by Nikki Rashan
“How are things at the office?” I tried to sound as nonchalant as I possibly could. There was no point in stressing him out. It was his salary that afforded us the house we lived in and the cars we drove. The little bit of money I made at the department sure as hell didn’t cover half of the nice things we enjoyed. Not the ski trips to Aspen in the winter or our summer cruises to the Bahamas. My baby paid for all of that, not me.
“Oh, everything’s fine. It’s hell in here tonight too. I lost the Padilla murder trial today. They gave him life. It was some messy shit with honest and good police work. No one’s gonna be happy about it, that’s for sure.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Want me to bring you something home to eat? I can stop by Boston Market or I can cook. You know I don’t mind, even if it’s late.”
“Nah, we got a lot to hammer out at the office. Press conference tomorrow. I’ve got to make sure the partners are covered on this one. We’re taking a pretty big hit.”
A car sped past and instinctively my eyes followed it, calculating its speed. They should have gotten a ticket doing about forty in a twenty-five. It drew my eyes toward a couple making out in the shadows up against the side of the parking garage across the street. They were leaning into each other. One was kissing the other’s neck as they leaned on the side of a building in the shadows. It was hard to make out any details, but I was on duty and this was Virginia Beach; an indecent exposure ticket would definitely help me fill my quota for the month.
“Well my shift ends at one and if Lorenzo doesn’t issue any tickets or haul anyone in I should be home by one-thirty. You’ll be home when I get there, right?”
A fire truck whizzed by on an adjacent street, sirens blaring, scaring the living crap out of me. As it moved farther down the street its echo rang loudly in the phone. Impossible; it couldn’t be. I glanced around but there was no one else on the street. I squinted and waited for the blare of the horn to get out of hearing distance and my eyes zoned in on the two men still feeling each other up in the shadows. Heart racing, my mouth dried and my ears were on sonar and lie detector at the same time.
“Baby, I thought you were in the office. Why’d I just hear a siren?” I tried to sound as candid as possible. The last thing we needed was another suspicious wife argument.
“Huh? Siren? No, no sirens over here. Must have been a delay from the one I just heard on your end. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s been a long day. I love you. See you in a few.”
“Love you more.”
I put my phone back into the holster on my hip, my eyes never leaving the couple across the way. They’d started walking again toward a garage on the other side of the street. My police instincts kicked in, screaming for me to follow. I walked quickly, keeping to the shadows on the sidewalk. I was no more than ten feet behind them when my heart froze in my chest. Realization draped itself around my brain, and it was a dark, cold, and empty curtain of feeling. I recognized my husband’s long, slow strides as they crossed the street to enter the garage. The entryway light illuminated them both and the sound of his laughter floating to my ears as he chuckled at something the other man said. I went through a mental Rolodex of faces I’d seen in his office, at his gym, friends from his golfing trips.
When it dawned on me, I knew he was walking arm in arm with Brandon, one of the newer attorneys I’d met at last year’s Christmas party. The same one from P.F. Chang’s. He was a gym rat they all suspected used steroids, but aside from that he was the second-best attorney at the firm. Walking next to Davin he looked like a thickly muscled caramel warrior in his fitted T-shirt and slacks. It was beyond ironic seeing them together, especially since Davin complained about him day and night. He claimed he’d steal his cases, slow down his research; even bad-mouth him to the other attorneys.
Momentarily dazed, I stood frozen in the middle of the street. I replayed the scene that I’d just witnessed in my mind, trying to convince myself that what I was seeing wasn’t really happening. I lost sight of them as they walked into the garage and my feet felt like cement bricks as I made myself go forward.
He was drunk, and holding him up.
Who was drunk and who was holding who up?
And, he was holding him up against the side of a building kissing his neck?
And then arm and arm across the street?
There were a million conversations going on in my mind at one time, as if arguing with myself was going to clarify things. My hands were starting to shake and despite the heat of the night, I’d broken out into a cold sweat. I entered the garage not more than a few feet behind them and followed soundlessly as they walked toward Davin’s silver Mercedes SLS coupe parked in a back corner. His “trophy” was what I called it. The only time he’d drive it to work was if someone big would be there to see him in it, or he’d be having lunch with a higher-ranking partner. It was also the one car he never let me drive or ride in because he said I couldn’t handle it; it was a “man’s” car. As if I could somehow depreciate its precious value.
I crept over and crouched slightly behind a blue cargo van with the words Sugar Shack etched on the side, and stared through the side window. My finger was clammy and sticky as I slid it along the butt of the pistol in my holster. What are you thinking? I silently asked myself, or maybe I asked Davin.
The question churned over and over inside my head, but there was no forthcoming answer.
I watched as they climbed inside the car. Brandon leaned across the center console and kissed my husband of two years full on the mouth. My reaction to the scene taking place before me was no less than that of gut-churning horror, disbelief, and disgust as my husband leaned into the kiss and returned it just as passionately. They looked like two high school kids, sneaking to get it in before going home from a date.
