Author’s note: This story was inspired by my reading of the story ‘The Bungalow’ by ConPulsion. He has given me permission to write this inspired story. Hope you enjoy.
“Yvonne sweetheart, we need to talk.”
I could see the fear in her beautiful, brown eyes that immediately started to tear up. She did not respond to my statement otherwise. I went on.
“Yvonne, I’m in big trouble. I’m afraid I lost a lot of money playing poker. If I don’t pay the $75,000 that I owe soon, they will beat me up, if not kill me. No one will loan me any money because of my low credit rating. I don’t know what to do. You handle our money. Is there any way we could afford to pay it? That is, if you’re willing. I could understand if you want to refuse. It’s all my own damn fault. I’m sorry sweetheart. I really thought I had an unbeatable hand.
“Yvonne, honey, I realize that we both make good money but since we are paying to put two kids through college at the same time, and we just had to pay to have push piers inserted under most of our foundation to save our house, I wouldn’t imagine we have much to spare right now, but I honestly don’t know.”
I was temporarily puzzled at her response. She actually looked relieved at my statement. “Boris, we don’t have anywhere near that amount in our accounts. When is the $75,000 due?”
“They said I had until this Friday at noon. By Friday night, I imagine I will either be in the hospital or, very possibly, the morgue.”
“I hope you’re being overly dramatic. Let me see what I can do. There may be a way I can get a loan on my own.”
“I swear to you I will never gamble again. I will be the best husband I can be for the rest of our lives.”
“I already thought you were, dear. I already thought you were.” I couldn’t believe how calm and collected she was. I was expecting a lot of anger.
Thursday night we talked again. I was on pins and needles while walking on eggshells on a tightrope over Niagara Falls. I was afraid that she had not been able to make a deal. I figured I might be a dead man walking. She had a very serious, somber face on when she spoke. I was sweating bullets.
“Boris, I have been able to make a deal to obtain a loan for the $75,000. It wasn’t easy. You cannot ask me where I got it or who I got it from, but I will have to work part-time for a long time to pay the money back. I want you to know that I am willing to make the sacrifice because you and our marriage means so much to me, but don’t push your luck! This is the one and only time I will bail you out of a gambling debt. If you even hint that there is a next time, you won’t have to worry about someone else breaking your legs. I will have castrated you and then broken your legs. I will have to work long, odd hours at times, so you will have to take care of dinner some nights as I will have to start my night job right after work. You will also need to take over some of my chores.”
“Yvonne, thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re a lifesaver — literally. I can’t believe I deserve a wonderful wife like you. I am so lucky. I will be glad to take over your chores. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“You better believe you’re lucky to have me, buster. Now, come show me in bed how grateful you are.” I did my best. Three times.
*****
A COUPLE OF YEARS LATER
I kept my promise and never gambled again: no poker, no sports bets, no office pools, and I didn’t even buy a lottery ticket. I learned my lesson. When she would not be home for supper and didn’t come home until late, I felt sorry that she was having to work extra because of me. She established early on that we would not have sex on nights she worked late. To insure against any sex between us if we were in bed together, she slept in one of the girl’s bedrooms those nights. Yvonne said that was how she was punishing me for causing her to need to work extra. She hinted another reason is that she might not be feeling too loving towards me after just coming home from her extra job. She threatened, “It’s for your own safety.” Thank God, the several nights she didn’t work late we enjoyed sex the same as normal.
Maybe I should describe Yvonne to you. At the time of my gambling debt, she was 45 years old and looked much younger due to her almost perfect complexion, an angelic face surrounded by raven black curly hair. Yvonne’s fit body was slim but had proportional breasts and a firm rear end. She had been a track star in college and kept a fit figure even after two pregnancies. Our girls, who favored their mother in beauty and athletic ability, were now in college on combination athletic and academic scholarships. We were both very proud of our kids. Yvonne worked as the office manager of a large real estate firm. She admitted she was pleased that her appearance garnered lots of male attention from staff and potential clients. I was not surprised given how sexy I thought she was. Living with a little of my own jealousy was a price I was more than willing to pay to stay married to this gorgeous woman.
