Chapter 11: A Death In The Family

rlfj again did his usual masterful job with the HTML conversion.

Josh took a cab to work. Too much was happening and he wanted to think. Josh left the cab intent on his own personal problems. He didn't notice the driver, or the way his eyes glittered with hatred. The driver removed a cell phone from his shirt pocket and spoke in rapid Arabic.

Josh had his attention focused on clearing away the rest of the day's business. Then he intended go home for the inevitable confrontation with a wife he had never loved and barely tolerated. He knew it would be loud, hate filled and acrimonious to the extreme.

However it had to be done. He wanted to make a clean break and go his own way, free to pursue happiness, whatever that was. All the anger toward the woman he detested boiled up inside him and threatened to erupt. This was the day.

Josh strode through the empty waiting room, nodded to his secretary, Martha Steiner, an attractively coiffed woman in her late forties. She smiled a greeting as he walked past her desk.

"Bring me the special file please," he told her. "Today is the day I beard the lioness in her den." His outwardly calm and untroubled appearance was belied by the tightness around his eyes.

As he sat down behind his desk, she carefully laid the file on his desk in front of him. "Here," she said and stepped back to await further instruction.

"Within the next two weeks I shall close this office and retire. Your bonus check will be enough that you will never have to work again unless you want to. Josh Fargo doesn't know it yet, but he is my designated heir."

She drew a knuckle to her mouth and stood there, shocked. She had dreaded this day for as long as she had been aware of it. "What is it, Gordy? Are you ill? Is there something I can do to help you?" Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the friendly man who had been her employer for five years.

"No, Martha, I am in perfect health. I just want out. I'm tired, disgusted and just want out. Hell, I'd rather be a dish washer than what I am, even if I have to learn Spanish to do it." For the first time she saw the crack in his shell and sensed the tormented man within. "I am tired of living a one act play that never seems to end. I just want out of this rat race."

He smiled and handed her a check. Her eyes widened as she saw the amount. "Good God! This is..." She stopped talking and looked down at the check in her hands.

He snapped up the file folder and said as he walked toward the door, "Stay the rest of the month, if you will, or at least until I close the doors. Also I am going to suggest that Josh keep you on if you would like. You know too much about too many things to be let go. You think you can work for him?" He turned as she nodded yes.

"Good, call him and ask him to come around for lunch tomorrow." He opened the door and left.

He got his car from the parking garage and slowly drove home. He snorted at the thought. That cold place had never been home to him. He had it built to quiet the whining. He slept there usually two or three nights a week and kept an office of sorts in the den. There was nothing else except his clothing and a few personal belongings. Well, he'd confront Beatrice, pack his belongings and that would be the end of it. While things wound down, he'd stay at the Hunt Club down town.

Quietly the door opened to his touch. The house was silent. As he started up the stairs to the bedroom on the second floor he heard a slight moan, then quiet again. Then his wife's voice screamed, "Oh god Yes! Deeper, all the way in!"

He yanked the door open. And saw a familiar looking younger man atop Beatrice. His eyes were staring at some place a million miles away, a bored look on his face. His wife was squirming underneath, face contorted with what appeared to be either passion or rage. Suddenly she slipped out from under him and ordered, "Lie on your back. I want to suck you..." Her voice stopped suddenly as she saw her husband. Her eyes widened and she slipped off the bed and backed up toward the wall, away from her bored lover.

"How long before you're finished?" Gordon asked. "We have some business to attend to."

Wordlessly she stood there. Naked and wide eyed. "Hey man," the naked yard boy asked, "Who th' fuck are you?"

"Oh, I'm just the aggrieved and wildly jealous husband. Beat it." Contemptuously he turned to leave. "I'll be downstairs waiting. You have five minutes to get your lazy ass down there. After that I get mean."

As he started down the stairs, he felt an arm snake around his neck. He reached underhand behind him. His questing fingers encountered a pair of balls. He grabbed and squeezed. The man screamed and let go. Without breaking stride Gordon McReady, the not too jealous after all husband, went to the bar and poured himself a half of a glass of carbonated water. A generous ounce of fine rye whiskey followed for flavoring. He sipped, nodded and entered his den.

He booted up the computer, accessed his office line and began to upload all files and folders on the hard drive. He ignored the CDs and the DVDs. There was nothing on any of them worth keeping. He removed the slightly larger than most laptops and carried it to the living room. Beatrice was already there waiting, a mean expression on her face. "You think you're so damned smart, don't you?" She bit off each word separately and spat them out like bullets at him.

"You get the house, the Audi and the bank accounts at First National. I keep the SUV and my sanity. Cross me and you won't get anything. As soon as I pack my stuff I'm out of here. You'll be served from Vegas tomorrow or the next day, so leave the fax line open." He turned from her and half trotted up the stairs, feeling the crushing weight he had labored under for years slowly lift as he felt his freedom become more than a dream.

"What about our daughter, your daughter? Are you just going to leave her in the lurch? Doesn't your own flesh and blood mean anything to you?" she screamed at his back as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Instead of answering, he ignored her and quickly pulled three suitcases and a large Val-Pak out of his closet. He slowly and methodically took pants, shirts and suits from off the hangers and packed them with studied neatness. The scene of her and the yard man kept replaying over and over in his head. His face was contorted with disgust.

"Don't you turn tour back on me!" her shrill voice screeched in his ear. "I asked you what about your daughter, remember?"

Quickly he turned around and answered her with the hatred he had never been aware of before that he felt toward his wife. "I have no daughter. The father was a close relative of yours. She and I share no genetic commonality at all. Who was her father, your brother?" She blanched at the accuracy of his guess.

"God damn you!" She tried to claw his face and got her own slapped hard enough to cause her to see stars. "Don't!" she whimpered as she backed away. How long have you known?"

"Since she was ten years old and gave me a lock of her hair for a birthday present. I had always wondered about her being born as conveniently as she was when I told you it was all over between us. The same labs the state police use did the tests. I have provided for her because I see no reason why she should be punished for her slut of a mother's sins."

Gordon finished packing and began to carry his luggage down to the SUV in the four-car garage. When there was one load left he walked into the bathroom, jerked the medicine cabinet out of the wall and removed a pair of matched two shot derringers, second prize from a state wide shooting contest. He slipped both into the small bag holding his toiletries.

Hefting his last load he walked out of the house, crawled into his SUV and slowly backed out of the garage as the doors swung back. He drove out the side driveway and out onto the street. Suddenly the whole house behind him exploded. Flames shot skyward and debris, ranging in size from a can of tomatoes to a wrought iron bath tub rained down on and around the SUV.