The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  “He’s at Trinity Hospital,” Mrs. Cutter said. “I was there with him all night. I just came home to clean up. I’ll be going back in a while. He wants me to sneak him in some caramels. The doctor said he could eat anything he wanted, but he gets a thrill out of sneaking it in. Like he’s pulling one over on them. Have you ever noticed how some boys just never grow up?”

  “Yes, I have,” Ben said. “Thank you, Mrs. Cutter. I think I’m going to go see Henry, now. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  “That would be nice,” Mrs. Cutter said. “I’ll be looking for you.”

  They hung up and Ben put the phone away. He walked to his car and started digging for his keys. The hospital was about fifteen minutes away. He would get there long before Mrs. Cutter could. There was no reason for him to think she would arrive before he left. He wanted to find out what happened to Henry, update the rancher on the Tuttle/Bolder bail situation and be on his way. Ten to fifteen minutes tops.

  “Mr. Hunter,” a voice said behind him.

  “Yes?” Ben started to turn.

  “Don’t turn around,” the voice snapped. “Keep your eyes on your car there.”

  Ben lowered his head compliantly. “What’s this about? I don’t have much cash on me.”

  “What does not much cash mean to a lawyer like you, Mr. Hunter?” the man said. “Four or five hundred?”

  “I might have that much,” Ben said. “In my wallet. Left breast pocket of my jacket.”

  “I don’t want your money,” the man said and for the first time Ben felt afraid. He had been mugged before. Give them your money and they’re on their way. If this man did not want money, what did he want?

  “I need you to do me a favor, Mr. Hunter.”

  “A favor?” Ben asked. “What kind of favor?”

  “I was in the courtroom just now,” the man said. “I saw the look on your face when the judge announced the bail amount. I know you don’t think you’re going to be able to get Bolder out.”

  “It is a lot of money,” Ben said.

  “Not for you,” the man said. “Mr. Lawyer can come up with that much. Or at least the ten grand to pay a bail bondsman.”

  “Did Jack send you?”

  “Jack?” the man sounded confused. “Oh, you mean Bolder. No, he didn’t send me. Don’t know him. But you are going to make sure he gets out. You are going to assure me he will make bail. Preferably today.”

  “And if I can’t?” Ben asked.

  “I’ll have to pay you another visit,” the man said. “Or maybe I’ll visit your wife and kids. You never know with me.”

  “Leave my family out of it,” Ben said.

  “Oh, I will,” the man said. “If Bolder is on the streets before noon tomorrow, I’ll leave you all alone. And if he’s out by tonight, I’ll forget you exist.”

  “Tonight?” Ben cringed.

  “One more thing,” the man said.

  “What?”

  “Count to twenty,” the man said. “Nice and slow. Don’t turn around until you get to twenty or the whole deal is off and I’ll kill you and your family. Now, start counting.”

  Ben counted. He reached twenty, continuing to stand for a long moment before turning around, half expecting to see the stranger face to face just before getting his head blown off. There was no one there. A woman stepped into the parking area and Ben could not stop staring at her. He watched her walk to her car and did not look away until she disappeared inside. As he took his eyes away, he saw a man sitting in a car two rows away. He thought about running over and asking the man what he had seen, if anything. But then he considered the man may be the same man who was standing behind him only a minute ago, watching to see if he counted properly.

  He unlocked his car and climbed in. His hand shook as he tried to align key with ignition. He started the car and sped out of the lot watching his rearview mirror for the man in the other car. No one followed. His hands continued to shake uncontrollably until he pulled up to the hospital. Shutting off the engine he looked in the mirror once more and realized he was crying.

  Chapter 77

  (The Morning After)

  The first thing Dave noticed upon waking, even before he opening his eyes, was that his arms were pulled up over his head and away from his body. He tried to move them a cutting pain in his wrists. He tried again, recognizing the bite of handcuffs. He panicked and opened his eyes.

