We Need to Tal

A work of fiction, all characters are over 18 years. Best read sequentially starting with chapter one. The cops pay a visit after Myra's and Wendell's big adventure. In a nod to Luedon, I took the ice out of the scotch.

*****

We got back to our house about noon after our fleabag motel adventure. Myra sat at the kitchen table while I made a pot of Earl Grey tea. Neither of us were interested in lunch; we were too emotionally drained and a little upset by our experience. We'd started the day early with Myra announcing her planned coffee date with David Newton, the disbarred lawyer. In a change of plans, we'd met him together at a coffee shop, then adjourned to a seedy motel with the suggestion of a sexual romp with Myra. That's where I'd put an empty gun to David Newton's head and made him piss his pants. That should keep him away from my wife, I thought. Plus, he had an outstanding warrant and Lt. Rich Williams of our local police department would soon be arresting him. I expected to hear from Lt. Williams, too, after David Newton had told him his tale of woe.

And we did. Myra and I had arisen from an afternoon nap and we were preparing a late dinner when the doorbell rang. I went to the front door. It was Lt. Williams, in plainclothes.

"Dr. Cooper?" he said, holding out his badge and ID. I leaned forward to scrutinize it.

"Lt. Williams," I said. "What can I do for you?" I saw the tiniest twitch in the corner of his mouth. "Please, come in."

"Who is it, Wendell?" we heard from the kitchen.

"It's Lt. Williams from the police," I replied.

Myra came into the room. "Can you stay for dinner, Lieutenant? We should be eating in about 30 minutes," she said.

"Sorry Ma'am. Not while conducting official business," the lieutenant replied.

Myra went back to the kitchen and the police officer and I took seats in the living room. He took out his notebook and referred to it while asking questions. He soon established that Myra and I had met David Newton that morning for coffee, that the barista remembered us, and that we'd seemed like a group of friends enjoying each other's company.

"Now's here's the strange part, Dr. Cooper. Mr. Newton maintains he was friends with Mrs. Cooper from work, but just friends, nothing romantic. But at the coffee shop, out of the blue, you offered him Mrs. Cooper for sex if you could watch. You all drove to the...uh," he referred to his notes again, "the uh, JetWay Motel, a fleabag out by the airport, where you put a gun to his head, threatened to kill him, and robbed him. What do you say to that, Dr. Cooper?"

"What did he say I took?" I asked.

He referred again to his notes. "One miniature video camera and one audio recorder disguised as a pen. Valued at one thousand dollars, making it felony theft."

I snorted. "I could get you a matching set on the internet for 250, max."

"I'll make a note of that," he replied.

"So, what are the charges, Lieutenant?"

"Well, there's felony assault, felony theft, maybe armed robbery, and solicitation. You're looking at five to ten. A good lawyer might get the solicitation charge dropped down to lewd and lascivious."

"No problem," I replied. "I know a lawyer who got a buggery charge reduced to 'following too closely'. Piece of cake."

I heard a snort from Rich just as Myra entered the room. "Is the official business just about concluded? Can I set a place for you, Lieutenant?"

"Almost. We're still negotiating, Mrs. Cooper," Lt. Williams said.

"Negotiating?" she asked. She looked back and forth between us two men. We looked at each other and put on our best stone faces.

"Babe, sometimes sacrifices have to be made," I said in all seriousness.

Myra seemed confused and her eyes darted back and forth. "What are you two talking about?" she said.

"It's only one night, Myra," I answered.

Lt. Williams looked at me and said," I thought we'd agreed to a full weekend, from Friday evening to Sunday midnight."

"Midnight? You might as well keep her all night. I'm okay with that as long as she gets to work in the morning." My stone face was beginning to crack.

"Are you two dickheads done insulting me? It's time to eat," Myra said, heading back to the kitchen.

"Is your investigation finished, Lieutenant?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so. No evidence, no witnesses, and clueless suspects. My theory? Mr. Newton was robbed by a prostitute and concocted a story to get back at you and Mrs. Cooper in revenge for ending his fun. Case closed, the official investigation is over. Let's eat."

After dinner we three sat in the living room enjoying a dram of dessert sherry. I craved the alcohol and was glad to get it. "Where was this kept? I didn't know we had it," I said to Myra, indicating my glass of sherry.

