Karma's a Bitch: A Short Story Read online

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  "Go get it Scooby, go get it," Jonathan Sheppard said to his little Yorkie, as he threw the tennis ball down the hall. Scooby ran down the hall, scooped the ball up in his mouth and quickly ran back to Jonathan. He dropped the ball at Jonathan's feet and started wagging his tail. Jonathan picked up the ball and threw it towards the sofa in the living room. He misjudged the distance and the ball went flying over the sofa. It landed in the bonus room that his dad used as an office. The ball bounced three times on the tiled floor, ricocheted off his dad's desk and rolled behind the large filing cabinet. Scooby started barking. "Bring it here Scooby, bring it here," Jonathan yelled from the other room, but Scooby kept barking. Jonathan walked into the bonus room to see why Scooby wasn't bringing the ball. "Where's the ball Scooby, where's the ball?" Jonathan said as he scanned the room. He looked around, but couldn't find the ball either. Scooby was wagging his tail and barking at the back of the filing cabinet. "Did it roll behind the cabinet, Scooby?" Jonathan walked over to the cabinet and bent down. Seeing the ball, he said, "I'll get it for you buddy." He looked behind the narrow area between the cabinet and the wall. The length of the space was about five feet and the ball was about two feet in. He reached behind the cabinet and he could feel the ball on the tips of his fingers, but he couldn't quite reach it. He pulled his hand out and tried again; squeezing his arm in the space even further, but he still couldn't get a grip on the ball. "Don't worry, Scooby, I'll get it." Jonathan walked over to the kitchen refrigerator and grabbed the broom from the right side of it. He walked back over to the cabinet, bent down and used the handle of the broom to reach the ball. He was pulling the ball towards him, when he noticed a black object a little further down. He got the ball and threw it into the living room. Scooby went chasing after it. He used the broom handle to grab the black object. He pulled it towards himself and grabbed it. A phone, he thought. He studied the phone for a moment. He didn't recognize it. He tried to turn it on, but the battery was dead. He was about to stand up when a voice startled him.

  "What the hell are you doing with my filing cabinet," Bob said in a sharp tone.

  Jonathan was startled. "Jesus Dad, you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing home so early?"

  "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing?"

  "Man, take a chill pill. Scooby's ball rolled behind the cabinet. I went to get it and noticed this phone." He held out the phone.

  Bob walked over and abruptly snatched the it away. He calmed himself. "Thanks, Jonathan. One of my clients came to my house last week. They called me a couple hours later saying they lost a phone. I looked, but never found it. They must have accidently dropped it behind the cabinet."

  "Well, that must be it," Jonathan said as he walked out the room.

  Bob put the phone in his pocket and walked to his bedroom. He laid down on the bed with a pillow propping up his head. He crossed his legs and pulled out the phone. He stared at it for a moment and then a sinister grin covered his face. He marveled at his genius. His plan worked better than he could have imaged. There were some worrisome moments, but it was well worth it. He first got the idea when his friend was complaining that a sex offender lived on his block. Bob's first thought was, wouldn't it be nice if his wife was killed by one of these sex offenders. The next night his wife went on such a tirade about how irresponsible he was, he decided at that point to kill her and make it look like a sex offender did it. He went to the library and used their internet to locate the sex offenders near him. He used the library because he didn't want any information on his computer. He watched too many movies where the police find incrementing evidence on someone's personal computer, even though they thought it had been deleted. Bob narrowed down the sex offenders to eight candidates. He selected only the ones convicted of sexual violence. Child molesters didn't seem likely to have an affair with an older woman. After following the first three, he had made his choice. He couldn't believe his luck when he discovered one of them worked at the hardware store his wife visited regularly. He followed the man home and discovered he lived alone; another lucky break. His plan was really coming together. Then he bought one of those disposable phones. When Karen went to bed, he grabbed her phone and went into his office. He used his disposable phone to text her cell phone and then used her phone to text his disposable phone back. He did this twice so it looked like she was having a conversation with a lover. He then deleted the text from her phone. He repeated the process on the night he killed her. A week before he killed his wife, he broke into Clint Evan's apartment and retrieved some hairs from his brush. Again, he used the library's internet to learn how to pick a lock. It's amazing how much you can learn on YouTube. He remembered being really nervous that night. He wore a wig and sunglasses, but he felt like someone was watching him the entire time. He learned from watching Clint that he went over to his wife's house every Monday night. He stayed home the rest of the nights. He decided to kill his wife on a Thursday. Why that day, he wasn't sure, it just felt right. The big day came and he was really nervous. He wasn't sure he could go through with it. He didn't really want her dead. He just didn't want her to get half his money. He felt bad, but it really was her own fault.

