by Mary Monroe
“I wish you wouldn’t keep things like that from me. A woman’s deranged husband sending threatening e-mails to a club member is serious, and that’s something I need to know about. Will you promise me that if something else weird happens, you’ll let me know right away?”
“I will,” I muttered. “Any more questions?”
“Just one. How long are you going to date? Having sex with a bunch of men can put a lot of stress on a woman’s body. . . .”
“Look, if you were in a steady relationship, you’d be having sex at least five times a week. Multiply that by four. That’s twenty times a month. If you have a hot guy, it’ll be more. What’s the difference between that and you having sex with twenty different men a month?”
“I’d never date that many men in one month!”
“But do you see what I’m trying to say?”
“I guess.” Lola paused and gave me a thoughtful look. “Joan, you always have an answer for everything, but you didn’t answer my question about how long you’re going to date.”
“I know. But to tell you the truth, I don’t know how long I’ll do this dating thing. I’m sure I’ll get bored with it someday and look for other ways to keep myself occupied. In the meantime, let’s enjoy it while we can. Okay?”
“O . . . kay.” Lola blew out a loud breath before she said anything else. “I got a message from a guy in Atlanta last night. A software guru. He’ll be out here next week for his company retreat.”
“You don’t sound too interested.”
“He wants me to wear a mask to bed.”
“Stop!” I started laughing, but Lola remained silent. “I hope you didn’t agree to see him. The man has a serious problem. A mask? What kind of mask?”
“I didn’t ask. He said he’d wear one too.”
“Girl, if I ever find out you went to bed with a man wearing any kind of mask, I’m going to talk about you like a dog for the rest of your life. I hope you didn’t agree to meet that fool. Paddling somebody’s butt or handcuffing them is one thing. That’s standard freak shit and a lot of people do it, even me. But if wearing a mask is not a red flag, I don’t know what is.”
“I told him, straight-up, I wasn’t interested.”
“Block him so you won’t have to hear from him anymore. I’d rather have you hook up with that truck driver. At least he sounds normal.”
Chapter 48
Calvin
I RARELY THOUGHT ABOUT THE MEN I’D KILLED DURING MY STINT IN the war, and I had no idea how many. It had been so impersonal. I’d even enjoyed blowing away some of those crazy motherfuckers.
It was hard for me to imagine myself killing a civilian, especially one that I had feelings for. But when it happened, it was a totally different experience. It was almost like killing myself. And that was something I’d never do, even though the pain Glinda had caused me was unbearable. Other people would probably have committed suicide to end the pain. Getting rid of the source was what did the job for me. But only temporarily. Each time I thought I had “healed,” the pain resumed with a vengeance.
It didn’t take long for me to cross a line I never thought I’d even get close to: I chose to become a murderer, and in the first degree. Glinda had not only “killed” me, but she had caused the deaths of other women whose only crime had been that they had crossed my path.
Glinda had fought hard. She had punched my face and attempted to pry my hands from around her throat, but it had done her no good.
I held my breath so long during the struggle, I thought I was going to pass out before she did. Several minutes later, she stopped breathing and moving. An unholy stench that reminded me of rotting eggs suddenly filled the air. I released her and she crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. I stared at her for a few moments. All of a sudden, one of her legs shuddered and she let out a hissing noise.
I squatted down and felt for a pulse, pleased that I could not feel one. I stood back up and watched as a huge wet stain formed around her ass. She had involuntarily emptied her bowels and bladder, which explained the foul, rotting-egg odor. The mess she had made on my carpeting, and her shit and piss stinking up my bedroom, made me even angrier.
“Look at you now, bitch!” I barked.
I rushed to my laundry room. From my dryer, I grabbed a blanket, which I had washed a few hours earlier, and rolled her up in it, swaddling her from her head to her feet. While she lay on the floor looking like a huge burrito, I went into the kitchen and removed a bottle of carpet cleaner from the broom closet.
