The Harley Jar

I felt like some kind of pervert, stalking my wife. It was depressing that I had to resort to such measures, but it had to end sometime. For the last few weeks, I knew that something was going on. I didn't want it to be true. I didn't want to find out, but I had to.

Sherry, my wife of eight years was showing all the signs of infidelity. All the little things that never added up to anything big, but kept eating away at me. I checked the obvious like phone calls and e-mails and came up with nothing. Although we had no kids, Sherry wanted to be a stay-at-home wife. She spends most of her days making stained glass ornaments and window pieces. She seemed happy and I was okay with it.

I used my law degree to open a small strip mall law office. I was not a big-time exotic trial lawyer, I just did things like wills, title transfers, no-fault divorces, and other mundane legal stuff. The most exciting aspect of my profession was providing bail services to one of the local motorcycle clubs. I didn't provide the bail, just worked between the bail bond company and the club to make sure everything went okay. On the rare occasion when legal representation was necessary, I passed the referral on to a friend of mine who handled criminal cases. In return, he sent a lot of small unimportant jobs my way. Everybody benefited.

Anyhow, today Sherry let me know that she was going shopping with her friend, Mary Jane, and asked me if I wanted her to get anything for me while she was out. For some reason, I decided that today was the day I would either make an ass out of myself or find out something I didn't want to know. So here I sit.

Sherry arrived at her friend Mary Jane's house and went in. After about thirty minutes, Mary Jane came out of the house alone, got in Sherry's car, and drove down the street. I had a GPS tracker on the car so I didn't bother to follow her.

About twenty minutes later a guy pulled into the driveway on a new Harley Davidson Touring bike. He was dressed like a biker, but something was a little off. He walked straight into the house without knocking. I got one clear shot of him before he went in.

I waited for about ten minutes and got a few good photos of the bike and a good shot of the license plate number. A half-hour later I was at the Parkview Plaza looking for Mary Jane. I ran the plate number on the ride to the mall.

Mary Jane was relaxing as best she could on one of those crappy plastic chairs in the food court. She jumped slightly when I sat down beside her with my coffee.

"John! You scared me. What are you doing here?"

I tried to make myself comfortable, which was next to impossible. I didn't answer her. I just sat and sipped my coffee. It was black and it was hot. I never could get excited about all of those fancy new drinks they called coffee.

She was nervous. I laughed to myself as she squirmed in her chair trying to figure out how she was going to handle the situation. I decided to let her off the hook.

"Relax, Mary Jane. I know where she is. I know who she is with, and I know what she is doing. I don't care anymore."

She put her hands up to her face. "Oh, Shit!" I waited for more, but nothing came. I was expecting a whole string of cliches.

"Tell her to stay at your place. I will have all of her stuff sent over later. Any questions?" She just shook her head as I left.

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The Meat Pit started as a bar-be-Que restaurant, but ended up as a hardcore bikers bar, that just happened to serve a great brisket. It was not what you would call a family place. They did do a good business on the weekends with straight folks, but the weeknights were fairly rough.

Hector Turpin had a cold long neck in my hand as soon as I walked in the door. "Welcome to our home, counselor. We don't see enough of you."

It was mid-day, but at least twenty club members were enjoying the ambiance.

"Do we have a problem, counselor?"

"No! You guys are all fine. I have a bit of a dilemma though."

Hector and I had a small round table discussion with a few other members. It seems that Terry Evans was a weekend regular at the Pit. He was one of the want-a-be's that like to think they could fit in. They immediately recognized the bike and his picture. With a big grin, Hector told me that everything would be taken care of. I didn't want to know any more.

There was still plenty of daylight, so I headed for home. An hour later I had all of Sherry's clothes and personal items carefully packed in black trash bags. I was amazed that I could get them all in the car. If she wanted any furniture or appliances, she would have to get with me later. Her car was back at Mary Jane's place, but she never came out of the house. I put all of the bags on the front porch and quietly left. I saw Mary Jane watching me from the window.

Sherry never called. No messages. No e-mails. No excuses. I did have to make another trip to deliver all her stain glass hobby supplies. I just set them on the porch again.

I made up a simple divorce and had her served. She signed all the papers while the server waited. Was there remorse? I'll never know. Was there regret? I'll never know. Do I give a damn? Hell no!

I got drunk that weekend.

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I arrived at work Monday morning and discovered that there had been a break-in. Nothing was taken, but a large pickle jar filled with nuts and bolts was sitting on my desk. I immediately grabbed my phone.

"Hector? Lunch at Red Lobster, noon. My treat." Of course, I had to leave a message. No way was he up that early.

He ordered the Fisherman's Platter and ate two orders of cheddar biscuits.

"Do you want to know, my friend, or would you rather I kept you in the dark?"

"I'm good, Hector. Tell me every detail."

"The dude came in about four. Two of the guys started chatting him up and invited him to shoot some eight ball. He was ecstatic because he had never been included or even noticed before."

We skipped dessert but ordered coffee.

"My main man, Butterball, took two of the prospects outside, gave them a toolbox and told them to totally dismantle his bike. All the nuts, bolts and screws had to go into the pickle jar. To make things easier, they did not have to take the engine or tranny apart. It took them almost three hours. They brought the pickle jar in when they were done."

We got a refill on the coffee.

"The guys suddenly stopped playing eight ball and walked away. Butterball's old lady, KiKi, walked up to Evans and whispered in his ear. He looked around and slowly made his way to the door. He took one look at the pile of parts where his bike had been and took off. The last we saw, he was getting in an UBER.

"So I am now the proud owner of a do-it-yourself Harley kit?"

Hector had to stifle his laugh. "Well, sort of. Unfortunately, by the next morning, almost all of the other parts were gone."

"What did she say to him?"

"I'm not sure, but I think your wife's name was mentioned."

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The rest of the week was sort of routine. I had the divorce paperwork filed and now all that was left to do was wait. Ninety days was a long time. I still had no contact with Sherry. I missed the companionship, but could not accept the alternative.

Just to kill time, I called Monsano Automotive, where Terry Evans' worked. He was no longer employed there and left no forwarding address. A friend at the local law enforcement office said that no report had been filed concerning the damaged bike.

Two weeks later, I ran into Mary Jane at the mall again. It wasn't planned, just an accidental meeting. She was sitting in the food court with a cup of coffee. I don't know why, but she looked a bit depressed.

"Do you mind if I join you?" This time I didn't shock her. She simply smiled and nodded.

We didn't speak for a few minutes. Finally, she left out a little sigh. "John, I am sorry for screwing up your marriage."

"You didn't do it. She did."

"But I helped her. I went out of my way for her. She asked for my help and I couldn't turn her down. She was my only friend."

We sat quietly for a few more minutes.

"Is she with him now?"

"No. She moved back to Frackville with her parents. He just disappeared. No word, no text, no e-mail. One day he was here and the next day he was gone."

"Was she upset?"

"She was upset about losing you, but not at all about him."

"I guess my next question should be 'why did she do it?', but you know what; I don't want to know. Thanks for your time, Mary Jane." I think I saw a small tear as I was leaving.

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It was a slow day at the office. Two more weeks until my divorce was final. I was trying to guess just how many nuts, bolts, and screws were actually in that pickle jar. I couldn't help wondering just what it was that KiKi whispered in that guy ear. I guess I'll never know.