Liar, Liar (5 page)

“How’s the Duncan case coming along?” Mitchell asks.

“It’s going well.  I’m making progress.”

“Good.  Any chance you have time to fit this one into your schedule?”  He slides a folder across the table and I open it up.  “It should be quick and easy.”

I flick through the file, noticing a woman named Michelle is claiming her husband is having an affair.  She wants us to record photographic proof, and he is supposedly meeting his mistress tonight at a motel not far from here.

“Yeah, I can fit this one in.”  I keep flicking and notice she included two photographs of her husband for our records.  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask Mitchell.

“I’ve got an after hours meeting with a potential client.  It could be a big case if we land it.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“Business fraud, apparently,” he elaborates.

“Good luck, and let me know how it goes.”

“Of course.”

I exit the conference room and see Josephine sitting at her desk, tapping away on the computer.

“Morning, Josephine,” I greet with a smile.

“Good morning, Miss Banks.  Here are your messages.”  She hands me a bunch of papers.  “I’ve had to reject two separate phone calls from Juliette since yesterday afternoon,” she tells me.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.  She’s very persistent.  I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I also believe she called again this morning using an alias.  She couldn’t disguise her voice that well, though, so I picked up on it.”

“I may need to look into this matter further.”

“I agree.  Perhaps you need to make a report to the police.”

“Mmm,” I murmur as I contemplate it.  I really don’t want to go to that degree, especially if Juliette is harmless.  But, I don’t want to chance it either.  She really does seem whacky.

“Josephine, would you mind bringing me a coffee?”

“Of course.”

“Mitchell might like one as well.”

“I’ll see him before I go down to the café.”

“Could you get me one of their almond croissants as well, please?”

“Certainly.”

I thank her and make my way into my office to return phone calls and check and reply to emails.

Josephine enters my office a few minutes later armed with my coffee and croissant.

“Josephine,” I call just before she shuts the door behind her.

“Yes, Ms. Banks?”

“Perhaps you could keep a record of every phone call from Juliette, and her aliases, just in case we need them.”

“Of course.  I’ll notate the ones so far, and add to them if she calls again.”

“Thank you.”

When she leaves, I pick up my phone and begin returning calls.  When that is done, I move onto the emails, and then I begin compiling reports on completed cases.  It isn’t until my stomach begins rumbling that I realize it is mid-afternoon.  I make my way to the café at the end of the block and order myself a Caesar salad to go.

Back in the office, I go through the case I will be working on tonight, familiarizing myself with the details and what the man looks like.  Marten Shaw is a balding, forty-eight-year-old man with a substantial beer gut.  He has been married to his wife, Michelle, for twenty years, and has a history of infidelity.  Though Michelle has never been able to prove it, and he has always denied it. 
Typical.
  This time is different though, because she is in the financial position to be able to afford an investigator. 

I’ve found women usually begin to doubt their instincts when they believe their significant other is having an affair, especially when they continually refute it.  I suppose like many women in her position, Michelle just needs to see hard evidence before she finally kicks his ass to the curb.

At four o’clock I walk home and shower before grabbing a bite to eat and driving over to the motel with my camera at the ready.  The night turns dark and the hot air of the day disappears with the sun, leaving behind a beautiful cool breeze.  I wait with my window rolled down and my camera turned on.  Scanning the parking lot, I keep an eye on who is coming and going.  Thankfully the motel isn’t too busy, so it is easy to keep track of the steady amount of guests coming and going.  A few minutes later, I notice a car pull into a vacant car space.  I try to get a visual on the license plate to see if it matches the details Michelle gave us, but I can’t see it clearly.  Keeping my eyes on the dark tinted windows of the driver’s side door, I wait for the person to exit.  When he does, I recognize the man as Marten immediately.  I pull out my camera, zoom in, and begin snapping away. 

The passenger side door opens and a woman steps out.  Marten meets her at the front of the vehicle and gropes her ass before kissing her passionately.  I’m pretty certain he is going to fuck her on the hood.  Blessedly, they pull away from each other before walking into the lobby of the motel, giggling like schoolkids.  When I lose sight of them, I check my camera to ensure I got some good shots. 
I did.
  The shots are perfect.  I turn off my camera, roll up my window, and wheel out of the parking lot, heading for home.

Once I get inside my apartment, I upload the photos onto my computer and email them to my work account.  I’ll print them out tomorrow when I’m in the office before I compile the report for Michelle. 

With a sigh, I stand to stretch my arms above my head.  Opening my fridge, I pull out the almost empty bottle of wine from the top shelf, and pour what is left of it in my glass.  I plop in a strawberry and then move to my bedroom to change into my pajamas.  Then I climb into bed, sip my wine until I have drained the glass and fall asleep.

***

Investigating a situation you have been hired to do and assembling the report with the information you gathered is one thing.  But sitting down to present that information, and the incriminating evidence to your client, is an entirely different story. 