"It was in the china cabinet," Myra replied. After a pause, she added, "There's one last bottle of scotch hidden in the laundry room, under the counter. It's a leftover Christmas gift. Shall I get it?"

I looked at her for a long minute, then said yes. She left to get it and Rich asked if I was trying to quit drinking, so I started telling him the story of Friday night. Myra came back carrying a tray with two crystal Old-Fashioned glasses, a small pitcher of water, and the last bottle of 18 year old premium scotch in the house. She excused herself, saying she didn't like scotch.

"You two boys catch up without me. I don't want my presence to hinder conversation."

My mouth was watering for the scotch but before I started, I promised myself to stop after the first sheet was hoist. No more drunkenness, I swore to myself. This was only social drinking.

I poured a small aliquot of water into each of two glasses, followed by a generous portion of scotch, and handed one to Rich. We each took a sip. I took two.

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry, hearing your story, Dell. Barely made it into the shower? And Myra helped you clean it up? What a gal! She must really love you, man!" he said, chuckling.

"She does. But just before that she was out with that dipwad, our lawyer friend," I said. "She dressed up for him and they had drinks and dessert."

"Really, David Newton?" Rich said. I told him the whole story, sparing no details, including her drenched twicky and the ferocious spanking I delivered when she got back.

"On her bare bottom? I would've liked to have seen that, or heard it, at least. I'll bet you really made her squeal," Rich said, taking another sip. "This is some fine hooch, Dell. Most of us cops drink canned beer."

"She got the message, let's say that," I replied. "She accused me of rape for checking her with my finger for dipwad's cum."

"Ha! Well, that's no joke anymore," Rich said. "The new assistant DA, Sybil something or other...Smithson...she takes that stuff real seriously. And something's happened to Harry Sullivan, the judge. He's starting to think that way, too. I think his son married some hippie chick who thinks all marital sex is rape, and it's rubbing off on old Harry."

"Humph. Let her try. Maybe next time she needs a spanking, I'll outsource it. A judicial spanking with handcuffs and leather straps to hold her down. Interested?" I said. Scotch makes me say things.

Rich looked over the top of his glass and raised an eyebrow. "Sure. If you're serious, call me. Think she'd like that bondage stuff? We could do it out at the lake house, you and me."

"Sounds like you've had some experience," I said.

Rich chuckled. "Badge bunnies, you know? The married ones are the most fun. Sometimes their husbands get involved, too."

"Wow, now that IS kinky," I said.

There was a pause in the conversation and I felt myself getting hard at the thought of a married woman at Rich's mercy while her husband watched, or helped. I didn't know Rich was into that, but it made sense, thinking back. He and Helen had been the hot couple, years ago.

"How is Helen?" I asked. I hoped I wasn't treading on tender feelings. He and Helen had married just out of college. And now? She hadn't been well in recent years.

Rich sighed. "Yeah, I guess we haven't talked much lately. Two months ago, she got to be too much for me to handle. I had a nurse with her while I was at work, but she couldn't handle her, either. She was always wandering off and then she started getting combative, so I had no choice. She's at Garden Villas, and I think she's better off there than with me. I see her almost everyday, but a lot of the time she doesn't know me anymore. Talks like a little child when she talks at all. She's going downhill fast, Dell. The doctors say it's only a year or so more, maybe even less, but no one can say for sure. Sometimes they can stay like that for a long time, but eventually they forget how to eat. I still love her as much as ever." He wiped away a tear. "I'm sorry, Dell. Can't help it."

"Don't apologize, Rich. Life is unfair. Sometimes it's a real bitch."

I raised a glass to him, and he raised his back. "Here's to Helen, and to you, Rich. And to your long and fruitful marriage, and to your children and future grandchildren. I'm sure she still loves you, even though she can't express it anymore."

We gently clinked our glasses and took a sip. I poured each of us more scotch and water. Early onset dementia. What a gold-plated bitch.

"I get so lonesome now at home. I miss her, miss her warmth at night. I envy you and Myra." We sipped our scotch in the gathering darkness. I was brooding.

Last night bothered the hell out of me. Myra had dressed up sexy for another man, had gone to see that man, and come back from her date sexually excited. There was no doubt about it because I had seen it...and felt it...for myself.

"I told you that jackass got her motor running last night," I said. There, it was on the table for us to talk about.

