I Had a Good Life All The Way

After a rather long hiatus from posting on Literotica, I am easing back into the swing of things. My most recent posts are some odds and ends that have been lying around in my files, gathering dust for a while. I know they are not the best I have produced, but they have allowed me to get back into the groove of writing. As you may have noticed, no editors other than Grammarly and me. I can't remember the genesis of this piece. Enjoy it or don't.

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Sitting at the modern cast concrete bar, I glanced occasionally into the mirror behind the backbar. The reflection gave me a clear view of the door opening onto the hotel lobby. I knew, from personal experience, that to my left, at the end of the bar, was a door into the kitchen behind the bar and an exit directly into the alley. To my right, less than 5 meters away, was an exit leading directly to the hotel's parking lot. I was relaxed as I nursed my scotch until the time to order my usual sandwich from the bar menu, my usual routine a couple of nights a week for the last 18 months.

No, I am not an alcoholic. Nor am I a social misfit that doesn't have friends, family, or business associates. I am, however, a very patient man, and I am practicing patience. A small rise in noise alerted me that the door behind me had opened. I glanced at the mirror between the necks of a bottle of Dewar's scotch and a bottle of Smirnoff vodka, more out of habit than concern. That feeling changed instantly as I recognized the man who entered the bar. I had more than enough time to recognize the face. I watched as he stopped and slowly searched the dimly lit space. He paused to give my back a second look before he hesitantly stepped toward me.

I didn't move, following the movement in the mirror as the stranger came to a stop just behind the stool on which I sat. I did not indicate that I even knew he was there. It was almost a full minute before I saw him draw a deep breath as his face took on a resolute look. I decided to wait and see how he approached this conversation.

'Ugh, you don't know me, but I would like to speak with you, if I may?"

Without moving, turning, or even lifting my head, I replied.

"Oh, I know you alright. You are Raymond Appleby, owner of the Appleby Agency, insurance agent, and estate planner. You are married to Judith, and you have three sons: John, 22, Chad, 20, and Sean, 17. John and Chad are in college. Sean is still in high school. Your wife is a stay-at-home mom. You drive a 2-year-old Lexus. You graduated from university with a degree in finance and founded your own agency at 26. It was tough in the first few years, but you persevered, and today your agency ranks among the top five in the state by revenue and client base. You make almost $190,000 a year in salary.

I turned on the barstool, raised my shoulders, and looked Mr. Raymond Appleby directly in the eyes.

"And, you have been fucking my wife for about 20 months."

&&&&&

I saw the look of utter confoundment on Raymond Appleby's face. I kept my face neutral as I swiveled to face him and stood. He took a step back, and I saw his hands rise from his sides to a defensive position. It wasn't a very good defensive stance, but it telegraphed his fear that I was about to go postal on him. I shook my head slowly, raised my right hand to waist height, and carefully pushed it forward, my hand vertical.

"Pleased to meet you, Raymond. I do think we have a lot to talk about."

His hand approached mine tentatively. I grasped his extended hand firmly, attempting to be unthreatening. There was no macho attempt to crack his knuckles. He returned the handshake with an equally firm grip. I could feel the muscles in his arm relax.

I looked around and spied a booth near the end of the bar on my left.

"Let's grab that booth over there. What are you drinking?"

Raymond stuttered. I think he was still a bit addled at my response. Finally, he managed to speak a few words.

"A beer. Whatever you suggest. I don't get out to bars very much."

I nodded and motioned for him to go to the booth. Turning, I saw Pete, the bartender, moving toward me. I am sure he had been listening to make sure things wouldn't go south.

"Give me another scotch on the rocks and a Shiner Bock."

In seconds, the drinks were in my hands, and I headed toward the booth. Raymond had slipped into the booth with his back to the front door. That alone told me a lot about Mr. Raymond Appleby. I set the beer in front of him and slipped into the booth, leaned forward on my elbows, cradling the glass of scotch with my hands, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. Raymond didn't wait to begin with his questions.

"You seem to know a lot about me."

I nodded as I sipped the scotch. Setting the glass back on the table, I leaned back, which is always a less adversarial posture.

