My Justice My Revenge Read online

  The motorcycle driver was about twenty-five years old. He had dark hair, the start of a beard, which was turning blood red very fast, wearing a thin leather jacket and pants. Officers Wasmiak and Keith Sommers arrived. Wasmiak started directing traffic around the area. Sommers went to the lady driver.

  As the ambulance and fire department arrived, I was leaning over the motorcycle driver. Paramedic Andy Jones knelt down next to me. As he was looking at the motorcyclist Sommers yelled out, “I need help over here.” The lady car driver had fallen to the ground. Sommers thought she had a heart attack. A second paramedic went to her aid.

  Wilson told me it looked like the motorcyclist had a broken leg besides all the cuts opened up on his body and head. Good guess, I thought, as his leg was in a position only a contortionist would find enjoyable.

  The whole intersection was shut down now. The fire trucks and squad cars were blocking the roads. I looked up to see the lady being placed on a stretcher. She was then moved to an ambulance. I was holding the motorcyclist’s head. The blood was coming out in at least two different areas. It is true that head wounds bleed more than other areas, but this was serious.

  I held his head as the paramedics worked on his legs and the rest of his body to prepare for the move to the stretcher. From over my shoulder I heard, “Officer, where is your hat?”

  I did not look at first but after two or three times I turned to see my Chief standing on the parkway pointing at me. I looked at the guy I was holding then at the paramedics. Again I heard, “Put on your hat.”

  We do have a policy that says you will wear your hat whenever you are out of your car. And I was out of my car. One paramedic asked. “Is he kidding?”

  “Unfortunately no,” I answered.

  “What’s gonna happen?”

  “If I don’t get up now, go to my car and put on my hat, I’ll get a day off without pay.”

  “You have GOT to be kidding?”

  “No, might even be more.”

  “Go ahead get your hat, we’ll hold him and get him in the ambulance.”

  I got up, looked at the Chief, who no doubt had a few drinks in him, and retrieved my precious hat. As I looked back they were getting ready to put the motorcyclist into the ambulance.

  One of the firemen called me later to tell me the woman was fine. He also said that, although he was in serious condition, the motorcyclist was going to make it.

  By five-thirty in the morning I was headed into the seven-eleven for something to drink and maybe a candy bar. I got out of my car, wearing my uniform hat that had to be on. Picked up a large diet coke and changed my mind on the candy bar. The drink would be enough to keep me awake after I went home and got into bed. I would be getting up every hour for the processing of this drink. I didn’t think I needed sugar too.

  I carried the big drink, sixty-four ounces of liquid enjoyment, to my squad car. I entered the car looking to see if another squad was in the area. Not seeing one I called Wasmiak over the side channel. This was the chat channel. If we wanted to meet or talk non-business, this is where it was done.

  “Bill, it’s Timmy here on the side.”

  “Yeah, Timmy, go ahead.”

  “How about having a get together over on Tower Road?”

  “Fine, just have to make a quick stop and I’ll be right there.”

  That meant he was either getting a drink for himself or he was taking a pee, or both. Anyway he would be there shortly.

  Now since everyone working can hear us on the chat channel including the Sergeant, we devised ways to communicate without them knowing what we were saying. We would not be doing anything really bad but just meeting was a no no. However most of the time the Sergeants just turned their heads and let it go. If we didn’t want them to know what was going on we spoke in a language only we knew. And, of course, we constantly changed it.

  But here it was, almost six in the morning; we still had time to do one last round, then homeward bound.

  I pulled only about half way down Tower Road. It really wasn’t a real road, more of a drive that went to a telephone tower. I sat in my car waiting for Wasmiak.

  When he pulled up we both got out of our cars.

  “Well, see any of them last night?” I asked.

  “No, but I thought for sure I had smelled ‘em. Maybe it was the wind that threw me off,” he replied with a little depression in his voice.

  Not only was Wasmiak a good cop, he took pride in his ability to “sniff” out lovers.

  “Hey, what’s that down there at the end of the road?” He was looking down the road almost standing on his toes. “Could it be?” I saw a glimmer enter his eyes. Perhaps, just maybe, he would not be denied.

  “See the car down there? Let’s walk down and see what’s going on.” He had a smile that he could not hide cross his face.

  We started walking, very slow movements. He was very precise not wanting anyone to catch something out of a corner of his or her eyes.

  It was about five hundred yards we would have to walk. As we got closer to the car we could not see anyone in the vehicle. I looked around the area to make sure there was no one next to the trees or bushes.

  The sun was coming up and daylight was upon us. Wasmiak motioned me to the passenger side of the car.

  I could see that there were two naked people in the passenger seat. The seat was reclined all the way back. The male was behind the female and she was on her hands and knees. Her head was actually lying on the back seat. He was driving her with all the force of a four twenty six engine of the mid sixties.

  Wasmiak was on the driver’s side getting a full view of the two bodies. I realized why he had me go to the passenger side. When he motioned me over, but slowly, very slowly, I got the same view.

