When We Were Married

Chapter 04B

RIDING THE TIGER

Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 9:30 a.m.

My name is Bill Maitland, I am an Assistant State Attorney in Jacksonville, Florida, the number two man in the office that prosecutes wrong doers.

I can honestly say that I have never seen an expression like the one that Austin D. (for Dallas) Edwards, AKA The Big Man, wore on his face as I stepped back away from him. He was seated in his big chair behind his big ornate blonde wood desk and he stared at me as if I was a bigheaded alien that had just stepped off a flying saucer.

As if he couldn't believe what was happening, he reached out with one finger and wiped my lipstick off his lips, where I'd just laid a big one on him. No tongue, but it was a kiss.

Behind me I heard a giggle that could have given a corpse a stiff one and glanced back at Edwards' mistress and unbelievable secretary Myra. She held her arms under those enormous breasts, either because that made them seem even bigger if that was humanly possible or more likely because each one of them had to weigh 15 or 20 pounds and had to hurt her back to carry them around unsupported.

I had stopped on my way into her boss' office and asked to borrow her lipstick, a glossy dark red, and without any questions she had handed me the tube. She had just stared at me with the hint of a smile as I told her, "Don't ask any questions. Just watch."

Then I had walked into Edwards' office, the one where everyone speculated that Edwards, despite edging into his early 60s, probably got his workouts sometime each day manhandling those huge boobs and the curvy body that carried them.

He looked up and said, "Welcome back, stranger. Hope you noticed the building is still standing. We made it without you for one week. It was tough, but-"

He stopped talking as I stepped behind his desk, swiveled his chair and planted a kiss on his lips. It was like kissing a stone statue. We were looking into each other's eyes and it was all I could do not to laugh into his mouth. But I didn't try for any tongue. I kept the lip lock long enough to be respectable and then backed away. My -- or rather -- Myra's, lipstick glistened on his dry lips.

As I looked at Myra she began to giggle again and then laughed and those acres of soft round titties rolled and bounced and jiggled and for the first time in my life, at least since I'd married that cheating bitch Debbie Bascomb, I was really jealous of another man.

I tried to imagine what she'd look like naked and if those breasts would hang down below her knees. Edwards, my friend and mentor, had sucked those things. undoubtedly fucked them because how could any man not, and came inside that mouth and pussy and ass. At least, if I'd been a free man the last ten years since I'd joined the State Attorney's Office, I would have.

But I'd been married and in love with a bombshell of my own. I might still be in love with her, but I wouldn't be married in a month and I'd be free to go after the lovely Ms. Martinez. But, she happened to be the property of my boss and married friend, who already had one beautiful woman in his bed.

And I doubt he'd take kindly on my going after Myra even if I could work up the nerve and there were too examples of what happened when a lieutenant moved in on his boss' woman. Think "Camelot" and you'll know where I'm going.

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from Myra's abundant charms and looked back at Edwards. At least he had started breathing again.

There was a silence in the room until he said, "I knew I said I wanted you to change your luck, Bill, but I never really expected you....to change this much."

"What can I say, Dallas. I just discovered I've had this long standing passion for your body. Why don't we tell Myra to step outside for a few minutes and we'll get better acquainted."

I kept a straight face as long as I could while Edwards looked like he was going to stroke out and finally Myra dissolved into helpless laughter and when I looked around she was laughing so hard I thought she was going to fall on the floor. At least her fall would be cushioned.

Then I allowed myself to grin and Edwards finally got it. He glared at me for a moment and then he couldn't help himself. As he laughed, he said, "You son of a bitch. You had me going. Where did that come from? I've known you for ten years and I didn't think you had a funny bone in that serious body of yours."

I pointed to his face and said, "Wipe the lipstick off before somebody walks in and we generate a whole new round of wild gossip, Boss.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. I made a promise to myself on the Bonne Chance that when I got back I was going to plant a wet one on you and thank you. I guess that's what makes you a good boss. You knew what I needed when I didn't."

He stared at me as he stopped laughing and then glanced at Myra before looking back at me.

