Relentless

Special thanks to sbrooks103X, Bebop03 and Chasten for the beta reads and edits The story is much more readable -- and much better -- for their input. And I have to thank The Missus for being...well, everything.

This is a story we hadn't planned on writing. Hopefully you'll find this a distraction from all the lunacy around us these days.

Relentless

"...if you're not the careful sort, don't play with sharp blades." - jocko_smith

*****

Fluorescent lights flickered, somehow making the stained off-white walls and institutional gray tile floor even duller as the officer led me down the hall from the main jail.

She was saying something, but I really wasn't listening. I knew the gist of it anyway.

The processing clerk handed me my personal packet and I checked it. Purse, keys, pen, cellphone. He gave me a suppressed smirk, then looked at the officer. "I should probably just keep all of it; it'd make processing her back in faster."

I signed for everything wordlessly and waited for the officer to escort me out. She nodded and the clerk buzzed open the bulletproof glass doors.

Sunlight from the setting sun warmed my face, but it didn't really have the same feel anymore.

I didn't even have to look around. The bike messenger was standing right at the bottom of the stairs, laconically unstrapping a long cardboard box from the back of the bike. I headed down to him.

The officer shook her head. "Fuck."

The bike messenger gave me a raised eyebrow and a wry grin then opened the box. I looked in and pulled out the envelope first and looked in it. No note, like always. Just a thousand dollars in cash. That wasn't a surprise. Not anymore.

The other item was a work of art.

I pulled it out and hefted it.

A C271 Cherry Bomb.

It practically glowed with an absolutely beautiful high-gloss black-and-cherry finish, touched off by gold decals.

Somebody had taken the time to put a very professionally done black Lizard Skin tape grip on it.

The tape grip went up the near-perfect maple a bit farther than I would have if I had done it myself, and I'd always used P72s when I played as a teenager, but...

I hefted the Louisville Slugger and let it spin around my hand. It was fucking perfect.

And here I'd always thought the phrase "my heart sang" was too melodramatic.

My heart was definitely singing.

The officer looked at the baseball bat in disbelief, then shook her head again. "Goddammit."

The bike messenger gave me a broad grin. "I'll take the box. We wouldn't want you to get picked up for littering before the fun starts."

The officer watched him ride off, then turned to me and looked at the bat again. "Who the fuck would do this?"

I stared straight at him. "Someone who understands."

My phone buzzed and I looked at it. A single text message from a blocked number.

It just gave the name of a nightclub and a time. 9 p.m. Just enough time to do my makeup and hair.

I grinned and hefted my beautiful, beautiful bat.

Run, Motherfucker. Run.

*****

Seven Days Earlier

I shifted on my aching feet, just dodging the "accidental arm brush" from the creepy old guy. It wasn't like I hadn't seen that coming a mile away.

The flicker of disappointment at missing the boob-graze flickered on his face and I gave him my fixed plastic smile. "Thank you flying Air Expanse."

My legs, feet, and back were really looking forward to a hot shower, a long night in bed and maybe I could prevail on Justin to give me a real, no-hidden-agendas backrub.

Except that Justin wasn't there to meet me like he was supposed to. A frustrated call to his phone got me his voice mail.

I waited at least twenty minutes for him to call back before I headed to the cab stand.

Okay, fifteen minutes. But my back and feet were killing me. As a personal fitness instructor, Justin sometimes had appointment changes at the last minute, so waiting could be a bad choice.

My house was only about fifteen minutes away anyway, so there was no point in making Justin drive all the way out when I could be at the before he reached the airport.

By the time I reached the front door, I was fuming again. Justin's bright red Charger was parked in the driveway, and I could hear the Bose speakers blasting before I even got near the house. He'd just forgotten again.

That was becoming an issue. Working was one thing, but Justin seemed to be doing less and less of that all the time. He was spending lot more time with video games and playing the damn vintage acoustic guitar that he'd spent three months of his pay on. That was another issue that was becoming normal. Lately, my pay seemed to go for everything we needed, but what money he did bring in seemed to go for things he "needed." I'd even had to sign the loan on his ridiculously expensive Charger because his credit sucked and "self-employed personal fitness instructor and part-time bartender" didn't seem to excite loan officers.

