Do I Need An Alibi

Do I Need an Alibi?

Not a lot happens in this story. It's just a short piece about karma, or justice, or maybe just good or bad luck. Who knows? You decide. Basically, it's just a story about a man who's playing the hand he's been dealt.

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The night started out as one of those predictably bad nights with nothing but pain and anger to chew on, and then it got decidedly worse. Or was it better? I suppose that depends on exactly how much anger I had gnawing at my gut, and I must admit there was a lot.

It was about ten o'clock and I was sitting in an otherwise darkened house with just a floor lamp beside my chair to give me light. I'd been working at my task for several hours, and I was unaware of the darkness beyond the artificial universe that extended just feet from my chair. It suited my mood perfectly. My legs were crossed, and I had a yellow legal pad in my lap where I was making lists and taking notes. I was well into it when the doorbell rang.

Looking up, still unaware of the time, I noticed the darkened house for the first time and thought, "Who the hell could that be at this time of night?" I was pretty damn sure it wasn't my wife since she hadn't been home that early on a girls' night out in months.

I set the legal pad on the floor and dropped the pen on top of it. It was then that I realized how bone tired I really was. I wasn't tired from the work; it was the soul crushing reality of my life that left me drained. Making my way to the door, I flicked the two wall switches that turned on the exterior and hallway lights. A quick glance out the peephole in the door showed me that I had two police officers waiting for me and that is never good.

I took a deep breath, opened the door, and asked, "What did I do now?" I was trying to be funny, but they didn't crack a smile. This wasn't going to be a social visit.

"Are you George Bradley?"

"Yeah." I was trying to be pleasant.

"Is your wife Jean Bradley?"

"Right a second time. Can I ask what this is about?"

Have you ever noticed how cops never answer your questions?

"May we come in?" Not waiting for an answer, the officer nearest me took a step across the transom.

I blocked his way and shook my head. "No."

"I beg your pardon?" He seemed surprised. It was like no one had ever said no to him before.

"I said no. I asked you a question, so you can answer it, or you can leave." I was rapidly running out of pleasant.

He stepped back, but he didn't answer my question. "Have you been here all night?"

I crossed my arms and looked at him like he was a turd dropped on my porch by that mongrel next door. "Yes, and that's the last answer I'm giving you until you answer my question. What is this about?"

I guess I'd given them enough to think they could make me sweat if they needed to because they finally answered my question. "Your wife has been... injured and has been taken to Memorial Hospital."

It's a strange thing that happens to a husband. One minute you're planning your wife's destruction and the next you're worried about her well-being. "What happened?" I was genuinely concerned.

They weren't ready to tell me just yet. "May we come in?"

That exhaustion was setting in again. I exhaled, stepped back, and motioned for them to enter. They did. I pointed to the living room, the dimly lit living room, and they walked in nervously like it was a training exercise in one of those shooting galleries.

I flicked the ceiling lights on and took my chair. "So, now can you tell me what happened?" The concern for my wife was wearing off and I was getting pissed.

They looked at each other and the one I assume was the senior officer said, "Sir, we regret to inform you that your wife was shot this evening." His statement seemed rehearsed, and it occurred to me later that he was watching for my response. The SOB was trying to "read" me.

I admit the news hit me hard. "Is she okay?"

"Yes sir. You may remember that we told you she is at Memorial Hospital."

I thought for a minute as my head cleared. "No, you said she was taken there. You never said if she is alive or dead. Now answer the question or get the hell out!" I was yelling by the time I finished that.

Again, they looked at each other, and again much later I wondered if they were frustrated at not being able to read me, annoyed at their own inability to intimidate me, or just unsure of how to proceed. Again, it was the senior officer. "Your wife is in surgery now. The outcome is uncertain."

To my great surprise, those two sentences hit me like a ton of bricks and knocked the wind right out of me. I started hyperventilating, a response that embarrassed me later.

When I gathered my wits about me, the two officers were kneeling by my chair saying "Breathe. Breathe." and like a boob I was nodding.

My wife was shot? The damn bitch was shot? Who besides me would want to do that? Did I just say that out loud? The two officers were still telling me to breathe, so I assume not.

