4 comments/ 24348 views/ 3 favorites Dirty Harry's Three Women By: ichabodstinks To the Reader: This is a love story with sex in it. If your intent is to get your rock off or tantalize your libido, then go read something else. This is a well written story, it reads easy, and the action moves right along. What is in this story? Hatred, mayhem and murder, sex with different partners, and a romance. If that tickles your fancy, then please read the whole bloomin story. Thank you, and enjoy, "Dirty Harry's 3 Women" ------------------------------- "Hey, you," yelled Harry, the second shift foreman. I was about to clock out, and the guy in front elbowed me. Harry appeared to be looking in my direction, so I tapped my chest. "Me?" "Yeah, you, the shithead Kid. Get the fuck over here," he growled Holy crap. The meanest son-of-a-bitch at the assembly plant. What did he want with a first shift lackey? I checked my watch. If it took long, I'd miss the 3:27 bus back to the apartment. "Jesus Christ, Kid. Don't keep me waitin' or I'll beat your fucking head in." Harry fingered the ball bat beside him. The guys closest, stepped back out of reach. A crew member had dubbed him Hairless Harry. The name stuck. Even with his total bald head, the full, unkempt, black beard gave him the wicked, evil-eye appearance of Long John Silver. I hot footed it to his desk. "Yeah," I said, hoping to appear as if my knees weren't knocking. "Heard you might be looking for a place to stay," he grumbled, a tobacco wad bulging from his lip. "I might. But I rent one downtown." He spat on the floor. "Jesus Christ, motherfucker. I meant a closer one, and cheaper too." I clenched my fist. The last time someone called me that, he became a eunuch. I forced my hands to relax. I was always pinching pennies. Anything to get a college degree. "Yeah, I'm keeping my eyes out. You know of one?" Harry glared at me, spitting again. Juice trickled down his chin into his beard. He wiped it with the back of his tobacco stained hand. My stomach churned. Why had he singled me out? Someone new to torment? "Look, dipshit." He tore off the bottom half of a page. "Ain't gonna babysit you. Wife'll show it and give details." He yanked the timecard from my hand. "I'll clock you out." He turned to berate someone else and I ceased to exist. The address was three blocks over, and, walking, it took fifteen minutes to traverse the plant's parking lot and reach the house. Because of this side trip, plus rush hour traffic, it would be dark before I got back to the apartment. But any chance to save a few bucks needed to be investigated. The two story brick home resembled a show house from one of Mom's magazines. White picket fence, mowed yard, trimmed hedges, blue shutters, two oak trees, flower beds, bird house, bird bath. Did foul-mouthed Harry live here? No way would he do this much yard work. I knocked. A pleasant girl, early twenties, fairly overweight, in slacks, jumbo sweatshirt, and with dark brown shoulder-length hair answered. "Yes," she said through the screen door. She wrinkled her nose. "Harry Redding said you had a rental." She yelled over her shoulder, "Mom? Some guy to see the garage." She left the door open and sauntered back into the living room to plop on the couch with a magazine. A good looking woman in a tan dress down to her knees and a belt at the waist, emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She waltzed to the door as if dancing. The smell of baking cookies followed her. I was tempted to say 'nice legs'. "Harry sent me." Her stupid jerk of a husband certainly knew how to pick a beautiful wife. But how did she hook up with a royal pain like Harry? She scrutinized me and seemed to center on the greasy hands and sweaty shirt. "Do you work with my husband?" "No, ma'am. I work with the first shift maintenance crew. Sorry about my appearance. The chief had me wriggling under a conveyor belt to replace a roller next to the boiler." She smiled. "Hmm. You're polite. Do you swear or cuss?" "Maybe an occasional word. My mother taught me and my brother to speak well of others and show respect by not being foul mouthed." She continued to look me over, mostly my hands. "Are you married or have a girlfriend?" "Single and not dating." The girl on the couch straightened and peered over her magazine to check me out again. The woman folded her arms. "A couple of rules. No partying or sleepover guests. And no loud music." I laughed. "The only partying I do is sitting at a computer to complete homework. I'm aiming to get a degree." Her eyes brightened. "Smart and intelligent. What do you do when you're not working?" "Studying takes up most of any spare time. An occasional game of online chess; I get beat a lot. Sometimes I target shoot at the pistol range." "Varied interests." She nodded. The lady was nice, but how did wicked Harry fit into the picture? A cloud seemed to drop over her face. "Are you one of my husband's friends? Is that why he selected you?" "Hardly, ma'am. I've seen him around the shop. Everyone knows him by reputation—" "Good or bad," she asked with a brittle tone. Be diplomatic. "I've never spoken to him before today, but some of the crew don't care for him." She pursed her lips. "Discrete, too. Oh, my name's Becky." She gestured to the girl on the couch. "She's our oldest, Miriam." I dipped my head. "Pleased to meet