Nope. I'll Tae Option Three

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No honey, we don't have to talk.

She chose the wrong man to betray. There's no need to talk about it, not with a man of action.

An original quick little flash story for the BTB crowd. Partially inspired by a truly great song. Partially inspired by valeriahart's Karen and Mark (the bar meetup scene).

I know that I usually write story continuations, but there's been enough clamoring, comments and emails encouraging me to write my own, that I figured I'd offer up a few. I don't think the trolls will care one way or the other.

I hope you enjoy this little story, and remember, it's only fiction. No real Assholes were harmed in the writing of this tale.

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The two assholes were seated in the booth, anxiously waiting.

I'd arrived early, and watched them carefully, glad that this was finally coming to an end. Hardly the end they expected, I imagine.

Asshole number one was familiar to me although we'd never formally met. I knew him well, however, everything about him. His history, his employment record, every peccadillo on his miserable soul. What he liked to eat, what his preferred beverages were, alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Where he purchased his clothing. What was in his medicine cabinet. How much money was in his bank account.

Five weeks earlier, he'd been a complete stranger to me. Now he was my worst enemy, and I was his nemesis, although he wasn't aware of that yet.

The other asshole I knew even better. Nine years, over seven of those married, assured as much. There was nothing about her I didn't know. Her every flaw, every foible, was as familiar to me as my own name.

Which is Jake Simmons, as if it mattered.

Yes, I knew everything about her, including a substantial amount she was unaware of, and I'm sure she'd prefer I didn't. Things she'd foolishly tried to hide from me. I never said she was smart.

Unfortunately for both of them, neither knew everything about me. If they did, we wouldn't be where we were today. At least I didn't think so. Nobody was

that

stupid.

Six-ten. I figured I'd made them wait long enough. Might as well get it over with.

I walked over to their table and sat opposite them. "Hello, Heather. Odd that you'd ask me, your husband, to a bar we never frequent. Odder still that I should find you here with a male, and I use that term very loosely, companion. Now what was it you thought we needed to talk about?"

I placed the cigarette pack sized device on the table and cranked it up. The LEDs stayed dark. No recording devices active in the vicinity. White noise emanated from the speaker, just to be safe. You never can be too safe, you know.

I knew I'd already interrupted their game plan. Asshole number one started to speak.

"Mr. Simmons, we—"

I extended my hand, "Jake," I said.

The idiot shook it. Weak, slimy men should not shake the hands of their betters. I crushed his, grinding the bones together and watched him squirm and sweat. "Not another word from you, asshole," I hissed through gritted teeth and an artificial smile. "Understand? Not a peep, or you'll lose your living." An artist with a crushed hand wouldn't be much of an artist now, would he? Even his paying job involved typing as a glorified secretary. I was disgusted at my wife's choice.

He nodded rapidly. I kept the pressure on his hand, grinning at his discomfort.

"So, love of my life, dearest wife, mother of my children, why did you invite me here?"

She glanced over at her sorry excuse for support. "Honey, we need to talk. I, we, have a confession. I know this is going to be difficult, but I'm sure we can all handle this like adults. Marty and I—"

"Yeah, I know. You're having an affair, for five weeks now. It's just sex. You don't want to hurt me. Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. Get to the point will you?" Just for kicks I crunched Asshole's hand a little, making him whimper.

The look of surprise on her face was priceless.

"Uh," she looked over at her idiotic choice of a lover, whose tears were streaming down his face. "We want to be open and honest. I need you to accept this. It won't—"

"Let me guess, it won't change anything between us, you still love me, it will run its course, nobody will know, it will make us stronger, bla-bla-bla. You want me to give you my blessing and be a willing cuckold. Sorry, not gonna happen. No chance. What else you got?"

I almost smiled. I could see that familiar look. I was pissing her off. She was about to blow a gasket, and was struggling to keep her cool. Not very well I might add. "Stop interrupting me!" she snapped. "This

will

happen, or I'll make you pay, Jake. You'll lose everything, do you hear me? You'll lose—"

"I know. My house, my kids, my savings. You'll drain me dry, take me to the proverbial cleaners, etcetera. Uh-uh. That's a non-starter for me. I don't think so. Anything else?" I bore down hard on asshole's hand and watched his face go white as something snapped. He moaned, sinking into the seat.

"Damn it, Marty, say something! This was your idea," she said.

I glared at him to ensure he stayed quiet. Asshole number one just whimpered. "Afraid you're on your own, Heather. Lover boy has nothing to say."

"I'm serious, Jake. Don't mess with me. Either you're fine with this, or I own you and I'll make your life miserable. You have no idea—"

"Sorry babe, it's you that have no idea. Never did. Not an original one in the nine years we were together. I'll tell you what

is

gonna happen though. You and lover boy are going to walk out of here and none of us will ever see each other again. You will both leave the state, permanently, never to return. You will do so within the next four hours. After that, you will never see me or each other. We all get to start over. Doesn't that sound fair?"

"Are you crazy?" she shrieked. "Why would I ever agree to that?"

"I suppose because you want to wake up tomorrow. If you don't accept my generous offer, you won't. Neither of you will. Simple as that. Are we done now?"

The look on her face was precious. Anger, concern, fear, they all flashed across that pretty countenance. Too pretty, to be perfectly honest. I think that was her problem. Pretty girls think they can get away with murder. The truth is there are very few of us who can.

"Jake? Did you just threaten me? Your wife? The mother of your children? You love me, you could never harm me."