"Is there anything more you can tell me?"

With my own brief crisis behind me, they both stood and resumed the same stance as before, but they were more forthcoming now. "Your wife was in a motel room with a gentleman friend. As near as we can figure, his wife must have gained entry somehow. She probably just knocked on the door and he answered it without looking. Anyway, she emptied most of her clip into him and saved the last few for your wife. Fortunately for your wife, his wife doesn't seem to be an accomplished marksman. A few of her shots went wild, but others found their mark well enough. The boyfriend is dead, but they think your wife may make it."

Wow! Once they finally start sharing information, they really let you have it all.

That's when it hit me. "So you're here to see if I was involved?" Their expressions gave up none of their thoughts.

"We know who did the shooting, but there is always the question of additional involvement. Plus, we need to know that your wife is safe to come home when she's ready."

I think that must have been the moment when I first smiled that entire night. "She's been safe the past few weeks, so I don't know why that should change now."

They both looked at me like I didn't get it.

On impulse, I decided to give these two a little gift. I reached down to the side of my chair and the two officers tensed visibly. The younger one even put his hand on his weapon.

"Don't wet your panties, kid. It's just an envelope." I handed them the manila envelope I'd had sitting by my chair and said, "I saw my lawyer today. She gave me a list of things to do, and, ironically, she told me to make some more lists." With that, I reached to the other side of my chair and held up the legal pad where I'd been making notes on the divorce.

The senior officer opened the envelope and began to examine the photographs I had of my wife having sex with a man I'd never met.

"You fellows want to tell me the name of the man she was with?"

The senior officer spoke without looking up. "It looks like you already know." They were lost in fascination like two boys who just discovered pornography on the internet.

That was when the junior officer spoke up for the first time. "Boy, they really look different without the holes in them." The senior officer reprimanded him in front of me.

Then turning to me, he said, "I'm sorry, sir. That was inappropriate. He's new."

I just nodded. I had bigger problems to think about now. My cheating wife was in the hospital. She might make it, or she might not. I suppose the divorce was on hold for a few days or weeks until we knew how things would work themselves out.

After repeating that I'd been home all night and remembering a very fortunate call from my brother that helped to establish my alibi, they repeated their admonition that I was not to harm my wife when she returned. I saw no reason to elaborate, so I just repeated my earlier response, and they seemed satisfied.

When they were ready to leave, I rose from my chair and showed them out.

I turned out the lights as I walked back to my chair, sat, and began to assess this new information. She's been shot. I never saw that coming. As much as I hated her for what she'd done, I never wished her dead. I wanted her to live a lifetime of regret, weeping at night as she lay alone in her bed untouched by a man's hand... As if that were going to happen.

I had started the night very deliberately doing the work that my lawyer had assigned me. It was a great way to take my mind off the questions that have been haunting me ever since I realized that my wife was cheating. Now I knew who, but I still had no idea why. Our marriage had its difficult moments to be sure. She was one of those people who always seemed to be annoyed by something. There were times I could swear she went in search of something to be unhappy about. I had never fully realized that until the preparations for divorce put distance between us and I started to gain perspective. Whatever compelled her to destroy her life had now made me a suspect to some degree in a murder case.

The pieces started falling into place and it was then I realized that I was not alone in this vile shitfest of lies and betrayal. I called my lawyer's private cell, and she picked up on the fourth ring.

"This better be good, or so help me I'm sending you a bill you'll still be paying off with your social security checks!"

Sheila Goldstein was a shark, and I found a strange sense of comfort in her take-no-prisoners attitude. "Who would have known that a divorce lawyer would have a sense of humor?"

"Who says I'm kidding?"

"I need you to reach out to a criminal lawyer who works nights."

I heard a crash on the phone. "Tell me you didn't do something stupid!"

"No, but someone else did. I just had a visit from the cops. The turd's wife caught up with them and shot them both. He's dead and she's in surgery. The wife needs a lawyer and I'm betting she doesn't have one."

"Listen to me. Tell me you had nothing to do with this, and for God's sake say it like you mean it!"