I never worried too much, however, about Yvonne straying because of how I had seen her act with men far more attractive than me. Sometimes she didn’t know I was watching. I always marveled at how Yvonne handled flirting men when we attended social gatherings. She could turn down men gently but firmly. And she never stopped smiling while she did so. Any time it seemed it took longer than normal to get the man to leave her alone, she would find me and put her arm around me. Yvonne made it clear to one and all that I was her man — no one else. In my case, I seldom flirted with any women, mostly due to the fact I was not that handsome and partly due to me not wanting to do anything that might upset Yvonne.
As much as I believed that she and I were devoted to one another before the gambling debt episode, I was now totally, absolutely, and completely convinced she was dedicated to our marriage even if it meant a tremendous sacrifice on her part to make up for my financial blunder. My gambling habit was the prime reason why I had turned over our finances to Yvonne early in our marriage. The poker debt two years ago was the first time I had made a large financial obligation without her knowledge, much less approval. I mean, I was positive I had a sure thing. What could beat possibly beat the four nines I held in my hand? The answer was: a royal flush.
Other than not having sex with me on nights she worked late, Yvonne never seemed to hold my mistake against me. Of course, I did more chores and tasks that had been hers and was willing to wait on her hand and foot. I wanted her to know how much I appreciated her sacrifice. One night, however, I innocently but mistakenly asked her how long she thought that she would still have to work extra hours to pay off the debt. I thought she was going to explode.
“Until it’s paid off, asshole! It’s your damned fault I’m having to do this in the first place. I’ll let you know when it’s over. Until then, quit bugging me about it!” She stormed off to her late-night bedroom and locked the door.
I was surprised at the level of anger from my usually calm wife. My first inclination was that the work she was doing to pay my debt was much more onerous to her than what I had assumed. I was once again humbled that despite it really bothering her to have the extra work, she was still willing to do it, for me. I was ashamed of myself for putting her in this situation. I decided to keep my mouth shut about it from now on. I began to think of ways I could make more money myself to shorten the time needed to help her pay back the debt. The chance came unexpectedly.
Usually there is no way to make extra money at my place of employment and my hours made a part-time job on the side difficult. As it turned out, I had been instrumental in obtaining a new contract for our industrial air filters our company made. The contract was with a major manufacturer of Korean cars. After the initial order was filled, the experience the manufacturer had with our products convinced them that our filters were the best quality at the lowest price. The Korean car manufacturer’s order mushroomed. It was to become our largest single customer. Fulfilling the demand created by their order forced us to expand. My time in Korea with the 101st Airborne had paid off. I had become semi-fluent in Korean and, as a quartermaster, I had experience with Korean vendors and their way of doing business. I had joined with the sales team to make the deal. Management was ecstatic with my success and realized the importance of keeping me happily employed.
The result of my success was an unprecedented $10,000 bonus. Usually only the salespeople got bonuses. Along with many of my colleagues, Carter from Accounting, congratulated me and asked if I had already committed the money to something in particular. I told him that since it had been a surprise, I hadn’t really thought what I would do with it. I mentioned that I would probably put it towards a debt retirement. He asked me to go to lunch with him to discuss another option.
Over burgers, Carter related that his father was a successful Venture Capitalist. He had recently told his son to buy bitcoins, as many as he could afford. At the time, hardly anyone even knew what bitcoins were. I acted like I did. Carter said that his dad had never been so forceful in advising him on a possible investment. It was recommended by Carter to put my bonus money in bitcoins since I had not been counting on it for buying something else. I had no real knowledge of what bitcoins were or how they worked but I valued Carter’s and his father’s opinion. The promise of multiplying my money in a short period of time matched my desire to pay off my wife’s debt early, especially after her recent reaction to my question. I guess it made it easier that the gambling gene I carried had not been totally suppressed. I gave Carter my $10,000 and promised myself to never tell Yvonne I had even earned it unless I made money on it.
