Page 53 of Mail Order Bride

Such a waste.

Needless to say, it was a low point for me. I didn’t think it could get any worse than that, but I was wrong.

There was James Simpson III. A mediocre banker, with terrible golf skills. Maybe I wasn't in the mood for murder, but sometimes you mess with the wrong person and then you die.

I drove to the golf course. I went through the little gate and parked my car.

It was a beautiful morning. The sky was a perfect blue, without a cloud in the sky. I looked up, and the sun was directly in front of me. A perfect angle. Just the way I like things.

I walked out of the parking lot and stood, looking at the fairway. I watched the golfers on the course. I took my time, stepping out of the way of a cart and watching how a golfer swore under his breath as he tackled a difficult shot. He missed the green, and the ball ended up several yards from the hole.

I noticed how his shoulders slumped as he walked up to the green. I could relate. I wondered if he knew how numb I was.

If he noticed me, he didn’t show it. He took his time, gripped his club, and looked at the ball. He couldn’t believe it. He swore again, this time at the sky.

He looked around, as if someone were watching him.

Then he looked at me.

I invited him to have a drink after his round. He happily obliged. He spoke of being burned out, ready to retire. I understood the feeling. I felt like I needed a second wind. He agreed about the natural ebb and flow of life, how important it is to have balance.

To his mind, that was what golf was for.

It would ultimately be the curare that killed him, a simple poison, though everyone would suspect a heart attack. It wouldn’t have been his first.

I don’t know if it was some kind of karma or if it was just the luck of the draw, but that was the first life I took while in my depression. It probably won't be my last.

Chapter Forty

Joel

Imagine my surprise when my wife comes pounding on the door of the Apricot Inn. Imagine hers when I open the door, pull her by the wrist and haul her inside. It’s just Yvette and Gina and me, all standing there. The air is thick with tension. There are body parts in a bag in the closet, plus twenty-six teeth, give or take. He was missing a few already, but hammering that many teeth out of a man’s head already made for a less than stellar day. I didn’t think it could get worse, and yet here we are.

Killing him hadn't been the plan, and I was going to pay for it. He was a guy with a flair for the dramatic and a talent for murder. I don't know all the fancy details of exactly how or why the bounty was ultimately placed on his head. Sometimes it's better not to know.

What I do know is that he was a sick bastard and had a taste for torture. He was the kind of guy who enjoyed watching the world burn, and I was just a guy who liked to fight fires. I was pissed to find him in the situation I had, and I just wanted him to suffer for a little bit. I had the upper hand, but that didn't mean care was taken for casualties. The moment I entered the vicinity, the two goons that had been helping him hold the girl put their hands up and retreated back up the stairs.

One look at me, plus a couple of fresh bills folded into their hands and they were gone. It's not always that easy. This time, I needed it to be.

“Well, I’m definitely feeling trapped,” he says to me once I've breached the motel room.

“What a pity, Remy. I’m so sorry that I have to do this.”

I wasn’t really sorry, but I’d always wanted to use that line. Finally, I’d found my chance. After tying him up, I took out my carving knife and went to work. The poor girl. I should have let her go first, but I wanted her to witness a bit of justice. Not that there is any such thing, just that she wasn't going to be the only one to suffer.

I looked her up and down. She was wearing a sweater and jeans, her hair was wild and her face was swollen.

“You must be freezing.” I told her.

She nodded, and I grabbed a blanket and handed it to her.

I could tell she was in shock. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“I'm going to leave and take this asshole with me. You're going to wait five minutes,” I said, motioning toward the clock. “And then you're going to go to the office and ask the nice lady at the desk to call an ambulance.”

I knew she'd be out of that room in about thirty seconds. So I got out of there in a hurry.

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