Love Letters Ch. 03

"Buy me out then and you can finish the renovations yourself."

Claire narrowed her eyes, glaring at me. What did she think I'd do? Wilt like a flower under the heat of her gaze. I raised an eyebrow, as if prompting her for a reply. Instead she whirled around and stomped down the path, calling back over her shoulder, "This isn't over by a long shot, Danny. I'm going to see a lawyer and I'm going to make you pay."

I closed the door and trudged back to the patio where I knew I'd find my father.

"Did you hear any of that?" I asked as I sat down, accepting the soda he offered me.

"Yes. Most."

I sighed. "I wasn't as cool, calm, and collected as I should have been. I think there was a moment or two when I let her see how pissed I am."

"No one's perfect, Danny, and she had her own agenda and was pretty hot under the collar herself so most of what you said probably went over her head."

"I hope so."

"Do you have much in the way of savings?"

"About 60K. Why?"

"Well, you remember that loan your mother and I made you when you were twenty-one to start your own business?"

"Yes." I started smiling, immediately understanding where my father was going with the conversation.

"Well, son, your mother and I are calling in the loan. Us being retired and all, we need the dollars for our autumn years."

I grinned from ear to ear. "I'll have a bank check made out in your favor first thing Monday."

"Thank you, son."

The 'loan' had been my idea. Mum and Dad had always insisted it was a gift, saying they wanted to help while they were still alive. They'd done the same for Shaun when he went out on his own. Both Shaun and I had been proud and stubborn buggers and insisted on loan papers being drawn up even though we both knew Mum and Dad would never accept repayment from us. I'd never felt so grateful for my stubborn nature as I was in that moment—repaying the 'loan' would only leave 10K in my savings account. And it was my savings account—Claire had not contributed one cent to it so no court in the land would say I couldn't repay my debt out of it.

My father sipped his soda, contemplating my garden. "I think we'll call Shaun's debt in too."

I nodded. My father was an excellent chess player, Shaun's and my victories against him were few and far between. I could see his strategizing mind at work—by calling in Shaun's debt as well it couldn't be said they were only asking me to repay in order to stop Claire getting to the money.

"Yes," mused my father. "There's a few investments you're mother and I have been looking at. Guess we'll have the funds now to put into them."

# # #

The next few weeks were a rollercoaster ride, full of ups and downs, as was to be expected. Claire stayed true to her threat and saw a lawyer and I received a letter giving me seven days to declare my assets.

After discussions with my family, I decided against hiring my own shark; at least for the time being. Once Claire saw the state of our assets there was a chance she'd settle quietly and disappear out of my life.

I organized three different real estate agents to provide, in writing, a valuation. I smiled politely when they all told me it would fetch much more completed. As I suspected, their estimates all hovered a little over the value of the mortgage.

When I returned the information, along with copies of my bank statements to Claire's lawyer, I informed them they had seven days to provide me Claire's declaration of assets. That would piss her off.

On the upside, the love letters had gone viral. Claire and Rat-Zack were getting their fifteen minutes of fame. Downside, embarrassingly, so was I. The radio station, via Haley, had dropped off a sack filled to the brim with emails they'd received and printed for me as well as some actual letters. Oscar hadn't been far off the mark—a lot of women were offering to comfort me.

Haley thought it was great. Me, not so much. I liked my anonymity. Mum and Mel were with Haley, though for a different reason. I think they were already looking for Claire's replacement.

Dad, Shaun, and I had finally worked out the revenge plan. It wasn't what I wanted. Being old-fashioned, I'd have preferred to just be able to confront the asshole and challenge him to a fight and may the best man win. Hell, I even fantasized about living a few hundred years earlier and being able to challenge him to a duel so I could shoot the bastard between the eyes. And maybe the balls.

It frustrated me that we lived in times when the laws seem to protect the guilty rather than the innocent. The way things were, if I kicked Rat-Zack's ass, the sniveling prick could have me charge with assault and I'd end up doing time. And doing a stint behind bars protecting my own ass—literally—didn't feel much like success. Nor did beating him to a pulp anonymously, or paying someone else to do it.

So, after a lot of teeth gnashing, I decided if I couldn't have the satisfaction of feeling his ribs and nose break under my fist, I'd settle for something that would make me laugh in years to come. Something that would humiliate him and stay with him longer than some broken bones and bruises. When I outlined it to Dad and Shaun they laughed so hard they had to hold their sides, so I guess we were off to a good start.

