*Disclaimer: Any persons engaging in sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Chapter 1
James Kowalski sat at the desk and seethed. Because of that stupid bitch wife of his calling the fucking cops out to their home, he was on 'Desk Duty' until the fucking investigation was over.
And he still couldn't believe that son of his, hitting him. He could see that he'd have to teach that boy a little thing or two about respect.
He looked at his uniform sleeve; there was a spot on it. Barbara Chastaine was a horrible homemaker. Her cooking was horrible; the woman couldn't cook anything that didn't come out of a can, and her cleaning skills left a lot to be desired too. Thank God she liked to suck cock. That she was good at.
Two officers walked by, smirking. James gritted his teeth. How many times had he walked by when one of his fellow officers had been busted down to desk duty, smirking? Or if the guy was low enough on the totem pole, making snide comments? Well, it weren't too damned nice, being on the other side of that smirk.
He smirked himself; Dennis, his partner, had been shackled with that new recruit, Eric 'Erica' Miller. It was a well-known fact that the kid was a fag. He wondered how Dennis was going to like being in a vehicle for eight to ten hours with a fruit loop.
Charles Villeaux, his supervisor, strolled by and James fought the urge to give the smug bastard the finger.
----
Mary smiled as she heard Thomas' truck pull up in front of the house. Dutifully, she kissed her mother and father good-bye and raced out of the house.
'The Hating Tree' blared out of the speakers and she smiled; it was her second favorite song. 'Shadow Girl' was her most favorite, but Thomas liked autumn's first cd more.
"Hi Baby," he smiled as she hoisted herself up onto the bench seat.
"I love when you call me that," she smiled and got onto her knees, putting her small face level with his.
They shared a quick kiss, and then he put the truck into drive.
"Oh, I'm not going to be able to ride home with you today," she suddenly remembered. "We got to go to this lawyer's office right after school."
"Lawyer's office?" Thomas asked. "Suing me?"
"Yes," Mary teased back. "You don't kiss me enough, or tell me you love me enough, so you're getting it, buddy."
He pulled the truck to a stop and grabbed the giggling girl and pulled her over to him.
"I love you," he declared, and then kissed her repeatedly.
"There, How's that?" he said and released her.
"Ah, it'll do, I guess," she said, feigning resignation.
"Shut up," he laughed and put the truck into drive again. "So, why you going to a lawyer's office?"
Mary looked at the floor of the truck, not trusting her voice. Finally she looked up.
"My uncle, he had a will and we're going to the reading of it," she said.
She took off her oversized glasses and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.
"Why, Thomas?" she sobbed, not expecting an answer. "Why did he have to die?"
"I don't know, Baby," he said. "If I had the answers, I'd give it to you, but I just don't know."
"I mean, I should be happy for him; I know he's in Heaven," Mary sobbed. "Reverend Smith says he's not, because he wasn't born again of the Holy Spirit but I refuse to believe that a loving and merciful God that loved us so much that He would send His only begotten son to die for our sins would not welcome my uncle into His Kingdom."
"I'm sure he's in Heaven, Baby," Thomas said and pulled into the school parking lot.
----
Barbara Chastaine was nervous. She had never in her life imagined herself as being 'the other woman.'
She opened the car door and pulled the wheelchair out from behind her seat and locked it open.
"Can I give you a hand?" Theresa Kowalski asked. "I mean, if you're at the wrong address, I'd hate for you to go through all that, just to have to get back in your car again.
"You're Theresa, right? Theresa Kowalski?" Barbara asked, her heart in her throat.
"Yes," Theresa answered, a little puzzled.
"I'm her," Barbara admitted, ashamed, unable to look at the woman. "I'm the one's been, you know, with um, with James."
She slid into the seat and locked the armrest up.
"You have got to be kidding me," Theresa said.
James was so intolerant of any sign of weakness. Any sign of inferiority was crammed down the other person's throat until they just gave up.
"Look, I don't blame you if you don't want to talk to me," Barbara was mumbling.
"Come on in," Theresa decided. "I'll make us a pot of coffee."
Less than an hour later, Theresa was laughing heartily. Barbara looked very unhappy, almost a little angry.
"No, no, Honey," Theresa, laughed. "You wanted him, you got him! Enjoy!"
"Look," Barbara admitted. "It was all fine and dandy when we was just fucking around; we'd fuck, have a few beers, then he'd go home and that was that."
"A lot different when he's in your face the whole damned time, huh?" Theresa smiled.
"Yeah!" Barbara agreed. "Damn! All he does is complain! I don't cook right, I don't clean right, lately I don't do nothing right!"
"Honey, welcome to my world," Theresa sympathized. "I don't do anything right either."
"Really?" Barbara groused. "Should hear him. 'Theresa didn't cook no soup out the fucking can!' and 'Theresa never let a button get loose.' And I'm telling him, 'Damn, she's so fucking perfect, what you doing here?'"
"Honey, you made your bed," Theresa smiled and sipped her coffee.
