14
The night had taken a turn to absolute zero, and while most of the adult population of Zorrell retreated to the warm interiors of their homes, the college kids broke out their parkas and frolicked under the clear starry sky. Finals were only a few weeks ahead, and most wanted to burn off their anxiety with a couple of kegs, loud music, and using their bodies to keep their hands warm.
Mealey hovered his hand over the cup of coffee he just bought at the Shop-N-Save as he sat in his patrol car, a block from his house. He was used to late nights in the cold; he wore his thermals, a fleece sweater, and one of those silly wool-lined hats with ears that flapped down. There was never any running during a stakeout anyway, just intelligence gathering. He mapped out the routes the kids took to buy drugs long ago, knew the owners of the houses that sold pot, crack, and pills. He did stakeouts to see if anyone new was trying to muscle their way in. It always amazed him how bold out-of-towners could be; even though he never used an unmarked car, he was ignored just the same. He always got a thrill turning on his sirens just when they looked the most complacent, though the shit-stained pants they cane into his car with made him want to retch.
But this night when he pulled out his binoculars, it wasn't to see who was coming in from out of town, it was to see if his wife had finally crossed the line.
Only one car was in his driveway; hers. The lights were on, but there wasn't any activity. He pulled out his phone, and flipped through Facebook posts that had been cued for him from the department.
Two posts about killing Graves, the Statistics teacher? Damned man, if you only knew how many girls want to blow away your head. Graves never could keep his eyes focused on the lesson plan instead of his students' blossoming bra sizes, and had even let his hand slip a couple of times. Two posts about holding-up the Shop-N-Save. Man, if you only knew what the night manager packs under the counter. And one post about a guy bragging about how he made his girlfriend finally have sex with him. Mealey shook his head. See, this is what happens when we take away the sanctioned prostitution; guys go all crazy. If you had just got a magazine from the Deli, or downloaded a scintilla of the free porn on the internet and used your hand, I wouldn't have to arrest you and kick you out of college. But we only get the really pretty ones here because of our reputation, and I'm not about to let some frustrated fool bring it all to pieces.
The sound of an engine got his attention, and he turned off the phone and picked up his binoculars. A silver Honda drove past his car, turned off its lights, and pulled into his driveway. Grey got out, looked this way and that, then went in through the back door into his house.
Man of God my ass.
For the next hour, Mealey watched as they flirted over dinner in front of the television. Grey put his arm around Susan, only to have it pushed away. He stood close behind her as she loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, only to be pushed playfully back. Finally, he saw Grey stand in front of the window, looking out, his face twisted in pent-up lust.
Here it comes.
He turned to block Susan as she crossed the living room. He grabbed her by the waist, and planted his lips on hers. She tried to push him away, punched him on his back twice, before throwing her arms around him and twisting her leg around his hips. He watched as they made their way into the bedroom, his bedroom, and she brought out his spare pair of handcuffs. Mealey saw her lie on the bed, out of sight, but saw her reach up her hands to the headboard so Grey could handcuff them there.
All the years we've been together, and you've never let me do that, damned bitch.
And yet, despite how angry he was becoming, he was also getting firm, and had to rub his crotch. At that moment, he heard a rap at his window. White as a sheet, he turned to face the stranger, and found a familiar face.
"Sarah?"
He opened the door, and she awkwardly clambered on top of him, running her hand between his legs. There was no sound of words exchanged, only that of the door being slammed closed and the moan of two people consummating their lust. In fact, they were so focused on each other's pleasure, that they didn't notice the flashes of light coming from just a few feet away. And the very observant eye would have also noticed a faded yellow Dodge Neon parked just half a block away.