'The Forgotten Gun'

03 December, 2017rodster385Comments (0)

undefined

Continued from last week's story  

Jacy Morrow gingerly placed the loose change into the elderly man's hand then stood patiently behind the counter of the convenience store as he struggled to work it into the pocket of his overalls. Finally, he turned and shuffled out the door with Jacy chirping a friendly goodbye.
"You have a great evening, Mr. Stewart! Tell your wife I hope she gets to feeling better."
She then turned her attention back to me as I stood leaning against the burrito warmer, my chin on my arm, a depressed look on my face.
"Truthfully, cowboy, I feel sorry for you. I shouldn't but I do. You have the worst luck with women."
I nodded, a woeful look on my face that begged for more pity.
"I've been thinking about your ex-girlfriend. I can't help but wonder if maybe she caught her husband in the act and killed him and his mistress. Perhaps it is she that absconded with the church's money after murdering her husband and his lover. It makes sense to me."
I couldn't hold back a laugh, "Oh no. That's pretty far-fetched even for you, Jacy. Deanne may be a scorned woman in search of revenge, but she's no killer. I can't see that woman purposely stepping on a cockroach."
"Let me tell you something, buddy," her eyes narrowed as she spoke, "every woman is capable of murder given the right circumstances. Never forget that!"

I pondered Jacy's statement later that night as I soaped up in the shower. They seemed to be wise words and I carefully stored them away in the back of my mind for future reference. I dried off with a towel, sniffing of it and trying to remember when I had washed it last. Perhaps it was time to toss it in the dirty clothes, I decided. Stepping into the bedroom to retrieve a clean pair of boxer briefs, I froze momentarily. The window beside the bed was open. A brisk breeze caused the curtains to flutter. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention as I hastily dressed and stealthily moved toward the darkened living room. With senses working at full alert, I reached for the light switch and flipped it on.
"Deanne! What the hell are you doing in my house?"
She sat in my recliner, her legs crossed, a large purse in her lap.
"Sit! I have something to say to you."
Anger was written all over her face and I chose to obey her command, seating myself across the room on the sofa.
"Deanne, you broke into my house. That's pretty creepy."
Ignoring my comment, she leaned forward in the recliner.
"I know who you really are. I know all about you."
I inadvertently rolled my eyes as I waved a hand, "Well, by all means, tell me who I really am."
"I've asked around," she clenched her jaws as she spoke, " and it turns out that you, Mr. Player, are actually a private detective."
She nodded her head in affirmation and continued, "you work for attorneys who hire you to connive poor, helpless women who are going through a divorce into compromising sexual situations. Meanwhile, you have photographers hiding in secret to take photographs and videos..."
I held a hand up, "Stop, stop. I've already heard this from those women you terrorized at the bar. It's all bullshit, Deanne. Something you made up in your feeble little mind. I am not a private eye. It's absurd."
"It all came to me that night you had me in your bedroom," she pointed a finger in that direction, "when I saw the bare window, it became crystal clear! You were seducing me and the cameras were rolling!"
Her voice grew louder and I saw she was losing control of herself.
"So, who have you talked to that told you I was a private detective?"
"Oh, quite a few people up at that bar. They've watched you make your moves!"
"Names...give me names! I want to know who is telling you this!"
"Why? So you can destroy them like you've destroyed me?"
She dug into the oversized purse with both hands, her face thrust practically in the purse itself as she raffled through its contents.
Abruptly the woman dropped to her knees onto the carpet, dumping the entire contents onto the floor.
"What on earth are you looking for?" I practically bellowed, rising to my feet.
"MY GUN!" she screamed, "Where the hell is my pistol?"
Tears streamed down the mad woman's face as she began scooping handfuls of miscellaneous items back into the purse. She turned her face toward the ceiling and wailed.
"It's in the other purse! I can't believe I didn't bring my gun!"
My eyes wide, I felt a tremor run through my body as my mind raced to decide what my next move should be.
Deanne rose to her feet, the purse dangling from her arm. She walked toward the door, pausing to glare at me.
"You better be glad I didn't bring my gun. And you better pray that our paths never cross again!"
And she was gone.
I watched the tail lights disappear as she turned onto the highway. Jacy's words rang in my ears. Perhaps it was time to reevaluate this infatuation I had with women. Maybe I just needed a dog.