"I had nothing to do with this."

"Now say it like I'm supposed to believe it."

"I'm telling you the truth. I had nothing to do with it. The cops were here, and they told me about it. I think they were thinking the same thing you're thinking, but I had nothing to do with it."

"Okay. So why is this your problem?"

"It isn't, but I guess misery loves company. If we hadn't had that come-to-Jesus discussion in your office, it could well have been me. I just want to help her."

I heard a hard, deep breath on the other side of the phone. "Okay. Do you know where she is?"

"You mean Helen Smith?"

"Was your wife fucking another woman's husband? Yes, I mean Helen Smith!"

"I don't know where she is, but they got shot in town and it's a small town, so I'm assuming they have her at the police station."

"Okay. You stay put. I'll call an associate and see if he can get down there. If nothing else, he can babysit her until she gets her own lawyer."

"I need to go to the hospital at some point."

"Okay, you can go to the hospital, but don't be alone with her. If anything happens, I want ten feet between you and her with at least two witnesses."

"Got it."

"And George?"

"Yes?"

"I know you. You're conflicted. I'm sorry for what is happening, but you're not responsible, and it's going to be okay. You hear me?"

"Yes ma'am, I hear you."

"Okay. Go do what you need to do but behave yourself."

I hung up thinking, "Did I just say, 'Yes ma'am'? Why does she make me feel like a little kid? And why does it work so well? No matter. She's looking after me at a time when I feel lost, and she gives me direction. Now I needed to make her proud of me."

I took a shower and changed. A few weeks ago I would have rushed to be at her side, but Jean killed that love. Now I just had obligations to fulfill and that included making sure she got proper medical care, and the hospital got our insurance information. The divorce could wait. I wasn't going to rend my clothes whatever the outcome, but I would finish my husbandly duties by ensuring that strangers did their jobs.

As it turned out, I could have taken more time. She was in recovery when I arrived and sedated through the night. I gave them our insurance information, spoke with a surgeon who said that Jean was expected to live, and returned home. They would call me if there was any change or when she was awake.

It was long after midnight when I got home. I was exhausted, but unable to sleep, so I ran through a mental checklist. Everything could wait until tomorrow except for one very difficult task - I needed to call Jean's parents. I considered waiting until morning, but if she took a turn for the worse and they couldn't say goodbye, they would never forgive me. Whatever I thought of Jean, her parents were always good to me. So I picked up the phone and called.

"Hello? Do you know what time it is?"

"Yeah, Joe, I know. I had to call. Jean has been injured and they've taken her to Memorial Hospital."

There was a moment's delay as her father absorbed the information. "Injured? What do you mean 'injured'?"

"Joe, she was shot tonight by her lover's wife."

"Shot?! What the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk? How did she get shot?"

"No, Joe, I'm sober. The police were here earlier, and I've been to the hospital. She's out of surgery and the doctor says she is going to be okay. They have her sedated, so there's no point in going there tonight. I just wanted you to know."

"Are you with her now?"

"No, I'm home."

"Shouldn't you be with her?"

I was too tired to get angry. "Joe, did you hear me? She was shot by her lover's wife."

"You're insane! Jean doesn't have a lover."

"Yeah, Joe, she does, or she did. He's dead, but she's going to live."

There was silence on the other end of the call, or silence of a sort, as I could hear Joe telling Marie what I'd told him.

Eventually, Joe came back to the call. "George, is there any chance you could be mistaken?"

"About the cheating or the shooting?"

"Well, both!"

"No, Joe, I got suspicious and hired someone to watch her about 2 weeks ago. I was looking at photographs and transcripts when the police got here. I've been to the hospital and talked with her doctor. It's all true."

There was silence again.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm sorry, Joe. I've already been to a lawyer. I'm divorcing her."

"George, can't you find it in your heart... I mean, she's been shot and she's going to need you."

"I needed her too, Joe, but she was out screwing her lover."

"So that's it?"

"Basically. I'll make sure she is insured through all this and I'm sure the lawyers will have more to say about finances and such, but I've been lied to too many times. In some ways, that's worse than the sex. She has lied right to my face, and she did it so well that I never knew. I never suspected."

