| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted July 8, 2023 |
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Everyone needs a little help sometimes
How to Get Rid of Jaime
by Loretta Bigg
My sister Gabi's lover was not what I had expected. I'd imagined Jaime with flaming, seductive eyes and a weightlifter's chest, some cliche with shirt unbuttoned and chains around his neck.
The little gigolo at the door was balding, his pot-belly hanging over his belt, and sweat marked the underarms of his cheap shirt. His lips set in a boyish pout, annoyed.
I checked out his neck: Far too thick to strangle.
"She is not here, then," he said.
"Why should she be here? She told me you were arriving today."
"Yes, yes," he said quickly. "Today, that is correct. We were supposed to meet at her new penthouse. She couldn't be at the airport. A meeting about changing her Will, all very hush-hush. A man with a sign gave me this key."
"So why didn't you go in?"
"I tried to. The key didn't work."
We stared at each other in silence for some minutes.
"Her cellular phone?"
"Rings and rings. Message box full. Did she tell you anything?"
"Just that you were arriving today. And... leaving your wife." I hoped this wasn't a ruse on his part. Perhaps he'd already done what I was expecting of him, Gabi's body, cold, buried in cast-away ditch. But how, then, would he get her money? He had to wait for that change in the Will. He couldn't murder my sister or take her for more, after so many years of broken promises.
Oh, how I detested this little man, Jaime in the flesh. I wished him away. He stuck his foot in the door when I tried to close it.
"I have nowhere to stay," he said. He looked like a big baby, the pacifier jerked from his mouth. He'd always been broke.
So I offered my enemy the couch and he took it, bobbing his head in gratitude. He was well-practiced at looking innocent. But rumours about missing past lovers abounded.
"I love him," Gabi had said. "He's like a drug. I need help to quit." She'd tried and always bounced back to her flame like a moth killing itself with moon-passion.
I spent the night listening to Jaime snore, waiting for the best moment to "help." I thought about my hands. They were not strong enough. A cravat, a rope could help? She would forever hate me for doing it.
But he would destroy her unless I got to him first.
I drank half a bottle of whiskey to give me courage. But the drink and the hour conquered me, and when I awoke, it was morning. Too many witnesses hanging around.
Jaime sat on the couch, still there, still innocent. How did he manage those blameless eyes that trusted me to fix things? "You will help me now, yes?"
***
We took the metro together to Gabi's new home. A family had arrived and were blocking the front door with moving boxes, all marked "Silva."
"Gabriela, where is she?" Jamie asked a man lifting yet another huge carton into the elevator.
"Gabriela, yes, the pretty lady."
"You know her?"
"She rented out the apartment to us."
"But... Wait-- Did she leave an address?" I asked. "A telephone number?"
"We paid a broker. She wanted her privacy."
I made some quick calls. No one knew where she was. She had left no word with anyone, not even with me.
"But the money," cried Jaime. "The Will." Then he looked at me in pitiful surprise at his slip-up.
Suddenly, I knew. Gabi didn't need my help one bit.
The Will? A pipe dream, a made up masquerade of paper and paint.
"And what will you do now?" I asked. "You can't stay with me."
His eyes widened. "I have nowhere to go. I have nothing, no-- I quit my job to come here. My wife..."
I saw it dawn on him, from the nape of his neck, up past his chin, flabby cheeks, up the balding forehead and right between the eyes. I almost laughed, shocked, surprised at the cleverness. But I stopped myself quick. Jaime must believe in the only eye-witness of his destruction. I suddenly felt good about life.
I noted down his expression carefully, as future testimony, for when, who knew when, the judge and jury of this little scene would call me and ask, "How did he look, what did he say?" And we could enjoy his downfall together.
I really didn't care where Jaime would go now. But I had a feeling I knew what Gabriela wanted me to do to that little weak and frightened man. Something so simple, so pat, that even I could manage.
"Sorry I can't help you," I said. "But perhaps we could have a bite to eat together before you leave? Something cold?"