"Raymond, before I respond to that, can I ask you a few questions?"

"I guess. I am pretty sure I know what you want to ask."

Inwardly, I chuckled. Raymond didn't have a clue. I took a deep breath before I began.

"Raymond, how much do you know about me?"

Clearly, this wasn't the direction he thought this conversation would take. His brow furrowed a bit. Raymond was trying to think quickly back to what he did know about me.

'Um. I know you own work for a corporation and have some military background. You have been married for 32 years and have two kids, a boy and a girl. The oldest one, the girl, is about to graduate from high school. Your son will graduate in two years."

I watched Raymond carefully in his silence as he searched his memory for anything else.

"That's about all I know."

"That tells me I wasn't a big topic of conversation between you and my wife?"

"Frankly, no. Linda rarely mentioned you."

I knew this. I have listened to all the audio recordings and watched all the videos. Several hundred hours worth, not to mention reading the transcripts of the text messages. There were never any disparaging remarks, no put-downs, no comparisons. I was aware that Raymond didn't ask, and my wife didn't volunteer much information about me to Raymond, who seemed perfectly happy to remain uninformed about the person who could have been his worst enemy. Not a wise decision in my opinion.

"Ok, Raymond. Do you love my wife? Is it your intent to marry her or at least take care of her?"

I again saw a look of discomfort as I took the conversation into what I surmised was a direction Raymond hadn't expected or considered,

"I have great affection for your Linda."

Based on what I had seen, heard, and read, this was about what I expected.

"I see. So there are no immediate plans to divorce your current wife to marry Linda?"

"We haven't even discussed it."

I knew this to be true as well. I work with a lot of legal types, and I have been involved in many interrogations and interviews. One of the cardinal rules you learn quickly is never to ask a question to which you don't already have the answer.

I was also rapidly concluding that Raymon, apart from being a cheating bastard, was mostly a decent guy. He hadn't lied to me yet, as far as I could tell. In most cases, he hadn't even hedged the truth. He wasn't the sharpest tack in the box, but he had some qualities. Hard working, good at what he does, does right by his kids, doesn't drink to excess, and has an even temper not prone to doing stupid shit. I was slightly surprised to find that, under almost any other circumstances, this is a guy I would probably like and with whom I might socialize.

While I was musing and sipping scotch, I noticed Raymond getting a little uncomfortable. As I set my drink back on the table, Raymond's eyes fell, looking at some imaginary spot on the table as he began to speak.

"Just what is it you want, Mr. Wikins?"

That's me, by the way. William Wyndall Wilkins. In high school, my friends called me W3. In college, that got translated to W-Cubed. It's a mathematician's thing. W raised to the third power. W Cubed. That eventually got shortened to Cube. Since I got through college on an ROTC scholarship, the nickname followed me into the military. I didn't mind it so much. It sort of fit. I was always sort of square anyway, so a square in three dimensions is a cube. I guess it fits.

"Call me William, Raymond. There are a few things that I want. I didn't plan on having this conversation for several more months, but since you instigated, this is as good a time as any."

Raymon finally lifted his beer and took a hesitant sip.

"This isn't bad. I'm not much of a drinker."

"I know."

"How do you know so much about me?"

For the first time since Raymond approached me, I smiled.

"Didn't Linda tell you anything about me?"

"She said you had spent enough time in the military, the Army, I think she said, to retire, and then you went to work for some corporation. She really wasn't sure what you did."

Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward just a bit.

"You need a little background on me. I didn't have a trust fund or a legacy at an Ivy League university. I know more about you than you imagine. I went to school at a small midwestern state university on an ROTC scholarship. After college, I fulfilled my contractual obligation by serving six years of active duty in the Army. I was a mathematics major. Theoretical mathematics. Not good for much with just an undergrad degree, but it got me noticed. The Army decided my aptitude for mathematics fit into the intelligence world--crypto-analytics in particular. I found myself in Pensacola at the Naval Air Station, of all places. I found out I was good at solving puzzles."

I paused to sip my scotch. I looked at Raymond and saw that I had his attention.

