I was working the counter at our auto parts store when a man in a suit stepped up and flashed some sort of official looking ID at me. He then asked if I was Bill Evans.
"Why don't you show me your identification a little more slowly?" I asked politely. "That was a little quick."
The guy scowled as he once again pulled his wallet from his pocket and flopped out some impressive looking credentials. I carefully read everything before snapping a picture with my phone.
"I don't think you can do that!" he protested.
"Did you see me do it?" I asked with a little grin.
"Hell, yes. You just took a picture of my ID. How do I know what you'll do with it?" he asked with some concern.
"One thing at a time," I responded. "I can do it. You saw it happen. What do most people do with a picture of the ID of a police detective? Maybe use it to remember his name and badge number in case shit hits the fan?"
"You're acting pretty damn guilty for a guy who hasn't been accused of anything," replied the man I now knew to be Detective Sampson.
"You're acting pretty damn untrusting for a detective who's never accused me of any wrong-doing," I countered.
I had been around cops all my life. I had a healthy respect for the good ones and total contempt for those who were less than professional. My cousin, Joe, was a good cop. He was the one who told me to always get a picture of any ID from anyone who felt the need to show it. He told me many plain clothes law enforcement people tried to be somewhat anonymous as they strove to ruin your life.
"Where were you last night at midnight?" demanded the man.
The customer behind him in line was paying close attention to the entire situation. I didn't know what the detective was looking for, but I was certain it would be better to handle it in private. I called Jeff to come out front to handle the counter for a few minutes.
"Come on back to my office and we'll discuss this without spectators," I instructed the detective, who was obviously becoming impatient.
Once we were seated in my office, he jumped back in with his questions. "Where were you last night at midnight?"
"If you ever come into my business again and blurt out accusations and questions so my customers and employees can hear you, I'll toss your ass out the door. Try to act like a professional," I admonished.
"You can't throw me out. I'm a police detective," he insisted.
"Do you have a warrant?" I demanded.
"No. I'm just here to ask some questions," he answered, but with less rancor.
"That's why I suggested we come back here to my office. You have the right to ask questions and I have the right to throw your ass off my property. I'm willing to speak with you, but there's no reason to involve my customers," I explained before addressing his question.
"I was home all night. I left work yesterday at four and was home by four-thirty. I never left the house again," I assured Sampson.
"Can anyone verify your claim?" asked the detective.
"Well, my daughter and wife were home all night with me, so I'd say they both would be more than willing to vouch for my whereabouts," I reasoned.
"Your wife said you slept on the couch last night. You could have left for a few hours and returned home without anyone knowing you were ever gone," stated Detective Sampson.
"You already spoke to my wife?" I asked in surprise. "She told you I slept on the couch last night?"
"How well did you know Barry Lassiter?" was his next question.
"I never heard of the guy. I don't think I ever met him," I answered. "It's possible he's bought some parts from us, but the name isn't familiar."
"Do you know where he lived?" continued Sampson.
"I notice your questions refer to him in the past tense. If I didn't know the guy, it follows I have no idea where he lived," I offered. "Is there a reason I should?"
"Did your wife ever mention him? Did you ever see any emails or texts he sent to your wife?"
"You seem to have a way of asking the same question with different words. I think when I say I never heard the name, you can assume that also means I never read it, felt it, or even smelled it," I responded. "I do smell a rat, however. Why are you asking me about this guy?"
"He was beaten to death last night. At this time, you're a person of interest in the investigation. Do you want to change your story now?" asked Sampson.
"Wow! You sure slid that question in cleverly," I replied in fake awe. "Why would I kill a guy I never knew, never met and never even heard of?"
"Some husbands become enraged when they find out their wife's been having an affair. They even become violent and lash out at her lover," replied Sampson, as he watched me closely for my reaction.
"Are you fucking telling me Mary's been banging this dead prick?" I angrily demanded. "Son of a bitch! How long has that been going on?"
"Your wife claims only two months," answered the detective. "How long have you known, or suspected?"
"About a minute, Asshole!" I yelled at the dumb bastard. "This interview is over! I have to go home and talk to my wife!"
"That won't be possible," Detective Sampson informed me. "There's a restraining order keeping you at least a hundred yards from her. You can't go home.
