Adultery When We Were Married by DanielQSteele1

[Ramesh_Rocky]

“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, Dallas. 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, Dallas. But I don’t think it is.” He rubbed his chin.