Jack’s Journal (part 1)

I couldn’t even tell you how it happened myself, to be honest. 

One minute I’m on top of the world. Corporate bank account, access to the company limo, the company condo on the 9th hole. A smoking hot wife. And a little boy that I would take a bullet for.

The brain-docs on the inside always tell you to go back to what you know. If you’re not at a happy place now, go back to what you know.

And I knew of the day before it all went to shit.

That was the day I was the happiest. And then the very next day, it went to shit.
I don’t really even remember her, to be honest. I remember tits and a nice smile. You could catch my eye with one or the other, but if you had both going on, then I was yours…at least until it was time for me to go home to my wife.
So…yeah. Some chick in Marketing..or IT or some shit like that. It was some Golf Scramble to raise money for some Breast Cancer Research-heh ironic, huh? Tommy told me to keep my pecker in my pants, but those tits. And that smile. I had a 7 Wood that needed to sink a hole in one.
I thought it was cool. I thought she was cool. I didn’t  get to make Junior Partner by doing stupid shit.
Apparently I was mistaken. Or she had planned this all along and wasn’t as ditzy as she let on. Or both.
Either way, that mistake will soon be cleaned up. Taken care of.
Off the grid like it never fucking happened.
Tommy doesn’t take my calls anymore.
Suzy has a restraining order on me. She told our son that his daddy died in Afghanistan. He’d be 9 today.
Five years locked away.
Five years that that bitch stole from me.
What is the price of Five Years?
At what cost can I get that back? What cost will let me sleep at night?
At this point, the cost is about $25.That was the price of the ammo. I had the weapon. From my tour in Upper East Trashcanistan. Susan wasn’t lying to Terry. His dad DID serve in the Marines in Afghanistan. Only he didn’t die there. He died little by little over the last 5 years. 6 years if you go back to the actual day that she kicked me out.
Fucking bitch.
That mistake will be taken care of too. But not now.
Now I have a date. 
A date with Marcy. Who knew this prim and proper IT chick had a wild side? And who knew that she was apparently in to ex-cons?  It was all too easy how it came  together.
I still had a few friends at the firm who were there for me even if Tommy couldn’t be bothered with me. Cynthia was always nice to me. I think it’s because I never fucked her. Or tried to. I got the post card from her and her partner’s honeymoon in Cozumel. Her care packages while I was on the inside told me she was a friend I could count on. Cyn gave me the dirty dirty on Marcy. 
The restaurant was quiet. I figured it would be. Tuesday evening wasn’t a typical date night, but I let Marcy pick the day and time for our first meeting. And I picked the place. That was the deal. I made up some bullshit about still having enemies that weren’t to happy that I got out early on good behavior.
The key to a good lie is to have some truth in there. Just enough to make it believable.
Truth is, I DO have some folks that would be none too happy that I got out early. If they knew. They don’t. Don’t ask me how I know. I can’t tell you that. You’re just a goddamn journal anyway.
Jackass shrinks were always telling me to document my thoughts and feelings. And now I can’t go a day without writing at least 10 pages. Terry’s gonna get some good insight in to his old man one day.
Focus dammit.

There she was.
Time was kind to her. I’m sure Ostermann & Fein’s generous settlement for my transgressions helped too.
Now the question. Do I kill her before or after I see if she remembers the day I buried my putter in her sandtrap? Or during.
Hahaha..that’s messed up, Jack. 
Yeah. I get that a lot.
Dear Diary…dinner was good. 
The sex was fine.

But the payback was exquisite.
After dinner I drove us, in my car, back to my apartment. It wasn’t much. Certainly not what her upper East side nip and tuck was used to. But it was a typical ex-Con’s flat. Which, apparently, made her horny as all get out.
Which was fine by me.
When I was younger, my old man used to tell me ‘never turn down an open bar or open legs.‘ Tonight there was both.
She wanted more as I drove her back to her car in the restaurant parking lot. I pulled in to the first spot in the lot behind the building. About 20 yards from her car. She wanted it. And I gave it to her.
Instead of driving her to her car, I made up some bullshit about needing to stretch my legs so they wouldn’t cramp up (“I’ve been out of practice…”) and I smiled. Whether it was Jack the ex-Corporate Junior partner or Jack the ex-con. The smile was the same. And I knew within 30 seconds whether or not I had you. If I had you, I could seal whatever deal was on the table in front of you.
I had Marcy. She was mine. And she was great in bed. A bit slutty (I mean, seriously, what mystery is there if you give it up on the first date?), but I can deal with that. 
And it wasn’t going to matter in a few minutes anyway.
We staggered back to her car, I pretended to be drunker than I was. I needed an excuse to lean on her. When we got to her car, I took the keys and unlocked her doors…started the car for her.
“Such the gentleman…” she said. 
I smiled and stood.
I pulled her close in to an embrace. When the kiss broke, I smiled. I knew I had her. She looked up with those big brown eyes and smiled back.
Her smile was short lived.
I could feel the blade slide past the bone of her ribs on it’s way to puncture her lungs. They would fill soon with her misdirected blood. And she would drown. From the inside.
In her last seconds I leaned over and whispered in her ear
“You took away my life. I lost my wife and my kid because of you. I will die alone someday. You will die alone now.”
I saw the recognition in her eyes, just as I saw the life leaving it. I never broke eye-contact. To the second the life left her eyes, I held her gaze.
I put her body in the car and shut the door, leaving it running.
The drive back to the apartment was short, but had that time-stretching thing that happens when you’re in that super-happy zone.
Back at the apartment, I pulled out the list. The list I’d made in lock up.
The list entitled “Christmas Card List” (I caught less heat from the guards that way).
It was the list of people that wanted me locked up and did their best to keep me there.
The list of people that thought I was still locked up.
The list of people that would soon find out that they couldn’t touch me when I was locked up.
But I’m not locked up now.
I’ve been freed.
Never mess with a freed man.

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