  With every pump in the back end you could see her breast jilt forward. She appeared to be about thirty, maybe thirty-five by the looks of her body. She was very trim and in very good shape. Her hair was light brown fairly long, hanging in her face, covering it. I could not see her face. She could not see me.

  The male had semi long black hair that seemed to be perfectly placed on his head. There was not one hair out of place. His arms indicated he probably worked out with weights.

  By the sounds coming out of the car, which had its windows slightly open, the end was near. There was all the moaning one would want in a heated exchange between man and woman.

  Just then the male, looked right at Wasmiak and myself. I heard Bill whisper under his breath, “Bobby.”

  I looked at Wasmiak, who never took his eyes off of the two. I then saw the male in the car, Bobby; hold up one finger, indicating hold on one moment. He then held up five fingers. He was now indicating five more minutes, never missing a beat in his lovemaking. So he continued to pound as we continued to watch. Once the moaning and screaming got to pitches where there was no mistaking it was over, Wasmiak and I walked away. The female would never know we had been there.

  Walking back to our cars, a bit faster than we arrived, I asked Wasmiak, “Who was that?”

  “That was Bobby the barber at the Colonial Resort. Probably one of the girls he picked up in their bar.” said Wasmiak.

  “Well he sure wasn’t that shy.”

  “He knows me pretty well. And he knows I won’t tell his wife.”

  “I figured that when we got the five more minutes sign.”

  “Yeah, sort of sorry I hurried him. But she was something to look at, huh?”

  “Yes she was. Think you’ll ever see her again?”

  “I guess that’ll depend if I smell it in the air and the two of them are out again.”

  We got into our cars and sped off. We had to make one last check to make sure no houses were missing in town. And who knows, maybe when I get home my wife will be up.

  Chapter 5

  Well, when I arrived home and snuggled next to my wife, Donna, she said no. I gave out the male universal sigh, the big intake of air, and the loud escape of same. Then the slow turn to
lie back to back.

  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by that answer. We had not been getting along too well lately. There had been more yelling than talking. No communication. We were just passing time.

  I don’t know, maybe it was my fault. I was never home like normal families, working hours I hated too. When she started going out I thought it would help but it was only a band-aid on a gaping wound.

  Lately though things were getting even worse. When the telephone rang she would run to pick it up. Then talk so soft; I didn’t think anyone would be able to hear her. Which I found out later was true. Except it was me who was not suppose to hear her.

  I would go into work and meet with different guys but wouldn’t really discuss my problems. The only one I sometimes discussed it with was the Cadet, Jeffrey Motter. He was still a kid and had no idea about women but I could talk and he really never answered back. We became good friends, mostly I believe due to our interest in kids. I would tell him how I wanted to be a juvenile officer, but it was never to happen.

  I would go to work, put on my make up, and do the job, as I would say. The person you would see was not the person in front of you. Then I would go home to yell and fight. This could not go on.

  Chapter 6

  One night when I was working with Wasmiak, he called me over to meet. He called me on the chat channel, “Timmy, area six number two.”

  I knew this meant the industrial park, second building north. This could be a number of buildings but it gave an area that no Sergeants would know.

  When I saw his squad next to a factory I started towards him. He then proceeded to drive to the rear of the building. I knew he wanted to talk about something, because of the code, so I guess we’d be here a little while.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Timmy, if I knew something and I thought it would hurt you, you would still want me to tell you, right?” Then he quickly added, “I think you should know.”

  “Bill, what are you talking about?” I asked, not knowing where this was going to take me.

  I looked at Bill trying to see into his head. He was having some trouble telling me what was on his mind. “Am I in some kind of trouble at work?” I couldn’t think of anything I had done that was really bad. Okay, throwing my nightstick at that car as it just missed me while directing traffic wasn’t very professional, but the bastard almost ran me over.

  “Bill, just tell me.”

  “Well, I was at the Colonial Resort talking to Bobby. Remember he was the barber that was nice enough to let us watch a live porno? Anyway, as I was getting ready to leave the parking lot I saw your wife’s car parked by the health club. I didn’t think much of it, as it’s been there a lot lately.”

  “I know Bill; she’s been saying she has to get into better shape.”

  “Well, it’s just that, ahhh, as I was pulling around I saw a guy walk up to the car. He got out of his car, looked around as if scouting the parking lot. I thought he was going to put a brick through your window. But instead he leaves a piece of paper.” Bill was watching me the whole time. Watching for some reaction I guess. But so far there was none.

  My heart was pounding. I didn’t know where this was going but I didn’t think it would be good. We have been having trouble but…

  “It was a note Timmy. From that guy to your wife.”

  “Did you read it?” I asked not knowing if I wanted a yes or no answer.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did it say?”

  “I watched the guy put it on the window, then he drove away. I watched him leave the parking lot. I made a note of the vehicle, a newer dark blue Lincoln. I also got the plates.”

  “That’s all great Bill, but what did the note say?”

