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Message-ID: <51120asstr$1115518202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "E. Z. Riter" <ezriter@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {EZ}NEW How High a Price (Adul, no sex)
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Date: Sat,  7 May 2005 22:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

HOW HIGH A PRICE - ANOTHER VIEW

By E. Z. Riter


Dear Reader,

The Troubador wrote a story entitled How High a Price in March, 2003, about
a man and his cheating wife. That is always a popular subject. Since then,
other authors have written stories based on The Troubador's theme and his
characters, Early and Susan Conroy. Thanks to Lazeez, those stories can all
be found at www.storiesonline.net

This is my story using the same theme and characters. It is a realistic
story. Not sexy. Not sweet. Sad. Heavy. But realistic.

I thank The Troubador for allowing me to follow his lead. The title of the
story, plot idea, and character names are his, but the story is mine. So if
you have problems with it (or if you like it), contact me, not him.


Early Conroy, a friendly, sunny-natured man with a constant smile on his
face, was a trouble-shooter and negotiator for his company. Travel was part
of the job. When he traveled, he always left a detailed itinerary with
Susan, his wife. Susan, a lawyer for a large firm, always informed him in
detail as to her schedule. It was automatic after all these years together.

A business problem called Early out of town, this one a long trip to Los
Angeles scheduled from Tuesday through Saturday. He had planned on catching
the return flight out of Los Angeles at 9:15 Saturday evening. As usual, his
car was at the SeaTac Airport. He would be home and with Susan by one a.m.
Sunday morning at the latest.

Thursday morning, the deal suddenly came together. The people he was
negotiating with signed the contract by 11:00 AM and left to deal with a
crisis in one of their East Coast operations. With the change in plans, he
could take the 1:45 p.m. shuttle on Thursday and be home by dinner. He
rushed to the airport. He wanted Susan to know he was on his way home, so,
once in the air, he called Susan's office from the in-flight phone.

"Jenson, Sharone and Anderson, how may I help you?" the receptionist greeted
him.

"Oh, where's Jennifer?" Early asked. Jennifer, Susan's personal secretary,
usually answered Susan's calls on the direct line Early called.

"Mrs. Conroy's secretary is out of the office today and tomorrow. May I help
you?" came the perky response from the office receptionist.

"May I speak to Mrs. Conroy?" he asked.

"Um, Mrs. Conroy is tied up at the moment. I'm not sure when she might be
available. Would you like to leave a message for her?" was the reply from a
suddenly mildly flustered receptionist.

Something in the woman's voice activated Early's well-trained people skills.
He thought for a moment. "No, thanks. I'll call back later," he said and he
hung up.

The conversation with the receptionist troubled him, but it took him another
half hour to put his finger on it. Susan told him on the phone last night
that she would be in the office all day today. Still, it was possible she
was working on a legal file or with a client and couldn't be pulled away.
The real stickler was Jennifer's absence. Susan made it a point to have
Jennifer working the same hours she did. The only times Early remembered
Jennifer out of the office when Susan was working were when she was sick.

The plane landed on time in Seattle, and he was home by 6:35 PM. Susan
wasn't there and the house was dark, which was surprising. The only times
his wife worked late was at her office. If she was with a client, she was
almost always home by 6 PM. He called her private office number again, only
to get the answering machine. He left no message.

Early unpacked, tossed his dirty linen in the hamper, and changed clothes.
When Susan wasn't home by eight o'clock, he made himself a toasted cheese
sandwich for dinner. He started to sit in front of the TV to wait, but
worrying about Susan overcame him. Had she had an accident? But if she had,
someone would have called the house, and, at least, left a message. He was
too restless to sit still and he found himself pacing the floor. He dialed
her cell phone, but received the "out of service" message, indicating the
phone was turned off.

The suspicion something was terribly wrong had grown to a hot ember by 9:20
when his own cell phone rang.

"Early, I was getting worried when I hadn't heard from you, but then I
realized my cell was off. I'm so sorry about that."

"No problem. Where are you?" Early asked.

"At home," she replied. Was there a change in the timbre of her voice or had
Early imagined it? "I'm just finished cleaning up the kitchen. It's been
lonely around here without you."

