CHAPTER 3
Thursday afternoon
New York
The remainder of our flight home was uneventful. I picked at my salad, but had little appetite for the rest of my meal. After speaking briefly about the hooker, Scott and I made a vow not to discuss her again. There was little point. She was dead, and nothing further would come of it.
Dropping beneath the clouds, the plane’s turn allowed my glimpse of Long Island. While it did not stretch far in sight from north to south, the land had its share of breathtaking views. Crossing over the eastern tip of Montauk, I spotted the historic lighthouse where Allison and I spent our romantic honeymoon. Strange how something so wonderful could seem so long ago once things change. Though I always sought consolation in the belief that everyone was somewhat bizarre, I doubted anyone onboard was carrying the body part of a slain prostitute. The Boeing glided effortlessly through the sky until I felt the wheels lower during our descent into the airport.
The stewardess made the announcement to prepare for landing, leaving my questioning why I had not gotten rid of the evidence by flushing her thumb down the toilet. Truth be told, as bizarre a situation, I found it fascinating. How often was someone actually involved in a homicide? The news ran stories daily, but most people just shrugged it off. That was someone else, somewhere else, not real to their lives. For myself, it was not far off from watching a movie. I grew as a child of mass media. A young mind shaped by television and film, one who grew up with a broader idea of what “normal” meant. It all became second nature. It all became acceptable. If the hero cracked a sarcastic joke, I disregarded the fact that someone was murdered.
Scott started to wake. His eyes made contact with mine and he saw my scowl as I asked him if he was having Pleasant dreams.
Understanding my point, he leaned closer my face to respond to my frustration.
“Listen, I know how you feel, but we agreed to put her behind. That was a world away. Live today, don’t lament the past.”
“The past? It was yesterday.”
Although I was possibly insane, I found it hard to accept his attitude so easily. Making one final attempt before the plane door opened, I closed our gap in the aisle.
“Scott, I think…”
“It’s over. Let it go!”
His sudden snap caught me off guard. Looking in his eyes, I decided not to continue. We were both stressed and it was best to focus on the rest of our journey home.
Returning flights from overseas were awful. The last thing I wanted to deal with after a strenuous flight was going through the long line at Customs. As usual, Scott and I chose the wrong line. It took forever to get to the Agent. Sensing my growing frustration, he opted to lighten the mood.
“Stand still, it’s hard to write on a moving object.”
He pushed my shoulder down with his forearm and filled out his entrance card on my back. Just before we got to the Customs window, Scott straightened his tie and suit jacket and retrieved his leather gloves from his bag. Slipping his fingers tightly inside, he quietly handed his sheet to the Customs agent. Unbeknownst to the worker, my partner turned my way and winked. The agent was about to pass Scott through until something caught his eye.
“Excuse me, Mr. Presco?”
Scott stepped into his character. “Yes?”
The worker was unsure how to phrase his question.
“Does this say your business purpose for travel is ‘Die; Killings?’”
Scott, calm as ever, lowered his brow in a puzzled manner. He glanced at his sloppy writing before answering with the tone of a man insulted.
“That says, ‘Pie Fillings.’”
Playing it up with a deep, aggravated breath, Scott tore the guy apart.
“For your information, sir, I am a world class baker and take offense toward your insinuations. We cannot all have perfect penmanship, but we could at least have the decency to treat each other with respect.”
“Yes sir, I’m sorry, I just…”
“I should find your manager and report you! Why, I lost my middle finger in the war and still forge on in my passion for excellence! Look at this!”
I had to bite my lip as not to laugh. What war? Scott waved his gloved middle finger in the poor guy’s face and shook it furiously.
“Yes, sir. I see, sir.”
“You should be lucky it’s the holidays and I am feeling festive. Good day, sir!”
As soon as we got outside, I broke out into laughter. “Thanks, I needed that.”
My buddy winked and patted me on the back as he peeled off his gloves.
The drive home was crippled with the usual traffic on the Belt Parkway. By the time we entered Suffolk County, I noticed there had not been any drastic changes to my town. I always felt the world would change in the few days I was gone. Just before the car stopped in front of my house, I gathered my belongings and broke the silence.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Clearing his throat, Scott grabbed my arm. “Are you going to be okay?”
I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to say I had gone over the edge and wouldn’t be capable of keeping my emotions in control.
“Sure.”
I wanted to say all that, but I couldn’t. Scott gave my wrist a squeeze.
“Listen, remember our code. We are sales. Trained to conquer our own fantasy world. The state we live in? Denial.”
Deprived of my emotions again, I sighed and ended our conversation.
“Right. Lie till we die.”
Once the driver removed my bag from the trunk, I was left standing alone in front of my house and car in the driveway. I walked up the path to the front door, wondering if Allison was even home. If so, I prayed she was in a better mood than before I left. We had been in the middle of a minor spat related to her brother, which abruptly ended when the car service shuffled me off to the airport.
In the simplest of summaries, her brother was a bum.
Victor was a twenty-eight-year-old High School dropout who wasted his life partying. Sporting a blonde pony-tai, his wardrobe consisted of one pair of ripped jeans and a leather vest; in essence, telling the world that he could not play the game of life. He was capable of deceiving, but not for the purpose of succeeding. How could one accomplish any goals by protesting and fighting the system? One must embrace the system, because only at that point could one prey upon it from the inside for personal gain. Harsh, but true.
