Ariana had married him for his money; a fact that he had grown accustomed to in his hope that she would grow to love him. Money for which he had worked his ass off over the last ten years. He had spent every hour that he could possibly give to making his real estate business work and it had paid off handsomely.
He stopped at the white gates of his newly built Victorian style house and wondered how life could suddenly fall apart. It was now 10:30 in the evening—he had walked for hours trying to find answers. Ariana's car was in the driveway.
"Kevin, is that you?" Ariana called as he entered the house. Her voice was coming from the Jacuzzi room.
He took off his jacket and laid it over the parlor room chair. The hallway was warm—he inhaled deeply taking in the clean, soapy smell and entered the steam filled room.
Ariana was sitting in the bubble-filled water, her well-rounded breasts floating just above the suds. She had her blonde hair pulled up, which only emphasized her beauty.
She smiled as he sat down at the end of the Jacuzzi. "You're very late. So much for being home early like you said. There's cold pizza on the table."
Kevin studied her, trying to see if he could see any trace of the cold-hearted person he had heard on the tape. "I don't know, Ariana. My day went fine all the way until this redneck hitman took me to the side and informed me that some cold-hearted bitch was going to have me killed this Friday." He forced a smile." How was your day, my love?"
As Kevin watched her battle to find the right words, he felt a grim satisfaction. She played it so perfectly, the confusion on her face appearing so genuine that he was impressed. She sunk a little into the hot water, burying her breasts underneath the bubbles.
"Kevin, what the hell are you talking about?"
"How could you do this, Ariana? I've done everything for you."
"Maybe you need to get some rest."
He grabbed her by the hair violently and yanked, forcing her to rise from the water. "Don't tell me to get some rest, Ariana," he hissed, his face reddening. "I just heard a tape of you telling a man to make sure that I was in pain when I died. You deny it one more time and I will shove your head underneath this water until you fucking die."
She studied him fearfully. He knew she was seeing a part of him that she never knew existed. "You know don't you? You know about George? I was going to tell you this week."
He let go of her hair, pushing her head savagely against the wall. Just hearing her confession was more painful than anything he had ever experienced. The tears were already filling up his eyes and he turned away in embarrassment. "Your little hitman friend played it for me. He made me an offer. For fifteen thousand dollars he was going to kill you instead."
The shock that rode through her face gave him perverse satisfaction.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" she asked, her face flushed. "We haven't made love in six months and now you want me dead just because I seek love elsewhere? You've already decided that your work was more important even before you had your little nervous breakdown."
Kevin stared down into her beautiful eyes. "Ariana, I hate you more than I thought I could hate any human being. I will kill you before I let you leave me for another man."
She gasped. "Oh."
He moved closer to the bathtub. "Oh? All you can say is 'oh'? How could you do this to me, Ariana? Why would you do this?"
"I'm in love with somebody else, Kevin. What do you want me to do? It happens."
Kevin started laughing, sitting back on the toilet seat. "This is too ripe."
"What's so funny?"
"I thought people were only this stupid in fucking movies. Jesus Christ, can you really be this pathetic?"
"I'm glad you find this so amusing."
Kevin stopped laughing and looked around at his surroundings. He could actually see the cracks forming in his world—the house now seemed menacing. "Was it really worth it? Could you not even last two years of marriage without fucking somebody else? Having me killed is worth it to you?"
"It's not like I sought out to do this," Ariana said. "I fell in love with someone else, it happens all the time. And would you stop saying I tried to have you killed? You're delusional. I'm sorry it came to this."
"You're sorry...it...came...to...this?" His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "You tried to have me killed and you are sorry it came to this?" He clenched his fists and moved closer to the bathtub. "And now you actually have the goddamn audacity to patronize me? I heard proof, so stop your fucking lying. It won't help you once I call the police."