After I had cleaned my carpet and sprayed the room with air freshener, I hoisted Glinda’s body off the floor and placed her on the floor in my walk-in closet, right next to a pile of other useless items I planned to dispose of. I was sorry I didn’t have a live hand grenade to toss in behind her!
Just as I was about to go take a shower, my telephone rang. It was Robert, the neighbor who had told me he’d seen Glinda leaving with that asshole.
“Hey, brother! I’m glad I caught you!” he hollered.
“What’s up, dude?” It was amazing how cheerful I was able to sound so soon after committing murder.
“One of my former frat brothers is coming to the house in about an hour for a little celebration with a few friends. He just got back from the war in the Middle East too. I know you’re over there by yourself these days, so I hope you can join us. There will be a few single ladies present, so they’ll help take your mind off Glinda.”
I was delighted to know that people still cared about me. I didn’t hesitate to respond. “That sounds like a good plan, my man. Thanks for thinking of me.”
It was good to get away from the scene of my crime and have a few drinks with someone other than just myself. I enjoyed meeting some of Robert’s friends and dancing and chatting with a couple of the female guests. My euphoria was short.
A mysterious migraine suddenly erupted in my head, which jump-started my imagination. When I noticed a group of guests in a corner whispering and glancing in my direction, I thought they were whispering about me. My head felt like it was going to explode. Maybe somebody had been peeping in my window and saw what I had done to Glinda. Or . . . maybe I was going crazy? At one point, I even thought I saw her spirit floating toward me. When you have the body of a woman you murdered in your bedroom closet, your mind can play all kinds of tricks on you. I stumbled and bumped into a woman who had been giving me the eye since I walked in the door.
“You want some company later on, soldier boy? I heard all about what you’re going through with your wife and that’s a damn shame. You look like you need some tender loving care,” she said. The woman paused and looked down at my crotch. Then she hauled off and squeezed the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to my manhood. “Feels like it too. . . .”
“Uh, maybe so. Where do you live?” I asked. There were times when a man was so conflicted, even an ugly woman looked good. The one coming on to me now looked like a mule.
“On Preston Parkway.” She paused and gave me a double wink. “But my husband might sneak up on me, so it’d be safer to go to your place.”
“So you’re married?” I asked with one eyebrow raised. I couldn’t believe that a married woman could be brazen enough to throw herself at another man in front of a room full of witnesses! Had things changed that much while I was overseas? Was infidelity contagious, or had every married woman gone stark raving mad?
“Slightly.”
“Well, I don’t think I’d like to spend time with a ‘slightly’ married woman tonight,” I said with a snort. “Excuse me, please.” I walked away before that horny heifer could say another word.
I had to be alone so I could decide what to do with Glinda’s body. I thanked my host and departed. I literally ran all the way back to my house.
I knew I couldn’t hide her in my closet too long. She was eventually going to decompose. From what I’d seen on television shows like CSI and Forensic Files, one rotting body could stink up a whole block. I had to do som
ething, and I had to do it fast.
I didn’t even go to bed that night. I sat on my living-room couch with a fifth of Jack Daniel’s on the coffee table in front of me. By morning the Jack Daniel’s was empty, but I didn’t feel drunk at all. I didn’t even bother to shower or fix myself a cup of coffee. An hour later, I strolled into Home Depot five minutes after they opened. I purchased an enormous horizontal deep freezer—which ironically looked like a makeshift coffin—that I could easily store in a corner in my two-car garage. I paid extra to have it delivered the same day.
“This is a mighty big freezer for a house as small as yours, brother,” one of the two husky black deliverymen commented after the freezer had been put in place. “I’ve only helped deliver ones this size to restaurants and big hotels, and one to a huge mansion in the hills. It’s a good thing you’re going to keep this bad boy in your garage, ’cause it’d take up way too much space in a regular-size room.” I didn’t like the way the man was looking at me. It was almost like he knew I’d purchased the freezer for something other than storing food.
