DOOR NUMBER THREE by man_as_dog
-About 5:30 on Sunday evening, Beverly walked in the front door, dropped her purse and keys on the wingback chair, and headed down the hall to the master bedroom. I don't know for sure if she saw me sitting in the den, but it didn't matter. I'd become almost invisible to her over the past few years.
I walked over and picked up her key ring. I removed the extra keys she had for my Toyota and then opened her purse. I took out her cell phone and billfold. From the billfold, I removed all cash and credit cards and put all the loot into my pocket. Just for good measure, I took her drivers license. Then I went back to my seat in the den.
In 15 minutes, Bev came back down the hall, dressed up nicely. Seeing me as she put her purse strap over her shoulder and grabbed her keys, she said, "I'm going out with the girls from work. Don't wait up for me."
"No, you're not going out with the girls from work," I retorted.
"Jack, you should know by now that you don't control me. I will do whatever I please."
"I didn't say you couldn't go out with the girls from work. What I said was that you're NOT going out with the girls from work. You're going to go fuck your boyfriend, so don't lie to me anymore."
Beverly stood silently for a few seconds. Then she strode boldly into the den and stood across from me as she delivered her ultimatum.
"Okay, Jack, so you know. I would have preferred to do this differently, but we might as well get this over with. Jack, you have two options. You can salvage what's left of this marriage by going along with the program, or you can choose to have me divorce you and clean you out. What's it gonna be?"
"Hmmm...I choose...Door Number 3," I replied with a grin.
"Don't be childish. There is no Door Number 3. Either accept it that I have a lover now, a real man for a change, or prepare to suffer the consequences. And I do mean suffer."
I stood and walked to Bev, grabbed her shoulders, and pressed her against the wall. I wiggled her engagement and wedding rings off her left hand. With my nose bare inches from her face, and a dead look in my eyes, I whispered to her.
"Oh, there's a Door Number 3 alright. It's right over there. It's my front door, and when you walk through it, it will be for the last time. You leave with the clothes on your back, and you never cross the threshold again. You don't get a dime more of my money. You will lose your husband, your daughter, your house, your money, your car, and your job, eventually."
"You live in a fantasy world, Jack," she mumbled nervously. "My lawyer will tear you to pieces. I'm having the divorce papers served to you at work tomorrow. If you hurt me, you will suffer that much more."
I pulled her shoulders away from the wall and frog-marched her to the front door, stumbling in her high heels. She was yelling incoherently as I shoved her out the door. Bev was barely able to maintain her balance, and her cool was entirely gone. In our entire marriage, I had never laid a hand on her, and she didn't know how to react. Standing in the front yard, she began to reassert herself, at which point I closed the door and engaged the new locks.
As Bev was driving away, I made the first of two calls. I dialed my 19 year old daughter at college.
"Honey, this is your dad. Things have finally come to a head with your mother. She is probably going to be living with her boyfriend, and I wanted to be the first to talk to you. I want you to know that I have our last conversation recorded, along with hours and hours of previous arguments. They are available for you to hear, so please remember that you have access to the truth when she tries to twist things around and blame me. And she will do that.
"Sweetheart, the truth is your mother is an adulteress. I don't know how many times she has been with other men, but this time, she has found one she is willing to throw our family away for. As I will explain to you soon, that probably means that he is a fairly dangerous person, so be very careful in your dealings with your mom."
I went on to ask Patty if she could come home on the weekend so that we could talk and she could listen to recordings if she cared to. Patty agreed to drive home on Friday afternoon.
My next call was to Martha, our neighbor at the end of the block. Martha was a war widow, in her mid 30s.
"Martha, this is Jack. If the offer is still open, I'd like to take you up on it. Can you come over in an hour or so?"
I hate long drawn out histories of troubled marriages, so I'll make this one fairly short. Bev and I met and married in our early 20s, and we produced one daughter, Patty. Things were fine for a couple of years, but the 'new' seemed to wear off for Bev pretty quickly. As things went along, she became shrewish in the worst ways. She turned into a complainer, a manipulator, and a taskmaster. I did my best to hold my tongue and make things better for her, but it seems that the more I tried, the worse it got. Indeed, I believe now that I contributed to my own misery by trying to placate Bev all those years. I wish now that I had done things differently and taken control of her and the situation early on.
So now, in our mid-40s, things had gone completely off the rails. When I got suspicious of Bev and did a bit of investigation, I found out about her boyfriend pretty quickly, and the results were startling. She had taken up with a bulked up ex-con with a reputation for violence against women. I don't think that Bev knew it initially, but her 'lover' had at least 2 other women on the hook when Bev came along. The guy's name is Sylvester, of all things, and he is of course known as Sly. I was floored when I found out about him, but in a way, it also made perfect sense to me.
