11 comments/ 6861 views/ 5 favorites MJ 7B: Case of the Little Death Pt 2 By: madam_noe The good father was staring at me. "Are you telling me you killed this Michael Finnegan? A crime you have not been convicted of?" I took a pull from the flask he'd passed me during my latest installment of the tale. "This is a confession, father." "You know I am obligated to tell the authorities if a crime has occurred." "I hope you do tell them, padre, I really do." He sat back, mixed emotions on his handsome face. As with all my other erotic tidbits he'd been plainly fascinated and at the violence he'd recoiled. However I had told him many other tales of death at my hands not recorded elsewhere and he'd never been this disturbed. I suspected he'd come to like Finn. Amazing how that man had that charm- non-existent at the moment, just a character in my story I could very well have made up to entertain the priest, and yet he was mourning him. "You'll have to wait for the very end to understand his death, father. Just know that on that I regret nothing." He motioned for the flask I passed it back, watching him take a long pull, the dusky column of his throat working. "Shall I continue?" I asked as the wind howled louder and rain pelted the outer walls. "We have only a few hours left, please do. I must know this end, to understand how you could so easily kill the man you truly loved." I smiled. "I never said it was easy." *** Just as Finn disappeared over the bridge I heard the sirens. "Get the car!" I screamed at Hamm who was up and staring at me. He reacted fast and ran to the driver's side, jumped in, and tires squealed as he slammed on the gas. He drove to me and I jumped into the passenger side and we were off. The sirens came from the western road so we took the eastern and headed north again. "What the fuck was that!?!" "This changes everything. Look, my husband can't know anything. I'll make a deal with you; I'll get you the two hundred thousand for your silence. You call him and tell him you found Finn and killed him. Whatever was the exact deal you two worked out, I'll make sure he pays you, but no more questions." "Fuck," was all he said. We drove an hour and stopped for new tires since he had laid rubber. I paid cash and we were off. Neither of u was hungry so we only topped once more for gas and cigarettes before we made the final leg to Santiago. It wouldn't matter, I knew, my credit card was on file for the car. If the police found Finn they'd ask around and our "hoteliers" would fess up damn fast. If all went to plan though, in a short while it wouldn't matter. I made him find a payphone on the quiet south side of Santiago and I stood outside when he called and left the message. "All right," Hamm said when he hung up. "What next?" "We ditch the car. I get you your cash, we split up. I get a ride south and file a police report that the car was stolen." He nodded. "Sorry to say but it sounds like a good plan. Where to now?" I checked my watch. "It's late, I'll need a computer. We can do a wire transfer, is that acceptable?" "Preferred, actually." We got our bags and started walking. The night was warm and people were out but we agreed to walk further from the car before asking for a place with computers. After half an hour I spotted a quiet alleyway between two buildings that appeared to lead to another. I stopped. "Hamm?" I jerked my head down the alleyway. "Seeing as we're splitting up soon, I could use another go-round. You game?" He smiled. "Lead the way." I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped into the alley. Better than expected it led to a small courtyard bordered by four buildings. One was burned out, another boarded up, and the last two were closed businesses, not a camera in sight. I set my bag down and he did the same. I pulled my gun out. "Whoa!" "Relax, it was just weighing my pants down." I set my gym bag on it's end and laid the gun on the other end. I leaned against a brick wall and unbuttoned my pants, sliding them down. "Going to get over and get on your knees or what?" He gave me a grin and stepped close, dropping to his knees. He clutched my thighs and dove in. I grabbed his head as he began to lick and suck. I spread my legs wider and lost myself to it, needing escape. I was shockingly wet and he lapped at my juices furiously. My legs began to tremble when he flicked rapidly at my clit and I moaned softly, trying to control the noise. Soon his fingers joined in the fray and two speared me, running, seeking my g-spot just as he began to suck on my clit. I came, moaning louder, almost squeaking when he sucked so hard it nearly hurt and those fingers jammed down on the spot. When at last the orgasm stopped and he pulled back I sank bonelessly against the wall. I grabbed the gun and brought it up. "What the fuck!?!" "When you left last night I searched your bags. It's not my first rodeo. My husband never hired you. You were hired by Michael Finnegan to track me down." "So what if I was?" "You never told him I was Mrs. Luis Gonzales, aka Luis