The Last Girls Weekend Pt 01

Abbie, my wife, has two close girlfriends, Becca and Claire. They are referred to by each other and by their husbands as "A", "B" and "C". Abbie is twenty-nine years old and so am I. I'm Mark. We've been married five years. No kids. Becca is twenty-eight. I know that because we went to her birthday party last week. She and her husband Bob have two kids. I also went to Claire's birthday party but that was months ago so I don't remember how old she is. But her and their husbands are about my age. Claire has one kid, one of the daughters.

Since the wives are such good friends, the husbands are expected to show up once or twice a month for rotating dinners and barbeques. And for birthdays and anniversaries. We three husbands get along. We're friendly when we see each other. We talk and are cordial but the three of us are very different so we're not friends. We don't hang out together and wouldn't spend time with each other if it weren't for our wives.

We all live within a few miles of each other in central Florida. I'm an assistant manager at a local H [national chain] hotel in our town. Abbie works as an appointment scheduler in her father's plumbing business.

Our wives, A, B and C go out on occasional girls' nights together and twice a year they go to Miami Beach for a girls' weekend. Since I work at the H and I get a nice discount on stays at our hotels, Abby always makes the arrangements to stay at an expensive resort H has on Miami Beach. They always get one room with two double beds. Sun, the beach, massages, whatever else women hanging out for a weekend at a resort do. Their last girls' weekend at Miami Beach was at the beginning of June. Their next weekend should have been in early November.

But their plans changed. Toward the end of July, Abbie told me, "Becca is pregnant and will be too far along to go in November. We've decided to go to Miami Beach the first week of August so we're back in time for B and C to get their kids ready for school. Is that OK?"

"Fine with me." I didn't mind the girls' weekends. I felt like a bachelor for their weekends away. Eat when and what I want, do what I want. No one to tell me to change the TV channel because she wants to watch something else.

So, Abbie made their arrangements and she and her buddies left for their weekend Friday to return Sunday afternoon. As they usually do. I got pizza Friday night, drank beer and actually was able to watch an entire baseball game, first to last pitch, without interruption.

Saturday morning, I went to the gym and then ate lunch at a fast-food restaurant. Heaven. It was time to think about dinner. A grilled steak, fries and beer sounded good. I was out of beer and didn't have steak or fries so I stopped at the grocery store. I was looking through the steaks when Bob, Becca's husband, came up to say hello. He asked, "Is A feeling better? One of those summer cold things?"

I looked puzzled because I was. I said, "Abbie's doing OK. Thanks for asking."

"So you'll be able to come to dinner tonight after all. That's great. It would have been the first of these get togethers in years where you guys weren't there. Let me tell B that you're coming after all." He pulled out his phone.

I said, "No. Abbie is much better but still coughing and sneezing. We don't want to infect anyone so we're staying home. It's for the best."

Bob replied, "That's too bad. You could come alone. C and Jay [Claire's husband] and B and I would be thrilled if you joined us."

"I think I may be getting it too. And I should stay home and nurse Abbie. But thanks. We'll do it next time. I understand Becca's pregnant. Congratulations."

Bob's turn to look puzzled, "Not that I know of. We're sticking with two kids. B's not pregnant."

"Sorry. I must have misunderstood something Abbie said." We said our goodbyes.

I forgot about the steaks and fries, bought the beer and drove home. I'd last heard from Abbie around 5pm yesterday, which is normally when she calls on their weekends. She told me, "Everything's fine. We're having fun. The weather is great. We were on the beach for only a couple of hours and Becca's already sunburned. What are you eating for dinner?"

"Salad." We hung up and I picked up the last slice of pizza from the box. She'll call me again around dinnertime tonight. Whoever "we" were who was having all this fun it didn't include her girlfriends Becca and Claire.

I know she made a reservation but maybe she wasn't even there? I logged in to the hotel's intranet from my laptop and found that Abbie had indeed checked in.

According to the check-in, Abbie was alone in the room. It was about 2pm now and I decided to call my counterpart at the resort where Abbie was staying. I called and asked for the manager. Gave my name. Hugh Clark got on the phone. Good. An assistant manager like me and someone I've met a few times.

"This is Mark Joiner. I'm the assistant manager in L[where we live]. I think we met a couple of times."