So when I knew the marriage was really over, a great relief swept over me, and I began planning. I've read stories where the wronged husband takes half the money. Not me. I took every goddamned penny I could lay my hands on, including whatever cash I could find around the house. I changed the locks, of course, and I had plans to aggravate Bev as much as possible in a very short amount of time. You see, my marriage had taught me a lot about how she reacts, and I planned to use her temper against her. She was a dangerous woman in many ways, but this time, she would be a danger to herself, too.
My planning actually began long before I found out about her 'lover' and the end came. For a couple of years, I had been recording us whenever we had an argument. She thought the device I always had with me was a simple MP3 player, but in fact, I was creating a library of her antics for documentation. I knew that no one would believe my stories unless I had proof, since she only abused me in that way when we were alone. Around other folks, including our daughter, she was nice as pie. I wanted to be able to 'out' her to everyone, including all friends and family.
On the Monday after our Sunday confrontation, I set up for a party in the company break room. Overhead was a large banner reading, "HAPPY DIVORCE!" I had cake and ice cream ready and anxiously awaited the arrival of the process server. Lucky me, it turned out to be a plump young woman doing the dirty work.
Lots of pictures were taken as my co-workers and I celebrated the serving of divorce papers. I had my picture taken accepting the papers and kissing the server on the cheek. She was wearing a party hat at the time. Another showed me putting a fork full of cake into her mouth, both of us smiling.
When the party was over, I emailed the pictures to Bev. Along with those of the party, I sent a couple of myself and Martha, my neighbor, in my bed with the sheets pulled up to our necks and big smiles on our faces. I hoped that Bev would notice her wedding rings on Martha's left hand as it rested on my chest.
In an hour, I got an angry call.
"You son-of-a-bitch! My lawyer will have you for lunch with these pictures. What a dumb-ass you are!"
"Not likely, Bev. There is nothing obscene or incriminating in those shots. No nudity. Just two neighbors pulling a prank. Just joke pics, is all."
"We'll see about that. Jack, I'm coming by the house tonight to get some of my things. I think it would be better if you weren't there."
"If I'm not there, you won't be able to get in. All the locks have been changed. If you want anything, you have to get there well before 6:45. Martha and I have a date at 7PM, and I sure as hell don't wanna be late. Last night I got the best pussy I've ever had, and there's more on the way tonight." Then I hung up and didn't answer when she called back 5 times.
(Although I didn't take all her calls from then on, I did listen to all the messages, unlike other guys I read about in similar circumstances. There was a good chance Bev would say something incriminating or give away a secret inadvertently when she made an angry call. In fact, she did reveal herself several times in the coming weeks.)
At 4:30 that afternoon, I took a ride to the parking lot at Bev's work. I wanted to get there before folks started coming out to go home. I had made sure there was no surveillance on the lot, and what I had to do would take under a minute. I pulled in next to Bev's car and slipped around it clipping the valve stems on all her tires with a wire cutter. Oh, yeah. She'd be pissed. Plus, she'd never get it fixed in time to get to the house before 6:45.
But it was about 6:35 when she showed up. She had apparently taken a ride with someone, so I knew she was pretty desperate to get into the house. After all, I had seen receipts for clothes she'd bought that I knew she hadn't brought home, so she had to have plenty of clothing at her lover's house. She must want something else.
I slipped out the back door and hustled down to Martha's house, leaving Bev beating on the front door and screaming. When I returned that evening, my front door window was destroyed and there was blood all around it. After viewing the surveillance video from the front porch, I called the police.
The video showed Bev beating in the window with a tire iron, apparently gotten from her friend's car. You could plainly hear her threatening to kill me as she broke the glass and reached inside. Unluckily for her, the deadbolt I had installed was the kind that requires a key to open either side. When she pulled her arm back through, she sliced up her forearm pretty good, which prompted another round of screaming and threats from her.
I reported the incident to the police immediately, and one of the officers kindly led me through the process of filing for protection. By the next morning, Bev was served papers prohibiting her from coming within 500 feet of me or our house. To say she was pissed off would be putting it mildly.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, ASSHOLE?" That's how her next phone call began. She was livid and threatened me again. I got the entire conversation recorded, unbeknownst to her.
Hours later, after she'd calmed down somewhat, she called again. She said she was sending her friend Lindsey over that evening to collect some of her stuff.
