Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [75]
I did what I was told.
Kathleen lifted the knife up high, brought it down into her husband’s back and then threw the knife onto the ground.
I looked at her emotionless face. There was no joy or anger. It was like she was doing a job that she had done for twenty years; just another day in the trenches.
“The knife.” I reached down to pick it up.
“No, leave it,” Kathleen said. “If you were smart, your prints won’t be on that.”
“I was smart,” I said.
Kathleen smiled. “You don’t think I know that black bitch has been fucking my husband.”
“None of my business,” I said. “Give me your cell number in case I need to give you the heads-up.”
She called it out and I put it directly into my cell phone.
“Sometimes, it only takes one stone to kill two birds. Now hit me,” she said.
This time I brought the two-by-four from the side of my waist and smashed it against Kathleen’s face. Blood flew out of her mouth. I threw the piece of wood down. She staggered and fell to the ground. I took the blow torch and pulled the trigger. I lifted Peter’s right wrist. And while holding his fingers I burnt around his wrist as the smell of burning flesh scorched my nostrils.
“That’s enough; leave,” Kathleen said, her eyes bloodshot and blood dripping down the side of her face.
Once more I complied. I got up off the ground.
Kathleen wrapped her hand around her husband’s head.
I straightened out my suit and dusted off any particles that had gotten on it. I turned around and started to walk toward the light. I looked back briefly to see Kathleen starting to drag herself forward. I moved quickly, knowing that Kathleen would be screaming for help as soon as she dragged herself out to the sidewalk. When I was close to the sidewalk, I looked up and down the now completely deserted street. I made a left turn and walked quickly down the street.
At the end of the street, I saw a yellow cab approaching. I hoped that it was Julie and Brian. She was wearing a turban that made her look like a gorgeous Arab. I opened the back door and got in.
“Where’s Brian?” I asked.
“I told him we didn’t need him. I’ve got the gun,” she said.
“Give it back to Brian,” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
I gave Julie the briefcase with Peter’s briefcase inside of it.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Good, with the exception of a twist.”
“What happened?”
I didn’t feel like talking right then. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Brian is at my house,” she said.
I looked at her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Do what you have to do?”
The ride to Brooklyn was without conversation. My cell phone rang every five minutes. Finally I turned it off. Donna was history.
“Leave me here,” I said as she stopped at the corner of Atlantic and Fourth Avenues to the annoyance of the drivers behind her. I got out of the car and walked to my car. In the car, I took off the wig and put it in the briefcase. I had one more thing to do. There was no way in hell that Lauren was going to have another child of mine.
Chapter 21
1ST EVENING
I pulled up in front of my house in the darkness of night. I unlocked the front door and stepped into the house. The first person to greet me was Annette.
“I see you’re still ugly,” I said as I walked by her.
“Stop right there, Motherfucker!” Annette shouted at me.
I continued to walk to the stairs.
“Motherfucker, I said to stop right there before I blow your brains out.”
Those words definitely got my attention. I turned around to see that Annette was pointing a nine-millimeter at my head. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, Bitch?”
“Just don’t move. I’m going to have my fun today.” Annette widened her stance to shoulder-width. She flipped her cell phone open and punched in some numbers.
“Who the fuck are you calling?” I asked, getting very angry.
“Should I shoot him now?” she said into the phone.
“Shoot me?” I said incredulously.
“Okay, I’ll wait until you come, but if he moves, I’m going to kill him.”
She put the phone back into her pocket.
Annette wanted to kill me. I was one hundred