Chapter 1

1987-1988

My marrying Victoria (Vicky) Lee Johnson in February of 1986 was the high point of my life. I’d come at her every which way to get her to agree to our union. Lots of guys had wanted in on that action, but, I’d won the day and she was mine. It had taken me seven long years, counting high school, but she was indeed finally mine. Oh, and I’m John Michael Steele, age twenty-two, hardworking, and handsome.

Vicky was, well, my Helen of Troy. Her face could definitely have launched a thousand ships! At five-eight, maybe 130—she’d never give a straight answer on that—long dark hair, bubble butt, and 34Bs: she was pretty nearly blood-mortal beautiful.

Oh, and didn’t I say, we have a daughter, Selena, age one, in this year of our Lord 1988. She’s going to be a dead ringer for her momma; I’m certain of that.

I work for Swenson’s Auto Engine and Body Repair. I can fix anything attached to car or motorcycle. Pay’s okay at $30,000 annual plus benefits. Vic’s a beautician and a good one, and of course a mommy and also a good one of those.

We’re doing fine-fine, super fine. Well, we had been. Of late my beautiful better half has been a little off. Nothing big, but just a little bit not the same for a while: late getting home for her had become something of a habit, like tonight. And we were going to be talking about that in about a minute and a half. Well, I just heard her car pull in.

The place where she was supposedly getting her nails done closed at 5:00. It was now almost 9:00. Yeah well, and that’s just exactly what I was thinking, and, I didn’t like thinking it.

She’s coming in through the back door. I’m sitting at the kitchen table of our two-bedroom apartment fingering a wine glass filled appropriately with wine, cabernet actually.

She stopped in the doorway of the service porch when she saw me at the table. It was clear that she could tell I was not in a real good mood.

“And you’re late again why?” I said.

“Uh—I stopped to have a couple of drinks with Lynne. We bumped...” she started. I looked at her sidelong. She’d stopped talking.

“And you couldn’t spare a moment to call and let me know you were going to be late, this late?” I said, looking over at the clock on the wall.

“I should have, I guess. Just didn’t think of it. I will next time,” she said.

“Hmm, hopefully,” I said. “That makes three lates this week Vic, three!”

“Really, it was just a little girl talk at the Elegance,” she said. I knew that the two of them often did hang out at the big E, a little pricey the big E, but we could afford it on occasion. At any rate, so the likelihood that she was telling it straight was high. But, I still didn’t like it. That besides the fact that I had hoped to have a nice little dinner followed by a nice little night between the sheets. Her being so late was likely going to make at least one of those two things unlikely.

“So, did the two of you eat?” I said.

“No, but I can throw something together for us right now,” she said.

“And, desert afterwards?” I said. She gave me a look and smiled.

“I think we can arrange something along those lines,” she said. “But only if you shower first. Okay? In fact, both of us can shower, maybe together?” My turn to smile.

“Good,” I said. “I almost feel like forgiving you for being late. I say almost!”

“Funny,” she said, “like you’ve never been late before.”

I had gotten lucky. And we had both showered, but that said, not together. She’d made me do the kitchen clean up while she showered after which I had, showered that is. I didn’t complain; it didn’t seem appropriate given her beauty and her willingness to indulge me. And indulge me she did. And she smelled great. God the smell of a woman!

Before we’d gotten it on, she’d put together some tuna sandwiches, and called it dinner, but they’d been good. And anyway, after the fact, I hadn’t been all that hungry, well, not for food; so, the sandwiches had been enough. I’d wanted her, and dessert tasted seriously good; well, she had showered.

At any rate, that was last night, it was now breakfast, and I was hungry, seriously so. And, she’d outdone herself; bacon and eggs and waffles. I guess she was making up for being so late getting home.

“That was good, honey,” I said, wiping my lips with the paper towel she’d handed me.

“Thank you,” she said. “I was afraid that we were out of bacon. I was relieved that we weren’t.”

“Oh, you thought I meant the food. Well, it was good too, but I was talking about last night,” I said. Now she threw a dishrag at me.

“Smart ass,” she said. I caught it and threw it back at her.

“Okay, I gotta cut country. I daren’t be Late for work. My boss is even stricter than I am about the time,” I said. She got the message and gave me a look. It was a worried look if I had it right, but I shrugged it off. I’d be cutting her some slack as far as any of her future lateness was concerned. I had to think that maybe I was just being paranoid.

She looked up at the clock on the bank building across the street. It was almost noon. Her husband was at work at Swenson’s; she’d called him to make sure. It would not do for him to suddenly show up at home, it being Saturday, her day off, with a toothache or whatever expecting her to be there to assuage his pain.

It had only been three days since her husband had pretty much shaken her tree because she’d been late. She wouldn’t be late anymore. The man upstairs in the building across the parking lot from her would just have to deal with it: no more late afternoon trysts. She was going to have to risk it, risk telling him that this was their last go ‘round. She would just have to hope that he wouldn’t make good on his threat to send the photos he had to her husband and every other soul and acquaintance she had in the rolodex. One year of being blackmailed by the asshole was enough, more than enough. If he did, she would be utterly ruined! But, anymore she just didn’t give a damn. One more go, and that would be it; she swore to herself, this was gonna be it.

She got out and headed for the stairway to the right of the less than ostentatious hot-sheets-by-the-hour digs. The Rooster Inn it was called. Well whatever.

The door was ajar. “Come in come in, beautiful,” said the voice. She entered and looked around. The place was even worse inside than outside, she thought. He was still dressed in his policeman’s uniform. Before he’d always dressed in regular clothes for their dates. Didn’t want to advertise that a cop was renting a room in the middle of the day was how he’d explained it early on. But, for some reason, he wasn’t following his own rule today.

He started divesting himself of his equipment belt and gun and all of it. He set it all on the little utility table near the door. He stretched out on the bed, still dressed and smiled at his nooner.

“You gonna stay like that?” she said, referring to the fact that he was still dressed.

“Why, you in a hurry?” he said. His tone was not friendly.

“My husband asked a lot of questions Wednesday night. I told you that on the phone. I can’t be here any longer than necessary,” she said. He snorted.

“You’ll be here as long as I want you to be here,” he said. His words brooked no immediate objection from her.

She started disrobing. She wanted it over with as soon as possible. One thing about Carter Williams, officer Phoenix PD, he never hung around long after he got his rocks off. Him not being so far undressed made her worry that today would be an exception to that unwritten rule.