"What is she so desperate to have from the house?" I thought. So, I agreed to receive Lindsey at 5:30 that Tuesday evening. I left work a bit early so that I could set up a video camera in my bedroom, with a monitor in the middle bedroom.
Lindsey arrived on time, and I was extremely cordial. I sat on the bed as she loaded some clothes in 2 black plastic trash bags. Lindsey looked at me nervously, and then asked if I'd get her some water from the kitchen. I smiled and walked into the middle bedroom.
As soon as I looked at the monitor, I saw Lindsey sneak a shoe box from the closet into the bag nearest her. Then she went back to selecting clothes. I quickly grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and went back to the bedroom.
"I think this'll do it," she said. "Would you grab that bag and I'll take this one."
"Oh, that one looks heavier, Lindsey. Let me take it."
"Uh, no, we're fine. Just grab the other one, okay?"
"Is there something in that one I should know about, Lindsey?" I asked, as she started to fidget and drag her bag toward the door. I held her wrist and pulled the bag open.
"It's just clothes and stuff Bev needs," she said anxiously.
"You're a particularly bad liar, Lin. What's in this box I'm feeling down in here? You wanna tell me about this?" I pulled the shoe box out and opened it. The box was packed with bundles of 50 and 100 dollar bills, all used looking.
"Lindsey, you're trying to steal from me!" I stood and pulled her arm behind her, marching her toward the door and down the hall.
"Jack, that's Bev's money. She sent me here to get it. I'm not stealing anything!"
"Well, you came in my house to get clothes, and I catch you walking out with a box of money. I call that stealing. I didn't see Beverly's name on that box. You're a thief, Lindsey. I'm going to call the cops! Right now!"
"No, Jack! Don't do that! I can't go to jail. I have kids and a husband, for christ's sake!"
I sat Lindsey down on the couch and got right in her face.
"Lindsey, you're not welcome in this house ever again. I thought you were my friend, too, but now I know you're a thief!"
She pleaded with me some more, and she began to cry.
"If you want to redeem yourself, you have one chance. You will leave this house and report to Bev that I caught you stealing. Then, you will report in to me everything that you hear or see. Especially anything related to our divorce or her activities with Sly. You won't let her know anything about our arrangement. Bev is making a really bad decision taking up with this loser, and you will ultimately be helping her to get away from him if you cooperate with me. And Lindsey, I have the whole episode on video, and I can call the cops at any time."
Lindsey reluctantly agreed to be my mole. As soon as she was gone, I took the box of money and went to Martha's house down the block. She agreed to hold it for me until I could get it safely tucked away where Bev could never find it.
I knew where the money had likely come from. Bev's Aunt Mabel had been a notorious miser, and when she died a few months back, Bev had been her only heir. I knew that her aunt had left a small cabin in a rural area to her, but nothing was ever said about money. Apparently, when Bev inspected the cabin, after the will was read, she'd found her aunt's cash stashed there.
When my slut of a wife called, screaming, I recorded the conversation, but I was careful about what I said.
"That money is mine, Jack! I want my damned money!"
"Bev, I don't know what you're talking about. I caught Lindsey trying to steal cash from my bedside table. That's my money."
"You know damned well what I'm talking about. The money in the shoe box, and it's mine. It's from Aunt Mabel. I inherited it."
"Well, maybe Lindsey did find some money in a shoe box. But if she did, she must have taken it with her and kept it. I don't have it. Maybe Lindsey stole it from you. And, if you had some money here that I didn't know about, then you didn't report it on your taxes last year. I know, since I read over and signed the tax returns. You can call the police to come investigate, and then we'll let the IRS know that this money, if it exists, didn't get reported."
She slammed the phone down.
There would be some sort of retribution. I knew it. I'd pushed Bev's buttons too hard for there not to be. She couldn't afford to be caught near the house, due to the restraining order. Since I'd started by sabotaging her car, I thought she might try to get back at me through my car. So, I had a camera installed on the dashboard, but that wasn't enough. I wanted good shots of her doing the deed, if that was the route she decided to take. So, when I parked in the parking garage on Wednesday morning, I set up a camera outside the car, shielded from view. This camera transmitted video that I could monitor at my desk.
An hour before lunchtime, I watched the laptop as Bev parked her car behind mine, got out, and began pounding my car with a hammer. She broke every window and dented every fender. I winced a bit as the camera caught her smashing the windshield and screaming, "I'm gonna bash in your head!"
