Eliminating the Competition

[This is a short story with not much sex in it. It is about the limits of what a man will do for the love of his life.]

Paul was outwardly calm but tense. His stomach was in knots.

"So, do you love him?"

"Sweetheart, I've loved only you from the moment we met. We've been together for 15 years, and I've loved you every minute. You're the best husband and lover in the world. I don't understand how this could happen, but I love both of you now. I know it makes no sense. I didn't want it to happen, but something just grabbed me when I met him. We just clicked. I feel like I'm someone else when he and I are together. Like there's me and you, and then there's this other woman and him. I'm so sorry, honey. I don't know what to do."

"But there's just one of you. The question is which one of us you will choose, because I can never share you. I don't think any man could share his wife and still be a man. Still have any self-respect. So, who's it gonna be?"

"I would never choose him over you, baby. We've gone through so much together, and I know we can get through this, too. But right now, I just can't give him up, either. Maybe, when some time has gone by, maybe then I can let go of him. Or, maybe you can adjust..."

"No. I can't adjust. I'll never be able to adjust to something like that. And I'll never let you go, either. If you're not with me, I'll just stop living."

Over the course of several hours, after Fran had broken the news to Paul, they talked, cried, and argued. Her affair with the man had only begun earlier that day, although its roots were a couple of weeks old. Fran could not have hidden it from Paul. She was as honest with him as she could be. In all their time together, they had never held secrets or told lies, and she wasn't about to do so now.

When he asked for the man's name, she told him his first name: Raul. She knew she shouldn't give Paul too much information on him, because she was afraid of what he might do if he ever found Raul. She didn't lie, but she refused to say very much. However, when her husband demanded to know how she had met Raul, she did say that they met at the mall. She immediately knew it had been a mistake to say anything.

There was plenty of pain for both of them now. Fran was conflicted, feeling the elation of a new love and the pain of her soul-mate, all at the same time. In some ways, her turmoil was worse than Paul's, as from moment to moment she rode her emotions from the sky into hell and back. But Paul's feelings were constant darkness, and getting darker. He had to get away and think.

At his usual bar, with a beer in hand, the problem came into focus. There was him, and there was this Raul person. Fran had to choose between them. There was no possibility of sharing, no reason to believe Raul would bow out, and certainly no thought of Paul giving up Fran. If Fran would not make the choice, Paul would make it for her. It was his duty to do what was in Fran's best interest, as he had done for so many years. He would save her from this quandary that she found herself in. He would rescue her. One reason she loved him was because he had always taken good care of her. The very word 'husband' means to care for, as in 'animal husbandry'. Paul cared deeply for Fran, and his actions should rightly demonstrate that concern and devotion.

He would gladly die for Fran. Killing for her would be no problem at all.

So, Paul began to plan the elimination of Raul.

Paul was a native of San Antonio, and he had grown up in a pretty tough neighborhood on the west side. He was a pretty cool customer, too. He had a reputation as a guy with nerves of steel who was fiercely loyal and able to keep a secret. He was also self-sufficient when it came to planning and carrying out a project. Unfortunately for Fran's new love, Raul became Paul's new project.

Sitting on that barstool, Paul worked out the main points of his plan. First of all, he wanted to hit it fast and get it over with. He wanted to minimize the time that Fran had to get even more attached to this guy. That would make it easier for her to adjust to the loss, as well as lessening Paul's agony over the infidelity. Speed would also have the effect of giving him the element of surprise.

Also, there would be less reason for anyone to suspect him of wrongdoing because there would be fewer dots for anyone to connect.

Secondly, he wanted it to be a simple plan that he could carry out by himself. It had to be a disappearance. There could be no body left lying around for the cops to take an interest in. He wanted Raul to vanish, basically.

Paul left the bar and went to his office to do some digging. He logged into his bank account on line and examined his wife's debit card purchases. Four times in the past month, she had purchased items from a big box hardware store in the mall. There were the usual gasoline and grocery store purchases. Other than that, there were no notable charges. He now had a strong suspicion about where this Raul person worked. Checking his watch, he saw that it was still early enough to make it to the hardware store, so he sped across town and parked in the vast lot.