  What he could see of the room he was in did not look familiar. The dome covered light in the center of the ceiling was not on, the light illuminating the room coming from two windows he could see on one side of the room. It was morning. On the wall opposite the windows was a door and a chest of drawers. Looking down past his feet he saw a mirrored dresser. None of it helped explain where he was. The mirror was tilted so that he could see the entire queen sized bed. His partially covered body was centered. He knew that beneath the sheet he was wearing nothing at all. Next to him cocooned in the majority of the sheet lay a figured curled in a fetal position. He raised his head and twisted his neck to see the woman’s face. Everything came back to him in a rush.

  “Sarah?” he said.

  She did not move. He called her name again, nudging her body with his knee. She moaned slightly and adjusted her position before settling back. He sighed, saying in a more forceful tone, “Sarah!”

  The woman stirred. Her small frame uncurled and stretched to its limits. She raised her head and looked at him with eyes half open, a seductive smile on her lips. She moved so she was at an angle where she could lay her head on his bandaged chest and looked up at him. The entire night played back in his mind.

  She had been at The Silver Spoon. He had joined her for dinner. There were pastas and sauces and cheeses and wine. A lot of wine. He didn’t know how they got from the restaurant to this room. He was sure they didn’t drive. He vaguely remembered being in the back seat of what he could only assume was a taxi. He was positive the show they gave the cabbie was entertaining.

  They were in her house. He didn’t remember opening the door or making their way to the bedroom. He did remember removing clothing, hers. She removed his. He wondered where his service weapon ended up, and his badge. He knew where his handcuffs were. The sex was unlike anything he ever experienced before. Shelly was a prude in the bedroom. At least she was while he was married to her. Sarah, on the other hand, was dynamic. She intensified the experience tenfold and shared that intensity with him. Every movement she made was with one purpose in mind; pleasure. And she moved a lot. He was pretty sure the tingling in his toes was an aftermath of the night’s events.

  He lay there staring at her, eyes locked on eyes. He knew he should say something, needed to say something. No words came to mind. There was something about her he couldn’t understand. Something he felt the first time he saw her. The feeling grew the first time they had dinner at The Silver Spoon. Staring at her face, he knew he found someone he could enjoy being with, someone he could enjoy sharing his life with.

  “Good morning,” she said softly. She moved forward and placed her lips to his. They kissed and he felt hungry for more. Pulling away she bit down on his lower lip. He winced from the pain, followed by a rush of excitement. She sensed him and climbed up to straddle his waist.

  “Morning,” he moaned. Was this the fourth time, or fifth? He wasn’t sure. It may have been more. The ending sometimes blended into a new beginning. He closed his eyes and let her movements take him to another place. She bent forward, kissing him hard on the lips. She pulled away and he saw the handcuff key dangling on a string between her breasts. He whispered, “Unlock me.”

  Without altering her rhythm Sarah slipped the string over her head and reached forward to unlock the cuffs. With his hands free he reached up and grabbed her around the waist and rolled her onto her back. With one hand he held her wrists above her head and in a matter of seconds her hands replaced his in the cuffs. Realizing what happened, she tugged down once to test them. She smiled.

  A half hour p
assed and they lay back together on damp sheets. The handcuffs were hanging from a hook on the wall. Dave held Sarah’s small frame close to his and wondered how many years he had wasted waiting for a woman like her. She ran her fingers through the chest hair above his bandage and kissed his neck. The feeling of having someone to wake up to was elating.

  “I don’t want this to end,” Sarah said close to his ear.

  “Me either,” Dave responded.

  “I have things I have to do today,” she added.

  “Me too,” he grinned. Kissing her on the top of her head he unwrapped his arms and sat up. He looked around for a clock. There wasn’t one in the room. He searched the dresser tops for his watch. He knew he was wearing one the night before. Not finding it, he looked to the floor where he caught a glimpse of the band peeking out from under a pile of clothes he didn’t recognize as his or hers. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and he bent forward to retrieve the watch.