"You got laid. Goddammit, you got laid, you dog."

"A gentleman doesn't talk."

To Myra: "Am I good, or am I good?"

She gave him a look that would have melted iron and said softly, "You are very, very good."

Maybe the rumors about his having 12 inches were true.

He blushed and then said to me, "I'm glad you had a good time, man. Is your head back on straight?"

Then: "Are you okay, really?"

"No, not really. I'm a hell of a lot better than I was, but I still have to get myself divorced, and...let's just say I might be a little rough around the edges for awhile. Give me some allowance in case I go off the rails a little bit."

"You got it, as long as you don't go hiding in your office again. Anyway, no rest for the wicked, or the righteous. I have something I need you to handle. I trust your judgment."

"I've been back in town for an hour and a half and I haven't even got my suitcase back to my condo and you're putting me to work?"

"Why do you think I pay you the big bucks?"

I let him tell me and I made a quick decision on what I'd do. There really wasn't much thinking to do. But I've have to go and tell a very unhappy man why he was going to die.

Two hours ago I'd held a lovely woman in my arms and tasted mint on her lips and the only thing that mattered was the world between the four walls of my suite. And now I was back in the blood and guts of reality. This was my real world. The other was the impossible dream.

I walked out and head to the elevator when Myra stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

I turned and she was in my arms. It seemed like half of my body was being massaged by her soft breasts. I kind of froze. This I hadn't expected and I couldn't help looking over her shoulder to see if the Big Man was watching from his office. He wasn't.

"What?' I croaked. My voice wasn't working well.

"Can't a friend give another friend a hug when he comes back to work?"

I was already starting to tent out of my slacks.

"Not your kind of hug, Myra. We've known each other for more than five years and we've never touched. Why-"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Bill. I can't help having big boobs. But I've missed you. We've all missed you. I'm glad you went on that cruise. I can look at you and tell the difference in you already. She must have been a nice lady."

I just stared at her.

"You're not a wham-bam kind of guy and you're bleeding where everybody can see from what the bitch did to you. Anybody that could get through those defenses of yours, and make you as happy as you seem to be, must have been a special lady. Are you going to see her again?"

I finally shook my head.

"No, it's impossible. But she is a very special lady. And how the hell can you be that hot and that smart?"

"Having big tits doesn't automatically make you stupid, although Debbie is a good example of the fact that it does sometimes happen."

We just stood there for a moment and she finally let me go.

"See you around, Mr. Maitland."

As I stepped into the elevator and thought about her words I realized that it might be a blessing that I might not be working here after today. If I kept my job, I don't know what I would do about Myra. She and Edwards weren't married, but she was his. Jesus, I couldn't just keep going around trying to steal other men's women.

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Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 10 a.m.

She poked her head into his office but he wasn't there. She stepped out and walked until she reached the area where four secretaries in the Humanities used a common area.

"Is Professor Abbott around or in a class?"

The secretaries just glanced at each other and Debbie knew what they were thinking. Fuck them all. She stood there until the silence got too loud and finally one of them said, "His class got out a couple of minutes ago. He'll be waiting for his next class to arrive."

When Debbie didn't move, an older woman said, "Take the hallway to the right and go past the next two hallways. Hang a left and it'll be the first doorway on the left."

He had his back to her writing on the whiteboard as she walked in. A few of the last leaving male students gave her the up and down that she had come to expect but she just ignored them.

"I appreciate promptness, guys, but give me a few minutes okay? Hang outside for a little bit and let me catch-"

They just looked at each other for a moment.

"Hi."

She didn't say anything for a moment, then approached him and kissed him lightly on the side of his face. He smelled of "Old Spice." It was an old-fashioned scent and it suited him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. For what?"

"For being a gentleman and a nice guy."

"I'll take any kudos I get, but I honesty don't deserve them in this case. I really was occupied."

"I know, but you didn't have to -- let me down easily. I'm so used to guys concentrating on my tits and ass and never even thinking there's a person inside that body. I know you're a man, but...thank you for treating me like a person.

