Friday, August 1, 2014

Brotherhood Betrayal

Just an excerpt from a novel that I am working on...happy reading!


Chapter 1 Sonny

“Oh, baby that’s my spot”, cooed Delilia, as she jumped up and down my dick like it was a pony.
“Will you, shut your loud ass up, before you wake up Christopher?”
I was livid that she was making so  much noise. What a difference five years make. Five years ago, when we first started this affair, Delilah was helping me during my mid-life crisis about turning 40 the next year, stuck in a 15 year marriage with a woman, who I had married too young, and a job as police detective that I have been in too long. She was a nice distraction from the daily talks with my wife about mortgages, my teenage daughter,  and the once a month sex rations that my wife put me on.
But six months into our relationship, and after a night of drinking and allowing my little head to think for my big one, Delilah was pregnant with my child. I asked her to get an abortion. She outright refused. Something about being 32, and this being her only opportunity to be a mother. I wouldn’t have put it past her to plan this shit, but either way, I now had my mistress pregnant.
I suspect that Maureen, my wife of 15 years, already knew about the affair, but an illegitimate child would only confirm her suspicions. With Delilah refusing to have an abortion, and figuring that Maureen would take the news better coming from me, I decided that I was going to tell her right away.
So I planned a nice evening at Ruth Christ Steakhouse, and ordered a nice bottle of wine. I figured that maybe if I got her liquored up, the news of my betrayal would go a lot better. Little did I know that Maureen had a surprise of her own for me. I thought it very weird that Maureen didn’t want any wine that night, because my wife could guzzle some wine, as she considered it the official drink of a “lady”.
As I was sitting there try to come up with ways to break the news to my wife, she dropped a bombshell of her own. My wife announced that she was six weeks pregnant. Even showed me the first sonogram of our soon to be son or daughter, which was now the size of a peanut.
I broke out in a moist sweat, and I wanted to upchuck the entire meal that we had just consumed, and I am not a puker, especially with all of the foul shit that I have seen in my life of work.
So let’s just say that I never got to tell Maureen about Delilia’s pregnancy that night, and seven and a half months later, both my wife and my mistress had little boys, sixteen days apart. Maureen and I named our son Carl Anthony Smith Jr, which is my birth name, but people have called my Sonny since a little boy. Delilia gave our son the name of Christopher Rodriguez. Christopher after her late brother, Chris, who was one of my closest friends before he was killed during the first Gulf War, and Rodriguez was her last name. I definitely did not protest him having her last name, given that I was married, and I did not want Maureen ever to find out about this. I did sign the birth certificate though, and these weekly “lovemaking” sessions, were my insurance that Delilia never took me to court for child support or told my wife this unfortunate news.
I love all three of my children equally, my nineteen year old daughter, Kristen, and my two four year old sons, Carl Jr, and Christopher, but it hell trying to maintain two families and keep everyone happy on a police detective’s salary.
I just wish that I could turn back the hands of time. Make better, smarter choices, and realize the “gold” that I had in my wife at home. I tell any man out there, if you feel your ass going through a mid-life crisis, buy your ass a sports car like normal people, because this drama that I created for myself is for the birds.
My cell rings on the nightstand, and I look at the caller id, and it is my lifelong best friend, Jesse, who is calling to “pretend” that there is an important case that requires my attention, although this time, there is no pretending involved.






Chapter 2 Maureen
Sonny must think that I am really stupid. It is now 11:30, and he is not at home yet. Work is always his excuse, but after 22 years as a cop/detective, that excuse is tired and played out. He lies like he breathes, and I wish that I had the strength to leave his lying, cheating ass.
Where would I go though? Yes, I am degreed. I have a master’s in public administration, and I am a hospital administrator, so I am definitely not staying for the money, as I have more money than he does. Am I staying for the kids? Well, our oldest daughter Kristen is a sophomore at N.C. A&T State University, and I honestly believe our four year old son, Carl Jr, would be okay, as he hardly sees his dad now as it is between his crazy work schedule and his whoring.
I guess my greatest fear is like any other woman my age. At forty-four, there aren’t any men beating down your door to marry you. The ones your age, are either so set in their ways, or so fucked up by their last hundred relationships, you would rather not be bothered. The younger ones are too lazy to work in a pie factory, cum in about five minutes, and are looking for some older, desperate woman to be their “sugar mamas”, and I am not going to be either.
I have loved this man for over 35 years. We met when we were nine, when my family and I moved to Greensboro, from Chicago, for my dad to become chief of police. Sonny’s dad, like him, was a police detective. So although my dad was the boss, he and Sonny’s dad became quick friends, not to mention we lived two houses down from each other.
At first, we just played together, as I was a huge tomboy, and I thought that he and his two best friends, Jesse Peterson and Chris Rodriguez were just three little punks. I could outrace all three of them, and beat them at most sports.
When we became teenagers, Jesse had a huge crush, but I wasn’t interested. I had a huge crush on Chris, but he wasn’t interested, so Sonny and I actually started dating when were sixteen. We dated for about two years, and he decided he was going to the military.  We broke up, because I told him that I was not about to be a military wife, traveling all over the country, in cramped housing, not knowing whether or not I was going to be a widow from one day to the next.
Sonny was sent to Iraq during the first Gulf War in 1990, and call it pity or patriotism, I decided to be his girlfriend again, so he would know that someone was waiting for him here at home. Actually, all three of the guys went over there, but only two returned, Sonny and Jesse. Chris stepped on a land mine, and suffered a horrific death.
I have never seen Sonny so distraught. Chris and Jesse were like his brothers, since he is an only child. I guess that must have really stirred something in Sonny, because upon his return, he left the Army, and asked me to marry him all in the same week.
I accepted, and we were married in 1992, two years later, Kristen was born. It was such a horrific birth, I vowed never again to allow myself to go through that experience again. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children, but both deliveries almost ended my life.
In 2008, after almost 16 years of marriage, I felt that Sonny and I were experiencing a “rut”,  so I decided that a baby might help things. So I stopped taking my quarterly Depo shots, and intentionally got pregnant. Not to mention, he was fucking Delilah, and I was not about to lose my husband to another woman. Yeah, I know all about their affair. Sonny just doesn’t know that I know. I suspect he is the father of her little boy, but I can’t prove it.
I am looking at the clock again. 12:30….Sonny really better not try my patience with trying to stay out all night. I have taken a lot of shit from him over the years, but I am not to be messed with!
I pick up my cell from the coffee table. He had better have a damn good excuse!


