WICKED THOUGHTS

WICKED THOUGHTS

BY ARMEN PANDOLA

It’s been over seventeen years since all of this happened. That’s longer than I can remember in any detail. I mean, I remember ....but I can't say that I’m sure. Anyway, I know that tomorrow they’re going to execute me. I killed my wife and her chiropractor. They were having an affair. At least, I think that they were. Hey, I hope they were because it would be just too sad if I killed them and they weren't.

They make a big thing of the last night – that meal and all that – but really it’s pretty dull. Hey, get this – they have this guard sitting up with me all night because – get this – they want to make sure that I don’t commit suicide. Yeah, really. They want to make sure that I’m there to kill tomorrow. Execute, I mean.

I had hoped that – well, the girls, my daughters would come on the last night. They said that they didn’t want to get involved with the whole last night thing- you know, all the people that usually are here for the last night. The lawyer. The protesters. The media. Well, I guess they were wrong. Just me and my shadow.

I was waiting to put all of this down – to make a final record of it – an honest record – until the crowd left. Well, there hasn’t been any crowd and I just spent my last night waiting for something that never happened. Typical of my whole life. And now I only have about an hour or two to get it all down.  

I guess I should start at the beginning. I mean when it happened – not at the real beginning. If I went back that far – well, I’d be dead before I even met Tricia. She was my wife – Tricia. Patricia, of course. Her family called her Pat, but I hated that name - Pat. It sounds so, well, Pat.

We met at this party in college – well, I better skip ahead to the night it really all started. I mean ended.

I had no intention of killing her. She was having an affair with her chiropractor, and I found out about it through my HMO. The greedy son of a bitch was not only screwing my wife three times a week, he was charging my insurance company ninety-five bucks a shot. They sent me a letter about the excessive chiropractor visits, and the rest is history, as they say.

One day, I mentioned the HMO letter to her as we were standing in our kitchen. She called me a cheap fuck, and told me to pay the bills myself if the HMO wouldn't, then I told her that I wasn't as dumb as she thought, and she said that nobody was as dumb as she thought I was, and I said that I knew that 'cause I knew what she was doing, and she said that she was going to do whatever the fuck she - well, you get the picture. 

I had kept a gun on the top shelf of a cabinet that we never used – I can’t remember why. I took it out and  -

The gun was meant to scare her, but she refused to get scared so I fired it near her head, and she laughed, then I shot her in the leg, and she started screaming that she would get me for every dollar I had, and that I would end up in jail, and that she would spend her whole day screwing anyone she wanted to. So, just to shut her up, I killed her.

Of course, I regretted it almost immediately. I sat in my kitchen, and stared at her lying on the floor, with the blood spreading around her frosted locks. I had no idea what to do, and even thought of just calling the police, and be done with it.

Then, I thought about Athena and Artemis, our daughters, and realized that I had to try to get out of this for their sake. I mean, think how bad it would be if they had to go through their childhood, their most formative years, knowing that their father killed their mother, or worse, having to live with my brother-in-law and his wacky bunch because I was in jail. The children of murders don't do as well as other kids. I remembered a 20/20 or 60 minutes thing on that. The kids are always the ones that suffer.

That's when I decided that I would try to beat it. But how? The kids were due home the next morning. They were at a pajama party. I had the night to figure out what to do.  

Clean up, and just fake it. S­ay that I came home and found her that way on the floor. Don't know what happened. Shocked. Tears. Scream out right now so that a neighbor will hear. Wait. The gun. It's not mine. I bought it from a cop friend who makes a good living selling hot guns. Still, I'd have to get rid of it. How?

So, things were getting complicated. Then, a happy thought occurred to me: no one heard the shots because if they had, they would have called me or called the police or something, by now. A good amount of time had passed by and there was no sign that anyone had heard.  

That's when it hit me. Without another thought, I ran into the living room and picked up the phone. I got the number of the clinic and called the massaging bastard who caused this whole mess. Luckily, he was there.

I told him that my wife had told me about their affair, and that I wanted to talk to him. At first, he denied it, then I insisted so he seemed to understand that he couldn't get out of this that easily. Yes, I said, tonight because the kids were out. Why, I repeated, why? Because, that's why. I tried hard to keep my temper. Look, I said, just come over. We want to work something out. Then, I took a big chance. I wasn't sure whether he was married, but I plunged ahead - we want to try to save two families from being broken up by this. That did it. He paused, and said that he would be over by nine.