"She's worried that you might cause her bodily harm. She told us you have a bad temper. If you did know about her affair with Mr. Lassiter, she believes you could possibly become angry enough to kill him," stated Sampson as he studied his notes. "She and your daughter both felt it was better to seek a restraining order, just to be on the safe side."
"Mary said that?" I asked as I slumped back in my chair. "She's not only cheating on me, but she told the cops I was capable of killing her lover? Now she's afraid of me? Cindy's afraid of me, too?
"All I've ever done is love them both. I've always been close to my daughter. I thought Mary and I had a good marriage. Now you're telling me they're both afraid of me? They think I might be a murderer?"
"Is there any information you can give me that might help me believe you didn't kill your wife's lover?" asked Sampson.
"The fact I didn't know the guy and never even realized Mary had a lover should be a huge hint," I suggested.
"We'll be interviewing you again, Mr. Evans. We'll follow every lead to find and convict the person responsible for this crime. In the mean time, don't leave town."
"Holy shit, Marshall Dillon! You think you have the authority to tell me I have to remain in Blandon until you give me permission to leave? You just told me Mary has a restraining order on me. You can arrest me if I get within a few hundred feet of her at any time!
"Here's my card. I'll fucking go where I want to go, as long as it's away from here. I'll only be a phone call away if you need me," I replied as I handed him my business card.
"I just told you not to leave town!" snarled the detective. "I mentioned you to Mayor Smith this morning. The thought of putting you in jail for the next twenty years seemed to appeal to him. You can't fight city hall, Asshole."
"I supported Ben Rodgers for Mayor when he ran against Smith. That's no reason to want me in jail," I protested.
"You made a few remarks wondering how Mayor Smith could have such powerful backing for a small town mayor. You told voters you were curious what he did to garner that kind of support," recalled Sampson. "He didn't appreciate your insinuations. If you leave town, I'll have the backing of the mayor's office when I drag your sorry ass back to stand trial."
"Fuck you!" I shouted back. "This is still America, and no two-bit flatfoot is going to tell me what the fuck I can, or can't do."
That was the first time I ever used the term flatfoot, but it felt right to me. I was having a lot of trouble digesting all the information I had just received and wasn't in a forgiving mood.
"Get your ass out of here before I call some real cops, Asshole!" I yelled as I opened the office door. So much for keeping my personal problems from my employees and customers.
Detective Sampson marched out of my office with a sneer on his face. At that moment, I realized he'd do anything possible to prove me guilty of mur*er. My brother, Dennis, came around the corner, stepped into my office, closed the door and sat down.
"What the fuck just happened?" he asked softly.
I quickly recounted the gist on my encounter with Detective Sampson. I ended my version of events by repeating how the bastard had told me to not leave town and how he had even mentioned that Mayor Smith wanted me put away.
"So where will you go?" asked Dennis. "You can't stay around here. That asshole will be out to get you, and I hate to think what might happen if you run into Mary. It would surely involve jail time for you."
"I was thinking the same. Thanks for seeing things my way," I responded. "I'll just get in my truck and start driving. Hopefully they'll find the upstanding citizen who pounded that wife-stealing prick to death. If he can't pay for a lawyer, I'll help him get a good one. I owe the guy."
"Don't even think about going home," suggested Dennis. "Just start driving. Use the business card to buy anything you need. Take your laptop so I can keep you updated on everything. I'll let you know about any developments here. Stay safe, and keep your nose clean. "
I found myself driving south on Route 81 at three o'clock that afternoon. As I drove, I thought about how drastically my life had changed in a very short time.
Mary and I had argued about sex the previous night. More precisely, it was the lack of sex that had me agitated. Mary had been distant and cold to me for a few weeks, and I had grown tired of it. Throughout our marriage, we had always been able to find time a couple times a week to enjoy a round or two of lovemaking, but not lately.
Last night, she turned me down again. I wasn't really surprised, but I was pissed. I told her if there was something wrong, she needed to tell me. I couldn't fix it if I didn't know what it was.
She accused me of being selfish and not considering her feelings. Just because I wanted to get my "rocks off", it didn't mean she had to lie down and spread her legs for me. She told me she needed to be romanced and courted, made to feel desired and loved. That was when I left to sleep on the couch.
Now I knew why she wasn't interested in sex with me. She was getting all she wanted someplace else, and I was the odd man out. Just thinking about how she shut me out while she was getting all the sex she could handle pissed me off even more. What a bitch!
