I'm So Proud of My Children

by qhml1

Copyright© 2014 by qhml1

: Revenge, family style.

Tags: Ma/Fa  

It was pretty easy, actually. once I got the proof.

I suspected my second wife of something ... something I couldn't put my finger on. You know the feeling when something isn't right but you can't say for a fact what it might be. I've always felt it was some subconscious part of your brain that picks up and analyses stray facts until it finds a pattern, and then tries to tell your functional part something isn't right. Researchers have discussed these things endlessly citing 'hunches' and 'a woman's intuition' as examples.

I had four children with my first wife, all good people with successful careers and stable families. They're a tremendous help to me at times. When their mother died, we clung together like survivors of a plane crash, becoming even closer. They were all married or in college by the time I married Ellen.

She was younger by almost eleven years, but we seemed to click. She had the same values, the same goals, and she was smoking hot in bed. She wasn't a beauty, but she was very attractive.

Five foot five, 36 26 38, she was built very nicely. Smoky eyes so brown they were almost black, and a mane of auburn hair that flowed onto her shoulders. She exercised with a vengeance, and loved compliments.

My kids accepted her, made an effort to get along, but never really bonded. But, they were all adults, and if they didn't love her, they didn't hate her, and as long as I was happy, they were happy.

We had been married about six years when I got the itch, that prickly feeling that something was off. I was fifty five, she was forty six by then.

I caught her in a few small lies, nothing serious until you added them all up. Finally I couldn't shake off my unease and went to see my oldest.

Melody was an attractive woman in her mid thirties, with an accountant husband and two girls that loved seeing grandpa. She looked like an accountant too. But looks were deceiving, a fact that kept her busy and fattened their bank account.

Mel owned one of the most successful private investigation firms in the Southeast. She had two degrees, one that had something to do with computers, and one in psychology. She was a walking lie detector, analyzing body language and voice inflections almost unconsciously. It made it very hard to surprise her.

She had five offices, and had as many techowizards as detectives. One of her tricks was hiring older ex cops. both men and women, and young geeky looking kids. Who notices a geek with a laptop or grandma out for a morning stroll? Not many, if her bank account is any measurement. I gave her the money to start her business, part of the insurance I got from her mothers' passing. She tried to pay me back a few times, but gave up when I threatened to never attend another family function with her unless she dropped it.

She didn't seemed shocked when I brought up my concerns, no "It's probably nothing" or "maybe it's just your imagination" platitudes, just a simple "I'll look into it".

Look into it she did, for two weeks, before she asked me to stop by her office on the way home.

I had an office downtown near hers. I was the dreaded "consultant", the guy you hired to tell you how to save your company. The sad part of my business is most of what I tell them they already knew, they just needed somebody they paid an obscene amount of money to for reassurance. Sometimes part of my responsibility was to be the ax man. I didn't like it, but most of the people I let go needed fired, and knew it. Others were completely surprised.

She threw the folder on the desk when I walked in. Our neighbor, thirty four year old married father of two. He was unemployed, and spent his time while his wife worked and his kids were is school relieving tensions with my wife, in all sorts of positions in all sorts of places. Pictures of him and her on my couch, the washing machine, our dining room table, his recliner, his backyard, even one of him on his knees in front of his children's swing set, while my darling wife sat in the swing, rocking back and forth on his dick. Damn, what did he have against beds?

Mel watched me closely, knowing me well.

"Don't do anything stupid dad, just dump her and get on with your life. She can't take anything from you, the prenup took care of that. I know you, I inherited my devious mind from you. If you think of something, don't do it."

It was too late, but I thanked her for her advice. She looked at my eyes and picked up the phone.

"I'm calling Junior, he needs to know anyway, he is your lawyer after all. Maybe he'll talk you out of whatever you've got planned."

That led me to the den of my oldest son.

"Mel sent me some of the photos. I've already started the paperwork. You need to remain calm and let me handle it. Please dad."

"Okay", I said calmly, "when can you make it happen?"

"This is Tuesday. I'll file tomorrow, pull in a favor or two, and have her served whenever and wherever you want Friday. You going home?"

"Yeah, I'll make nice for two days I guess. She doesn't pay attention to me much here lately, she'll never notice anything off."

He stood as I got up to leave, putting his hand on my arm.

"Don't do it dad."

"Do what?"

"Whatever it is you've got planned. I can see it in your eyes."

I assured him I had no intention of doing something stupid. I found out later I wasn't to my car before he called his friend, one of most successful defense lawyers in the state.

