' Finally, Dave was the patron saint of proud Papas. Usually you had to come up with some reason to shut him up when he started going on about how great a baseball player his son was. It sounded today like his son's game was an afterthought.
I went through my phone list in my computer and dialed a number. It rang a half dozen times before a voice came on the phone. After I got off the phone I sat at my desk for thirty minutes thinking about what I'd learned. I couldn't believe what I'd learned, but it was all starting to make sense. It made me feel like shit. Why was it ALWAYS bad news in this business.
Even when we won a few, it was in the aftermath of cleaning up terrible crimes that left lives ruined and hearts broken. It was the nature of the game we played. We were the clean up crew that came along in the aftermath to clean up the chaos that was the dark side of life. I had to be grateful for justice, not happy endings.
I walked down one flight of stairs. I could have taken the elevator, but I was putting off what I knew I was going to have to say and do.
I approached Sally Evans. She smiled and said, "He's waiting for you, Mr. Maitland."
I walked into his office and closed the door behind me. At that point I think he knew. I sat down and we just stared at each other for a few moments.
"What the hell did you do, Dave? What did you do?"
"What you think, Bill, but it's not what you think. I didn't do anything illegal. Unethical, maybe. Suicidal but not illegal."
"You had sex with a fucking victim, Dave. A woman who by definition is under stress and in a position to be manipulated by you. You had sex with a woman who wants a very big favor from this office, and I'll bet she expects after you fucked her brains out that she'd get it. That's why you were so hot to get the cash bond reduced or eliminated so Donnally could get out, wasn't it?"
"She never asked for anything, Bill. We never talked about it. It just happened."
"What'd she do, Dave, just walk up to you without words and start blowing you? Jesus Christ, where did your brain go? If Darlene ever even has a suspicion about this! I've met her, I know the kind of woman she is. She's Assembly of God, isn't she? She will divorce your ass in a heartbeat."
He looked into my eyes as if trying to read what I was going to do.
"If the Big Man ever hears of this - maybe you didn't do it deliberately, but it sure as hell looks like you blackmailed a distressed wife into fucking you by holding her husband's freedom over her head as payment for services rendered. You didn't promise her anything? Please God, tell me you didn't offer her a deal."
"You still don't get it, Bill. You think you know what happened, but you have no idea. God, I wish it had happened the way you think it did."
I was trying to figure out what he was trying to say. How could it be anything different than what I thought it was. He wouldn't be the first man in a position of power to succumb to the temptation to use that power to get between a hot woman's legs. I'd never succumbed because I always had a hotter woman waiting at home for me.
"How did you know, Bill?"
"Not that it matters, and I'll never be able to play poker with you again, but you always tug on your ear when you're bluffing -- make that lying - and you were talking too casually about 'Paula.' Shit, I could look at you and tell you were in love, so to speak. Last, but not least, you just didn't brag enough about Jerry's baseball game. So, I called Darlene to congratulate her on Jerry's great game and she told me you were working late and didn't get home until after 11. She was really pissed at me for sticking you with late night work when you'd been with the office longer than I've been."
"You didn't let anything slip?"
"No, I apologized for letting my bachelor status blind me to the fact that the guys who are still married have lives outside the office. I was so good that Darlene asked me if I could make it to a party you guys are hosting next weekend. She's got a divorced friend she wants me to meet."
For a moment I'd been able to forget what I was down here for.
"How did it happen and have you compromised this office? Is she liable to go to a television station if we don't spring Donnally, go and complain about sexual harassment by one of the top office Assistants?"
He shook his head. He stared at a globe on his desk that contained a hula dancer who would wiggle her luscious ass in a metronomic display if you shook the globe up. It was the most risque thing in his life, or had been. Even knowing what had happened, I still couldn't believe it.
"I didn't know what to expect, Bill, honest to God. I figured she was probably pretty hot. For a guy to get that whacked out you wouldn't expect Suzy Homemaker, but when she walked in it was like I said - you had to be there! Long black hair, eyes you could fall into and a body that - she had a body! I looked at her and started getting hard. Thank God I was sitting down. Matthews was standing; he just gave me this grin and then he looked at her. She just looked down at his dick, which was already popping up. Just looked, but damn...."
He stopped, then gave me an embarrassed look.
"I knew it was getting out of hand. That just wasn't me. Matthews is single and I hear he's a real pussy hound, but even he....anyway, I tried to get it back to a more businesslike meeting. We talked for nearly an hour and she said everything I'd expected her to say. I tried to talk to her and explain your concerns, how dangerous this guy could be, how dangerous he'd already been and we didn't believe a damned word of that fairy tale she was trying to sell us.
"All the while we were talking, Matthews kept staring at her tits and then at her legs. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife; she was telling us how much she loved her husband but, the way she looked at you....! The only way I can describe it is, the summer before I met Darlene, a friend's sister came into town and he asked me to take her out with him on a double date.
"I thought she'd be - you know - a pity date, but she was 5 foot eight and blonde and had absolutely huge tits and from the first moment I laid eyes on her I knew we'd be in bed before the night was over. I don't remember where we went to eat, the club we went to. Shit, I might have been sleepwalking. We didn't even make it back to my place. We walked out to my car. I was so hard I could barely stand up straight.
I sat down in the driver's seat. She came over to the driver's side and adjusted the seat as far back as it would go and she sat down in my lap facing me. She unzipped me and I realized a second later she'd taken her panties off and she slid right down on me. I fucked her, or she fucked me, in the parking lot of the club. People were around us, hell, her brother might have walked by. I neither noticed nor cared. The cops could have come up and busted us for public indecency and I wouldn't have cared."
He looked at me, coming back from the memory.
"It was the greatest sexual experience of my life until last Friday. I love Darlene. We have what I thought was great sex but, the one night I spent with my friend's sister was...special."
"Anyway, sitting in my office with Sally outside and people walking by, even though the door was closed, the sexual tension was as strong. I had to keep remembering why we were here. I kept looking at the photo of Darlene and kids on my desk, as if it could keep me - safe!
"I forgot what I was saying. She looked at Gary's crotch, then over at me and licked her lips - just licked her lips! I'll never forget what happened next.
" 'This is silly, Mr. Brandon,' she said. 'We both know what's going to happen, all three of us do. I want it as bad as you two , so we're wasting valuable time'. She stood up. She's not that tall and she's really slender, fine boned I guess is the expression, but she has an ass, and those breasts! She's not in Debbie's league, or Myra's, but she's so slender they just seem too....big for her body. She walked around the desk, knelt down beside me, reached out and put her hand....on me. I'm not making excuses. I could have stopped her - I should have! I was in a daze, wondering how this woman, who I've only known for an hour, could be kneeling down in front of me, rubbing me, then unzipping and pulling me out, squeezing and then sucking - yet I didn't try to stop her!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"I knew Sally could have walked in, you could have, the Big Man could have, my career might have been over and my marriage probably would have been over, yet I didn't try to stop her. I noticed that Gary had unzipped and he was standing beside us. She started alternating. I...I'd never seen anything like that except in a porno, and it was happening in my office."

"Then she stopped and stood up. She reached over, grabbed a pen off my desk and wrote a number on a memo pad on my desk. She wiped her mouth and walked to the door of my office."
"She said, 'I'm going to be at the Hyatt Regency in that room. I'll be there until 7 and I'll spend the night if either of you gentleman is inclined to spend it with me. I hope you won't stand me up. I am very, very aroused right now. Oh, and no strings attached. This has nothing to do with Paul. I just need to be fucked'."
"Then she walked out. Gary and I looked at each other. It was a little embarrassing, like jerking off in front of another guy but, I didn't care at that point. I told Sally I was out on a case, called Darlene and told her I had to work late and drove over to the Hyatt. I didn't leave there until 10 p.m. I showered before I left because the whole room stunk of sex. Then I went home to Darlene."
I looked at him and just shook my head.
"That's one hell of a story. Not the smartest thing for a married top Assistant to do but, you didn't make her any promises and there wasn't any talk about a deal for her husband, was there? You didn't do anything at the hotel that would cause people to remember you, did you? Maybe - just maybe - we can slide by on this. Edwards doesn't need to know, and she's got no hold on you, although she could still make trouble for us if she wanted to. Dave, I have to tell you, I expected more sense from you. I can understand Gary, he's younger and single."
Brandon lowered his head. When he looked up I thought he was going to cry. Right then I started getting a very bad feeling.
"On Saturday I was at home watching the kids while Darlene was out shopping, thank God. Jerry was playing video games and the girls were watching a movie in their room. There was a knock at the door and I opened it. There was a guy standing there holding a manilla envelope. I didn't think anything about it. I sometimes get stuff from the office and we get plenty of packages otherwise. I asked him what he had but he just handed me the envelope. It was slim and obviously held a DVD. I took it and was about to ask him where to sign for it but he just turned and walked away. That was strange, but....I took it back into my home office and ripped open the envelope. There was no writing, nothing at all to indicate what was inside. I stuck it in my player and turned the TV on. It was blank for a second and then...."