It took a moment for Joe to absorb that. "So what tipped you off?"

"It was just her being away all the time. We used to do things together, but these past few months she's always making plans that don't include me. I figured that I needed to see for myself, so I hired a guy, and he showed me what Jean was hiding from me. After that, my mind was made up."

"You know, her mom and I were looking forward to having grandkids." He sounded like a beaten man, and it cut me to the core. I knew they wanted grandchildren, and I wanted us to give them grandkids.

"I'm sorry, Joe. I really am."

"Will you do us one favor?"

I thought, "Here it comes. They want me to delay any decision until Jean is better and we can talk." To my surprise, that wasn't it. "Don't be a stranger. Marie and I think of you as the son we never had. I don't want to lose you even if you divorce our daughter."

I couldn't believe my ears. Through all that had happened, the betrayal, the evidence, the lawyer, the shooting, all of it, this is what made me cry for the first time.

"I love you guys too, Joe. I really do. I promise, I'm not going anyplace." With that, we hung up. If I was bone tired before, I was exhausted now. I lay down in my bed with my clothes still on and fell fast asleep.

The morning sun woke me, but I wasn't ready to rise. I got up just long enough to pull the shade, strip, and climb back into bed for another two hours of much needed, but restless sleep. When I could sleep no more, I showered, dressed, and headed out for a bite before going to the hospital.

It was about eleven when I got to Jean's room. Her parents were already there. She was awake and surprisingly alert. I expected her to be still sedated, or drugged, or something, but what did I know? I've never seen a gunshot victim before. I walked into her room expecting remorse. Boy was I surprised!

She took one look at me and exploded! "You bastard! You son of a bitch! You killed him, didn't you? You killed David!"

So much for "It was just sex. It didn't mean anything."

Suddenly there were two nurses in the room walking quickly past me and two orderlies standing next to me. I guess they viewed me as a threat.

I looked at her without an ounce of compassion in my heart. "No, his wife killed him. I guess you two got sloppy, or maybe she's just smarter than I am."

That took the wind out of her sails. She lay back in her bed, and she began to weep.

I was soon told to leave and happy to oblige. Walking down the hall, I wondered if I ever knew this woman? She clearly never knew me.

As I approached the elevator I was met by two security guards. "Sir, may we speak with you?"

I looked at them and said, "No, you may not. I have already spoken with the police, and they have cleared me. I am not going to let the screams of a lying, cheating bitch give you permission to pretend you have any importance at all. You can call the police if you want, and I'll speak with them, but you'll just look like fools. It's your call, but if you touch me, I'll sue." By this point I'd had enough.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb looked at each other not knowing what to do as I stepped into the elevator to leave. The police never bothered me again.

Jean tried to get the police to charge me, but when the shooter is caught standing over the body and confesses repeatedly on the way to the station, there wasn't much more for them to do.

The lawyer I hired for Helen Smith managed to get her into a psych ward instead of a prison cell, but I sometimes wonder if there is much difference. I visit her from time to time and I find her as lucid as anyone I know. She once asked me, "Any chance you could smuggle in a hacksaw hidden in a box of chocolates?" That's when I knew she was as sane as you or I. I guess that lawyer was pretty good after all.

The divorce went through without much struggle. Jean didn't want me anymore, but she wanted everything we had and everything I would ever have. She had to settle for half and no alimony. The judge was unimpressed with her demands telling her, "You have a job, Mrs. Bradley. You can work." I'm thinking about having those words tattooed on my arm.

Looking back, what I remember most is a terrific lawyer who treated me like a child, guided me, scolded me, and kept me out of trouble, two great in-laws that I still feel close to, and a judge with a lot of common sense. As for the ex-wife, I hardly think of her at all.

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I warned you there wasn't much here and no new ground. I just got to thinking about how a husband wrestles with the pain of betrayal along with all the troubles that pile on top of it and decided to tell that simple story. The way I figure it, he left the pain and betrayal behind him, learned some harsh lessons, and built a new life, but that's a story for another day.