"Dave, keep you schedule flexible. I may have to use you shortly."

I was right. She didn't notice a thing. I was taking a few days off between assignments, so I thought I'd pop in on my youngest son.

He was in the back, but when he heard the bell he came out, grinning.

"Hey dad, what's up? Before you answer me, I already know. Junior and Mel called me last night. I figured you'd come by. What can I fix you up with?"

He was my wild child, covered with tattoos and piercings. He had never been in trouble his whole life. He had inherited his mothers' wicked sense of humor and my sense of right and wrong.

He could have studied anything he wanted in college, but he took his lifelong fascination with weapons and built it into a very lucrative business. I did the same for him as I did my other kids, and gave him start up money.

He was a master gunsmith, with a an almost cult following. He specialized in SWAT team weapons, customizing and tricking out their weapons. He guaranteed their sniper rifles to three hundred fifty yards. You could cover the first three shots with a quarter, the next three with a fifty cent piece. If you could hold it steady, you could hit it. He did all the work for the three largest cities around, as well as most of the local SBI and FBI work.

He also had a very profitable gun shop, and a police equipment supply line. I had plenty of weapons thanks to him, and the family often shot together on a twenty acre piece of land I owned way out in the county that we had converted into a gun range. He sighted all his weapons in there.

He was married, something I didn't think would ever happen. She owned her own tattoo shop, was very talented, her work appearing regularly in the magazines. It was love at first sight. I liked her quite a bit.

I picked up a few new items he showed me, never knew when they might come in handy.

On the way home I got a call from my youngest daughter, a nurse practitioner and a partner in her office.

"I heard, dad. Are you all right? Need anything? You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

I smiled. I could see her frowning over the phone, her reading glasses perched on her nose.

"Don't worry baby. Think I'm gonna screw up and miss the birth of my newest grandchild? Not a chance. I could use a few sleeping pills, the last few days I haven't been able to sleep."

I had gotten a prescription from her right after her mother died, I couldn't sleep for grief. I didn't take them long, they were very strong. Over the years, especially if I was working with a business I knew wouldn't make it, I would stress out. She would only prescribe a weeks' worth, sometimes she just gave me samples.

After warning me again, she promised to call in a prescription to the pharmacy.

Thursday night I sat down to a nice dinner with my wife. We had a pleasant conversation. If I didn't already know, it would have been hard to believe what she was doing.

I opened a bottle of wine, one from a local vineyard I knew she loved. I had picked it up that day. I poured her a glass as we relaxed after our meal. I didn't care for wine, a fact she well knew, so she wasn't surprised when I opened a beer. When her glass went empty, I poured her another and got a second beer.

About halfway through the second glass she was nodding. I took the glass out of her hands.

"You seem sleepy honey. Why don't you lie back on the couch and relax. I'll put some music on and clean up the kitchen."

She mumbled something that sounded like thank you and started snoring.

I cleaned the kitchen and made two phone calls.

"Now" was the extent of the first.

The second took a little longer.

"Sandie, how are you? Good. Barry got a job yet? Well I may have something for him. I'm meeting this guy at his factory to observe his second shift capabilities, why not have him come over and ride with me. He needs a night operations manager pretty bad. The pay is in the mid forty range, think he might be interested? Great, have him come over in about thirty minutes."

I made a note to toss the burner phone as soon as I could and went outside to wait.

I had a mid nineties GMC truck that I hardly ever drove. It came with a Slimline bed cover that I removed immediately. What good was a truck if you can't use it to haul stuff? Earlier that day I had put it back on.

A few minutes later Barry strolled up. He thanked me for my help, talked about how much he liked my wife and I.

"Not a problem, Barry. What are neighbors for? Before we go, could you look and see if I've got the bolts right on this thing? My car is in the shop, and she hates it when I drive hers. I'd hate for this thing to fly off as we go down the road."

I had the cover lid up and the tailgate down.

He leaned over to check the bolts when I hit him with the stun gun. He quivered, made a sighing sound, and went out like a light. I shoved him the rest of the way in, closed the tailgate and lid, and left.

I drove for about five minutes before pulling off at a secluded spot. He was just coming round when I zapped him again, this time taking the opportunity to put the hand cuffs and leg shackles on.

I drove out to our gun range. It took about thirty minutes, ten minutes on a dirt road so neglected it looked like a goat path. I probably went a little too fast, hit a few of the bumps a little hard. Must have been my anger.

I unlocked the gate and drove through. As I relocked it I could hear him yelling and thumping around. I made a mental note to remember the gag on the way back.