you Miriam, and you ma'am." The girl's face radiated with a genuine and honest smile. "Well," said Becky. "Let's go take a look. If the place suits you, we can talk terms." The two women seemed to like me. Becky led me around the corner of the house, down the cement driveway, and through a gate to their fully enclosed back yard. A wide detached garage occupied the far corner against the alley. The overhead door had been removed and a wall inserted to include a row of double paned windows. New roof and vinyl siding. The inside had been gutted and partitioned into a small living room, kitchenette, tiny bedroom, and toilet with only a commode and shower. A skilled person had refurbished this place. Quite small, but exceptionally nice. I said, "What about internet?" "If you want, you could run a cable from that box," she pointed to the corner of her house, "... up and overhead to the garage. That'll give you internet and TV. You'll have to do the work yourself." "Thank you. That's very generous." I had to keep up my classes. She pointed to the cement steps leading down into their basement. "There's a washer and dryer. Use it whenever. The yard is private, so that door is never locked. Stay away from my husband's workshop down there. He doesn't allow anyone near his projects." "What does he do down there?" She shrugged. "We haven't a clue. If you're interested in renting, does $350 sound about right, including lights, water, sewer, and trash?" Holy smokes. I struggled to keep my face bland. My current apartment was $550, plus utilities. I could save three hundred a month. "Yes ma'am. That sounds about right. I really like the place." "Great. You're the new occupant." She extended her hand. Her grip held genuine warmth. Her palm was moist, and soft, and smooth. "When could I move in?" "Anytime. There's an old Ford pickup in the alley that Harry keeps licensed. Don't know why. It hasn't been started in forever. If you get it running, you're free to use it. Just put it back once you're done." God almighty. She was treating me like a royal prince. The only thing she hadn't provided were the keys to her house. "The rent, pay it only to me," she said. "This arrangement is between us, not my husband." When she said husband, a tingling crept up my arms. I'd wager a month's wages, she didn't like the SOB, not even a little bit. *** By the end of the week I'd moved everything in and terminated the lease on the downtown apartment. Becky invited me over for supper and introduced me to the younger daughter, Lucy. Lucy was tall, slim and quite pretty, probably like her mother at a younger age, auburn hair pulled into a pony tail, energetic, and watching everything, mostly me. She would graduate from high school in a few weeks. Miriam had bright eyes and was talkative, knowledgeable on a variety of subjects. She didn't have the vivid beauty of her sister but made up for it with intelligence. She possessed a friendly and truthful personality; a helper attitude, her mom had said. Becky was a homemaker. The house, and everything in it was swept, kept and tidy, just like the exterior. She was courteous, pleasant, and polite. I could imagine her and my mom being really good friends if they'd ever met. When I kept looking at the empty chair at the end of the table, Becky said, "Harry is hardly ever home. His routine never varies, out of the house by one in the afternoon, home by one in the morning and sleeps until ten." "So, you don't see him much, then?" Lucy rolled her eyes. Miriam grumbled, "Not if we can help it." "Girls," said Becky. "That's no way to respect your father." She turned to me. "I apologize for their manners. It's true, we hardly see him. Lucy is in school and Miriam and I clean houses. We don't get back until after he's left for the day." Later that night, Harry's Jeep woke me as it rumbled up the driveway, probably waking everyone else in the neighborhood, too. Getting used to such sleep-disturbing intrusions would take some doing. Once, on my day off, Harry was home doing stuff in his workshop. Every few minutes, yelling, cussing, and pounding erupted, often accompanied by crashing and things breaking. Being careful to stay out of his view, I carted my trash to the dumpster. At the end of the alley, on a side street, Becky and Miriam waited in their car until Harry had departed. I was a bystander to a dysfunctional family. Was it smart to have accepted the rental? Regardless, I was committed. *** Why did late-July insist on torturing us with blistering summer days? I returned from work, drenched in sweaty, greasy clothes, and hot with achy muscles. I shed my duds, turned on the shower, and lathered up. The cold water streamed over my face, through my hair, and down my front. The heat drained away. I opened my eyes, and a woman's face disappeared from the steamy bathroom window. Crap. It took three seconds to speed through the kitchenette, open the side door, and step out. Lucy plowed into me in an attempt to dash past while racing for her house. I snagged her wrist, pulled her inside, and closed the door. She struggled but couldn't break my grip. She turned away as far as her pinioned arm would allow. Still buck naked, I said, "Take a good look if you want." Quiet; only her deep breathing. "Do you want another peek?" "You're hurting me." I loosened my grip but didn't let go. She