He thought briefly about shoving her head into the water. It bothered him he was having so much trouble fighting his violent urge. He felt himself reaching out and grabbing her by the throat, pushing her head back into the wall. Her tongue protruded out of her mouth as she struggled to breathe in violent gasps, her eyes bulging as blood vessels broke. She clawed at his face and arms, cutting deeply into his skin.
He let go of her throat and watched her cough and gag. The imprints of his fingers were embedded in her neck. She looked up at him, her eyes wet from choking. He touched his right cheek and felt the deep, bleeding gash where she had scratched him.
"You bastard," she rasped. "You fucking bastard. I'll have you arrested."
Kevin chuckled. "How ironic. You're pissed at me because I almost killed you. Every part of my body wants to kill you, but I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to spend my life in prison for you. You're not worth it, you pathetic slut. Instead I'm going to turn your psycho as sin to the police." He leaned closer. "How did it feel, Ariana? How did it feel when I choked you? Were you scared?" He dodged her slap and stepped back. "I'm surprised you can feel anything."
He exited the bathroom before he lost his sanity again. Grabbing a towel from the closet, he dabbed it into his bleeding face. Blood also ran from scratches in his arm, but none of them were as serious as the wound on his face, that one was going to require stitches.
Moving into the living room, he sat down on the couch and closed his eyes. He was ashamed of himself. In the space of one hour, he had degenerated to a level that he did not think himself capable of. Only hours ago he had loved Ariana with everything he had and now he could care less if she died. Things had seemed so perfect and now they lay shattered before his bleeding face.
He opened his eyes and stood up. Ariana would have to pay for her sins. Picking up the portable phone, he dialed the police. He walked back into the bathroom; he wanted her to hear everything.
Ariana was lying in the bathtub, her mouth open slightly below her bulging eyes, soap bubbles pouring out and over her chin.
The phone fell from his hand and hit the floor with a clatter.
"I want my money, partner," a familiar voice drawled behind him. "Only now I want fifty thousand. Sixty if you want me to hide the body."
Forrest was standing in the doorway, grinning, his buttoned up flannel shirt covered with water. He stuck his thumb out and slowly pushed his cowboy hat up over his forehead.
"You killed her," Kevin said, sitting down groggily on the toilet. "How the hell did you get into my house?"
"Well of course I did, my man," Forrest said. "And now you have to honor your part. I want my damn money."
"Screw you, I'm not giving you shit."
Forrest shook his head; the wide smile still pasted to his face. "Poor Kevin. Who looks like the guilty one here, partner? Looks to me like you're the one that killed her, my friend. I'm just a spectator to this here sport. Now can we talk about money?"
Kevin looked down at the body of his wife. One part of him actually felt disappointed that he was not man enough to do it himself. As he watched her, she fell forward with a soft splash into the warm water, her head becoming partially hidden by the bubbles.
"Why in the hell would I give you money?" he asked, moving closer.
Forrest pulled a Colt .38 from his denim jacket. "That will be close enough. I never underestimate a desperate man, and you, my friend, are as desperate as
they come. You will give me the money because I will simply make an anonymous phone call to the police. How would that work out for you, partner? I don't even exist. I'm a figment of your imagination. Do you think the police will really buy the convoluted story of a redneck hitman like me? It's too fuckin' pat. You're the one with the motive. Hell, your wife was cheatin' on you, my man. Me, I don't even live in this here town. No one even knows I drifted on in here."
Forrest widened his perpetual smile and pushed the cowboy hat up with the barrel of his gun.
Kevin felt his will to fight rush out of him. There was no way in hell that the police were going to buy the story of a hitman killing his wife, especially when they looked closely at the situation. Not only did he have a motive, but his flesh was embedded underneath her fingernails. He stared down into the bathtub and studied the back of her blonde hair as she floated in the dissipating bubbles. The only way out seemed to be to bide his time until he could figure out a better solution to his problem.
If Forrest disappeared, he would hang, of that he was certain.
"Okay, I'll give you the money, you bastard," Kevin said tiredly. "BUT, you have to help me get rid of her body. When I'm sure everything is secure, then I will get the money for you in the morning."