The worst day, by far, was when Aunt Sally visited, begging us all to not turn our backs on Zack. She wept as she told us that he was being shunned by all and sundry. She blamed Claire, saying she'd 'bewitched' him.

My mother wept too, but remained firm. "Sally, I understand your need to stand by your son, but please don't talk to me as if I'm stupid. Bewitched? It wasn't one or two isolated incidents; it was years and years' worth of lies and deceptions. He deserves to be shunned for the depth of his betrayal of Danny. Did you read the letters? Did you read how much he enjoyed humiliating Danny? Did you read what he did? For God's sake he had sex with her on the day of her wedding to Danny! How can you ask us to forgive something like that?"

"Please, Ellie, for me? Please, I can't desert him. He's my son. And he's so sorry for everything. I know he did wrong, but he's my son."

"I know, Sally, but I can't. We can't. Danny's my son. And if you stick by Zack, I'm afraid you're not welcome in my home anymore."

My heart broke when Aunt Sally rose and grabbed her handbag, slipping it along her forearm to rest in the crook of her elbow. She reached for my mother, hugging her tightly, the bag swinging and knocking their hips. I wished I could film it to send to Claire and Rat-Zack to show them the cost of their selfishness, maybe then they'd learn none of us live in isolation. Our actions affect others. Like a pebble thrown into a pond, there are ripples.

But then again, maybe they'd learn nothing and care even less.

My mother buried herself in my father's arms as Mel let Aunt Sally out. I stood, feeling helpless, unshed tears burning my eyes for my mother's pain. I opened my mouth to tell her she didn't have to say goodbye to her sister on my behalf, but before I could say a word my father shook his head and waved me away.

Witnessing my mother's anguish strengthened my resolve—I'd never forgive Claire or Rat-Zack for hurting her.

# # #

"Oh my God, it's working. It's actually working," I whispered so quietly the sound of the waves gently lapping against the side of Dad's cabin cruiser almost drowned me out. I wasn't speaking to anyone in particular, though Dad and Shaun could hear me as they were huddled right beside me as we listened to the muffled conversation coming through on the burner phone.

"Did you think it wouldn't?" asked Shaun quietly.

I nodded. "It's so over-the-top, so much is left to chance. I mean what if he hadn't fancied Crystal?"

"All I can say is; pity she only has to get him drunk. I'd have liked to see her give him a good dose of the clap," murmured my father. "After the pain he and Claire caused your mother, I think I want payback as much as you do."

The hooker, or Lady Of The Night, as Dad called her, didn't look like a pro. Crystal looked quite classy, actually. We were paying her a pretty penny but she was proving to be worth every cent. By the sounds of things, Zack was practically drooling over her. Clearly, Claire never figured into his thinking. Maybe the thrill of fucking her was gone now that I was no longer in the dark.

Dad being Dad had taken all kinds of precautions; he'd even gotten Crystal to sign a confidentiality agreement. I bet that was a first for her. I had no idea if it would hold up in court, or even if she'd used her real name, but if it made Dad feel better I wasn't going to argue the point.

When she realized who I was—she apparently listened to Haley and Oscar—she even roped in one of her friends to act as her wingman and help her score Zack at no extra cost. Apparently, even hookers don't like liars and cheaters.

Shaun had bought with some cash I gave him two burner phones. Our Night Lady had one, us the other. The only number programmed into hers was ours. Following our instructions she was phoning in so we could eavesdrop on her night with Rat-Zack. It was the third such call and I'd learned a whole lot I never suspected about my cousin's true feelings about me.

He called me a 'boy scout' and 'boy wonder' and shared with Crystal and Amber quite openly what he'd done. He showed no remorse whatsoever. He even bragged how he'd put one over me for so long. So much for telling his mother how sorry he was. He cursed me for 'causing' his shunning by family and mates. Said was I was a spoiled 'pretty boy' who'd always had everything handed to me on a platter. That one had me scratching my head. Me, a pretty boy? Shaun copped some of his angst too. Neither of us suspected his jealousy and resentment ran so deep, nor that it stemmed back to childhood.