"I miss you, too, baby," he replied.

His eyes were fixed on the darkened, deserted kitchen of their home. "No
wife there," he thought.

He said, "I tried to get you at the office this afternoon." He let the
sentence hang and waited for Susan to reply.

"I was there," Susan finally said.

"They told me you couldn't be interrupted. Something important going on?"

"Uh, I was working with John Stickner. He got me through that mess with the
Melrose account this week. I owe him big time for that," she said with a
voice that seemed to have a hidden meaning in it, one which Early couldn't
yet fathom. "Honey, after I was able to turn that disaster around, it looks
like I'm going to get that partnership! Mr. Jenson practically promised it
to me!" Susan crowed. "Isn't that grand?"

"It sure is honey. We'll have to celebrate when I get back. I'm just sorry I
wasn't there to get the celebration off the ground."

"Don't worry about that, love. Will you be home Sunday as scheduled?" Susan
asked.

"Right on target." he replied.

"We can start our fiesta Sunday when you come home. It's going to be lonely
in that big bed without you tonight."

After chatting about domestic issues for a few minutes, they broke the
connection. Early thought of the many lies Susan had thrown at him. Until
tonight, he believed his marriage and their love was solid and strong. It
had been something he never questioned. Now he feared the worst.

Early Conroy was a man who always chose action over inaction. Discovering
facts and making decisions under pressure was what he did for a living. He
suspected his wife was lying to him and he needed more information.

He began to go through Susan's belongings, writing down on his legal pad
anything he thought was missing and carefully returning everything to its
exact place so she wouldn't discover his investigation. He inventoried her
clothes, her chest-of-drawers, and her closet before turning his attention
to her medicine cabinet and cosmetics. He finished with her home computer.

The computer yielding nothing but the clothing search proved fruitful. She
had not taken sporting clothes, such as things she would wear if she was
going to play tennis. She had taken her slinky black cocktail dress, a
stunning pants suit, and her best high heeled shoes. She had taken her
sexiest lingerie, including her red teddy and her lacy g-string panties. She
hadn't taken her regular swim suit but her thong bikini, the one she refused
to wear anywhere except in their own back yard by their hot tub, was
missing. Most significantly, her birth control pills were gone from the
medicine cabinet. Early knew his wife's habits. If she thought she might be
gone overnight, she packed those pills.

Since Susan had mentioned John Stickner, Early decided to begin there. He
found Stickner's address in Susan's home office Rolodex.

They owned a dark green Explorer used to tow their camping trailer and for
trips into the Cascade Mountains. Since they rarely drove it in town and it
was a common vehicle in a common color, it would be less conspicuous than
his Mercedes. He drove the Explorer to Susan's Bellevue office, entered the
parking garage, and drove directly to her private parking space. Susan's
gray BMW wasn't there. To be sure, he checked every car in the garage before
departing.

With a sinking heart, he drove towards John Stickner's home. He found it in
a wooded area in the exclusive Medina area. The grounds were surrounded with
an eight foot red brick fence and heavily shadowed with towering fir trees.
As he slowly drove by, he saw  Susan's BMW parked beside the garage where it
didn't block the circular driveway. The house was dark, without a light to
be seen.

Death can come slowly with old age or the ravages of cancer. Death can come
quickly, with the screeching of tires on the highway or a heart attack.
However death arrives, there is intense pain - a pain no one can share or
relieve.

The death of love is the same - quick or slow there is enervating pain.

With Early Conroy, it came quickly as he sat in a green Ford Explorer on an
exclusive street outside an expensive home wherein his beloved wife, Susan,
was fucking another man. Early felt his body tingle and a cold, clammy sweat
break out on his forehead. He threw open the car door, took a single step,
and fell to his knees to puke out his guts in the damp grass. He puked until
only green bile remained. Wobbly, he staggered to his feet and climbed back
in the driver's seat. He started his car and went home.

When he got home, Early called Steve Majors, the head of security at his
company.

"Jesus, Early, it's one fifteen in the morning. What the hell's wrong?"
Steve exclaimed.

