This is the last and final chapter to this story. Thanks for reading the first part of the story and for all the responses.
I will submit another part to 'Why' as soon as I have finished editing it.
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Chapter Ten
Did I watch the video? Fuck no! I was never going to watch another home made video. Instead, I handed the DVD over to my divorce attorney and he watched it. He had to watch it anyway to determine the legality of it. Actually, he hired a consulting attorney, and they both decided the video's legality. Satisfied as to the recording's proper legality, they made copies of the video and sent them off to the various people that needed to be informed. Including Richards, who I hadn't seen or spoken to since that fucked up morning.
Ambivalence is what I felt toward Shela's decision of donating her body to science. I had no control over what would happen to her body, and although that seemed wrong to me, I can't deny that I also felt relief knowing I wouldn't have to deal with the details, and the memories that would no doubt spring up.
Also, part of my indecisiveness was the distinctive lack of the wake and burial that comes with a traditional funeral. There is something strangely surreal about not having a body to bury. In some ways, it's like the death never occurred, and it played out more as a rehearsal, during the only notation of Shela's passing, her memorial. Everyone who'd known Shela attended. Even her family came, although they kept their distance from the other attendees, most especially me.
In the end, I felt that Shela wasn't really gone. That she would continue to plague me.
The one person I'd not seen at the memorial was Richards. It was a good thing. I didn't want to talk to that son of bitch ever again. However, the universe enjoys playing a good joke every now and then, on us insignificant and powerless humans. Just to remind us just how insignificant and powerless we truly are.
I had asked my divorce attorney to run the gambit between myself and the police concerning their capture of that guy Gary Strausberg and anything else concerning myself. Initially he refused but eventually, despite his misgivings, he agreed. Months went by, Amber had recovered from her weakened state almost immediately upon beginning therapy. Then she received her leg. Amber was now walking nearly effortlessly with her prosthetic. Naturally, that made everyone involved, happy. Including, yours truly. Until...
"How was your trip, Joe?" asked Amber, as she prepared dinner for us.
Her parents had finally returned home to North Carolina. So it was just Amber and I at our place.
"It went well, but I didn't like having to go to the office on the same day of my return. I'd much rather have been here with you, baby." I said, as I made to wrap my arms around her. She giggled and stepped aside rather agilely, causing me to miss kissing her on the nape of her neck.
"Hey! What gives, baby?" I asked, somewhat surprised she could move so quickly on her prosthetic leg.
"Nothing, Joe. I just want to finish dinner." she said a little testily.
Amber and I had yet to tie the knot. I was ready, but it was at her insistence we wait. Amber's reasoning; she wanted to be able to walk and stand on her own at our wedding, and to be able to dance at our reception. I thought she was ready, but she argued she wasn't. It had become an old argument that I had no hope of winning.
"Okay. Okay. So how goes the therapy? Have they said anything about when you'll be done with it?" I asked, returning to the old argument.
A troubled look passed across her face before shaking her head in exasperation. "No, Joe. They haven't. Anyway, I don't feel as if I'm ready. Now, can we talk about something else?"
Sighing with resignation, I used the same ammo as I had multiple times before. Of course, I worded it differently before each use. "Perhaps, you're holding on to the therapy sessions because as long as you keep going, you don't have to make any decisions. Or, commit to other things."
"Go wash up, Honey. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes." she said sweetly.
Amber had neatly deflected my salvo, by simply ignoring it. I wasn't defeated yet, but I keenly felt the need to develop a different approach, so rather than argue, I went to do what I'd been told.
By the way, I had spoken to Lucia a couple of times, trying to convince her to work for me. I'd offered to pay for her entire family to come to the US, as added inducement. But, she remained unmoved. She was not going to live and work so far from her home country. Despite Lucia's continued refusal, I hadn't given up on her, yet.
For awhile, after Shela's death, Amber had become distant toward me. Eventually, Amber explained, in great detail, the slow but certain progression of Shela's mental and emotional downfall. I could see the pain on her face and hear it in her voice as she spoke quietly about it. There was even a whimsical note in her voice when she spoke of her and Shela's friendship and it's inevitable dissolution.