wiggled, still unable to break away. "Yes, alright. I wanted to see you. Can I go now?" "Why spy on me?" "My girlfriends dared me because you're a stud. And I just ... just wanted to." A stud? Never knew that. "You saw me, so I get to see you." She looked over her shoulder. Her brows arched. "No way." "Fair is fair." "Nooo." "I'll tell your dad." Her eyes widened. "Oh God, no." She hyperventilated. I released her wrist. "Then strip." Would I actually tattle? I didn't know, but she needed a lesson. She looked at the door and back at me. "Please, don't tell him." I kept my face blank. "Fair is fair." "Do I have to?" Her lip trembled. I stayed quiet, watching her face. She glanced down at my manhood. "What do I do?" I made no attempt to cover up. "You know what." Her eyes locked on mine. "Is that all?" Her face relaxed. She licked her lips. I shrugged. "You won't tell?" I shook my head. "Just remove your clothes." Slowly, Lucy shed her blouse, skirt, slip, and shoes. She dropped her arms to her side. "I can't go further." "Yes you can." I waited. She was gorgeous. Never had I seen a body like hers, not even in magazines. A war etched across her face: to stand before her hated father, or show a man what she'd never revealed. She closed her eyes and released the clasp on her bra, letting it fall and keeping her arm over her nipples. She faced away and slid her panties to her ankles, stepping out of them. I waited. When she didn't move, I said, "Turn around." Lucy did, still covering her breasts and crotch. "I've done what you asked. Can I go now?" My member was at half-mast and rising. "Hands to your sides." She complied, standing rigid, eyes lowered. "Oh wow," I said. "You are really lovely." Her stiffness eased and her eyes opened wide. "Do you really think I'm pretty?" "You're more than pretty. You're exceptional." All of her tenseness evaporated. "No one ever told me that." My member reached full attention to this stunning girl who was transforming from a scared one into an inquisitive one. Lucy's gaze fixated on my pulsating penis. Her round breasts were fully developed and pointed. Her pubic hair was a perfect triangle, and her body curves were all woman: straight legs, nice calves, slim waist and hips, and beautiful mouth. I was naked. She was naked. Her hand reached forward. She may have never seen a hardon. "Go ahead. Touch it." She took a step and reached out. Her finger poked. It bounced. She glanced at me, her eyes questioning. Time to see how far she would go. "You can hold it." Her hand curled around my dick and she felt the head. "The tip is soft. It's warm." It had been months since a female had touched my member. I fought to control mounting urges. My eyes took in the rise and fall of her perky breasts and the invitation of her thatch. I moved against her. She lifted her chin and I kissed her. She flung her arms around me and kissed as if we were in the backseat of a car. I inserted my hand between us and cupped her cunt, massaging her clit with a finger. She became wet. It hadn't taken long for her to become excited. I kissed her soundly and fondled a breast. She bucked against my hand that was pressed against her maidenhood. Lucy didn't say anything. Her eyes held an invitation. I carried her to my bed and lay her on her back. She ,kept kissing. I slid between her thighs, resting my cock on her cunt, and fondling her breasts. This method had worked to bring another woman to climax without entering her. With her eyes shut, Lucy moved and arched and moaned for several minutes, then shuddered and breathed deeply. I entered her. Her eyes opened. She wrapped her arms around my neck for a long kiss. I eased in and out, watching her eyes, feeling her movements. As she neared a second climax, I increased rhythm. She matched it. Then stiffened and whimpered and came. She relaxed, and I said, "Are you on the pill?" Her head shake confirmed what I suspected. I pumped three times, pulled out and ejaculated on her stomach. This would give her girlfriends something to talk about. We lay for a while, kissing. This was probably her first time. Hopefully it had been exciting. A girl should experience a special exhilaration when she becomes a full woman. She was smiling and said, "Can we do this again soon?" Holy crap. "When you're on the pill, we'll talk about it." "I love you." No she didn't. Coitus provides a warm afterglow that could be mistaken for love. I said, "I know you do. Let's get you dressed and back to the house before anyone notices." Somewhere I'd read that a woman's first time creates a special bond with that man. If that were true, my relationship with Lucy could become a problem. * ** After another shower and a change of clothes, I toted my dirty laundry down the rear steps of the house and into the basement. I flicked on the overhead light and kicked aside an empty pop can. It rattled and clattered into a corner. I went through a routine list. Check the machines to make sure they're empty. Clean the filter. Detergent. Softener. I bent over to separate my clothes, lights in this pile, darks over there. The door from the upstairs opened and closed. Someone descended the creaky wooden steps. I continued sorting. A female voice said, "Hi." I glanced up. "Hi, Miriam." And returned to the task. She waited until I'd placed the first load in the washer and started it. "Can I talk