"Oh, I won't. But it will happen, I've made sure of that. Now here's the deal. Your car is outside in the parking lot. Your suitcases are in the trunk. Your credit cards no longer work, nor does your ATM. There is an envelope under the seat with seven grand in it. A thousand dollars for each year we were married. You will drive away, and not stop until you're out of this state. I don't care where you go, so long as I never see nor hear from you again."

"But honey, my children! You don't honestly think—"

"You should have thought about the children before you decided to betray me. You have fifteen minutes. By then you have to be on your way. The clock is ticking. This is a onetime offer, sweetie." I looked over at stupid Asshole number one. "You've got the same timetable. Fifteen minutes to be on your way, with whatever's in your car. You don't go home, or you lose. You head for the border and keep on truckin'. I suggest you and my idiot wife discuss which way you are each going. If you end up in the same state, even by accident, you lose. End of story."

"Jake! There's no way that I'm—"

"Goodbye, Heather. You were a pretty good wife, and you sure can make some great kids. I'm sorry you're so stupid, and a cheating slut. Have a nice life. Behave, follow my directions, and I may send you an occasional picture of the kids. We'll see how I'm feeling a year or so from now." I grabbed my device, dropped a twenty on the table as a gesture of kindness, leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'd hurry, if I were you."

I walked out the door, before I could hear their bickering. In the parking lot, I sat on the trunk of my car, directly across from theirs.

I checked my watch. T-minus twelve minutes. They emerged less than three minutes later. Asshole number one had grown somewhat of a spine. He marched toward me angrily. "You'll never get away with this. This is insane. Nobody behaves this way. You can't order me to leave the state."

"Nine minutes and counting."

"I don't believe you'll kill me in nine minutes. Here, in broad daylight? You're bluffing. I can have the police here—"

"I'm not going to kill you. I never said I was. Somebody might, and not in the next fifteen minutes either. I told you, you have four hours, as long as you're not stupid enough to go home. Now if you don't leave in . . . eight minutes, incentive will be provided to ensure you take this seriously. Seven minutes and fifty-two seconds."

My loving wife stepped forward. "Please, Jake. Can't we talk about this? I'm sorry, alright? I never meant for it to happen. He's not even that good. He seduced me. It's not my fault. I'm sure we can go back to how things were. I—"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll make it up to me, you'll keep your cheating legs closed, you'll never stray again, you'll make me the happiest man in the city, no - the state. Whatever. Not in this lifetime, sweetie. You stray, you pay. Six minutes and twenty-five seconds."

Her huffy little man pulled out his phone, juggling it with his injured hand. The pussy even winced in pain. "I'm calling the police. They'll put an end to this."

"Maybe. I should warn you, my associates don't like cops. Chances are if they see one, they'll break my four hour deal. But it's your choice. Do you think they'll be here in less than . . . five minutes and thirty five seconds?"

Maybe Heather isn't

that

stupid. She slapped the phone out of lover-boy's hand. Then I watched them step away and start arguing. Finally she ran over to her car, and opened the door. She checked under the seat, and pulled her envelope into view. She was wasting time counting it, it was all there, and if it wasn't, what was she going to do? There was less than a minute to go.

Asshole number one had returned to his phone and was picking it up gingerly, trying to fit the battery in, and close the back. Big mistake. It's hard to believe anybody was stupider than Heather, but it just goes to show you. There's no limit to stupidity.

She started the car, and started moving slowly, creeping along. She rolled down the window while still several feet away. "I'm sorry, Jack. Four hours?" The car was crawling up to me.

"Three hours and forty-five minutes now," I told her.

"Tell the kids I love them. Make up a good story, Okay?" The tears running down her face probably should have affected me. They didn't.

"I will. Take care, alright?"

She nodded. "Pictures, maybe a call someday? You'll let me know if it's ever safe to come home?"

"I'll consider it."

A scream erupted from Asshole number one, and he was clutching his thigh. "Time's up. That one was just a flesh wound," I called out. "One minute until a more serious incentive arrives." The laser dot on his chest gave a good indication what that incentive might be.

I laughed as the terrified dweeb hobbled over to his car. Heather's rear wheels chirped as she pulled out into traffic.

I didn't look forward to explaining things to the kids, but they were young and would get over it. I didn't imagine it would be long before they had a new mommy. It's not like there ain't three billion women in the world. I got in my car and pulled out just moments after Asshole number one fishtailed his way out of the parking lot.

At least I had a day's grace to break it to the kids. They were with the parents. I wanted one night alone to close up loose ends, and maybe even get drunk. You don't lose a wife every day.

At home I retired to my study, and brought up the GPS trackers. She was making good progress, headed east. It was a little further, driving that direction, but probably a good choice. I honestly hoped she didn't get pulled over, or have a flat tire. That would be unfortunate.

His tracker indicated that he wasn't quite as smart. Why he thought he could hole up in his studio is beyond me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I verified his phone calls. One to his mother. Another to my wife's phone, with no connection. Stupid on his part. Smart on hers. No police, no 911. At least not yet. Once he had holed up, the cell jammers would have made any outside contact difficult.

I poured myself a generous helping of Jim Beam Black and waited.

I watched her GPS cross the state-line with over thirty minutes go to. A few seconds later I received the phone call. "She's clear."

"Thank you," was all I said.

Half-an-hour later I received a second call. "Target down."

I sighed, and poured myself a third and final glass. Stupid. The GPS had never moved. "Thank you."

"We're even now, correct? Debt cleared?" the voice asked.

"We're even. Clean slate. I appreciate it," I replied.

I was feeling melancholy. I broke out my favorite guitar, grabbed a brew, and started in on that old Garth song:

"Oh, I've got friends in low places,

Where the whiskey drowns

And the beer chases my blues away,

And I'll be okay . . ."

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