"After my six years and two promotions, I was now a Captain, and my contract was up. I was trying to decide on what to do with my life when the Army made me an offer I didn't think I could refuse, so I re-enlisted. It wasn't long until I met Linda, got married, and didn't look back. Twenty-two years later, I looked around, and I had enough time to retire, two kids in high school, a mortgage, and some gray hair. I took the retirement option, mustered out, and three weeks later, I got a call from a headhunter. He had a job that he thought might interest me. I listened and decided to pursue it a bit further."

The company, American Integrity Corp, made me an offer I couldn't refuse--both financially and career-wise. Not only did I receive a significant pay increase, but I also had the chance to continue my education. I had already attained an MA in mathematics courtesy of the Army. I soon found myself working in Virginia and attending Washington University. Yes, to answer the question I see in your face, I am, officially, Dr. William Wyndal Wilkinds, PhD. Who would have guessed for a farm boy from Iowa?"

Raymond's eyes were a bit wider. I sipped my scotch and continued.

"I can't tell you much about what I do. American Integrity Corp advises and consults with some of the top companies in America on their security issues. My security clearances allow me to work with companies that do sensitive, secure research and development for the United States Military. That is where I have to end this part of our discussion."

"So you are a spy?"

I laughed out loud.

"Far from it. I am a security analyst. I study things and write reports. No cloak and dagger for me."

"I guess that is how you found out about Linda and me?"

"No, that was your own fault."

Raymond looked confused. I saw the look on his face, so I continued.

"Raymond. Linda is a sorry poker player. She has tells and giveaways. She can't lie for shit. I knew three days after you had your first liaison at that Motel 6 that something had changed. I did a little background work and was aware of what was going on. The rest was easy. You made it easy. Seriously, using the same motel room every time? Calling on her cell phone? That was a joint account. I had access to everything that happened. Christ, you might as well have taken out an ad in the local newspaper."

Now Raymond looked a little sick. His knuckles were white around the beer bottle. I watched him closely. When he spoke, I could hear the stress in his voice.

"You let it ride for 18 months. Why? What do you want? What's this going to cost me?"

Now we were back to something that I had spent a lot of time thinking about.

"What do you think I want, Raymond. What is closest and dearest to your heart?"

His eyes shot up and bored holes in me.

"You fuck with my kids, and I'll kill you."

I drained the scotch from my glass and swirled the half-melted ice cube before I spoke.

"Now we share some common emotions, Raymond. Now you feel some of what I felt when this first unfolded for me. After the anger and the depression, I came to realize that more than anything, I wanted to protect my children. I wanted them to be happy. I wanted them to feel loved and protected. And your affair with my wife jeopardized those things. It took me a while to untangle the emotions that complicated the situation, but I eventually realized that I had to make my kids the focus of anything I did."

The tension in Raymond's eyes seemed to ease a bit as I spoke.

"I decided that the best thing I could do in the short run was not to do anything. Most people don't realize that in emergency or chaotic situations, doing nothing is often an optimal decision. As it turned out, I made the right decision."

"So you just lay low and let us have our... our affair?"

"Yep. Once I had made my decision, everything sort of fell into place. My kids became the center of every decision I made. My goal was to maintain the status quo. A family atmosphere. Support. Care. I was satisfied that Linda was a good mother. Everything I have done in the past year has been with that goal in mind."

"You said that you hadn't planned on talking to me for several more months. What did you intend to say and why wait?"

"Ah. An insightful question. You did rush up my plans just a bit. My youngest son will graduate from high school in about 2 months. After the summer break, he will head off to college. That leaves Linda and me as empty-nesters. I have spent the last year getting ready. I am almost there. When I get ready to drop the hammer, so to speak, I will be quick and thorough. A lot of what happens will depend on you."

The man across from me narrowed his eyes. I knew he was thinking, trying to anticipate where this was going and how he could have any effect on the outcome. I let him stew for a bit before I continued.

