Showers, Flowers, and Fateful Errors

"April showers bring May flowers," at least that's what my probation officer used to tell me. She was something, really sweet. She had an old saying for any occasion or occurrence; and, used them a lot.

I had done three years at the Club Fed in Lompoc. Apparently it is improper to borrow money from investors without their knowledge. Who knew? I got 10 years but they needed my space for a new round of politicians that had their hands in much bigger cookie jars than mine. See how she rubbed off on me.

Anyway, I was released and put on seven years probation. Thus entered Ali Johnson, my P.O. I was required to report to her once per month and immediately inform her of any change in my status; a move, change in employment, and all that. I had lots of restrictions.

We hit it off, Ali and I. Really liked each other. I started scheming reasons to get in touch with her. It took me about four months to really get in "touch," if you catch my drift. It happened on a scheduled visit to my apartment in West Hollywood. 

She looked around to see how I lived. She had a form on which she was checking boxes and entering notes. I was showing her my bedroom walk-in closet. She followed me in, I was talking and not paying much attention. I turned around, too quickly I guess, and we did a full frontal bump. She lost her balance a little and I caught her, pulled her back on her feet, and against me. 

Ten minutes later there was a trail of clothing from the closet to my bed and the rest is history. I had no idea that probation would turn out to be so meaningful.

Ali had office hours on Mondays and Thursdays. She did her field work on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Her lunches on her field days were spent at my place. Sometimes we would drive to the beach, if she had time. 

Of course, it was not perfect. She was married to a cop that worked out in the West Valley; a long way from where I lived. We wanted to see more of each other, but it did not look like we could, maybe ever. They did not have kids, but their families had known each other for years. Ali and her husband had been childhood sweethearts and had never dated anyone else. She was not sure if her husband had any other women, sexually that is. But I was her only other man, at least that is what she told me.

One Friday, Ali was leaving my place so she and I went down to the building lobby together. I went to check my mail, she went out the front door to her car in a metered spot in front of the building. 

The building manager was in the lobby and he asked me if I knew the guy in the green Chevy parked in the alley across the street. As I looked out the window, Ali drove off and the green car followed. 

I had only seen one picture of her husband, but I am sure it was him. He had a golf shirt on and his left arm had tattoos that looked identical to the picture I had seen. That tattoo and his ultra blonde hair were positive identification enough for me.

I asked the manager about the man in the car. He told me that the same man had been parked there several times. Once the manager saw him in the lobby looking at the names on the mail boxes. "I am sure he was a cop in plain clothes," the manager said. 

My heart sunk. I did not want to cause Ali any pain. I was most certainly in love with her. I could feel her getting farther and farther away with each passing minute. Now I could not talk to her, warn her, until Monday.

It was the longest two days of my life, far worse than prison. I called first thing on Monday and she was out ill. I left a message to call me. 

She seemed to have vanished, at least from my life. She did not come by all week. I called for an office appointment and was told that I needed to see another P.O. as Ali was on an extended leave of absence. 

Something felt wrong. I did not believe that she would just abandon me without a word, at least good bye. I had to know that she was all right.

I knew where she lived so I rented a car and exchanged license plates with some I bought from a guy I new in Lompoc. I watched the house for days, changing cars, doing all the things I had learned from all the crime novels I read in prison.

Her husband came and went daily, like nothing was wrong. She was nowhere to be found. I saw another P.O. who told me that Ali had a sick relative somewhere that she was helping and would be gone for several months. I asked if he had spoken with Ali and he said that it all came up suddenly and that her husband had made all the arrangements for her leave. I snapped.

I was sure he had done something horrible to her. He knew the system and how to cover his tracks. I had to do something. 

I found a guy that would sell me a rifle, and old 30 calibre bolt action sniper rifle with a scope. I was pretty good with a similar weapon in the Army.

I followed him for several days. One day he stopped at a grocery store and parked in an area on the side of the building with a stand of woods across the parking lot. There were hardly any people on that side of the building. I parked on an access road on the other side of the trees. I found a good vantage point about 150 yards from his car, and set up. 

In ten minutes he came out carrying a bag of groceries. My first shot took the top of his head off and it was over. I walked to the car, the rifle rolled in a blanket. I drove out the upper side shopping center on to an onramp to the Hollywood Freeway. I was home in twenty minutes; exhausted, I went to sleep.

Early the next morning I went to a large park not too far away and disposed of the rifle in a dumpster near a riding stable.  When I got back to my apartment I turned on the television for the first time since the shot. 

It was all over the news. Many were speculating that it was another police assassination. In both relief and in horror, I saw Ali, in hysterics. I know her well enough to understand how I have hurt her. I saw clearly that there was no way to forgive what I had done. Everything was over. Killing him had killed us too.

I really have no reason to walk freely, to live really. There is only one way for me to go, to you, sir, and to the truth.  And that, Officer, is why I had to murder my one true love's husband and any chance we might have had.

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June 2017

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