I'm the luckiest man alive. Yes sir! I've been married to Pamela for ten years, live in Homestead, Florida, and earn my living as a fishing guide, based in Key Largo. The reason that we live in Homestead is that Pam wants to stay in civilization, within driving distance of Miami, with its shows, shopping and her job at Tuthil & Tuthil Engineers. Pam pisses and moans that I should get a real job making much more money. I have told her a hundred times, "Hey, gal, I make enough to put a roof over your head, and I'm doing it getting paid for what I love to do."
She mumbles and goes about her business. Her mom and dad, along with her much younger sister live just ten miles away, so she goes over there often. From time to time her mother has suggested that, "If you really care for my daughter, you would earn more money."
Her father loves to fish, so he says little, and joins me fishing quite often. Her sister? Think great big ole southern titties. If the stars were to line up just right, I would like to run my Johnson into her.
Kids? We don't have any yet. Pam says that she wants to wait a little longer. That's the bad part. The good part is her pussy has never been stretched, so it is tight like a college girl's. I'll say one thing for Pam, if she sees me with my Johnson at full salute, she rolls onto her back and she opens her legs wide for my carrier landing. There is more than one meaning to the term, "Tail Hook."
Looking back, you could say that I was living life - Fat, Dumb and Happy. So it was a shock to me when that Saturday came. I was drinking coffee, and reading the paper. She was dressed to go out. She sat across from me. "Jack, I have something to tell you."
"Huh?"
"Jack, I am not happy. Our life will never get better. I want to travel, see the world. I have my bags in the car. I'm leaving today. We are going to live apart for three months, and then I'm getting a divorce."
I was speechless. Just sat there with my mouth open. Finally I said, "I can't afford the house and car payments on my salary alone. You know that."
"I will make the payments on my car. You sell the house. We will divide the equity, which should amount to thirty-three thousand dollars."
When I heard that she had checked on the value of the house, I knew that my goose was cooked.
She added, "Call me on my cell phone at night. Do not phone me at work. Goodbye, Jack."
"Wait, Pam, where will you live?"
"At an apartment near my work in Kendall." She left.
I watched my life drive up the street. I may be just a country boy, but I'm not stupid. The moment that I heard that she was getting an apartment in Kendall, instead of living at home, I knew that somebody was going to help her pay the rent. And the only reason that a somebody would do that was he was getting some prime grade pussy. Knowing Pam, I knew that for her to change horses in the middle of the stream would happen only if the somebody had been in the saddle long enough so that she was sure in her mind that he would marry her and support her in the fashion she felt she deserved.
Suspects? One comes to mind right away. Johnnie Tuthil, the son of old man, Sam Tuthil, is thirty-nine, and has been divorced for eight months. One of my golfing buddies knows the Tuthils. He told me that both father and son have been seen at the club with women who work for the firm. Never gave it much thought, since I thought that Pam would be too smart for something like that. There is an old saying, "When a man marries his mistress, there is a job vacancy."
However, if there is enough money involved, most women will open their legs, whether they will admit it or not.
So what to do? First things first. An hour later, the home was listed. It was sold the next day. I moved to Key Largo. Got a small, very old trailer at a campground. Don't laugh; I had to get real very quickly. Had clients for the next four days. Fishing was good, so the clients had a great time.
I have a college buddy, Ryan Robear, who is a Captain for the Homestead police department. He listened carefully to my tale of woe.
"Jack, if I put in jail every guy we pick up with a woman other than his wife, there would be very few men walking the streets. That goes for presidents like Kennedy and Clinton all the way down to the bellhops at the Radisson. In your case, I agree with you. Some prick has set the hook in Pam, and has reeled her in. You probably won't get Pam back. And if you could, would you want her?"
"Good question. Folks in glass houses should not throw stones. I've strayed a couple times, so I want to see how this plays out before I make up my mind. If you were me, what would you do, Ryan?"
"Jack, let me fill you in on my thinking. For starters, what is happening to you happened to me a year ago. I just remarried. But at the time, I wanted to kill the son-of-a-bitch. Another cop, who shall remain nameless, got me aside and told me, Ryan, don't get mad, get even...
I ask, how?
Will you know, Jack, that cops play for keeps, so I knew what my friend had in mind when he said, Your wife's lover should have a run of very bad luck, as should your wife."
"Oh, shit, I like where this is going."