In a couple of months, I was scared to death when I suddenly realized that Yvonne would find out about the $10,000 when she did our annual taxes. The bonus would show up on my annual income tax forms from the business. She never missed a $1 difference so there was no way she would miss seeing $10,000 she wasn’t expecting. I literally ran to Carter’s office to see if I could get my money back. I could envision castration clippers in my future.
Carter laughed at me. “Boris, you would be crazy to convert to cash now. Your $10,000 bitcoin investment is already worth close to $25,000 now.” I thought he must be kidding or lying.
“How in the world . . .?”
“No offense, but I doubt you would understand it if I explained it. Of course, you can convert your bitcoins to cash if you want to, but do you have to do it now? How soon do you really have to have the money?”
“I guess the absolute deadline would be before January when they send the W-2’s and the 1099’s out.”
“Here’s what I recommend. Give it until December first and then let’s talk again. I promise you now that if by some fluke your bitcoins are not worth $10,000 then, I will personally give you your $10,000 back. Believe me, Boris, you’ll thank me for making you wait.”
With his guarantee, I figured I could stand to wait until then. I did, however, check into a burial plot for me in a field of poison ivy, if possible, just in case Yvonne caught me.
It was the first of December when Carter informed me that my initial investment was now worth a little less than $100,000 — a ten-fold profit. I couldn’t believe there really was a get rich scheme that worked. Against Carter’s advice, I took out $75,000 and left close to $25,000 in bitcoins. I called Yvonne. Tonight was not a night she worked late. I told her we were going out to dinner. When she complained we couldn’t afford it, I told her that I had received a small bonus and I wanted to show her how much I appreciated what she was doing for me. She hesitantly agreed. When she asked where I was taking her, I said it was a surprise. I’m sure she thought it would be Red Lobster, Olive Garden, or Outback at best.
I drove her to Da Vinci’s, the top-rated Italian restaurant in town. Yvonne balked about getting out of the car when I pulled up to the valet parking. “Boris, this place is way too expensive. I appreciate the gesture but let’s go somewhere else.”
“Nope, we can afford to eat her at least one time. You will not be able to convince me that you don’t deserve it. Besides, I already have a reservation. Come on honey. We can splurge just this once.”
She reluctantly went in and waited behind me while I went up to confirm our reservation. As the Maitre’d welcomed us, he looked at Yvonne and said, “Delighted to see you again, madame. Your usual table, I assume.” We were seated and I asked Yvonne about his comment.
“I guess I have a doppelganger out there. I swear I have never been here before. Now, let’s see what’s on the menu that’s not outrageously expensive.” She seemed eager to change the subject.
I had noticed she appeared stressed at the comment from the Maitre’d. My interest was temporarily piqued. But my curiosity didn’t linger because I was so looking forward to the surprise I had in store. I was absolutely sure she would be deliriously happy with the news I almost broke my arm patting myself on the back. We had a fantastic dinner including a very nice medium-priced wine. During dessert with coffee, I proudly made my announcement.
“Yvonne, besides this meal, I have a check to give you. It’s the money I had left over from my bonus plus some money I made from a recent small investment I made.”
Yvonne quickly became belligerent. “Boris, are you telling me that you made a financial investment without consulting me first? I guess you don’t value your legs or your testicles after all.” She paused as if building up steam. “Are you crazy or do you take pleasure in the idea of your loyal wife working her ass off to make up for your previous financial blunders? And where the hell did you get the money for your ‘small investment’ as you call it? Did you sell something without telling me?”
I had no other response than to sheepishly hand her the check. She was completely shocked. I told her, “Now you don’t have to work extra. I was hoping you would be happy.”
She had tears in her eyes, but they did not appear to be happy tears. She ran to the restroom. I waited wondering what I had done that was so wrong. It was a while before she returned. She had a ‘Don’t you say a word’ look on her face. “You don’t understand, you poor fool. I CAN’T pay off the debt I owe in advance with cash. I had to commit to a certain number of hours of work. That can’t change. This check means nothing towards me working less.” She threw the check back in my face as she got up from the table and once again headed to the women’s room. Or so I thought.