I bounced on out to the range. Damn, I never realized how rough the road was, but then again, I had never driven it that fast before.

He started yelling as soon as I opened the tailgate. I grabbed him by the leg restraints and pulled him out. He made a thumping sound as he hit the ground.

He opened his mouth to complain and I shoved the barrel of my Judge in it. In case you don't know, a Judge is a revolver, capable of firing forty fives or four ten shotgun shells. He got quiet.

"Listen up, asshole. I'm going to let you up. You're going to walk over to that bench and sit your ass down. Do not move, do not speak unless you're told to. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head as best he could around the barrel in his mouth. I might have chipped a tooth when I pulled it out, but I couldn't be sure. If I did he didn't complain.

He couldn't get his balance and I lost patience, so I had him crawl over, with a little encouragement in the form of me kicking him in the ass occasionally. I verbally encouraged him also.

"This is a Judge revolver, just so you know. I have it loaded with four ten shotgun shells, number four shot. That's about the same size, maybe just a little bigger, than a bb. It won't kill you unless I hit you just right, but it'll hurt like a motherfucker. If I empty it into you, you'll bleed out, even if I don't hit anything major. You with me here, Barry?"

He nodded, tears running down his face.

I sat him up on the bench, and strapped him down with thirty six inch zip ties, immobilizing him.

He tried to scream, but I put a ball gag in his mouth and tightened it up. I got it from my daughter in law, she sold sex toys as a sideline to her tattoo work. It led to many interesting dinner conversations, and my daughters and daughters in law, with a few select friends, would get together once every three or four months to look over the latest merchandise. It always led to some very happy husbands.

I pulled up a camp chair and sat in front of him. I could see the tracks of his tears in the light of the full moon.

"Know why we're here, Bary?"

He shook his head no.

"Come on Barry, you're smarter than that. What could possibly motivate a nice guy like me into doing this to anybody? Think, Barr, think. Sometimes severe emotional trauma causes it. What kind of trauma could make people snap? The death of a child, the loss of a job, abandonment of loved ones? Oh, I got it! How about infidelity? Many a man has been driven over the edge by having his wife betray him. Many seek revenge. Pain and sadness for everyone involved. And the collateral damage, divorce, loss of children, it just gets uglier and uglier. Wouldn't you say so, Barry. Got any comment? Really? Nothing."

I stopped and laughed.

"Oops. Silly me, here, let me help you."

I ripped the gag off, taking a little scalp with it.

"There, now we can talk like civilized people. Your turn Barry, I've monopolized the conversation enough, wouldn't you say. Speak, asshole!"

I practically screamed the last at him.

He was sobbing.

"I'm sorry, really sorry, but she came on to me, and I..."

The slap rang in the night.

"Did it matter who came on to the other? Her coming on, did that make her any less married? Did it make you? Either one of you could have done the right thing and walked away. But you didn't did you? Think what I'm about to put you through is worth some married old pussy?"

He was crying, almost incoherent. I put the beam of the flashlight in his eyes.

"This is what got you, Barry. It's a fully functioning flashlight, with a stungun built in. You just shove it hard against someone and the prongs come out and zap! Stings like a bitch, that what I hear anyway. My youngest son gave it to me."

I stood up and walked around him, checking his bonds.

I stopped in front of him and pulled a bag off the seat of the truck.

"I got some toys for us to play with, Barry. This is going to be fun, huh? Look at this."

I pulled out a pair of heavy duty shears, snicking them at him a few times. He freaked when I started cutting his pants off. He was moving until I reminded him if he didn't stay still accidents could happen.

I tossed the pants aside and eyed him.

"Damn Barry, I expected more. Hard to believe that little thing is causing you so much grief. Did I mention that my oldest daughter owns a private investigations company? Quite good, I hear."

I held up a sheaf of papers. I shook my head.

"Barry, Barry, Mrs. Oliver? She must be sixty or better. And Mrs. Grant? She can't be more than twenty five, and weighs at least two fifty. You don't cull much, do you? And Mrs. Jeffries? I thought you hated black people. Good to see you've overcome your prejudices. Her husband must be what, six five? I bet he weighs close to three hundred. Surprising, I thought prison guards would be a bit more fit. You've certainly been a busy boy in the neighborhood, haven't you? Do you have anything left over for that sweet wife of yours? Remember her, the one that gave you two children? The one who's working all the overtime she can get to keep your sorry ass up? I bet it would break her heart to see these pictures, don't you?"

He struggled and moaned. I patted his head in a fatherly fashion.

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