garbage bag was full. I dug out the atomizer and moved in a crouch over to my air-conditioning unit, the fan humming. I didn’t bother with unscrewing the top, instead using the Nife to remove the outer housing and hepafilter. Then I placed the ass end of the atomizer above the spinning fan and began feeding it marijuana.
It took fifteen minutes to empty the bag. I waited another five, cutting the hepafilter to mask size and taping it over my mouth and nose. I tapped my eyelid and viewed the infrared. The four cops were still in my house. They all appeared to be sitting down or reclining, two in the upstairs living room, and two in the downstairs den. Hopefully, the pot had put them to sleep, or at least made them so loopy they’d forgotten why they were there.
I slid open my patio door and crept inside, powering up the TEV, which was still set to Teague’s Tesla account. Vicki said a listening device had been found in the kitchen, so I set the lens for a wide angle and got started. It took only a few seconds to tune in to the eighth membrane and less than a minute to find the octeract point and pet the bunny. Once I had a decent image on the monitor, I did a speedy rewind and watched, viewing back in time from an hour ago.
I saw cops, lots of cops, moving in reverse. I went further back, before they arrived, and I saw the skinny, elderly face of Barney the dentist, one of Vicki’s clients, sticking his nose in my refrigerator. I slowed it down, got a close-up. He was eating an apple, the same smug/satisfied look on his face every man wore after being with my wife. I highly doubted he was the one who had set me up, but I followed his movements anyway to see if he planted any bugs. I trailed him, in reverse, out of the kitchen, down the hallway.
I paused, hearing a noise coming from the living room. Peeking around the corner, I saw two cops slouching on my sofa. My projector was on. The cops looked dead, except every few seconds one of them would giggle. I looked at the wall to see what they were watching.
Extreme Hobo Deaths 11.
I snuck past, peeling the gecko tape off my hands and knees as I tiptoed to my wife’s bedroom. I never went in her bedroom. It was her place of business, and none of my business. But a bug had been found in her bedroom as well, and I needed to see if it was one of her clients who had planted it. I opened the door.
Then I whirled around, hearing someone behind me, and stared right down the barrel of a Glock Taser.
THIRTY-THREE
The cop holding the Taser had droopy eyes, the whites completely bloodshot.
“Dude,” he said. “You got any chips?”
I cleared my throat. “In the kitchen. Cabinet next to the refrigerator.”
“Thanks, man.”
“You want me to hold your gun for you?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He handed it over, giggled, and stumbled off. That was some good weed.
My eyes dropped to the monitor and I followed Barney into my wife’s bedroom.
Vicki was standing next to the bed, taking her clothes off in reverse. I paused it, wondering if I should continue. Vicki was entitled to privacy. And I really didn’t want to see her making love to another man. I should just skip past this, and keep searching for bugs.
But I didn’t. The TEV still paused, I zoomed in on Vicki’s face. She appeared businesslike, perhaps even a bit bored. Not flushed or smiling, like she did after we had sex.
How did I feel about that? Should I even be feeling anything? Vicki had been telling me, for years, that jealousy was a useless emotion, and that I acted like a caveman whenever I brought up her job. Just because I married her didn’t mean I owned her body, or could dictate what she could do with it.
But it wasn’t like that. I didn’t want to fully possess Vicki. Nor did I look down on her profession, or think less of her because of it.
So what was my problem?
My problem was I had an emotional connection with sex, and I didn’t want her to have that emotional connection with anyone else.
Looking at her face, it didn’t appear she had any emotional connection at all to skinny old Barney the dentist. It was just business. It wasn’t intimacy.
I unbunched my shoulders, feeling like a great burden had been lifted off my back. All of my petty jealousy vanished. Earlier, I’d had sex with three women, with zero attachment to any of them. Apparently, it was the same with Vicki. Like she said, this was no more personal than a massage.
Sighing with relief, I let the TEV play in reverse, watching as Vicki and skinny old Barney undressed, watching as they climbed into bed, watching as they switched to doggy-style, then standing up, then her on top, then him on top, then sideways…
Skinny old Barney was a stallion. He was also a few inches bigger than me in an area that mattered.
I paused again, zooming in on Vicki’s face as she was getting fuct silly. She was flushed, sweating, her mouth open in a scream.
It didn’t seem businesslike at all. Not one little bit.
I kept rewinding, and Barney kept humping. When he put my wife’s legs up over her head and executed a pr0n-star position called the brass clown, I had to turn it off or else smash the TEV against the wall. Then I left, resolving to never go into my wife’s bedroom again.
“Dude! Thanks, man!”
The cops were shoving chips into their mouths, missing at least half of their attempts. They both waved at me. I walked into the kitchen and tuned in to spacetime once again, starting over.
Once I pet the bunny, I adjusted the speed and buzzed past the argument I’d had earlier with Vicki. I stopped and let it play out, syncing the sound to my headphone.
“If you love me, you’d quit,” I said. I looked angry when I said it.
“I shouldn’t have brought anyone here while you were home.” Vicki also looked angry.
“You could have gone to his place.”
“You don’t let me go to my clients’ homes. You don’t trust any of them.”
“And why would that be? Maybe because they’re nailing my wife?”
“It’s my job, Talon. Nothing more. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You promised you’d stop doing this.”
I paused, zooming in on her face.
Her eyes were tearing up. I’d been so into winning the argument I hadn’t even noticed.
Okay, so I was an asshat. In a way, that was good, because being angry at myself overrode any feelings of jealousy I had. I loved her. She loved me. We’d make it work. In fact, once we got through all of this, I would actually mention my issues to my therapist. Vicki was right. I was acting like a Luddite. Jealousy was so twentieth century.
“Got any dip?”
I glanced at the cop, and pointed to the fridge. Then I continued rewinding.
I stopped at four days ago, seeing a man in the kitchen next to the stove.
Barney again. And he was bending Vicki over the stove, his flabby old hips a blur, gripping her waist and driving into her like a jackrabbit.
I glanced at the stove-the stove where I made my eggs every morning-and seriously wanted to kill this old bastard.
“Dude! You got Jell-O! You mind, man?”
“Help yourself,” I told him.
He took the bean dip and the Jell-O mold. Two steps away from the fridge, he fell onto his face. I pulled his head out of the Jell-O so he didn’t drown, and decided I’d try planting some white rhino next season. Maybe, if I atomized enough of it, I’d be able to forget the image of Barney the Fucking Machine, which was now permanently burned into my cerebellum.
More rewinding. Vicki making breakfast. Me cooking dinner. Coming and going, going and coming. I slowed
