Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...
I sat at the bar, nursing my beer as I contemplated the state of my life and my marriage to Andrea, when I saw him walking toward me in the large mirror in front of me. He looked rather odd for this area -- a tall, lanky man with chiseled features, a square jaw with just a hint of a five o'clock shadow and squinty eyes that looked like they had seen just a bit too much sun. There was something about his facial features that seemed familiar somehow, but I just couldn't place it.
He wore a pair of blue jeans, topped with a white shirt, a brown vest and a floor-length duster. He wore a battered old Stetson along with a pair of cowboy boots. I could even hear the jingle of spurs as he walked. Who wears spurs these days, I asked myself.
Overall, he looked like a character right out of an old western. The only thing missing was a gun belt and a six-shooter, but something told me he had one squirreled away somewhere. He stepped up to the bar stool next to me.
"Mind if I join ya?" he asked. I nodded my head and noted his accent, which seemed to suggest he came from somewhere down south.
"Please do," I said. He smiled and took a seat.
"Name's Peace," he said, extending his hand. "Justice O. Peace." I shook his hand.
"Pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Peace," I said. He smiled and nodded his head.
"Please, just call me Justice," he said. "Mr. Peace was my pa." I chuckled at that. "And you must be a Amos Jones," he added. How did he know that, I asked myself.
"Yes," I said. "How did you know that?"
"You jes' look like a Amos Jones," he said in that drawl of his. "I can tell a lot by lookin' at a man. Take that feller sittin' in the back," he added, nodding at the mirror in front of us. I saw the man he was referring to, a balding, middle-aged man nervously looking around as he nursed his drink.
"Now that's a fella with the weight of the world on his shoulders," Justice said. He shook his head once as he clucked his tongue. It was a gesture I had seen my grandfather make many times growing up. "Shame of it is," Justice added, "it's all his own doin'. Too bad, really." He looked back at me.
"What're you drinkin'?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Beer," I said. He got the bartender's attention with a nod of his head.
"I'll have a beer and get whatever it is my friend here wants," he said, pulling out a small roll of cash. "My treat," he said, looking back at me. I thanked him and watched as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Mind if I... smoke?" he asked. I had quit smoking a few years back, when Andrea and I first got married and was at the stage where the odor of cigarette smoke bothered me, but I decided this was no time to be unfriendly. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Go ahead," I said. He pulled out a cigarette, then pulled out a wooden match from a box in one of his pockets. I couldn't help but notice it was his last match. He scraped the match on his jeans the way I had seen in all those old westerns and lit up. Surprisingly, the cigarette gave off no odor whatsoever. He put the burnt match back in the box and offered me a cigarette.
"No thanks," I said. "I quit a few years ago."
"Smart move," he said. "These things'll kill ya. I think you might like these, though. Rolled 'em myself. Spent years getting' the blend jes' right. Go on. I know you want one. It's okay, one won't hurt ya." At that moment, I found myself actually craving that cigarette. I thought I was past that point, but something about his offer appealed to me. I nodded my head and accepted his offer. He smiled as I put the cigarette in my mouth.
"There ya go," he said, opening his matchbox. I thought he had no more matches, but apparently I was wrong. He pulled out what seemed to be the same match and lit my cigarette. He blew out the match and put it back in the box. It was still the only one he had. How did he do that, I asked myself.
I took a long drag off the cigarette and was surprised that I didn't start coughing. It didn't taste like any cigarette I had ever smoked before and I found myself starting to relax. Justice smiled and nodded his head as the bartender brought us our beer.
"Ain't nothing quite like a beer and a good smoke with a friend to finish the day, is there?" he asked. I had to agree. He lifted the beer and we clinked our glasses together.
"To friendship," I said. He nodded his head.
"Friendship," he repeated.
"So, what do you do, Justice?" I asked.
"A little bit o' this, a little bit o' that," he said. "I pretty much go where the wind takes me. Mostly, though, I help fellas who've been done wrong. Fellas like you, for example."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, I know you work hard, and you're damn good at what you do," he said. "I don't understand all that newfangled tech stuff you do, but I happen to know you're the best." He was right about that, I thought. I'd been doing computer and IT work for as long as I could remember. Right now, I worked as a field service technician, taking care of our clients' networks and servers and often helped end users with desktop issues. It was good money and I made sure everything I did was done right the first time. The only down side was the periodic trips I had to make out of town.