He stared at the hula dancer standing still between us. Then he reached down into a desk drawer and pulled out one of those portable DVD players. He plugged it in and said, "Lock the door."
I came back and sat down behind the desk next to him. He punched the play button and the eight inch screen lit up. Dave lay on a hotel bed while a slender dark hair woman with breasts like gbangfruit bounced wildly as she drove herself down again and again onto his cock. Her thrusts were aided by a naked Gary Matthews ramming his dick into her ass as hard as he could while holding her hips.
"Oh God, yes, ram it in me harder. Damn it, harder. I won't break. Fuck me. Davey, Davey....you feel so good in there."
In the video Dave reached up to hold her by those luscious tits and leaned forward to grab one fat nipple for a second untill her rocking motion pulled it out. He grabbed it again and sucked frantically for another second.
She rested her weight on his chest and simply took Matthew's thrusts while she stayed close to Dave, letting him squeeze and milk those phenomenal tits. I understood what he meant about her breasts being too large for her body. She wasn't a big woman, but damn, they were impressive.
She pulled his lips off her breast and apparently tried to swallow his tongue.
"You love these titties, baby? You want to suck them all night?"
"Oh God, God...yes....yes..."
"Aren't you glad I came by your office today, Mr. Brandon?"
"You have to ask, Paula? You can't feel how glad I am to be here?"
"Would you rather be here or home with your wife?"
After a moment...
"You bastard, you're fucking me and you won't even tell me I'm hotter than your wife. Does she have tits like these? Is she as tight as me? You didn't fight too hard when I pulled your dick out and sucked it. Were you thinking about your wife then?"
She pushed herself down and must have done something to squeeze him where a guy likes to be squeezed because he moaned and said, "Oh shit, baby, on her best night, she was never like this."
She held a breast up and rubbed the nipple over his lips and wouldn't let him catch it.
"Are you going to be thinking about me tonight or whenever you're on top of her fat ass? Are you Mr. Brandon?"
"You know I will, dammit, I'll be thinking about you every night and trying to imagine it's you I'm inside."
He hit the pause button.
"There are two hours like that, and I said stuff....stuff about Darlene...I didn't realize what she was doing until I saw this video."
"She videotaped you?"
"Who else? I'm not working on anything that might have anything to do with this, and....they delivered it to my home, not to my office. She's sending a message. If I hadn't been there, if Darlene had somehow seen this first..."
He rubbed his eyes.
"It''s not just that she will divorce me if she ever sees this. I've never been unfaithful, ever, and I know she hasn't been...."
He looked up at me and I could see the embarrassment and pride in his eyes.
"I know you guys, most people, don't think she's hot but a lot of guys like heavier woman. Sounds strange, I know, but, the guy that does our pool walks around without a shirt whenever he's there in the summer. I came in one time and saw her slap him so hard it must have rattled his teeth. I didn't walk in and waited a couple of minutes. She told me about it that night. The bastard had come up behind her and started rubbing his dick all over her ass and playing with her tits. He's 22, and the mailman, I don't want to go there. He drops by the house for every single piece of mail or advertising junk....to hand deliver it. She humors him, but she told me she's told him a dozen times that she's happily married. He never pushes it too far so she'll complain, but I've seen him a few times. He's into her."
"We talked about it after the incident with the 22-year-old. I was proud of what she did, but I had to admit I'd worry about a 22-year-old with long hair and a flat stomach hitting on my wife. She took me into the bedroom, sucked me off and fucked me until I couldn't out of bed. She told me I was the only man who was ever going to get into her, ever!"
He raised his eyes to mine.
"That's the woman who is going to hear me tell another woman that I'll be thinking about her while I'm inside my wife. She's going to hear me say that sex with this woman is better than it ever has been with my wife. I feel like taking a spoon and scbanging my eyes out."
"She was playing you, Dave. She knows that a guy will saying anything in the middle of a hot fuck. That was your dick talking, not you."
"Maybe, but it doesn't change the words. It doesn't change what I did. I've been trying to avoid Darlene ever since and I know she's going to get suspicious. But I feel like if I look into her eyes, I'm going to break down and confess and beg her to forgive me. I know she won't."
He took his head in his hands.
"What am I going to do, Bill? You've got to let him out. I have to hope and pray she'll destroy this, then all I have to do is figure out a way I can live with it. If you keep him in here, I know she'll send another copy, or put them on the internet, or put it where I can't block it and she'll tell Darlene where to look."
He looked up at me. I'd never seen such a look of raw desperation.
"I was wrong, I was stupid. Bill, please, please, let him walk. I'll never ask you for another favor again and I'll owe you my life. But...do this for me."
I just sat there and couldn't believe what Id heard.
"This doesn't make sense, Dave. This woman isn't a secret agent or a mob girl. She's just a fucking housewife. How does a housewife waltz in, seduce two experienced prosecutors, set up a secret taping, and plan on blackmailing the State Attorney's office into giving her what she wants? If she was a man, I'd say she had balls the size of cannonballs. There's got to be more to this."
"I've tried to call her since Saturday, but I haven't been able to reach her. I don't know what's going on. I mean, I do but I'm like you. How does a normal housewife pull this off, or even plan it? Why did she pick me instead of you, or Matthews or anybody else? How did she know I was the most married guy in this office, at least since you and Debbie split? This wouldn't have worked with anybody else, or not as well.
"Also, why the hell is she doing this? The guy tried to kill her, we both know that, yet she's doing all this to set him free? If I tried to write this up in a screenplay and sell it to Hollywood, nobody would believe it."
The phone rang. Dave obviously thought about blowing it off, but then picked it up.
"What is it, Sally? Who? Put her on. You bitch, what are you trying to do? Do you have any idea..."
He stopped in mid sentence and it was like he had been hit between the eyes with a board. He looked at the phone as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, then handed it to me.
"Mr. Maitland, this is Paula Donnally. I believe you've already seen my little video and Dave has filled you in on what happened Friday. You're a smart man so I shouldn't have to fill in between the lines for you. Are you going to release my husband?"
Her voice was rough, a cross between the croak of a 50-year smoker and a woman who'd been strangled so hard her vocal cords were still stressed, but I understood her.
"I don't know, Mrs. Donnally. You crossed the line from being a loving, caring, guilty cheating wife to something else altogether. It doesn't feel like a wife coming to the rescue of her husband. It feels like...something else. I just don't know what."
"If I send a courier to stop Mrs. Brandon in the supermarket and give her a copy of an interesting DVD, you know your friend will be sleeping in a strange bed tonight, and his wife will divorce him within a few weeks. I know she loves him and she'll try to forgive him, but she'll listen to what he said when he was fucking me. In the end, she won't be able to forgive him. Are you willing to destroy your friend's marriage, his life, just to keep Paul behind bars a few days longer, because that's all it will be. No matter what you do, Paul will walk out a free man in just a little while, so when Dave's marriage is over, it won't do any good for you to change your mind."
"I need a number I can call you at. Dave said he'd tried to reach you for three days without any luck. I need to talk to your husband and think about things for a little while. Then I'll call you - it'll be today."
"He couldn't reach me because I didn't want to talk to him. You call the shots there. I wanted to wait for you so, yeah, here's my cell. Call me, but don't wait too long."
I wrote the number down and she clicked off.
"She knew I was in here and she knew I had seen the video. She also knew enough not to go after me, because I can't be blackmailed any more like this. What the hell have you stepped in, Dave?"
He couldn't answer me because neither one of us had any idea of what was really going on, but I was going to find out.
Buzz Holloway was the lieutenant on duty and he met me at the entrance to the jail, then led me through the maze back to the single cell where Paul Donnally was lying on his bunk. Tucker must have bought out a used book store. There were at least 30 paperbacks scattered around his cell. He looked up as I walked in.
"Maitland?"
"Hello, Paul, how are you doing?"
He put down the tattered paperback he had been reading. It was 'Horseman, Ride By." This was getting downright spooky. Six Degrees of Separation horseshit. There were too many connections. I decided to ignore it.
"Alright, I guess. I haven't taken a week off work without Paula in 20 years. We've always been together so, it's been a little strange. On the other hand, I haven't had to stare into her lying slut eyes for a week, so that's the good part. Even the food isn't too bad. Thank you for letting Gil come in to talk to me."
"He's a good friend?"
"Better than I deserve."
"I know the feeling. Look, Paul, we need to talk. I need YOU to talk to ME. To be honest, I get the feeling there are a lot of secrets that you're holding back."
"Everybody has secrets."
"Can you stop for just a minute with that fucking Zen crap? Things are happening - things involving your wife and you - things that are screwing up other people's lives. Things that are hurting people who don't deserve to be hurt because you and your wife royally screwed up your lives. Can you just for a few minutes talk to me like another human being?"
"What are you talking about?"