I dialed 911 and had a cop car waiting for her as she emerged from the parking garage. When I showed them the video and my wrecked Toyota, they cuffed Bev and took her to jail. It was apparent that she'd done enough damage to qualify for a felony. The resisting arrest charge was gravy. She turned to look at me with a pleading look as they took her away, and I just stared at her.
Bev's divorce lawyer had called me on Wednesday to let me know there was a hearing before a magistrate on access to the money I'd liberated from our joint accounts. It was scheduled for Thursday at 10AM. I was in the small court room at 9:50, wondering if Bev had made bail. She came in with her lawyer right on time, a smug look on her face.
Bev's lawyer addressed the judge.
"Your honor, my client has been cut off from the bank accounts she has shared with her husband. He unlawfully removed all the money after she filed for divorce. We are asking the court for a 50-50 split at this time."
"Mr. Reynolds, do you have anything to say?"
"Yes, your honor. My adulterous wife has ample funds of her own that she has been siphoning off from our joint accounts for months. The money I removed was reasonable compensation, since I am responsible for house payments and bills. She abandoned our marriage and moved in with the man she is cheating on me with."
Bev stood up. "That's a lie! He took all the money out of our savings and checking. He didn't leave me a dime. I don't have anything!"
Bev's lawyer took her arm and pull her back into her seat. They had a bit of a conference while I passed paperwork to the judge.
"Your Honor, these are banking records for the past year. You'll note the amounts up until a few months ago include Bev's paychecks, shown in yellow highlight. Also, there are periodic bonuses, shown in orange highlight. Then, about 6 months ago, her checks stopped being deposited in the joint account, and her bonuses also disappeared. I have a recording of my chat with her personnel office, if you care to hear it, that verifies her direct deposit was altered at that time. The total amount diverted from our joint account is in the thousands of dollars, Your Honor. So clearly, my adulterous wife has ample funds, all stolen from our marriage."
His Honor looked at the bank statements and then looked over his specs at Beverly. "Do you have anything to say about this, Ms. Reynolds?"
Bev's lawyer slowly rose and spoke. "Your Honor, the fact that my client may have some funds of her own does not free Mr. Reynolds of responsibility to give her her due."
"Well, counselor, I don't like it when people lie to me. Ms. Reynolds stated that she was destitute, which I knew was bull when she walzed in here with a pricey fellow like you in tow. Now we see that she is amply funded by money that should have been community property, and she tried to deceive both her husband and the court about that fact. As Mr. Reynolds is paying the bills out of his funds, I see no reason to change any financial arrangements at this time. When the divorce settlement is finalized, the assets will be declared and divided accordingly. Case dismissed."
Bev caught me in the hallway as I was leaving. I began recording as she spoke.
"I'll get you, you bastard! I'm gonna tear you down!"
"Bev, you're not supposed to be within 500 feet of me. I'll call the cops if you don't move. By the way, how did you like jail? You ready to spend a lot more time there? You've got a felony charge pending."
I could tell she wanted to take a swing at me, but I just kept moving down the hall toward the door, and she stood there with her fist balled up and her face contorted and red.
That evening, I went to a local bar. Not my usual hangout, but it was a place I'd met an interesting guy a month earlier. The reason the fellow was interesting was that he had a crappy car. Luckily, Zeke was there, at his usual bar stool.
"Hey, man, I remember you. What's your name again?"
"Not important, Zeke. Hey, do you still have that piece-of-shit car?"
"Oh, god yes. I hate that thing. The wife took the good one when she ran off with that creep in a suit. Now the A/C is out on it, and I'm dying in this heat. Nobody will buy it, and it's the only way I have to get around. She took all the money, and my credit is bad."
"Do you have your insurance paid up on it? If you do, I might be able to help you unload it and get something better."
"I'm all ears, Bro."
"Suppose you were driving down, say, 38th Street and a grey cat suddenly ran out in front of you. You naturally slam on the brakes. And say a lady was following you too close and crashed into the back of your dog ass car. At anything over 15 miles an hour, you'd be totaled. If you had your head braced against the headrest and your seat belt on, you'd be okay physically. Insurance would cover your loss, and you could at least get a vehicle with A/C."
"Yeah, but what if the person who hit me got hurt. I couldn't do that to some poor schnook."
"Well, I could guarantee you that the person would be a cheating bitch of a wife, with no one else in the car, if you were to follow my instructions. What would you say to that?"
"Oh, man, that would be great! I hate cheating bitches, and I sure need to unload this wreck of a car."