"Jack, done right, you should have an ironclad alibi when anything goes down. For now, do nothing, and I mean nothing; don't call her or her folks, don't take any calls from she or her family, and stay down in Key Largo for the next sixty days. Then come see me. I'll make some contacts with my sources. I'll send you a letter. It will have no identification, so don't toss it.
Three weeks later, a letter came. It read:
Subject has been seen with John Henry Tuthil, dob 02/06/1968 (Photo enclosed) on numerous occasions, including at her apartment, in his car, at the Oceans Lounge, and in his forty foot cruiser, "Being Knotty." Tuthil drives a blue BMW with plate, JHT 5365. Subject now has a green BMW with plate JHT 5366. Subject and JT do a lot of drinking. Both could be subject to DUI, when the time is right. There is another woman, Sharon Butterfield, dob 6/18/1978 (Photo enclosed) who once worked for the firm that is visited by JT. (Busy Boy!) JT paid taxes last year on $328,096.09. The cars, Cessna jet, and the cruiser are in the name of the company, so are perks, as is subject, so it seems. Enclosed is a picture of Wendy Ann Tuthil, dob 12/22/1970. JT's Ex. (Wow)
From subjects cell phone, it is known that she has tried to phone the reader at least forty-six times. Would speculate that subject is curious as can be as to why reader has not gone to see mom and dad, or her, pleading for her to come back.
Subject's younger sister (She will never sink) has tried to phone reader eighteen times using her cell phone. Wonder what she has been told by subject?
On the fifth, make a show of being around Key Largo, and then come to see me at home at eleven am.
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On the fifth, after a long talk with Ryan, It was decided that I would start off creating minor disruptions in the lives of JT and Pam.
My first prank was to wait for "Being Knotty" to depart with my loving wife and John for an evening cruise on the inland waterway. Using a jack, John's car was raised so that I could place wooden blocks under his drive wheel shafts so that his tires were just a fraction of an inch off the road, which he would never see in the dark. I was later told that they were stranded for over two hours on the pier before a tow truck came to tow the BMW.
A few days later, cotton balls soaked with pure essence of skunk were placed into the air intakes of Pam and John's cars.
Twenty pizzas were ordered to be delivered to Mrs. Pamela Carrol at work. By using the phone in Tuthil's parking garage, the Papa John's dispatcher showed Tuthil caller identification.
An ad was placed in the Miami paper that read: Moving soon. The following animals and birds will be given away. Two American Eagles, Two Grey Wolves, One Mountain Lion, Several Leatherback turtles. Come to 23 Tuthil Lane between 9:30 am and 4:30 pm. Ask for John Tuthil.
A patrolman watching the place reported that over fifty people showed up. But the real show occurred when the Kendall Animal Control officers showed up with warrants to search both the Tuthil offices and John Tuthil's home. The animals I had listed are all protected, and it is illegal to own them.
Ryan, who had a source in Tuthil's, phoned to say that in three weeks they planned a fourth of July company picnic at Sam Tuthil's estate that would include all of their major clients. Since I knew that no one was at their place during the day, I went there every day that I was not fishing. I would spread fifty pounds of birdseed around and then blow a whistle. The plan was for me to drive up to the home and blow my whistle the day of the picnic. Ryan called after the picnic to report that a couple hundred pigeons and seagulls arrived and pooped on the trays of food as well as the guests.
Using scuba gear, I went under "Being Knotty" and removed the cotter pins from each propeller. Then I backed the nut holding the props until they were almost off. I knew that Johnnie liked to take clients and hired girls offshore for fun and games. When I heard that he was under way a day later, I phoned Sea Tow and reported that I was a different cruiser that needed help. So when Johnnie's boat became prop less there was no one to respond. I heard that the Gulfstream carried them up the coast twenty miles before help arrived. Shit happens!
Down in Key Largo, I went into the campground grocery for some beans, hot dogs, bread and milk. I asked Mrs. Berger for five dollars of easy picks for Saturday's lottery. She did not hear me, I guess, since she handed me twenty dollars worth. Since she is a nice old lady, I didn't say anything. Sunday morning I checked my numbers. Holy jumped up shit, I had all six numbers. I looked at the ticket. It was worth sixty-four million dollars. I was shaking. Wouldn't you be too?
The following Monday, I phoned my mom and dad to get their social security numbers. I also phoned my sister, and brother, along with uncle Fred. Altogether, I allocated twenty million of the annuity to them all, so I was left with forty-four million, which being paid off at twenty-five thousand per million for thirty years means that I will have a yearly income of one million, one hundred thousand, or six hundred and sixty thousand dollars a year after taxes.