"I need the name and number of the private investigators the company uses,"
Early said.

Steve gave Early the name of John Wells and Wells' home phone number.
"Anything else, Early?" Steve asked.

"I want my phone bugged," Early replied.

"Tell Wells. They'll do it. Do you want to talk?" Steve said.

"No. Thanks for the information," Early replied.

Early called John Wells and explained what he wanted. By four a.m., the
Stickner house was under surveillance.

Early had no desire to sleep or drink or eat. He was a man possessed with a
single thought: end his marriage as quickly as possible.

He could not stay married to Susan. He didn't love her. Not now. Her
betrayal severed his love like the falling blade of the guillotine severed
Louis XVI's head. Nothing could repair it.

Early knew men and women who had taken back their spouses after adultery.
Once, he thought that was both civilized and loving, but now that he was the
cuckold, he couldn't imagine a man letting a cheating wife back into his bed
or his life.

Early went to the basement room where Susan stored old things. There were
boxes on hers he had never opened. Now, he rummaged through them. He read
her high school and college diaries. There he found evidence she was
sexually active with eight men before he met her. She had told him three. He
wondered if that was the first lie she had ever told him. But he found
nothing to indicate she had cheated on him. He found references to him and
how she loved him and loved sex with him. They made his stomach churn.

At six a.m., he called Paul Landon, general counsel for his company. Paul
was already at his desk in the office. Early asked Paul for the name of the
best divorce attorney in the Seattle area.

"Her name is Cynthia Rodgers. I'll have her call you," Paul said.

Ten minutes later, Cynthia Rodgers called Early. They talked for twenty
minutes as he told her his situation and what he wanted out of the divorce
and she gave advice. She promised divorce papers would be filed before the
day was over.

Early returned the task of searching through their belongings for clues
without uncovering any more. At nine, Early was at their bank. He began by
purchasing bank money orders payable to his attorney and his private
investigators for their estimated fees. He opened a new account in his name
only and transferred half the money remaining in the joint accounts to it,
before removing his name from the old accounts. He was home by ten fifteen.
By ten thirty, all joint credit cards had been cancelled. He thanked his
lucky stars that they had kept separate brokerage and investment accounts,
so he didn't have to unravel their investments. He did contact his broker to
remove Susan's authority to use his accounts.

Since it was clear Susan wasn't coming home, he called her office. When the
receptionist answered instead of  Jennifer, he just asked if he could speak
with Mrs. Conroy. When she told him Mrs. Conroy wasn't available, he thanked
her, told her it wasn't a pressing problem, and asked when he should call
again.

"She's out of the office on personal business and won't return until 9:00
Monday morning. Would you like to leave a message?" was the friendly
response. Early left no message for her.

Early pulled the Explorer out of the garage and drove toward Bellevue,
stopping for a breakfast so belated he had to call it brunch. It was 11:30
when he sat down and ordered eggs and pancakes with hot tea. His stomach was
too upset to take coffee. Eating slowly, having to force each bite to stay
down, he finally finished the meal, paid for it, and left the restaurant an
hour later. He returned to the road past Stickner's place. Susan's car,
still in Stickner's driveway, had not moved. His P.I. was no where to be
seen.

Early called the P.I. firm from his cell phone and asked for John Wells. In
a moment, Wells came on the line.

"I'm out by the Stickner place and your operative isn't here," Early said
coldly.

"Shit, man, get out of there," Wells replied. "If they saw you, it will blow
everything."

"But..." Early began.

"Get out of there. Go somewhere, park, and call me back," Wells ordered.

Ten minutes later, Early called Wells again. "All right. What's going on?"
Early demanded.

"Are you parked?" Wells asked.

"Yes," Early replied curtly.

Wells said, "Our first operative is back in the office, but his replacement
is on site." Wells chuckled. "We're old pros at this, Mr. Conroy. You aren't
supposed to see us."

"Where is he?" Early asked.

"There's a park behind the Stickner property. He parked on that street,
worked his way to Stickner's property line, and climbed a tree. We have
proof positive of your wife's adultery, Mr. Conroy."