to you?" "Sure." "Um, could I clean house for you?" Huh? "There's not much to do. Besides, I couldn't pay." "I don't want money. Just to help by dusting, and washing windows, and sweeping, and picking up, and making the bed." I shrugged. "All of that can be done in thirty minutes. Well, except for the windows." "Let me help, please?" Why was I reluctant? "No, I don't need the help." "Dishes? I could wash your clothes, too." Why was she pushing? "Thanks. Your gesture is appreciated." I hopped atop the washer to keep it from bouncing as it entered a different cycle. Miriam moved to stand in front of me. Her hands rested on my knees, and her gaze focused on my face. "Do you like me?" She was a very nice woman. I smiled. "Sure. I like you a lot." "Then let me help. I'm good at it and do it every day with Mom." I could let her, but for what purpose? To satisfy her ego of saying she helped? "It has nothing to do with whether I like you. There isn't any need in my dinky apartment for a housekeeper or maid." Her chin twitched, her mouth opened, and she took a breath. "Then ... will you have sex with me?" Holy crap. She couldn't know I'd bopped Lucy. If Miriam was simply a fuck, yeah, I could do it. But they were sisters. Doing them both would ... and if they found out. Oh help. I took her hands in mine. "Save yourself for the man you marry. Don't blacken that part of your life. Keep yourself pure." Her mouth opened. She inhaled a stuttering breath. "You hate me. You think I'm stupid and fat and ugly; that I'm not pretty enough for sex. And I hate you." Her breathing quickened and tears rolled from her eyes. She buried her face in her hands and ran sobbing up the stairs. *** I lay on my bed, reading a textbook when Becky burst in and pointed a finger. She almost snarled. "What did you do to my Miriam?" Oh, crap. "I didn't 'do' anything." "Yes you did. She's been sobbing for over an hour and won't talk about it." "I just told her no." "No to what?" she shouted, still pointing. "Miriam asked to clean my house. I said 'no'. It takes me thirty minutes or less." Becky snapped, "What else?" "She begged to wash dishes. She wanted to wash clothes. I ... said ... no." "You rejected her help? You're such a jerk." "I meant no harm. If you want, I'll apologize for hurting her feelings. Will that be okay?" Becky shook her head. "There's something else going on. She was too upset for a simple rejection. Miriam never pounds the bed and cries that hard." Oh great. That didn't sound good. "I don't want someone messing around with my stuff." Becky dropped her hand. "You propositioned her, didn't you?" Oh God, if that were only true. "Hell, no. She hit on me. I de-clined!" Becky's knees buckled and she collapsed to sit on the corner of the bed. "Miriam asked for sex?" "You got it." "My Miriam? My Miriam asked for sex?" "Um hum." Becky put her hand over her mouth. "That's why she asked those questions this morning." "What questions?" "They aren't important." Becky faced me. "You've bedded other women. Why didn't you agree?" This conversation was headed into the drain, fast. "You want me to fuck your daughter?" Becky didn't flinch at the coarse word. "Miriam isn't as pretty as Lucy, but she's certainly not ugly." "Appearance had nothing to do with it. She has pleasant face and nice personality. Such a wonderful girl doesn't deserve me messing up her life." Dirty Harry's Three Women Becky's breathing evened as she fingered a button on her dress. She was quiet. "I could tell my husband you and Miriam were in bed together." Holy crap. Blackmail. "He'd beat me with that ball bat. Do you really want me to fuck her?" Our gazes met. She nodded. "If that's what Miriam wants." "If I refused, you would tell Harry that I bedded her, wouldn't you?" "I would. But it would be more like a seduction, but his reaction will be the same." She stared me down. Aw fuck. She would indeed. Any mother, defending her child, is apt to do anything. Becky chewed her lip. "How many women have you had in the sack?" Damn. She didn't need all the details. "Let's say, a number." "Then you're good at it?" "Experienced would be a better word." She lifted an eyebrow. "There's something else." She stood, unzipped her dress and slid it to her ankles. "Have sex with me right here, right now. Tomorrow, I'll send Miriam and you make love to her. Fair enough, or should I clue in Harry?" "This is one god awful messed up family." "And you're part of it. So do me." Just that quick, Becky was beautifully naked and beside me on the bed. I didn't pull out when I came, but did make certain she climaxed. Our sex was rough, and she took it, almost expecting it. Afterward, she lay panting and said, "You're good. Harry hasn't made love to me in months. It feels wonderful again." "Why not?" "I don't know. He lost interest and isn't the man I married." "So I become the surrogate lover." "You're better than good. You know what a woman wants." "You think there'll be more times?" "Absolutely." "More blackmail. Should have known." She leaned in and kissed me. "Lucy has a hard crush on you. Did you make love to her?" Fuck, fuck, fuck. I forced incredulity into my voice. "She said that?" "She hasn't said a thing. Her eyes shine, her face has a glow, and she is happy. A mother notices. She's not on the pill. Did you pull out?" This woman wants me to have sex with all the