“I wasn’t lying, was I? Honey, I guess sometimes the truth hurts. If you didn’t want to be known as a whore, you shouldn’t have been banging behind your husband’s back.”
“You bastard. You dirty stinking bastard. Why did you have to kill him? It wasn’t for us and you’re a goddamned fucking liar if you try to say so.”
“I don’t really know why it happened, honey, but I do honestly think I did it for you.”
“You’re unbelievable! You’re a monster! What if I told the police you were lying?”
“Well now, I wouldn’t recommend that. Right now we’re both safe. The police believe every God-fearing thing I say. But if you were to change that out of pure selfishness, I would have to tell them we worked the deal together. I would hate to put the rope around your neck, too, but what choice would I have?”
“That’s a lie!”
“Rosie, I’m not going to disagree with you. The police would have to be goddamned fools to believe me. But you just never know about these things.”
“You . . . you dirty bastard!”
“You know, darling, if I were you, I’d be worried living here in Denver. I wouldn’t think you’d be too safe here, what with all the stories going around, and folks feeling the way they do about you.”
At that moment my little Rose would have sent me straight to hell if she could have. I couldn’t blame her for spitting in my face. Life was dealing the two of us some lousy cards.
When she started making her wild accusations, I shrugged them off and tried my best to console her in her misery. But when she started calling me those names, well, even though I knew she was saying those things out of anger and she’d regret it later, I couldn’t let those names slide. Some things a man just shouldn’t take.
I do regret slapping her as much as I did, but not a single damned one of those names were true. Not one. Sometimes your luck stinks. Sometimes things happen that you don’t have any control over. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel bad about it. None of those names related to me.
* * * * *
You’re probably thinking, now wait a minute, that doesn’t agree with my earlier confession. I can’t argue with you on that point. Before, I just wasn’t quite telling the whole truth about the way it happened with Walter Murphy. Not all of it anyway. I guess I try to think of it as the way everyone knows it. And when I can’t, I don’t really like thinking of it exactly like it was. Some of it, I just don’t like admitting to.
So it’s no surprise to any of you that sweet little Rose was really cheating on her husband. And it’s also no surprise that I knew all about it before I ever met him. You see, Rose was crazy about me and you could hardly blame her for that. There’s something about me woman grab onto and don’t like letting go of. It’s just a shame I usually end up having to pry their fingers loose. And sometimes I’m forced to do quite a bit more than that.
For about a year Rose and me were seeing each other whenever we could. We were careful about it. I made sure of that. No one would have found out about us if it were up to me.
I have to be fair to Rose. You might be thinking Rosie and me were working together to get rid of her husband. That’s not true. Rose told her husband about us because she wanted us to be together. She wanted everything out in the open so they could divorce and her and me and everyone else in the whole goddamned world could live happily ever after. She had no idea I would do what I did. How could she? If she’d only had the good sense to tell me what she was planning I would’ve slapped the idea right out of her.
So her husband coming to see me was as big a surprise to me as the rest of what happened. And he certainly didn’t want to hire me for anything. He just wanted me to stop seeing his wife. But he should have been nicer about it.
I guess he had a right to be upset, what with me being with his wife whenever I wanted and him knowing all about it, but he still had no right saying those things. Maybe if he hadn’t, the sickness wouldn’t have come over me. I don’t know. It might have happened anyway. Rosie had told me all about him, all about the things he used to do to her.
Most of what happened was the way I already described it. Not all of it, though. After I put a hole through his belly, I didn’t exactly forget about him. I guess I spent part of the time thinking about what I did, part of the time drinking, and part of the time teasing him.
It’s funny, but that part of it has crystallized itself in my mind over the years. Sometimes, before waking, I can see it all over again. I can see him lying on the floor, his face white and bloodless, a stream of red leaking from his stomach. He’s begging me for help, and I’m standing over him, grinning like a bastard. Sometimes I can even hear what was said.
“Please help me. Call me a doctor.”
“Okay, you’re a doctor. Ha ha. Seriously, I’d like to, but if I’m the human garbage you say I am, then why should I? It’s funny, but in a few hours you’re the one they’re going to be shoveling out of here like a pile of crap. Makes you wonder who the garbage is.”
“Oh fuck. I’ll tell them it was an accident, that it was my fault. I won’t say anything, please. I promise.”
“Got to agree with you there. In a few hours you won’t be saying much of anything.”
“I’m dying.”
“Well, you better enjoy it while you can because that’s all you’ve got left.”
“Damn it, help me!”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Later, after you’ve been incinerated, I’ll warm up your wife. I won’t get her as burnt up as you, but I’ll get her nice and hot, don’t worry about that.”
“You sick bastard-”
“There you go again. Just when I was thinking of getting you some help, you have to go and hurt my feelings.”
When I think about it, when I make myself think about why I did it, I have to think it was for Rosie.
* * * * *
After landing, I rented a car and drove straight out to Rose’s little clapboard shack. Walking up to her door, I couldn’t help feeling disgusted. I know the place wasn’t much, but that was still no reason for the neglect it had suffered. She could’ve at least planted some grass out front or put on a fresh coat of paint occasionally. Or maybe fixed the mailbox before it fell over completely. As it was, the place was a mess.
I rang the doorbell. The latch was pushed back and the door opened a few inches. I saw Rose peering out through the crack.
“Hello, Rosie.” Recognition hit her and she tried shoving the door closed, but I pushed back against it and made my way in. I closed the door behind me.
“Y-You,” she stammered at me. “Get out of here or I’ll scream.”
“Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
“I mean it. Get out now!”
“You still have such a nice set of teeth,” I said. “It’d be a shame if they were knocked all over this room. Besides,” I added, “it didn’t look to me like your neighbors were home so I don’t see how screaming would do you any good.”
Rose had to be almost forty now and she still looked good for her age. Nice and thin, and, as best I could tell, nothing was sagging. But I’ll tell you, with the way she was twisting up her face it was tough to judge exactly how good the years had been to her.
“Wh-What do you want?” Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, she wasn’t stuttering out of fear or anything like that. Just out of being boiling mad.
“Do I need a reason to want to see you?” I started worrying that if her face twisted itself up any more, something would fall off. “I’m just here for a friendly little chat, that’s all,” I said.
“Y-You left that picture at my door last week, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “To be honest, that was an accident. Look, I’m starving. You got anything to eat?”
She didn’t say a word, so I walked over to the kitchen. The only stuff in the refrigerator that wasn’t wilted or spoiled was some yogurt, cheese, and eggs. I took out a couple of eggs and the cheese.
I found bread in the cupboard and used up the cheese making myself a sandwich. The plane trip had put some sort of hole in my stomach, and I could tell that the scraps I was putting together weren’t going to help much.