"Sure. I remember you from your gruff voice. Big guy. Permanent eight o'clock shadow. Defensive tackle in college. Made it to the national championship one year but lost. Right?"

"That's me. How have you been?"

"Great. What can I do for you?"

I need a favor."

"Shoot."

"My wife Abbie is checked into room 324 until Sunday morning." I heard his keyboard clicking so I gave him time to get the screen up.

"OK, I see she checked in. Charged last night's dinner to the room. I have the tab up. Two dinners, two deserts, a bottle of wine. Also breakfast this morning and lunch at the pool. From the costs, they also look like they're for two. Do you want me to pull the bills up."

"No. That's OK. I can do that later." I didn't think to look at the stuff she's charging to the room when I checked if Abbie had checked in. Glad Hugh has a brain. "The favor is a big one and I'll owe you. I need to look at the hallway security tapes for 324's hallway. From the time Abbie checked in until you have them for me to look at."

Silence from Hugh. It was a big ask but it's a public hallway in the sense there's no expectation of privacy anywhere in a hotel except the rooms, bathrooms and changing rooms. Who's staying at the hotel is considered private. Common areas are public and can be surveilled and usually are. And Hugh might need a favor from me someday.

Finally, Hugh said, "That's a big favor. I'm sorry you need to do this. I'll have to figure out a way to do it where it doesn't bite either of us in the ass. Give me a couple of hours. I'll call you back."

I grabbed a beer and logged back into the hotel's intranet, the hotels internal website. I got up the breakfast and lunch bills Abbie charged to her room. Two breakfasts, two coffees, two orange juices. Lunch was also for two and three beers. Abbie doesn't drink beer.

I thought it might be prudent to look up our bank transactions. I looked at the bank statements from the time Abbie and her friends went to Miami Beach in June. Nothing unusual except Abbie cashed a check for $500 in Miami Beach at a branch of our bank on the Saturday morning of their June weekend. Nothing else unusual until this morning when Abbie cashed a check for $1000 at the same local branch in Miami Beach.

I looked up our cell phone usage since Abbie's June trip to Miami Beach. Lots of calls to a phone number with a Miami and Miami Beach area code. Not the resort's phone number. I did a reverse directory look up online. I couldn't find any information for that phone number. I don't know what that means.

I did a worldwide search on our intranet to see if that phone number had ever been used when booking a room at one of our hotels. No. I decided not to call the number because I didn't want to talk to the guy yet. At that point, I was sure it was a guy and, if it was, I wanted to talk to him in person and not on the phone. I'll get the guy's name from Abbie when she returns home.

I looked back at our credit card statements from June. Nothing unusual. I was going to look at Abbie's room charges from last June when Hugh called me back.

"I don't know you. We've never talked. Are you logged in?"

"One second. OK, I'm in."

"I'm going to give you an internal website to pull up. It has the security tapes from Abbie's hallway from noon yesterday until about an hour ago. It also has live footage from her hallway which will remain live until Sunday morning check out time. You won't be able to download anything. You'll have both windows on one screen but you can enlarge one or the other if you need to. And you can fast forward the taped video. At 11am Sunday morning, this website will no longer exist. And as far as anyone's ever concerned, it never existed. I'm going to give you the address, your username and password. Write it down because as soon as we hang up, I won't know who you are or that we've ever talked. Got a pen?"

"Ready."

Hugh gave me the information. I wrote it down. He waited on the phone until I was in. "Thanks Hugh. I owe you big time."

"For what? I don't know you and haven't talked to you since the conference last year. But you're welcome. I got divorced two years ago. My wife decided that our twenty-three year old lawn guy was the love of her life. He thought spreading seed included his seed in her. Good luck. I haven't looked at the tape but I hope you don't find anything."

I started looking. Live feed on the left of my computer screen, taped video starting yesterday at noon on the right. My wife walked down the hallway to the room about 1:20pm yesterday. She was alone.