  Karen was a routine oriented person. She followed the same routine every school night. She would put Jonathan to bed, grab a glass of red wine and then sit on the sofa to watch the evening news. After the news, she would go into the bedroom, put on her pajamas, wash her makeup off, take an Ambien and then go to bed. Thursday night was no different. Just like clockwork, Karen put Jonathan to bed at nine. Even at sixteen, she still tucked him into bed. She really spoiled that kid. As she was walking into Jonathan's room, Bob asked "Do you want me to pour you a glass of wine?"

  "That sounds nice. Thanks." Bob pulled a small bag of powdered Ambien from his pocket that he prepared the night before. He poured its contents into the wine. He stirred the wine until the powder was dissolved and placed it on the coffee table next to the sofa. Karen entered the room and sat down on the sofa. She grabbed the remote and turned on the news. She noticed the wine and took at sip. Bob left the room and went into his bedroom. He was so anxious that his stomach was doing back flips. He paced back and forth for a while. He looked at his watch. She should be dead asleep by now, he thought. He smiled at his pun. He didn't mean it that way, but it is funny how the subconscious works. He entered the living room and to his dismay, Karen was sitting on the sofa wide awake. An empty wine glass was sitting on the coffee table so he knew she consumed all of the Ambien. Did I give her enough? Just be patient, he told himself.

  "Anything good on the news?" he asked.

  "Come on, you know there's never any good news on. They should call it the bad news, because that's all they give us."

  Bob chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He walked into his study and checked his e-mail. He checked his watch again. Another twenty minutes had passed. He walked back into the living room. To his delight, she was finally asleep. He walked down the hallway and checked on Jonathan. His son was fast asleep. He wasn't worried about Jonathan waking up, that kid could sleep through an earthquake. He walked up to Karen and lightly slapped her in the face. No response. He slapped her harder. Still no response. He lifted the wine glass from the coffee table, walked over and placed it in the kitchen sink. He bent down, opened the cabinet door below and pulled a trash bag out of the box. This will do. He walked back over to Karen and put the trash bag over her head. He laid her flat on the sofa. He got on top of her, pinning her arms with his knees in case she started to struggle. He then wrapped his fingers around her neck and the bag, sealing in her limited air supply. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would explode. He was nervous, yet fascinated at the same time. It was like an out of body experience. It was him, but it wasn't him. He just kept staring at her face. Her breathing became restricted and her body started to react. Her body spasmed as if she was having a bad dream. The spasms got stronger and stronger, like she was dying i
n her dream. On her last breath, her eyes popped opened and stared right at him. Shock rippled through his body and he jumped back, momentarily letting go of his grip. He calmed himself and regained his grip on her neck and the bag. He held the bag tight for two more minutes just in case. He'll never forget the look of terror and betrayal in her bulging eyes when they stared at him that one final time. He carried her limp body into the garage, opened the passenger side of her SUV and placed her in the seat, using the seatbelt to secure her in. He got into the driver's side, opened the garage door, and drove away. It was the most nerve racking ten minutes of his life. He kept thinking:

  What if I get in an accident?

  What if I have a heart attack?

  What if a friend sees me?

  There were a million and one ways to be noticed. I really deserve the money if I pull this off. He drove into the parking lot of the Paris Club. He parked as far away from the entrance as he could, but not so far that the car wouldn't be noticed. He put on his wig, got out of the car, and walked over to the passenger door. He opened the door, removed her seatbelt, and pushed and lifted his wife's body until she was in the driver seat. It was more difficult than he expected. He'd often heard the term ‘it was like lifting dead weight'. Now he understood what it meant. Lifting her off the couch seemed easy, but moving her body from the passenger seat to the driver seat was extremely difficult. He laid her head on the steering wheel and pulled out a small bag of Clint Evans' hair. He sprinkled four of them on the ground. He was about to close the passenger door when he noticed his wife's wedding ring. He realized he could take the ring and the police would think the killer stole it. He could get reimbursed from the insurance company and then sell the ring down the road. In hindsight he should have left the ring there, but what is done is done. He then closed the passenger door and scanned the parking lot. No one was around. He picked the Paris Club because it was only five miles from his house. He figured he could walk home in an hour. On his way home, he threw the wig and plastic bag in the trash. He thought he brought the disposable phone, but couldn't find it. I'll throw it away later, he thought. When he finally made it to his house, he entered through the side gate and walked in through the back door, which he had left unlocked. As soon as he closed the back door, he took a deep sigh of relief. It was over. I did it. I really did it. He walked down the hallway and checked on Jonathan. His son was still sound asleep. Not everything went according to plan after that. He thought they would figure out it was Clint Evans well before they found out about Julie. That was embarrassing. He didn't realize his wife knew about the affair and called a divorce attorney. What a bitch! He didn't count on the nosy neighbor and he didn't think they would come with a search warrant so quickly. When Bob had looked through the peephole and saw Detective Meola, he knew he was in trouble. He quickly remembered that he hadn't discarded the disposable phone. He ran into his office, pulled it out of the drawer, and threw it behind the filing cabinet. He thought he might be busted, but luckily the police never found it. He figured he would just leave it there for awhile. It was time to get rid of the phone now that his son found it. He lay on the bed, stroking his chin while thinking about the best place to discard it. I know the perfect spot. He got up from his bed and headed out the door. He drove to the water front and parked at 3rd and Spencer Street. It wasn't the best neighborhood, but the river was a great place to discard the phone. There was an opening to the river two blocks down on Spencer Street. He started walking towards the river’s opening and could smell the musty scent of the river in the evening air as he got closer. When he was crossing 2nd Street, he noticed four teenage kids walking toward him on Spencer Street. They were about two blocks away from him. They look like a bunch hoodlums; kids nowadays are so messed up! He hurried his pace, hoping to reach the river's opening before they reached him. He wasn't fast enough though. They approached him right when he was about to turn left down to the river. "Hey pops, what are you doing out here?" one of the teenagers said sarcastically.

