Chapter 5

It's pretty easy to lie, once you get in the rhythm of it. It's like watching a TV program. You get immersed in the alternate reality, you start to think of it as 'normal, ' and then you can tell the next part of the story, untrue as it may be.

So I spun out the falsehood that I was better sleeping in my childhood bed. I arrived home most mornings after Cyn had gone to work and left in the evenings shortly after she got home. I kept my appointments with the VA shrink.

My sex life had disappeared. It used to be once a day and several times on weekends. Now it was zero. Surely Cynthia would have noticed. But I kept on with the panic attack story and the visits to the shrink and she seemed to be buying it.

Exactly three weeks from the last 'weekend cruise' she was getting ready to go. She passed me on the road and turned around to follow me back to the house. Not 'our home' any more. When we both turned into the driveway, she jumped out of her car and waited while I got Bear out of the van.

"Oh, James. I've missed you so much." She hugged me; I put my arms around her. "I'm so sorry about all this travel. I haven't even had a chance to talk with you this week. Carbunkle wants me to travel to Mexico to evaluate a project. It's outside the city, so I won't even know where I'm staying, yet."

"And you have to leave today? You'll be gone for the weekend?"

"Yes ... it's the travel plans. It takes days to get there."

"What about coming back? When will you be back?"

"Probably on Sunday," she said with a sad voice. What an actress! She was superb.

"Wow. So two weekends and a full week," I looked stricken. So the 'away' time was stretching out. Pretty soon it would be a two week trip to ... I don't know, Cambodia or Venezuela or somesuch. I really was stricken. Any thoughts I had about trying to put the marriage back together were flying out the window.

"Okay. I guess if you gotta, you gotta," I tried to look up at her. The tears in my eyes were real.

"Just wanted to tell you. There's a note in the kitchen saying the same thing," she said. "Love ya." It was the last words I heard from her for a long time. Well, except for some "oh yeah baby"s that weren't directed at me.

I visited Houston on Saturday morning, the same way I'd done it before. This time I didn't take Bear; I left him with mom for the day. She asked if I'd worked things out with Cynthia and I said that whole thing had gotten shelved when I started having these panic attacks. Another lie, this time to mom. I hated this.

I had a roll-on suitcase and my laptop. When I got to Houston, I unlimbered the GPS windows for the three active devices and saw it was the same setup: two in the unnamed building and suitcase in the hotel. This time I headed for the Century.

I waited in the coffee shop across the street and watched the entrance. After about an hour, I saw Cynthia come out of the hotel with a man. She was holding his arm in that very familiar way that lovers have. He was wearing jeans, a cowboy shirt and cowboy boots. She was wearing her painted on jeans, a sexy silk blouse I'd never seen before, and knee length boots. She'd tied her hair back in two little pony tails, one on each side.

The nasty thought crossed my mind that maybe he liked to have something to pull on when he fucked her mouth. I waited while a valet came around with his sports car – it was 'please-give-me-a-ticket' red, naturally, but I didn't make out what kind it was. They got in and went off. I almost said they got off, but they probably did that some time earlier, in the room.

I crossed to the hotel with my usual limp. Hey! I had two artificial legs, I always limped on one side or the other. With my roller suitcase and laptop and sports coat, I fitted right in with the Saturday crowd at the posh Century Hotel. I walked in and headed straight for the coffee shop.

Coffee shop to coffee shop. If I didn't watch it, I'd spend most of the rest of the day in the men's room.

I opened the laptop and got a 3-D view of where the GPS safety pin was broadcasting. All the way up, apparently. Only the best for Mr. AssHole: the penthouse, my wife. Soon to be ex-wife, I expected.

I went up to the 27^th floor. The 26^th if you want to be accurate, because there wasn't any 13^th floor.

It had the normal compliment of doors. That surprised me. I expected a penthouse suite. That would have made my next job harder.

The GPS was singing to my laptop again. It turned out to be almost at the end of the corridor: 2714.