Wells waited, listening for the slightest clue of Early's state of mind. He
had never met his client and he didn't want anything bad to happen. It was
the reason he told him to park before they talked. Finally, he heard Early
breathe. It sounded like a shudder.

"Go on," Early said. His voice sounded drained.

"It's a good thing you called us in the middle of the night. It seems they
like early morning sex outdoors by his hot tub."

"What do the pictures show?" Early asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Wells responded.

"I do," Early said.

"Everything. Missionary position. Anal. Fellatio. But the best are of them
doing it doggy style. Both of them were facing our camera, and our man
click-clicked away." Wells waited almost a minute before asking, "Since we
have the proof, do you want to continue the surveillance? I mean, the meter
is running."

"Keep after it until I tell you to stop," Early replied. "When can I get
prints of the photos?"

"Later today. He took over two hundred shots, so we haven't developed them
all yet."

"Give me fifteen or so, all in eleven by fifteen, and all showing their
faces."

"We'll deliver them to your house. Any for your lawyer?"

"Not now, but I want all the pictures developed so we can send them to her
later," Early replied.

Early drove home, his mind numb from loss yet thinking clearly. His marriage
and the life he had enjoyed were over. He wondered if he would ever smile
again. He wondered what would become of him. Whatever it was, it would be
better without Susan. On that point, he was perfectly clear and without a
doubt.

Home wasn't home any longer. It was a house. Nothing more. Yet, Early hated
it. As he drove into the driveway, he was tempted to go out to a motel or
sleep on the damn street or anywhere but there. He steeled himself and
parked his car in the garage. There was too much to do to walk away now.

Early called Catherine Means, a realtor they knew. Catherine and her husband
were old friends of theirs.

"Hi, Early?" Catherine said brightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this
call?"

"I want to sell the house. Can you come over now to do the paper work?"

"Are you and Susan moving?" Catherine asked.

"We're getting divorced on grounds of adultery. Hers, not mine. The house is
in my name only because I bought it before we married, so I can sign the
papers. But I want it done now, Cathy. And I want the for-sale sign up in
front by seven."

"Early, I..." Catherine began.

"No counseling. No discussion. You're a realtor and I'm a home seller.
Nothing more. If you can't do it that way, I need to find a realtor who
can," Early said.

"We'll do it your way, Early," Catherine replied. "I'll be there in thirty
minutes."

Early had not picked Catherine idly. She loved to talk. She would spread
word of the Conroy divorce and why it happened in their social group and
beyond. She might even come on to him. She had once before at a party given
by a mutual friend, but he had turned her down. He hoped she wouldn't
approach him now. Sex didn't interest him at the moment and he didn't want
to deal with someone else's cheating wife.

Early went from room to room in the house that once was his home. He saw the
memories and shoved those thoughts aside. He was planning what to take with
him and what he ultimately wanted, making notes on his legal pad. He was in
the basement when he heard the doorbell ring.

Expecting Catherine, he girded himself as he answered the door, but it was a
messenger from the P.I. firm with his copies of the pictures. Early looked
through them quickly. They did show Susan and John Stickner eagerly engaging
in consensual sex. As he placed them on the mantle, he felt his stomach
roil. He barely made it to the toilet before he puked again. But this time
was different. Unlike the first time he vomited over his mess of a marriage,
he didn't have the shakes and the cold sweats were milder. Early took that
as a good sign. Hell, in times like those, he would take whatever good signs
came his way.

Catherine was the consummate professional when she arrived, never once
asking about the impending divorce. She got the contract signed and
installed a for-sale sign in the front yard, then left without further
comment.

At five fifteen, Cynthia Rodgers, Early's divorce attorney, called to inform
him the divorce papers were filed before the courthouse closed at five.

"Is a copy on the way to me?" Early asked.

"Yes," Cynthia replied.

"Good. I'll serve them on her."

"Only if you have a disinterested party witness it," Cynthia said. "We need
proof she was served the papers."

"My P.I. will photograph me giving them to her," Early said.

"That will work," Cynthia said.

Early then called John Wells again and asked what was happening.