“Uh, I will be moving into a much bigger house soon,” I said dryly. “In the meantime, I’m planning to host my family’s annual reunion in a couple of weeks. You know how we black folks like to eat.” I nudged the man’s shoulder and winked. He looked from the freezer to me and nodded. “I’m going over to Costco later today so I can stock up on meat before their sale ends,” I threw in.
“Oomph, oomph, oomph. Brother, you must have one huge family.” The chatty deliveryman plucked a large white handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and wiped sweat off his face. What he said next made my heart drop. “I bet you could hide a dead body in a freezer this big!”
I laughed. I gave both dudes a generous tip and sent them on their way.
I immediately placed Glinda in her final resting place, still wrapped in that blanket. Then I piled tools, oil-stained rags, and other odds and ends on top of the freezer.
Chapter 49
Calvin
A WEEK AFTER I KILLED MY WIFE, I STARTED MY NEW JOB DRIVING an eighteen-wheeler for Kessler and Sons, a family-owned trucking business based in Vancouver, Washington. It was a much better position than my former job as an office manager at the utility company, with a micromanaging supervisor I’d despised from the bottom of my heart. There was nothing like cruising the interstate highways transporting fresh lumber. The pay and the benefits were spectacular, and I was going to enjoy the mobility and the independence.
I couldn’t believe how easy it was for me to go on with my life. Everybody who knew me and Glinda knew she had left me for another man, so they were reluctant to mention her in my presence. They were all happy when I began to date again. I was not anxious to bring any of my new lady friends to my house at first, but I eventually did. Nobody had any reason to go snooping around in my garage, or any other part of my residence. But I watched every visitor like a hawk, anyway. I kept the garage light off and the door leading to it from the kitchen locked. For more insurance, I picked up half-a-dozen white mice from a pet shop and turned them loose in the garage. If a woman did wander in, once she saw those frisky, squeaking rodents, she’d bolt.
About two weeks after I’d returned from my first haul down to the San Diego area, I received a call from my older brother, Ronald. He was one of the few relatives who had not severed ties with me. I was glad to hear his voice.
“In case you haven’t heard, Glinda’s missing. Nobody has seen or heard from her since last month,” he told me, speaking in a low, tentative manner.
“I hope she’s okay. Anybody have any idea where she might be?”
“No. Everybody thinks it’s a damn shame the way she deserted you. Too bad you didn’t get a chance to beat the hell out of her first.”
“I’ve never hit a woman. The way things were going between us, I knew it was a matter of time before she took off, so I was prepared.”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if she had not left you so soon after you got out of the military. That was some cold-blooded shit she pulled on you, and it’ll come back to haunt her someday. You’re a good man, bro. As long as you keep the faith and honor the Lord’s Word, you’ll be blessed with a woman who will appreciate you.”
“I know I will. God is good,” I said with a sniff. “When, and if, Glinda turns up, I won’t contest the divorce. I won’t be happy about giving her anything out of the house, since I paid for it all. And I’m glad I never put her name on the papers to the house. But I can live with having to pay her alimony. The way I know her, she won’t be single for long, anyway. The last time I talked to her, she mentioned something about her new squeeze wanting to marry her. . . .”
“You might not have to worry about a divorce, paying alimony, or anything else. I saw on the news this evening that the cops suspect that that ex-con she was involved with is responsible for her disappearance.”
“Oh? Why do they think that?” I asked with my fingers crossed.
“He had a violent streak a mile wide. The last two times I saw Glinda, she had a black eye and a busted lip. Her family finally went to the cops last week and they started an investigation. When they asked the ex-con about her, he denied knowing anything and then he disappeared the next day! I have a feeling she’s dead and he dumped her body someplace where she’ll never be found. Him taking off the way he did is as good as him admitting his guilt.”
“I hope the cops find this joker before too long.”
“They will. Folks ought to know by now that nobody can get away with murder. There is too much technology now and cops are getting smarter every day. Not that I would know from experience, but it’s hard to be a successful criminal these days.”