Javier. Made me wonder why you'd fuck me, but hey, I'm not too bad on the eyes. However, why is it Finn shot at you so fast I couldn't see it coming, but you had time to get down? "I'll tell you. It was planned. I bet this gun has blanks. Shall we find out?" He had time to say no and I squeezed the trigger. Blood exploded everywhere and he swayed on his knees for a moment, then began to fall forward. I jumped out of the way as he fell, then set the gun down and pulled up my pants. "Figures I'd be wrong on that count. Of course it just means Plan B must have been true." I wasn't sure if I'd just committed an act of survival or cold-blooded murder and I was nervous as hell. The sex had been a test to see if the noise roused anyone. It hadn't and I needed to get moving but I couldn't stop talking to the corpse face down in the muck, blood pooling. "If Finn planned to flush out Bowers robbing Javier operations was meaningless. Bowers wants me dead, not Finn. That was a bullshit story. No; Finn needed me to find him, needed you to put me in jail. That would flush Bowers out. Just too bad I checked the gun last night as well as your bags and loaded it properly. Too bad for you both." I wiped the gun and left it, grabbing my bag and running out. I'd watched Hamm dial the numbers. He did not put in the code for Caracas, Venezuela, he dialed local. That message didn't go to my husband, it went to a cop. I couldn't do the airport, it'd be crawling with cops, so I fell back on old habits and stole a car. It was a long drive to Argentina, and I was lonely and scared. The best I could figure it was Finn had been telling half truths. Yeah, he wanted Bowers but he also wanted me. He must have hired Hamm, learned I was married, and either he knew it was Luis and the shock had been an act, or Hamm hadn't been specific. Either way Finn had it all planned out. He usually did but in the two years since I'd seen him I have learned a few new moves on the chess board myself. Finn set it up so I'd think I'd found him. Hamm would load my gun with blanks, they planned for the bridge. Hamm had called the cops while we'd been talking. Finn would prod me to shoot him with the blank and dive over the edge. His body would be washed away but Hamm would be a witness. We'd run north as we had done, Hamm would call the cops so they could get a fix, and I'd be arrested. Bowers would come and Finn would be hiding. Luis would have to leave me, particularly after I shared Finn's tale of Jovan Hakes and rejected him, and Finn would kill Bowers and spring me. He'd be the hero, and I'd fall into his arms. That was Plan B. if I could turn back time and kill Finn with something more slow and painful than the .45 I'd loaded into my gun, I would. However with that call to the police I was in trouble. What neither Hamm nor Finn realized was that I didn't give a shit about Jovan Hakes being a former client of Luis'. I loved my husband, I truly did, and he loved me. In Rio Cuarto I called Luis and got through to him. "Tell me you're still in Paris." "How did you know I was in Paris?" "It's a long story. Luis, do you trust me?" "Yes, my love," he said over the very thin connection. "Remember that trip we too for my last birthday?" "Yes." "Do you remember where we planned to go for our anniversary? Don't say it." "Yes." "If you trust me you need to find a way to that place so no one can follow you. Meet me there in four days. We'll talk then." There was a pause. "All right my love, I'll be there in two days." "Two it is. I love you." "I love you too." I hung up and sunk to the bottom of the phone booth at a truck stop. It was then that I finally let myself cry for the death of Michael Finnegan, for it also meant the death of Luis and Angela Gonzales. *** His eyes were like saucers. "You meant at the time you planned to kill your husband and yourself?" I lit another cigarette. "Hardly, but we would have to move, change our names. Cut ties with the Javier family completely, start fresh." The priest shook his head. "I still don't know why you killed this Finn." I laughed at that. "In the time I've know him...let's see: he made me the other woman, he's lied to me, cheated on me, killed for me without asking, he's orchestrated major cases that cost me my conscience just to be with me. He left me twisting in the wind to face two murder charges alone, he stole my money, he disappeared, and when I found him he tried to orchestrate my arrest for murder and my divorce. A woman can only take so much." "Surely he did not deserve death." I laughed again, a pure hollow sound nearly swallowed by the howling wind. "What he deserved I couldn't give him, so I sent him along to someone who could." "You think you an instrument of God?" I blew out a long trail of smoke. "A mere player in his divine play, but we all have roles written for us." He shivered. "If you are not sorry I cannot forgive you that sin." "Some sins are not meant for forgiveness." He nodded slowly. "So what happened next?" He said with a touch of eagerness. "The fast track to what lead