Chapter 13: Home Is Where the Sex Is Best

Why is it? It takes forever to drive to an unknown destination. Do you drive slower so you can see what's around the bend? Are there sights and sounds, amazing things that grab your heart and overwhelm your mind?

If there are you're violating the number one rule while driving ... WATCH THE ROAD, DUMMY. The passengers are your responsibility. Remember ... everyone else on the road is a homicidal maniac ... they want to kill you ... some of them don't mind dying doing it.

Manchester to Boston, 70 miles more or less. Downhill. Due to towns, villages, stop signs in the middle of nowhere, it takes about 3 hours. The train is faster.

Boston to Manchester, after great sex and shopping, takes an hour, uphill ... well it feels like it. Bang! You're past Manchester and heading home ... it's not far.

I wanted Jess. I wanted her. In my bed, in the tub, on the couch, up on the telescope platform. She was different than the cookie cutter "J's." I could be pleased and happy keeping her pregnant and happy. Pregnant? Oh-My-God ... I wanted kids. My kids, her kids, our children. Grandchildren. I wanted out children to have grandchildren. A rosy future with the money to make life wonderful. A new beginning for the house. Jess would make my house our home.

Across the bridge, late in the evening ... someday someone is going to pave Main. Splishing and splashing up to the hotel and ... well, Son Of a Bitch ... the lights are on at home!

Our home is lit up like Christmas. I heard the Hotel front door slam and I could see John rush to the desk, pick up the phone and say something.

My house went dark ... too late. I floored it, fishtailing up the street, hoping to catch the intruders. Suddenly there were old men and young girls scattered all over the street. Damn! I had to slow down. Shit, I had to stop. I jumped out and headed for the house, Jezebel right next to me. We were laying 'em down and picking 'em up as fast as our hips and legs could move. A single point of light flashed from the balcony above the door.

The sound of a slab of bacon dropped on a cutting block or a watermelon smashed on a floor, right next to me, caught my attention. The blast of a shot resonated between the buildings. Jezebel was flung to her ass like she'd hit the end of a rope held by someone big and jerked backwards. I hit the dirt, sliding like a baserunner stealing second. More shots. Old men were blasted off their feet, "J's" flopping in agony. A single rifle shot barked from the telescope platform on top of my hotel suite. The echoes died away.

Silence.

Then the screaming began...