"Sounds like a plan to me, partner. And I hope I don't have to remind you that if anything happens to me, it ain't gonna help your situation. You'll still look like the guilty party." He aimed the gun down at the body. "Okay, you're gonna hafta get her out of there first. Throw her over your shoulders and put her in the trunk of your car. We'll bury her way outside of town. No body, no murder. That's what my daddy used to say."
"You're not going to help me carry her?" Kevin asked, hoping to put him into a vulnerable position.
"Fuck no. I don't like to touch dead bodies. It sickens me."
Kevin chuckled. "Fucks up your karma?"
After some struggling, Kevin had managed to get the body into the trunk without alerting any of his neighbors. The sheet that he had wrapped her in was hanging out of the closed trunk, but he was too numb to really care.
Smiling sheepishly, the hitman walked over to the passenger door and just stood there.
"I thought you said you were going to help me get rid of the body?" Kevin asked.
Forrest nodded. "I am, my man. I just have this thing about doors and whatnot. I'm germ phobic, I guess. Can you open the door for me?"
"You're kidding me, right?" Kevin asked, stomping over to the passenger side and pulling the door open.
"Yeah, I'm kiddin'," Forrest smirked and got into the car. "I just wanted to feel like the guest of honor at your party, partner. And a hell of a party it's gonna be. I already feel like Cinderella now—so thanks."
Kevin slammed the door shut and got back into the car. "Any ideas where we can put the body?"
"Yep. You know that abandoned housin' area outside of town? We can put her there."
Kevin drove off down the darkening street. "Are you sure there is any room up there? I'm sure this isn't the first time you had to put a body out there. It's probably all filled up."
Forrest's smile vanished. "You think you're so fuckin' special don't you? You think you're so much better'n me? You like to think that you're morally superior?"
"So now I'm getting lessons in morality from a conniving, insidious bastard like you?"
"Okay, so I killed your wife—but you know what? I don't even know the bitch. You walked into that bathroom and you barely registered any emotion. This is a woman that you supposedly loved with all your heart and you didn't even pause for one minute to grieve. Tell me the truth, partner. When you saw her body in that bathtub, was not the first thought that came into your mind how guilty you looked rather than 'oh my god my wife is dead'?"
Kevin shook his head. "You can't judge me by the way I react in a situation like that. It's not fair."
"Oh, it's not fair, is it? You call me insidious, but you are worse'n I am. You think I'm white trash. You hide your sincerity under your fake fuckin' persona and then claim to be a man of high morals and integrity. Here we are going to bury your wife and I bet the only thing on your mind is how YOU are going to get out of this little mess. What you should be thinkin' about is that the woman you love has her lungs filled up with Mr. Bubble."
Kevin took a hard right and headed down a side road toward the end of town. "Do you really kid yourself with logic like this?"
Forrest laughed. "See? You don't even bother to answer the question. A true sign of pseudo intellectualism. As soon as you're put to the challenge, you fall apart. Instead you hide by throwin' useless questions back at me. The simple fact of the matter is that most people are only one or two levels below the human scum that I am. Give them the right situation and they will degenerate to whatever level is required. A businessman like yourself becomes a heartless, selfish asshole whose sole function is to merely better himself. Every human bein' on this scumbag planet likes to think of themselves as ridin' the fuckin' morality high horse, when in fact they are just as low as I am. Stop kiddin' yourself. At least I'm honest in what I am."
They came to a red light. Kevin noticed a police car parked off to the side and saw his opportunity. He went right through the red light and took a right onto the dimly lit back road that led outside of town. Within a minute he noticed the police lights in the rearview mirror. He knew that it was Ned Roberts, the sheriff. They were old high school buddies.
"That was a very stupid move, partner," Forrest whispered, burying the barrel of his gun deep into Kevin's ribs. "This isn't going to help you. Let me tell you a quick little story at how screwed you are. First of all, I'm just gonna say I'm a drifter, some hitchhiker you just picked upon your way out of town."