  "Just mind your own business son," Bob said nervously.

  The teenager, obviously the leader, looked at his friends and laughed. "Looks like pops got some balls." Then in a very serious voice, the teenager said, "Look, pops, this place is my business. No one walks around here for free. You know what I'm saying?"

  Now Bob was getting really nervous. "Look, um, I won't be here long. I'm just walking down to the river." Bob continued walking.

  "Not so fast pops. It's going to cost you forty dollars to pass through our neighborhood."

  Bob turned around. "What!" You can't do that. I'm a tax-paying citizen. My taxes paid for these streets."

  The leader looked at one of the other teenagers. "Jake, go get his wallet."

  Jake walked over to Bob. Jake was nervous, his brow was sweating, but he couldn't let his friends notice. "Hand over your wallet mister."

  Bob just stood there. Jake pulled out a switchblade. He pushed a button and the blade sprang out. "I mean it mister. Give me your wallet," he said in his toughest voice.

  "Fine." Bob pulled out his wallet. "Just take the money and go. Please leave me my license."

  "I want everything."

  "Why do you possibly need my license?"

  "This isn't a negotiation. Just give me the fucking wallet." Jake reached out with his free hand to grab the wallet. Bob slapped his hand away and ran. Jake quickly caught him and body slammed him hard to the asphalt. The wallet went flying out of Bob's hand and landed on the asphalt. Jake got up, walked over to the wallet and picked it up. "See, that wasn't so tough, was it mister?" When Jake turned around, he noticed a small pool of blood next to Bob. He looked at his hand and realized he wasn't holding his knife. Oh, shit, he thought.

  "Shit Jake, I think you killed the old guy," the leader said. "Grab your knife and let's get the fuck out of here." Jake leaned over to Bob's dying body. He looked for the knife, but couldn't find it. "Turn the body over," the leader said. Jake turned the body over and the knife was sticking out of Bob's right side. Jake Evans pulled the knife out and just stared at the body. He eyes stared to tear up. I used to get straight A's. My dad was a respectable accountant in town. What have I done to my life? He shook his head. I need to straighten up my life. "Come on Jake, we need to go," the leader said pulling on Jake's jacket. The four teenagers ran down the street.

  Bob Sheppard lay on Spencer Street in a pool of his own blood. How could this happen to me? My life was just starting, he thought to himself. Five minutes later, a stranger walked up to him. "Hey, buddy, are you okay." Bob looked up at the man. He tried to talk, but nothing came out. The man noticed the pool of blood. "Oh, shit. Hold on buddy, I'll call an ambulance." He knew help was on the way. Then he realized he still had the phone on him. He needed to get rid of it. He needed to throw it in the river. He tried to move his arm, but he was so weak, his arm felt like it weighed a ton. With agonizing effort, he finally reached into his pocket. His hand felt numb and he had a hard time gripping the phone. Finally getting a grip, he slowly pulled it out. He turned his head towards the river. He was about twenty yards away. He couldn't throw it that far in his weakened condition. He realized at that moment they would find the phone on him. What did it really matter? They would just place it in my personal items. It's not like the police are going to look through my personal items. I'm the victim, not the criminal. A wave of relief washed over him with that revelation. Bob could hear the sirens; he should be fine. Bob then felt a sharp pain travel up his left arm. He grimaced. What the hell. The pain increased and Bob realized he was having a heart attack. Nooooo. Not now. Not after all of my hard work. Tears filled his eyes as he felt himself fade away. The ambulance arrived and attempted to revive him, but they were too late. Officer Michael O'Malley arrived on the scene a moment later. "What do we have here?" he asked the paramedic.