Redding women. "I did." "Smart. I'll put her on contraceptives." *** "Mom said you wanted to see me." I jumped. "Oh, Miriam. You scared me. Didn't hear you come in." She stood stiff and without the usual smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to. What did you want?" I clicked the laptop closed. The English paper on Mr. Shakespeare's sonnets would have to wait. "Please sit." I gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of the table. She settled into the seat, her back straight and hands folded in her lap. "I want to apologize for how I treated you, yesterday." "Apology accepted," she said too quickly. She wasn't going to make this easy. I took in a huge breath and let it out slowly. Miriam stood. "If that's all you needed, I won't bother you." I gestured to the chair. "If you have the time to talk, I'd like to ask a couple questions." "Oh. I guess." She returned to the chair and played with the folds in her dress. She had broached the subject, so I would continue with it. "Why did you want sex?" Her eyes flicked from object to object in the room. "Because ... it happened once and wasn't very nice. It hurt." She didn't include me in her gaze. "Others say sex is nice and wonderful. I want to experience it." "Don't you have a boyfriend or other male friends you could ask?" She shook her head. "I've never been on a date. Nobody asks because I'm not pretty." "I think you're pretty." I scooted closer. "You have a lovely face. You are young and possess a youthful beauty." She slapped her thigh. "I'm big and fat and ... and ugly." "No you're not. You are a good looking woman." Miriam shook her head. "Who would you pick for a date, me or Lucy?" "That's easy. You." She double blinked. "That's not true." "Yes it is. Honest." "Why me and not Lucy?" "Because you're closer to my age." She opened her mouth to say something, but I spoke first. "I'm twenty-five, you're twenty-two, and Lucy is eighteen." "Lucy is pretty. I'm not." "Who told you that?" She shrugged. "I just know." I touched her hand. "If no one told you, then you're telling yourself a lie." She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm ugly, and it's true." "My always mother said that a person's true beauty is never found in their appearance." I reached across the table and tapped her chest above the left breast. "A person's real beauty is found here, in the heart." "You haven't known me much. How can it be true?" "I know that Miriam Redding is a beautiful woman because she doesn't lie, doesn't have an ounce of guile, and befriends anyone in need. She's helpful, works hard, and has a pure heart." "If you think I'm pretty, why wouldn't you have sex with me?" "If it's takes sex to prove you're beautiful, let's go into my bedroom and do it. It shouldn't take but a couple of minutes." I waited. What she'd asked was not what she wanted. She looked down and swallowed. Our gazes met. "So, you agree to make love to me?" I shook my head. "No. We'll just have sex." She scowled. "There's a difference?" "A big one. If a guy wants sex, he pays a prostitute, or finds a friend with benefits. When the act is over, the two go their separate ways. When two people make love, there's a bond with the other person." Her eyes lit up. "Then will you make love to me?" "Will it make you feel more beautiful?" She stopped short and smiled. "Yes, it will." I stepped around the table, drew her into an embrace and kissed her. "Let's go to my bedroom." By taking it slow and easy via kissing and caressing and fondling and fingering, she climaxed five or six times before I unloaded. Afterward, she lay nestled against my shoulder in an afterglow that dwarfed her sister's. "Oh wow. That was so wonderful." "Do you feel beautiful?" "Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times, yes." "So you liked having sex?" She propped up on one elbow and peered down at me. "Sex is a one-night-stand. What we did was make love, and there better be more of it, mister." I laughed. *** The trysts with the three ladies settled into a pattern. Sundays were reserved for Becky. Miriam and Lucy appeared at the apartment-garage at least once during the week. They must have agreed as to who and when. During our lovemaking, I tried to show each one that she was special. No one complained. Summer faded into the colorful hews of autumn. It was after work on October 30th, and Miriam cuddled naked beside me under the covers. The door crashed open and Harry burst in, a ball bat poised above his head. "You cock sucking son of a bitch. Make a slut out of my daughter, will you." The low ceiling deflected the blow, which I caught with my left hand. My thumb snapped backward. In spite of the pain, I latched on to the bat. He yanked me into a sitting position. Miriam screamed and disentangled herself from the covers. "Run," I yelled while tussling with Harry. "Get away, fast." She shot out the door, a blanket around her shoulders. I fought for the bat, in spite of a nonworking thumb. Harry jerked it free and swung. The bone in my left arm snapped. I didn't feel pain, but the arm hung limp. He swung again. My knee cracked. My head filled with light. He swung again. A locomotive slammed into my chest and I blacked out. *** I awoke in a world of pain, each breath stabbing. I had no recollection of him leaving or how long he'd been gone. From the house, shouts and