I wasn't near as pissed off as I should have been, but that changed moments later.

Even after seeing the path of strewn clothing, including a pair of Barbie pink "spank me" panties I'd never owned lying on top of a pair of Justin's boxers, I still held out... well, "hope" is too strong of a word, but it's in the right vein.

But I found them anyway. On my bed, in my house.

They didn't hear me come in, which wasn't surprising. Eminem was chanting about puke on his shoelaces at about jet-engine levels and the place reeked of beer and weed.

A tiny portion of my mind was pissed about the weed. I would lose my job if I tested hot for weed, and after a close call with a "special brownie" Justin had brought home, I'd flat out told him he couldn't have it in the house again because if I lost my job, we wouldn't have a house.

The bigger part of my mind told that tiny part to quit being a whiny bitch, since we had a lot bigger problems, what with Justin porking a barely-legal, chunky, banana-blonde slut on top of the hand-stitched double wedding ring quilt that my great grandmother had made for me before she passed away.

It took every bit of my self-control to pick up the stereo remote and kill the sound.

The sudden silence rang in my ears for a long moment while I waited for them to catch up to current events.

The woman's bovine face slowly came up over Justin's shoulder and peered blearily at me for a long moment. She giggled dully. "Dude. I think it's your old lady."

He half-turned without even "pulling out of the saddle" and looked at me. "Oh...um, hey Ashley." He stopped, trying to decide what to say next.

I'm not sure what he possibly could have said that would have helped, but it sure as fuck wasn't the next sentence out of his mouth.

"We're out of lube."

I think there was more. Something about the kitchen and vegetable oil. Something about "joining in." Maybe. But I really had used up all my self-control picking up that stereo remote. Ending a twenty-hour day on throbbing feet with an aching back, abandoned at the airport, and then finding my man-child husband boffing a Spice Girl wannabe and more or less expecting me to join them in a threesome was really just a tiny bit too much.

"You. FUCKING. ASSHOLE!" I grabbed the first thing I could reach and got ready to swing for the fences.

Justin finally seemed to realize how bad things had just gone, diving over the bed and leaving the girl lying there in shock staring up at me.

In that red fury, I might have actually killed him, so it was probably lucky for me that the guitar strings tangled in the dangling light fixture on the windup. It certainly didn't feel like good luck though.

I howled something that I didn't even understand, tried to rip the guitar loose and ended up pulling the whole damn light fixture down. I screamed in frustration and slammed the guitar into the floor a few times trying to get it loose.

The piglet crawled past me at a speed I'd never have thought a human could reach on all fours. Her pasty white butt jiggled disturbingly like an extra-large, extra-pale serving of jello. It's fucking Florida, who the hell is pasty white in Florida?

"No!" Justin lunged at me just as the whole thing came loose and I swung as hard as I could.

A very disappointing "thunk" accompanied by Justin shouting, "Dammit," was the only result. All that was left was the fractured neck of the damn thing; the body of it was in pieces on the floor.

Justin stepped toward me, cradling his forearm, looking down at the remains. "My guitar!"

He was still looking down in tragic despair when I punched him with every bit of strength my hundred and fifteen pounds could muster.

He went down, clutching his eye, and I kicked him twice in the ribs before a very loud, but weirdly calm voice caught my attention.

"Don't make me Taser you."

I turned and looked at the officer in the bedroom doorway, Taser leveled at me. I froze, wondering if I could land just one more kick on Justin before he nailed me.

"Don't. Tasers hurt like hell and then I'd have to do all that paperwork and add resisting an officer to the charges."

Through the doorway behind him, I could see chunky-butt Banana-Head Bitch in the living room frantically talking and crying to a female officer who looked rather disinterested in her tale of woe. It dawned on me that I'd never seen a My Little Pony "Friendship is Magic" full thigh tattoo before this.

I scowled down at Justin. "Fucker." And stepped away.

The officer sighed. "Good choice. Face the wall. Hands behind your back, pressed together like you're praying."

I felt the cuffs click into place. "How the hell did you get here so damn fast?"