me here," I replied and sat back against the wall to finish my tale. *** In a little café in the lowlands of Honduras decorated like a Mayan temple, I sat sipping coffee. My hair was bound tight and a pure white sundress showed off my tan. I wore sunglasses to hide the fact that in 48 hours of near constant travel I'd barely slept. With the gentle sound of Caribbean waves and the sun slowly sliding down, he entered, all that was solid in my world. My husband had grown a small goatee and cut his hair short in the near week since I'd seen him. He wore a white linen button-up shirt and shorts, his narrow but perfectly sculpted legs shown off down to his unusually beautiful feet in leather sandals. I ran to him and we hugged like drowning sailors gripping a life preserver. He kissed me and as always it curled my toes. "I have a hotel room, come." I nodded and ran back to my table to grab my new gym bag, filled with cash and a few clothes. The last ID I'd used at the border was long gone. We walked hand in hand a few blocks to a decent hotel, the kind the required a credit card and boarded the elevator. We went to the top floor to a beautiful suite with an ocean view. Once inside, despite my aching weariness, I needed him, and said so. So in tune with me Luis knew what needed and ushered me to the bathroom. There we re-enacted our first coupling. I was cleansed, driven mad, pleasured, then returned the favor. When it was over he showered too then joined me on the bed. "We have much to discuss," Luis said, pulling me into his arms. I told him what had passed from when Hamm told me where he'd been headed right up until I arrived at the café we'd read about in a magazine while vacationing in Costa Rica. He rubbed my shoulder and kissed my hairline. "I am sorry I could not say anything. I left because I got a call. No, I did not hire this Hamm, but I did wonder how Alabaster found me. He had a very interesting story." "I'd assume nothing less," I replied and absent-mindedly stroked his chest. "Alabaster demanded a meeting. I went to Paris thinking I could get something out of it to help you, but now I know we're too far past that. "When I arrived, this Alabaster told me he was scared of Bowers finding him, that he'd been on a constant move to avoid him. He also told me he needed money, and demanded it of me. When I asked what, he revealed something to me I honestly did not know." "Jovan Hakes," I murmured. He hugged me closer and nodded. "Yes. I represented Hakes in a few contract disputes with some employers. Then he was protecting a client from paparazzi and got an assault charge. He came to my first for help and I referred him to another lawyer. "My brother needed a bodyguard for a trip, he said, and Hakes needed money. I introduced them and that was all I knew." I believed him and raised to cup his cheek, lowering it for a kiss. "Alabaster said this went back years ago. He was a pimp yes, but he wanted more. He began working for my brother. He told me when you were on the force he was a sometimes informant." "Mostly in my very short time in Vice. I knew Alabaster, we went to school together." Again Luis nodded. "He was the one who told Bowers about the shipment. Those two men who helped you, they worked for Alabaster. He wanted a cut but when they all disappeared...it was Alabaster who told the police you were involved." My body went rigid. "There is more. It seems this Alabaster's life ran parallel to yours and whenever it intersected trouble began. It seems back in 2001 Eddie Harwood was a runner for the mob. He met Alabaster who got him involved with my brother's organization, and made a deal. It seems his backing for buying the Purple Rose club came from Alejandro." I groaned, dreading every word he spoke. "I'm sorry my love, but it is the truth and you need to hear it. Eighteen months later Harwood defaulted on loans my brother made and that is when my brother sent Hakes to kill him. Hakes had done other such work from my brother and Alabaster was his contact. Witnessing this was what made Alabaster run, truly. He feared my brother. "He ran to Europe where we have no connections. When Bowers killed my brother and turned his sights to you apparently he threatened Alabaster to keep quiet. Alabaster went on the move and never stopped." "So in short damn near every major fuck up in my life is the fault of the skinny kid who used to steal the apple from my lunch?" He wrapped his arms around me tighter. "What happened then?" "He threatened to call you and tell you that I had sent this Hakes to set you up on purpose." "And then?" "I killed him." I was silent for a moment. Luis had never killed anyone before, I doubted he'd even been in a fight. "I killed him for you and I don't care, my love. You're safe and that is all that matters." "Some life we have." "It is all in the past. Bowers will never find us, and everyone else is dead." I thought about that and shivered. He simply pulled the feather comforter higher. "I did allay my guilt some. Alabaster had a woman. I left her some money