  “I went to your car, took the note off, and then read it. After reading it I thought you should see it.” He reached down on the seat next to him and picked up a hand written note. He handed it to me.

  “This is it?”

  “Not exactly. I took it to the police station, made a copy of it, and then returned the original to her car. Sorry.”

  “My wife never saw you?”

  “I don’t think she ever came out of the resort health club,” he answered.

  I took the note, opened it and began reading. It talked about maybe seeing her later tonight, at the usual place. It also said how much he loved her and was very appreciative of all the things she does for and to him.

  “Did you read this?” I asked with just a hint of being choked up in my voice. No matter how much you know something like this could be occurring, no matter how many feelings have been lost along the way, it still hurts and you just feel shitty.

  Now I knew where she was getting all her attention. It was not at home from you. And she’ll probably deny she did anything wrong.

  “She’s just a bitch,” I said. No other words could describe it. She was a bitch that was killing me, ripping my heart apart.

  “Sorry, pal. If there’s anything I can do. I don’t know what to say. Hope I did the right thing,” he said with a quizzical, hopeful voice.

  “Oh you did. How else would I have ever found out? You did something I should have done on my own, a long time ago. But I had false hope, not wanting to believe what was in front of my own eyes. No, you helped me, it’s just going to take awhile now.” I could see he was second-guessing himself if he in fact did the right thing. But friends, real friends tell you the good stuff and when you need to hear it, they tell you the bad stuff.

  Now the only thing that remained was to figure out how it would play out. It wasn’t just the two of us, but the kids.

  Chapter 7

  After work I went home. Since it was about eleven p.m. and I didn’t want to start up with my wife I just looked into the bedroom. She already was lying in bed, either asleep or pretending to be. I guess it was a no show from lover boy.

  So to the local bar I go. You know, where everybody knows your name. But unfortunately everyone also knows what you do for a living. Many times I had been approached about, my son is in trouble for this? Hey, what should you do if a cop pulls you over for D.U.I.? Should I get an attorney?

  But tonight I wanted to be alone. And I was. So alone I could almost cry. The song that came to mind was, “I’m so lonesome I could cry.” Funny, when you are down, sad songs fill your head. So I attempted to drink my troubles away. That didn’t happen either, only made them worse.

  Between the booze and playing songs on the jukebox I went through a bit of money. The only contact I had with someone outside of my juke box world was when a drunken woman, who I didn’t even know, put her arms around me and asked me to dance. I thanked her for the offer but let her know the only dancing would be in my head. I bought her a drink and had it sent to her table. Then I got up and left.

  It was about eight a.m. when I felt a cold hand wake me up with a sting that continued over and over again. Finally, after many hits, I realized I was getting my ass kicked. I went into the fetal position to stop the pain. What the hell was happening, I wondered.

  After the arms had stopped flailing at me, I saw my wife kneeling over me. Again I asked myself, what the hell was this? But before I could ask any questions I heard, “Where were you last night? And who were you with?” She was screaming at me. The redness in her eyes might have been from crying but right at that moment I would have to believe it was the devil that was coming from her body, out through her eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted as I thought I had only four or five hours of sleep. I just found out she is sleeping with another man. And she has just slapped the shit out of me for sleeping.

  “No, no, none of your bullshit of changing the story. Just answer the questions,” she yelled, almost having spit roll down her lip.

  She was breathing so hard I thought she would have a heart attack right there and save us both some agony. Her hands were shaking. She almost appeared as I would have been last night had I not been working and had to
control myself. She was acting out how I felt at the bar last night.

  “Well then, repeat the damn questions,” I gasped between breaths. I was also breathing faster than I could talk.

  “Where were you after work last night?” she repeated.

  “I came home. You were sleeping so I went to Boston’s for a drink. Something wrong with that?” I still had no idea what had happened or where any of this was coming from.

  “Who were you with?” she asked. But when she asked it she positioned herself as if the answer would lead to more battering of my head.

  “I was by myself,” I told her. Note to self, trust your instincts.

  She then proceeded to raise her voice to unintelligible octaves, have her eyes turn completely red, gleaming with the poison of the devil, and start to slap, kick and bite me anywhere the impact would land.

  “What are you doing?” I pleaded with her to answer.

  “I smell her on you.”

  Now, let me tell you, when you are getting slapped around more than a hockey puck, it’s hard to figure out something that is nowhere in your mind to recapture. So I came back with, “What?”

  She stopped hitting again. Then she started to explain. “I smell a woman’s perfume on you.”

  I tried to think back through the alcohol induced brain patterns what happened last night. I remember the note. She was sleeping. I went to the bar, stayed alone, listened to music, was asked to dance, I refused. Wait, the woman that asked me to dance put her arm around me. That had to be it. With my mind moving quite fast I thought, honesty is the best policy, but lie till you die. However, I was innocent this time. So I told her, “I was at the bar. A woman asked me to dance and I told her no.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” She was now standing shaking her head and rolling her eyes.