"Park at the corner of 38th and Lessing by 5PM tomorrow. Look to your left and when you see a blue Miata pull out of the parking lot and head your way, get in front of her. She's a tailgating bitch, so drive a block or so until she's on your ass. Then you 'see' the cat crossing the road, so brace and hit your brakes hard. Just stay in the car afterwards, dial 911, and tell the EMS boys you think you might have whiplash. And by the way, I never met you. I'll never be in this bar again, and we don't know each other."
"Man, you're cold."
"Not as cold as the A/C in your new ride."
I left work early on Friday to meet my daughter at home. She had finished her classes and hurried back to town, as we had arranged on Sunday night. We talked for awhile about the divorce situation, and I played her the recording of her mother and me and our 'Door Number 3' conversation. Patty was appalled to hear the ruthless tone of her mother and the demands she made. Then I played Patty a selection of the recordings I'd made over the previous 2 years, and she heard a side of Bev that she didn't realize existed.
"What do you know about this guy she's with, Dad?"
"I know he's bad news, and I want you to stay away from him. If you have to meet your mom, make sure you're in a public place with people around. I don't know what he might do to you to try and get to me. In any case, always protect yourself if there's any chance he might be around."
"Dad, I knew you and Mom had some problems, but I never realized just how bad things were. What the hell happened to you guys?"
It was a question I was ready for, and I launched into a long monologue explaining my view of things. Here is a slightly shorter version.
"Patty, the way I understand it now, your mother and I had radically different ideas about the way a marriage should work. I've done a lot of thinking about it, and I have a theory. Someone has probably already considered what I'm going to explain to you and written it all down in a book, but this is an idea I came up with on my own.
"There are 4 basic ways that authority can be distributed in a relationship. There is the case where neither party takes control, in which case, things just drift like a ship without a rudder.
"It can also happen that both people assume responsibility. In that case, maybe they constantly fight over who's in charge, or maybe they divide things up so that each person has control over some aspects of the relationship. Maybe they are even able to share responsibility equally. That's the way I came into the relationship expecting things to be. It didn't turn out that way.
"Another way it can go is that the man is in charge. This way can work under certain conditions. I know we think of paternalistic relationships as abusive and demeaning to women these days, but if the man is totally devoted to his wife, it can be like Snow White and Prince Charming. It can be a fabulous life for a wife with the right temperament. She will live without the worry of making hard choices, assured that her man will always take care of her.
"Or, it can be like your maternal grandparents. You know how Granny was always meek as a mouse and your grandfather was heavy-handed, bossy, and occasionally cruel? That's what your mom saw growing up, and I think now that's what she expected in our relationship. So, when I tried to share the top spot with her, she began to see me as weak. The more I catered to her, the more she disrespected me.
"That brings me to the last possibility: the 'wife dominant' relationship. I think your mom decided to be the boss when I failed to live up to her 'cave man' image. She became abusive toward me. She decided what projects were going to be done, and they had best be done to her satisfaction. I can't tell you the number of times she put me on a project and then stood there dictating exactly how I was to do it. It's about the same as the number of projects that never got finished, because I could not stand to be made to feel like an abused employee in my own house. She would literally tell me how I needed to hold my hammer or screwdriver while I was building or fixing something. It was totally micromanaging and intolerable.
"You see, when the wife is dominant, there is something that goes against human nature in most cases. I don't see how that type of power distribution can ever work. A husband can be dominant and retain love and affection for his wife, but a wife loses respect for any man she dominates. I think that's what happen to us. When I began to realize how things were going and fight back, Beverly did not view me as taking charge. By that time, she had me pegged as a wimp, and when I refused to allow her to boss me, she just saw me as a recalcitrant child. I could never regain her respect. I think this divorce process is my last chance to get her respect, so you will understand my actions when you see how hard I have to make it on her.
"Patty, soon you will find someone to take as your life partner. When you work out things like decisions about having children, what work to do, and where to live, work out how you're going to exercise authority. Be sure you and your mate know what to expect, and be sure there will be mutual respect. Otherwise, you'll both be miserable, and you may well wind up in the situation Bev and I are in."
"I will, Dad. I promise."
A little later, the phone rang.
"Mr. Reynolds, this is Memorial Hospital. Your wife has been in a car wreck. She's stable and not injured too badly, but she will be with us at least overnight."
Patty and I drove to the hospital and I let her go into the room first. Patty didn't stay long, and I asked to talk to Bev alone when she came out, looking grim. I suspected there had been harsh words from Patty.