"He won't believe you, I know him," Kevin said smugly.
"It don't matter who you know. What matters is that you're the one with the motive. You're the one with her fingernails so artfully scraped across your face. You're the one with your fingerprints embedded into her goddamn neck. And let's not forget the traces of those soapy little bubbles that they're gonna find on your shirt when they run tests. In fact, I'm even going to take another step."
Forrest opened his revolver and removed all the bullets except one. He tossed the gun into Kevin's lap.
"There you go, partner," Forrest continued. "Now you have a choice. You either kill that cop or kill me. You kill me and you'll look just as guilty. If that cop finds out what you got in the trunk, you may just have to kill him. Play your game, partner. One bullet, one choice. Take it as you got it."
Kevin pulled over to the side of the road, letting what Forrest had just told him sink in. He had the feeling that if he told the truth that Forrest would be just charming enough to play the dumb drifter.
"Evenin', Kevin," Sheriff Roberts said, shining his flashlight into his sweaty face. "You know why I stopped you right?"
Kevin nodded, deciding he was going to have to try and dig himself back out of his newly dug grave. "Yeah, Ned. I was just lost in thought, and wasn't thinking. I had a long day. I'm sorry. If you want to write me up a ticket for it, I completely understand."
Ned leaned back down into the window. "You also know you have a white sheet or a shirt or something flapping from your trunk? You'll have to tuck that in, it's distracting to the other drivers. I'm not going to give you a ticket this time." He paused for a moment. "That's a bad scratch you got on your face there, Kev. How'd you get it?"
"See what you did?" Forrest drawled. "You're gonna hafta kill him now."
"I'm not killing him," Kevin hissed.
"What was that?" the sheriff asked.
"Nothing," Kevin said. "Thanks, Ned. I'll get the sheet."
"You'll have to do it now. Like I said, it's distracting."
"There is nothing in the trunk, Ned."
"Oh that was a brilliant thing to say," Forrest commented.
"I never said there was, Kevin," Ned said his voice not bothering to hide his suspicion. "Let's just g
et it tucked back in the trunk and then you can go back to your business."
Kevin frowned, feeling his mood darken. "Ned, please get in your car and go now please. It's not worth it, trust me."
"Step out of the car please, Kevin," Ned commanded, his voice taking on the tone reserved more for strangers.
"Please don't do this."
"Godammit, Kevin! I said step out of the car!"
Kevin aimed the Colt and fired.
A wet spray of red mist erupted from Ned's chest. He fell backwards hard, still clutching his wound as he bled onto the pavement.
"Never underestimate a desperate man," Forrest said, leaping through his open window. He stared down at the officer, a massive grin on his face. "Poor bastard is still alive, you better finish 'im."
Kevin opened the car door and stepped onto the road. A sharp pain detonated in his stomach. The impact of the bullet sent him airborne and he hit the side of the car forcefully, the air rushing out of his body in a tremendous burst, the gun falling from his hand.
"Why Kevin?" Ned asked, still holding the gun from where he lay propped up on one elbow, a pool of blood widening around his body.
Kevin looked at him dumbly, at first not understanding the question. He had already tried to stand up but his arms and legs refused to move. The bullet had severed his spine. He let his eyes drift slowly back up to the wounded cop. "He set me up. I didn't have a choice. Forrest. He killed my wife, Ned."
"Isn't this cute?" Forrest asked. "Two dyin' men settin' in the road using their last precious moments to ponder the why. It breaks my goddamn heart, Kevin. Really it does."
"You shut the fuck up!" Kevin shrieked, blood and spittle flying from his lips.
Ned stared at Kevin for a moment, his eyes betraying his confusion. He tried to move, almost managing to get up, but fell backwards again. "Kevin, you've lost your damn mind."
"Ned, he's standing right next to us," Kevin said, staring at the hitman with hateful eyes.
Appalachian Galapagos Page 21
