Kendall Jackson wept as he watched the video. He had so hoped it was all a mistake, that his wife of seven years wasn't cheating on him. As he heard the words from his wife, he was saddened. He knew things were not the same these past couple of years, but for her to say she no longer loved him had hurt. It was in resignation to her feelings that he wasn't ready to kill her, he was just mad at her. The other person on the screen had no business being there, though. He was Kendall's supposedly best friend. Kendall didn't need to see any more, and he turned off the tape.
Kendall was not prone to rash behavior. It was one of his faults. He knew it. On the other hand, this was the time to use that 'fault' to his advantage. His actions would take some planning and preparation. His life would never be the same afterwards, but as he saw on the screen, it wasn't going anywhere anyhow. The biggest hurdle he was going to face was trying to keep going as though nothing was wrong.
Tuesday afternoons. It had been the same for the past three weeks. Kendall had taped every session. There was enough damning information on the tapes to get what he wanted. He also found a trend. His best friend went to the gym on Tuesday morning, then to see his wife. What Kendall hated seeing the most was her doing things with his best friend that had always been denied to him. That hurt more than anything, but he used that as justification. After the review of this tape, he put his plan to work.
That evening his wife 'caught' him in the living room, watching a porn videotape. She told him he was disgusting. He quipped back that if she wasn't such a prude when it came to the bedroom, it would be fun to make home movies. The comments went downhill from there. Kendall was sure she took the bait.
Saturday he had set his video camera out in a visible, but not obvious place, in his home office. Sunday, it had been moved, and he knew he had that last piece.
Monday, at work, he took care of all the other arrangements. The last of which was to mail off the other tapes.
Tuesday he showed up at work as usual. Almost as soon as he got in and shut the door, he made a call, using a pre-paid cellular phone. His secretary called in to him, saying that he had someone on the phone. He used up six minutes of time, during which he slammed his fists down on his desk twice. Kendall was sure it had been loud enough for his secretary to hear, and that was the point. After hanging up from the non-existent call, he walked out, telling his secretary he would be gone the rest of the morning.
As he left, he smiled. That had gone well.
Next on his plan was a drive to his 'best friend's' house. This was the most dangerous part. A screw up here would be disastrous. He backed up into the driveway and popped the trunk. Using latex gloves he took Steve's mountain bike and stowed it in the trunk. Next, he blew up a male 'doll' he'd purchased at a sex shop, two weeks earlier, out of town. Now it appeared that there were two of them driving away.
The park he'd chosen was prime, but also a bit dangerous, even in daylight. Removing his shoes, he put on smooth slippers and slit the doll with a knife. Stuffing the shoes and the remains of the doll into a backpack, he donned it and stepped out of the car.
He hated doing this next part, but knew it was crucial. Making a small cut on his hand, he dripped blood onto the inside of the car and then the trunk as he opened it. The bike also got just a little smear before he put a band-aid on his hand, and then latex gloves. Kendall then opened up a new package of riding gloves, covering the latex.
Removing the bike, he made sure to get on it and rolled it forward. Looking back he was satisfied. Tire tracks were there. The park his car was now in was also within a five-minute ride to the commuter train station.
Storing the bike in a locker, he boarded the train. At the next stop, he got off and walked a block to a car that he had parked the day before. It had been rented under his wife's name under the auspice of an accident to her car. She had been out when it had been brought to the house and Kendall acted as though he had no idea what was going on. He signed for the car and the man apologized profusely as he was sure the wife hadn't told her husband about an accident.
It was a six-hour drive to the small border town where he wouldn't have any questions crossing. One dead president and no one asked questions or remembered a thing.
Kendall sat in a small but clean hotel that night. He watched the news report with interest. He started to worry. There was no report on him and he knew there should be. By the end of the newscast, he was feeling sick to his stomach. Then there was a special report.
Kendall almost cried for joy when he saw his house on TV. The house had been taped off and the police were there. He smiled as the announcer on the scene told of an affair, videotapes, a missing husband, and foul play suspected.
Now as the pieces unraveled, the cashing in of stocks and the money transferred into his wife's account and then off to a numbered Swiss bank account. The car, the abandoned bike, the bloodstains. But most of all, the videotapes, those damned videotapes.
Kendall had enough money to set himself up. The numbered Swiss account had held the money long enough to register it, then it had been transferred three times. Now it was in the Caribbean, where he would soon be.
He gave up his house, they'd had no children, and his parents were long gone.
He was about to start a new life.
As he turned out the light, he thought about his wife and his best friend. They had wanted to screw in different ways. He guessed they had never thought they'd get screwed in this way.