He rolled to his feet but didn't get off the cot.
I looked at Holloway and then glanced around the cell and walkway. There were recording devices and I wasn't sure he could, even if he wanted to, turn them off.
"I need to speak to him privately. Can you get us someplace where we can talk, without a recording?"
He thought about it for a moment.
Ten minutes later he and another guard had Donnally cuffed behind his back with the cuffs attached to leg manacles. They walked beside us as he shuffled along the walkway to a back elevator and then up to a third floor. They led us to a room with two doors, a microwave, a refrigerator, a table, two chairs and a couch that looked like it folded out.
"This is the staff room," Holloway said. "Sometimes when things get really hectic, people will sack out or get a nap here. It's even been known as a place where persons of the opposite sex can....meet."
"Say no more. So this has NO taping."
"None."
"I'll rap on the door when we're through. Okay?"
When they had left and Donnally was sitting back uncomfortably on the couch, I sat beside him.
"A friend of mine is facing the end of his marriage. He's going to lose his wife and his kids unless I agree to drop the charges against you and let you walk. But, I've seen what you can do. I don't know what the hell you are, but I know you could be deadly, and you've already come within a whisper of killing your wife - strangling her with your bare hands.
"So, if I don't let you go, I'm going to be responsible for the destruction of a friend's life. If I let you go, I'm afraid you're going to go apeshit on me and kill your wife. Then, I think, you're going to kill yourself and you will leave two orphans behind. I'll have to go through the rest of my life seeing the photos of your wife with her eyes popped out and her face blood red from all the ruptured capillaries. I've seen photos of people who've been strangled - it's not pretty. I'll dream about her, and you. I've been able to live with my dreams and I've seen some ugly things but, I don't want to live with these new dreams. Please talk to me."
"You said I've got a lot of secrets. You're right. You have no idea, Maitland."
"Tell me a secret."
"My grandfather died in an insane asylum, a facility for the criminally insane."
I didn't say anything.
"It's not...I don't believe in that crap about an insanity gene. He had problems with what we'd call anger issues today. He beat two men to death outside a bar one night up in Massachusetts. It was....he had what I've got. It's nothing supernatural. They -- the doctors at the facility where I spent some time - called it enhanced tendon strength. A doctor that did some research said that there's some belief among researchers that it played a part in the legend of the Viking Berzerkers. Rage was one part, but having the strength to rip people apart was another big element. Tendon strength, like anything else, follows a Bell curve. You have people with very weak tendon strength at the bottom, then people like me at the top of the curve. If you have it, you can do some pretty incredible things, but it's natural, just rare, the doctors tell me."
"You must wow them at parties. How come Gil didn't know anything about it? Also your wife didn't know better than to piss off a guy with that kind of strength?"
He leaned forward and and rested his chin on his linked hands, staring down at the floor.
"When I was young, a teenager, I did something, something very bad."
He was silent for so long I thought he had turned off. Gone back into some world only he could enter.
"I was in therapy for a long time. I'd inherited my grandfather's tendon strength and his anger. They taught me how to control it, and I did. I pushed it down. I pushed it so far back, back inside me, that it seemed like it went away, except that it never did, of course. It was there, waiting.
"It was there when I met Paula in college. God, I loved her. I kept everything inside, good and bad. She.....she was like a wildfire. Everything was more real, more colorful, more alive, when I was with her."
He looked up at me.
"You were in love, so you know what it was like except, you weren't crazy, you didn't have to hide what you were. I couldn't....I couldn't let her.....know what I was....see what I was. She wouldn't have loved me, no one could.
"Somehow - somehow she fell in love with who, or what, she thought I was. We married, had children and made a life. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way - Gil told me - some man, a big Hispanic guy, came along and found what she really wanted. He took her away from me without me even knowing."
He took deep breaths, as if trying to calm himself and the hair on the back of my neck rose, as if I were a kid again facing that big, mean dog by myself.
"So I lived with a woman who didn't love me anymore; I didn't know who she was and she didn't know who I was. Kind of funny, actually, until - I found out. Then, all I wanted was to get away from her. It was the damnedest thing; she didn't love me, she couldn't love me, but she wouldn't fucking leave me alone - she wouldn't leave me alone!
"She finally cornered me in our house and it came out - I had my hands around her neck before I knew it. It would have been so easy but, we were standing in front of pictures of our children. She was clawing at my hands, my face, but it was like she wasn't there. They were there. They were looking at me. I couldn't do it.
"That's the story, Mr. Maitland. That's who I am, what I am and why I can't see Paula again, because I'll kill her the next time, I know it. You can't let me out."
October 10, 2005 -- MONDAY - 2 p.m.
"Mrs. Donnally?"
"Mr. Maitland. Did you have a chance to talk to my husband? And what's your decision?"
"I did, but I'd like to talk to you before I make that decision."
"What is so difficult about what I'm asking? Paul is about as harmless as any human being that ever walked the earth, except for what happened with me, and I provoked that. I'll handle it differently next time. As to those stories about the jail, I know my husband, or I thought I did. Even knowing what I know now, he didn't do what they're saying. He could just as easily have sprouted wings and flown. I know him, better than anyone else on earth. I'll never believe what you're saying about him."
"No, you don't, Mrs. Donnally. You think you do know him, but you don't. I think you're in for some big surprises down the road, but, why don't you come up to my office and we'll talk. Maybe we can work out some kind of compromise."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"No compromise. I thought Dave Brandon was a friend of yours. I know you've been to his house. You know his wife. I know she didn't have a real active sex life in high college and college before she met Dave. This...knowledge...will devastate her. It's going to tear her heart out."

"How the hell do you know all this? Are you with the CIA? Are you some kind of government spook?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just a Jacksonville housewife who works part time in real estate office to get out of the house. I'm nobody special. Oh, and you're running out of time. I could messenger over a million dollars in cash -- in 50s and 100s - in an hour. Once that happens, you lose all leverage. He's out no matter what you say."
"Assuming you're telling the truth, I'm happy to hear you say that, because it shows that you do make mistakes. Bail is not automatic; you can bring that $1 million down, but Paul has to accept it and sign for it. He can say, 'I won't sign'. Bond is only a way of making sure that someone who wants out, will come back to trial. I can tell you, he won't walk out."
This time there was a silence and when she came back on I sensed for the first time that I'd shaken her a little. Whatever she was, she wasn't infallible.
"I could come down and talk to him. Even though...."
I didn't need to be Dr. Teller to read her. She was frightened - hell, she was terrified - of the man in the cell. The man she'd lived with for 20 years, the man she'd betrayed and, probably, driven crazy, or crazy again. However, as she came back on, I could tell she'd make herself go down there and face him. I still couldn't figure out what the hell was going on between the two of them.
"They'd let me in the jail, or I could pull enough strings that I could get in there."
"Trust me when I say that you are the last person he wants to see. If there was ever a chance of his walking, it has to be with you nowhere around. Just come down to my office and talk to me."
"No, not on your home ground. We need a neutral location. How about Carrabba's on Atlantic Boulevard? You know it?"
"Yeah, it will take me an hour, maybe two to get there. How about 4:30?"
"Fine, I'll see you there. Mr. Maitland, I'm really looking forward to meeting you -- in the flesh. I'm really curious about you."
She wasn't even trying, but there was something about that whispery, bedroom voice and the memories of that body bouncing between Matthews and Brandon, those big tits flying, that made me start to get hard.
"And I'm really, really, curious about you Mrs. Donnally."
Shit, if she could have that kind of effect over the telephone line, maybe I should bring along a chaperone.
I sat there in my office looking through the window out at the bright Fall landscape trying to make sense of what had been happening since I'd noticed Donnally's name on the jail log. If I wasn't who I was, if I hadn't done what I'd done for the last 10, almost 11 years, if I hadn't seen what I'd seen and heard what I'd heard, it never would have occurred to me.
It was such a dark, dark suspicion that it made me hate the decade I'd spent looking into the blackest pits of the human soul. Yet, she had already done some really bad things, if you looked at it one way. Even if you gave her the benefit of the doubt, assumed there was some part of her tucked deep away that still loved Paul Donnally, she'd still been willing to sacrifice an innocent stranger, an innocent family, to get what she wanted. Could loving somebody enough make up for being willing to do ANYTHING for them, screw the rest of the world?
I made two more phone calls to cover my bases and hoped to God I was wrong in what I was suspecting her of doing. Then I went down, got in the Escalade and drove out to Carrabba's, fighting the afternoon traffic to make it by 4:30 p.m.
She was sitting at a table in a room off the rear of the restaurant. Except for the fact that she was wearing clothes, she looked exactly like the woman I'd seen a few hours ago getting it in her ass and pussy by two men. She looked up at me with an expression that made her appear psychic, like she knew I was seeing her naked and well fucked.
She was beautiful, actually more than beautiful. She made me feel like a dirty-minded 13-year old as I examined her body, dressed in a loose blue green blouse and blue skirt that wasn't that high cut, but was sexier than any miniskirt I'd ever seen on any woman.