"We were literally driving down the street when Miss Chubby Naked Girl ran out in front of us. I'm going to assume you are the wife or the girlfriend?"

"I was."

"Came home early?"

"Actually, I came home right on time for a change."

"Word of advice from someone who deals with this all the time. He ain't worth it. This isn't exactly the first time I've run across this kind of thing. Trust me. When you get out, get what you need and just walk away. It'll be easier on you, easier on us."

Justin had rolled to sit up and was looking sorrowfully at the pieces of his fucking guitar. He looked up at the officer. "She needs to buy me a new guitar."

"Not my problem. That's a civil issue. Take it to small claims court." The officer obviously had no sympathy for Justin.

I fumed as they processed me into the jail. I wanted to listen to the officer. He made sense. Walk away. Just leave it.

But as they snapped the mugshots, all I could feel was boiling fury.

*****

I sat with my back against the cell wall staring straight at the cell door all night. Sleepless. The other women in the pod gave me odd looks and stayed away from me.

I focused everything I could into the officer's words: "Just walk away."

I could do that. He could keep the damn car, keep whatever damn furniture he wanted, the stupid video games, and the collection of beer-making equipment that he had to have, but never even used.

I'd just move out of the house and stay at the local flight attendant crashpad for a few days until I could get a place of my own. The other crew members could be cool about stuff like that. I was hardly going to be the first divorce-bound flight attendant in history.

I'd make this easy.

My 3 a.m. decision lasted exactly four hours and twenty-two minutes.

*****

In the morning I was informed I was going to be charged with Domestic Assault, that a trial date would be scheduled, then handed a blurred copy of a page of instructions, and finally "released on my own recognizance."

I turned on my cell phone as I walked out of the building, but I got the same "only available for emergency calls" message I normally got when I was in a low-service area.

I was halfway down the steps when it dawned on me that the jail was damn near in the center of town. My phone had five bars of signal but I couldn't make calls. I headed for the ATM with a sinking feeling.

I wasn't particularly surprised when I discovered my bank account was closed. I closed my eyes and fought back rage for a moment. If Justin had closed the account, he'd probably also cleaned out the savings account. The savings account he hadn't contributed one red cent to. The savings account that I had first filled with the money my grandmother left me, then carefully managed and religiously built up for when we would have kids. The savings account I'd only put Justin on so he could handle things if there was an emergency, like if I was in the hospital.

I spun on my heel and practically ran for the nearest branch of my bank since it was only a few blocks away.

Andrea, the assistant bank manager was polite, calm, and could give me no help whatsoever.

I was out over a hundred fifty thousand dollars.

The son of a bitch had emptied it completely. It was underhanded, evil, and, as far as Andrea could tell, completely fucking legal.

She at least let me use the office phone to confirm that my cell phone was canceled.

I walked back out on the street and just stood there for a moment. I had no idea what to do.

I was just lost.

I started walking. It being Florida, it started raining. Of course.

I didn't make a conscious decision, I just walked. So it must have been fate.

I found myself, less one shoe that I'd lost somewhere along the way, standing in front of the gym Justin worked out of. Right in front of that was a bright red Charger with JUSTN 88 on the license plate.

I stared at the door to the gym. If I confronted Justin at work, he'd just go hide in the men's locker room, run out the back, or something.

Gosh. If only there were a way I could get him to come out and talk to me.

The construction site across the road from the gym was buzzing with activity, and they mostly ignored me at first. But a woman in a short blue skirt and a white blouse that was missing more than a few buttons -- a blouse that was almost transparent from the rain -- will draw the attention of construction workers. A few catcalls sounded off, but they died away as they noticed my missing shoe and my expression.

A big guy who seemed like he might be in charge walked over towards me as I reached a stack of cinderblocks. "You need help?"

"Nope. I just need to borrow this." I wrenched a cinderblock off the stack and cradled it. "Cheating asshole."

He nodded and took a step back out of the way with a slight smile.

I was halfway back across the street when I realized most of the construction workers were following me. They stood solemnly while I hefted the block over my head and brought it slamming down on the hood. That triggered the alarm and a wave of groans and cheers from the workers.

I did that four more times to the deafening music of his car alarm before guys started pouring out of the gym. They probably intended to stop me but came up short when they saw the wall of construction workers behind me.

