been the other woman at the park. Then I got my idea.
I parked about a block away, took my map, and started walking down the street toward her house. I had my gun in my back pocket. I walked up to her, staring at my map, and asked, “Ma’am, can you help me? I am looking for Roosevelt Street and I can’t find it.”
She looked around, then said, “Sorry, I have never heard of that street. What is it that you are looking for?”
I smiled. “My girlfriend’s house. I wanted to surprise her, but now I am lost, and I really need to use the bathroom. Would you mind if I used your toilet?”
She smiled. “Sure.” And she led me into her house.
I stayed in the bathroom about two minutes, actually using it, but being careful to not touch anything. I opened the door with some toilet paper and then threw it in the trash. I stepped out.
The woman was sitting in a chair smiling at me—at least she did until she saw the gun, then she asked, “Hey, what is going on here?”
I walked over and sat down in a fabric chair. “I have some questions for you. Give me the right answers and you are fine. Lie to me and you are dead.”
She waved her hands in the air. “Okay, ask. I have nothing to hide.”
When I mentioned “Justin Ward,” she flinched. I said, “Tell me what you know about him?”
She smiled, shrugged and said, “I don’t know anything about him!”
I took a pillow from the chair and put it in front of the gun—I had seen this done on television—and I shot her in the thigh. The shot was much louder than I thought it would be.
I said, “Try again!”
She had lost her smile as she grabbed at her bloody thigh. “My country, Palestine, needed some documents. I hired Justin to get them for us. I have the documents in my bedroom. I was supposed to take them home next week.”
I told her my name and asked her, “How did you find out about me?”
She said, “Benny got a job at your company working in personnel. He picked you out of the group as the one who could get the documents out for us. By the way, how did you find me?”
I ignored her question and said, “They killed my wife! Just who exactly do you work for?”
She had both hands on her thigh. “I work for a handler out of New York. My tour here is over. I get to go back home next week.” For a woman she was tough.
“Who is your handler?” I was going to break this woman or kill her.
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. He is my lover.”
I pointed my gun straight at her heart. “One last time: who is your handler?”
She shook her head again. “I won’t tell you.”
I shot her twice in the chest. The pillow caught fire and I had to stomp it out.
The woman wasn’t breathing when I left.
There were a lot of people on the street, but no one seemed to notice me. I had a briefcase in each hand as I walked back to my car. I was thinking that I should have burned that house too, but it would have drawn attention and I was certain that I had not left any fingerprints.
When I got back to my room, I took the gun apart and walked down several streets, throwing pieces of the gun in different trash cans. The barrel that had the serial number on it, I took to the Delaware River and tossed off the bridge. Several people saw me do it, but I got away before they saw my car.
I stayed the second night and hung around the hotel’s lounge. There were a lot of hookers in and out, but I left them all alone. I figured that my job was done. I could return the documents and everything would be okay. At least that was my plan.
The next morning, I reset the tumblers on the locks on the briefcases and I locked them both up. Suddenly it hit me: Julie had not called me at all. Of course, I hadn’t called her either. That seemed odd to me.
When I called Julie, she answered on the first ring. I talked to my two kids and then Julie got back on the phone again. “Okay, Brandon, what have you been doing?”
I sighed. “Honey, I got the documents back. I am going to take them back to the company and everything should be fine.”
She burst my bubble. “You can’t just walk in and say, ‘here you go, sorry for the delay.’ The FBI will be all over you and will assume that you had a part in the robbery and murder. You need to get rid of those documents.”
Geez, I felt stupid. She was right. I had to get rid of those documents, but how? If I threw them away, someone might find them. They had “Top Secret” written all over them. I needed to burn them, and I could only think of one way to do that.
I checked out of the hotel and drove to the airport. At check-in, I put new tags on each bag. I didn’t like putting my name on them, but I had no choice. When I went up to the counter, the man looked at the two over stuffed briefcases and asked, “Will that be all?”