She rose from her chair as I approached her and extended her hand. I took it. She was as slender and fragile looking as Dave had described her.
"Mr. Maitland."
"Mrs. Donnally."
I sat down opposite her and we just stared at each other. I wondered if her heart could be as dark as I thought it might be, or if she was only guilty of breaking a clueless man's heart; wanting to somehow make it all right again if only to preserve the sanctity of past memories.
I looked around and noticed there was nobody sitting in our section. That was not all that unusual because it was still early for the afternoon rush but, still, the only guy sitting within a couple of tables of us was a tall, dark haired guy in a suit. He was facing the entrance and I was looking at him in profile, but I thought I knew him. I began to get a sinking feeling that my suspicions would prove justified.
I noticed a male waiter stick his head out from the entrance to the kitchen and look toward us, but his glance went to the man and I noticed him shake his head and the waiter duck his head back inside the kitchen.
Paula Donnally took a deep breath and I realized she knew what she was doing. She was playing on the knowledge that I had seen her sex tape. A small quasi smile played on lips aching to be bruised.
"We need to talk, Mr. Maitland, but I hope you don't mind if I take a precaution first."
She nodded to the man in the suit and he rose to his full six-foot-four height before ambling over to us. I could see the bulge under the right side of his coat and I knew if I looked in his wallet I'd see the star that marked him as a homicide detective.
As he approached us, his hand want into his jacket and came out with a wand-looking electronic device.
"I do mind, Paula."
I looked up at homicide sergeant Hec Powell and said, "Go away Sergeant. I'm not going to let you check me for recording devices."
"You're not here officially Maitland, and Paula tells me you're not going to call in the calvary because you can't afford any publicity. A lot of my friends still think you're a dick for what you did to Shawn, so don't think that being a fucking prosecutor is going to cut any ice with me. Just sit there, shut your mouth and let me check you out."
I looked from his taut grin to the small smile on Paula's face and said, "You wanted privacy so you brought in your private muscle to keep this room empty and check me for bugs. You thought I'd go along with this because asshole is tall and carries a gun? Is that the short version?"
"Any trouble, Mr. Maitland, and the first casualty will be your friend's marriage. Also there are two of us to tell the press that you came here to try to get a taste of what Mr. Brandon and Matthews got at the Hyatt. You're pretty famous, but I'm pretty hot and a lot of people would be just as happy to tear you down as build you up. Why don't you let Hec check you out and then we can conduct our business?"
"I don't think so, Paula."
Powell began, "You fucking-"
"I always thought you were a stupid fucking idiot, but I didn't think you were this stupid."
Powell looked around to see Sergeant Bob Hastings standing behind him. He was in his patrol uniform, his hand resting casually on the Glock on his hip. Hastings was shorter than Powell, but the Glock seemed very big.
"I always thought you were a stupid fucking prick who thought with his dick and that you only made detective because you pimped for the top brass, but this? You'd risk your whole career going up against Maitland for a piece of ass?"
Powell regained his confidence looking down on Hastings.
"You're out of your area," Powell said. "This isn't the Westside. I've got just as much authority here as you do, and if you want to make something out of it, why don't we step out back and I'll be happy to kick your ass for sticking your nose in where it has no business being. Let's just keep it man to man, Hastings. Or are you man enough?"
"Okay, Powell. When, and if, you take Bob, try me on for size."
I couldn't help grinning a little bit as Powell swung around again and looked up into the broad, unfriendly features of Narcotics Task Force Lieutenant Bobby Martin. Martin was blonde and 6-6 easily and as broad across as Powell. Moreover, he out-ranked him.
"What the - what are you doing here. You have no business...."
"So what's your business here, Powell? Why are you showing the shield and ordering civilians around and acting like a private gun for this piece of ass? Not that it's not nice, but you know cops can't go around doing this. Furthermore, doing it in front of the top prosecutor for this county? If he goes to Knight, you're going to wind up walking a beat in black town."
Powell tried to bluster.
"This is none of your damned business, Martin. Go back to chasing crack heads or whatever the hell it is you do."
"Why don't we step outside and you say that when you're not carrying. Unless you want to try and draw on me -- and Hastings. Are you that fucking stupid, or is her pussy the best in the world? It better be, because you're throwing away your career for it. If you're stupid enough to go for a gun, you're throwing your life away."
"It's okay, Hec. This is not worth you getting in trouble. Go on, get out of here and I'll call you later."
The big cop's glance bounced over each of us, finally settling on Paula's beautiful face. She smiled at him to take the sting out.
"Come on, baby. Thank you for being here for me, it was worth a try, but I'll be alright. I don't want to get you in trouble. I know you could take both of them, but it would cost you your job. Don't do that."
"Listen to her, Powell," Hastings said. There was almost a hint of sympathy in his voice. "Man, I know how they can get into your head, into your blood, but walk away, be smart."
It looked like he was going to say something more but he stopped himself, gave Paula a little hand wave, turned and walked out. A few nervous waiters popped out to watch him leave.
"You're getting to be more trouble than you're worth," Martin said to me. "It's a good thing that I know Howser really liked you. I'm only here because I knew he would have said, 'back him up'."
Hastings just looked from Paula to me, shook his head and, with a slight grin, said, "You and those pretty women. I don't know what you have, but I wouldn't mind having a little bit of it."
Then they were gone and Paula Donnally and I were alone, because I noticed none of the waiters came around until I gestured at one and he approached tentatively.
"Bring me coffee and for the lady...."
"White wine."
A couple of minutes later I was sipping my coffee while she swirled the golden liquid and then took a swallow. She put the glass down and said, "I shouldn't have done that, but I learned to be careful. I realized just now that it really didn't matter. You can tape me, but no jury is going to do anything to me. I'm a heartbroken and guilt-stricken wife who almost destroyed her husband's life and is doing everything she can to make it right. Any good attorney would get me off."
"What and who the hell are you, Paula? How do you know the things you do? How did you just walk in and twist two professionals around your little finger and get them to walk away from their professional duties In a couple of hours? How could you come up with a million dollars cash? You're a fucking housewife - the wife of a publicist for a small private college."
She rubbed one bruised lip and placed a hand over mine. It didn't feel sexual or like a come-on. It was just a small, intimate gesture that made it feel like we were the only two people in the world at that moment.
"I'm very smart, Bill. That's part of it. Not as smart as I think, sometimes, because I thought I was smarter than you, yet you were ahead of me. They told me I have an IQ of 170 or 180, genius level, whatever that is. I never used it because when you're a college slut fucking everything that moves, you don't really need to be a genius. When you're a soccer mom raising two kids it doesn't matter either, but when I went into real estate, and I started using my brain and my body, I found out there's no limit to what you can do, how much money you can make."
She ran her hand gently over mine. Oddly, I still didn't feel excited.
"You asked me how I could turn two professional attorneys inside out? Because you're easy, all of you. I have a great body and a great face, and I love sex. I could fuck 18 hours a day if my body would hold up. I like cocks and I like different cocks. I like having men come inside me, on me, in my mouth and my ass.
"You're looking at me like I'm crazy, but listen close Bill, because I'm going to tell you a secret that smart women don't want you to know, and many women never realize.
"We run the world. You guys are horny puppy dogs and we drag you around by your dicks. You don't pick up women, you get picked up. You don't get lucky, some woman decides she wants to fuck you. You don't decide to marry someone, one of us picks you and lets you think you won us.
"We know who your children really belong to. We make you think you're great lovers, or flops in bed. Because none of you can match us, the ones who know what we're doing, in bed. I could fuck the biggest stud in the world into a pool of sperm on the floor and keep going.
"You're limited by your poor, fragile dicks. Don't get me wrong, women love them. Other than giving us children, it's the main reason we keep you around. They're wonderful toys to play with, but they're limited. That's why we need to bring in new ones all the time."
She smiled at me.
"You look so shocked, Bill, but you didn't pick Debbie Bascomb. She picked you and she let you win her heart. She kept you well fucked and happy until you left her alone in your marriage and she traded you in for a different dick.
"Now most women, a lot of women, tamp down their natural desires because they know no man could keep up with them if they let loose, but I was set free. I learned how to use my body and my sex drive. I've made millions using my body and my brain. If you offer a man a chance to make money and fuck his brains out, very few men will turn down that deal.
"A lot of men would call me a whore, but who cares? I love having sex and I love making money by having sex. I've built a financial empire and my clueless, loving husband never had the first idea of what I was doing. I use investigators in my business dealings and, when this happened, I looked for the best person in the State Attorney's Office to pressure to release Paul.
"I investigated you. I knew I had to get to you, but I didn't think the normal methods would work with you. I wasn't sure I could seduce you. Even if I had, I knew you'd never bow to blackmail, but you're loyal. That's your Achilles heel. I found the best man to seduce and your loyalty to him will get Paul out of jail."