and keys to an apartment." "Why the hell would you do that, Luis?" "She reminded me of you, damn near your double. Funny, Finnegan, Harwood, Alabaster...for all the trouble they caused you in the end they all went after women who looked like you." "My gift, their curse. So the mystery is solved. Everyone who can alibi me is dead, I can never go home. Same for you. So what next?" "I had some money squirreled away for such an event. Whatever we like. We have time to decide. For now we need sleep." Exhausted, I closed my eyes and slept so soundly not even nightmares touched me. *** "Did he really kill him?" I blinked, startled. More than anything I missed sleeping in my husband's arms. Oh, I'd known well we would not be together forever, but I hadn't thought I'd lose him the way I did, and my heart did ache. "I'm sorry," I sniffled, blinking back tears. The good father pulled out an old-fashioned handkerchief and gave it to me. I dabbed my eyes and crumpled it in my fist. "Yes, he did. It was in the papers. I thought it would change him, but Luis was ever a gentle soul. It diminished nothing of his smile, nothing of his passion. "We bought a small house, not far from the coast. We had a small field, grew cotton there. We employed forty people to harvest it, and we sold it cheaply to local crafters to make clothes for tourists. It was a good life. The demonic forces of Alabaster and Finnegan were gone; men not pure evil but careless in their drives, men who didn't truly understand the impact of their actions. We were was safe as possible from Bowers and we had a happy life. "Then a random meeting six months ago sealed my fate." "What happened?" "This is going to be the hardest part: the end. I'll need another cigarette." He passed me one and flicked the lighter, holding it out. I cupped my hands against the wind spilling in with the rain and lit it. "And now I will tell you the sad tale of my husband's death and why I was convicted for his murder, and that of Mark Brisbane." The priest sat back with a haunted look and nodded. *** After almost six months we had built our business, if one could call it that. Though Luis, now called Felipe Romero, was a gentleman farmer it meant long hours. For all that Honduras was a modern country, life under the radar meant very meticulously doing things the old fashioned way. As Paloma Romero I was a woman of leisure to the world. In reality I spent as much time at the books as my husband, and most of my mornings peddling our raw, processed cotton to the small stalls set up to arm tourists. The world economy was hurting and Honduras was no different, selling was tough all over. We'd grown closer as the Romeros. No longer was our marriage open, and no longer was our lovemaking rigid and planned. It was a sunny that April morning as I walked from the small plantation to the tourist stalls at the beach. I was smiling, remembering the morning. I'd woken in an erotic fugue to the feel of Luis' hot mouth on my breast, his rough fingers smoothing over my mons. When I woke and gasped his nibbled the peak of the breast and his fingers slipped between my folds to tease my clit. He stroked slowly, wriggling his other arm beneath me to hold me tight and cup the other breast while his mouth worked. I reveled in the purely female sensate of being held, of surrender. He worked his lips and tongue in a slow pull and every movement of his fingers was long and sensuous. I moved my body flowing like water against him but he refused to speed up. Barely awake as I was my body was loose-limbed and relaxed and the pleasure built slowly, oh, so maddeningly slowly. At last I felt like a pitcher filled, and it spilled over into a shockingly intense orgasm. At long last his thick fingers speared me just as spasmed and I cried out my pleasure as his teeth finally pulled my swollen nipple. His other hand pulled its twin hard and his firm body caged me as I bucked, fingers knotted over his short hair. I floated down and he moved, his sweat-slicked body covering me. He filled me, the delicious curve of his penis sliding over my g-spot with his entrance. My legs and arms curled around him as we kissed, his breath smelling of sweet mint. His tongue was as gentle as his thrusting though I wanted it harder. This was his manner of control, the one thing he could never give up, and as my juices streamed and my nails clawed with urging, I wouldn't have changed it for the world. MJ 7B: Case of the Little Death Pt 2 I came with a wailing moan and still he did not speed. Only when I begged him to stop, spent by three more orgasms, did Luis slam into me and find his own pleasure. Thinking on it I stopped on the dirt road, eyes closed, head tipped to the sun. I breathed in careful measures to calm down from the memory but my whole body still tingled. And my heart ached. I was going to have to leave Luis. I'd know it the day I'd called him, I'd known it the day I'd found Finn. There was one thing left; to find Bowers. When I did I would have to leave Luis. Bowers was all that stood between