"I wish we could slip him something to speed things up," groaned Shaun. "The prick drinks like a fish. At this rate it's going to take Crystal and Amber until midnight to get him plastered. I was kind of hoping we would actually get to do some fishing tonight."

I snickered. "You just want to see him shit himself."

Shaun snickered back. "Well, yeah. As if you don't. This was your idea. Remember?"

"Patience, you two. Good things come to he who waits, though I'm looking forward to the shitting business too."

My father grinned and in the dim light of the cabin cruiser—it looked evil.

That had been one of my criteria. I wanted Rat-Zack to literally wallow in shit. The other was he had to have both hands broken. A lovely metaphorical message to keep his hands off things—and wives—that didn't belong to him.

The fact that, after the breaking of hands and wallowing in shit, he wouldn't be able to wipe his own ass for a while was just an added bonus to help reinforce an important lesson.

But first Crystal and her friend had to get him shitfaced and con him into inviting the pair of them home with him. Home being a lovely little heritage townhouse with steep narrow steps up to his bedroom that he'd joked many a time he was lucky he'd never broken his neck on when tackling them drunk... Tonight he wasn't going to be quite so lucky.

"How about you take me and Amber back to you place and we party there, sugar?"

I clunked heads with Dad and Shaun as we all instinctively leaned closer to the phone, silently urging Rat-Zack to take the bait.

"Sure, sexy," he slurred. "Let's go party." A bit of slurping could be heard. I looked at Dad and Shaun and we all shrugged our shoulders—it was impossible to tell if it was someone draining their drink or exchanging wet sloppy kisses.

We listened for a few more moments to confirm they were actually leaving before standing ourselves.

"Let's get this show on the road," crowed Shaun, grinning from ear to ear.

Suddenly, he didn't look like my thirty-four year old responsible brother and father of two. All I saw was the fourteen-year old boy who'd helped me spread vegemite on all the black toilet seats in the girls' toilets while at school camp. Neither of us got done for that joke, though it was common knowledge we were guilty, our reputation as pranksters having preceded us. We got away with it because neither of us cracked under questioning by the teachers.

"This will be like old times for you two," teased my father.

"Guess the apples didn't fall too far the tree, hey, Dad?" quipped Shaun, a grin still splitting his face.

Shaun was right—Dad's practical jokes drove Mum crazy. I smiled at the pair of them—I couldn't think of two better co-conspirators to pull this stunt off with.

One by one we clambered off the boat and piled into dad's black SUV, chosen for the escapade precisely because of its color. It was a clear night with, thankfully, only a sliver of moon. Perfect for what we had in mind.

Luckily for us, Rat-Zack lived near the harbor in an older part of town that had seen a resurgence of popularity with many young couples buying and doing up the houses. Rat-Zack's little terrace was in the far corner of the suburb, beyond which lay the harbor itself. The street had two entries and we knew he generally used the one that was city-side and so we used the one that was port-side, parking in the shadow of a building, away from any street lights. Despite the lack of lighting we still huddled low as a precaution while we waited for a signal from Crystal or Amber that it was safe for us to enter.

It didn't take long; fifteen minutes max. We all donned balaclavas, gloves, and dark baseball caps we'd bought in preparation. We looked like a parody on ninjas. One by one, hugging the side of buildings to use the shadows they cast as cover, we made our way to Rat-Zack's terrace. I felt like I was in some covert spy op. My pulse thundered, but at the same time it was hard not to laugh. I could just picture what the three would look like to someone if the scene was being filmed. I was thinking more Will Ferrell than Matt Damon. Shaun using his two fingers to point to his eyes and then to the front door of Rat-Zack's house, in the age old sign for look/watch almost did me in.

The girls had kindly, as instructed, left his door open just a fraction. We slipped in making our silent way to Rat-Zack's kitchen. We could hear the music, murmurs, and giggling going on upstairs where the master bedroom was situated. He must have thought he was going to be in for one hell of a raunchy night, getting it on with two good-looking birds, though, with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, I did have to wonder how he thought he was going to get it up.

I slipped the baseball bat out from my trouser leg. I leaned it against the wall. None of us looked at it. That part of the plan was going to be the hardest.