I didn’t know I was crying until the tears started to pool beneath my chin, making my collar wet and scratchy against my throat. My stomach was in a knot so tight it felt like I was going to break in half from the pain. Anger, hatred, disbelief, so many emotions were running through me all at once that my body physically shook.
There was no way that was my husband. That was not the man who stood in front of me at the altar with the loving gaze as he recited his own fucking vows before putting the ring on my hand. My head involuntarily shook back and forth as I stared in disbelief. There was no way that was the man who slept beside me every single night. The man I cooked for, cared for when he was sick, helped grieve when his parents passed.
Their hands were fumbling below the dash and I could only imagine what they were doing to each other as they continued to tongue each other down as if the world were coming to an end. Brandon was the first to break free; smiling seductively he said something and ran his fingers along my husband’s lips before climbing out of the car. I could see the idiotic grin spread across Davin’s face all the way from where I was standing as he popped the trunk and they both go out and walked toward the back of the car.
He was parked up against a back wall in the corner and it pretty much blocked anyone who drove or walked past from seeing them. But from where I was standing I could see it all. A movie played in my mind of me running over, screaming, and firing my weapon repeatedly, but I stood my ground. I needed to see exactly what would happen if they weren’t interrupted so I couldn’t be lied to or told something other than what I’d witnessed with my own eyes.
Brandon leaned into the trunk, bracing himself with one hand and the other holding his pants just below his waist. I closed my eyes as my husband freed himself from his boxers and shared with this man something that he vowed before God to only share with me. Their breathing was heavy, and I could hear them both making low moaning and grunting sounds. Someone’s belt buckle rhythmically clanked against the bumper of the car accenting each thrust, grunt, and moan. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank. Damn, why’d this particular experience have to be marked with the soundtrack from hell? Clank. Clank. Clank.
“Al? What in God�
�s name . . . ?”
My eyes snapped open as Lorenzo’s voice trailed off; instinctively I stepped out from the van toward him. His eyes moved from my distraught appearance to Davin and Brandon going at it behind the car. At the sound of his voice they’d both jumped, quickly trying to regain their composure and fix their clothes; but they hadn’t jumped quickly enough. Lorenzo had seen enough to know what was going on. Everything after that happened in the blink of an eye.
“You motherfucka!” Lorenzo shouted, his voice echoing through the garage like a lion’s roar. He launched past me across the garage and grabbed Davin by the neck, who was still fumbling, trying to get his pants up. Davin glanced briefly in my direction, his expression a mixture of surprise, fear, and pleading. His pants were hanging around his ankles as his manhood deflated and hung pitifully between his legs.
Well damn, at least his cheating ass wore a condom.
Lorenzo and Davin were about the same size; they were matched pretty evenly. Brandon rushed up behind Lorenzo and punched him in the back of the head, causing him to release my husband. Paralyzed, I watched my partner fight with this gladiator of a man who looked like he should be in somebody’s arena, not working in an office.
In the midst of all this, Davin staggered back toward his car. Tears were streaming from his sad brown eyes as he pulled up his pants and tried to straighten up his clothes. He could barely make eye contact with me, and yet I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I watched his long, thick fingers as he fumbled with his belt and the clanking replayed in my head.
The fighting grabbed my attention as the two men slammed into the side of a rust orange Nissan 370Z so hard I was surprised it didn’t tip over. Brandon landed a punch to Lo’s jaw. Stunned, Lo fell backward and my husband, now suddenly full of anger and rage at being discovered and assaulted, seized this moment. Like a guided missile he launched himself toward Lorenzo as Brandon ran over to the Mercedes and reached into the trunk. Pulling out a .45 he turned and fired wildly without aiming.
I screamed. I screamed so loud that I didn’t even hear the gun blast. My husband fell forward, his eyes widened in shock as he landed at Lorenzo’s feet; he was dead before he hit the ground.
“Oh God, no. Davin! Davin!” Brandon’s high-pitched wail resonated through the silent, empty garage as he dropped the pistol and rushed to kneel beside my husband. A place where I should have been, cradling my husband’s head in my lap.
Before I could feel any more resentment, or hurt, loss, or even fury at this man on his knees crying over my man, Lorenzo drew his weapon, smashing Brandon across the back of the head. The blow knocked him unconscious and then Lorenzo fired one shot, killing him.
He kicked Davin’s pistol closer toward Brandon’s body and pulled his radio from its holder on his shoulder.
“Unit 440 calling in shots fired at the Town Center Garage. We were leaving an adjacent hotel. I overhead two males arguing. I saw one draw his weapon and fire. I returned fire when he refused to lower his weapon. Over.”
“Ten-four, unit 440. Backup on the way.”
Chapter 7
The Afterlife After Death, After Death
“No one’s ever gonna find out about what happened here, Al. I already thought all the details through, sweetheart.”
Shuffling the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders, I shivered despite the heat of the night. Scenes from what I’d just witnessed flashed before me. How could my husband have done those things with another man, and now?
“You just tell them you were in the car the entire time and ran to cover me when you heard the shots fired. Now, I already ran upstairs and deleted the surveillance footage so they can’t prove anything more than what we tell them.”