cursing and crying. A war zone. Harry snarling, Miriam screaming, Becky yelling. The guy was crazy. He intended to kill someone, and I had to protect her. I tried to stand. My leg wasn't busted, but my knee wouldn't work. I forced it to lock and almost passed out. It took forever to retrieve my Rugger semi-automatic from the night stand and fish out the full clip, and to do it one handed. From the battle in the house, it didn't seem possible for any piece of furniture to be undamaged. I don't remember inserting the clip, or cocking the slide, let alone hobbling the ten yards to the house. But then, my mind wasn't clear. I concentrated on one goal, to protect Miriam from Harry's murderous intent. While mounting the back porch, one sluggish step at a time, I could see through the screen door. Harry straddled Miriam, and she lay screaming on the floor and covering her head while he twirled the bat near her face. The place was a shambles. Busted pictures, windows, wooden furniture, every item lay strewn about. Harry pointed at his wife. "You fucking bitch, I warned you to not protect this slutty whore. I'm killing you next." As I came through the door, he raised the bat and swung at Miriam's head. He over extended and the floor took the blow. He cocked the bat again. I plopped against the jamb, lifted the gun, and put two rounds into his chest. A .22 doesn't have much stopping power but the look on his face said something was wrong. He twitched his shoulders as if to rid himself of a cramp and drew back again. I put three more bullets center mass from fifteen feet. He didn't go down. That's probably when he realized he'd been shot. He stumbled, and took a step toward me. His eyes didn't seem to focus. "Why you motherfucking bastard," he slurred. I discharged the last five shots into him without letup. If that didn't stop him, we were all dead. His legs wobbled, his knees buckled until he dropped onto Miriam's chest. She continued screaming and pounding with her fists. His eyes rolled up and he toppled to his side. His feet twitched. Then he lay still. A life had been taken. I gagged and vomited on the rug. The pain in my side exploded until I couldn't breathe. A dozen knives twisted in my side. The agony. I crumpled in a stupor. I think Becky told Miriam to get dressed and for Lucy to fetch something. Nothing made sense. I'd killed her husband and their father ... *** I came to with moderated pain and listened. Hissing, beeping, distant voices, loudspeaker calls for doctors. Hospitals have a sound and a smell unique to their purpose. Through wiggling toes and fingers, I tested my extremities. My left arm was immobilized in a kind of splint thingy. My right hand was attached to tubes and wires. Someone had wrapped my chest so tight, that it forced me to breathe slow and shallow. My left leg was elevated and my knee bandaged like a basketball. I scanned the room. Becky scooted her chair closer. "You're awake." She clutched my good hand. She looked beautiful even with dark circles under her eyes. "What happened?" I rasped. "You were in surgery three hours. Afraid we would lose you. Your broken ribs almost punctured a lung." "Will I live," I whispered. "You better, after what you did for us." Was Lucy crying in the corner? I rolled my head to clear it. The room swirled. Then I remembered. I'd murdered Harry. Taken a life. Bile rose. I swallowed it back. "Sorry," I croaked. "For what? You're alive." "Your ..." It hurt to talk. Each breath stabbed deeper. "For Harry." She placed my hand to her wet cheek. "Don't worry about it. Just get well." "I murdered him." "Don't ever say that. When the Police ask, Miriam wasn't home and Lucy was upstairs. My husband attacked, and you defended yourself. You have no idea why his rampage. Nothing—else—happened." She repeated it before I faded out. The police arrived two days later, I think. Events were still fuzzy from the drug induced fog. The officers took a routine statement, and my story matched the evidence from the crime scene. They'd seized my gun, the bat, and some other items. My finger prints were taken, and after my awkward signature scrawl on their handwritten notes, they left. *** The doctor discharged me a week later into Becky's custody with strict orders for total rest, a nurse would visit a couple times a week. The three ladies set up a borrowed hospital bed in their front room for this complete invalid. Becky took the first turn, sitting with me through the night. "Are you alright?" "No." My voice was steady but soft. "Do you hurt?" My every-four-hour pain meds had already kicked in. "No." "What's the matter?" "I still see him standing over Miriam, swinging the bat to bash her head." I gripped the side of the bed. Images of his gray beady eyes, coarse black whiskers, and chapped lips floated through my mind. Everything that happened, every word, his curses, every shot, and twitching. Becky kissed my forehead. "He's gone. Forget it." "I can't. I took a life and will remember every detail." "Are you sorry you shot him?" "I should ask you that, he was your husband. But no. He deserved it. No one should hit a woman, and he meant to kill her." I doubted Becky would understand the deep twisting of my soul for having snuffed out another life. The memories of the deed would have to be faced, but they couldn't ever be erased. "Well, get some