I was devastated. As I sat in my seat wondering what kind of loan she had agreed to that could only be paid for by her work. In about ten minutes, our waiter came over and handed me a hand-written note. It was from Yvonne. She said she was taking an Uber to a motel for the night. Evidently, she had called for the Uber when she went to the restroom the first time. I was instructed to go home by myself and not wait up for her.
I went home and cried by myself. Sleep was hard to come by. In the morning when I was having coffee by myself, the more I thought about what had happened, I began to get mad. “Fuck!” My intentions to do good should be worth something. What the hell was she doing to earn the money that she could not tell me what it was or that it couldn’t be paid off in advance. Then it hit me — she was a fucking hooker! Nothing else made sense. The Maitre’d had recognized her because she had been there before with one or more of her Johns. I ran to our master bathroom and puked up the remnants of a very expensive dinner including wine and dessert along with my morning coffee.
When I came home from a worthless day of work that day, Yvonne was there sitting at the kitchen table. I wasn’t allowed to speak. She refused to talk to me. Yvonne even refused to set a day and time to talk. She told me to leave her alone in no uncertain terms. Her final statement was: “It is all your damn fault. Live with it.”
I had to know what was going on for sure. I had no investigative skills, so I hired a private detective. I had cashed the $75,000 check. I waited to see how much I would need for the PI before I deposited the rest. It only took him a week to give me a damning report. I was right. Yvonne was an escort for one of the top escort agencies in the city. I cried again. Something I had done had created the havoc now reigning in my married life. My stupid gambling had forced my wife to become a damned prostitute. In order to save MY ass, she had sold hers. Evidently, she had agreed to a certain amount of time or a certain number of tricks in order to pay off the debt I had caused. I felt horrible. I should. I earned it.
Her being a whore was bad enough, but things got worse when I started thinking about what she had been doing with her body, using all her holes, with man after man or worse, several men at a time. I thought of men with big dicks and her begging to be fucked harder. I saw her sucking cocks, swallowing and begging for more. I started puking again, but nothing was coming out. Thoughts of her naked body taking on multiple disgusting-looking men wouldn’t stop invading my brain. Even getting drunk didn’t help. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. My heart was broken. My unconditional love for her now had conditions. I had to do something I had never imagined I would ever want to do.
That night, I grabbed her by her shoulders and physically forced her to listen to me. “Yvonne, I know that you are an escort. I am so deeply sorry that I caused you to sell your body to pay my debt. There is nothing I know of I can do to ever make that up to you. Despite being honored that you would even consider such a sacrifice, I can’t ever see myself making love to you again imagining how many men have used your body over and over again in so many filthy and disgusting ways. The idea of making love to you now makes me literally sick regardless of how much I love you. Somehow, I have to live with the knowledge that I was the cause of your fall into degradation.
In order to make things as right as I can, I will, therefore, be filing for a divorce where I will give you half of everything — the house, our checking account, savings account, and what’s left of the $75,000 bonus. I will tell the girls that the divorce was all my fault. I will be forever in your debt and hope you fulfill the obligation you have as soon as possible and move on with your life. By giving you all the assets, I pray that makes it easier to carry on after I’m gone. I hope you will eventually be able to forgive me.”
She cried. “Boris, there is a lot you don’t know that we need to talk about before you do something foolish again. Unfortunately, I have to go to work right now. We’ll talk tomorrow night. I promise. Don’t do anything else until we’ve talked. Please.” Yvonne got dressed and left. She didn’t come home that night. I wasn’t surprised.
I was no good at work again the next day. I ignored Yvonne’s warning and went ahead and made an appointment that afternoon with a family law attorney just to prove to myself that I wasn’t bluffing. The lawyer was unhappy at the terms I was wanting in my petition given the part-time job my wife was employed in. He argued against my proposal strenuously until I finally had to say that was the way I wanted and if he didn’t agree, I would go see another lawyer. He said the petition would be ready tomorrow and took $2000 for a retainer.