I wound up in western Tennessee the next afternoon. I stopped at a small park in some Podunk town to walk a little and get the stiffness out of my legs and back.
I had been walking for only a few minutes when I noticed a scruffy looking guy headed toward me. I always felt I could handle myself, so I wasn't overly concerned about him. Then he pulled a handgun and pointed it at my chest.
"I want you to come with me," was all he said as he nodded toward an old Ford Explorer.
As we approached it, he opened the passenger door and motioned me inside. Once I was seated and buckled, apparently the guy was safety conscious; he quickly circled the vehicle and climbed in behind the wheel.
"Pull that bag from the back seat and put the stuff on that's in it," he ordered.
I was waiting for an opportunity to wrest the gun from his hand, but he never gave me one. He looked scruffy, but he seemed to know what he was doing.
I took the bag and pulled out what appeared to be a long lab coat, along with a floppy brimmed hat, latex gloves and a pair of dark sunglasses. The guy pulled over and parked by a deserted saw mill. He had me unbuckle my seat belt and put the smock on. By the time I had it buttoned and had donned the hat, glasses and gloves he was dressed identically.
"Let me guess, we're going to a masquerade party as the Blues Brothers?" I nervously joked, hoping to get the guy to open up. He just snorted and motioned for me to buckle my seat belt.
I got a bad feeling when he pulled into a bank parking lot five minutes later. He motioned for me to sit still. He climbed out of the SUV and came around to open my door. As he did so, he handed me a cloth bag.
"You'll hold it open while I stuff money in it," was all he said.
It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest he reconsider his less than well conceived plan when he pointed the gun at my face and nodded toward the bank.
Surprisingly, it took the two tellers what felt like a very long time to notice there was something amiss. Their smiles finally evaporated when my captor pointed his gun at them.
"Put all the cash in the bag the asshole's holding open," he demanded in a tone which indicated he didn't consider me an equal partner.
The tellers struggled to place the cash in the bag because they couldn't quite get their hands under the thick acrylic plate which the bank officials had erected for their safety. After fumbling for half a minute or so, they simply began sliding the money under the panel as I swept it into the sack.
The bag was almost full when the faint sounds of wailing sirens in the distance drifted into the financial institution. The approaching sirens filled me with fear, which almost caused me to fill my shorts.
"Goddamn it!" yelled my fellow larcenist. "I told you bitches not to trigger the alarm!"
As he made that curse, he pointed his weapon at a teller, the redhead with the large rack, and pulled the trigger. His hat suddenly flew from his head as he staggered backward. I noticed blood quickly begin to trickle down over his left eye.
He shook his head a couple of times and raised his gun toward the other teller, a blonde with smaller tits, but a great smile. As he pointed his weapon, I glanced toward the teller. I realized the reflection in the acrylic, or whatever the hell it was, allowed me to see my cohort's face as he aimed his gun.
More precisely, I was able to look down the barrel of his handgun! I wasn't the best pool player in the world, but I knew how the hell to make a bank shot. It looked like I was about to be bank shot, both literally and even more literally! With no time for rational thought, I whipped the bag of money up in front of my head.
The sack jerked in my hand just as Clyde discharged another round. Suddenly a plume of red liquid exploded out the hole made by the caroming slug when it struck the sack, which I had used, again literally, to save face. I had dodged a bullet, also literally.
The dye couldn't have traveled any truer if I had been able to aim it. My fellow highwayman was quickly covered in red ink from bloody head to mid-chest. Luckily, not so much as a drop of ink touched me or my clothing.
He was wiping the blood and ink from his eyes as he swung his weapon in my direction. That was when I decided it was time make my exit. The passenger window of his Explorer was shattered by another bullet as I made my way out the door.
I turned left and broke into a dead run into a wooded area as the wailing sirens pulled into the parking lot. Fortunately, there was a path through the woods, so I was able to maintain a brisk pace. After running what I gauged to be three miles through the woods, I came into a clearing on a knoll. I stopped to take inventory of the situation, as well as to determine if any blood hounds were barking on my trail. I immediately saw the very park in which I had been walking when Dillinger had abducted me!