sleep." She lay on the couch, tossed a blanket over her, and switched off the table lamp. The memory of me sighting down the gun barrel and firing those rounds into Harry, played over and over. They'd drugged me to sleep at the hospital. Now I had to live with recollections of that event as if they were on continual replay. How did Harry find out? That would forever be an unanswered question. Could I have done something different? Not really. Were the girls scarred from seeing me blast their father into hell? I groaned. Becky whispered, "Are you asleep?" "Not even close." "Want to talk?" "Sure." Conversation would help keep these echoing memories at bay. She flipped on the light and scooted a chair up to the bed. "There are three women in this house who love you." "How can you love me for the bad things I brought on this family?" "Well, you brought love into Lucy's life and she adores you. The kids at school kept saying she was stupid. She's not, and you proved it. You showed Miriam that she is not ugly, that she's a lovely and important person." I looked out the window at the street. "What about you? I killed your husband." A plane's flashing lights crossed the city sky. She was quiet, then sighed. "Nobody knows that ... that you killed my reason for committing suicide." My head snapped around until our eyes locked. "You're serious." "Um hum. I'd thought of divorce, or leaving him, but he was vicious and relentless. He would have searched me out and beat me with his bat. Killing myself seemed the only option." I had nothing to say. Had my presence at this home been that much of an influence—for good? "Harry treated us beneath his contempt, never kindly. You loved us as worthwhile persons." "Yeah. Were there any squabbles over the fact that I shared your beds?" Becky smiled. "We told each other the details about our sex. We were like queens, and in amazing ways, you brought out the woman in all of us. You made us feel special." "Each of you are exceptional. I'm bound to this bed. So what do we do now?" "That's why I wanted to talk." She glanced toward the steps leading upstairs. "As much as she adores you, Lucy's not sure she can make love any more. Having seen your face behind that blasting gun, that can't be forgotten. She isn't sorry for her father's death, but the stigma of you being his killer will taint any lovemaking." "I won't force her if it makes her uncomfortable." Becky shifted in her chair. "Don't tell Miriam I told you. She'll be thanking you for your protection. You gave no thought to yourself when Harry found you together, your only intent was for her to get away." "I didn't actually 'think' about defending her. It was more of an intuitive reaction, like second nature, I guess." Becky placed both of her hands on my arm and leaned closer. "When Harry stood over Miriam, and before you came in, she spat on him. She cursed him with words that ... She's never spoken that way." Becky slowly shook her head. "She loves you for saving her." "Miriam is a sweet girl. I love her too." She raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I meant. If you asked the right question, she'd have a priest here inside of thirty minutes to perform the nuptials." Holy crap. "OH." A sharp pain jabbed my side. I slowed my breathing. "That kind." I looked out the window. The thick clouds parted and an almost full moon illuminated the neighborhood. She kissed my cheek. "Does that scare you?" "A little." To provide for a wife and family, I needed a college degree. My progress via online courses had brought it within reach, but thirty or forty credits remained until I qualified for a diploma. She stood. "Sorry to have upset you. Go to sleep." Sleep was a long way off. I rolled my head to look at her. "I'm not upset and enjoy your company. Stay." We talked, avoiding the mention of relationships. She said there was money in a bank account, not a lot, something she'd inherited from her father. Harry hadn't known about it. She could live off the earnings from cleaning houses plus the interest from the funds. "What about my rent?" "That was pocket money. Don't worry about it. We'll talk about it after you get on your feet." "That's generous." My knee throbbed. I grimaced. "What can I do?" I pointed. "Lower my leg." She adjusted the sling and the ache eased. "Thanks." She took her seat. We were quiet for a moment, and I said, "After I shot Harry, what happened?" Becky thought a bit. "I ordered Miriam to get dressed and disappear for several hours. She was gone before the police arrived. Lucy retrieved your clothes and I put them on you. She went back to your room to look for blood. There wasn't much, a couple of spots. She cleaned them up and straightened the place to look normal. The police went out there and came right back." "What about here in the house?" "We didn't do anything. I told the police that Harry attacked you and demolished the place in his fury. When he cornered you, you shot him." "Why would I have been in your house with the gun?" "I had to think fast. You were going target shooting and came to ask Lucy if she wanted to tagalong. That's when my husband turned belligerent. Why? Nobody knows. His violent reputation supports that idea." We chatted for a while longer until she yawned. She lay on the couch and turned off the light. I couldn't sleep. Becky had given me plenty to think