That out of the way, I decided to have a drink. As I sipped the scotch, I suddenly panicked. Nine! That's almost an hour away. They can tell the time when someone's been shot, can't they? Now, I tried to remember all that b.s. I had listened to watching those crime shows. Did you have to keep a body warm in order to preserve the time? Or let it get cold? Did dumb murderers fail to keep it warm or fail to let it cool?  

Desperately, I turned on the Court channel. An ad for preventing smelly feet was on, and seemed to last a lot longer than the people who make such things should be able to afford. Then, back to court. But it was just some stupid civil trial about a guy who cooked himself when he ran his pick-up truck into a wall. Surprise, surprise! It exploded. No help there.

I decided that warm was better, and ran to get an electric blanket. Vaguely, I recalled a Columbo, and how somebody had kept a body warm with an electric blanket to fool the cops. Of course, Columbo caught her (him?) in the end, but there weren't any fuckin’ Columbos in this town's police department. We lived in one of those new communities on the edge of civilization, about an hour ride into town. he local township was still acting as though it was Smallsville when, in fact, the new developments had tripled the population and the median income. The new taxes all went into teacher's salaries, and payoffs to the local pols from the construction company that was making a fortune turning the beautiful scenery all of us moved out here for into New Jersey. Who needs Dirty Harry out here where the most serious crime is parking in the handicap spot at the 7-11.

Before I covered her with the blanket, I looked at her, and raised my glass to the happy - well, many years we had spent together. There was a look about her of the newly dead. Maybe you have never seen the newly dead except in a hospital. That doesn't count because sick people are mostly dead before they die. I'm talking about people who die suddenly, but are in good health. They look as though they are asleep. If I could only get rid of all that blood. I put the blanket over her and plugged it into the socket where the toaster oven was.

I poured myself another scotch, and thought how I would handle it when he arrived. A lot of possibilities ran through my mind. In the end, I decided to play it straight. I would shoot him, and make it look as though he killed her, then shot himself. It was best to get him out of the picture, not to mention the fact that I would enjoy killing the son of a bitch who ruined my life. 

Of course, Athena and Artemis would have to know that their mother was a no good, whoring bitch, but they would never hear a bad word about her from me. I would always defend her. I would stand by her even in death. As my mind started to wonder if I had chosen the spousal life insurance supplement as part of the menu of benefits offered at work, I heard the bell ring. This is it.

As I opened the door, I realized that I had never laid eyes on him before. He introduced himself, and held out his hand, I hesi­tated, then shook it. I have a bad habit of being nervous whenever I’m first introduced to anyone, and not really listening when they say their name, so I didn't quite hear if he said Tom Rheinholt or Tim Rheingold. His bills just had the name of his office "The Healing Clinic." This fact proved to be helpful when the police questioned me because I sincerely didn't know the man's name. He was much shorter than I, and this made me sure that she had sex with him because she always liked short guys - they made her fell superior. In fact, I think I was the only guy she ever dated who could look her straight in the eye.    

  As he walked in, he looked around, expecting to see my wife. I told him that I wasn't happy that he had violated his Hippocratic oath, if that's what chiropractors take, by screwing one of his patients, especially when the patient was my wife. He seemed flustered and just kept on denying it. I told him that I saw that movie too, and that he could deny it all he wanted, but I know what happened, and she even told me about it. At this, he went a little nuts. He started swearing that it wasn't true. He insisted on seeing my wife so that he could find out what was happening.

I told him that she had already told me what happened, then he said something that stopped me dead in my tracks. He suggested that maybe she just said that because she was angry with me and wanted to hurt me. He said that he knew that she was unhappy because she told him that we constantly fight. I said that it sounded as though they were closer than the usual patient-chiropractor, and he said that people don't realize that chiropractors are closer to their patients than most doctors because of the hands-on relationship they have, and I said, yeah, I bet it was hands on, and almost popped him right there.

Then, he asked for her again and I said that she was in the bathroom, and he asked if she knew that I called him, and I admitted that she did not, and he seemed to be gaining ground because now he insisted that I had misunderstood her.