him and his old life. I would make sure that Bowers confessed killing Luis' brother. I would torture it out of him if I had to, in front of an entire room of cops. When I was done I would be the murderess they claimed, and my husband would be free. I hadn't looked for Bowers in the four months we'd begun our new lives. Yes, I had to give my husband up, but I was in no rush to do so. I opened my eyes and saw a dark shadow dart behind stalls. Something about it seemed familiar and my heart began to pound. I no longer carried a gun, a stupid thing, but Paloma Romero was a refined, gentle, industrious woman...wit no such need. I shook it off and approached the first stall. Melina was 87 and still sewed by hand, her 56 year old daughter Angelita did the sales. They were my best customers and from far away I had seen two ladies buying from them so I stopped there first. "Melina, Angelita, how are you?" I said in my softly accented Spanish. We discussed the weather, tourism, and they bought a bolt from me Luis had had dyed sky blue. Feeling flush and happy I stopped to sit and talk some more but saw the flash again. It was a man, a white man, and my heart pounded once more. Instantly the old, hard Marly slipped into place and despite their shock I, rather rudely by my current standards, excused myself. I'd seen the man dash off towards the crowded permanent stores on the street leading to the hotels and turned down it. The old Marly was a bit rusty, and I wasn't scanning as fast as I could be. That's how I missed him until two hands reached out between two food stalls and grabbed me. I dropped my basket of cloth as one hand pinned my wrists above my head and another clamped over my mouth. I kicked and tried to bite but he dragged me back. This way I saw quickly was also a small makeshift alley between two brick buildings behind the stalls. At long last I was thrown on the ground, a gun jammed in my face. I tipped back my hat and took in the Smith & Wesson clutched in trembling white hands. I followed the arms to the body to the face...and nearly pissed myself. It was Arthur Bowers. "Hiya, Marly. Almost didn't recognize you, took me a while. You look good, lost a little weight." "Are you trying to get a blowjob or kill me?" I was terrified and doing my best not to show it. "Neither, at the moment. You need to suffer. Suffer like I did." "I never made you suffer, Arthur." "It's Mark these days." "Call me Paloma." "Paloma, or should I say Senora Felipe Romero...you made me suffer. Like to hear it all?" "What the hell, it was time for a coffee break." I scooted to sit against one brick wall but he kept the gun close, hunching himself over. What I really needed was time. If he was here it meant soon I'd lose Luis. God help me, I wasn't ready to. "That night all those years ago, do you know why I was outside the Admiral, why I got fingered for the shooting?" I shook my head. "You never remembered. Kingston, his name was Kingston, he tried to rough you up when we were first partnered and we were looking into the Brown murder...I threatened him. That night I'd been out drinking with you...I showed up to Liz's work drunk and they threw me out. I went outside to call you, pulled some change from my pocket for the payphone the exact moment Kingston got shot. "The cop who saw it thought I was reaching for the gun. You! All because of you!" "You know, this might have been an excellent point for a judge." "Shut up!" He was fairly frothing. "It was your friend Alabaster who set up that robbery and sold us out. You again! And then I find the money, I just need a few people dead. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself and what do you do? You let that asshole brother of Liz's get away with most of the loot, Alejandro Javier gets the rest, and that fairy Finnegan saves you from Alejandro when you should be dead. And now you're married to his brother!" He laughed, a maniacal hollow sound. "You'll be happy to know then I killed Finnegan, and you killed Alejandro. So what are we doing here?" "Give me your cell phone." He jabbed the gun against my nose and damn it, it hurt. I fished it out from the pocket of my dress and tossed it aside. He smiled and brought one heavy boot down, heel first, and smashed it. "I'm here because you need to know what it's like to lose everything." "I'm living in fucking Honduras under an assumed name! I had to kill a man I truly loved! How have I not lost everything?" "Liz. I lost Liz." Fear spread like cold in my stomach. "No." "No? You must really love him." Bowers peered closely into my eyes, my sunglasses had been knocked off when he dragged me. "Liz left you because she was a greedy, duplicitous bitch." "She never would have if we hadn't been forced to hide out in Mexico, thanks to you!" He was nearly screaming now and my heart thudded. Part of me hoped the police would arrive, another part knew if they did I was in as much trouble as Bowers. "Meet me tonight, by the water. I'll bring you all the money we have. You can kill me and take it, just swear you