The War of the Roses by Warren Adler

Author:Warren Adler
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Divorce & Separation, Psychological, Novel, Noir, Humour, Warren Adler, Divorce, Family Life, Fiction, Fiction - General, Family & Relationships, General
ISBN: 9781931304566
Publisher: Stonehouse Press
Published: 2001-08-15T22:04:36.181000+00:00

Chapter 16

He sent Ann up to her own room and spent the next few hours dismantling the television equipment and removing the wire. Then he smashed the camera with a sledgehammer and threw the pieces into the kitchen garbage compactor. When everything was sufficiently flattened, he carted the refuse out to the trash cans in the alley.

He had worked in a sustained rage, unthinking, not conscious of his actions. As the heat of anger abated he felt himself unstiffen. His mind began to clear and his reason returned.

Stripping the cover off his Ferrari and removing the fiberglass top, he climbed in, felt the cool leather, and breathed deeply, savoring its aroma. Opening the glove compartment, he removed the key, placed it in the ignition, and flicked it. The eight cylinders caught almost immediately and the engine purred, soothing him.

It was a toy, really, but it gave him pleasure and he mothered it like a baby, changing its plugs, keeping it shined and covered. It was three years old, a work of art, and he knew its value was appreciating rapidly. Fifty thousand dollars’ worth of car.

Perhaps, he thought, he should take this one acknowledged personal possession and ride off into the night, a lone cowboy, in search of new adventures, a new life, leaving the old behind. Me and my little red Ferrari, he thought, feeling the wheel, the close, warm security of the tight driver’s seat. He stepped on the accelerator, listening to the satisfying whisper of the 205-horsepower engine. A 3,200-pound magic carpet.

Finally, reality intruded. He remembered Mercedes. Surely Barbara was responsible for its death. He climbed out of the Ferrari and shoved the cat into a plastic bag. Putting the crushed body into the seat beside him, he carefully backed the car out and sped over the darkened streets. The wind felt good, relaxing him. Momentarily forgetting the incident, he let himself merge with the Ferrari’s power, savoring the sense of freedom. An escape. When he reached Memorial Bridge, he stopped, grabbed the neck of the plastic bag, and flung it into the Potomac River.

By disposing of Mercedes, he assured himself, he would spare the children any embarrassment over their mother’s wanton act. She had used their child’s room for her filthy spying. That was a crime worse than the spying itself, a disgusting act. It was no wonder that Mercedes had been killed. It was retribution. Let them think the cat was lost.

When he returned, he tucked in the Ferrari. Then he gathered up the tapes and burned them in the library fireplace. Nixon should have done this, he thought, watching the plastic curl and turn quickly to ashes. He wished it were Barbara.

At seven in the morning he called Goldstein and told him what had happened.

“Meet me at the delicatessen on Grubb Road,” Goldstein said, responding to Oliver’s agitation. “We’ll put some Jewish soul food in you. It will calm you down.”

Goldstein was waiting in a booth, smearing globs of cream cheese on a dark brown bagel, on which he then placed two strips of Nova Scotia lox.

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