’ I looked at my watch. ‘It’s not yet eight. You’re early.’ ‘Don’t need more time. Can I fax?’ ‘I’m right there, and alone.’ ‘...ood.’ And he disconnected. I closed the drawer and selected the phone for the next day and pulled it from its charger to slip into my pocket. The fax machine whirred to life, the screen telling me there were ten pages. I waited until they were all through and pulled them. Patrick Crilly, born thirty three years ago in October, died November of the same year. Next. This all changed one day in August when my limo driver dropped me off. I saw a customized motorcycle in the driveway, it was the kind a biker would drive with a skull and crossbones medallion on the back seat. When I got inside the house I heard sounds coming from the basement. I listened, and was floored by what I heard. It was the sound of my wife moaning at the top of her voice and a man grunting. Now, I’m not stupid, someone was obviously down there fucking my sweet little house-mouse wife. He seemed to be in charge. He was sitting on one of the easy chairs, drinking a beer, and holding a gun loosely in his other hand. He was directing the action.Louise was on the floor, her top torn off, her arms being held by a skinny black guy while another man of mixed race was trying to hold her legs down and remove her jeans at the same time. They were around thigh level, and she was kicking up a storm. The guy in the chair was laughing and shouting encouragement to the guys on Louise.I. It takes all I have not to grab you and start kissing. You sit there as we talk for a little...then a knock at the door...You look at me..as I go to the door...the room service attendant is in his early 20s..he looks to me and then you and sheepishly asks where we would like it...You laugh seductively and say "honey...where ever you want to put it!!!".....as you cross your leopard hosed legs...take a drag of your cigarette and wink at him. Part of me is torn as I would like to have him.