"Gee, you look like crap, Bev," I said with a slight grin. "What a shitty week for you, huh? First, you lose your marriage, husband, and house. Then you get served with a restraining order, and then arrested for a felony. Then you lose out on some money you'd counted on. Now your car is wrecked and you're in the hospital with a broken wrist and your face blasted by the airbag. I think this divorce is working out much better for me. I've even got great pussy waiting for me anytime I want it."
"Fuck you," she replied.
"Hey Bev. Where's old Sly? He didn't come to visit yet? No worries. He's probably fucking one of his other women right now." She blanched. "You probably didn't know about the others when you started all this, did you? Looks like you know now. Wonder how long it'll be before he wants you to service one of them? I never thought of you as a rug muncher, but it's probably a good skill to learn, seeing as how you'll need it in jail."
"I'm not going to jail. My lawyer will get those bogus charges dropped."
"Really? Because when I talked to that DA, he indicated he was going to throw the book at you. He's got photographic evidence, and he has an election coming up. He wants to look really tough on crime about now. I think he'll ask for the max."
She just sat there, staring.
"Hey, what car insurance company did you decide to go with?" I asked.
"Car insurance? Whattaya mean? We have the same old..."
"You mean you didn't get covered this week? When you filed on me, I dropped your car from the insurance. Surely you knew that? I mean, you demanded that your Miata have only your name on the title, so it is your responsibility.
"Honey, if you didn't get coverage this week, you're really fucked. You'll have a couple of tickets to pay, towing charges, and 3 years of payments to make. You might not be able to afford another vehicle, and that Miata will be sitting in the back corner of some junk yard for eternity, while you're still paying for it.
"But you might not need another car, since you won't have a job after you get convicted of a felony. Plus, the guy you hit may have medical bills and his insurance company is gonna come after you for damages. Holy shit. But at least you have your health care covered, right?"
"...I'm on your..."
"No, no. I dropped you off my health insurance on Monday. You didn't get that changed, either? Baby, are you screwed! Ambulance ride, emergency room visit, X-rays, doctors, that cast on your right arm, a hospital stay, after-care. That'll be thousands and thousands of dollars.
"Hey, speaking of medical, I was thinking the other day about that time you got sick a couple of years ago. Remember? I took a week of vacation time to take care of you. I held your head while you puked, and I clean everything up when you didn't quite make it to the bathroom. I called the doctor and went to the pharmacy to get you some medicine. When you were better in a week, you went right back to ragging me and calling me childish. I wonder how well ol' Sly will take care of you the next time you get sick.
"Well, I gotta go. Give Sly a call when you think he's through fucking his other whore. Have a nice life!"
Beverly just sat there crying as I left. I didn't care.
After that, things went along without much happening for awhile. I checked in with Lindsey from time to time. She was becoming alarmed by the hold Sly had over Bev, and in time, Lindsey drifted away from her.
Then one evening as I got home and walked toward my front door, I was tackled on the lawn. I'd been pretty cautious about possible attacks, but I didn't see this one coming. The guy, who was wearing a ski mask, knocked the wind out of me and twisted my arm behind my back. He yelled in my ear that I had to give him the shoebox of money and tell the DA to drop the charges. It was obviously Sly, and I wasn't in much of a position to defend myself. However, I still had my car clicker in my hand, so I punched the panic button and the alarm started going off. Sly got mad and clocked me on the back of my head. Then he got up and walked away fast as lights started coming on on neighbors' front porches and people began to peek out. I yelled to call 911, and in a few minutes, a cop showed up. I wasn't hurt badly enough for an EMS ride, and Sly was long gone. None of my neighbors said they could identify him, so he got away with the assault.
A worse shock happened when I called my daughter and told her about it the next day.
"Dad, I didn't want to tell you, but I had a run-in with Sly, too. Mom called me to talk. I told her we could talk, but away from the apartment. She asked me to pick her up, but when I got there, she pulled me in to sit on her couch. Then Sly came out and started talking to me. He said that since Mom couldn't perform very well in bed with her injuries, I had to take up the slack. He said she owed him, and that I was payment. I looked at her and she just looked at the floor and didn't say anything.
"Sly said, 'Tell her to do it'. Mom looked up at me and said, 'Please, baby. Go along with him. It won't be so bad, and I really need you to do this for me.'
"Then he came up to me and grabbed my wrist to make me get up. He said we were going to the bedroom. My right hand was on the pepper spray in my purse, and as he pulled me up, I hit him with it in the face. He screamed and grabbed his face, and I got my purse and tried to pull Mom out the door, but she pulled away and went to him. I yelled at her to come on, but she was helping him into the bathroom, so I left. I can't believe my own Mom tried to pimp me out to that bastard! I don't know if I could ever forgive her for that."
