Fool Me Once

"Wow," thought Paul, "I guess I should have seen this coming." He found it difficult how to reply. He began slowly, thinking of each word. "Karen, I don't really know what to say. We were so young when we met. Not only were we virgins, but neither of us had even been a relationship of any kind to that point. There is no doubt we were in love with each other, but as we matured, our views and interests changed. Our love kept us from seeing that our lives were actually moving apart. The independent spirit I saw in you, and the stubborn streak I had would eventually undo us. I told myself I wouldn't bring this up, but when you fucked that grad student while I was in Vietnam, it was something I said I forgave. I couldn't forget. You say you're independent and strong, but, outside of me, your choices in men have been piss poor.

Still, I've accepted the mission to fix your situation in Manchester, and I'll accomplish that. After you fly back today, you're not to contact me. Likewise, you will not mention any of this to your parents or mine. I will not see you if I go back there, you will not hear from me, but when I'm done, I'm sure you'll know. Do you understand?"

"Paul, you're so cold. Why can't you give us another try? We can work something out."

"I have no desire to be back in a committed relationship. You're confusing great sex with love. Believe me, this has been some of the greatest sex I've had in my life. But it's not enough. It's also occurred to me that this is all an elaborate setup to take care of your problem. Let's remember this week as it was, absolutely fanfuckingtastic. C'mon, let's get you up to SFO."

Tears poured down Karen's cheeks. She realized there was nothing she could say to change things. She began to sob, but she went into the bedroom to pack her suitcase. When she was done, Paul picked it up carrying it to his car. Reaching the airport, Paul got her case out of the trunk and turned to say goodbye. Karen's eyes were still moist. Paul pulled her into his arms and whispered, "Goodbye, love. Have a safe trip."

Karen could not find her voice. She broke from his embrace, and without another word went in through the terminal doors.

*****************

Six weeks later - Manchester

Paul sat at the bar at Cousins. Two seats away sat a loudmouth drunk. He was obviously the big man among his buddies. "Hey, Bruce," shouted one of them, "what about Karen? Saw her in the K-mart yesterday. Lookin' hot, man. You gonna get her back?"

"Pretty soon that cunt will be begging me to take her back," Bruce proclaimed, "After I slapped her to get her attention, she hauled her ass out to California to try to get her ex back. He blew her off. She knows if I see her with anyone else around town, I'll fuck him up. Bitch needs some discipline is all." Bruce rambled on in the same vein for another few minutes. Paul took it in. It confirmed at least that part of what she'd told him was true.

Paul had nursed two beers while the loudmouth had pounded down six. Paul nodded to the bartender, flashing a couple bills. "Five bucks," the barman told him.

"It's good," Paul said as he slid seven across the bar. No one noticed as he headed out. Just another lonely, faceless guy going home.

An hour and two more beers later, the loudmouth left the bar, headed for his pickup. He approached the driver's side door, reached in his pocket, and fumbled his keys out. He was having some difficulty getting the key into the door lock. Focused as he was on that task, he did not notice the shape of a man rising out of the shadow of the car next to him.

"Bruce!" said the shadow figure.

The loudmouth replied, "Yeah, do I know you?"

The shadow replied, "Karen Norton sends her regards."

"What does that cunt wa..?"

His question was cut short by Paul's right fist driving through his solar plexus. Bruce's knees buckled, he started gasping like a fish out of water. Paul's left fist slammed into his liver. As Bruce dropped, Paul brought his knee up catching Bruce's face. Trying and failing to draw a breath, Bruce writhed on the ground. Paul kicked him hard in the kidneys. Bruce rolled to his back to escape that attack and caught the weight of Paul's heel on his balls.

Bruce finally managed to draw a breath just before every beer he had drunk rocketed up through his mouth.

"No more, man," Bruce gurgled through the puke. Paul slammed a boot into his ribs in reply.

"Listen, asswipe, this is your warning. If you even so much as call Karen again, I will be back. There will be no further warning. Do you understand me?"

He took Bruce's moans and slight nod of the head as "yes."

"Okay, dickwad, this is how it works. After you get out of the hospital, you will call Karen's parents. Give them a time to come over when you won't be home. Have her stuff ready for quick pick up. Got it?"

Bruce nodded his head. Paul kicked him in the balls one more time for emphasis.

"One last thing. Karen wanted me to tell you how much she liked me fucking her in the ass. Loser!"

The shadows of the parking lot swallowed Paul. He stayed in the shadows until he reached a pay phone on the outside wall of the bar, dialed 911. The voice on the other end said, "Manchester 911, what is your emergency?"

Paul figured as big an asshole as Bruce was, there was no way he would admit to being destroyed by one guy in less than a minute. "Just saw three bikers beating the shit out of a guy in Cousins' parking lot."

"Probably the fucking Saints, this ain't the first time," the dispatcher came back.

"Yeah, probably not the last. He's on the ground next to a gray F-150."

"What is your name, please? "

But Paul had already dropped the handset. He walked to his rental car on a side street. He gave a silent thanks to SFC Knight and his lessons. Firepower and shock effect, indeed. No one saw him get to it and drive away.

From there, he drove to Manchester's little airport and caught a late flight to La Guardia. He had called to NYC earlier that week and reached Joannie in her office. When he asked if he could come visit, he thought she would jump through the phone to pull him in.

A week later Karen called. "Bruce was attacked by three Satan's Saints at a bar in town. It was in the paper. The story said he had run ins with them in the past. Did you have anything to do with it?"

"I guess Bruce pissed off a lot of people," said Paul, "I was still trying to put the trip together. Looks like someone else took care of business for me. Karma really is a bitch. Goodbye, Karen. Have a great life."

*******************

Epilogue

1981 -- Palo Alto

5:19 AM

The call went directly to his answering machine, the ring having been muted. Several hours later, Paul noticed the flashing light and retrieved the message.

"Paul, it's Karen. I am ashamed to be calling you. But I'm in trouble again. After Bruce got out of the hospital, he was really fucked up. So, I went to see him. He told me the beating the bikers gave him changed him. He really needed me. So, I went back. I know how stupid that sounds. Well, surprise, surprise, he had not really changed. It took a while for the old Bruce to come out, and he is worse than ever. Now, I really need your help."

Paul pondered the situation. "What she needs is a self-respect transplant," he thought, "She really believed the biker story and felt sorry for him. And Bruce knows the truth but he didn't tell her. That will probably keep his hands off her"

He dialed the number she left. When Karen answered, Paul said, "If you need help, please hang up and dial 911."

He hung up.