I was thankful that several years ago I had started running five miles, three times a week to lose weight and get into shape. I had even placed third in a 10K race in Blandon last spring. I wasn't even breathing hard as I considered my situation.
My truck was about half a mile from my location. I watched to see if any police had staked out my car. After a few minutes, I was quite certain the park was completely void of human life.
I saw what looked like a woodchuck hole near an old ash tree. I pulled off the lab coat I had worn during the heist and shoved it down the hole. Then I pushed the hat in after it and kicked enough dirt in it to cover the garments. I dropped the dark glasses in the hollow of a tree a hundred yards closer to the park.
That was when I realized I was still clinging to the bag of cash. The ink on it had dried. I placed the bag on the ground and opened it with a long stick. Nothing happened, so I thumped it several times with the same stick. Once again, there was no further discharge of red ink.
It seemed that the tellers had only slipped one ink charge in with the cash. The ricocheting bullet had caused the dye pack to explode. It appeared a couple of bands of bills were pretty well ruined by the ink, but most of them gave little indication they had been stolen in a daring bank robbery.
Closer inspection revealed two bands of ones and a band of fives were pretty much worthless, but the larger bills remained unmarked by the red ink. I gathered the three damaged bundles and placed them in the hollow of the tree with the dark glasses.
I was pretty nervous as I approached my truck. I half expected a dozen police cars to screech to a halt, with cops jumping out and ordering me to put my hands up. Nothing happened. I started my truck and drove in the opposite direction of the bank.
It took a couple of hours for me to relax. It seemed like I had gotten away with the bank robbery! My accomplice didn't know my name, so he couldn't rat on me. The best he could do would be to describe me to the cops. I had seen enough of those artist renditions to know there was almost no chance of being identified in that manner.
The bank cameras would simply show a person covered with a lab coat, a big floppy hat and dark glasses. It would be difficult to even determine my gender under the disguise. I had not touched anything without my gloves, so there would be no fingerprints. I was pretty sure I knew the next step. The cops would be waiting for the money to show up. It seemed unlikely to me that they would have the serial numbers, unless they had a bundle with the serial numbers recorded already set aside for robbery situations.
I didn't need the money, and it looked like there was only a few thousand dollars in the bag anyway. I would have to be nuts to spend it and risk getting caught.
An hour later, I came upon a road construction site. Two lanes of cars were lined up waiting for an excavator to move across the road a short way in front of the line. A glance in my mirror told me there were no vehicles behind me.
I pulled alongside a brand new club cab Chevy Silverado with Texas plates. The bed was stuffed with two bikes, a kayak, coolers and other outdoor gear. I grabbed the bag of money from my seat and tossed it into the back of the truck. All eyes were on the huge piece of machinery crossing the highway and no one noticed the cash flow from my truck to his.
I hopped off the interstate at the next exit and drove some back roads. I finally tossed the latex gloves from a bridge into a small river. It was dark by this time, so I stopped in the next small town. I was in western South Carolina by this time.
I had some fried pickles and a pulled pork sandwich before checking into a local motel. I slept soundly for ten hours. The next morning I decided to read my emails as well as check Google for recent bank robberies. I had a short message from Dennis telling me neither my wife nor daughter had made any attempt to reach me at work. The entire town was talking about the mur*er.
One rumor was the cops were looking for me because I had killed Mary's lover and gone on the lam. Interestingly, a couple of other married men were also being linked to the mur*er as likely suspects. It seemed Barry Lassiter had quite a stable of married women, or so the rumor mill claimed.
Dennis also told me there was a bank robbery in town about the same time I had left! He said one person had been wounded and the guy got away with an undisclosed amount of cash.
Next, I Googled bank robberies and found mine was at the top of the list, followed closely by the robbery back home in Blandon. I had finally achieved search engine optimization and my name and business weren't even mentioned!
It seemed that one Billy Bob Jenkins had suffered brain damage when he accidently shot himself in the head as he tried to down the teller with the nice tits. The article didn't state it quite that way, but I had been there, so I knew how it actually went down.
Next he attempted to shoot the second teller, the one with the great smile, only to have the bullet ricochet into the bag of cash held by the second perp. That caused the dye pack to explode in such a way as to spray the living shit out of Billy Bob. Thoroughly enraged, and suffering from acute lead poisoning and blurry vision, Billy Bob attempted to gun down his partner, who wisely fled through the bank door. He succeeded in shooting out the passenger window of his own automobile, while apparently missing his intended target.
