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Shady Suitors of the Black Book

The Lady's Revenge

By Elle P. BrownPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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Shady Suitors of the Black Book
Photo by Curt Kennedy on Unsplash

The tall, shapely lady strolled into the bar, with such confidence, those who didn’t know better would be certain she owned the place. Instead, the locals knew she was a woman thrice-scorned, who suddenly made millions turning those stories into best-selling thrillers - using the stories of her three perpetrators to publicly and indirectly mock them. She never used their real names, of course, but those who knew the men knew exactly who she was referring to.

The Lady contacted me several weeks ago. The Casanova, her first husband, was running his mouth again – continuing to ruin any possible relationship between her and her children. That was the final straw, she snapped. She had had enough of him wasting oxygen by still breathing. That’s when she called me.

As the saying goes, there is no hell like a woman scorned… that is very, very true. As she developed her mystery stories, she planned exactly how to ruin their lives then… make their lives no more. The plan was simple: seduce the men using their kryptonite - women, superiority complex, and fame – then once they fully trusted me, I helped them to stop …wasting oxygen, shall we say.

She chose me because I am a skilled professional in making death look like an accident or …unavoidable. We had been close ever since she was my counselor when I almost went to jail for killing my abuser in self-defense. That was only because there were clear signs showing the lack of natural causes… caused by emptying my 9mm Lady Glock into his chest.

While I awaited trial, I stewed and then studied; I learned a lot. I told the guards, my lawyer, and other staff how I was considering becoming a medical examiner, simply fascinated looking at how causes of death were discovered. Ironic that while awaiting trial, I learned how to make those causes undetectable.

The more women I met, the more I recognized a need for my services… to eliminate the problem, one could say. Anyone with a clever mind and entrepreneurial spirit can transform knowledge into a lucrative business.

I witnessed firsthand the struggles she went through – so I thought. The Lady’s body language changed as she re-read what they had done. Such intentional cruelty by The Casanova to keep a mother from her children. Later, The Teacher kicked her out of his house with no warning or hint of any troubles leading up to it - on her second day of school - after being home for five months during Covid-19 quarantine.

The third was her lover, The Musician. He made beautiful music on stage and in the bedroom, so she said. I could not understand why she needed to get rid of him, but what the client wants, the client gets. Therefore, that problem would also be resolved.

The Lady handed me her Moleskine little black book; documentation of dates and details of their wrongdoings. She summed it all up with a chant-like repetition: “Casanova, Teacher, Musician – Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota”

I knew each of these cowards-called-men set out to ruin her. She helped keep me from being sentenced to prison; I cut her a deal with a reduced rate: $20,000 for resolving the problems in her little black book.

She handed me an envelope with a bank check, with some Swiss name on it for the $10,000 down payment; the remaining $10,000 would be paid in installments, distributed upon confirmation of … resolution.

Small Town Massachusetts Casanova

The Casanova was not difficult to find – sign up for a few trashy dating sites and, viola, there he is.

Seeking discrete relationship. Lonely married guy looking for what's missing in my life… haven't been properly pleased in over 20 YEARS!!!!

So cocky. I shared my profile and heard back within minutes.

I met him at his home. He had a strange schedule to work around, only during the daytime or on Wednesday evenings – with a specific time to be out of the house. I knew right away he was doing to the second wife what he did to my client; but I played dumb.

The sex was hot… well, once his little blue pill kicked in – it was awkward that day he forgot to take it… cue the crickets.

By this point, I knew what he liked in bed – which was pretty basic. Though he soon discovered he really liked bondage and he let me tie him up... even let me blindfold him. Fool.

Teasing him with all of the moves he yearned for; he was easily stimulated – he was so focused on his pleasure that he did not notice anything else. One little incision is all it took. The itty, bitty puncture into his testicle by the craft knife, worked just fine… it just took some time for resolution.

I caught a business flight from Boston to Chicago. And there I would wait.

Not knowing I had already left town, he called me the next day, talking about the random drops of blood coming from “down below”. He called the next day, saying he really wasn’t feeling up to sex at all; he was really tired. He did not call the day after that.

I informed The Lady social media said that The Casanova had died fairly suddenly without any known cause of death. She was impressed with my skill. I took the little black book and placed a large red checkmark over the first page of notes about The Casanova – “Massachusetts: Resolved,” I said. The Lady was well pleased and handed me the next payment.

This time when she repeated her mantra, she hesitated between each… “Casanova… Teacher… Musician … Massachusetts… Michigan… Minnesota…” perhaps, pausing to recognize the end was near. I told her I would leave soon for Michigan.