won't hurt Luis." He stood up, gun steady on me. "Cunt," was all he said and then he stomped my chest. The air rushed out and I struggled to breathe, even as the boot came back and slammed into the side of my head. My hat flew off and I crumpled, still not breathing, and watching him run back out to the street. I tried to get to my knees but I was seeing stars and my chest burned. It took long minutes before I could even gasp for air. I finally crawled to my knees what felt like an eternity later and struggled up the wall to my feet, woozy. I'd been in enough fights I knew I was concussed, but there was no time. I stumbled out, tripped over my basket and sprawled to the road. Three people helped me up and I rudely pushed them off, stumbling back to the coastal road home. "My god!" It was Angelita. "Did that man attack you? Let me call the police!" "No. Police," I wheezed out and began to jog with Herculean effort. It was only a mile and a half but it felt like a true marathon. The workers were to the far of the field and none took notice as I stumbled up the to the porch. Our front door had been kicked in and I stumbled in, hearing the sounds of a struggle. A gunshot rang out and I screamed instinctually. "Marly!" Luis called with panic in his voice. Please God, I prayed with rusty faith, please let him be ok. Please! I ran to the kitchen and there Bowers and Luis were rolling on the floor, grabbing for his gun. They were both covered in blood and it was everywhere. I couldn't tell who's. I knew there was a gun in a draw not far but I was operating on pure instinct. I ran to them, slipped in the blood, and feel hard on my ass. Tears in my eyes I pulled off my shoe and tied to hit Bowers' head. "Run Marly, run!" Luis yelled. Tears streamed down my face as they rolled past me and I got a clear shot. I brought the heel down and Bowers let go of the gun. It skittered a foot away and I shoved as hard as I could, making Bowers sprawl further. Saw it then: Luis had been hit in the chest. From his rattling breaths a lung had been punctured, was collapsing. "No!" I sobbed out and fell on him, holding him close. "Luis, no, no!" "Shhh. Marly!" he weakly called and moved his arm. I heard the gun go off and Bowers cried out, hitting the ground with a thud. I struggled to my feet and grabbed the gun from Luis. I held it on Bowers, ready to blow his head off. "Run...Marly...I...Love...You." It ended on a gurgle and he collapsed fully, dead. I screamed again and without thinking pumped another bullet into Bowers. His quite dead body jumped. And that was how the field workers found me, and the scene they shared with the police. *** I was crying now in full force. The young priest's handkerchief was soaked and still the tears flooded the awful prison dress. Moved he stood and walked over to sit beside me on the cot and put his arm around me, very brotherly. "Marly, I am so sorry you had to lose your husband that way. But if this is God's will, you must surely know that though all the murders you were convicted of were not yours, there are other you have not had to face." "Is it really God's plan that so many should suffer?" He smiled softly. "The eternal question and the surest test of faith." "What if I told you something else? What if I told you one secret no one else in the entire world knows, one lie in all my truth?" "And what would that be?" "First I ask but one thing. To tell you this I need to know I can trust you. Kiss me." He pulled back, puzzled. I knew I looked like a soggy, red-eyed mess, hardly appealing, but that wasn't the point. Just once in this ordeal I wanted a sign of affection freely given. The good father must have seen something in my face because he leaned in. It was a chaste kiss; soft, pure, close-lipped. Very much the kiss f an awkward teenager and I guessed that had been the last time he had kissed a girl. He pulled back and smiled. "Now what is the one lie in all your truths?" I had one hour until they put me on a plane to the U.S. to die, and I was terrified beyond measure. I leaned over to whisper in his ear, and when his hand found mine I knew he had forgiven me. *** He hadn't been the first priest sent, but I had held out. As cold and calculating as it was I had waited for him; young, attractive, my exact height, a similar slim build. I wore his robes and cowl with the hood drawn low. They accepted the excuse it was me in the bed, buried beneath the covers, sobbing. My heart was beating fast as I walked out and nearly stopped when a guard called for me pause. I responded in forced low tones and realized he anted me to sign out. I looked at the signatures in and found the one to copy and they let me walk out the front door. He'd borrowed a van from his order and I found it, got in, and started up, almost free. One last gate check to pass and I would escape. It was early, shift change time, and the yawning guard just waved me through when he saw the van. The rain was incredible, coming down in sheets. How they thought a plane could take off I had no idea, but that was