"The second operative is in for the day. He got a few pictures but nothing
as damning as the ones taken earlier. Our current operative just called in.
They are on the move. He said they were dressed like they were going
someplace fancy and had suitcases with them."

"Keep following them," Early said. "And I need something else. I want
someone out here ASAP to take pictures of the stuff in the house."

"A photographic inventory?" Wells asked.

"Exactly, but I need a witness, too. I need proof of what I did to her just
in case she claims I did something violent, and I need proof the divorce
papers were served."

Wells asked neutrally, "Are you feeling particularly violent?"

"No," Early replied. "But she and her lover are lawyers and liars by
profession and practice. I just want to get out of this thing the best I
can."

"We should video rather than use stills," Wells said.

"Good idea. Call me when they get to their restaurant. I'll call her there
and confront her," Early said.

"Do you want an operative to stay with you later?"

"Why?" Early asked.

"As a witness that you didn't do any harm to her after you confronted her?"
Wells asked.

"Good idea. Plan to watch me until further notice. I'm at home now."

Early looked at his watch. It was almost seven. He hadn't slept in
thirty-eight hours, yet he wasn't sleepy. He was drained emotionally and
empty inside, but he wasn't tired. He was hungry. He got into his car, went
to a burger joint, and got a meal to go.

When he turned back into his driveway, there was a nondescript Chevy parked
out front. A nondescript man exited the Chevy and joined Early as he got to
the front door. The man introduced himself as Bill Miller and gave Early his
business card showing he was an operative for John Wells.

Early finished his burger and was pleased his stomach felt fine. He was
helping the operative inventory when the phone rang. It was John Wells
again.

"They're having dinner at the Queen Victoria Hotel on Vancouver Island,"
John Wells said. "And they have a room for the night."

"Have they already registered?" Early asked.

"Yes," John replied. "They checked in under the name of Mr. and Mrs. John
Stickner."

Early felt no anger at hearing Susan being called another man's wife. He
knew that was a sign the marriage was over for good.

"Thanks, John," Early said. "I'll call her now, so they'll probably be on
the move again. You might warn your operative."

Bill Miller watched Early as he attached the recording equipment to his cell
phone. "Did I do this correctly?" Early asked.

Miller checked it and replied, "It'll work just fine."

Early turned on the recorder and dialed Susan's cell phone. She answered on
the third ring.

"Early?" Susan said, sounding more perturbed than happy to hear from him.
"Why are you calling at this time? Is everything all right?"

"It's been a very long, very hard day," Early said. "How was yours?"

"Long, too, but very productive. I got a lot of things off my desk," Susan
said.

"Where are you?" Early asked. He could hear sounds of the restaurant in the
background.

"I'm in our bedroom in our home. Where did you expect me to be?" Susan
replied testily.

Maybe a guilty conscious caused her tone of voice, Early thought.

"I expected you to be at the house," Early said. "Say, you know that old
watch my grandfather left me. I was talking to one of the guys down here
about it. He's a watch collector and he thinks he might be worth a bundle,
but he can't be sure until he sees the serial number off the back. Will you
get it and read me the serial number to me, please?"

Early counted the seconds on his watch. It was nine seconds before Susan
said, "Honey, you can't possibly sell that old watch. Your grandfather left
it to you, and... and you said you wanted to have a son to leave it to."

"I'm not going to sell it," Early said, "but I do want to know how much it's
worth. Now, where did you say you were?"

"In our bedroom," Susan said. Early heard the tremor in her voice.

"On the bed?"

"Yes," she replied. The word caught in her throat.

"Okay, look to your left. See the dresser?" Early asked.

"Early, this is silly," Susan barked.

"Why?" he asked.

This time it was seven seconds before Susan responded. "It just is," she
said.

"Humor me. Do you see the dresser?" Early said.

"Yes," she whispered.

"The watch in the bottom left-hand drawer in an old wooden case." He waited
a few seconds as if giving her time to get off the bed and look. "Do you see
it?"

"No," Susan said.

"Well, I'm at home in our bedroom looking in the bottom left-hand drawer and
I see it. What I don't see is you."