"So you're very smart, very sexy, wealthy and you've been cheating on your husband for a long time. I get that, but why would anybody that smart take a chance on getting arrested and charged with at least two or three counts including extortion, blackmail and attempting to interfere with a criminal investigation? You say you want to be free of him yet none of this makes sense. That's why -- at least one of the reasons -- why I've been dragging my feet. You're saying one thing and doing the exact opposite - that makes me suspicious as hell."
"Everything has to make sense to you? Everything has to add up?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not a good person, Bill. I don't see myself as bad, but I know most people would see me that way. I married a man, promised to be faithful, had his children and, something happened and I threw that promise away - I threw him away! I 've had sex with hundreds of men. I've come to his bed and I've always been careful about being clean, but I've kissed him while I could still taste another man's cum on my tongue. I've kissed him and told him I loved him and felt him pumping inside me and in my head I was three thousand miles away enjoying another man's cock. I stopped loving him because, honestly, he's not much of a man. He's sweet, he loves me and takes care of me - but he's a wimp. A sweet, lovable, wonderful wimp. He's not a man, not the kind of man I need. He's like a pool that's an inch deep, pretty on the surface, but there's no bottom, no depth. He's boring as hell to be honest."
She motioned to the waiter lurking just inside the kitchen area and he brought her another goblet of wine.
"I stayed with him because of our children and because he was - comfortable, convenient. There are times when it's better to be a cheating wife who has to go home to a husband and has obligations she can't get out of than to be free. I suppose there's a part of me that still has feelings for him. Feelings, I don't know, like you'd have for a dog you've raised since it was a puppy and now it's old, has cataracts and can't move around because of arthritis, but you can't put him down just because he's got old."
She stared into the depths of her wine glass.
"I don't even need to see your face, Bill, to know what you're thinking. I said I was a bad person. I'm what I am. But, I knew it was going to end, if not before, then when the kids finally finished college and were gone to their own lives. I was going to stick it out...until he found out, just one of those weird things. I worried about everything else, I was so damned careful - still he found out. He avoided me for nearly a month. It was so crazy. I'd been running around hiding from him for years, and now I couldn't find him, to talk to him, then finally I found him at home. I just wanted to talk to him and - no warning - he put his hands around my neck. I thought, somehow, that he was joking. Paul would never hurt me. I figured he'd cry and I'd feel like shit, but I was never afraid of him. I couldn't breathe, it hurt so bad. Things started getting dark and I couldn't talk. For the first time I realized I was going to die there, it was all going to end. I thought this couldn't be happening, I was asleep and dreaming. It was a nightmare, because I was looking into his eyes and it wasn't Paul..."
"I must have passed out. I woke up lying on the floor, gasping for air. He just looked at me but didn't say anything. I knew, I knew somehow he was going to kneel down beside me and put those hands around my throat and finish the job. I tried to crawl but I was too weak. I wet myself - I was never so frightened in my life. I've always been in control around men. I've never been frightened of a man, but I wanted to beg for my life, yet I couldn't make a sound, and he just kept looking at me. Then he turned around and walked out. Somehow I dragged myself to the front door, locked it and put the chain on it. Then I dragged myself, half crawled to our bedroom and locked the door. I moved a dresser, God knows how, in front of the door to block it. I tried to call for help could only get out whispers.
"Hec was the first guy I actually could talk to and he was over in a half hour. He stayed with me after he put out a report on what had happened and I'd signed a warrant for Paul's arrest. He spent the night with me, two nights, after I got back from the hospital. We didn't do anything, I just couldn't stand being alone. Every sound was Paul breaking back in."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

She looked back up into my eyes.

"I wanted nothing more than to see Paul behind bars for the rest of my life right then but, after awhile, a few days, i had to call our kids. They couldn't believe it - I could tell how hurt they were and I - it wasn't Paul trying to kill me. It was somebody or something else. I didn't realize how badly I'd hurt him when he found out. He went crazy, that's all it was. Paul wouldn't have hurt me if he was in his right mind."
"I hate to tell you this but I think he's still crazy. I think he needs to be committed somewhere, for his safety and yours."
She shook her head.
"I can protect myself now. I can hire bodyguards, or friends like Hec will make sure he doesn't hurt me again."
"Why take the risk? You said you love him like an old family pet. You were going to leave him anyway."
"I was. We don't have a marriage anymore, haven't for a long time, but he didn't leave me, I left him. He hasn't done anything except be the same faithful, loving, dull and boring husband he's always been. I could see breaking his heart. He' s young enough that I think he'll be able to put himself back together. He's got friends and he's got a secretary...anyway he won't be alone."
She held my eyes again.
"I said I was a bad person. I've cheated and lied on him, planned on dumping him and loved other men more than him. I'd make him miserable for a few months or a few years until he finds someone else, and he may never, but I'm not going to send him to prison. I'm not going to destroy his career so he can never rebuild his life. I'm not going to watch his life turn into hell and see him lose the respect of our children. I'm a bad person, but I'm not that bad."
She stared into my eyes. I stared into hers. It should have been a warm, fuzzy, human moment.
"That is touching," I finally said.
She didn't say anything.
"A woman cheats on her husband, falls out of love with him, builds a second life that he has no part in, and she's planning to dump him as soon as the kids are gone for good. Yet there is still that ember of deep love and affection that will not die, therefore she will risk jail and punishment so as not to completely destroy his life. That is downright touching."
"Nothing is that simple, but I guess that sums it up correctly. Debbie treated you pretty roughly, but I guess from what happened at the FOP building the night you were shot, there's still something in her that has feelings for you. So it's not impossible."
"I could say that she isn't as big a slut and whore as you are, not in the same ballpark, but there's no point in insulting you, because you may be telling the truth."
She gave me a questioning look.
"May be? You don't believe me?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest. I want to. It's a compelling story. The romantic in me wants to believe in it. But, if you're telling me the truth, or most of it, you are a very smart woman who's used to playing men, using men for fun and profit. You're used to being in control. You didn't have much, if any, respect for your husband until the day he almost killed you. I tend to believe you about that day, because it matches what the first cops on the scene reported. I think your husband scared you to death that day. I think you really believed you were going to die, and that would shake anybody. Things were out of your control and they still are. Paul is still alive and he may get out. When he gets out, he'll be lurking somewhere. I think a woman used to controlling things would have a hard time living with that uncertainty."
She looked at me and she really looked like she didn't know where I was going, but she was a hell of a good actress.
"You could get to him in jail, of course, except I think he would be very hard to kill. I don't think you could simply hire your usual suspects and be confident they could actually take him out. Anyway, that leaves a trail and people that could talk and I think you're too smart to leave yourself vulnerable that way."
She bit her lip.
"But, if you get him out, the next time you find him - for closure - you could have somebody like Hec with you. No matter how dangerous Paul is, he's not bullet proof. After he was dead you've have a witness that he had attacked you again, and probably have a cop as a witness, which would make it even better."
I took her hand and squeezed it. She raised her eyes to meet mine.
"Then you'd never need to worry about him again - no more nightmares about his hands around your throat. You could tearfully tell your children that their father went crazy and you were just lucky to have a friend around, with a gun."
She pulled her hand away.
"It must be terrible to live in your world, Mr. Maitland."
"It's the real word, Mrs. Donnally."
"Is there anything I can say, anything I can do, to convince you that the first story is the true one. I'm a bad wife, but I'm not a monster."
"No, the trouble is, you're too good an actress and you're too smart."
She just shook her head.
"Impasse. You don't know what I'm going to do or why I've done what I've done but, Paul is still going to get out, or your friend is going to lose his wife and marriage, and I will get him out. No matter how good you are, I've got enough money to buy his freedom. If necessary, I will fuck everybody from the chief judge on down to the cleaning crews to give him his freedom."
I leaned back and motioned to the waiter hiding just around the corner. After he poured another cup of strong coffee and left, I sipped it. It was hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth. Just the way I liked it.
"I'm going to let him out, if I can talk him into leaving. He may not go. I'll do my best but, in case my suspicions are justified, and Paul winds up shot to death in the near future, or just dies in an accident, I'm coming after you."
"Nothing is going to happen to him, Mr. Maitland, not because of me."
"All that Angel of Death stuff is crap and you know it but, people with more money than you have wound up on death row at Raiford because they underestimated me."
I took another sip. The hot liquid felt good going down because even though it was still a warm Jacksonville October, I felt cold.
"I could just have you killed, Paula. I could do it with one phone call. But it would cost me more than I'm willing to pay. If, however, I wind up with cancer in a few years and my time is short, I think I would make that phone call. Or, if I have an accident, I'll set it up so the same thing happens. So if you do it and get away with it, you'd better pray that I stay healthy. Odds are I'll just wait and watch you. I know who you are now, and what you are. You can't go invisible or completely under the radar. Just go ahead and live your life knowing that I'm behind you somewhere, just waiting for you to make a mistake and everybody, no matter how smart they are, makes a mistake sooner or later.