"I also happen to know that you put in a honest day's work for an honest day's pay, you don't cut corners and you never cheat," he told me. I began to wonder if this guy was some kind of private investigator. "You always put your family before yourself and always think of your pretty little wife. But something's gaining on you, Amos, isn't it? What's gaining on you? Wait, let me guess... It's your wife, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," I said. "How do you know that?"
"Like I said," he told me, "I can tell a lot about a man just by looking at him. How long has your wife been cheating on you?" I shrugged my shoulders.
"I don't know," I said. "I've suspected for a while now, but I found out last night when I got home."
"Tell me about it," he said. I told him everything -- how Andrea and I met, fell in love and got married. How she worked as a secretary for a law firm that used our company for their IT services and how I met her while on a service call. We dated for a while, fell in love and got married. That was almost five years ago.
Then she started to change. It was just little things at first, but over the last year she had become a total bitch about everything. I wondered if she was having an affair, but I couldn't afford to pay for a private investigator.
A few days ago, I was sent to a remote site in the next state and finished up a day early, so I thought I'd surprise Andrea by coming home and taking her out on an unannounced date. It turned out I was the one who got the surprise.
It sounds so cliched -- I drove up to our two-story house and found a strange car in the driveway. I parked on the curb and went in the house. I could hear them screwing in the master bedroom upstairs.
"Fuck me harder," she screamed. "Do it! Cum inside my married pussy!" I went upstairs and saw her on her back, naked, with a strange man between her legs. He had just finished inside her and was pulling out when I got to the bedroom door. I could see his semen dripping out of her and felt like I had been gut-punched.
He turned to look at me and I recognized him -- Roscoe Jennings, her boss at the law firm. He was a fairly powerful attorney and was well-respected in the community. He was also much bigger than me -- in every respect -- and I knew he could mop the floor with me in a fight. They laughed as I slowly made my way back downstairs. I sat on the couch and could hear them talking, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.
They came downstairs after a few minutes. Roscoe grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He stopped just before he left and looked at me.
"Hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to a beer," he said, laughing. I said nothing in return. Andrea sat on the couch and looked at me.
"What are you doing home?" she asked. "You were supposed to be gone for another day at least." Wow, I thought. Not even a hint of remorse.
"For starters, I live here. I got done a day early and thought I'd surprise you," I said. "Looks like I'm the one who got surprised. Why, Andrea?" I asked. "Aren't I enough for you? Don't I treat you with love and respect?"
"Why?" she asked, laughing. "That's simple. He's got a nine-inch cock and he knows how to use it, that's why. And he's rich and powerful. And available. Not like you, always working, going off to take care of clients."
"He's also married," I said. "With kids." She shrugged her shoulders.
"So?" she asked. "Look, now that you know about us, there's no reason for me to hide it anymore. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to have Roscoe over here more often from now on. Sometimes, he'll stay the night. Sometimes he won't. He might have some friends join him. It doesn't affect us in the least. You're still my husband and I expect you to perform your duties. When Roscoe comes over, you'll be expected to watch. Of course, your spot in the bed is now his, so you can move into the guest room. I'll expect you to treat him with respect and do as he says." I just looked at her. Surely she wasn't serious about all this.
"You can't be serious," I said. "This is my house. You're my wife. I won't stand for it." She smirked.
"That's right, I'm your wife," she said. "And this is my house, too. And I can have anyone here I want. You can either put up with it or get a divorce, but I promise you, you'll get your clock cleaned. Roscoe will see to that personally."
"What about his family?" I asked. "Don't you give a fuck about that?"
"Roscoe and his wife have an open relationship," she said. "They pretty much do whatever they want with whomever they want."
"And you want that for us?" I asked, shocked.
"No," she said. "I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want and with whomever I want. I expect you to remain faithful to me."
"You're out of your fucking mind," I said. "How long has this shit been going on?"
"A few months," she said. "Not that it makes any difference. He's been over here almost every night you've been gone. I used to go out of my way to make sure everything was cleaned up afterward but I won't be doing that anymore."
"What if he gets you pregnant?" I asked.
"So what if he does," she said. "Your name will be on the birth certificate so you'll be responsible."