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Rich said. "Why do good women go for bad men? That asshole isn't fit for any use, yet he's out there bagging the married ladies. Doesn't fuckin' make any sense. He's downtown in a cell right now. Sacramento is sending someone out tomorrow to get him. Apparently, he's in a world of hurt back in California. Good riddance. Oh, and thanks for calling me, and thanks for the tip, Dell. Always happy to help and I'm glad your little adventure turned out so well. You royally fucked up my Sunday but I'm taking tomorrow off in compensation."

He understood. We drank in silence, me and Rich.

Dell and Rich, just like back at Lincoln Elementary where we met. Touch football, BB guns, go-karts, tadpoles in a jar, and girls. Especially that cute little Helen, and for me, Myra Billings.

"You heard that Tommy Hodges died, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, damn shame. What a great man. We were lucky to have him for fifth grade. Helluva saxophone player, too. Played all the dances, and sent his kids to college on a teacher's salary, playin' his horn." We raised our glasses to our old teacher.

"I think a .22 short would've come out the other side. Just sayin'," said Rich.

"Maybe. But a bullet fired into his ear would have to go through the petrous bone, and that's about the hardest bone in the body. Petrous means rock, I think. That would've taken away a lot of kinetic energy. Fuck, I might have shot myself in the arm if I'm wrong! Good thing I left all the ammo at home, eh?"

I had one sheet fully hoist. Better stop drinking pretty soon.

"Man, you're pretty gutsy, Dell. Better cut that shit out, I might not be around next time to cover your ass. Exciting, though, eh? What would you have done if he'd fought back? He's pretty buff," Rich said.

"He's all gym muscles and he's a pussy. I outweigh him by 70 lbs. and I can still take a punch. I know how to dish it out, too. One solid punch to the head from me would've been worse than a .22 short. He's lucky he only pissed himself."

"Probably right. Hey, before I forget, I saw Tiffany Kennedy at the grocery store a few days ago. She asked about you, knows we're friends. She said 'thank-you' about a hundred times. She's pregnant now, due in about two months, has that full, round, pregnant glow. Sexy as hell. Said to give you a kiss for her when I see you; think I'll pass, though. Don't be surprised if she names the baby after you. It's a girl."

Tiffany's husband is Kyle Kennedy. Officer Kyle Kennedy, shot a year ago in the line of duty by some meth head asshole. Right in the groin, missing the apron of his bullet proof vest by a hair, and going right through his femoral artery. His partner shot the perp and then put Kyle in the back of a cruiser and

hauled ass to my ER, holding pressure on the wound while the other cop drove like a maniac. Both those women saved his life.

It could still make me shiver, thinking about it. Kyle was about out of blood when he arrived and we didn't have time to screw around. While the other staff started large bore IV's and started pumping O negative blood, I put on a pair of gloves and cut down on the severed artery, making a vertical incision. I found the end of it just peeking out of the pelvis, which is why his partner's hand pressure was only partially successful controlling the bleeding. Pure luck, but I managed to get a vascular clamp on it and stop the blood pouring out. We filled Kyle's tank back up and about then 'Smilin' Jack Campbell showed up. He took Kyle to the OR, sewed in a segmental graft, and fixed a few other things. Kyle was back on the job six months later, good as new, and now, a year later, he was going to be a daddy. It was one of those things that made my career worthwhile, made me proud of my profession, and could tide me over when things at work didn't go so well.

Rich could see I had zoned out for a minute. "She thinks you walk on water, Dell. Why don't you come down to the gym? Kyle's down there a lot. It's a cop gym. I could talk to Claude and maybe get you the department rate. You need to work out again, work the heavy bag, spar a little. The guys and gals see you as one of them, after all the things you've done over the years, not to mention saving Kyle's life. You're famous, you know."

Right then Myra showed up, standing in the doorway leading from the living room to the kitchen. The living room had grown dark and the kitchen was brightly lit. Myra was wearing a black silk nightshirt that ended about mid-thigh, clinging to each curve. Over that she was wearing a long, thin white robe that nearly reached the floor. It was left open, giving us glimpses of her bare legs. I doubted she was wearing a bra, and the backlighting made the thin robe look translucent, casting her figure in silhouette. She saw us looking and pulled the robe closed, offering us an embarrassed little smile, but it was still more revealing than Myra may have thought. Or maybe she knew; I'd ask her later.