"I won't forget and I won't get tired of watching you, because if you're doing what I suspect, you're using me as a Judas goat, a tool to kill your husband. His blood will be on my hands, because I let concern for a friend push him out to where you could get to him. I don't want to have that on my conscience."
I put the coffee cup down and stood up.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Donnally. I hope I don't see you again."
"Mr. Maitland...Bill..."
I was about to turn away from her but that whiskey/smoker voice stopped me.
She stood up and it was nice to be looking down at a woman for a change in my life. Her heavy breasts moved under her blouse as she rose and I couldn't help remembering they way they had bounced as she rode Dave.
"I'm not the person you think I am, Bill, and I'm not planning what you think I am. I know you don't believe me, but time will tell. Nothing is going to happen to Paul."
She looked down at my midsection and I realized that I had an erection so hard it was actually painful poking out against my zipper.
"You probably should do something about that erection before you walk out, Bill. It's kind of conspicuous. I'm flattered. Even though you won't admit it, because you won't admit you could be attracted to the kind of woman you think I am, you want me."
"It's a purely physical reaction, Mrs. Donnally. I saw you fucking Dave and Matthews. I saw those breasts bouncing. I like breasts. It doesn't mean anything more."
"Oh, I think it does."
She walked around the table and was close enough to me that the hard nipples that had to be an inch or longer poking out through the thin fabric of her blouse brushed my chest. She reached out with one finger and ran it along my lower lip. I had a very different feeling from the time that Myra had done almost the same thing, but it made me even harder.
"You are one of the good guys, Bill. Everything I got on you told me you were the real deal, an honest, honorable man who tries to do the right thing. You were faithful to your wife, tried to be a good father, a good tough prosecutor. You follow the rules. But..."
She smiled and her lips with some kind of purple-ish gloss or lipstick resembled bruised fruit. I suddenly knew how Dave could have fallen so fast.
"Every saint has a dark side, Bill. You can't be that good, without having darkness to counter balance it. Your father died on you. He left you, for others. You loved him, but he deserted you. A little boy isn't going to understand the complexities of duty and honor. All you knew was that he walked out on you and your mother, and Debbie was a slut who fucked other men before and while she was falling for you and then, finally, fucked another guy with a bigger dick than you. That had to hurt. She was gorgeous, and you were just an ordinary guy. You loved your children, as best you could. When it came down to it, they took their mother's side against you. How did that make you feel. Not on the outside where you had to pretend to understand, but inside? After you are dumped and hurt by Debbie, you find another woman you think you love and she leaves to go back to her husband. Naturally, he's taller and better looking than you and he's cheated on her and hurt her, and yet she goes back to him instead of staying with the man that loves her. Why can't you hold a woman, Bill? You're thinner now, and you shaved off your hair for a new look, but underneath it, you're still that middle-aged romantic loser that can't hold a woman with his love, or his dick."
She had cut my heart out with a few quick slashes, exposed every fear, every hurt that I had hidden where no one could see, I thought. I knew there were tears in my eyes, but I managed to smile at her.
"You're good, and your investigators are better. That's a lot of dirt to uncover in a few days. But, you know, Mrs. Donnally, despite the hard on you've given me, and despite you're being so damned hot, I wouldn't stick my dick in your diseased cunt if it was on fire and the only water in the world was between your legs."
She smiled back.
"I hurt you, I know, but there's a whole world of pain inside you, and there's a part of you that wants to hurt back. I told you I wasn't going to kill Paul and you'll see that I'm right. When you do, I want you to remember this."
She reached down and because my back was to the kitchen I didn't think anyone could see what she was doing. She ran her fingers around and up and down my cock. It felt like the spidery touch of silk.
"You're a good guy and I'm a very bad girl. Deep, deep down, you want to fuck me and I want to fuck you just that bad. I like control, but there's a part of me that's submissive at the same time. I will ALWAYS be available. I'm going to call your cell and leave a number that will always get through to me. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing...you can call me, and you can fuck me, and whip me, and hit me if you want. You can let that anger out...that hurt. Treat me the way you could never treat that miserable bitch Debbie, and I'll take it. You can fuck me in the ass and make me suck you clean. You can tie me down. You can piss on me. You can do ANYTHING to me, and I'll come back for more."
Shit. I stood there and tried not to tremble as I came and came and squirted into my underwear. She looked down and smiled a little smile of triumph.
"You tell yourself you're never going to call and maybe you won't, Bill, but forever is a long time, and I think you will call me one day. I'll be waiting."
I made myself turn around, walk out of the restaurant and get into my car and start for the jail. I could have tried to clean up the still-liquid cum inside my underwear, but I let it stay. It'd dry. I just thought about the woman I'd walked away from. I had thought that Paul Donnally was about as scary a person as I'd ever run into.
But his wife was - I didn't even have the words. I just tried to convince myself that when I found her message on my cell, I'd immediately delete it without looking at the number she'd leave. I would. I would.
#########################
October 10, 2005 -- MONDAY - 6 p.m.
I sat down in a chair across from Paul Donnally's cell. Red Butler was officially off duty but I'd asked him as a favor to hang around and he'd escorted me back to Donnally's cell. Donnally was sitting on his cot, waiting for me.
"They told me the judge had dropped the million dollar bail and the charges have been dropped?"
"Yes to the bond. The original charges have been dropped and replaced by a simple assault. There's a $5,000 bond, but it's on your own recognizance so all you have to do is sign and walk out. I've already committed to cover for you, if you do skip the country and don't come back. Whether you walk is up to you."
"Why, Maitland? I told you why I wanted to stay in here. Despite everything, I don't want to kill her and I can't stand the thought of my kids' lives after we're both gone. How do you put your life back together after your father murders your mother and then takes his own life? They'd be scarred for life."
I stood up and walked over to the cell bars. I motioned to Butler and he walked away. But there were still microphones recording.
"Letting you out is up to the discretion of my office. I've heard your story, and her story, and I don't believe you should be behind bars. More than that...in my position you have to weigh things. I have to weigh keeping you in here to keep you from possibly hurting your wife against the prospect of bad things happening to other people if I keep you in here against my better judgment.
"This doesn't just involve you and her. There are other people's lives, and those lives can be damaged or destroyed if you remain behind bars on what I think is an unjustified charge of attempted murder."
"Do I read you correctly, Maitland, that you want me to sign those papers and walk out the door of the jail? You think that would be the best thing for....everybody?"
"Yes. I honestly do. I believe that you will find friends that will help you get your feet under you. I think you can walk back into your job because my office will make it clear that you face no formal charges and there will be no record of the arrest, other than you got into a domestic disturbance with your wife and security officer were called. The institution could dismiss you, but since the charges are being dropped and you will have no criminal record, I don't see why you can't walk back in."
"But you, personally, want me to walk out of here?"
"I'm making a professional judgment, but, yes, I personally would feel guilty about keeping an innocent man behind bars."
He rubbed his chin.
"You know what could happen?"
"I'm more aware of the possibilities than you are but I don't think that hiding in here is going to make anything better."
He got up and started collecting the paperbacks into a carrying bag that Tucker must have used to bring them into the cell. When he'd gotten them all and collected a toothbrush and some toiletries, he nodded at me.
Red Butler and I walked him to the desk where he received his personal effects, signed the bond papers and gave them to a woman representing the bonding agency which had its offices only two blocks away. I walked with him out to the back of the jail.
Gil Tucker lounged against the side of a black SUV in the parking lot a hundred yards away. He just looked at us standing on the raised bay that led to the entrance to the jail.
"You're giving in to her blackmail?"
"I had to make a decision and I didn't see any way around it. There are too many people -- a husband and father and children - that would hurt badly if you didn't walk out of here."
"And you gave in to her? That doesn't sound like the Maitland I've heard about."
"If I knew -- for a certainty -- that you were going to kill her, or that she was going to have you killed, no I wouldn't be doing this, not even to save a friend. However, I'm not God and I can't be sure what's going to happen."
I looked up into his dark eyes and I didn't see the shadow that had passed behind them in Doug Baker's office, or in the jail for a second.
"You don't know what you're letting loose, Maitland. You don't know what I am. I am going to try to stay away from her, but I don't know that I can keep her away from me. I've found out a few things this last month. She has a lot more money and a lot more power than I ever dreamed of. She's not the woman I've lived with for 20 years. I think she will come after me, God only knows why, and when I face her again...."
"Paul, I don't know you. You and your wife, to be honest, are the strangest and scariest people I've run into -- ever. But I know this. You've been a good, law abiding citizen for at least 20 years. You've raised two children. You've got friends who care for you. You were willing to give up your freedom to save your wife's life. I don't know what you did when you were a kid. I don't know how bad it was, or how bad you were, but I know the Paul Donnally I'm looking at today. I'm looking at a man who was willing to sacrifice himself for his cheating wife and his children. I'm looking at a man with a friend willing to go to the wall for him. I don't think a monster would do those things, or have a friend like Gil Tucker."