Lorenzo paced beside the squad car, his face drawn into a grisly frown as he quietly barked orders like some sort of insane commanding officer.
When the other units arrived I did exactly as Lo said. For appearance’s sake it looked as though we were the first to arrive on the scene of a regular homicide. My part wasn’t that hard to play. I was visibly distraught and upset when Lo explained what he’d witnessed to the other officers.
After all was said and done I was commended on how well I handled myself and given time off to recover. That was the longest and toughest six months of my life. I questioned everything, even my own life. I’d seen too much death and it was starting to break me down.
Most of my time was spent locked away in the house going over all the minor details, connecting the dots. Reporters, being the soulless jackals they were, didn’t even give me time to mourn or recover. They were everywhere, even at his funeral.
The third most devastating day of my life had to be when I found out the only things I’d get out of his death were the house and two cars. Technically our marriage wasn’t legal because he was already married. His attorneys wouldn’t and couldn’t tell me anything more; they were apparently under some kind of legal gag order. The fool actually had a living will where he had the audacity to list me only as his “live-in mate,” and I waited for the woman’s name but she was only mentioned as the “intended late wife and distributee.” If he weren’t already dead I would have killed him then and there.
I’d gotten questioned relentlessly about some Sherman & Waltman financial holdings he’d miraculously liquidated right before their hard drives were stolen and his murder. I all but laughed in the investigator’s face, telling him I did not have my husband murdered for the money. If I was clueless to the fact that my husband had a secret gay lover and another wife, I sure as hell wouldn’t know if he was planning to defraud and rob a multimillion dollar company.
Lorenzo did all he could to keep me from killing myself, or eating myself to death. It’s a shame but I probably survived on ice-cold beers and chocolate chip cookies; there’s probably no better combination in this world. Baking and drinking were the only things that kept me from going insane. It wasn’t the healthiest strategy, but it kept me sane.
“Woman, you can’t survive on cookies and beer forever; you have to rejoin the world eventually.”
Lorenzo always stopped by to check on me after work and bring groceries that I never touched. He was busy putting Lord knows what into my fridge and I was just praying he’d remembered my Coronas.
“I’ll be fine, Lo. Did you try to pull the files from the last case he who I wish not to name was working on?”
It was a sunny afternoon but you wouldn’t know it from the tightly drawn curtains in the entire house. I hit one of the dimmer switches and set the lights to low so I could peek through the paper bags. My heart sank.
“No files. You’ve been gone for a minute, woman. The chief wants the department to be the new guinea pig for this new system call PATTI.”
“PATTI? What the hell is that?” I’d never heard of the system before my leave started.
Lo stopped what he was doing and gave me an empathetic half smile. “Paperless Accounting Tracking Transcribing Information System. Needless to say, a team went in and uploaded our case files.” He paused and took a breath. “Um, they shredded the originals. We went live and, uh, they’re still working out all the kinks.”
“Kinks? What the hell do you mean kinks? And you can’t justify getting rid of hard-copy case files, Lo. What kind of shit is that?”
He crossed the kitchen and pulled me into a tight hug. I struggled against him and he fought just as hard to hold me. So many things were working against me that I just wanted to bend under all of it, break down, and never get back up again.
He cooed and clucked like I was some kind of scared puppy. “Calm down, bella, sweetheart; everything will be fine. Lorenzo will take care of it. Let me take care of it.” He kissed the top of my head softly and anger, frustration, hurt, all these emotions welled up within me.
I wasn’t his to take care of. I didn’t need taking care of by anyone. Someone always seemed to be taking care of me.
Breaking free of his hold I glowered at him. “I don’t need this
. Not right now. Take care of me so what? So you can be having ‘guy only’ meetings at the gym or, what, a side ho? Get mad and want to put your hands on someone or kill someone? We’ve seen how you take care of things, Lorenzo!” I yelled and tears fell down my face.
Lorenzo bit at his upper lip and nodded in understanding. “I’ll see myself out. You need time and I was way out of line. Your Coronas are on the bottom shelf. You know where I’ll be.”
He let himself out and I collapsed on the couch, content with staring forlornly at the same Hello Kitty pattern on my house pants that I’d been wearing all week.
I couldn’t help wondering how many nights he spent with his real wife, and how long they were actually married. Where did she live and why did he marry me? Did they have a bad divorce, maybe, and she refused to sign paperwork or faked signing paperwork? Was she a real woman or was she transgendered? Maybe that’s why he married her. Did he try to keep her in the gym or have a fit if her weight changed?
I tried to squelch the thoughts of my ex-boyfriend but they wouldn’t stay at bay. Davin was no better than Tarique. They both distorted my self-image. But, thanks to my husband I was down to 18 percent body fat, walking around looking like a skinny, well-muscled boy, and for what? Because Davin actually preferred well-muscled dudes over women.
Anger still seared through me at the thought of how he’d pushed me to work out when we’d first met. Telling me how good I’d look if I’d just drop a few more pounds.
I’d worked so hard to recover from the mental damage Tarique subjected me to after my father’s murder.