"And for what it's worth, it really wasn't -- just -- an invitation to hop into my bed. I just wanted -- somebody -- there in that house with me. I never realized how big and lonely that place is with just me in it."

"I understand, Debbie. I told you I've been there. At least your husband and your kids are still alive. You may never live in the same house with him again, but he's there. You can pick up a phone and call him. You can stalk him just to remind yourself what he looks like. Imagine what it would be like if he was gone. And you'd never see him again, to cuss him out or tell him you were sorry or to share something your kids have done.

Even divorced, you still have two kids.

"Elise and I had no kids. She was never there again. I couldn't ever get closure. I never had a chance to say the things I wanted to say. You may not believe it, but you're lucky."

She shook her head.

"If this is lucky..."

Then she looked at Abbott and thought about what he had said. And tried to imagine that Bill was gone. Like Clarice..... Gone under the ground and never to be able to share the pleasures of something the kids had done, or to hold their grandbabies when they eventually came along. Even if they never spoke another civil word to each other, at least they would alive to share those memories.

She put her hand to her lips and tried to stifle tears of weakness.

"You know, you ought to hire out as a therapist. Every time I talk to you, Professor Abbott, you either make me feel better or make me look at things in a different way."

"I come cheap. Since you don't have anybody at home, would you consider having dinner with me tonight? There's a very good Thai restaurant on Baymeadows that I've discovered. I love Thai, the hotter the better. And if you feel up to it, we might stop by a nightclub and have a drink? Sound like something you'd be interested in?"

"You know I'm damaged goods. Right now, very damaged."

He stepped up to her and grabbed one hand and held it in his.

"Did I ask you to go to bed with me?"

"No -- but-"

"If we keep seeing each other, trust me, the day will come when I will want you in bed. I'm not gay and my equipment still works. But I'm not planning on bedding you tonight. Look, I can't criticize anyone for how they lead their life, but going to bed with Doug Baker the minute your marriage exploded was a very....unfortunate....thing to do."

"What can I say? I'm a slut. According to my mother-in-law I always have been, and most everybody on this campus still thinks I am."

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying you were ending an 18-year relationship, you had all kinds of problems and issues with your husband, and before you could even decide that you wanted to end the marriage, you jumped into another relationship. You don't have to be a therapist to know that is suicidal. Your head is completely screwed up. It usually takes months, sometimes years, to put your life back together after the end of a marriage. You didn't give yourself enough time.

"My wife was a total fucking bitch and she tore my heart out, and it was a year before I got her out of my head and two years before I could get into a halfway normal relationship with a woman without Elise's memory screwing things up. That's all I'm saying.

"Look, Debbie, I'm not in love with you. I don't know you well enough to have those kinds of feelings. I might never, because you can like somebody and not have it go any deeper. I know I like you. I know that at sometime in the future I want to have that gorgeous body of yours. But for now, why not take it easy. Just dinner, a few drinks, I'll take you home and probably jerk off like crazy kicking myself for not taking you to bed. But we've got time, unless the world ends tomorrow."

"If this is some new seduction technique, you ought to write it down. You could make a fortune selling it. But the answer is yes. I'd love to have dinner with you, and drinks, and just stay out of that damned house as long as I possibly can."

Abbott dropped her hand just as the first of a stream of students began walking in for his next class, but not before she'd already the first excited buzzing. Great, another entry for the campus gossip mill. To hell with it.

She turned to face the eyes of male and female students, took a deep breath just to get her breasts bobbing for the males' sake, smiled, and walked slowly out of the classroom. She wiggled her ass just enough to make Abbott a hero to his male students and when she'd left the classroom she started walking normally and grinned an evil grin. Give the bastards something to work with. She wasn't going to be here that much longer, so to hell with them all.

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Thursday, July 21, 2005 -- 10:15 a.m.

I walked into the conference room where two men were sitting at a long table and one man stood at the other side of the room, just behind the black man dressed in a prison jump suit. Deaven Thompson was the third of the Thompson brothers who had killed an eight-year-old in a drug war-inspired drive by.