Police were scouring the wooded area behind the bank for the second fugitive. He was last seen on foot, so the state and local police were confident he would soon be apprehended. Billy Bob had lapsed into a coma after undergoing brain surgery for the bullet lodged in his head. He hadn't been able to provide the police with any information regarding his accomplice.
An updated and, related article described how police had been able to trace the bank's stolen money to a Texas Congressman's family. They were on vacation and had stopped to tour the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina. While Congressman Johnson and his wife were touring the famous structure, their two teenage boys were in the gift shops spending money like drunken sailors.
Congressman Johnson denied any knowledge of the money or whence it came. The kids claimed they found it in the truck. After questioning, the two teens admitted they had more cash in their suitcase. $7,348 of slightly stained cash was recovered.
Police had yet to determine if Congressman Johnson, his wife, or one of his kids was the second bank robber. The family was being detained for questioning.
That answered my question about the bank having a list of at least some of the serial numbers of the stolen bills. I had managed to save my ass while creating problems for a politician. It was a great stroke of luck!
I decided to explore the hills of South Carolina for a few days. I needed to lie low and stay out of trouble. I could only imagine how quickly I'd be arrested for killing my wife's lover if my ass was already in jail for armed robbery.
There were a lot of quaint towns and touristy things to see if a person took their time and opened their eyes. A couple days later, I was driving along a back road when I came upon an older pickup stopped along the shoulder. Two women were standing in front of it. They had the hood, up but didn't appear to have any idea what the problem was.
I parked in front of them and walked back to offer a hand. The two women looked enough alike for me to determine they were probably sisters in their mid-to-late thirties.
I introduced myself and offered my services. They looked at each other and nodded before turning back to me.
"That's so kind of you," stated the blond, heavier-set sister. "I'm Libby and this is my sister, Abby."
"Our truck stalled here, and we haven't been able to get it started again," added Abby, who was darker and slightly plainer looking than her sister.
I glanced under the hood and saw the battery terminal was badly corroded. I went to scrape the debris off the terminal when the cable broke.
"I think this may be the problem," I said as I pointed to the battery. "I have some cables and tools in my truck. I own a parts store up north. I change out batteries all the time. Repairing and replacing cables is something I do quite often."
"That would be wonderful!" exclaimed Libby as she pressed against my arm to get a better look at the problem. Her breasts were surprisingly full and firm.
It took me about half an hour, but once I had the cable replaced and the battery terminals cleaned, the truck started right up. The sisters were delighted with my assistance.
Libby dug a thermos from a cooler in the rear of her truck and poured a liquid of some kind into a plastic cup. She offered it to me.
"Have some unsweetened tea. We make it ourselves. It's our way of showing our appreciation for your help, unless of course you're interested in something a bit more personal," suggested Abby coyly.
The two ladies seemed nice enough, but I hadn't been with a woman other than Mary for around twenty years. If I were going to fall off the wagon, it would take something more tempting than the spinster sisters.
"Thanks, but the tea will be more than enough," I replied as I swallowed the strange tasting fluid.
I emptied the cup and handed it back to Abby. That was when I noticed the two women were both staring at me expectantly.
I slowly regained consciousness. I was lying on my back on something soft, like a bed. At first I wondered if I was at sea as everything was rocking. As my mind began to clear, I realized the swaying motion was actually caused by a naked Abby riding my painfully hard cock!
Her surprisingly large tits were bouncing back and forth less than a foot from my face. Being the kind of guy I am, which is straight, I decided to give her melons a bit of a squeeze. That was when I discovered my wrists were cuffed to the bed.
"What the fuck is going on?" I croaked after a couple of failed attempts at speaking. My throat felt absolutely parched.
"I'm repaying you for your kindness this afternoon," replied a smiling Abby. "Just lie back and enjoy the ride."
My mind was now beginning to clear. I considered the unusual circumstances. It seemed my alter ego had woken long before I had and had very much enjoyed being plunged into Abby's molten core. I had experienced some good sex with my wife, but nothing like this. My cock was hard enough to cut diamonds. I was building toward an explosion of epic proportions.
I felt Abby's internal muscles give my cock a hard squeeze and I almost passed out again. I could only groan as my orgasm consumed me. I had never come that hard before in my life!