Early disconnected from Susan before she could say a word, turned off his
cell phone, and took the house phone off the hook. "Will you keep the
recording?" Early asked Bill Miller.

"It's best that I do," Miller replied. "That way I can testify as to its
authenticity."

"How far is it from Vancouver Island?" Early asked.

"An hour at this time of day."

"Then I have fifty minutes to finish what I need to do," Early said.

"Do you have a firearm?" Miller asked.

"Two of them," Early replied. "I'm licensed."

"Let me have them. I'll keep them for you."

"Good idea," Early replied.

In a moment, he returned with both his pistols in their cases. The operative
checked to make sure they were unloaded before taking them to his car.

When the operative joined Early again, he said, "Is this your first
divorce?"

"It is," Early replied.

"You're handling it well," Miller said.

"Thanks," Early replied.

Bill Miller looked at Early from his wrinkled, knowing face with its cool,
sad eyes. He said, "But the hard part is yet to come. I don't know whether
you'll want to immediately go out and get laid, or wait awhile. Each guy
reacts differently. Whichever it is, there will be plenty of available
women. Getting laid is not the problem.

"The problem is trust. If you find another woman worth marrying, can you
trust her? Will your blood pressure rise if she's a few minutes late? Will
you think she's lying to you with every breath she takes? Will you think she
told you big lies if you catch her in a little one? Will you wonder about
her when she's not with you? You can't build a great marriage without trust.
And if you don't care enough for trust to be an issue, you shouldn't be
marrying her. "

"I can handle it," Early said, but he wondered.

"I hope so. A lot of people can't."

"You sound like the voice of experience," Early said.

"I've been a private detective doing divorce work for twenty-nine years.
I've seen a lot of sorrow."

"Have you been married?" Early asked.

"Four times and divorced three," Miller said. "My first wife is also my
fourth one. She cheated on me and I dumped her, but, years later..."

"So your comments about not trusting..."

"Comes from here," Miller said, tapping his chest over his heart. "And in
here." He put his hand on his stomach. "Not here," he said as he tapped his
head. "That's what makes it so hard to trust again, particularly for a guy
that makes his living with his mind like you do."

The house was dark inside and the doors locked. The exterior security lights
were on, flooding most of the front yard and driveway with light. Bill
Miller was leaning against his car ready to video the impending
confrontation. Early's Mercedes, packed with the clothes and other items he
thought he needed the next few days, was at the curb so it couldn't be
blocked in. His reservation at a Holiday Inn was made.

Early was walking around his house one last time when tires squealed and
John Stickner's Lexus roared onto the driveway. Susan flew out the moment
the car stopped. Bill Miller had the video rolling and was slowly moving
toward the action.

From the shadows, Early saw Susan, who was dressed in the slinky black
cocktail dress taken from her closet. He had never seen her like this. She
was distraught beyond his imagination, near hysteria, with her makeup
running down her tear-streaked face. She stopped when she saw the for-sale
sign and her mouth fell open. Stickner, out of his car and beside her, tried
to touch her and she jerked away.

Susan saw a movement in the shadows. "Early?" she gasped.

Early came into the light, but he was walking toward the for-sale sign, not
Susan.

"Early!!" she screamed. She ran toward him, arms outstretched.

But when she got close to him, Early hissed, "Don't touch me."

His voice, so cold and dead and threatening, stopped her in place, where she
stood as if frozen by the icy blast of his tone. He picked up an envelope
leaning against the sign and withdrew a legal document.

He handed the document to Susan, saying, "You are officially served with a
lawsuit filed today in the case of  Conroy vs. Conroy, a petition for
divorce on grounds of adultery. Mr. Stickner is named as your
correspondent." He handed her the stack of photographs. "These are pictures
of you two love birds happily fornicating. They will be a small part of the
evidence at the trial."

Early turned to walk away.

"You fucking asshole," John Stickner growled as he grabbed Early's arm.

Early didn't think. He let the red-faced adulterer turn him around, and saw
Stickner's fist coming his way. He took Strickner's blow on his shoulder and
delivered one of his own. He felt the spatter of Stickner's blood on his
face and saw Susan faint, dropping the pictures documenting her adultery on
the grass around her.

