“I’m yours,” Gabriella cooed.
I didn’t want to give her a moment to change her mind, so I untied the belt on her kimono. Indeed, she wore nothing beneath it. Her voluptuous naked body just begged to be caressed.
She kissed me, ran her tongue through my lips, then laid down on the bed, her long, shapely legs making me forget any woman-trouble I’d had in the past. She curled a finger and beckoned me to join her.
I got undressed in a hurry, eager to get between those satin sheets.
But I didn’t hurry through our lovemaking. It had been a long time since I’d been with a woman, especially a woman like this-I spent what seemed like forever lost in her touch and her firm breasts, her smooth, velvet-soft bronze skin, her legs wrapped around me, her hands cupping my buttocks.
A loud noise in the hallway interrupted our passion.
“What the hell was that?”
Gabriella’s eyes went wide. “I think my husband’s back.”
My heart skipped a beat. “You said he was out of town.”
“He must have taken an early flight,” she said, jumping out of bed and grabbing her robe. “You have to get out of here!”
Hell… I doubted I could get dressed and past her husband without him seeing me.
I’d just put on my pants and loafers when a sixty-something white man burst into the bedroom. He was heavyset, paunchy, and wore a designer suit. His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at Gabriella.
“You bitch!”
She cowered behind me like she expected me to go from lover to protector.
“Hey, why don’t we talk about this?” I told the guy.
He sucker-punched me on the chin, stunning me. My legs gave out, but I got up quickly. He was bigger than me, but I was half his age. He swung again. I ducked and hit him twice in his big belly.
He doubled over, gasping for air.
I thought it was over, but he suddenly charged me like a battering ram and got me in a headlock. We both tumbled to the floor.
He ended up on top in our struggle, then got his huge hands around my neck and started to choke me.
I couldn’t break his grip. Desperate, I balled my hands and slammed them against his temples as hard as I could.
He groaned and released his grip on my neck. I scrambled out from under him and got to my feet. But so did he…
Man, this dude was as strong as an ox and ready to go at it again.
Then a shot rang out.
The big man clutched his chest and fell flat on his face.
I turned and saw Gabriella holding a Glock in her hand.
“Damn, you killed him,” I said, attempting to catch my breath.
“Yeah.” She looked at me with eyes that had gone cold.
I tried to collect my thoughts as I moved toward her. “Look, you could say that you shot your husband in self-defense.”
A man appeared behind her in the bedroom doorway. “That won’t be necessary,” he told me.
It was the Latino man I had run into on the dock. Gabriella handed him the gun and he aimed it at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, staring into the wrong end of the gun with nowhere to run. “Who are you?” I looked to Gabriella. “What the hell is this?”
“Shall I tell him or do you want to?” the man said to Gabriella.
As he put a protective arm around her shoulder, she smiled at me. “You followed me home, Conrad, and beat and raped me.” She said this in a stone-cold, matter-of-fact tone. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“What a bad man you are,” she continued. “But when my dear husband came home early, he tried to save me, and the two of you got into a fight. Then you shot him to death. That’s when Enrique, my husband’s lawyer, came over for a meeting. Thankfully, he got hold of the gun and shot you. You might have killed me too.” She looked at Enrique. “Hit me in the face,” she told him. “We’ve got to make it look good. Leave some marks; just don’t spoil my looks.”
Enrique made his free hand into a fist. “Don’t worry, baby, nothing can spoil your looks.” Then he punched her. Twice. Pretty hard-left a big welt on her cheek and bloodied her nose.
“Damn, Enrique,” said Gabriella, wiping at the blood with the palm of one hand.
“Why me?” I asked Gabriella.
“You were available.” She glanced at Enrique. “Shoot him, now,” she ordered. “Get it over with.”
“My pleasure.” He cracked a cocky grin. “So long, sucker. Hope she was worth it.”
“Just do it!” Gabriella yelled, giving Enrique an impatient shove. The unexpected jolt caused the gun to go off. Lucky for me, the bullet missed but I actually felt it whiz by my head.
I did the only thing I could in that moment of confusion: I barreled straight into Enrique, buried my right shoulder in his mid-section, and grabbed hold of his gun hand.
Gabriella screamed. As we struggled for the gun she stepped in to help her man. She hit me a good one, then scratched my face, but I held on.
That’s when the Glock went off again. A couple times. Bam bam!
Gabriella collapsed to the floor, blood gushing out of her like a fountain.
“Baby!” Enrique yelled. “Baby!”
He forgot all about me for a second. I wrenched the gun away from him.
The man fell to his knees beside her and cradled her head in his arms. “No, no, no,” he repeated when he realized she was probably dead. “No, no…”
“Get up, you bastard,” I said, my head swimming, my knees weak. The Glock was shaky in my hand, but still aimed square at his head.
I took a deep breath. It was over. I had him.
Then he surprised me.
He charged me just like I’d done to him.
Except it didn’t work for Enrique-I squeezed a shot off at the last moment. His head exploded like a melon hit with a sledgehammer.
Blood and brains all over me, I sat down on the bed and tried to gather my wits. I felt sick. Felt even sicker as I stared at the three lifeless bodies sprawled around me in the bedroom.
How long I sat there like that, I don’t know… All I know for sure is that I finally picked up the phone and called 911.
August 24, 2009
Editor
Noir & Intrigue Mystery Magazine
PO Box 473
New York, NY 10051
Dear Editor:
So, that’s my short story, “The Wrong End of a Gun.” I sure hope you’ll publish this. I worked very hard on it. It’s all true. And I also hope you won’t be put off by me being an inmate here at the Twin Rivers Correctional Facility.
I know it sounds clichéd, but I got the kind of justice that African Americans get all the time: lock us up and toss the key, never mind the evidence. I am innocent, I swear. I couldn’t afford a decent attorney. I’m doing fifteen-to-life. That’s the best my public defender could get.
I’ve tried the newspapers, TV, and radio-I even tried 48 Hours and 60 Minutes-but nobody would listen to me. That’s why I have written this like it’s a mystery story. I figured maybe it would be good enough to publish in your magazine. I sure do hope so. My appeal was turned down. You’re my last chance. I think a lot of people will understand this story and like it and buy your magazine. It could do you and me both a lot of good.
I have enclosed a SASE like it said to do in the Writer’s Market.
Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely yours,
Conrad Sinclair
Inmate #SN/IR-4569
Build. C
c/o Twin Rivers Correctional Facility
Monroe, WA 98057