Whup! There It Is (750 Word)

Storyline:

He didn't see that one coming.

Eugene Medford was not a happy man. In fact he was livid and could barely contain his rage. He was pacing furiously, reading through the PI report he had just received. Fortunately his two teenage daughters were not at home this Thursday evening. His wife, the sole source of his furor was supposedly on her regular "girls' night out." But, as the report he was reading confirmed what he long suspected, Ashland, was at the Starlight Motel with her piece of shit lover, Donald Gresham.

Various revenge plans were racing through his head as he was on his fourth tumbler of scotch. He was feeling the effects, but he wasn't drunk yet, at least not drunk enough that he couldn't kill both those assholes with his bare hands. His emotions got the better of him and he hurled his glass against the fireplace shattering into a thousand pieces. It sounded like a gunshot going off. "Motherfuckers!"

There was a knock at the door; actually it was a loud pounding. "Police, open up!" Eugene was angry enough already, but he needed someone to vent his anger at, and the police would make a good target. Some traffic cop gave him a ticket tonight just around the corner from his house. He claimed Eugene failed to come to a complete stop.

This is just what I need.

He stomped over and threw open the front door and was ready to give these cops a piece of his mind, when he realized he was staring down three gun barrels pointed right at his heart.

"What the hell do you....Oh, shit!"

The next thing Eugene realized he was lying on the floor.

"Let me up motherfuckers! I haven't done anything." When the dust settled, he was sitting on his couch, rubbing his sore wrists, but the officers apologized for their actions because they thought they heard a gunshot.

There were two uniforms, but Detective Sargeant Mitchell Springfield in his ancient wrinkled polyester suit he obviously bought from Three Day Suits, was clearly in charge.

"Mr. Medford, do you know a Donald Gresham?"

"Yeah he's the piece of shit fucking my wife."

Det. Springfield was surprised Medford admitted he knew him. "Well Mr. Gresham was murdered about an hour ago coming out of a motel room with your wife."

"Too bad, and here I thought only the good died young. Did whoever did it, kill my wife too? Please tell me the answer is yes?" Eugene smiled at the detective.

"This is no laughing matter Mr. Medford, you are a prime suspect in his murder. Where were you an hour ago?"

"One of your asshole traffic cops was writing me a ticket down the street. Now get out of my house!"

"Look Mr. Medford I'm just doing my job. Surely you can see that when a wife's lover is murdered the husband would certainly be a suspect?"

"Ok, but wouldn't that be true for all the husbands of the wives this dirtbag was fucking?"

"Well yes. I'm sure they would," responded a startled Detective Springfield.

"Well then, Detective Mitchell Springfield, husband to wife Victoria, and residing at 123 Ashland Avenue, you must be a suspect because Gresham was fucking your wife too!" Eugene threw a photo at Springfield that clearly showed his wife fucking Gresham in the bed the detective shared with his wife.

Springfield stared at the photo, turned green and puked all over Eugene's living room carpet. He sank to the floor in a daze. The two uniforms didn't know what to do and just stood with their mouths open in shock.

"Where is my loving wife, by the way?"

Springfield was non-responsive. One of the uniforms spoke up. "She's out in our patrol car and waiting to come in when it's safe to pick up some of her things. She is going to stay at her parent's house for a while. Maybe it would be best if we just took her there now and skipped her things?"

Eugene nodded. "That would definitely be a good idea. Why don't you help the detective to his feet and get him outside. Don't trouble yourselves, I'll clean up the mess." And he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

They helped the semi-comatose Springfield to his feet and assisted him out the door. Medford closed it behind them.

Whew, I guess getting that ticket was a lucky break for me after all.

He started to look for some rags and began whistling to himself.