about, especially about Miriam. Was I that dense to have not recognized her feelings? Miriam had shared that she pictured herself in a house with babies and husband whom she could greet with a kiss when he came home from work. Lucy had a different goal, to rise up the managerial chain and be the fashion supervisor of a department store, or, Lord willing, the owner of her own clothing establishment. With Becky and me, it was simply sex. She held no vision of our connection being anything more. Our times in bed were just that. Why had Becky's comments made me reflect on a relationship with Miriam? And why did I keep considering it—and reconsidering it? I eventually dozed off, dreaming about Miriam. The following night, Miriam took her turn watching over me after the others had gone to bed. She gussied about, filling the water pitcher, adjusting the tension on the sling for my knee, checking my arm cast, lining up the medicine bottles, and cleaning the bedpan when it didn't need it, chatting all the while and hardly listening for an answer. A guy couldn't sleep if he wanted. I started to laugh, but didn't dare with my busted ribs. "Miriam, sit down. Don't prattle around." She stopped working and displayed a look of pure honesty. "Do I prattle?" I started to chuckle, but caught myself. "Sometimes." "You winced. Are you in pain?" "If I don't move around, I'm comfortable." Dirty Harry's Three Women "Good." She settled into a pivoting office chair and faced me. "What do you want to talk about?" "I'm glad your father didn't hurt you." "Me, too," she said. "I believed he would bash my head in until you shot him." "Are you sorry he's dead?" "When I was little, he molested me. The other day he wanted to kill me. I'm really glad he's dead. I hated him." I figured him for a bastard, but a pervert? "What else did he do?" "He beat Mom for interfering in his stuff. She called the police, showed the bruises, and pressed charges. A judge fined him a whole bunch, and said if he hit her again he'd go to prison. Dad screamed bloody murder but never struck Mom again except for slapping. He got good at intimidating her. He would cuss, yell, rant, and threaten. He terrified Lucy and me with the bat." I had nothing to say. Harry was downright evil. She swung the chair back and forth. "I won't miss Dad. He was real evil." We were quiet for a bit. She looked at her stomach. "Do you think I'm fat?" Be careful. "Not really." She fingered a bulge around her middle. "I think I am." "If you think that, what should be done?" "I guess, go on a diet and watch what I eat and how much." "Sounds like a plan." She looked straight at me. "Would you love me more if I didn't weigh as much?" Sweet Mary, Mother of God. Talk about a no-win question. "What makes you ask that?" "I don't know." She rubbed the base of her ring finger. "Well, I guess ... 'Cause I wanna marry you." She spoke the last part so fast her words came out as one. There it was. She fidgeted. "Mom told me to ask. I'm scared you'll laugh at me." "I'm an invalid. Look at me. Can't walk, can't use my hand or arm, hard to breathe. I wouldn't make much of a husband." "You'll get better." "Do you really think so?" "The doctor said you would." I scratched my ear. "How long will it take to get me back to full health?" "The hospital nurse said six months, maybe less." "How long will it take for you to lose the extra pounds?" She continued rotating the seat back and forth. "The magazine said thirty-six weeks if I exercised real hard and stayed on the diet." Time to go for broke. I licked my lips. "Want to make a deal?" She stopped pivoting the chair. "Like what?" "Well, there are three things I want. First, I'd like to walk again, do normal stuff." "You will with therapy and time." "Could you be the drill-sergeant of all physical therapists, pushing me to stretch for more, and nag me to do it in five months, maybe four?" She frowned. "You want me to do that?" "I also want to graduate. With time on my hands, I tend to procrastinate. I need a slave driver to keep my nose in the books and assignments on time." "Wow. That's a lot. What's the third thing?" "I want you to lose the pounds." I didn't care about her size. My intent was to raise her self-esteem. Her eyes opened wide. "Really?" She hesitated. "Wait. You said a deal. What do I get from you?" "A marriage proposal." She stood so quickly, the chair sped across the floor and tipped over. Her mouth was agape and her eyes huge. "You mean it? Really? Honest?" "Yes. Every word." She took my face in her hands and kissed me hard. When she pulled back, she asked, "Can I tell Mom?" "What do you think?" "Can I tell her now?" I grinned. "Do you want to wake her over something this trivial?" She stuck out her tongue before scurrying up the stairs, yelling, "Mom? Mom?" She would be rousing Lucy, too. I started to laugh but stopped and held my side. Miriam was a crazy, wonderful woman, a woman without a speck of guile. My mother said, "Love is a decision, not a basket full of feelings. Romance produces all the fuzzys." I needed Miriam's help to walk again and to graduate. She required a goal to feel helpful, needed, and loved, loved because she'd earned it. It's my opinion that when a man and woman marry, they trust each other completely. Yes, I would marry Miriam without reservation, a woman with a beautiful and transparent heart.