At about 4:35pm, on today's live feed, there was a guy running down Abbie's hallway holding a bikini bottom. He's laughing and looking backward at someone which also provided a good view of his face for the camera. The guy was maybe 6', 185lbs. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was in a bathing suit and a t-shirt. Good looking guy. Then a woman came into view behind. She was bare assed with one of those scarves or whatever they are that women tie at their side to cover their asses when they're in a bathing suit. This scarf was transparent and was too short to cover much of my wife Abbie's bare ass. The guy stopped at room 324 and held the bikini bottoms over his head so Abbie had to jump and try to grab them. After a couple of attempts, he took her in his arms and squeezed her ass with his hands. He kept the bikini but handed her the key card. As she was trying to get the card in the slot, he reached around Abbie from behind and slid his hand down until it was between her legs. She opened her legs and bent a little to accommodate his hand. She stopped trying to get the card in the slot. They both suddenly looked toward the elevator and Abbie got the key in the slot. They hurriedly entered the room and closed the door behind them.

On the taped video from yesterday, a little after 5pm, right after Abbie called me, the same guy walked up to Abbie's room and knocked. He was dressed in a suit and tie and was carrying a small suitcase and a suit bag. Abbie opened her door and rushed into his arms. Big kiss. Lovers reuniting. Abbie was dressed up to match his attire. They went into the room.

I got out my phone. I wanted his picture in case Abbie didn't have one. About twenty minutes later, they left the room and walked toward the elevator. Both Abbie's arms holding onto his arm like she was preventing him from running away. Big smiles on both their faces. I was able to take six photos of his face before they were out of sight. A couple of the pictures had fairly good images of his face.

I really didn't need to see more. Did he spend the night? Who cares? Have they been lovers for years? I don't give a fuck. This woman was dead to me now. In a few days, she'd be out of my life for good.

I paused the recorded video feed. There'd be nothing more on the live feed until they returned. A good time to go shopping. I drove to the local Walmart and purchased two of the largest suitcases they had for sale. Drove home and went upstairs to pack Abbie's stuff. I was able to get all of Abbie's clothes into the two suitcases. I'm keeping her jewelry. I gave most of it to her. I forgot to pack her nightgown she leaves hanging on a hook in the bathroom. I took it and threw it in the trash. I brought the suitcases downstairs and put them next to the front door. They'd be among the first things Abbie would see when she returned home.

I went back to watch the videos. About 11pm on today's live feed, Abbie and her boyfriend came back into view. They were busy playing grab ass as they walked down the hall. They entered the room. I watched until about midnight and he didn't leave. I went to bed.

I got up early Sunday morning and ate breakfast in front of my computer. Abbie and the guy exited the room about 8am. They were both in bathing suits. I guess breakfast and a swim before checkout. Abbie had on a skimpy bikini. The bottom part of her suit was what the guy was waving around in the hallway yesterday. The bottom had side ties so he must have untied them in the elevator. They were walking toward the camera so I couldn't see Abbie's ass in the bikini bottom. But from the front I could tell there wouldn't be much bathing suit back there. There wasn't much in front. If she tried to wear that suit with me on a public beach, it would result in a serious conversation between the two of us about proper beach attire for a married woman. But she wasn't with me.

They returned to the room a little before 10am. Yeah, Abbie's bikini in the back was not much more than a string down her ass crack. Looks like they had breakfast, a swim and got back to the room in time for a quick fuck before checking out.

I went to the gym. Nothing more I needed to see on the feeds. I got barbeque sandwiches with fries for lunch and washed them down with a beer. I turned on the game and waited for Abbie to arrive home.

I heard Abbie pull into the driveway at about 2:30 and then her key in the lock. I was in my recliner in the living room. Abbie walked in, gave me a big smile, "Hi Honey," glanced at the two suitcases and, gesturing toward the suitcases, asked, "What's this?"

I said, "Sit down," pointing to the couch.

She looked at my face and figured she should probably sit down. I said, "Give me your pocketbook."

Confused and alarmed, Abbie said, "What's going on?"

"GIVE ME YOUR POCKETBOOK."

She said, "You're scaring me."

But she gave me her pocketbook and I took out her wallet and checkbook. I took her credit cards and the debit card and put them on the lamp table next to my chair. I dumped the rest of her bag on the floor. There was nothing more of interest.

"Give me your phone."

Abbie turned pale, really scared now. "Why do you want my phone? You're not planning to look through it? When did you turn into the husband who checks their wife's phone? You're not getting my phone. I don't check your phone. Phones are private."

I said, "I don't need to check your phone. I want your phone because you're no longer entitled to have a phone." I held out my hand for the phone. Abbie started to say something and I roared, "GIVE ME THE FUCKING PHONE!" Abbie gave me her phone and I put it with the credit cards.