I was boiling, as any father would be. I thought about the Beretta Cheetah in the bedroom and almost went to get it. My daughter calmed me down after awhile, saying she hadn't gotten hurt, and to think about the future. I made Patty promise to stay at school until the trial was over and to always have protection with her. She said she'd only go out with other students and never get herself caught alone, so I gradually got myself under control.
Sly had told me to talk to the DA, but he didn't expect me to have the conversation I actually had. I played the recording of my daughter and her story about Sly, and reminded him that Sly had attacked me. The DA asked if I wanted to lighten up on Bev, or maybe drop the charges.
"Absolutely not! I want you to ask for the max! Bev is under the control of this snake, and the only way I can see to help her is to get her away from him. A few months in jail might straighten her out."
The DA agreed, and the trial moved forward.
I felt pretty secure at home and at work, but there were times when I was vulnerable. When I was going to or from the parking garage, I was open to attack. But I was most wary on my drives to and from work. Our house is located in a subdivision some 10 miles down a ranch road. For a 15 mile stretch, it's the only turn off from that road. The only other thing out there is a series of large ranches with locked gates. So, I was very conscious of the other traffic on that long drive home. I carried the Beretta in the car with me constantly.
One evening, a few days before Bev's trial was to begin, I saw the pickup's headlights behind me, about 2 miles down the road to home, and my skin began to feel prickly. Soon, I had him 20 feet from my back bumper, doing 55 mph. I punched 911 on my phone and the record button on my little recorder. As I eased my speed up to 70, the pickup stayed with me. I gave a running commentary to the 911 operator, asking her to call the detective who investigated my beating.
The pickup kept up the pressure for another 5 miles as I frantically told the operator what was happening. The pistol was out on the seat beside me, and I eased off the safety. I realized that there was a bridge ahead, over a small creek bed, with old-fashioned concrete abutments. I guessed that Sly, or whoever was driving the truck, would make his move to force me off the road there.
With a hundred yards to go before the bridge, the pickup accelerated around me, and I knew he would try to edge me off the road. I caught a glimpse of Bev's face in the passenger seat of the pickup as it came abreast. I hit the brakes hard enough to go into a slide, but as it turned out, not so hard that I lost control. The truck pulled in front of me, but he missed my front bumper due to my braking.
My car wound up sideways on the shoulder, the rear on the slope down to the creek bed. I scrambled out, grabbing the pistol, my phone, and the recorder, and headed down the steep gravel slope and under the bridge. As I headed down, I saw the brake lights on the pickup go on.
I stumbled in the dark, feeling my way under the bridge. This was a great way to meet a rattler, resting on the warm ground. But that was not the snake I was worried about at the time. I was breathing hard and trying to find the safest spot to hide. At last, I stopped and chambered a round in the Beretta. I waited, but I heard nothing for awhile.
The cell phone connection to 911 got dropped. I tried to re-dial in the dark, but being under the bridge was not the best place to get a signal. I was stuck, and I had no idea if help was on the way. At least, I wasn't hearing the growl of that pickup above.
I wasn't about to move. I told myself I'd spend the night there if I needed to. It seemed to take forever, but it was probably only 5 or 10 minutes until I heard the siren in the distance, coming from the same direction as I had. If they were that far behind, they'd never catch the pickup.
The cop car apparently stopped when they saw my car on the shoulder, and I began to head back up the slope, leaving the Beretta under the bridge. I held up my hands and asked them not to shoot. As I got near the road, I saw that there were 2 cars, and they were arranged across the road, blocking both lanes. About the same time, I heard sirens coming the other direction, and saw the pickup coming back toward the bridge. I hit the dirt.
From the ground, I couldn't see much, but I heard the pickup screech to a halt and the officers call to the driver to get out and get on the ground. The other cop cars, trailing the pickup, stopped behind it.
Soon, it was over. Bev and Sly the Snake were in custody, charged with attempted murder. I was rattled, but I went home, took a shower, and tried in vain to sleep.
When your spouse is arraigned on several felony counts, divorce seems to go very easily. I got lots of sympathy from the judge, and no resistance from Bev or her frazzled lawyer.
Bev was frantic to spend as little time in jail as possible. She offered, through her lawyer, to give me basically everything in the divorce for any help I could provide in reducing her sentence. During the sentencing hearing, I testified that she had been a good wife and mother until she'd come under the influence of Sly. I told the judge that, in time, I could forgive her for trying to kill me. I failed to mention that she'd almost surely cheated on my with other men and had made my life hell for years. I couldn't read her expression in the court room, and I never talked to her directly during that time.
