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What a woman will do to get her man. |
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For years people had know them as Joe and Lucille. It got to be old hat. The way Joe looked at Lucille you could tell it was love. No one would have suspected Joe was capable of murder. He was a mild, well-mannered boy grown to manhood years ago. He was in his mid-thirties and fairly handsome. He was good-looking enough to have his choice of most of the single womenfolk and a few of the married ones of the small town in which he lived and worked. None caught his eye, though. He could only see Lucille. Several eyes were on him and one set in particular was set on having him. Sally was bound and determined for him to take notice of her. Whenever she’d see him around town she’d stop and try to talk to him. Polite as he was, he returned any conversation to whomever it was talking to him, be it man or woman. For the longest time she tried inviting him over for dinner or out for a movie, or whatever, but each time something was suggested Joe would politely refuse and say that he had to get going. After he left each time she knew why he wouldn’t go out with her and she knew where he was going. It was Lucille. Lucille this and Lucille that. She was about fed up with that name and one of these times she was going to do away with Lucille so that she could have Joe all to herself. Late one night at the local tavern Joe was there with one of his friends. Although they weren’t that close, none-the-less, they were friends. Sally, with nothing else better to do, went to the tavern to have a few wine spritzers. After several, they turned into whiskey sours and a couple of other odd assortments of alcoholic beverages. Before long she was wasted. Neither Joe nor Sally knew the other was there. It was a small town but a rather large bar, being the only one in a ten-mile radius. It had been getting more crowded as the evening progressed and both Joe and Sally were in no shape to drive. Joe tipped up his mug of draft, finished it off, and told his friend that he had to get going. Sally had already gone outside to share her lunch with the wilderness by the time Joe had reached the door. His friend shouted from across the room, “Where’re you going?” Standing half in and half out of the doorway he yelled, “Lucille’s waiting for me,” and turned to leave. His voice carried across the parking lot and was heard by two deer that had dared to venture out from the woods, whatever was lurking in the trees, and Sally. Upon hearing that name, Sally, who was still bent over, grabbed whatever was handy, which in this case was a limb that had been knocked down from the other night’s windstorm. Picking it up like a club she ran straight for Joe. He flinched but was too intoxicated to do much of anything else. She ran past Joe going straight for Lucille and started swinging. In an instant there was a loud bang that came from the end of Joe’s .25 caliber pistol, which he always kept in an ankle holster. One shot was all it took. It might no have been a big gun but it was large enough to have a bullet enter the back of Sally’s brunette head. She fell to the ground dead, club in hand. A little while later the police arrived. First came the local constabulary and shortly thereafter two cars with four state policemen arrived. “What happened here, son,” the local cop asked Joe. “She was going to hurt or even kill Lucille,” Joe said, half yelling, half sobbing. Three of the policemen were looking over the parking lot. Not seeing anyone, one of the state cops asked, “Where is she? I don’t see her.” “Over there. She’s right there in plain sight,” Joe said as the other policemen took the gun from Joe’s hand. “Where, son: All I can see is a parking lot full of cars and trucks,” the first officer said as he moved closer to Joe. “Right there!” he said, pointing his finger across the lot. “You mean that yellow piece of shit truck?” the cop asked. “She’s not a piece of shit, she’s my baby. Don’t listen to them Lucille,” he said to the truck like it could hear him. The policemen just looked at each other, shook their heads, and tucked Joe into the back seat of one of the state vehicles. The one cop asked his partner, “How are we going to write this one up?” The other cop looked at him and said, “Lovers quarrel, mistaken identity, who the hell knows,” and got into his car. |
: Steev the Friction Wizurd Total Displayed: 1 |
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