  “My God! It’s after nine!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet.

  “You’re kidding,” Sarah said, reaching for his watch. She looked at its face. “I’m late.”

  Sarah rolled out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. Dave sorted through articles of clothing trying to remember what he wore the night before. He heard the shower start and wondered if he had time to take one as well. Deciding he didn’t he continued his search for clothes. He called out in the direction of the bathroom, “Where are my pants?”

  The shower door opened and he heard Sarah’s voice, “What?”

  “My pants?”

  “Kitchen.”

  “Kitchen?”

  “We started the evening having a snack,” she grinned and shut the shower door.

  Dave walked down the hall toward the kitchen trying to remember what snack they might have had there. His memory failed him. His pants were folded over the back of a chair. His gun and badge were on the table. He felt relieved to see them. He used the phone in the kitchen to call a cab to take him back to his car. That done, he grabbed the pants and started back to the bedroom to find his shirt.

  Sarah came out of the bathroom in a robe with her hair wrapped in a towel. He was standing in the center of the room with one leg in his pants and one out. She looked at him and chuckled.

  “I’m glad I can amuse you,” he said.

  “You are just adorable,” she said crossing the room to him. She hugged him hard and stepped away in one smooth motion.

  “You’re not bad yourself,” he said. “Now, where is my shirt?”

  “Bathroom,” she said.

  “Bathroom? How did . . . never mind. I’m not sure I want to know,” he said. He fastened his pants and lumbered toward the bathroom.

  Sarah dressed and made the bed while Dave used the sink to take a sponge bath. Moving to the kitchen to find something for them to eat, Sarah passed the kitchen table and saw Dave’s badge and gun. Stopping, she lifted the pistol and held it in her hand. It would definitely do the job. One shot and the good life was hers. It would not do for the bullet to be traced back to Dave. She set the gun back down and moved to the refrigerator. She would have to find another way, or at least another gun.

  Because they were both running late, she opted to make two fried egg sandwiches with ham and cheese. She wrapped them in paper towels and handed one to Dave when he emerged from the hallway. After clipping his gun and badge to his belt, he kissed her lightly on the cheek, thanked her for the food.

  A horn announced the cab’s arrival and the two of them exited the house together and climbed into the waiting vehicle. They rode all the way to the Silver Spoon in silence. Dave paid the cab and stood awkwardly staring at Sarah. She grinned and unlocked her car. He stepped up to her and wrapped his arms around her gently. He told her he would call and meant it. She sat in her car and watched Dave climb into his own vehicle and drive away.

  As soon as Dave’s car turned a corner, Sarah pulled out of the parking lot. Reaching the intersection he turned off on, she continued forward. He would be on his way to his office. She was headed downtown. Ray once told her of a place he used to buy and sell stolen goods. She thought it might be a good place to start her search for a gun.

  Chapter 78

  (Making Bail)

  “Jack Bolder front and center,” the guard yelled into the crowded cell. Allan lifted his head to the sound of his pen name, taking him a second for the reality to sink in that he was the one the guard wanted. He stood and made his way to the front. The guard ordered everyone to step back except Allan. He called out for the cell to be unlocked.

  “Step out and stand on the line,” the guard ordered.

  Allan did as he was told the same as he had done every time for the past few days. He stood waiting for the guard to lead him down the corridor to the visitor’s booths. After making sure the cell was secure, the guard escorted Allan the opposite direction. Before he realized what was happening, another guard was passing him his belongings and directing him to change out of his orange jumper. He was making bail.

  Allan was led all the way to the exit where the guard stepped aside to let him walk through alone. He hesitated, worried they would pull him back in at the last second telling him it was all a mistake, he wasn’t free after all. No one stopped him. He stepped forward into the small room beyond. On the far wall was a single door. There were no more guards at this point. Cautious and wary, Allan moved forward.