"I'll go down and get us refills." I couldn't tell if it was Amber or Crystal who'd spoken, but it was Crystal who appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Ever cautious, Dad, put his fingers to his lips, signaling her not to speak. Nodding she made her way to the fridge and brought out three mudslides. Excellent; its sweet flavor would cover the taste of the laxative better than Rat-Zack's usual poisons—beer or a vodka cruiser—would. The deftness with which she opened them told me she was far from drunk. She let the caps roll across the benchtop and lifted one bottle to her lips, swallowing a generous mouthful.

Dad pulled his contribution to the evening's festivities; what he called 'industrial strength' laxative, it being stronger and faster acting than anything that could be bought over the counter. He'd gone to his doctor complaining of severe constipation and walked out with a script.

Crystal held the mudslide toward Dad and he tipped in some of the crushed tablets. Winking at my father, Crystal placed her thumb over the bottle's opening and gently swished and turned the bottle this way and that to dissolve the powder. After wiping her thumb on a tea towel, she winked at us once more before making her way back up the stairs.

We listened to clinking glass and more merrymaking and it didn't seem that long before Crystal was back for refills. She and my father repeated their ritual. It took six more trips to use all the crushed laxatives. As Crystal made her way up the stairs for the last time, Shaun had to place his hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh.

"He's going to be shitting through the eye of a needle," he gasped.

"That's if he doesn't explode first," whispered my father, equally amused.

"Come on, sugar, drink up," we heard Crystal urge.

Five long minutes passed. It was excruciating. Finally, both girls descended the stairs not looking in the least tipsy, let alone drunk. If drinking was an Olympic sport, the pair would have been medalists.

"He's out for the count," whispered Amber, though it probably was no longer necessary.

"Have fun, boys. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

As soon as they were out the door we tiptoed up the stairs, me leading. Rat-Zack was sprawled face down across his bed, his jeans around his ankles. Perfect; another excuse for why he 'fell'.

As a precaution, I slapped his cheek and then his ass; no reaction. He was out cold. I rolled him over and maneuvered him so I could get a grip around his upper torso. Shaun grabbed his legs. It was awkward, and I nearly took a tumble myself, but we made it down the stairs without a mishap. Rat-Zack didn't make so much as one sound. He really was out of it.

We placed him at the bottom of the stairs and I retrieved the bat. This was the hard part. In a fight, I'd have had no problems breaking his bones—I'd even have taken pleasure in it—but beating and unconscious, defenseless man went against the grain.

I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself of all the things he'd done with Claire, all the dissing of me, all the betrayals, all the times he'd looked me in the eye and lied. I pictured my mother weeping as she farewelled her sister for the last time. I remembered the way he'd made me a party to his lie for his own amusement. I thought of him fucking Claire on my wedding day, of him crowing at the idea of getting her pregnant and having me unknowingly raising his kid.

And then I took a swing.

I tempered the blow, only hitting hard enough leave a bruise. I picked spots on his body I imagined he might hit on the stairs had he tumbled down them. Other than a low grunt or two, Rat-Zack hardly made a sound.

Dad and Shaun didn't turn away and I was grateful for that. It eased my guilt for hitting an unconscious man. Their grim solidarity made me feel justified.

I passed the bat to Shaun before kneeling beside Rat-Zack. Steeling myself, I grasped the wrist closest to me, and with my head turned away so I didn't have to watch, I bent it back until I heard it snap. It was a sickening sound. My stomach rolled at it. Swallowing hard, I grabbed his other wrist and, before I could lose courage, repeated the action. I let go of his wrist and leaned forward, resting my hands on the floor in front of me and dry heaved.

Dad placed his hand on my shoulder. "It's good to not take pleasure in meting out a hard justice, but I don't want you to ever regret this. The punishment is deserved."

I staggered to my feet and nodded, unable to speak. I looked down at Rat-Zack, stunned he'd hardly reacted at all to all I'd done to him.

For a moment we all looked at each other, suddenly not knowing what to do. Did we leave? Wait a bit for the, ah, fireworks?

Rat-Zack answered that for us by letting rip a loud and noxious fart.

"Stand back," warned my father. "Vesuvi-ass is about to erupt."

Shaun giggled; my strapping adult brother actually giggled like a prepubescent teen.

His giggles didn't last long—the smell could strip paint from walls and laughter from bellies. As we watched a brown stain spread with alarming speed across the back of Rat-Zack's underwear. It seeped out of the waistband and legs, dribbling down his sides to pool on the floor beside him. The stench was enough to fell an army.