About a month after the memorial, Amber returned to her old self. For the most part. There was still something amiss, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
I should take the time out at this point to grudgingly admit that Amber and I had yet to involve ourselves with the physical aspect of our relationship. I was way past wanting to. However, Amber was reluctant to commit to that as well. So, we slept in separate bedrooms and enjoyed much the same level of intimacy as we had in Paris. Not to say we didn't get hot and heavy sometimes, but Amber always managed to control herself well enough to dash cold water on my raging needs and mindless desires. As she had become fond of saying, "No means no, Joe!"
By this time, if anyone had bothered to look up the term 'blue-balls', no doubt the definition would have stated, 'Reference Joe Pleasent'
Amber gave me all sorts of excuses for not having sex, her two main stays being she wanted to wait until we'd married, and embarrassment at having a missing leg. I was crazy in love with the woman, leg or no leg, so I bid my time.
As we sat eating and conversing about nothing of import, my phone rang.
Normally, I look at who's calling, but my mind had wandered as Amber spoke of her day and without thought, I answered.
It was Richards.
~N~
"Okay, Lieutenant. I'm here."
Here was Barney's Tavern and Grill, a rather popular watering hole in the Bronx. As with most places in the Bronx it was an old building, partitioned into a couple spaces, barely modernized and off-handedly converted to its present use. It was a shotgun of a space, that is to say, it was narrow and long. One wall had a row of booths and the opposite wall had a long bar top.
Richards sat at the bar, sipping at a amber colored fluid out of a shot glass. At my announcement, he let out a loud whoosh of air and carefully placed the shot glass down. I noticed three empty shot glasses near the half full one.
Without looking at me, Richards asked rather demandingly. Or maybe it was challengingly. "Sit. Wanna drink?"
I sat and called out to the nearby bartender, "Scotch. Neat."
We sat wrapped in silence, until I had my drink. Richards lifted his glass, obviously waiting on me. I followed suit.
"Slainte!" he proclaimed, and with that downed all the amber fluid in one smooth swallow. As did I. I'd heard the word before. It was used as an old Irish toast, alluding roughly 'to your good health.'
While he gestured at the bartender for refills, I asked him what was so important that we had to meet at a bar.
In answer, Richards asked a strange question, "How are you and your girlfriend getting along?"
The hairs on my nape sprang straight up. I don't know why, but of a sudden I felt I was in dangerous waters. So I shrugged, replying cautiously, "Okay. Why do you ask?"
Ignoring my question, Richards asked a couple of others. "Has she been acting strange? Doing anything unusual?"
The bartender placed fresh drinks in front of us, Richards grabbed his, lifting it once again. "To no better friend and no worse enemy, than yourself."
As soon as our glasses hit the bar top, he asked, "Well?"
"What's this about, Lieutenant?" I was tired of Richards' cat and mouse game and I wanted straight answers.
Visibly angered at my impudence, Richards heaved a a great sigh, and just as obviously relaxed. "Answer my question, Joe, and I'll explain."
I wasn't sure how to answer that, since I wasn't sure of my misgivings that I'd felt toward Amber. "I don't know. Maybe."
"What do you mean?"
Struggling to mentally formulate a rationale for what I considered odd, I said, "I'm not sure. I can't put my finger on it. I've tried, but nothing. Amber seems different. I just don't know how."
Richards gave me a sharp look. "Do you think she's cheating on you?"
"What?! No!" I said surprised.
He'd ask the question very nonchalantly, almost innocently, but regardless of his intent, the result was the immediate onset of doubt. Not that I had had doubt concerning Amber's fidelity, only that, because of Shela's actions, it was never far from the surface. And now, it rose like a submarine blasting out of the sea.
I tried to squash it, to force it back, and something must have shown on my face, for Richards nodded, saying, "It figures."
Confused, I said, "What figures? Do you know something?" Somewhat apprehensively, I continued. "Look, she's acting coy, even a little distant. At first, I thought it was due to Shela's death. But, it's been six months."
Richards looked at me, his grim face softening slightly. "Joe, I like you, despite you being a Grade 'A' asshole. Then again, I'm a Grade double 'A' asshole. So, I'm going to tell you what I know. First, you need to know that the information is classified. By that, I mean, you can't go spreading it, not even to your girlfriend. It stays with you. Got it?" Richards face squinched up as he voiced, 'classified', like it was some unholy word. Maybe it was.
After seeing my uncertain and confused nod, Richards went on. "I'm trusting you, Joe, because if this gets out, it means my career and prison for both of us. If we're lucky. Understand?"