As he walked the aisles, he checked out the name tags discretely on each male employee. Not finding a 'Raul', he went to the customer service desk and asked if Raul was working.

"Raul? No, he works the earlier shift. Are you a friend?"

"Sort of. Actually a good friend of mine said that he was the man to talk to over here about some plumbing stuff. Do you know if he'll be in tomorrow?"

"Should be. He normally comes in at 10:00. I can leave a message for him, if you like," she replied.

"No, I'm not sure when I can get back in. I'll catch up with him sometime. No big rush."

Paul left early the next morning and parked in the lot at the mall. He'd stopped for breakfast tacos and coffee at a Mexican food trailer. He wouldn't eat that slop from a fast food place. He bided his time in the car.

He parked near where he assumed the employees would park and watched as they showed up for work. There was little doubt in his mind which one was Raul when he saw a nice looking Hispanic man get out of an SUV and stroll into the back entrance of the store. When the store finally opened, Paul wandered in to check the name tag and verify his suspicions.

He'd seen him before, he realized. He was the guy Fran had waved at self-consciously the week before when they went to check out lawn mowers. Poor girl couldn't help herself. He'd felt that something was weird, but even then he hadn't expected something like this would happen.

At work that day, Paul scanned his driver's license and Social Security card, saving the files on a USB drive. On his computer, while everyone was out to lunch, he manipulated the scans in PhotoShop. "Ramon Reyes" was the name he chose for the bogus documents. Looking on the Internet, he found a suitable photo of a Hispanic male that resembled Raul, and he inserted that into the driver's license. He printed the docs and laminated the driver's license. He was not going for a professional job. In fact, he preferred the results to look phony.

Paul called Fran at work at the end of the lunch break.

"Fran, would you do something for me? Take a couple of days off. Go see your mom and sister, and tell them what's going on. Or just go somewhere by yourself and think this all through. Don't communicate with him or me for a few days. Work things out for yourself, and then we'll talk some more when you come back. I may go off by myself and think some, too. We both need to cool down and get our heads on straight."

"Okay, baby. Maybe that's a good idea. I'll talk to you in a few days."

Arriving at home early, Paul was glad to see that Fran was not there. He'd had uncomfortable visions of catching her there with her new lover, although he was sure she would never demean him in that way. In his garage, he found a piece of ½ inch braided nylon rope, and he cut a 2 foot length of it, tying large knots in each end. He also picked up a pair of leather work gloves and an old utility blanket left over from their last move. Finally, Paul retrieved a 'slim jim' from his work bench and put them all in a small backpack.

In the house, Paul made himself a few sandwiches, got a 2 liter bottle of club soda, and packed it in the small backpack along with the rope, gloves, and an old army blanket. In the bedroom, he got his passport, a change of clothes and a box of matches, just in case. Paul put on a pair of coveralls and some tennis shoes he'd picked up at Goodwill. While he was there, he had gotten a pair of jeans, a pearl snap cowboy shirt, a red bandana, and a stiff straw cowboy hat, and all that was in his car. Jamming an old wide-brimmed hat on his head, he headed out to his car.

Paul picked up a 5 gallon gas can in the garage before he drove to the nearest convenience store, where he filled his gas tank and the gas can. He then drove to a side street in a residential neighborhood near where Raul worked, parking in front of a house with a For Sale sign. He removed everything from the backpack but the rope, gloves, and 'slim-jim'. He took his backpack and walked to the mall parking lot.

Paul carefully assessed the situation. He wanted to make his move early enough to avoid being seen, but he knew it would be hot and uncomfortable to get in position too soon. Since Raul had gotten there just before 10 that morning, he would probably be leaving about 7PM. It was fall, and the sun would still be up, and the heat would be up, too. Paul decided to wait until 6:45 and hope no one was leaving early.

Looking like a non-descript vagrant in his coveralls and sombrero, Paul milled around the lot, making sure to keep track of the movement of security guards. By 6:30, he was back in position behind the hardware store, heading toward Raul's SUV. Quickly, he jimmied the back door lock, crawled in, and lay down behind the seat. He was sweating profusely. If something was going to go wrong, it would be now.