“You’re right,” I said with my fingers, now trembling, still crossed.
A month after the conversation with my brother, the cops found Glinda’s lover’s decapitated body on the side of a country road in Juarez, Mexico. Dude was a bigger fish than everybody thought. He had been dealing drugs for a couple of years and had double-crossed some members of a ruthless Mexican cartel, who had made hundreds of people disappear permanently. They had also tortured some of his family members, including his eighty-year-old grandmother. And he and Glinda had made several overnight trips to Mexico a few days before her disappearance. It was no wonder people were trying to guess where the cartel thugs had dumped her body. One “reliable source” even told the cops she’d been sold to a brothel in Mexico City. I kept my opinions to myself. I was the only person who knew where Glinda really was, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Hollywood couldn’t have come up with shit this good! With all that was going on, who would even tune up their brain to think that I had anything to do with Glinda Price’s disappearance?
People eventually stopped talking about Glinda, but I thought about her day and night, seven days a week. On the third-month anniversary of her death, I wandered into Jerry’s, a dive bar across town. I had just returned from a haul down to Bakersfield in a very heavy rainstorm. With a lot of maneuvering and luck, I had avoided hitting a deer that had leaped out of nowhere. Less than half an hour after that, I’d encountered an hour-long roadblock due to a mudslide. I was pretty frazzled by the time I got back to San Jose and parked my rig in the company’s local lot. I retrieved my personal vehicle, but I didn’t want to go home to an empty house, so I decided to stop for a drink to calm my nerves.
Jerry’s was located in a pretty rough area and shared the block with the Mahoney Street Projects. The bar was crowded, but I noticed one woman in particular because she was hugging and kissing on a dude at the bar, and making eyes at several others, including me. Another reason I noticed her was because she looked a little like Glinda. Just watching her make a spectacle of herself made my head spin and my blood boil. What I should have done was leave, because what I was witnessing was bringing back some very painful memories.
About fifteen minutes after I’d arrived, a large Wesley Snipes–looking brother strolled in. From
the menacing look on his face, I could tell that he had an attitude that wouldn’t quit. He looked around for a few seconds; then he strode directly over to the frisky woman and attempted to pull her into his arms. She slapped him, kicked his leg, and bit his hand. Was it no wonder so many women got their asses kicked by their men? Had she been my woman . . . Well, I had a foolproof way of dealing with a slutty woman, so I knew what I’d do again if I had to. I didn’t even know this woman, and I was tempted to walk up and beat the dog shit out of her myself.
Dude threw up his hands. He left the bar before a huge bouncer, slumped in a seat near the rear and yakking on his cell telephone, even looked up. Ten minutes later, the woman left alone. From the way she was staggering, it was obvious she was quite drunk.
I eased out of the bar and stayed a few yards behind as I followed her to a shabby Ford parked a block away on the opposite side of the street.
She leaned against the door on the driver’s side, fumbling with her purse. I kept my distance and waited until she had rooted around in her purse and removed her keys. As soon as she started to unlock her car, I trotted up to her.
“Excuse me,” I began. She whirled around. The streetlights were very bright. I was pleased to see such an inviting smile on her pretty face. I tried to look helpless by blinking rapidly and wringing my hands. “Sister, I hate to bother you, but one of my tires is flat. I was wondering if you had a jack I could borrow? I’ll pay you.”
She looked me up and down and pursed her lips. “Weren’t you just in Jerry’s Bar?”
“Yes, I was,” I replied, giving her the biggest smile I could manage.
“I was going to ask you to buy me a drink, until, well, you saw what happened when my old man walked in,” she slurred, totally ignoring my request to borrow her jack. “You want some company tonight? I can make you feel real good,” she bragged as she tapped my crotch. I wondered if Glinda had behaved the same way during her prowling escapades. “You have a hard-on already. I don’t want to let it go to waste, do you?” she teased.