I nearly screwed up, but said, “Yes, sir, checking in for DFW.”
He gave me the gate number and asked if I wanted insurance on the bags. I didn’t, and I watched the bags disappear down the conveyor. I went on to the gate where my plane would leave from and checked in. Suddenly I realized that I was sweating profusely. I wouldn’t make a very good secret agent.
I flew home with my bag and then picked up the two briefcases at baggage claim. Neither briefcase had been tampered with. The one looked funny with a bullet hole through it.
When I got home, I walked in the door, and I said, “Hey, kids, want to build a fire?”
Even though it was hot outside, we turned the air conditioner down and lit a log fire. I put the first briefcase in, and it sparkled and burned for nearly two hours. The kids loved it. Then I put the second one in and it burned for nearly three hours. There was nothing left but the hinges and the locks and a pile of ash. I threw the scorched metal in the trash can and the next day, I took the ashes and spread them out in the yard and then watered the yard a lot. I wanted nothing left for anyone to find. There was only one weak spot in my plan: my kids knew what I had done. If anyone asked them, they would tell the truth. I gave a lot of thought to trying to get them to lie about it, but in the end I left them alone. There was very little chance that anyone would ask them, and hopefully they would forget about it soon enough.
That week, Julie told me of a new problem; Ralph had left his secretary and wanted to get back with Julie. He was sending her jewelry and making her promises of what he would do for her. He offered her the old VP position back, with no strings attached. I asked her, “Honey, are you thinking about it?”
She shook her head, but I could tell that she was. It worried me. I had been leaving Julie too alone, and Ralph had been playing up to her. I had to shut that down immediately.
It was the first week of summer, so I suggested that we all take a vacation.
We wound up flying to the Grand Bahamas, and spent two weeks there. I made certain that our phones were turned off and no one knew where we were.
The two weeks together was wonderful for Julie and me. We did a lot of playing, swimming and sunbathing. She was really starting to show that she was pregnant now. She looked a little odd in a bikini. I played with her belly every chance that I got, and even the kids played with it. Both kids could now swim, and we had a blast in the ocean. Johnny would chase the colored fish, and Rachael helped me watch him. It wasn’t necessary; he could swim as well as I could, thanks to Julie.
On the flight back home, I was sullen; I knew that we had to go face Ralph again. Julie did her best to lighten my spirits. She flirted with me and I seemed to keep my hand on her belly. When the plane’s wheels touched down, I sank into depression. I kept thinking, What would my life be like with out Julie? Losing two wives was too much for me. Sharon never did cross my mind.
When we got back home, there was a brand new Jaguar convertible in our driveway. There was a red ribbon around it with big bow on top of it. On the dash was a note. It read, “Happy Birthday, Darling, I love you!” My b
lood pressure went up dramatically. I wanted to kill Ralph with my bare hands.
I could tell that the car really made a big impression on Julie. The car was fire engine red, her favorite color. She opened the glove box and there were diamond earrings, a necklace, a ring, and a bracelet engraved with her name on each of them. It must have cost fifty thousand dollars.
I looked at Julie. “I am sorry, Julie, I can’t compete with him. If you want to go back to him, go on, I understand.”
She scratched her head and ran her fingers through her long auburn hair. “Honey, I can’t be bought. Don’t worry about me.”
I couldn’t help it; I was worried about her. Then I found out something terrible: she had lunch with him. He had offered to build her a new mansion, filled with anything that she wanted. He would make her president of his company and pay her a million dollars a year. If she could be bought, he was going to buy her.
Then I had a wonderful idea. I said. “Honey, you need to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl. We need to name him or her.” I had gotten her mind off Ralph and onto the one thing that mattered the most to her: her baby. It was the only way that I could compete. I suggested that she send everything back, and she hesitated. I knew that I was in trouble then.
I sat down by myself in the kitchen one night. Julie was in bed and I began to think, If I lose Julie, what is my fall-back position? Then it came to me: Sharon. I called Sharon and asked her to lunch at her