The Devil Doesn't Want a Wife by Robert Petoletti

Author:Robert Petoletti [Petoletti, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2018-10-17T16:00:00+00:00

9

A villainous downfall

Early the next morning, I swabbed my penis, put drops in my

eye, swallowed my antibiotics, bathed, dressed, smoked, and drank alcohol all before eight o’clock—a possible record for me. I arrived at Gertie’s house just before eight thirty and smuggled the empty book-box back—stuffed inside my leather Member’s Only jacket—which I slung on a bench in the foyer. When an opportunity arose that Gertie and Achilles were both out of the room, I grabbed the empty jewel box and shoved it back on the top shelf where I found it—rearranging the other works I had jostled in the process of removing it. Nobody was the wiser—or so I thought.

The following day, I received three text messages from a number I was unfamiliar with. The first was an overhead photograph of ME putting the book of jewels into the trunk of my car—and in the second, I retrieved the empty book from my trunk. The third text was a message that read: “I know what you’re up to. I’ll be discussing it with you soon.” I rolled out of bed and started a pot of coffee. Puffing on a cigarette while standing in my underwear in the bleak morning light from my apartment window, I carefully examined all three texts again. I had forgotten about the top apartment in Gertie’s tri-plex. I knew nothing of the tenant on the third floor. Obviously, he knew something of me.

I went to Gertie’s a little while later to help Achilles take care of her, and I waited until he was doing breakfast dishes before questioning her about her third floor tenant. As usual, she was hung up on the weather.

“Is it cold out, Tim?” she asked as we sipped coffee.

“No. This is the craziest winter I’ve ever experienced in Minnesota.

Mild temperatures—minimal snow.”

“Pipes are going to freeze!” she proclaimed. “No ground cover!

The cold temperatures will come when you least expect it, and water pipes will freeze! Mark my words, Tim.”

I laughed glibly and waved a dismissing hand at her. “Don’t be a Debbie Downer,” I told her.

She giggled back at that reference. “I haven’t heard that phrase in years. You’re a funny man, Tim.”

“I try,” I replied winking at her. “By the way,” I said, redirecting the conversation, “it occurred to me after all these weeks of coming here, that I know nothing of the tenant on the third floor.”

“There’s no tenant on the third floor, Tim. Do you want to rent it?”

“As a matter of fact I’m interested. Do you mind if I look at it?”

She scratched her white head. “I wonder where Betty put the keys. Look in the top drawer of that hutch over there.”

The drawer was filled with all manner of clutter—but no keys. “Well, let’s not worry about it right now. We can look for the keys some other time.”

“Okay, then sit down.” She raised her coffee cup to her lips with an unsteady hand. Smacking her lips, she set the cup back down on the saucer. “Ah!” she said contented.

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