He imagined their empty bedroom, the phone ringing so loudly. And his wife so oblivious, out whoring at 12 in the night.
‘Bitch!’ he thought. He’d been away from home just three months, and she had turned herself loose on the streets. His blood boiled with rage. This was the fourth night in a month that he’d called. And the fourth night in this single month that she had not answered. The other three times, he’d still been far away from her. But this time, he was right there, in the same city, barely 20 minutes away. And she did not know. She did not know he was back. And now she had gone out again, shaming him, cuckolding him, cheating on him – her husband – with God alone knew which bastard.
But this time it would end differently. No more happy endings for the Motherfucker she was screwing. Only a tragic one for her. He fingered the pistol in his pocket. The piece of metal had been expensive, but certainly not as difficult to acquire as he had imagined it would be. All it took was knowing the right people in the right place – and a small pile of cash, besides. They’d even take care of disposing the weapon for him later. All he had to do was meet one of them near the lakeside and hand it over. The rendezvous was set for 5 a.m., tomorrow morning.
Gathering her wet hair up in a towel, she stepped out of the bathroom. They had started as an indulgence, these late-night showers, but it was fast turning into a bedtime ritual. She had already asked someone to come by and install a large tub in their bathroom. Perfect for couple-y baths! Now all that was needed was for the husband to finish his tour of duty and come home…
The flashing red light called her attention to the phone. Had someone been calling? Again? She examined the number on the display. Unknown caller. Yet again. Fourth time within the past few weeks alone.
This was worrying. Must tell the husband about this. Tomorrow, she thought, as she pulled the soft pink robe around her naked body, spreading her wet hair out on the pillow to dry.