"That was quite impressive," praised Abby as she dismounted and flopped down on her back next to me. "I bet I'm pregnant already!"
I was just regaining my senses when Abby made her declaration. Was she trying to get pregnant? Was I expected to father her child? How many women would want a man they had just met to impregnate them?
That was when I realized there were at least two with that mind set. Libby had grabbed little Bill and was stroking the fellow quite enthusiastically. As Libby fed my cock into her hungry snatch, it occurred to me that I had not softened an iota. I was hard as steel.
I came to grips with the realization I was being raped. These women had apparently drugged me, bound me and were having their way with me. I was being used with absolutely no regard for my feelings or emotions. As that thought crossed my mind, one of Libby's plump nipples crossed my chin. It was gone before I could capture it with my mouth. I was prepared the next time and latched onto her nubbin with my teeth. I didn't bite too hard, but hard enough so she was unable to dislodge it.
"Ooh! Bill likes my tits," gasped Libby as she leaned back far enough to stretch her tit flesh more than a little. "Look how he's feasting on my nip. I bet he's going to knock me up, too."
I was still a bit groggy, but that caught my attention! I released Libby's nipple and weakly voiced my concerns.
"Ladies, I'm a married man. I don't want any more kids. I'm getting a little old to for that shit and my wife would never understand. Please don't expect me to father your kids. I have enough trouble taking care of one."
"Don't worry, Bill. We don't expect you to contribute in any way, except for the sperm you're depositing inside us," replied Abby.
"We're both at an age where we need to have children or give up on the idea," added Libby. "We agreed that you'd be the perfect sperm donor. This is as involved as you'll be in the children's lives."
"Why did you drug me? Why am I tied down?" I felt were reasonable questions.
"We weren't sure we'd be able to talk you into mating with us. You seem like a responsible sort of guy. Knocking up two good looking babes and moving on might be out of your comfort zone," explained Libby.
My mind was working now and red flags were going up all over the place. These sisters had drugged and then bound me to the bed. They seemed earnest about wanting to get pregnant, but their methods were extreme. I had a bad feeling about their endgame.
"There's no need to drug me, nor tie me to the bed. I'll fuck both your asses off all day and night if you'll just feed me once I've fertilized Libby's garden," I promised.
"You're not just saying that so we'll release your arms, are you?" asked Libby. "You wouldn't skip out on us, would you?"
"I'd have to be nuts to walk away from this sweet deal," I proclaimed. "This is great, but I'd enjoy it a lot more if I could play with your tits and run my hands over your smooth round asses. I think you'd like it better, too."
"Okay, once I get my injection, we'll get you something to eat," promised Libby as she increased her pace on my painfully hard cock
Once I had emptied my balls. It was the second time in the space of ten minutes. The ladies untied me and led me to their kitchen. The house looked pretty normal, considering two crazy bitches lived there. I sat at the table as the women scurried around preparing a meal.
Libby placed a cold beer next to the dish of lasagna Abby slid in front of me. Abby then pulled a bottle from a cabinet and extracted a pill, which she placed next to my plate.
Seeing the confusion in my eyes, she explained. "That's another Viagra. The last one worked so well we decided to give you another one. Finish your dinner and sleep for an hour or. Then we'll expect you to keep your promise and fuck our asses off."
That seemed reasonable, so I downed the blue pill with a drink of beer. The next three days became a blurred haze for me. I suspect I may have overdosed on the Viagra, but I sure wasn't going to complain. I spent almost the entire time in bed servicing the sisters, or resting up to regain enough energy to ride them again. By the end of the third day, all three of us admitted we'd had enough.
We slept in the big bed that night without any overt sexual activity. Sure, I had Abby's left tit in one hand and Libby's nipple against my face when I awakened, but none of us even considered taking it any further.
"We had a great time," stated Abby as she kissed me goodbye. "Please don't ever try to stop in to visit your kids. We'd probably think you were going to try to prove paternity or something and take them away. I just know we'd react badly."
I nodded as I considered her not-so-veiled threat. "Don't worry about that. You'll never see me again. I won't call. I won't write. I certainly won't stop here again. I'll have to be satisfied with the great memories of the two most beautiful and sexy sisters on the planet."