not for me. No, I drove to Angelita. She was good people, had tried to visit me but was blocked. For every day of the three week joke that had been my trial she had sat in the courtroom, nodding to me in support as I watched my life flush away. She gave me clothes and got me to her cousin who had a boat. The hurricane wasn't going to hit but the rain and storms were pretty bad, but he assured me we'd get far enough from land to handle it. The journey made me throw up damn near constantly. It took us nearly a week to get to Belize and when we docked I made my guide, Esteban, run and grab hair dye, scissors, and colored contacts, non prescription. When done I was an unusually tanned blue eyed blonde with hand-me-down glasses that barely worked. I hugged him, kissed his cheeks, and thanked him. It took a week of grifting, panhandling, and stealing, but I got what I needed. The ID was harder and most of that week was making underworld contacts who didn't want to sell me as slave labor or whore me out. When I had it all I booked myself a flight to France as a citizen of Spain, coach. I ate little, slept on the plane, practiced my accent for checking in. I was armed only with an address my husband had given me as well as a bank account and password. Customs was tricky and I had to sell my story that I had been robbed in Belize of my luggage to 3 different people. By the time I went to the bank and withdrew the meager Euros not even a million, I was ready to drop. I still had two long legs to go on my journey to that one little lie waiting for me with a promise to outweigh all my hard truths. On the plane I'd read about how my priest had been sentenced to a month in jail, but it had been commuted thanks to his order. He was safe, I had his blessing, even if he didn't quite know this penultimate step. I found Monique Merlotte in a fashionable building on a little side street off the Seine, not from Notre Dame. This had set my husband back a pretty penny, and he'd given her close to three million yet two thirds of it was gone a year later. She was also a mover and shaker who liked men. After Alabaster, the oily American pimp, she'd moved up a small movie star and even a low level politico. She was easy to find on the internet. I pulled a fast one with charm to get let into her building, the older woman with two grocery bags and a yapping Yorkshire appreciated my help. She remarked how it was shame we didn't talk more and I agreed, hefting my own heavy bag. I was proud of my French, which I had been studying in prison thanks to the few books they allowed us in solitary to enjoy. Surprising what "The Idiots Guide To French" could teach the motivated when combined with old French movies watched over a lifetime. I knocked on her door and it almost immediately opened. The smile died on Monique's face when she saw what I saw: damn near a mirrored reflection. "He was right, the men in my life do tend to fuck women who look like me." I said in English. "Pardon?" I sucker punched in the nose and it crunched, broken, just as I'd hoped. She stumbled back I stalked in and kicked the door closed. I pulled a simple move and got her down. I wanted it to be quick and painless. "Why!?!" I readied the towel and leaned in close. "Because you fucked my husband. Because you saw him kill Alabaster and blackmailed him into all of this. Then I began to smother her. I'd been a cop long enough to know forensics and though it took long minutes she was finally unconscious and slumped. I slipped off my backpack and put on my gloves, finding her liquor cabinet. Whiskey, Jamesons, shocking. Absolutely perfect. Dry six months myself I had to resist the urge to take a swig as I unscrewed the top and got her sitting up against the cream couch. I poured some down and she came too, sputtering. I got her in a hold and jammed the neck down her throat. It went everywhere but a lot of it got down her throat. When she was woozy and the bottle was empty I tossed it aside and went for a bottle of vodka. We repeated the process until she vomited, and I simply ignored it and kept going. At long last her pupils were blown and she no longer struggled. I set down the empty bottle and brought the towel back. This time when she passed out I knew she'd stay that way. I used her shower, cleaned out, styled myself with her products, changed into her clothes. I packed one of her suitcases with all her toiletries, prescriptions, jewelry, more cash I found, and her clothes. Thank God prison had starved me down to her anorexic weight or it never would have fit. I stripped her naked, put her in my clothes, found the washer and put her dirtied ones in it and set it to stun. I found her passport, ID, credit cards, all I needed in her purse, and put them in along with the cash from her account into my new bags. I gave the cheap purse in my bag, put my fake ID in, everything needed to turn her into Marly Jackson. With her weight and the alcohol I knew she'd be out a good eight hours. When it was all done I grabbed her sunglasses, dumped my cigarettes