Justin pushed his way to the front and stopped, staring at me wide-eyed.

I picked the block up again. "Where's my grandmother's money, you fucking asshole?"

He looked frantically from me to the car. "Look, Babe, we need to..."

The cinderblock exploded into the windshield. It didn't exactly shatter like I wanted it to, but it looked awesome stuck halfway through.

"Don't...you...DARE...call...me... 'Babe,' you piece of shit. Bang some teenager in our fucking bed? Steal the money MY grandmother left me? And you think you can call me 'babe'!?"

The blast of a police siren cut me off.

The officer was already pulling his cuffs out as he stepped out, so I sighed, turned to face the car, and put my hands behind my back.

Once he had me cuffed, he looked over the wreckage, then at the construction workers. "She steal that block off your site?"

The big guy pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nah. Musta just been lyin' around here or somethin'. It's got red paint on it, see? None of ours have red paint on them, right guys?"

The officer chuckled at the earnest chorus of agreement from the crowd, but it didn't stop him from putting me into the back seat of the cruiser.

They booked me on Public Mischief, Destruction of Private Property, Vandalism...and Littering.

The officer told me that it would probably cost me 60 days "just to cool off."

But it didn't.

*****

Late the next afternoon a concerned-looking officer led me out. "Your lawyer came in. Seems you own the loan on that car and there's no law against busting up your own stuff as long as you don't file a false report about it. Public Mischief is an overnight hold and Littering will probably be dropped. So you're out again."

"My lawyer?"

"Yeah, cute blonde woman with short hair."

"Oh." I guessed she must have been from the public defender's office. I wasn't sure how that all worked, but I really was broke right now after all. Would have been nice if she'd have talked to me though, so I would know what was going on. They probably don't have much time though.

I signed for my stuff and reflexively turned on my phone. I was just going to kick myself for bothering to it turn when it buzzed with an incoming text message from a blocked number:

*BIKE MESSENGER OUTSIDE*

The messenger was patiently straddling his bike right at the bottom of the stairs, holding a shoebox-size package.

He held it out and I looked at him warily. "Who is this from?"

"I don't know, one of your adoring fans, maybe?"

The package had an envelope with five hundred dollars in brand new bills and one of those fancy old-fashioned red bricks. I studied the brick and turned it over, seeing the words "Copper County Municipal" neatly scribed into it. No note, nothing.

"You have no idea who sent this? Are you sure you have the right person?"

He grinned and held up his phone for me to read. It was a news story. One of those funny little bits you read to kill time. Under the title "Turbulence Ahead" there was a news story with my mugshot on it. "You're a meme, lady. You're all over the internet. Everybody knows who you are."

I stared at my mugshot for a long moment. The suppressed half-smile, the crazy-ex-girlfriend death stare. Shit. Even to me, I looked like I'd lost it. So much for my job.

Since I had no idea what else to do with it, I dropped the brick into my purse.

I needed to catch my breath. I needed to think.

I needed to get cleaned up. The money would help, wherever it came from. Maybe a good night's sleep at a hotel instead of the crashpad, so I'd have some privacy and time to soak in a tub. A change of clothes.

I could have headed to a store, but it was getting late. Besides, I had all the clothes I needed at my house. My Uber app worked just fine.

The Uber driver just kept looking at me in the rearview mirror. Then I realized he was looking at his phone.

I googled my name on my weirdly in-service phone. Fuck. I was everywhere. It must have been a slow news day because the mugshot was on every news site. A lot of them had a cell phone picture of me poised next to the Charger with that cinderblock held over my head like some kind of insane avenging angel.

He realized I'd caught him and started to talk. "Are you..."

"Yes. I'm her."

"Cool! I mean..." He trailed off slowly. "So, um, this address is..."

"My house. I just need some of my clothes."

He nodded like a bobblehead, grinning. "This is so cool. I never get to meet anyone famous."

Thankfully, he refrained from asking any more questions.

The house was lit up like a Christmas tree and the music was blaring, but the Charger was nowhere to be seen. Justin had a bad habit of leaving everything on, probably because I was the one who had to pay the electric bill.