Best Served Cold writing prompt entry
My sister Gabi's lover was not what I had expected. I'd imagined Jaime with flaming, seductive eyes and a weightlifter's chest, some cliche with shirt unbuttoned and chains around his neck.
The little gigolo at the door was balding, his pot-belly hanging over his belt, and sweat marked the underarms of his cheap shirt. His lips set in a boyish pout, annoyed.
I checked out his neck: Far too thick to strangle.
"She is not here, then," he said.
"Why should she be here? She told me you were arriving today."
"Yes, yes," he said quickly. "Today, that is correct. We were supposed to meet at her new penthouse. She couldn't be at the airport. A meeting about changing her Will, all very hush-hush. A man with a sign gave me this key."
"So why didn't you go in?"
"I tried to. The key didn't work."
We stared at each other in silence for some minutes.
"Her cellular phone?"
"Rings and rings. Message box full. Did she tell you anything?"
"Just that you were arriving today. And... leaving your wife." I hoped this wasn't a ruse on his part. Perhaps he'd already done what I was expecting of him, Gabi's body, cold, buried in cast-away ditch. But how, then, would he get her money? He had to wait for that change in the Will. He couldn't murder my sister or take her for more, after so many years of broken promises.
Oh, how I detested this little man, Jaime in the flesh. I wished him away. He stuck his foot in the door when I tried to close it.
"I have nowhere to stay," he said. He looked like a big baby, the pacifier jerked from his mouth. He'd always been broke.
So I offered my enemy the couch and he took it, bobbing his head in gratitude. He was well-practiced at looking innocent. But rumours about missing past lovers abounded.
"I love him," Gabi had said. "He's like a drug. I need help to quit." She'd tried and always bounced back to her flame like a moth killing itself with moon-passion.
I spent the night listening to Jaime snore, waiting for the best moment to "help." I thought about my hands. They were not strong enough. A cravat, a rope could help? She would forever hate me for doing it.
But he would destroy her unless I got to him first.
I drank half a bottle of whiskey to give me courage. But the drink and the hour conquered me, and when I awoke, it was morning. Too many witnesses hanging around.
Jaime sat on the couch, still there, still innocent. How did he manage those blameless eyes that trusted me to fix things? "You will help me now, yes?"
***
We took the metro together to Gabi's new home. A family had arrived and were blocking the front door with moving boxes, all marked "Silva."
"Gabriela, where is she?" Jamie asked a man lifting yet another huge carton into the elevator.
"Gabriela, yes, the pretty lady."
"You know her?"
"She rented out the apartment to us."
"But... Wait-- Did she leave an address?" I asked. "A telephone number?"
"We paid a broker. She wanted her privacy."
I made some quick calls. No one knew where she was. She had left no word with anyone, not even with me.
"But the money," cried Jaime. "The Will." Then he looked at me in pitiful surprise at his slip-up.
Suddenly, I knew. Gabi didn't need my help one bit.
The Will? A pipe dream, a made up masquerade of paper and paint.
"And what will you do now?" I asked. "You can't stay with me."
His eyes widened. "I have nowhere to go. I have nothing, no-- I quit my job to come here. My wife..."
I saw it dawn on him, from the nape of his neck, up past his chin, flabby cheeks, up the balding forehead and right between the eyes. I almost laughed, shocked, surprised at the cleverness. But I stopped myself quick. Jaime must believe in the only eye-witness of his destruction. I suddenly felt good about life.
I noted down his expression carefully, as future testimony, for when, who knew when, the judge and jury of this little scene would call me and ask, "How did he look, what did he say?" And we could enjoy his downfall together.
I really didn't care where Jaime would go now. But I had a feeling I knew what Gabriela wanted me to do to that little weak and frightened man. Something so simple, so pat, that even I could manage.
"Sorry I can't help you," I said. "But perhaps we could have a bite to eat together before you leave? Something cold?"
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Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction tale of REVENGE. Maximum 800 words. This can be in any genre and can range from a light-hearted prank to a murderous act of vengeance. Clever twists and irony encouraged. |
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