at her side, and lit a candle in her bedroom. I turned all the gas jets on the stove on high, and then locked up. I lingered until I knew I'd run into a neighbor. "Monsieur! Monsieur!" The middle aged gentleman stopped. "Oui?" "It's me, Monique Merlotte. Please, a favor?" "Certainly," he said with a glance up and down my body. "A woman has been making threats against me. I am going on vacation to get away, but if you see a tall woman, like me, dark hair, please cal the police," I gave him my best French and he barely batted an eye. "Certainly mademoiselle." "Au revoir!" I waggled my gingers as I'd seen her do and walked out. All the hard parts were behind me. Now to face the lie, and die the last little death. *** The plane was halfway to Bora Bora when the news came on the in-flight entertainment. In rapid French with English closed captioning for all the Air France patrons, a smiling newsreader came out with the bulletin. "International criminal Marly Jackson has been reported dead. She apparently died in a gas explosion in Paris after breaking into a resident's home early this morning." She went on to detail the convictions and I excused myself to the lavatory. I pulled out Monique's cell phone and in flight mode she'd gotten three calls, two from her lawyer. I called him. "What is going on?" "Your apartment was broken into, and this woman died there. Marly Jackson!" "Do you remember when that America I was seeing, the black man, was murdered? He knew her. She'd sent me threatening emails, this is why I am on vacation. Is my apartment ok?" Monique was a vain creature and I had to play her to the hilt. He counted to ten. "You need to come back. It's gone, all of it is gone. Why did you empty your account?" "I am going to buy a vacation home." "Get back now!" "All right, all right, when I land I'll book a flight back and call you with the number. Satisfied?" "Yes, but-" I hung up on him. When we landed and made our way through customs I headed out to a cab. I texted three friends that I, Monique, had met a real Saudi prince and was escaping to his boat. I dumped her cell phone in one garbage, left her wallet out near a hungry looking gang of kids, and gave her clothes and beauty products to a group of women. The cash I put in a tote bought at the airport. The jewelry I pawned easily, exchanging one necklace for a new ID that was passable, barely. When I unloaded it all I bought new clothes, touristy and comfortable. I dyed my hair back to my brown and paid an eye doctor for regular contacts, missing my green eyes. When I was done I made my way on shaky legs to the docks where smaller craft were docked. I walked over a small suspension bridge and paused, my mind flashing to that day in Chile with Finn. Had he heard what I whispered? "The boat you always dreamed of back on the force, the Flying Finn in Bora Bora...wait for me there, pleas wait." I looked. No such boat. Had I hit him? I'd been aiming damn close, possibly hit his arm, but no body had ever been recovered. Was it the current, or had Finn survived? Suddenly a tall figure was walking towards me. Unlike the other tourists he wore a long sleeved dark t-shirt and jeans. His black hair was slicked back, shaggy to his shoulders. I broke into a run. Nothing in my life had ever felt so good as when Finn took me in his arms and kissed me until my legs were weak. I was laughing and crying at the same time and so was he. "Come on," he pulled me by the hand and walked to a small yacht, larger than I had imagined. The Flying Finn. "You waited," I sobbed out as we boarded. "I've been waiting since the day I met you in 1991. What was another year?" "I can't believe you waited." He dumped my bag when were inside what looked like a lounge and began pulling off my gaudy t-shirt. "I once told you I needed us to be just a man and a woman, and I know you needed it too. It took us a long time but we're here, together, just a man, a woman, and a boat. Michael Finnegan and Marly Jackson are dead, there's nothing left but this." MJ 7B: Case of the Little Death Pt 2 Then he kissed me with the burning passion I felt. We tore at each others clothes, falling to the fixed couch. There was no time, no patience for anything else. The second we were naked and I was on my back he entered. Justas always he held still, shaking with the effort, letting me adjust to his size. Then he began to move, thumb between us on my clit, mouth fused to mine. In sheer seconds I reached the climax and he followed right behind, like we were two horny teenagers. We collapsed together, clutching one another close. "Remember all those nights in my dim apartment where all we did was talk about this? Sailing away together?" He kissed my temple. "Yeah?" "I'm sorry it took so goddamn long for me to come around." He turned my face to his and those amazing blue eyes peered through to my soul. "You were always worth the wait." Finn: my greatest enemy, my most treasured lover, my dirty little secret, and the hardest lie I'd ever told. And now he was mine forever, and I was his.