5.1.2008
"Sugar Daddy"
The hit man was just following orders. Wasn't he? http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/Rammur%20Steinn.mp3
"Sugar Daddy" by Dorothy Francis
I reached into my coat pocket for my inhaler and took a deep whiff. When I'm tense, my asthma kicks up. Tonight Roxie's apartment (my apartment since I'm paying the tab) seemed hot and airless. It's in a seedy part of town and it doesn't match her blonde slenderness, but it's the best I can afford on a broker's income without arousing Martha's suspicion.
"You're not going to wimp out on me are you, Jake?" Scorn rasped Roxie's voice and she twisted the diamond solitaire I'd given her as if she might yank it off and throw it at me. "You promised, Jake. Tonight's going to be Martha's last night on earth. You promised! I'm through waiting for you. So relax. We've planned everything perfectly. Once your wife's dead you'll inherit a bundle. You'll be rich. There'll be no more of her drinking or her whining. You'll be your own man."
"You're right, of course, darling." I dreamed of our romantic nights together. And she was right. It had to be tonight.
Martha and I were due at a holiday party that night at the club-- a surprise celebration for someone. I planned to go home from Roxie's, kill Martha, then take a shortcut route to the club. When I "discovered" Martha's body after the party and called the police, the party guests would swear I had been with them all evening. They'd understand Martha's absence at the club. Our friends were used to her alcoholic ways. They'd sympathize when I said she was feeling indisposed.
"Yes, darling, we've planned it well. Martha's death will be my present to you." I took another whiff on the inhaler. Then I left Roxie and headed home.
Our house is in Bel Air. Split-level. Three-car garage. When I pulled into the horseshoe drive, a car was leaving from the side entrance. A delivery car. That didn't surprise me. Martha was always ordering some fool thing. I went in the front door, bracing myself for her familiar greeting: "Did you bring me a present, Sugar Daddy?" How I hated those words! But they were my fault. I usually brought Martha a small gift when I came home, thinking I could bribe her to stop drinking. It did no good, however. But I could usually avoid her in the evenings by working in my den.
Tonight she stood in the solarium tucking something into the pocket of the new dress she had selected especially for this party. Even party attire couldn't hide her mousiness. Brown hair. Dumpy figure. Every day I had only to look at her to remember that I'd only married her for her money.
Now I could hardly breathe. I had decided against shooting her-- too noisy. And a knife might spatter blood, incriminating me. Strangulation was the only safe way.
Martha hurried toward me. As usual, she hugged me, then still standing close, she reached into my coat pocket for her gift.
"Did you bring me a present, Sugar Daddy? You wouldn't forget a present on today, would you?"
That did it! I closed my eyes and grabbed her neck, squeezing, squeezing. I mopped sweat from my forehead as I waited until I was sure she wasn't breathing.
Dead. Dead. Dead. I was rid of her. Suddenly I felt free. Roxie would be proud of me. I was my own man. I could breathe again, and I inhaled deeply without the aid of my asthma inhaler.
After freshening up, I took the shortcut to the club, but when I arrived alone, everyone looked uneasy.
"Where's Martha?" Arlene, Martha's best friend asked.
My tension returned, but I gave a casual shrug. "She's not feeling well tonight." I smiled knowingly. "You know how it is."
"But . . . But . . . " Arlene stammered. She impaled me with an accusing stare. I shrugged and said nothing, but it was several long moments before Arlene stopped looking at me. She started talking to some other woman, whispering and looking in my direction.
What was going on here? Arlene had no way of knowing Martha was dead. I fought to remain calm, but sweat beaded in my armpits as I reached for my inhaler and pulled out instead a small gift-wrapped cylinder. Damn! Martha frequently joked that sometime she would give me a present instead of vice versa. I dropped the silver tube into my other pocket and reached again for my inhaler, hoping I wouldn't OD on medication.
Arlene excused herself and someone brought me a drink. I nervously chatted with the other guests for an hour or so until Arlene, looking pale and shaken, announced that dinner would be served.
We were at the table when two police officers arrived at the door. My tension increased. What was this! How could anyone have found Martha's body so soon? The plan had been for me to find it after that party and then call the police. They paused to talk to Arlene for a few moments, then came toward me.
"Jake Drewson?" one officer asked.
I forced myself to nod and step toward him. "Would you empty your coat pockets for us?" His icy gaze goaded me into complying. Besides, I had nothing to hide. I placed everything in my pockets on the table.
"That's it, just like I told you!" Arlene pointed to the silver-wrapped tube. "The jewelry store delivered it less than two hours ago. A special delivery. Open it, please."
The officer opened the tube which contained a gold pen. He read the inscription. "To Jake, with love. Sober one month and forever after."
"This party was Martha's surprise for Jake," Arlene said. "I chose the wrapping for that gift a short time ago. I knew when Jake pulled it from his pocket that he'd seen Martha after the gift had been delivered and that something was wrong. She had planned to be here tonight to surprise Jake with this gift and her public affirmation of her future sobriety. When she didn't come in with him, I called the police and got them to go over to Martha's house."
I remembered Martha slipping her hand into my jacket pocket. Some present she had given me! I reached for my asthma inhaler, but the officer was placing the handcuffs on my wrists.