Raul might see him hunkered down in the back seat. A security guard or hidden camera might spot him. It was light enough that anyone looking in the direction of the car would be suspicious. But in the end, things went his way.

The key was in the door lock, the door opened, and Raul sat in the driver's seat. Paul only had a few seconds to act and was about to move when he saw someone getting into the pickup parked next to the SUV. As Paul waited nervously, the SUV started and began to move.

Paul's mind was racing. What he had in mind could only be done when the SUV was stopped. He knew he had one more shot before his plan was blown. For some 30 minutes, the vehicle moved through evening traffic until it pulled into a driveway. Pulling forward slowly, Raul parked his SUV in the garage, and Paul heard the overhead door closing.

"Now," he thought, and Paul sat up. In one motion, he was up behind the driver's seat, swinging the nylon cord over Raul's head and around his unprotected throat, and jerking the ends back with both gloved hands. The headrest was a problem, and Raul's hands were frantically reaching for the rope and trying to scratch and pull at Paul's hands and arms. He flailed wildly, but Paul had a tight hold, the knotted cord secure in his gloved grasp. Raul could see the face of this stranger in the rear view mirror, calmly strangling him. A guitar string would have cut through Raul's neck and killed him quickly, but the mess would have been unacceptable, so the thicker cord had been chosen.

Then Raul was pounding the steering wheel, honking the horn. Damn! Why hadn't Paul considered that Raul would honk the horn and alert someone to the attack! It was good he hadn't done this in the mall parking lot. They were in a closed garage, but the neighbors might hear, or maybe there was someone in the house. He didn't even know if Raul was married or lived with someone. Why had he not considered all this?

God, it was taking a long time to kill this bastard! It seemed like he'd been strangling the guy for 15 minutes!

The horn honking subsided as Paul's victim lost consciousness, and so far, no one had come into the garage. Paul was aware of a strong odor of shit, and he realized that Raul's body had released the contents of his bowels and bladder.

When he went limp at last, Paul got out of the SUV and pushed the dead man onto the passenger's side. Then he fired up the car and clicked open the garage door, hoping there was no one standing outside curious about the horn honking. As calmly as possible, Paul backed out of the driveway. An old man was standing in the yard next door, 30 yards away. It was getting dark now, and the SUV's windows were tinted, which gave Paul some hope.

Paul headed back to where his car was parked near the mall. At the first stop light, he leaned over and tied the rope tightly around Raul's neck, just to make sure he would never breathe again. At his car, he retrieved the other items there and pointed the SUV toward Highway 281 South. Paul used the blanket to cover his victim from prying eyes on the road.

Paul drove south for several hours on the dark, nearly deserted 4-lane highway. He skirted Corpus Christi and drove towards Kingsville, Highway 71, and the Mexican border. He checked the gas gauge and found that he'd been right to bring the extra gas. Five gallons would be enough to get him there without stopping where security cameras and gas station employees would record his presence.

Paul was on the lookout for a roadside park or other place to pull over in the area of the vast King Ranch. It was difficult to find one in the dark, but when he did, he stopped and dragged his victim into the back of the SUV, reclining the seats to do so. There, he dressed Raul in the cowboy shirt. He was already wearing jeans, so Paul left those and the sneakers on, pushing the phony driver's license and Social Security cards into Raul's hip pocket. He removed the rope from around the neck and tied the red bandana there to hide the rope burns. He removed Raul's wallet and phone. With the cowboy hat on, Raul now appeared to be just another dead 'meskin' trying to get across the rough country in South Texas and on to San Antonio.

Paul backed the SUV up to the barbed wire fence that separated the highway right-of-way from the huge ranch. He worked Raul's body over the fence, and he was tempted to peel out at this point. But sticking to his plan, he climbed the fence, lifted Raul in a fireman's carry, and trudged through the brush a dozen yards into the ranch. He laid the body on its face, head to the north, behind some mesquite bushes. If Raul was ever found, he'd be taken for another unfortunate illegal, another victim of this cruel border country. The Border Patrol would never investigate further. More than likely, buzzards, coyotes, fire ants, and other varmints would obscure the evidence of murder. And the phony ID would re-enforce the story. The authorities would never be tempted to view him as anything other than what he appeared to be.