In the end, Sly went to prison for a long time. It was not his first offense. I heartily hope he's roommates with a large, sweaty man named Bubba who thinks his ass is cute as candy.
The judge was kinder to Bev, but it would be at least 3 years until she was up for parole.
So, it's been about 4 years since Bev got put away. I heard from the DA's office that she was out on parole about a year ago. I kept waiting to hear from her. I know that she's not in contact with Patty, either.
Revenge is great and all, but not as great as resolution. I found that I could not help thinking about all that had happened, and so I did something I would not have anticipated. I looked up my ex-wife.
"Bev, this is Jack. I have something of yours, and I want to give it back." I was calling the halfway house where Bev now resided. For several seconds, I didn't know if she'd heard me. There was no response.
"Beverly, I have a shoe box to give you. Do you hear me? Can we meet someplace so I can return it?"
I thought she might hang up, but eventually she spoke. "Where? When?"
"I don't care. We can meet somewhere neutral, like a restaurant, or you can come by the house. Whatever you want. On Sunday, maybe. You available on Sunday?"
She was silent some more. "I'll be by on Sunday at 2 o'clock." The phone went dead.
How do you go about getting ready for a meeting with your ex-wife, the mother of your child, the woman who tried to kill you, and a convicted felon? I made lemonade and cookies and dressed casual.
I opened the door for Bev, and there was no attempt by either of us to even shake hands, much less hug. We just said 'hello' and I motioned her into the den.
Her hair was much shorter than before, and her look was hard. Not much makeup, if any. She was now a woman of 50, and she looked every bit of it.
On the coffee table were drinks, cookies, and the shoe box. She sat opposite the couch and I offered her refreshments, which she declined. Did she suspect I'd try to poison her?
"Okay, if you don't want lemonade and cookies, I guess the only other thing is the shoe box, and anything we might have to say to each other."
"What's the catch, Jack? What do you want in return? Is there anything left in it?" She was still very suspicious of me.
"No catch, Bev. It's all there, except for a few thousand I put with some of my money and gave to Patty when she got married, for a down payment on her home. If you want, she will gladly start paying you that money back anytime you like."
From Bev's face, I could tell that she didn't know Patty was married.
"Patty's married for 2 years now, and you're a grandmother."
I could see the strain in her eyes, and I knew she was fighting back emotion.
"The little girl's name is Shannon Beverly Evans. Shannon is the name of her other grandmother."
Bev's eyes were filling up now, despite her best efforts.
"Bev, I know you haven't been in contact with Patty for some time. There is a path for you two to make connections again. If you'd like, I can pave the way for you..."
Beverly nodded, and the tears were now running down her cheek. I reached to the side table for a box of tissues, which I placed on the coffee table.
"So, I'll give you a short version of what's happened with me, unless you plan to leave right away?" She was wiping her cheek and trying to compose herself.
"Patty found a great guy. Stan Evans. He's into computers and networks. They seem to really work well together. She is a great mom, and they are so devoted to each other.
"Martha and I didn't last but a few months. She's too young for me, and she just needed me temporarily until she could get on with her life. She found another soldier, and she moved away. I date some, but I break things off if it looks like a relationship is beginning. I'm better off by myself. I'll stay single.
There was silence for a bit.
"I'm going to say some things now that are strictly for my benefit, but you might get something out of them. I hope you do.
"I couldn't wait to see you in jail. I hated you and pictured you dead many times. And then when they locked you up, my feelings began to change. I found that I couldn't enjoy my victory, if that's what it was.
"So, I quit hating you. Even though you didn't ask me to, I forgave you. The reason is that I know you're not 100% to blame. I failed to understand you until it was too late, and we never could communicate with each other. We only fought."
Beverly had regained her composure and looked up from the floor. Her hard edge was back. Still, she didn't speak.
"That's really about it. Short and sweet. Unless you have things to say to me, and if you don't care for refreshments, I won't keep you any longer. You probably have important stuff to do."
She stood and picked up the box. As she headed toward the front door, for the first time since I pushed her out years before, I called to her.
"It doesn't make any difference now, and you don't need to answer unless you want to. But I'm wondering. All that time we were together, and especially that last day you were here, it was obvious that you saw me as weak. Do you still think I'm weak, Bev?"
She stopped, one hand on the door knob, and looked back at me.
"I hate you. You're cruel, and you destroyed my life." She paused. "But I don't think you're weak."
And then she was gone.