I went home after work. Yvonne was not there. I was not that unhappy at her absence. My time on the gallows had been postponed. I finally called her cell phone — I got her voice mail. I asked her to call and tell me when she would be home. I called her work number just in case. No one answered. It was after hours. I didn’t leave a message. I just waited and nursed a bourbon or two or three on the rocks. About 8:00 pm, there was a knock on the front door. I staggered to the door and looked out the peep hole to see two policemen. I opened the door trying not to breathe in their direction.
“How can I help you officers?”
“Are you Boris Wagner?”
“Guilty.” I smiled at my stupid attempt at a joke.
“Is Yvonne Wagner your wife?”
“Yes, at least for the time being. Is she alright?”
“I need to ask you a question first, ‘Where were you last night?'”
“I was here. Why do you want to know that?”
“Do you have any way to prove that?”
“No one was here but me and my friend Jack Daniels. He doesn’t say much though. Wait. I ordered Chinese takeout. You can check. Do you speak Mandarin? Actually, I don’t know if that would help. They may only speak Cantonese.”
“We’ll have to check out your story.”
“Hold on, the only way you would need to check my story is if something bad has happened to her. Tell me, damnit!”
“Mr. Wagner, I’m sorry to have to inform you that your wife was killed last night at the Marriott.”
I sobered up immediately. “But . . . Killed? How? Who? This better not be some kind of sick joke?”
“I guarantee you that it’s no joke. We don’t know everything about what happened, but our primary theory is that she was in a hotel room probably with a man who had hired her escort services. Judging by the mess on the bed, it appears that he liked rough sex and we think it might have got out of hand. He left her there bruised and battered lying in the bed. Her neck had been broken. The maid found her this morning, but the man evidently took her purse which made it hard for us to identify her. The only way we knew who she was is that her escort agency reported her missing. Evidently, they have a safety protocol that all escorts must report in every morning after serving a client.”
“If you know all that, why did you ask where I was?”
“We had to cover all bases. Our alternate theory is that you only recently found out about your wife’s occupation and killed her to make it look like her John did it.”
“Since I know I didn’t do it, who do you think did it?”
“We have the name of her date that the escort agency gave us and have put out an APB on him. We anticipate having him in custody soon although right now technically he’s just a person of interest, just as you are. Mr. Wagner, I’m sorry for your loss. I hate to ask, but do you think you could come down to the Morgue and identify the body. Tomorrow morning will be fine. Oh, and don’t leave town anytime soon.”
I was lost in a dense mental fog. I had gotten my wife killed! My foolish desire to gamble got my wife killed! I was the lowest form of life in the universe. I didn’t deserve to be alive. It was a good thing I didn’t own a gun. I was too cowardly to use a knife and I didn’t have any pills. It hadn’t really hit me that I was a suspect in my own wife’s murder.
If not for the fact I had two daughters who no longer had a mother, I might have bought a gun and taken my own life. I could not bring myself to expose them to the death of both their parents at the same time. Losing two parents at once would be devastating enough but when their mother’s death came while turning tricks by the hands of a John and their father had caused her to sell her body and then committed suicide, it was just . . . just . . . words can’t express the effect it would have on two innocent girls. That might have damaged them both for life. I had to suck it up for their sake.
I told the girls they had to come home because something bad had happened to their mother. I lied and said she was in the hospital. I refused to give more details over the phone. My first face-to-face meeting with the girls was heart-wrenching beyond even what I had feared. There was crying, screeching, and bawling on their parts. It was one thing to tell our daughters of their mother’s death. It was another, more horrible thing to tell them what she was doing at the time of her gruesome death. I did not hide from them the fact she had become a prostitute because of my gambling debt.
Alisha, the oldest, reacted by coming into my arms and crying. Marilyn, the younger, refused to talk to me anymore after I told her about my role in her mother selling her body. Marilyn strongly indicated that she may never talk to me for the rest of my life. Somehow, the three of us made it through the funeral and the burial without falling apart. Luckily, no one else attending the funeral knew of either her extra job or my causing her to become a whore.