Two of his brothers had previously gone before juries and gotten the death penalty. The way things worked, they might never die in the arms of the state, and if they ever were executed, it might be twenty years from now. But they would spend a good portion of their lives behind bars, living a life that would depress lab rats. And if there was a God in heaven, they'd die in prison in one of those internecine gang wars

Deaven was the last of the three and he was scheduled to go on trial Monday. That was one of the reasons I'd balked originally at going out on the Bonne Chance. I wanted to make sure to cross the 't's and dot the 'I's to make sure nothing allowed him to escape the Death Chamber at Raiford. Now he had thrown a monkey wrench into the majestic workings of the law.

The black man dressed in a nice suit sitting beside him as Anthony Smith, a 40-year-old who I'd gone up against more than a few times. We didn't particularly like each other, but he seemed to respect me and he was a pit bull for his clients. Unfortunately most of them were scum, but lawyers usually can't pick and choose.

The human wall standing behind Deaven was a bailiff named Charlie Case. He usually worked for and in the courtroom of Judge Herman Herring but he was available for any job that needed doing around the courthouse and knowing the reputation of the Thompsons as stone-cold killers who had friends on the outside, the powers that be had decided Case would be a good babysitter outside the jail.

I sat down opposite Deaven who slouched and checked his longish fingernails. His hair was set in corn rows which was really a little too 1990-ish to send the message he intended and even in jail he had managed to get some expensive styling.

Outside he'd have been weighted down by gold and other assorted 'bling.' All that had been left behind at the jailhouse door, but one blinding gold tooth in the center of mouth sent the message that this was a man who had substance. His body language also explicitly said, "fuck you" and that was the message he intended to send.

I opened the folder I'd set down in front of me and pretended to read it. Then I looked up at Deaven.

"So you want to plead guilty to murder in the second and accept a maximum sentence of 30 years? Is that correct?"

He looked at me like I'd look at a floating piece of shit in a toilet bowl and said, "Great. You can read. I thought you were just another stupid, racist asshole like all the other suits around here."

Smith gave him a look of weary exasperation, then shook his head like you would when dealing with a troublesome six-year-old. He looked at me instead.

"It's a straightforward deal, Maitland. He'll be guaranteed to spend 30 straight in maximum at Raiford. No parole asked or expected. He's 26. He'll be 56 when he walks out. Thirty years behind bars, any organization he has will be long dead. The dealers will have moved on. He'll be history. He won't be killing anybody, or any citizens at any rate.

"And you and the state will have saved maybe $100,000 or $150,000, in the expense of a trial, appeals, all that crap. Everybody wins."

"Everybody except Marques Douglas."

Deaven gave me what was intended to be a hard look.

"Who the fuck is Marques what's his name and what the fuck does he have to do with me?"

Smith gave him one of those "how can you be so stupid looks" and then looked at me and dropped his eyes. He knew how it was going to go down.

"Marques Douglas was the eight-year-old whose brains you and your brothers sprayed all over the walls of his bedroom. He was a kid that wore Spiderman pajamas and wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up."

Deaven looked almost human for a second but gave it up as wasted effort, shrugged and leaned back.

"Oh. Well, the kid's gone now. Putting me under the ground isn't going to bring him back. And it was an accident anyway. We had no way of knowing anybody would get in the way of a bullet."

"So, it was just an accident, his getting killed? You didn't plan on killing anybody?"

"No. Somebody could get killed, but we were sending a message to those assholes what could happen if they didn't get out of our territory."

"You almost sound like you believe that. But why am I surprised, Deaven. You're the brains of your outfit. Nigel and Rashon like to play like they run things, but they couldn't blow their noses without your direction. You pull the strings Deaven, and you always have."

"So?"

I pulled a tape recorder out of my pocket and laid it on the table, hit the play button.

"...yeah, we knew the Browns had some rug rats in the house. At least two or three of them. That's why we concentrated our fire on that back bedroom. That's where we were told the kids slept."

"Why the hell were you gunning for kids? Why not go after the Browns. They were the ones poaching on your territory?"