Educating the Educator

Some people are such methodical creatures of habit that there is no challenge to try to locate them. The Teacher was always at school at the same time, driving the same vehicle, parking in the same spot. His truck had some random “Bomber” stickers on it from the school he was at when he was with The Lady. I found it unusual for a teacher to publicly support war – but it certainly confirmed his identity. One $30 tracking device placed under his truck and he was easy to keep an eye on.

The Lady told of how one of the activities to throw her off the scent of betrayal was trying three times to purchase a camper together. It was quite surprising to her how none of the three times were successful – she now realizes that was nothing but a rouse to imply longevity before the set-up.

Presuming he would likely purchase himself a camper, I followed that possibility. I rented myself a small camper on the first weekend his tracker showed him heading north. Being a creature of habit, I could likely predict where he was heading; I called in my reservation while en route, asking if my “brother” made a reservation yet and if I could possibly have a site near my “family”… They were happy to oblige, placing me diagonally across from him. The Teacher had already setup and was drinking a beer, alone by the fire pit.

The superiority complex in men lead them to easily believe women are inept and foolish; we use that to our advantage. I walked over to ask for his “help” setting up the camper, saying I was uncertain how to set up the pull-out ends of the hybrid. He showed off his expertise and then stayed for a bourbon… and a nightcap.

He told me he purchased a season ticket to the Rifle River campground, so he could leave his camper there while he was at school. Fool – be careful who you tell such details to.

He really was not much fun. He was easy to track, terrible in bed, and I did not even need to be creative in his demise. Patiently waiting for a cold weekend that would require turning the heat on, I spent the night with him in his camper – citing my canvas ends not retaining heat. After a night of bourbon and sex, he just passed out.

I told The Lady about the explosion… investigators reported it was likely caused by an extinguished pilot light and a lit candle. The Lady enjoyed the creativity of the demise. I methodically drew the red checkmark over the first page of Teacher Notes. “Michigan: Resolved,” I said.

The Lady was well pleased, though she seemed to stumble as she said: “Casa.no.va …Tea.cher.. Mich.i.gan… Minn.e.sot.a.” I collected the second payment and headed off to Minnesota.

The Musician of Minnesota

Everyone knew about The Musician - on stage he plays the bass, off stage he plays the ladies. I was certain that The Lady knew that as well. Surely, I missed something. Why him?

Then I read his fatal flaw. “He. Is. Married.” I am sure that ripped that bandage off the wound caused by The Casanova. She could deal with the lack of exclusivity but not his unfaithfulness to his wife. I knew what I had to do.

I became a regular groupie following his band, Cyclone - likely named for their whirlwind gig schedule. “The bass player,” The Lady had told me, “loves large boobs and great curves” – I selected just the right outfit to capture his attention.

After our first steamy hot sex session, he didn’t just want more, he craved more. The Musician sought me out after each gig; he beckoned me on his days off.

Oh, The Musician was really good in bed, but I have a job to do, I kept reminding myself. I re-read the little black book. “He. Is. Married.” Playing the ladies while he has a wife and kids at home... He did not deserve to exist.

But… I just could not bring myself to directly harm him.

Suddenly, I remembered the critical detail in the book; The Musician is highly allergic to peanuts. This became simple and indirect. I did not have to intentionally cause harm, I only had to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich – and maybe not wash my hands - before I kissed him.

Just before he went on stage, I kissed him and stroked his bare skin… then headed back to Chicago.

I phoned the woman from the car to let her know the third problem was resolved. I reported to The Lady that I had heard he went into anaphylactic shock just before showtime. The efforts to save him were unsuccessful. I was thankful his fans didn’t have to watch him die.

Check mark number three.

One More

When I arrived in Chicago, I was to meet The Lady her in her home, not at the bar.

This time The Lady looked… distant and frail. The woman who once commanded attention appeared… well, unkempt. As I passed the little black book back to her, she looked confused… I stared at her, waiting for her man mantra.

“Toosick” was all she could reply.

We knew this day would come. We knew there would be a day that Alzheimer’s would ravage her brain.

We had an agreement. When she could no longer recite her mantra, I was to help her die with dignity. I would help her die of what would look like natural causes without ever having to be relegated to die alone in a nursing home.

We had heard that dissolving insulation fibers into a drink is a painless way to die. As she sipped her fiber-laced wine, she settled into a deep sleep. With a smile on her face, her last word was “Resolved.” She died peacefully believing her issues had been resolved.

Sometimes one creates a new reality just to bring someone peace. The Lady passed peacefully, believing she got her revenge. While I did not kill them, I warned The Three Problems that I could have.

By month’s end, the $20,000 inheritance check arrived.

satire
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About the Creator

Elle P. Brown

Elle writes from the heart - and sometimes the twisted mind specializing in plots & plot twists with a dash of reality in them.

Quoting Edgar Allen Poe: "A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it."

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