When it came to my wife, Victor could do no wrong. Allison, five years his senior, mothered him completely, and blinding loyalty led her to take his side in any of our arguments. Their mother died due to complications during a routine surgery and their father did his best to raise them. I took it all into consideration, though Victor had a knack for pushing beyond the limits of my acceptance. Allison took on the brunt of adult responsibilities early in her teen years and never relinquished. When I met her out in the Hamptons during a Memorial Day barbecue six years back, she seemed to be a fun-natured young woman. She had the most beautiful eyes whose equal I have not found. We hit it off right away and spent the rest of the summer exploring our newfound relationship. Her father passing from liver cancer two years earlier must have been difficult, but she never gave any indication that she was devastated beyond the normal mourning period. Shortly after our marriage, I realized that everything was not as it seemed.
I entered through our front door and quietly placed my bag next to the key stand. As I closed the door, the smell of recently sprayed Windex caught my attention. I spoke loud enough to be heard but not for it to travel throughout both floors of our house.
“Hello, anyone home?”
A response never came. In its place was the sound of music from the living room. When I turned the corner, my first glance went for the entertainment system. I focused on the stereo equalizer, watching as the colorful illuminated LED lights rhythmically danced to the music. The mellow sounds of “Since I don’t have you,” by the Skyliners filled the room. It was only when I heard the clattering of the crystal vase that I knew I was not alone.
The vision I saw awoke my haze. Ascending from her heels to the tight red skirt that barely covered her rear, her black fishnet stockings aroused every inch of my being. I was hypnotically seduced while she swayed to the music. Her arms swung in unison to the beat, broadly catching the glass knick-knacks with her feathered cleaner. She was unaware of my presence. My plan to surprise her ended when I clumsily bumped into the solid oak end table. She spun around and displayed a look of surprise.
“Oh, Mr. Vincent! I didn’t know you were home!”
I stared in a puzzled manner, looking in the direction of the kitchen and up the stairs before facing her. “I didn’t know you were cleaning today?”
She looked down toward her feet, reminding me of a little girl who was trying to explain to Daddy about the dent in the new car.
“I usually don’t, but with Mrs. Vincent out today, I figured I would have the house to myself.”
In shock, I needed a moment to ingest her words. I tilted my head, asking her if that was the case.
“I see. So, Mrs. Vincent isn’t home?”
A devious little smile that would have weakened the knees of the devil appeared across her painted lips. She raised her eyebrows and dropped her cleaning tool.
“No sir, and I see something that needs to be taken care of.”
My eyes followed hers down to my lower region, which by now, had made its presence aware. Without further banter, she caressed my pants zipper with the palm of her hand. I made little attempt to stop her as she slithered against my legs and down to her knees. Not concerned with the rest of the world, I didn’t look around to verify we were alone. The button on my cotton suit pants quickly undone, she wasted no time in her quest to pleasure. Void of a woman’s touch for weeks, my eyes shut immediately. Within seconds, I had her clothes off and her body on the couch. I didn’t hesitate to get a little rough. This was not intended to be a passionate session of lovemaking. This was pure sex. This was what I needed.
This… couldn’t be happening. Gathering my senses, I realized that the doorbell rang. She heard it also.
“Stop! Stop!”
Although she struggled to stop, I gripped her a little harder as the bell rang a second time. My heart pounded faster until her shove knocked me backward into the recliner. She grabbed her clothes and scurried upstairs. Before the bell could ring a fourth time, I pulled up my pants and staggered to the door. Seconds after opening, I quickly regretted stopping the sex romp.
“Hey, big guy. You back already?”
When Victor walked right past, my anger rose exponentially.
“Excuse me! What are you doing here?”
My arm extended across the living room entrance, stopping his tracks. His first look indicated confusion, but he quickly put on a smile.
“Allison didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Just then, my lovely wife came down the steps in her bathrobe, still flushed from our sudden disruption. Staring at her, Victor turned to re-inspect my sloppy appearance. As if pleased with being the cause of the disturbance, he chuckled to himself.
“Well, La–De–Da. Did I interrupt something?”
Knowing he had me at a disadvantage, the little bastard further intensified the situation. “Sis. Didn’t you tell him that I’m moving in for a while?”
No words were needed. My stare was clear. Allison’s eyes enlarged in anger toward Victor, though he smiled back like it was a game. Her expression softened when we reconnected.
“Joseph, I meant to tell you as soon as you came home, but…”
She let the sentence drift off while tightening her robe to cover the maid outfit.
“Victor had a slight problem at the factory. He needs to stay with us, just temporarily, until he finds another job.”
Her eyes were sincere, even if her method of gaining my approval was deceptive. I should have realized she was not being frisky for the hell of it. Everything came with a price. Between the jetlag and the trip, I did not have the strength to argue. I conceded the battle with the thought of sleeping clearly on my mind.
“Whatever.”
Victor’s laughter made me want to strangle him with the bandana tied around his head. Instead, I found the energy to muster up one final observation. One that consoled me until I fell asleep.
If I had done what I feared was true. If, indeed I did kill the prostitute.
If, in actuality, I was a cold–blooded murderer, Victor did not have to worry about ever finding a job again