As Michelle Shaw sits across from me in the conference room, her eyes glued to the pictures of her husband groping and passionately kissing a woman who is not her, I can’t help but feel a conflicting array of emotions.  I am glad she got the result she had intuitively predicted, but I am also sad for her because I know deep down in her gut, she was somehow hoping she would be wrong.  She was hoping I wouldn’t get any information.  But I did, and now she has to deal with the cold, hard proof staring her in the eyes.

Suddenly she jolts upright in her chair and looks across the table from me.  Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, but her lips are set in a firm clench.

“That mother
fucker
,” she growls.  “I’m going to
kill
him.”

“That’s probably not a wise idea, given that you’d be spending the next twenty-five years of your life in a prison cell.  You deserve to be happy, not confined to a small room paying for a poor decision,” I tell her. 

“What would you do?”

It’s a question I get asked often.  So I tell her what I tell every other scorned woman who sits across from me.

“I prefer the legal kind of revenge,” I say.

“Oh?”  She sits forward slightly in her seat, clearly interested in what I am about to say.

“I’d go home, gather his shit, and cut one pocket of every single pair of jeans and pants he owns, just because it would be annoying as hell.  Then I’d be sure to sprinkle some itching powder all through his clothing, or even rub some raw chili on the crotch of his jocks.  When that’s all done, I’d chuck it out on the lawn.  If he’s got a prized X-Box or whatever, make sure you destroy it with a hammer before you toss it out.   Then I’d go inside and type up a post about what an asshat he is.  I’d accompany that post with a picture of us on our wedding day and also one of him groping another woman, purely for the sympathy vote.  Then I’d make sure it spread far and wide on social media.  After that’s taken care of, I’d create a sexy singles ad and attach a photo of a sexy, half naked female, enter in his phone number, and put it on Craigslist.  Maybe I’d even put it in a couple of newspaper ads as well.  He’s bound to get a shit ton of calls from horny dudes.”

“Wow,” she whispers.  “You’re good at this revenge stuff.”  She looks super impressed.

“I’ve had a lot of experience with situations like this,” I reply.

“Thank you so much for help with this matter.”  She stands and offers her hand over the table.  I extend mine as well and she makes her way out to Josephine to settle her account while I gather my copy of her file and tuck it away in my filing cabinet for safekeeping. 

By the end of my workday, the only thing I feel like doing is heading home to curl up on my sofa with a fruit and cheese platter and a glass of bubbly.  But, I know I need to ‘accidentally’ run into Benny again.  So I hail a cab and head to the gym.

The attorney my family has always used may be
coerced
into providing my parents with details about my case that are required to be confidential.  As you can imagine, when I made the decision to proceed with a divorce, I also made the decision to acquire fresh representation.  Since Barney Stellan comes highly recommended, and has been known to me for many years, it was common sense to make an appointment to see him.

As my watch clicks over to six o’clock, I enter the foyer of Stellan Legal and approach the reception desk.

“Good evening, sir.  Can I help you?” asks the receptionist.

“Yes, I’m Benny Duncan.  I’m here to see Barney Stellan.”

“Of course, Mr. Duncan.  Mr. Stellan is expecting you.  Follow me.”

She stands and I follow her down the hall to the very end.  She taps on the door twice and then opens it.

“Mr. Duncan,” she says softly.

“Thank you, Priscilla.”

She gives me a nod and a polite smile before heading back the way we came.  I enter through the door and close it behind me.

“Barney,” I greet.  I extend my hand and he gives me a firm shake.

“Benny, good to see you.  Have a seat, friend.  Can I offer you a drink?”

“Love one, thanks.”  I sit down in the comfortable wood and leather chair while he fixes us each a whiskey on the rocks.  Handing me the small crystal tumbler, I bring it to my lips and admire the burn of the alcohol as it travels down my throat.

“I must say I was surprised when I received your call,” he states, giving me the opportunity to elaborate.

I nod.  “It’s no secret my family has used the services of another firm for as long as I am aware.  However, given the delicate nature of my issues, and the shit storm it is likely to create, I wanted someone impartial and unobligated to my family,” I explain.

“Understandable.”  He sips his drink before continuing.  “What exactly is your issue?”

“Getting married was not my choice.  In fact, I would go as far as to say I was forced into it.”

“By whom?”

“My parents.  Regina, and her parents.”

He nods and I continue. 

“For a long time I went along with their plans because I felt there was no other choice.  However, recently I realized there are other
choices
I am interested in pursuing.”  Well, one other
choice
I am interested in pursuing – Makenna Banks.  Nevertheless, I won’t be sharing that with Barney, or anyone.

“Am I correct in assuming you want to advance with a divorce?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, my specialty.” He winks and then drains his glass.  “Was there a prenuptial agreement signed?”

“There was.”

“I’ll need a copy of that at your earliest convenience.”

I hand him the document across the table.

“Someone came prepared,” he says with a chuckle.