  The door opened to reveal a waiting room filled with an assortment of people; men, women and a few children. With the exception of the children no one spoke. Allan scanned the faces for Henry and almost missed his attorney sitting in a corner seat reading a newspaper. Allan let the door close behind him. A few people looked up with anticipation, quickly turning away disappointed he was not who they waited for. Ben did not look up.

  “Ben?” Allan prompted when he was close enough for the lawyer to hear.

  “Allan,” the lawyer said, folding his paper. “Sit down a moment.”

  “I didn’t think Henry had the money to get me out,” Allan said taking the seat next to Ben.

  “He didn’t,” Ben said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “How did you get me out?” Allan asked.

  “Cut the crap, Jack,” Ben said. “Your friend came to see me. He said he wanted you out. I got you out. I figure, now, you’re going to skip town, leaving me high and dry. If I could drop you as a client I would. I suppose if you would threaten my family in order to get you out, you would probably do it again to keep me from doing that.”

  “Threatened?” Allan asked. “What friend?”

  “Good,” Ben sneered. “Keep up the act. I suppose we’ll never know why you killed Tuttle. Eventually they will catch up to you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Allan asked. “I’m Tuttle. I didn’t threaten anyone. I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “All I want to ask is that you leave Henry Cutter alone,” Ben said. “He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve you messing his life up. If you need money, I can get it for you. Don’t steal it from Henry.”

  “I don’t want,” Allan started. “I don’t . . . I just . . . I don’t understand.”

  “You’re good, Jack,” Ben said. “You almost had me convinced. To think I actually started to believe you were Allan Tuttle.”

  “I am Allan Tuttle,” Allan said.

  “Let it go,” Ben said. “I’ll do my part. I’ll try like hell to convince everyone you’re innocent. Don’t keep lying to me.”

  “Who came to see you?” Allan asked.

  “Let it go,” Ben snapped. He tucked his paper under his arm and gathered his things. Rising to his feet he walked out of the building without so much as a glance in Allan’s direction.

  Allan sat staring after the man. Someone had spooked him. Someone the lawyer was convinced was a friend of Allan’s. Allan didn’t have any friends, especially friends who would threaten people. Ben told him the man wanted Allan out of jail. Allan wond
ered who it could be. Why was this stranger helping him? Why did they use threats to get him out? A possible answer came from the creative part of his mind, the writer. It occurred to Allan, the man might not want to help him at all. He slowly looked around the room, studying each face for someone who might be watching him.

  He stood slowly and walked toward the exit glancing back over his shoulder every couple of steps. He was sure he was being watched yet no one was even looking in his general direction. He looked back one last time before pushing through the exit into the sunlight. It wasn’t until he was standing on the sidewalk in front of the jailhouse that he realized he did not have a ride. He did not have money for a cab. He didn’t even have enough to call Henry.

  He was vulnerable and would be exposed walking down the street. If someone wanted him out of jail to have access to him, they were out there somewhere, watching him. Walking down the street alone would give them every opportunity to get close to him. Would they threaten him like they did Ben's family? Would they hurt him? Or worse?

  A car started and he turned to it. He couldn’t see the driver’s face. The car pulled away from the curb and came toward him. Allan started walking away from it at a brisk rate. The car followed. He picked up his pace, a jog now. The car picked up speed. He started to run. The car passed him. The driver did not even glance in his direction. Allan stopped in his tracks, bending at the waist trying to catch his breath. His heart was racing. He was being paranoid.

  “Allan Tuttle?” a man’s voice asked from behind him.

  Allan raised his head and turned. A large, well-dressed man was leaning against a van looking at him. The man leaned against the passenger’s door with his arms crossed over his chest. There was no expression on his meaty face and his eyes were holding on Allan with a blank stare.

  “Yes?” Allan asked.

  The man said, “You’ll need to come with me.”

  “Pardon me?”