Libby wrapped her arms around me and kissed me deeply. "Thanks so much for giving us so much pleasure, as well as children of our own. We'll be great mothers, so don't worry about your kids."
"I'm not concerned for them in the least," I stated flatly as I climbed into my truck. "I'll never forget you ladies. Thanks for memories and good luck with your future endeavors. You'll never see me again, but I bet you'll be thinking of me from time to time."
I didn't slow down until I crossed into Georgia. I stopped at a fast food place with Wifi and went online for the first time in almost a week. I had no idea so many surprises were in store for me.
It seemed that the FBI had begun investigating Congressman Johnson's financials. They discovered he had been accepting cash to allow Mexican drug mules access to the United States by crossing his land. He even had a driver who transported them from a place near the border into a small town where they met up with their bosses.
The article stated Johnson was in the process of rolling over on his business associates. It seemed that more than a few of them had positions of power and influence in Texas and Washington. The shit was really hitting the fan. I never saw that coming.
A related story identified Billy Bob Jenkins as a serial bank robber. He was the prime suspect in eight bank robberies in five states, including the one in my home town of Blandon! During his spree, he had shot and wounded two bank employees and a deputy sheriff in North Carolina. As a side note, he had succumbed to the self-inflicted gunshot wound.
I checked my email and saw my brother, wife and daughter had all been trying to contact me for the last two days.
I called Dennis to verify the email he had sent me. "You're vacation is over! They caught the guy who killed that Lassiter bastard. You won't believe this, but it was that miserable prick Detective Sampson! He did his damnedest to make it look like you or Tim Robbins wacked Lassiter."
"Why did he try to drag Tim Robbins into it?" I asked in confusion. "He's a good guy. We bowl against him in our league."
"Lassiter was boning your wife, as well as Lisa Robbins and Detective Sampson's wife. The guy was getting some prime married pussy. No offense," added Dennis.
"None taken," I assured my brother. "How did Sampson get caught?"
"The day you left town, National Bank was robbed and a customer was shot and wounded. The FBI pulled the bank's videos. They watched back a few days to see if they could find the perp casing the bank. One of the videos showed Sampson entering and fifteen minutes later leaving the building Lassiter lived in. It was across from the bank and down the street a little ways."
"No shit?" I asked I thought about the odds of this happening. "Did they catch the bank robber?"
"Not here, but he robbed another bank a day or so later. It was down south. The dumb fuck tried to shoot a teller but the bullet bounced off the acrylic glass protection shield and hit him in the head. He died a couple days ago."
"Wow! I guess you've had a lot of excitement while I was gone," I responded, as I thought back to Billy Bob's last hurrah.
"That isn't all!" replied Dennis. "I don't know if you heard, but Congressman Johnson from Texas is in some deep political and legal shit. It turns out he and Mayor Smith were roommates in college and they've remained chummy ever since. Smith was getting set to run for Congress next year, but Johnson squealed to the Feds about how Smith was involved in some kind of drug smuggling ring with him. Smith's looking at a long stretch up the river."
My head was spinning by the time I ended the call with my brother. I had heard of unintended consequences, but never heard of anything like this. I decided to simply delete the emails from my wife and daughter. It was time to go home and start my divorce.
Two days later, I walked into my house to find Mary making dinner. She looked at me and broke into tears.
"Dad! We've been trying to reach you for days!" exclaimed my sixteen-year-old daughter, Cindy, as she rushed up and hugged me.
"Was that before or after you had a restraining order served on me?" I asked, as I tried to resist hugging Cindy back.
"There was no restraining order! That Detective Sampson showed up one morning and told Mom he knew she'd been sleeping with that jerk, Lassiter. He took our phones and computers. He said we couldn't contact you because you were wanted for mur*er for killing Lassiter. They had to find and arrest you and he didn't want us warning you.
"Mom and I both told him he was crazy. You'd never kill someone, even if Mom did slip up, but he said he had all kinds of proof. You never came home, so it looked like you were running from the law like he said," reasoned my daughter.
"It was only after the bank robbery and Sampson's arrest that we learned the truth. Uncle Dennis finally told us Sampson had questioned you. The bastard told you that Mom and I were afraid of you. He's a murderer and a liar, Dad. We weren't afraid. We know you love us and would never hurt us," concluded Cindy.
"What about your mother and that Lassiter prick? You just told me she'd been sleeping with the guy before he was killed," I pointed out.