Yvonne had no written will. In our state, someone who dies intestate there is a protocol to follow. In the first choice, the surviving spouse inherits all. If the spouse is not alive, the second option is that any children share equally the assets. Although I was to inherit all of Yvonne’s assets, I was prepared to give each of the girls half as if I was dead. I thought it only fair given my culpability in Yvonne’s death. Part of the process in dealing with her inheritance was for me to ascertain the exact extent of her assets and debts. I had to take one of the death certificates to our bank to access the savings account she had in her name only and to take her name off our joint account. Between the almost $75,000 I had from bitcoins, the life insurance payment and her savings account, within six months I would be in the best financial shape of my life if I kept all the money. Even the money I still had in bitcoins was increasing. My improved financial situation didn’t mean a damn thing to me without her. I now wished I had been able to forgive her of her whoring — too late of course to matter.
I was struggling severely with my guilt and depression without resorting to alcohol or medications. I worked hard to try and restore a better relationship with my daughters, especially with Marilyn who dropped out of college. She said she was alright but wouldn’t tell me where she was. Alisha knew how to get hold of her in case of an emergency, like my hoped-for death-by-suicide. Alisha urged me to let Marilyn have some time to heal.
While I was drowning in my sorrows, I got a sympathy card that instantaneously raised my blood pressure to record levels. It was from the escort agency. I had hesitated talking to them about the rest of Yvonne’s debt. I was hoping they would just forget about it. Upon looking at the card, I was furious. Next to Adam Watts, the John accused of killing her, and me, I held the escort agency responsible for Yvonne’s death. I was spurred from my doldrums to take action. I paid them a visit. I left any niceness I might have had at home.
When I told the receptionist who I was and that I wanted to see the boss, I was given condolences and told to go right in. A very attractive lady in her late 50’s greeted me. She said her name was Michelle. I immediately got the impression that she was an escort herself at one time but who might have aged out. “Mr. Wagner, we are so sorry for your loss. It was a devasting blow to us, too. Yvonne was very special to us.”
“She was more special to me!” It was hard to control my anger.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply anything to . . .”
“I can’t understand why she couldn’t pay off her debt and stop escorting. How could you people do that to her?” I started crying.
“Mr. Wagner, I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean. What debt are you talking about?”
“My gambling debt. Yvonne got a loan from you for $75,000 a few years ago to save me from being beaten up or killed because I owed a bad guy that amount of money. She told me that you would make her continue to work even when I had the money to pay that off.”
“I’m not sure what Yvonne told you, but neither I nor this agency ever loaned her any money. She’s been one of our best escorts for years. Her work did change dramatically a couple of years ago. She told me that her schedule had now opened up and that her husband was willing to let her work as an escort several nights a week. She seemed excited about the ability to work nights and we were delighted she could.”
“Several years? My wife was an escort for several years?”
“I think it was almost seven years ago that she started. There’s quite a market for intelligent, attractive middle-aged women who still have a good figure. So many of the men that age want a surrogate wife or companion who they can talk to intimately as well as explore things sexually that their actual wife or partner won’t. Of course, we only provide the escort part of the service. We do not encourage the women to have sex, but we don’t discourage it either. That’s totally up to the women. We realize of course what often happens, however, we take no money from the women if they decide to charge for sex. Yvonne was very good at her job. She had many men who specifically requested her on a regular basis. She told me that you knew and approved.”
“I . . . I had no idea.”
“This must be a horrible shock to you. Yvonne always said how fortunate she was to have a husband who supported her despite her lifestyle. She seemed so sincere, I never once doubted what she told me.”
There was a long pause of silence. The lady changed the subject. “I hear that the police have arrested her alleged killer. That was a surprise to me too. Mr. Watts was a regular of hers and I had the impression that Yvonne was very fond of him. She certainly was not afraid of him.”