I said, "The suitcases are all your clothes. You've leaving tonight and I'm divorcing you. I know how you spent the weekend. I know everything." Abbie started to say something and I said, "Shut up. I don't want to hear your lies and excuses." Abbie started crying and started to say something again. I said, "SHUT UP!"

I stared at her for a full minute and watched her cry. Finally, I said, "You have one chance to be completely honest with me. If you're not, you leave now. No credit cards, no phone, just your clothes. I don't want to hear excuses or apologies, just the truth. If you can get me to believe you're telling the truth, then I might, might, let you stay. I'm going to ask you some questions. I just want you to answer just those questions. Don't say anything else."

She looked terrified. Good. "What's his name?"

She said, "It's not what you think...."

I interrupted, "Just answer my questions. I don't want to hear a bunch of bullshit from you. What's his name?"

"Roger Adams."

"Is this his phone number?" I showed her the phone number I found yesterday when I looked at the cell phone usage.

She said, "I think so. If I can look at my phone, I'll know for sure."

I gave her the phone, she opened it, looked at her contacts and nodded.

"Leave the phone open. Do you have any pictures of him on your phone? Selfies with him?" She nodded again and I said, "Let me see the pictures." She tapped the phone and handed it to me. There was a clear picture of him with his arm around my wife. I handed the phone back to her and said, "Text me that picture." She did. "How much money have you given him?"

She was about to deflect or deny that she had given him money so I said, "If you're not honest, you're gone."

She said, "$1500. $500 in June and another $1000 yesterday."

I told her to sit down shut up. I pulled up a number on my phone, tapped it and we heard it dialing. Angie asked, "You're not calling Roger, are you?" Very concerned. I ignored her.

When the call connected, I said, "Lt. Markey, please. This is Mark Joiner." Markey is the local cop who our hotel liaisons with. We do all sorts of favors for him, including employee rates for hotel stays, compted dinners for him and his wife, and more. So he's very friendly and always helpful.

Whoever answered said, "He's not in. Can I take a message or do you want to talk to the Lt. on duty?"

I replied, "I'll call him on his cell. Thanks."

I did. He picked up and said, "Hey Mark. Thanks for helping with the Hawaii trip. We had a great time. Thanks also for all the free goodies in the room. Above and beyond. Really, thanks."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Nothing's too good for our favorite police officer. I'm sorry to bother you at home but I need some information and it's time sensitive. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, what'd you need?"

"I need information on a con man who's using the name Roger Adams."

Abbie started to say, "He's not a con....," but I held up my hand to stop her.

I continued with Markey, "I have the current phone number he's using. It looks like his home base is Miami or Miami Beach. I also have a picture. Can you get me info on him?"

"Sure, text me the phone number and his picture. Give me an hour or so. I'll have to wake up someone in bunko at the station. It shouldn't be a problem."

I texted him the phone number and the picture of the guy with my wife. "Who's the mark with him in the picture?"

"My very stupid, soon to be former, slut wife."

"Sorry man. So this is personal. No problem. I'll get on it and get back to you." We hung up.

Abbie said, "He's not a con man."

I just said, "Shut up. I'm not interested. Only speak to answer my questions."

We stared at each other until Markey called back forty minutes later. I put him on speaker so Abbie could hear, "I'm sorry this took so long but I had to call Miami PD to find out about this guy. I'm going to email you his file summary but here's the short version. His real name is Roger Addison. He and his wife, Cheryl, work out of Miami. They used to do short cons. She'd pick up a married guy at the bar of an expensive hotel in Miami or Miami beach. He's in town for business, wife and kids at home, and she gets him to take her to his room. She gets him out of his clothes down to his skivvies. She goes to the bathroom to get ready for his big night. She texts Roger, waits until Roger knocks on the door and comes out of the bathroom and lets Roger in. Roger bursts in with a gun. A toy gun that looks real to the terrified guy sitting on the bed who's ready to shit his pants. Or his shorts, I guess. 'What are you doing with my wife?' Roger hollers. The guy convinces Roger to take all his money and valuables instead of shooting him. Roger and Cheryl leave. It's a nice con because the guy's afraid to report it. His wife might find out."