Chapter 3 Jesse
            I hate being Sonny’s flunky. He’s got the fine wife, the hot mistress, and I get stuck with being his alibi, and his go to guy. I spend so much time creating stories and explaining away situations to both his women, I can barely get pussy on my own.
            But that is what best friends do right? It is part of the official “bro code.” I guess part of me feels that I owe Sonny. I was naturally skinny growing up, so I was the target for all of the neighborhood and school bullies. Sonny and Chris really had my back. Not only did they befriend me, but they stood up to anyone who would dare try to use me as their punching bag. I was asthmatic as a kid, and had thick glasses, so there were plenty of opportunities for Sonny and Chris to bail me out of sticky situations.
            I even joined the Army for the two of them. I was always a bookworm in school, so I had planned to attend college, but Sonny and Chris, ever the athletes and barely passing students, decided that they wanted to see the world and bang as many women as possible, so joining the Army would allow them to do both.
            I was scared shitless. What if we went to war? What if we ended up getting killed or becoming POW’s in some foreign country? Sonny and Chris told me that neither scenario was going to happen, and after I aced the ASVAB, I figured I would find some job working in an office or with computers and would never see the front line. Besides, we hadn’t had a war since Vietnam.
            Just one week after graduating from high school in 1987, the three of us signed our commitment papers and off to basic training and AIT we went. We were stationed at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky in the middle of  July . Waking up at 4AM for PT was not so bad, but doing the drills in that 90 degree plus heat was exhausting. I fainted and was treated for heat exhaustion twice in the first week.
            Sonny and Chris really gave me the motivation to keep going. Their friendship and constant ribbing were the incentives I needed to keep pushing myself, partly because I never wanted to fail at anything, and also because the three of us were in constant competition with each other. The ironic thing is that they could never compete with me academically, but athletically I could never compete with them.
            For the first three years, it was smooth sailing. We all got stationed in Germany. I learned and became quite fluent in German, got to sleep with my share of German women, and secured a gig programming computers for the Army.
            But then in the late summer/early fall of 1990, all hell broke loose. Bush Sr. decided he wanted to go after Sadaam Hussein, and we were headed to the Persian Gulf. Fuck! This is not what I signed up for, and I only had one more year of my four year contract left.
            The first four months that we were over there, was just sitting and waiting. Each day, we didn’t know if that was going to be the day that we went to war. Finally, in January of 1991, we got the official word, and we went to battle.
            For the first two weeks, it seemed that we were “winning”, or least keeping our heads above water, and then that dreadful day happened. The day that Chris stepped on a live mine shaft, and got blown to bits. In just a few short seconds, my friend of over 20 plus years was no more, and Sonny and I were left to deal with mourning a guy who was like a brother to us. I didn’t actually see the blast, but I still hear it in my dreams.
            Both Sonny and I received 30 day leaves to come home to attend Chris’ funeral. I will never forget how distraught his mother Ms. Rodriguez was, and his little sister, Delilah. Sonny and I could not help them much as we were distraught also, and knowing that we were returning to the same war zone that had claimed our best friend/brother’s life in 30 days did not help matters.
            Physically, we survived and came out on the other side. Mentally, well, the jury is still out. My PTSD started with just headaches, bad dreams, but over the past several months, my symptoms are worse, and this new symptom is out of control. I haven’t told anybody about it, for fear they will commit me, or worse.
            I am a cop, so I have to be on top of my game at all times. No time for weak men’s ailments. And this new case is going to be a doozy. The third prostitute was murdered tonight, and like her two predecessors, she was stabbed multiple times, with the final devastating blow involving her mouth. The sick son of a bitch actually removed her lips. What kind of sick son of a bitch were we dealing with? I can’t handle stuff like this, and Sonny is my partner, hence the call. I really need my brother/partner right now.






No comments:

Post a Comment