I thought back to what was said in the kitchen. Like I said, I don't always listen very closely when I get nervous, and I was sure that she had been screwing him because why the hell else would you pay someone $95 to rub your back, unless you were going to get laid, too. Anyway, I was sure that she had said that she was doing him again, or did she say she was going to him again.

My hesitancy made him sense the kill, and he started to walk toward the stairs, as if he were going to run upstairs to get her. I stepped in front of him, and asked if he could prove that he didn't have sex with my wife. This caught him short.  

Look, he said, your wife is a very attractive woman. Attractive, I shout, she's one of the most, no thee most beautiful woman you'd ever meet. O.K. he purrs, I can see why you would be jealous, but nothing ever happened between us. He swore. I paused.

Did you ever want something to happen? I asked. He was silent. I pressed on - Did you ever think about having sex with my wife, about what it would be like? Did you ever wish that you could turn her over and start rubbing her front instead of her back? Now, I had him. Did you ever think that maybe you could prolong the session by another fifteen minutes, and lock the door, and see what happens? Did you ever think about her while you were taking a bath, or having sex with someone else? Did you ever have wicked thoughts about my wife?

That caught him up short. He looked guilty - you know, when people are looking for how they can deny something without really denying it. He seemed to rise up to his full short height and go to a lower level in his vocal register - "Never - never had wicked thoughts about a patient. I am professional."

And that's when I knew that I had him! Professional, my foot. He was a goddamned chiroprac­tor!  

I started walking toward the kitchen and he followed me. On the way, I realized that I needed a few seconds to take out the gun and aim it. I decided to act stunned. I walked into the kitchen, faked almost tripping over her body, let out a shriek, and started to say over and over Oh no Oh no Oh no. It didn't work as I thought because the blanket was still covering her. I reached down, and whipped it off of her. Now, he was stunned (for real) and it took less than a couple of Oh no's to grab the gun and put it up against his temple and fire it. It was a small caliber gun, so there wasn't too much of a mess.

After that, it is all a blur. The police, the newspapers, the lawyers (God, the fuckin lawyers!), none of it made any sense. I stuck to my story throughout the whole ordeal. The trial took weeks, and the appeals lasted for years. Athena and Artemis have grown out of their childhood without having to live with the thought that their dad is a murderer.  

It would have been nice if I could have beaten this rap, and I believe, if my lawyer had not antagonized the judge, I don't think that the judge would have ever let it get this far. My lawyer was a local "personality" who was always being interviewed about the latest infamous murder or rape. The judge made it clear that he thought that the guy was a headline-grubbing shyster. My attorney made it equally clear that he thought the judge was Archie Bunker in robes. At the sentencing, the judge suggested that if I finally confessed, he would show mercy. Of course, with Athena and Artemis there, I couldn't. Anyway, my lawyer all but told him to take a flying leap, and said that the verdict would never stand.  

He was wrong - again.  

I felt that I was stuck in the Abbott and Costello bit where Abbott (my lawyer) starts an argument with a big guy (the judge), and dares him to punch Costello (me). Like Costello, I ended up getting whacked. 

I want to say that I never meant to hurt anyone. My wife was not an easy person to live with. She was an unhappy person, and I admit that maybe she was unhappy because of me, but, then I was unhappy because of her. Maybe nobody is really happy. Ironically, at the trial it came out that the chiropractor's wife was cheating on him (unlucky for me that she had an airtight alibi for that night: she was with her lover, a podiatrist), so he knew how I felt. I didn't really hurt anybody who wasn't unhappy anyway.  

Athena and Artemis were here yester­day, and they both told me how much they love me. Of course, they believed me when I said that I didn't do it. But, they're big girls now, and they can handle the truth. It's never as bad as it could be, or as it should be.

Well, they have come for me, so I guess it's time because they are very precise about time in these matters. People always cling to precision in how things are done when there is no justification for what they are doing. But, I'm not bitter. That's why I wanted to tell the truth, or as much of it as I know.  It's been a long time waiting for this. Once, Athena asked me what I missed most since I've been in the short-time solitary confinement block where they don't let you outside. I told her the sky. The sky is the most beautiful thing in the world. I think of myself going into the sky. Not heaven, not hell - just the sky. Just the sky.