  "Looks like he died of a stab wound."

  "Okay, don't touch the body. I'll call homicide."

  Office Clara Anderson arrived on
the scene fifteen minutes later. She put latex gloves on. "Did anyone touch anything?"

  "No, we've just been guarding the scene," Officer O'Malley said.

  She walked over and stared down at the body. "Oh my God," she whispered.

  "Is everything Okay?" O'Malley asked.

  "I know this man. He's the man we initially arrested for killing his wife, but later found out he was innocent."

  Officer O'Malley looked closer at the body. "Yeah, you're right. I recognize him. It looks like he was trying to make a phone call when he died."

  Clara bent down and carefully removed the phone from Bob's hand. She studied it for a moment. "It looks like one of those disposable phones." Her eyes widened in surprise. Could it be the phone they've been looking for? She couldn't wait to find out, but she had to finish the job first. She bagged all of the evidence she could find. The coroner's office arrived and removed Bob's body. Later, when she got back to the precinct, she removed the phone from the evidence bag. She walked over to a bin of chargers, plugged in a matching charger and turned on the phone. She pushed the messages button and held her breath. A large smirk came to her face. I found the phone. She walked over to Detective Andy Meola's desk and placed the phone right in front of him.

  "What's this?" he asked.

  "It's the disposable phone we've been looking for in the Sheppard case."

  "You're kidding!" He moved his hand to pick it up.

  She gave his hand a playful slap. "Come on Andy, you should know better. Don't touch it without gloves."

  "Oh, yeah, right," he said embarrassed. He reached in his drawer and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He picked the phone up and reviewed the messages. "Well, I'll be. Where the hell did you find it?"

  "You're not going to believe it. Did you hear that call about a homicide on Spencer Street." Andy nodded his head. "Well the victim was Bob Sheppard."

  "What? The same Bob Sheppard whose wife was murdered?" he asked with surprise in his voice.

  "The one and only."

  "Who killed him?"

  "We don't know. It looked like a mugging. There weren't any witnesses, and the odds are we will never find the killer."

  "Did he have the phone on him?"

  "You guessed it. Not only that, he had the phone in his hand. I think he was going to throw it in the river."

  "But why now?"

  "My guess is that he never disposed of it, but decided now was a good time."

  "Again, why now?"

  "That we may never know, but maybe he was waiting for Clint Evans to be arrested."

  "So you think he setup Clint Evans?"

  "I do. I think he found Clint using the sex offender database, then somehow broke into his apartment and obtained some of his hair. He probably sent texts back and forth between the disposable phone and his wife's phone without her knowledge."

  "You know, I think your right. Good job Clara."

  "I didn't do anything. It was the perfect crime. He would have gotten away with it if he wasn't murdered. Clint Evans should really be thanking the killer."

  Andy chuckled, "I guess you're right. The guy got what he deserved. Karma's a bitch."

  "I'll give this evidence to the DA. They will probably drop the charges against Clint Evans."

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  The next day Clint Evans was released from prison and all the charges were dropped. He couldn't believe it. He thought for sure he was going to spend the rest of his life in jail. His wife picked him up with tears in her eyes. They hugged deeply. He hadn't received a hug like this from his wife in years. It felt so good. She was so excited that she asked him to move back in with her. "Wow, of course I will," he responded. "It's great to see you happy for a change," he said with a sparkle in his eyes.

  "Well, you're not the only reason I'm happy."

  "What else happened?"

  "Jake came home last night."

  He grabbed her hand. "That's great. I can't wait to see him."

  "He's not there anymore."

  Clint was confused. "Why not?"

  "When he showed up at the house, he sat me down and said he was sorry that he made such a mess of his life." Tears started rolling down her eyes. "He said, he didn't want this life for himself. That he needed professional help. He wanted me to check him into a drug rehab center."

  "What did you say?" he asked wiping away tears from his own eyes.

  "I grabbed him and held him as tight as I could. We both started sobbing. I told him that I've never been so proud of him. We broke the hug and I drove him to the Addison House. They specialize in juvenile drug addicts."

  He reached over and embraced her again. He kissed her on the forehead. "You know, I think we are all going to be okay ."

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  To learn more about the author, please visit Michaelgoffinet.com.