'Deanne's Revenge'

26 November, 2017rodster385Comments (0)

undefined

Continued from last week's story 

  An early spring breeze drew goosebumps on my arms as my eyes strayed toward a group of youngsters playing on the swings on the other side of the tiny park. I exhaled a deep sigh. Enough small talk and idle chitter-chatter. It was time to do what must be done.
I cleared my throat and spoke, unable to look her in the eye, "Deanne, I don't think we should see each other anymore."
"I figured this was what the spontaneous meeting was about," she turned her head away from me, brushing her flowing hair with her fingertips, "It's because we didn't go all the way Saturday night, isn't it?"
"Oh, I uh..."
I'd wager all I have that had we tangled in sweat-soaked sheets until the sun rose, we'd not be having this talk. Am I right?"
I pondered her question and silently admitted I didn't have an answer readily available.
"Truthfully, I'm relieved it didn't happen," I replied, suddenly finding the words that had escaped me, "Deanne, I just can't continue to see a married woman."
She shook her head, still looking away, "Well, he's not coming back. I can guarantee you that. Rusty, you and I are on opposite sides of the fence. I think we should move in together and start a new life. You don't realize it but I am the wife you are searching for. Make some sort of commitment to me."
I exhaled a sigh, "We've barely known each other a month. People don't move in together so soon. Especially when one is still married. I know you are stressing over your current situation...no job, and soon no place to live. Honestly, from my point of view, you are setting me up to be taken advantage of. You need to concentrate on getting your life put back together. Get a job and a place to live. Get a divorce! Then call me in six months or so. I think you are an awesome woman, but you are moving way too fast. I've done some things I'm not proud of in the past but I won't date a married woman."
Deanne jumped up from her spot on the picnic table, unbuttoning her pants, dropping them to her knees.
"Come on, right now, right here on this picnic table. I'll give what you want and we can move on with our relationship!"
I stared briefly into her eyes and turned and walked away.
I had spent the next two Saturday nights staring at a TV that I'd not bothered to turn on, but by that third weekend, I found the neon lights calling my name. It was just before midnight that I found myself sitting shoulder to shoulder with a tall redheaded nurse who had slipped her hand in mine. I'd admit, we had clicked and she had the prettiest smile. I decided I wouldn't mind knowing her better.
"What do you say we leave this noisy place and find somewhere we can talk. How about I buy you breakfast at IHOP?"
Her eyes locked on mine for a moment as she weighed my offer.
"Sure, I'm hungry enough to eat a horse. Just let me run to the restroom real quick and we'll be on our way!"
Forty-five minutes later I finally convinced myself that she wasn't coming back.
By the next Saturday, my wounded ego had mended and I found myself intrigued by a short little Italian girl. I felt the chemistry radiate from her body as I took her in my arms and led her to the dance floor. She turned out to be a superb dancer and at four foot- eight, she was a pleasure to dance with. Her head never blocked my view and I found her exactly the perfect height to allow me to rest my chin on the top of her head as we spun around the dance floor. I couldn't remember what she had said her name was so I just called her half-pint, which made her giggle every time I spoke it. As the night wore on, we rested more frequently. me sipping on a Coors Light and her on white wine. My heart would melt every time she stared at me with her big brown eyes and I found myself captivated by how tiny she was.
"You know, I think I could pick you up and slip you in my shirt pocket." I grinned, reaching for her hand.
"The good thing about us small girls is that you can put us anywhere you want us!" she grinned and winked at me.
Undaunted by last week's failure, I squeezed her hand and tried again.
"What do you say we leave this noisy place and find somewhere we can talk. How about I buy you breakfast at IHOP?"
"Hey, that'd be great! Let me run to the ladies room first. I am literally about to pop!"
And it was about forty-five minutes later that I decided she wasn't coming back.
As I stepped into the bar on that third Saturday night, I set my jaw in determination. I'd not, no way in hell, get myself hooked up with anyone. I'd dance with every woman who'd dance with me and move on to the next one. But somehow I ended up with a twenty-something-year-old bank teller parked at my table. She was broke but wanted to drink and she was pretty, I had told myself. Annoying but pretty. She had chattered incessantly about her boss and how he wanted to get in her britches. Me, I kept my eyes on the door, searching for a woman more my type, not that I could get rid of this girl, I thought. It crossed my mind that I could excuse myself to the restroom and just disappear. It seemed to be the new way of ditching someone.
The bank teller patted my hand, "Okay, I have to go pee. I'll be right back!"
"Sure you will," I said as I shook my head and returned my attention to the front door.
But in a matter of minutes, she returned, seating herself beside me and leaning over to speak into my ear above the loud music.
"Okay...I'm not married. I've never been married. So, you have the wrong girl. Sorry!"
I drew back and stared at her, "What?"
"That woman in the restroom said that you're a private investigator and divorce attorneys hire you to coax women going through a divorce into compromising positions. You take pictures and videos and present them as evidence in court. Sounds like a cool job...but you got the wrong girl."
My mouth gaped open as I listened to the teller, "What woman? Show me this woman!"
"Um, okay," she peered at the crowded tables in the dimly lit bar.
"That one sitting alone over by the DJ booth. That's her."
My eyes focused on a silhouette in the darkest corner of the bar. My eyes squinted to make out her features. The figure pointed her finger at me as if she held an imaginary gun...and she fired straight at me.
"Deanne!" 


← Older posts