I pointed to Tucker.
"Go with him and try to get your head straight. Get some professional help. Maybe you did get it years ago, but you obviously need some more help today. If you want, I've got a good man that probably could help. Call my office and I'll give you his name and if I call him I think he'll see you.
"Oh...and be careful. If you wind up meeting with her...make sure you have a friend along. And make sure she knows you won't meet her alone."
He just stared at me and then shook his head.
"No, even now, I won't believe that. No matter how much she's changed, she wouldn't do that."
I extended my hand and after a moment, he shook it. His handshake felt like a normal handshake.
"Good luck, Paul."
He was walking toward Gil Tucker when I said, "You remember what you told me that day -- in Baker's office?"
He had looked back at me curiously.
"We always have a choice. You have a choice. I hope you make the right one."
He nodded and I saw Tucker give him a bear hug and then wave at me.
They were gone and I prayed with everything in me that I never saw or heard the name Paul Donnally again. I wanted to pray the same thing about Paula Donnally, but I couldn't deny mixed feelings there.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

SECOND ACTS

October 14, 2005 – FRIDAY - 7 p.m.

My name is William Maitland. I am the official second in command and unofficial lead prosecutor for the tri-county area of Duval, Clay and Nassau Counties in Northeast Florida. I prosecute bad people and try to clean up the messes they make in their own and other people's lives.
For the past six months I've thought the mess I've made of my own life, over the past decade since becoming a prosecutor, was beyond redemption.
On the plus side I've escaped death, found out that casual sex doesn't have to be meaningless sex, and that there really is a life beyond divorce. That last is a hard lesson that I've paid dearly to learn, but I'm beginning to believe there really are Second Acts in our lives.
I've looked into the heart of some terrible darknesses, not least of which is inside me. It's getting harder to believe that I'm as moral and incorruptible as I once thought I was, but I tell myself that I am trying.
Right now, I am shivering a little as I walk out of the courthouse headed toward my Escalade parked down the street.
The weather in Jacksonville had swerved from unseasonably hot to chilly in the space of a week, as it was wont to do, and the temperature was already in the 50s and looking to fall into the 40s by the time it got dark. Alright, not that bad if you were a Yankee, but for an almost life-long Florida boy, it was chilly.
I had prepared, wearing a nice black turtleneck sweater over black slacks, dress black shoes, and the rest of the outfit that Austin insisted I wear most of the time to keep the image up. I'd brought an electric razor to work with me and shaved just before I left. I reeked of cologne and didn't think I needed a shower too badly.
I'd considered running by the condo for a quick shower, but I had a 7:30 p.m. date with Myra. While I knew she was a nice lady, I wasn't sure how many more times I could stand her up without her getting a little peeved at me.
I should have left earlier, but there were always last minute critical things that needed doing. I was still trying to postpone Sutton's murder one trial until Wilbur Bell slowly recovered in the hospital from a heart attack that, by all accounts, should have taken him out. Luckily he was a tough old bird and I wanted him to be able to walk into the courtroom for Sutton's trial and testify that he had seen Sutton driving out of his mother's Ocala home on the night that Sutton's wife and unborn son had been murdered.
I had videotaped his testimony, but live testimony always trumped tape.
On another potential major case for me, the whole office was watching at long range the maneuvering to put the Mexican cartel warlord on trial. Nobody else had died lately, but there was an anticipation like the silence before a thunderstorm breaks. No one knew yet where the trial was headed as the feds deliberately kept their plans a deep dark secret.
On the distant horizon I watched the legal maneuvering to see where the trial of New York financial whiz kid Bobby Kelso would wind up, out of the glare of the New York City media world. It would be one of the biggest court events in years, wherever it ended up. How often did you have a hotshot Wall Street financial whiz kid arrange for mob hits on his wife and her lover, only to change his mind at the last minute and save both their lives, while taking a bullet meant for her lover. However, a mob gunman had died after Kelso's crisis of conscience, so the Money Man was being tried for Murder One because his plot had led to a man's death during the commission of a crime. It was so perfect a media story with sex, love, big money, murder and the mob all mixed together. Television execs were probably having orgasms just thinking of the ratings they'd get covering his trial.
If it came to me I couldn't even imagine how heavily the media would cover it - I'd probably have to live in the courthouse until the trial was over, but I really hoped that trial didn't come to me. Although I was honestly worried about the cartel trial, I would have no problem sending a drug thug to his death. I would, however, have really serious misgivings about sending a man, whose wife had driven him over the edge and who yet had made the right choice in the end, to death row or lifetime imprisonment. Yes, I saw myself in him! I hadn't tried to kill Debbie or Doug, but if things had gone differently...who knows?
I waited every day to hear a report of Paul Donnally's body being discovered, or Paul and Paula being found somewhere in a murder/suicide. I didn't know how I'd live with that if it turned out I'd made a very bad decision. So far, so good. They had both vanished back into comfortable anonymity, although I'd called Gil Tucker one time and he said that Donnally was making it, day by day. He had never called Dr. Teller, but I held out hope that eventually he would.
As I slid into the Escalade I made a conscious effort to push all that out of my mind. In thirty minutes I'd, for the very first time, be walking up to Myra's condo door and see what she looked like away from the courthouse. I still, even now, couldn't see exactly what she saw in me. Strip away the fame from a devastated daughter's throw-away remark after her father's death and a reporter's story that caught fire, and I was just another 42-year-old short, bald, divorced guy.
Whatever 'it' was, I was glad she saw it. Maybe if something – eventually – developed, she'd explain it to me. I was thinking of breasts, that smile and those green eyes when I heard the sudden wail of a security officer siren. I glanced in my rear view mirror to see flashing blue lights. What the hell! I looked at my speedometer and saw I was doing 60 in a 55 mph zone on I295. There was no way that God could throw another road block in the path of my eventually meeting Myra somewhere away from both our courthouse identities.
I pulled over to the side of the road, leaving the motor running. Sometimes showing the State Attorney ID helped, not always but sometimes. The Jax deputy had barely stopped when he was out of the cruiser and striding quickly toward me. I started to get curious - this deputy wasn't acting like a man making a traffic stop.
"Mr. Maitland?"
"Yes?"
"Chief Martin says would you please – let me quote him – get your head out of your fucking ass and turn your cell on."
Someone up there hated me. I never turned my cell off, but this one time, one time in all the years I had worked for the State Attorney's Office, I did. I figured one night off would not cause the world to stop turning, and the one time I try to get a little privacy, they send a cop out with flashers and sirens wailing to hunt me down. There was no justice.
I pulled it out of my pocket and punched the power button. As soon as the screen came to life the Cranberries' "Linger" rang out and I hit the talk button.
"Maitland."
"Martin, to what do I owe the pleasure? You realize that I left word with the office that Brandon was taking my calls tonight. I'm flattered that you guys can't live without me, but unless the world is ending, I really am off the clock."
"Did you hear about the murder this morning?"
"Which one? I know there was the guy that died in that drive by over on Jammes and a guy's body was found way off San Jose. Pretty busy day, but..."
Jacksonville, while a wonderful place to live and no Detroit, was definitely the murder capitol of the Sunshine State. I never had quite figured out how we could put Miami in the shade, murder wise, but my hometown had racked up more murders than any other metropolitan area. Of course, as a consolidated county we were a hell of a lot bigger geographically than most other major cities, but still, we were a pretty violent bunch.
Anyway, two homicides in a day was a pretty active tally, but there had been plenty worse since I'd been with the SA. Why was Martin calling me up, on my off time, about one murder?
"You get any of the details?"
"No, I heard we didn't have an ID and this has been a busy day. I figured I'd hear about it sooner or later."
"We put the clamps on this one early and we've been keeping quiet about it so we could do some checking before we released anything. The car was in a wooded lot behind that Walmart shopping center, the one that hasn't been developed yet. Some kids skipping college looked in it, then freaked and called their parents."
"What was in it?"
"A dead guy, in his 30s, maybe early 40s. Hispanic, not badly dressed. The ME says he was probably dead a couple of days. He was more than likely killed elsewhere - then the body and the car were dumped there last night."
"They come up with a cause of death?"
"The ME came up with a couple of contenders, but probably having his head sawed off didn't help."
"What?"
"He had a couple of bullet holes in him, and they'd tortured the hell out of him, but the ME figures he was still alive when they took his head off. Or at least started the process."
"That doesn't sound good."
"Not for that poor bastard anyway, They cut his head off and when they dumped the car they laid him down in the seat and put his head in the seat beside the body. Next to the plastic bag where they put his hands after they sawed them off."
"Makes it sound like it wasn't a run of the mill car jacking or robbery, definitely not somebody pissing off somebody else's husband or boyfriend."
"No, this was an outside job, a professional job."
"How do you know?"