"Look. At this point, I have mellowed more than you can imagine. I have come to realize that change is a part of life. Looking back, I realize that Linda and I weren't all that good a fit. Physically, we meshed, but intellectually and emotionally, it was always a little off between us. To be honest, she has been easier to live with the last 8 months than the rest of our married life. That should tell you something."

"So what do you want?"

"Out. As soon as my youngest son is settled in college, I am gone. I hope to make it as easy and painless as possible. Here is the deal. I will file for a divorce for irreconcilable differences, a no-fault divorce. She keeps her retirement, the house, her car, and almost everything else. I keep my military and civilian retirements, our investment account, and my truck. We walk away clean and on good terms. She actually makes more in salary and bonuses from her real estate job than I do. There are no kids to worry about. All of their college expenses are fully funded."

"How do I fit in to this?"

I smiled. I thought Raymond might like this part.

"You keep her happy and satisfied. You keep her on track and work on her to agree to my terms."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"And if she doesn't buy it. Suppose she decides to fight on your terms. What then?"

I let my face go serious, eyes getting hard and squinting slightly.

"Then I go nuclear. I use every available means to take her down. You know what happens when a nuke goes off. Everything within miles of the detonation gets incinerated. That puts you, your family, and your business right in the kill zone."

Raymond's face turned a sickly shade of gray. He took a drink of the beer but choked slightly as he swallowed.

"You'd really wipe out my family."

I realized what he was asking and chuckled.

"Get with the program here, Raymond. I am not physically threatening anyone. But a nasty court fight over a divorce is going to spill over and splash on everyone involved. You are involved; your wife is involved, although she doesn't know it; your kids and your business will be in the fireball. Collateral damage is the military term."

"No physical threats or intimidation?"

I sighed.

"Come on, Raymond. Do I look like a psychopath?"

"Past military, intelligence, you work for some clandestine company. It sounds like you could have that kind of wherewithal."

"Get real. You have been watching too many movies and reading too many spy novels. The real world doesn't work like that. Christ."

Raymond seemed to shrink just a little. I wondered if maybe the excitement of his fantasies didn't excite him just a little. I decided a little reassurance might help things along.

"Raymond. I think, down deep, you are a good guy. I don't know what led you into this situation with my wife: boredom, a challenge, or excitement. I don't know. I don't care. It's happened, and it can't be unhappened. All I'm asking is for you to keep Linda happy and occupied for another few months. When the ball drops, be there to help her through it, make sure she does the intelligent thing, and take my offer. I have no antagonism against you. If you want to play this game and risk your marriage and family, it's your life and your decision. I won't pull the pin and toss that grenade into your house. On the other hand, if I'm not happy, nobody is going to be happy."

Raymond stared at the opening in the beer bottle. That was good. He was seriously thinking now.

"I need three, maybe four months to finish up my arrangements. By then, my son will be on his way to college, and I will have nothing left here to anchor me. If things go as I plan, I will be long gone, and you won't have to worry about me again."

I leaned back into the booth and locked eyes with Raymond. He was looking at me, trying to discern if I was on the level of playing him like a bass on a lure. I didn't change my expression or my position. I let him think. This had to be his decision at this point, and I needed him to buy in completely.

"What guarantees do I have?"

"Not a damn one. Except that I am an honorable man who keeps his word. Cross me and I will give you this as my word. Your entire fucking world will collapse like San Francisco during the great earthquake."

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice. You can take the deal I am offering, continue just as you are, and hope for the best. Or. You can walk away secure in the knowledge that sometime in the near future, your life as you know it will end most horrifically. I can't promise you will live happily ever after if you take my offer, but you have a much better chance with me on your side."

Raymond's face had a rather sickly pallor. He was coming face-to-face with the reality of what it meant to be between the rock and the hard place. He knew that this whole situation was like sitting on a pound of C-4 and holding a deadman switch. I saw in his face the moment he came to his decision. It was like a release of tension washed over him.

"Ok. I'm in. I need to know a timeline and what I need to do for you."

At that moment, the tension flooded out of me as well. I held up my hand for Raymond to pause, signaled the bartender, and ordered two more drinks. When the drinks were on the table and the bartender had left, I continued.