“What? I wasn’t told she knew him before that night.”
“I told the police about their ongoing relationship. I just assumed they told you also.”
“I need to go. I’m barely holding it together.”
“I understand. Please accept our deepest condolences. And, Boris, if there’s anything I can do personally to help, please ask. I feel like I may be partly at fault. It hurts me to see you were so misled.” She gave me a card good for one free escort service.
I was fuming I was so mad. I barely got out of there before I said, “Fuck you, bitch!”
The information I received from Michelle was overwhelming my emotions. Yvonne had been selling her body even BEFORE the gambling debt. She never received a loan to pay off my debt. Then I realized where she gotten the money to pay the loan. She must have made that much money and more from whoring for years before. And then she had used the excuse of paying my debt to whore more! And the man who killed her was a regular? Maybe even a favorite? I had been played for a fool. Me being a fool was a done deal. Being an IGNORANT fool was something I could try and correct. I needed more information. I also needed a gun. Someone needed to die even if it was me.
*****
AT THE POLICE STATION
“Detective Robinson please. My name is Boris Wagner. I’m here about my wife’s murder.”
“Have a seat sir, I’ll call his office and let him know you’re here.” In about five minutes, Detective Robinson appeared.
“Mr. Wagner, follow me please.”
I was given in a chair beside his desk to sit in. “First let me say again how sorry we are for your loss.”
“Skip the false sympathy. Why didn’t you tell me that my wife’s killer was someone who had used her services frequently?”
“I didn’t want to upset you even more. I didn’t think it made a difference in terms of who killed her and getting justice for your wife’s death.”
“I want to talk to him. The alleged killer.”
“I don’t recommend that.”
“I don’t care what you recommend. Can I see him?”
“That would be up to him and his lawyer. I can ask, but I doubt he or his attorney will agree.”
“Will you at least ask him?”
“Sure.”
“Now?”
“Okay. You sit right here.” He got up from his desk and walked to the elevator.
After 21 minutes (I kept track), Detective Robinson came back shaking his head. It was a ‘I can’t believe it’ head shaking. “He’s agreed to see you against his attorney’s advice. I’m having him taken to Interrogation Room 2 as we speak. I’ll escort you down.”
We got to the room. I could see through the glass there was an average-looking man about my age in an orange suit. He was handcuffed to a ring in the table before him. He did not look particularly stressed or upset in any way. I went in with the instructions that I was not to touch him. I had a maximum of 20 minutes or sooner if he wanted to end it sooner. I was about to confront Alan Watts — my wife’s killer.
I sat down across from him and said, “I’m Boris . . .”
Alan interrupted me. “I know who you are. You’re that whore’s stupid cuck husband.”
I kept my temper. “I guess that description fits. I was wondering . . . ”
“Why I killed her? It was your fault, pissant. When you announced you would be going for a divorce, she was really ticked off. She wasn’t upset at divorcing your sorry ass. She was mad you were filing first because that would have frozen the funds. Yvonne was trying to think of some way to convince you to hold off on divorcing so she could complete all she needed to do to get all the money she could.”
“Yvonne said she was going to divorce me?”
“Oh yeah. She told me she had been stockpiling money from her hooking for years in some account you knew nothing of. Since you had robbed her of $75,000, Yvonne was going to take most of your assets plus all that she had hidden. According to her, she and I could afford to take off to some tropical country and live like royalty and fuck like rabbits. God, she was insatiable. I played along because she was the best fuck I had ever had, bar none.
“Anyway, she was really uptight from you confronting her. Yvonne then told me that she wanted rough sex that night — really rough sex in order to get you out of her head. I had drunk too much and as we slammed each other around I went from faking being mad to getting mad for real. Unfortunately, I got carried away. She provoked me by saying something about me not knowing how to fuck a slut and I snapped. Unfortunately for her, I snapped her head at the same time. I didn’t plan to kill her. It was an accident. I panicked and took her purse under the stupid idea they might not figure out who she was or who had killed her until I had a chance to get away. They got me at the airport terminal. If I had gotten on an earlier flight, I might have gotten away.”