"You need to talk with Mom about that," replied Cindy with tears in her eyes. "Please listen to her, Dad. She loves you more than anything. Don't let this ruin the best thing you've ever had.
"Mom, I'll finish making dinner. You need to have a private talk with Dad. Tell him what you told me. He'll understand," insisted Cindy as her glare seemed to challenge me.
Mary walked dejectedly into our bedroom and closed the door once I followed her inside. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she looked at me.
"Bill, I slept with Barry Lassiter. I'm so sorry about it. Please forgive me!"
"You think it's that simple. You have an affair for months and then apologize? That makes it all okay? I don't think it does," I replied with some anger.
"Months? It was one time. It was at Sue's Kane's Friday afternoon retirement party. I had too much to drink. That was wrong, but it's no excuse. Barry offered to help me home, but he took me to his place. He practically carried me to his apartment and had his way with me. I woke up an hour later with him sleeping naked next to me. I didn't even know where I was," stated Mary between sobs.
"I put my clothes on and left. I called a cab to take me home. Remember how I told you I drank too much and didn't want to drive home? You drove me back to get my car the next day," concluded Mary.
"Why didn't you tell me he did that?" I demanded. "I would have ripped the bastard apart and fed him to the fucking fish."
"I knew that. I realized I had to tell you, but I was hoping to find a time when Barry wasn't around. I was afraid you'd kill him and wind up in prison. I can understand if you leave me, but I'd never forgive myself if my foolish actions placed you in prison. You're a good man, Bill. You deserve better. I won't fight you if you want a divorce."
The events of the past ten days or so raced through my mind as I looked at my crying wife. She was obviously devastated. I left home thinking she had no faith in me, but was I the one who lacked faith? I believed Sampson when he told me Mary and Cindy asked for a restraining order and were afraid of me. I should have known better!
I thought about Detective Sampson being caught on the bank surveillance cameras and my blind implication of Congressman Johnson and his fall from grace. I had indirectly flushed Mayor Smith's career down the toilet along with causing him some jail time. I had even managed to participate in an armed bank robbery! Finally, I fondly recalled how I had banged two ovulating sisters continuously for several days.
I had done all of that, yet Mary was apologizing to me for winding up in the bed of a rapist. I considered how difficult it had to have been for her to admit the situation to me, as well as the concern she would have had for my well being once she did.
I was the one who had several good reasons to apologize. Mary was watching me as I considered her confession. If she had not had too much to drink and been carried to Lassiter's bed, none of my experiences over the past ten days would have happened. Detective Sampson would never have visited me at work.
If I hadn't left town that day, Billy Bob could still be robbing banks and shooting people. Congressman Johnson could still be smuggling drugs into the country while making governmental decisions. Mayor Smith would be launching his bid for Congress, funded by drug money and his unholy partnership with Johnson.
Billy Bob did manage to accomplish something good because of his violent nature. Detective Sampson had been identified in the bank video. That had stopped him from finding a scapegoat to accuse of a mur*er he had personally committed.
I never would have spent three days screwing the asses off two semi-attractive sisters. I made my decision. I knew what the right thing was, but I also knew sometimes things went smoother when you did the wrong thing for the right reasons. Telling Mary about Billy Bob, Congressman Johnson, Mayor Smith, Detective Sampson and my three days with the Abby and Libby would serve no positive purpose. None I could see, at least.
"Mary, if you'll still have me, I'll love you forever," I softly proclaimed.
She was in my arms and hugging me as hard as she could. I realized how right it felt to have her body tight to mine. She was my love, my girl forever.
I carried her into the kitchen in my arms. She was laughing and constantly kissing my face.
"Way to go, Dad! You did the right thing. I knew you would. You and Mom love each other way too much to ever let something come between you," asserted Cindy. "Is there a chance I'll be getting a little brother or sister out of this adventure?"
I briefly thought about Abby and Libby and how badly they wanted children. Regardless, I realized Cindy wouldn't be getting any brothers or sisters.
"Sorry, Cindy. There'll be no siblings," replied Mary. "I've explained this all to you before. I had a difficult time when I was pregnant with you. The doctor worried that another pregnancy could result in very serious complications, so your dad had a vasectomy right after you were born. He's been shooting blanks ever since."