“I did,” I confirm.

As I watch him flick through the papers, a weight begins to rise from my shoulders and a stream of hope begins to filter through my veins. 

I provide Barney with the basic details of my marriage to Regina – the length of our relationship, the status of our living arrangements (separate bedrooms for the past four years), our current sexual activity (none), infidelity on my side (none), suspected infidelity on Regina’s side (none that I believe), and our financial and property details.  Because I expected the questions, I came prepared and handed Barney a file with all the information he needs.

“I would recommend we proceed on the grounds of irreconcilable differences.  Despite the fact you still maintain the same residence, I would argue you have technically been separated for four years, given you have separate bedrooms, separate lives, and zero sexual activity.”

“Right, that sounds reasonable.”

“I’ll prepare the paperwork and have you come in at a time that suits you to sign the documents before Regina is served.”

“Thanks, Barney.  Appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, Benny.”

I stand, shake his hand once again, and exit his office.  Since it is only seven-thirty in the evening – much too early to head home – I have my driver take me to the gym.

***

Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger’ is blasting in my ears as I pound the treadmill.  Droplets of sweat run down my forehead and my back, but I keep running.  Faster and faster.  Longer and harder.  I run until my thighs begin to burn and I’m sure I am going to pass out from the pain.  Then I slow it down gently until I am at walking pace before I step off.  I tug my tank off over my head and collapse back on the floor with my hands over my face as I try to catch my breath.

When my heart rate slows, I stand, throw my tank over my shoulder, and grab a bottle of water from my bag.  Absentmindedly, I scan the gym.  Deep down I know I’m only looking for one person, but I’m not ready to admit that out loud yet.

Then I see her.  She’s working on an elliptical, earbuds in her ears, tight Lycra calf-length workout pants with a hot pink slash down the side.  Covering her chest is a matching sports bra, the hot pink slash right across her ample chest.  I take a minute to admire the way her ass moves.  Then I realize the attraction I feel for her is becoming harder and harder to ignore.  Soon, I won’t have the power to fight it.  It’s already consuming me in ways I never knew existed.

As if sensing my stare, she turns her head and gives me a small smile.  Of their own accord, my legs begin taking me to her.  I am powerless to stop the control she unknowingly exerts over my body.

“Hey,” I rasp as I near her.  The intoxicating scent of her sweaty, yet sweet smell invades my senses.

“Hey, Benny.”  She gives me a blinding grin that I can’t help but return.

“So, this is becoming a bit of a habit, us meeting like this,” I say, giving her a wicked grin.  Her gaze drops to my bare stomach and she licks her lips before meeting my gaze again.

“It sure is.”  Something in her tone tells me she isn’t minding one bit.  Truth be told, neither am I.

“You up for a juice when you’re finished?” I ask.

“Sounds good.  I’m done, anyway.  Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you at the juice bar?”

I give her a nod and walk back to collect my gym bag while she heads off in the direction of the change rooms.

I really hope she doesn’t change out of that outfit.
  It’s only workout gear, but fuck, she fills it out perfectly.

“Can I get one apple and guava, and a Tropicana,” I say to the teenager behind the juice bar.

“Coming up.”

She hands me two bottles of juice and I slide her some cash before finding a table for Makenna and me.  A few minutes later she walks in and spots me right away.

As she sits across from me, I gesture to the juice in front of her.  “I got you Tropicana, since you had it the other night.”

“Perfect.  Thank you.”  Her voice is soft and sweet, and has the ability to stay trapped in my mind for days on end.

“Good workout?” I ask, silently saying a prayer of thanks that she left her Lycra outfit on.

“Yeah, I think so.  I’m not really big on exercise, but I don’t want my ass getting too wide,” she jokes.

Your ass is perfect.

“Tell me about your day?” I ask after she takes a long pull of her juice.

“Just work, the same as usual.  What about you?”

“Oh, you know, the everyday stuff.  Developing my plan to take over the world, hiring and firing so I’ve got a good team behind me, thinking of ways I can convince a sexy woman to do more than drink juice with me.  Just the usual.”

She bursts out laughing and I can’t help but join her.  It isn’t lost on me that this is the first I’ve laughed out loud in as long as I can remember.  I know technically I am married, but it seems I can’t control what comes out of my mouth when I am in her presence.  I haven’t flirted with a girl since I was in my early twenties, yet here I am, thirty-three years old and flirting, making a woman laugh, joking around.  All things I should do with my wife, but never have.  Regina doesn’t appreciate sarcasm; it’s a character trait that is beneath her.

“You’re funny, Benny Duncan,” she says through a giggle.  “And, all you’d have to do is ask,” she adds, giving me a damn sexy wink.

I drain my bottle of juice in an effort to gather my bearings.  This woman seems to tilt my world every time I come in contact with her.  And the fuck of it is, I absolutely love it.  I can’t help but wish I had met Makenna ten years ago before
the powers that be
tied me to Regina.