Back at the vehicle, Paul pulled away from the fence and quickly drained the gas can into the tank. He wanted to get moving, but this chore had to be done, and there was no point in stopping again on this road. Then he eased back onto the highway and motored south, keeping his speed down to just below the limit. There was no hurry now. There was very little traffic on this road. Not many cops.

Paul saw the border checkpoint in the north bound lane as he passed. Nobody checks southbound traffic. The main thing was not to be noticed, so despite his fatigue, Paul kept moving until he reached the border parking lot at Progreso, Texas. He parked the SUV and walked to the bridge, checking for any odd activity. He was used to this small border crossing and knew it was used almost exclusively by senior citizens who went to Mexico for dental work and cheap pharmaceuticals. In the middle of the week, in the wee hours, nothing much was happening.

Paul walked back to the SUV. He mixed the last of his club soda with some dirt in the parking lot and smeared it on his license plates, just in case of cameras. Then he took a deep breath and drove slowly across the international bridge. He paid the small fee at the crossing and parked the vehicle on a side street several blocks from the bridge. He got out of the car with his small pack holding gloves, clothes, a sandwich, and a garrote. He left the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition. He wondered how long it would take before the car disappeared deep into the Mexican interior. Into a street sweeper's bin he dropped the rope, gloves, and Raul's stripped wallet, crushed phone, and buttoned down shirt.

He found a small café that was open early for breakfast, and he sat down with coffee and an excellent plate of huevos rancheros. When he was done, Paul went into the small restroom and changed his clothes. Later, he dropped the coveralls and hat on a side street. No doubt, one of the locals would appreciate the donation.

When stalls and stores began to open, Paul bought a bottle of Centenario in a liquor store and walked back to the border. He knew he would leave a record of his presence here by showing his passport on the American side, but he was not afraid. After all, he was not tied to the SUV, now undoubtedly wending its way south under the direction of its new owner, and he had a bottle of tequila, testifying to his reason for visiting Nuevo Progreso. He could tell anyone who wanted to know that he'd fought with his wife and decided to hitchhike to Mexico for some fun.

He offered the bottle to man in an old pickup that was pulling out of the parking lot on the Texas side for a ride to the bus station in Harlingen. There, he bought a ticket to San Antone, and later that afternoon, he caught a bus to the mall. From there, he walked back to his car and drove home. It was all done now but the waiting.

+++++++++++++++

Four days passed, and still no word from Fran. Paul had become a news junkie. He was especially interested in missing persons reports and dead bodies found, but he heard nothing about Raul.

Paul decided it was time to talk to his wife.

"Honey, I've missed you so much. I had to call to see what you have decided."

"We must be on the same wavelength. It's always been like that. I was just going to call you. I can't lose you, sweetheart. And I can't ask you to do something that you can't do. But I'm still so drawn to...to him. I'm so stuck, and so alone. I've had my phone off. I haven't tried to contact Raul. I haven't gotten very far figuring this stuff out either," she said.

"Look, honey. I've decided I would do anything to be with you. Even lose my self-respect, I guess. Just come home to me, and do whatever else you have to do. Just don't rub my nose in it. Be kind and don't talk about him or make it obvious that you're seeing him. And promise me you won't talk about me to him. Maybe I can keep busy at work or find some outside activities of my own. I'm willing to try for as long as I can. Until I go crazy, anyway."

"Oh, baby, I love you so much! You are incredibly understanding! I'm heading home now. I'll cook you up something great to eat and then we'll just cuddle up with each other all night! We'll get by this, Paul."

Fran dialed Raul, but she got no answer. She left voice mail and told him not to call her. She would try him later, but she didn't want an interruption while re-connecting with her husband.

That night, Fran and Paul shared a night of passion and love. It felt like the first wild days of their courtship. Paul went off to work the next morning a very happy man, although he knew that Fran was in for some suffering. He would be there to comfort her.

Fran was astonished that Raul didn't answer her call the next morning. Was she mistaken about his feelings? They had connected on a deep level. She had felt it. Was the love one sided? She had to know why he hadn't answered.