Making sure that there was no one in the hallway, I placed the narrow, stainless steel spike just about four inches off the floor and gave it a sharp push. It parted the drywall easily. Just like that I had a microphone that would pick up any sounds in 2714. I didn't have time to paint over the hole, but it was very small and close to the ground. I hoped it wouldn't be noticed.

I pulled out the remote receiver and checked it. All the telltales were green.

Next, I checked out the underground car park. Too much interference for my little receiver. So I went back up, this time to 23, and hid it behind the firehose in the emergency cabinet.

Then it was back to the taxi stand, back to the airport, back to Dallas, back to my van, back to Waxahachie to get Bear, and then back to my house. I tried not to think about anything during all that 'back to'-ing. But I couldn't.

What I couldn't decide was whether to go for a straight divorce, or a divorce based on adultery. We'd been married for only three months, now, so perhaps an annulment. Maybe the annulment was better: "it never happened" was as good a way as any to finish this.

I called a friend I'd made in the VA hospital months ago. He was a lawyer, and pointed me at somebody who could do 'marriage work, ' as he said. He said, also, that he was sorry to hear about it.

I called the marriage lawyer, reaching her at the emergency number I'd gotten (it was a Saturday – that's as 'emergency time' as could be for a lawyer), and told her that I wanted irreconcilable difference divorce papers, adultery divorce papers and annulment papers all to be ready by Thursday afternoon. She started saying she couldn't do that, and certainly couldn't do it by Thursday, and that it would be triple the cost for the extra filing.

I laughed at reply. Typical lawyer answer.

I couldn't have shot the man because I was in Phoenix. I didn't even own a gun, anyway. The gun I had was stolen last week. And if you found a gun, with my fingerprints on it, it was probably not even the gun used in the murder. If it was the same gun, I was mentally ill and was having a break down when I shot him.

Throw it all at the wall, and something will stick.

I just told her that I'd pay for the expediting and that triple the filing cost was ok. Just have them by Thursday at 3 p.m. She said okay. I was getting tired of all the extra expense of all this. I wasn't making Carbunkle money after all.

On Wednesday, I drove the van and Bear to Houston. We set up a temporary HQ at the Red Roof Inn, where they'd allow dogs. I took the wheelchair to the registration desk and put Bear into his 'service' mode. They smiled and welcomed me to Houston.

I walked in, on my fake legs, to the Century, got to the 23^rd floor and retrieved my transmitter. I left a new thumb drive in the receiver, and was in and out in ten minutes. When I got back to my room, Bear and I heard a whole bunch of 'oh baby' and 'god, you're so big' and 'I love your tight ass' and so on. It was like playing the porn channel on my home computer, when I wanted to keep the audio pick ups busy. In fact, I think I'll do that, when I get home. Just leave this recording on continuous playback, so the whole CIA can enjoy it.

I didn't hear any mention of me on the recording, but that's hardly a good thing, considering what I did hear.

I spent Thursday, driving back to Dallas, picking up the triple marriage ending papers, and changing the locks on the doors of the house. I left the papers in a plastic bag, propped between the front door and a flower pot. I didn't want to take a chance that the automatic lawn sprinkler would ruin the papers, hence the plastic. I set up the desktop to play the hotel recording on a continuous loop.

God, but I was tired of all this. Finding a cheating wife and terminating a marriage was exhausting. Plus, I was a cripple. Pity me. Boo Hoo. Fuck. At least it was going to be over soon.

I'd decided that I would make myself visible on Thursday, to see what reaction I got. If I got none, I would pay them a visit early Friday in lovenest 2714. Maybe I'd get the snot beaten out of me, but I'd at least get to meet the bastard face-to-face.

Thursday morning, I got myself outfitted in an old Army jacket, my rattiest pair of jeans, that would be tucked under my amputated stumps, and got into the wheelchair. I got into the van with Bear, and drove into town. Parking at the public lot near the Century, I wheeled myself, with Bear's help, to a good spot, in sight of the valet parking pickup.