"Yeah, well I thought I was in love with him," Barbara admitted. "Now, I don't even LIKE the mother fucker."
----
John found it very hard to concentrate. In just a few hours, he'd find out if he even had a job any longer.
"Trust God," his wife told him.
"Trust God," his sponsor told him.
"You know what?" John said, looking up at the ceiling. "You've been doing a pretty damned good job so far, take it. Take all of it."
He felt an odd sense of calm come over him, a feeling of comfort. Job or no job, he'd be all right. He got busy on the unmarked police car that Charlie Villeaux had brought in.
The outside of the car looked like it had been in a few fender benders a few scrape here and there. The engine, however, was an impressive piece of machinery. It was designed to outrun most stock automobiles. John loved when Charlie brought his vehicles in for maintenance. His fingers began to do their work and he suddenly smiled and looked back up at the ceiling.
"You're right," he said. "It will be all right."
----
Britney smiled her dazzling smile as Mary came out to the oak tree to eat her lunch and playfully flashed her panties at her girlfriend. Mary was shocked at first, then laughed out loud and sat down next to Britney.
"Jezebel," Mary said.
"Hi," Britney laughed and kissed Mary quickly.
"Hi," Mary repeated and dug into her lunch bag for her sandwich.
"You're going to see Prejean, huh?" Britney asked.
"Yeah, you know him?" Mary asked.
"Yeah, he goes to our church, he's an ass hole," Britney said.
"Britney!" Mary exclaimed, shocked.
"Well, he is!" Britney defended.
"What makes you say that?" Mary asked, curious.
She scooted closer to Britney to give Thomas room to sit down. John Ridgelow made Mary laugh as he quickly sat down next to her, preventing Thomas from sitting next to her. He laughed and got up and sat next to Britney.
"Okay, he's married, right?" Britney said. "But you know, after Mass, he's all staring at your boobs, and checking out your ass, and his wife's standing right there, and he's always wanting to hug you, trying to cop a feel."
Britney shudder at the thought of it.
"Hey, I'd try copping a feel if I could," John Ridgelow admitted.
"Yeah, well it's a little different," Britney, said to him. "You're not like a hundred years old and stuff."
"Oh?" John smirked. "So I can cop a feel?"
"And I'll knock you out," Britney threatened, fist balled up.
"Can I cop a feel?" Thomas whispered in Mary's ear and she laughed and shook her head no.
"Not out here," she giggled.
Her boyfriend was on one side; her girlfriend was on the other side. Mary felt very lucky indeed.
"How about him?" John asked Britney, pointing to Oscar as Oscar stumbled across the field toward them. "He gets to cop a feel?"
"Anytime, anywhere," Britney agreed.
"I hate you," John said.
"Yeah, whatever," Britney laughed and nudged John to scoot over.
----
Theresa drove into Los Angeles at the tail end of the morning rush hour. She drove in silence; the poor reception in the car's radio just made her headache worse. She drove cautiously; even though she was from Los Angeles, she did not feel comfortable.
Chapter 2
Kenneth Prejean made the family sit and wait. As far as he was concerned, they could sit and wait. They certainly did live up to their name, Farmer. The father looked uncomfortable in his ill-fitting suit, and the mother looked as though she'd never heard of make-up. Even the daughter looked like an old hag in her long dress.
Finally, he felt that he had bordered on rudeness long enough and buzzed his receptionist to bring them in.
For several long moments he waxed poetic about Mr. George Farmer, a good client and a good man.
Finally, John interrupted him.
"Um, hey, Mr. Prejean, you might not have anything else to do, but I had to close the garage early, my wife had to leave work early, and had to run down to school to get Mary so we could be here for four o'clock as agreed upon. Then you make us sit and wait for forty-five minutes for no good reason, and now you just want to run your mouth? Why don't you just read the will so we can go?" John finally said.
Mary was agreeing with Britney's evaluation of Kenneth Prejean; the man was an a** hole.
Leah was mighty proud of her man.
Kenneth felt the color rise in his cheeks. He did, however, get the file out of his desk drawer and open it.
"I, George Allen Farmer..." Kenneth began.
----
James looked at the few suitcases by the door, and then looked at Barbara.
"What the fuck's all this shit?" he bellowed.
"Your shit," Barbara said, summoning up her courage. "I've had enough, James. I don't cook right, I don't clean right, well, mother fucker, go find you a woman that does."
"Well, good luck in finding yourself a man, bitch," he sneered.
"Fuck, after you, what I want with a man?" she sneered back. "God, just give me some fucking peace and quiet."
Grumbling and muttering threats and curses, James Kowalski left his lover's apartment.
He checked into the DeGarde Rest Inn. He wanted to hit the obviously homosexual clerk when the kid asked him if he was staying an hour or all night, or they did rent rooms by the week.
He was about to snap that he was only going to be there for one night when it hit him. He had nowhere to go.
"And how much is it by the week?" he asked, defeated.
