Till Death Do Us Part
by
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Instead of "$20/HOUR" the sign reads "$20 HOR." A joke or someone just can t spell. But it's perfect. The naked man runs the stoplight, then downshifts and brakes and drives around back. Tall weeds in the motel s lot are cracking up the asphalt. A pothole dents his muffler. He doesn t care. He slips his Porsche into an open space between a rusty Chevy with a fractured windshield and an old Le Mans with a flat tire and then kills his engine and listens. Water is dripping somewhere. A breeze bangs metal into metal. The morning maids are shouting at one another, arguing in rapid Spanish over who will do the toilets. But there are no sirens. He's safe now. Invisible. 'Get your hands up!' The naked man whips his head around. They have his Porsche trapped between their squad car and the curb. The lights on the cop car top spin dizzily. He has to close his eyes a moment to not be sick. "Get out of the f**king car!" The naked man sees the gun near his face so he opens his door and tries to run. He stumbles and bloodies his knees on the rough pavement but he s quickly up again. He doesn't feel his body strike the Pontiac. He doesn t feel it when he steps on the broken bottle and cuts his foot. The policemen are on him in seconds. He feels that. "Get off!" he cries out. 'Man, he stinks,' one cop says. 'I told you it was the doc," the other replies. This cop is fat and has his knee pressing into the naked man's diaphragm. "You owe me lunch." The naked man can't get his breath. He's twisting and snarling and snapping at them with his teeth. "Aaah!" he groans as his air rushes out. "Doc, you really do need a bath," the fat cop adds as the naked man turns blue. "Stop squirming and give me your f**king hands before I split my pants." 'Better give him some air, Purvis," the first one advises. The other cop eases off and is nearly bitten for his generosity. 'Jesus!" he says, "Cut it out, Doc.' He grabs the naked man by his hair and bangs his head down hard against the asphalt. The naked man s eyes bulge. He stops struggling. The cops cuff him and then stuff him in the back of their car and slam the door. "I need to wash my hands," the fat cop says. "You think this place has a clean bathroom?" They both laugh. "Show s over folks," they tell the people hanging eagerly over the railings. Somebody up there is taking pictures with a camcorder. "We re gonna be on TV tonight, Purvis," one of the cops remarks. He waves at the camera. The naked man hurls himself against the grill. He does it again. And again until his face is all bloody. From the front seat the cops turn to look at him. 'You keep this s**t up,' one says, 'and one of these days we're gonna have to shoot you, Doc.' The naked man feels trapped. Like an animal. Like a lab experiment. And he can t stop the shaking. His skin is on fire. His heart is going to burst out of his chest and kill him while he watches. Only Joni can save him now. He begins to wail. 'Call my wife! Call my wife! Call my wife. Callmywifecallmywiiii...fe!'
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About the Book
Till Death Do Us Part is a novel about children who are too busy to listen to their parents. Joni Forsyth is a popular gynecologist facing the approach of middle age with diminishing rewards from a stressful career. She's got family problems. And she's trapped in a loveless, claustrophobic second marriage. She decides the solution to her problems is to murder her husband. But Joni can't risk jail; she has a child from her first marriage to consider and so she settles for another divorce. She hires a lawyer and files her case and anxiously awaits her day in court. Just as she's feared, things begin to go wrong. Her telephone lines are tapped. Obscene photos of her show up on the internet. And on her first day in court, her lawyer quits, abandoning Joni to a judge that seems to despise her. It only gets worse. Joni's afraid she's going to lose everything, even her son. Then her husband conveniently disappears. Joni is, of course, the prime suspect. After all, cruelty runs in her family. Her first husband is a criminal. Her brother is a sociopath. Rumor has it that an uncle died at the hands of Froman Forsyth, Joni's wealthy father, whose myriad sins drove his first wife crazy. If Joni had only listened in all the years her mother has been trying to talk to her, she'd know there's more to her colorful family history than a Civil War gambler who got thrown off a riverboat. She'd know there's more to the story of two brothers who struggled over a pretty girl and a liquor business until the younger brother won. If she'd listened, Joni would know there really are bodies buried on her father's farm. She'd also know they didn't die the way most people think.
About the Author
Steven Bullock is originally from Tennessee and lives in Huntington Beach, California. He s spent most of his working life practicing medicine but now writes full-time and is finishing his sixth novel. He would like to thank you very much for reading this book. If you have any comments he can be reached at sbullock@socal.rr.com.