"Did you get it all, Bill?" he asked the operative.

"Of course. Now get the hell out of here. I'll clean up."

Early glanced at Strickner groaning in the grass with the side of his face
crushed in. He looked long and hard at the woman he once had loved sprawled
unconscious beside the for-sale sign with pictures around her.

He went to the Holiday Inn, registered, and went to his room. He filled the
room's ice bucket from the ice machine. He returned to his room and poured
himself a large bourbon on the rocks, filling the crystal highball glass he
brought from home. He hated those cheap plastic motel glasses. He took off
his shoes, propped his feet up, and turned on the TV. He stuck his bruised
and battered hand into the ice bucket and sipped his whiskey.

He was still sitting there twenty minutes later when someone knocked on his
motel room door. He ignored them.

"Early, it's Bill Miller," the voice at the door said.

Getting out of that chair might have been the hardest thing he did all day,
but Early managed, trudging to the door and opening it. Miller was standing
there with another man about Miller's age. "This is Sergeant Simmons,
Seattle P.D.," Miller said.

Early motioned them in and collapsed in his chair again. Miller shut the
door behind them, took Early's hand, and looked at it. He pushed and pulled,
making Early wince. "I don't think it's broken," Miller said.

The policeman cleared his throat. "Mr. Conroy, Mr. Stickner wants us to file
assault charges against you. You messed him up pretty good. A surgeon is
trying to repair his broken cheekbone now."

"Life's tough all over," Early said in a flat tone. His eyes were dead and
no emotion registered on his face.

"You don't care that the man is facing multiple surgeries to repair what you
did," Sergeant Simmons asked.

"How do I repair what he did to me?" Early asked the policeman without
looking at him.

"I could arrest you for assault, Mr. Conroy, but Bill here assures us it was
self-defense and he has the video to prove it, although I haven't seen it
yet," Sergeant Simmons said.

"You'll get it in the morning," Miller said.

"So what happens now?" Early said.

"No arrest will be made until we've seen the evidence. If Bill's wrong, and
your punch wasn't in self-defense, we will file charges. That's the law."

"It's a stupid law," Early said in the same flat tone.

The sergeant studied the despondent man before saying, "You can expect a
civil suit."

"Not hardly," Early replied. "Law suits bring facts out in the open and
these two lawyers will want to bury this like a cat buries its shit. I can
guarantee you of that."

Sergeant Simmons waited as police officers do so well. When he thought
sufficient time has passed, he said, "Aren't you going to ask about your
wife?"

"I don't have a wife."

"Your wife..." the sergeant began.

Early jammed his feet on the floor and sat up as if to spring into action.
"Aren't you listening to me?" Early said loudly. "I do not have a wife."

The sergeant stood. "Don't leave the county without clearing it with me.
And, Mr. Conroy, don't do anything rash."

Early only nodded.

"Want me to stay in here?" Miller asked Early. Early shook his head. "I'll
be outside in my car if you need me. I go off at midnight but someone will
be there. Take care of yourself."

"Thanks, Bill, for everything," Early said.

The two men left Early alone.

It was done. The divorce papers were filed. His confrontation of Susan was
over. His life with Susan was over. Gone like dust in the wind.

Early was too tired to undress. He downed the rest of his drink, crawled
into the bed, and pulled the covers over himself. He began to cry, fighting
his tears until they overwhelmed him. He cried until he had no more tears to
give, leaving a man broken but unbowed.

Early knew he would get up tomorrow and go on. He knew the weekend would be
hell, but Monday morning he would go to work and bury himself in the
familiar routines. He knew his life would get better day by day, and be good
again someday. He knew someone else would come along for him.

He knew all that in his mind.

In his heart and in his gut, there was a gaping, bleeding, black, empty
hole. He felt like a deer that had been gutted, its entrails ripped out and
fed to the dogs with the carcass left hanging in a tree. He wondered if he
would ever be whole again. He wondered if he could ever trust again.

With that thought, he slept like the dead.

The End

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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