"We had to go through the feds and then the Mexican federal security officer to get an ID, but we found out he was Cartel muscle. He worked with a partner we haven't found, but he'll probably be fished out of the St. Johns, if the body ever turns up."
"Cartel? THE Cartel."
"Yeah, the Cartel whose Mendoza is going to be tried somewhere, if the feds can ever find a place to do it."
I began to get a very bad feeling.
"Why did you have a cop pull me over to tell me this?"
"When we had the car searched, we found some bags with belongings in them. A couple of guns, some drug paraphernalia and some cocaine, apparently for recreational use, some cameras...and some photos."
"What kind of photos."
"We weren't sure at first. There were some photos that appeared to have been taken at a college, and headshots of a kid. Then we found photos taken with a telephoto lens of the same kid, going to college, going around the college campus, getting into a private car. That's what tipped us off."
"Who was the kid?"
"We didn't know who the kid was until we got a clear shot of the woman picking him up after college."
"Who was he?"
"The woman picking him up was your ex-wife, Debbie. The boy was your son."
He must have said something but I didn't hear him. It was as if I standing at the far end of a very long, dark tunnel. I saw BJ, but I didn't see him as the gangly adolescent he was. No, I saw him as a one-year-old toddler taking his first steps, holding onto a glass coffee table as he launched himself across the couple of feet between him and Debbie's waiting arms. I saw her take him into her arms and I wished then with every thing in me that my father could have seen him for even an instant.
"Mr. Maitland..."
The young cop pushed my arm.
"Are you alright?"
I ignored him and listened to Martin on the cell.
"....one of our detectives who had been at a baseball game with his son when you were there with your son recognized him. As soon as we knew, we tried to call you but you weren't answering your phone. We tried to call Ms. Bascomb, but she had left her office and we can't reach her. We don't have numbers for your kids so we've got cruisers headed to your house right now."
"You can't reach Debbie?"
"Sorry no, we just started 15 or 20 minutes ago. She could be shopping and left her phone behind, or in the shower. It could be anything."
I felt a sudden sharp pain in my chest. I knew it was psychosomatic. I've been afraid in my life, but I knew that any fear I'd ever experienced in my life was only the palest shadow of the emotion that was beginning to build in me. It was like looking out to sea and watching a tsunami build strength as it approached. I knew I had to start moving or I'd be paralyzed.
"I'm headed for my house, Martin. I'll meet the units there. Send your guys and tell them to kill any son of a bitch that even looks suspicious to them anywhere around there."
I clicked off and told the young deputy, "I'm going to be breaking every speed law you ever heard of. Give me a spare flasher and get behind me with your siren going."
Thirty seconds later a blue light was flashing on the Escalade. I was hitting 60 going on 90 and on the way home – Debbie's home – with a cop wailing behind me. As I drove one-handed, I hit her number on the cell. It rang endlessly...!
I gave up and dialed Roy Bascomb's home phone. It ran four times and then Cathy picked up.
"Hello."
"Cathy is Kelly there?"
"Bill? Bill, what is it?"
"Cathy, is Kelly there?"
"No."
"Where is she?"
"I think....I think she had a date. She wrote down a number for a girlfriend's house. They were going to meet their boyfriends there and go out to a party."
"Call the number, Cathy, NOW! Tell Kelly there's an emergency. She needs to get back to you. Don't let her tell you no, make her come back...NOW!"
"But...okay - but what do I tell her."
"Don't tell her anything. Just tell her to get back there. I'll explain later. It's an emergency and ask her if she has any idea where BJ is. Is Roy there?"
A moment later:
"Bill? What's going on?"
"Roy, do you have a gun?"
There was a silence.
"Yes. I've got a .38 I always keep in my bedroom."
"Get it out and go get Kelly if she needs a ride home. Make her come home. Call the cops. Tell them you're my father-in-law and tell them they need to send some units to your place. Keep the place locked until you see uniforms, and don't let them in until you see ID. And Roy, if anyone else shows up and tries to come in, kill them. Don't warn them, don't talk to them. Shoot them."
"Bill, what is happening?"
"I can't explain Roy, not now. Just do it. Call the cops."
I tried Debbie's cell again, then the house phone. Images of the carnage in Texas invaded my mind and I couldn't get the pictures out.
On the eighth ring I heard, "Hi. Bill, is that you?"
I felt like an iron collar had been released from around my throat and I could breath again.
"Debbie, why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"Um....uh....I was in the tub."
"For thirty five minutes or more?"
"Is that a crime now? Honestly, Bill-"
"I'm sorry, Deb. I didn't – It's just that I've been trying – we've been trying – to reach you for awhile."
"Okay, I didn't mean to snap. It's just - the kids are out - and believe it or not I'm not doing anything but watching some TV and eating ice cream. It's been a long week so I took a long, hot, restful bath."
"Debbie, listen to me carefully. Are the doors locked?"
"Uh, yeah. Yes. Why?"
"Don't ask questions. Is the Glock in the safe? Is it loaded?"
"Yes."
"Go straight to the safe but look around when you leave the bathroom. If you see or hear anything, if you even have a bad feeling, get back in the bathroom and lock the door. Put that chair in front of the mirror jammed up against the door and stay away from the door."
"Bill....what...tell me what's going on?"
"Just listen, it would take too long. If you think it's okay and no one's in the house, go straight to the safe and get the Glock. Go back in the bathroom but take a home phone and cell with you. If you see anyone other than a uniformed cop, or me, in the house, shoot to kill. Don't hesitate. Even if it's a cop, make them show ID."
"You're scaring the shit out of me."
"Good, baby, good. I want to scare the shit out of you. Being scared could keep you alive. Now, where is BJ?"
"BJ? Bill?"
"Where is he?"
"He was going to go over to that Tommy Wilson's house. They were going to hang out, maybe see a movie."
There was a momentary twinge of....something. I didn't recognize the name. It was a friend he'd made since I'd moved out of his life - just another reminder.
"Call the Wilsons. If he's still there make sure he stays there and call me back. Tell him a security officer cruiser will be coming by to pick him up. Get the Glock, then call the Wilsons. If he's there, call me back. Move as quick as you can."
"Bill..."
"Don't talk - MOVE."
I hung up on her, then called Martin back.
"Send in uniforms at my place and my in-laws. I told them to shoot anybody but a uniform, and tell your guys to be ready to show their ID."
"They should be at your ex's house within a minute. Give me the in-law's address and I'll try to have somebody there in 15 minutes."
I'd nearly been wiped out in accidents a half dozen times in the last several minutes, but the flashing lights and the sirens saved my ass several times as I approached San Jose and pulled off on the way to my – Debbie's – house.
My cell rang and Debbie said, "I've got the Glock and a patrolman named Suggs is here. I've seen him in the courthouse and in the PD office. I let him and his partner in."
"Let them do their thing but stay away from windows and you hold onto the Glock anyway. Have you had a chance to call the Wilsons?"
"No, I was just going..."
"Hang up and call them, Deb. The first second you get confirmation BJ's there, call me back."
The cell rang and Martin was saying, "Slow the hell down, Maitland. Rutledge says you're hitting 90 and have nearly killed a dozen motorists. You're getting ready to get onto residential streets. Our guys are there and no one is going to get at your ex. Don't kill yourself getting there."
I made myself take my foot off the gas and slowed to 60 and then 50 as I headed toward what had been my home. I even stopped for red lights.
The cell rang as I was approaching my former residence.
Cathy Bascomb said, "Roy is on his way to pick up Kelly. A security officer officer just called here and I told him where Roy was headed, described his car and they said they would meet Roy there and escort them back here."
"Thank you Cathy and thank Roy. I'll call you guys in a few minutes and tell you what's happening. In the meantime, stay close to the cops that are headed your way."
"Bill...this is scary. Is this for real?"
"I don't know, Cathy. I hope this is all a false alarm but, be careful."
There were already three security officer cars parked on the street in front of the house, with two sets of officers checking out the front and back. Neighbors were coming out of their houses as cops waved them back inside. I pulled into the drive and was out of the door before the motor had stopped turning.
Two cops made a human shield in front of me and had their guns drawn as I held out my State Attorney ID, which is a photo ID. I stopped long enough for them to glance at it and then pushed past them as they gave me a nod. They were reacting the way I wanted them to.
I was inside the door before it hit me and I slowed in mid-stride. I'd only been here twice in more than six months and each time had been painful. It felt too damned good to be in here, but I made myself trot forward toward the den.
She came out dressed in shorts and a light blue blouse that as usual she was bulging out of. Her hair was wet and hanging straight down behind her. I instantly got hard, remembering the last time I'd had that fantastic body in the shower, but this time I didn't care about letting her know the effect she had on me and I didn't bother to hide it.
"Bill."
She was in my arms and I was pressing her hard against me, feeling her soft tits flatten against me, burying my face in her still moist, fragrant hair. After a fraction of a second of resistance she molded herself against me. I could feel her heart beating against me.