“Did she ever say anything about why she was doing this to me and our daughters?”
“You sure I want to hear this? Okay, hey, I don’t mind heaping coals on your head, you dumb cuck. She said you were the most clueless dunce she had ever known. Your two daughters — surprise, you’re not even their father. Some old boyfriend from college was their sperm donor. I think he’s dead now from a car accident. She hadn’t stopped fooling around with him until then. Anyway, Yvonne said you were so dumb you never suspected her cheating despite her not being particularly careful. You were a useful tool that gave her a home base and the image of respectable wife from which to get all she could get from life — at least as far as sex and money were concerned. At first, she only had daytime meetings with her Johns. It was easy for her to get away for a couple of hours at a time from her Office Manager job, especially since she was bonking the boss and was paid extra by him to be a sex perk if it was needed to close the deal on a male client buying a house.
“Your gambling debt was actually a dream come true for her. It gave her the excuse she needed to take on Johns at night without you being suspicious. She had a big laugh about how you were praising her sacrifice. What a dolt you were. Night escort services – that’s where the real money was. Shit, she must have collected enough from me and others to fund a small third world country. I’m not bitching. She was worth every cent I ever paid for sex with her. I never have had a blowjob from any other woman close to what she could do. And her ass, that was . . . ”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I rose up and hit him. My blow jerked his head to one side, but he just laughed at me. Detective Robinson quickly entered the room and threw me out. He told me to go home.
I went home and started searching all my wife’s records in her home office. There was nothing unusual. Then I looked through the boxes of personal stuff that the real estate agency had sent. After an hour of digging, I hit upon a notation in her planner. It was just a series of numbers with no other notation. To me, it appeared that it could be a routing number and an account number. I took that to the family law attorney who was surprised to see me since I no longer needed a divorce. He agreed with me that the numbers were probably for a bank and an account. Within a few minutes, he had the bank’s name. He checked and the bank said that they had no account in her married or maiden name. Then I remembered seeing a possible safety deposit box key in items in her box from her office.
The key was to a safety deposit box at the bank where she had the hidden account. I took the key to the bank and obtained access to the box. When I looked in, there was a fake ID and passport along with five one-pound gold bars. It took weeks and weeks of haggling, paperwork, and a judge’s order to get the bank to agree that my wife was the woman who had the special account. I was astounded to see that she had over $800,000 in the special account. Between whoring at the real estate agency and the escort agency plus siphoning money from our work income, she had indeed accumulated a small fortune. I wondered what her goal was before she was going to leave me — a million? If so, she almost had completed her goal.
It took a while before I had access to all her funds. I had planned to send a lot of the money to the girls without revealing to them I was not their biological father. I figured that they had suffered enough. I know I had. I guess I was also afraid that Marilyn would have been happy knowing I was not her ‘real’ father. That was an insult that would break my heart even more. I sent them the money but only after I paid for one other thing first.
The headline in the paper mentioned that three men were dead and many more injured when a white gang and a Latino gang in prison had a fight. Among the dead was Yvonne’s killer who had pled guilty and was serving a 20-25 year prison term. Best money I ever spent.
I visit my wife’s grave on a regular, but infrequent, basis now. Each time, I refill the hole I had made earlier. The spot for the hole was over where I imagined her mouth to be below in the casket. I filled the hole with my own yellow liquid in hopes it might soak through into the small hole I had drilled in the casket lid. I was pleased to see that the poison ivy I planted around the tombstone was doing well.
How was I doing? I continued to work to have something to do. I used some of the money to join a gym, have a little plastic surgery, and buy some nice clothes. The positive comments and offers for dates from women increased dramatically. When I was finally ready to risk dating again, I remembered Michelle at the escort agency was very attractive although somewhat older than me. By then, even pity sex didn’t sound too bad. Good thing I kept my card. I must have done something right that first night with her. Every morning after I have spent a night with her, Michelle has given me another card.
Thanks Yvonne, for your sacrifice.