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Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [75]

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the gloves, which she quickly put on, then I gave her the knife. “Step back.”

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

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