Chapter 9

“You don’t listen well. Do you, Slick?” I asked as I pressed the hard metal of my gun against his ribs. “What did I tell you I would do to any bastard who fucked my wife?”

“We haven’t done anything!” Jude urgently pleaded. “I swear it!”

“Really?” I asked with raised eyebrows, “Nothing?”

“Yes! Nothing!” she confirmed.

“Slick, I’m going to move to the other side of the table. If you try to run or make a scene, I’ll blow a hole in the back of your head the size of a grapefruit. Comprendez-vous?”

He nodded.

I slid out of the booth and around to the other side so that I could face them. For the first time, Jude and I met each other’s full gaze. She looked down, full of shame.

I placed an envelope on the table and pulled a folder out of it. I reached inside and pulled out a surveillance photograph. It showed Jude in Marcel’s arms, and they were kissing.

“Nothing, huh?” I asked.

“Where did you get that?” Jude demanded.

“Oh, no, denials? You only want to know how I got it. How about this one?”

It showed them seated on a sofa in Marcel’s office. They were making out, and he had his hand in her yoga pants.

“Some of your private yoga lessons no doubt,” I said. “What pose is that?”

“That’s not what it looks like?” Jude tried to argue with the photographic evidence.

“Really?” I replied. “It looks like he’s fingering you.”

Marcel was sweating profusely gazing at the photographs. I knew he’d seen them before. I think the Yogi was shocked that I had them. He was probably in a panic wondering what else I had.

“How about his one?” It showed Marcel on the same sofa, naked. A woman with hair similar to Jude’s, knelt in front of him, also naked, sucking his cock.

“That’s not me!” Jude shouted grabbing at the picture. “I swear to God! That’s not me!”

“Really?” I asked calmly and pulled another photograph out. Now the woman was bent over the sofa, and Slick was fucking her from behind.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Jude. She stared at the picture then at Marcel. “Who the fuck is that!” She turned back to me. “It’s not me! You have to know that! That’s not my body!”

I pulled out another photograph and laid it down. The woman was riding on Marcel’s cock, turned toward the camera, her face clearly visible. I silently laid it down in front of my wife.

She stared at it.

Her eyes grew bigger and bigger, tears welling up, spilling out and running down her face.

“How could you?”