Loose Ends

Where is that damn ring? I can’t believe that after all of this, I can’t find my wedding ring, Roland thought. What’s the big deal? I mean, what difference does it make? Everyone knows how much 'I loved her' and how much 'I am going to miss her'. So what if they don’t see me wearing my ring.

He gazed into the mirror, hardly recognizing the face peering back at him; eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled and two weeks worth of facial hair. He hadn’t left the house since the funeral. Let’s rephrase that: He was too AFRAID to leave the house since the funeral. The gentlemen in the black suits and dark sunglasses that were milling about the cemetery on that particular day were not there to pay their respects to the dearly departed. No, they were there for him. Roland knew they were there to keep an eye on him. He also knew that Crooked Nose Tony wouldn’t do anything with that many people watching. Tony preferred to do things behind closed doors where everything was a little more personal. Roland also knew that today was the day that his life was going to change forever.

The phone call had come at 2pm. One million dollars. That’s what the insurance company had said. That was what his wife’s life was worth. As far as they were concerned it had been an accident; case closed. The brakes had failed, as the recall had said that they might, the momentum plus a rather high cliff took care of the rest. He had warned her to take the car in, but she hadn’t listened. At least that was what he had told everyone who was willing to listen. What he hadn’t said was that he had been slowly letting the brake fluid out of the lines for the past several weeks. When the recall happened, well that had been just pure luck. Instant alibi, just add luck. Roland hadn’t understood why, all of a sudden, his luck had changed. It had never changed before. Especially during the last race when, along with the thrown shoe from the horse, went his last chance at paying Tony back. But when the call came that afternoon, he knew his days of bad luck had disappeared. He knew he would have enough money to payback Tony. What he didn’t know was that he would make a profit. For the first time in his life, a gamble paid off.

He looked back down at the tan-less, white mark where his wedding ring had been for the past fifteen months. Why do I keep thinking about that damn ring? The insurance company already bought the story. The police don’t even consider me a suspect. Roland stopped thinking about the ring and began to concentrate on the phone call he had to make to Tony. He knew Tony wanted to meet at one of his many backroom offices in the back of one of his many business fronts. Nope, not gonna happen. Wouldn’t be prudent, as the president used to say. Somewhere public, with lots of people. Then it’s off to South America for beaches, bikinis, booze and tough extradition laws. Just in case. One can never be too careful. Maybe that’s why he kept thinking about the ring. He knew it wasn’t because he loved his wife. Hell, if that had been the case then he wouldn’t have killed her. It’s probably because he had been careful up to this point in keeping up appearances and hated to leave any loose ends. It wasn’t even that nice of a ring. Just your typical gold band with three small diamonds set in the top of the ring. Why three? His wife said it represented their past, present and future together. Hers was a plain band because she was that kind of a person. She said she didn’t need to look down at her finger to remind her of how much she loved him. Apparently he no longer needed that either. He smiled and snapped off the light in the bathroom, putting the ring out of his mind.

The dog was his wife’s idea. She had always wanted a small, fluffy dog and about seven months ago, she bought one. Perhaps the one and only drawback to killing his wife? Now, it’s my responsibility to clean up after the little fucker when it shits on the carpet, Roland thought to himself. He switched on the back patio light and pushed the dog out the door. Little bastard and returned to the table for his celebratory dinner.

After the phone call that afternoon he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He showered, shaved, got dressed and even felt good enough to cook himself a nice dinner. He sat back down and began to stare at the white band on his finger. Stop it, he thought to himself. He kept thinking that there was something he was forgetting to do. He knew that he had covered all of his bases and if the cops had known anything, he would be staying at the Gray Bar Motel tonight eating green bologna and drinking Kool-Aid instead of fillet and Merlot.

Roland decided to put it out of his mind and busied himself by cleaning up his dinner, putting his dishes in the sink and lighting up a cigar in front of the TV. He took a long drag on his Cohiba and let the luxurious, silky smoke roll from his mouth. His wife had always hated cigars and never allowed them in the house. “If you are going to smoke that, then I want you in the backyard, as far away from the house as possible,” she would always say. Many an evening he sat in the far corner of the yard, outside of the glow of the patio light, all by himself happily puffing away, sometimes drifting off in the solitude…

He awoke with a start. The cigar in the ashtray had gone out from neglect. The TV showed a man with bad teeth, in suspenders, trying to sell some kind of home dental device. The kind of thing you only see on late night TV. He looked at his watch, 2:30am. Wow, he had been asleep for nearly four hours. Roland stood up, stretched and stopped. Shit, the dog. Reluctantly, he went to the door-wall, slid it open and called for the dog. Nothing. He called again and again. Normally the dumb-ass came up the steps, happily wagging its tail. Cursing, he stepped onto the patio. Man, is it dark. He looked up at the sky. No wonder it’s so dark, no moon.

He walked down the steps out onto the grass. He called out the dogs name again. Still nothing. Walking slowly so as not to slip on the newly watered lawn, Roland left the security of the pool of patio light. Now in the darkness of the backyard, his eyes become adjusted to the lack of light. Is that the dog sitting on top of that lump of grass, wagging his tail like he did when my wife was around? What is that dumb-ass doing?

Roland whispered the dog’s name. Why, in the world, am I whispering, he thought to himself.

The dog ignored Roland and ran off into the darkness. Turning after the dog, Roland lost his footing on the wet grass, twisted his ankle and crumpled to the ground. He began to pull himself through the damp grass, crawling toward the pool of light. Just as he crossed the border of dark into light, shooting pain emanated from his twisted ankle. Thinking he had tangled his ankle in the garden hose he looked down towards his foot. There, glinting in the light, were three diamonds on a gold band, which was connected to a rotting, putrid finger, which was connected to a rotting, putrid hand. Roland screamed as he heard something coming from under the ground:

“No loose ends, Roland. No loose ends,” gurgled his dead wife.