"I'm off to bed, Wendell. Rich, you're welcome to stay in the guest bedroom or I can call you an Uber," she said.

Rich said, "Thanks, but I'll see who's nearby and hitch a ride in a cruiser. I'll pick up my car tomorrow."

I could see him eyeing Myra up and down, and I'm sure she could see him, too. I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking the same thing.

He'd seen her naked before, I was sure of it, but it had been years, decades really, since they were an item. I'd taken my eye off the ball in college, distracted by a blonde girl whose name I couldn't recall, and good buddy Rich had swooped right in. I'd won Myra back but I knew they'd fucked, I was sure of it. Rich had refused to talk about it, especially when Myra and I shortly thereafter became engaged. Myra always deflected my questions or had flat refused to answer, but I knew. That was years in the past now, and I'd long ago given up thinking about it. We were young and thoughtless back then, and those days were gone forever, over a long time ago. But inexplicably they'd suddenly come back, like the ghost of Claire Haskell.

Myra gave us a demure smile, wished us both a good night, and turned to walk away. We both watched, spellbound, as she swayed and glided smoothly away, her dressing gown swishing, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Fuck, would I ever like to stay," Rich whispered to me. "But I think I'd better call for a ride home.

He made a phone call and said a gorgeous young lady cop was nearby and would pick him up in two minutes.

"Perk of the job?" I asked.

"Naw, she's all business when she's on duty. I don't think she's interested in old guys like me, anyway."

Minutes later a cruiser pulled into our driveway. We said our good byes, clasped each other on the back, and he was gone.

Alone in the dark, I contemplated Myra and my current status. Married. Faithful? Mostly. I could still see her looking at me last night, stunning in her LBD, dressed up for another man, telling me to shut up and drink myself stupid. Which I did. Sober? I would've never let her go. It hurt in the most exquisitely painful way imaginable; arousing inside of me fear, jealousy, and rage in equal amounts, tempered and tamped down only by the heavy dose of alcohol that had robbed me of my will to act.

I took a shower in the downstairs bathroom, thinking how much had transpired in the 24 hours since I'd last used that shower.

Upstairs, Myra was ready. Our preliminaries were brief and perfunctory, and the main event was urgent but not rushed, vigorous but not brutal, and immensely satisfying. It was great sex, like a cross between makeup sex and grudge sex, and it left me breathless. It was not a time to talk about that dipwad lawyer, her history with Rich Williams, or anything else but us. We fell asleep and slept soundly through the night.

*****

The next morning I awoke before Myra, as usual. She was on her side, facing away, her auburn her splayed over the pillow. I wanted to sidle up against her and cuddle, but I didn't want to wake her. Today was a work day and she needed her sleep.

I realized two things. First, I'd too easily broken my vow to stop drinking. I think a word from Myra would've stopped me early on, but with Rich there and with Myra's tacit encouragement, I'd given in and started right back to drinking. But in my favor, I'd quit after only two glasses. In the past, I'd been drinking two or three times as much.

Maybe that was for the best, I rationalized. It was great to catch up with Rich, and the booze had lubricated conversation, allowing us to quickly regain rapport and get raunchy about our shared past. Even lifelong friendships like ours needed care and feeding. We'd started to grow apart and I hadn't even known Helen was in a nursing home. Friendship like we shared was too precious to let go fallow.

Second, I was no dud in bed and last night had proven it. I just needed the proper motivation.

Myra came down stairs looking elegantly disheveled, wearing her black silk pjs, the white robe, and a sleepy smile.

"Morning, Lover," she greeted me, getting up on her toes for a kiss.

"Morning you little nymph," I answered. We did that lovey-dovey stuff that lovers do, sniffing and rubbing together like a pair of cats, reestablishing our territory, and leaving our scent on each other. I loved it. How had we allowed ourselves to drift so far apart? The past two days seemed like a dream.

*****

Monday morning was slow in the ER and I had time to make an appointment the next day with my own physician, Stan Boyles. Stan was one of the last physicians in town to holdout against a buyout by the hospital's parent corporation. He still maintained paper charts in spite of Medicare's escalating penalties in favor of electronic records, and he saw his own hospitalized patients rather than rely on the so-called hospitalists employed by the hospital. He was old school, through and through. I wondered what I would do when he retired. It couldn't be much longer, but he always said he had no plans to quit. Getting a next day appointment was one of the perks of being in the biz.