I Saw My Wife Dancing

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That ain't my hand on her ass!
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Amid the throng of revelers, illuminated by the flashing strobes and lasers stabbing though the fake fog, I saw my wife dancing with some big blonde, goy shmok. I was fuming as she was letting him paw her ass while her shapely body was practically glued to his. Even in this churning mob I could see her blatantly rubbing her crotch against his. They were stumbling around the crowded dance floor to some irritating techno-beat number.

When the music changed they pushed their way off the dance floor in my direction, where I was standing up against the bar. I casually turned away as I held up one of my throw-away cellphones to my ear, to cover my profile. Pretending to be talking on it, I was taking his photo. I got several shots including a couple of closeups.

I then text Peter to bring a couple of his boys over and downloaded the jerk's photos to him. The schickered putz pasted to my wife finally managed to force their way to the bar. My wife's ass was almost touching mine as I pretended to talk into the throwaway, pretending to be ignoring them both.

My loving wife, Mrs. Deborah Yungotch, then loudly demanded what car the asshole was driving. He bragged about his new silver BMW. Well laudi-dah, ain't he special? Fucking stormtrooper jalopy! Deborah was practically crawling all over the lousy prick. Letting him continue to feel her up as he loudly schmoozed my wife into going to his place.

Finally, I heard the bitch agree! My hot-to-trot mama warned him she couldn't be seen leaving with him. There might be someone in the crowd who knew her. No Shit! I've received at least a half-dozen messages sent me since these two arrived nearly an hour ago. Starting with the bouncers at the door.

She convinced him to go get his car and pull around by the delivery ramp behind the club. She'll go to the Ladies Room and slip out the back exit and he can pick her up there.

I was relaying this to Peter and he text back that they'll be waiting for him. Finally the sheygetz staggers away, pushing his important way through the crowd and out the side exit to the Club's parking lot.

I was watching him leave and before I could turn to confront my Loving Wife, she swivels around, grabs my right arm and yanks at me so I was facing her. Giving me one of her patented inscrutable smiles, greeting me with "Well hello Levi dear." And then loudly towards the phone in my hand "Hi-ho Peter sweetie!"

No! I didn't text that to him. Pete'll be ragging on me for a month of Sabbaths as it is about me getting myself caught out spying on Deborah. Again! By my all too clever bitch of a wife. I guess I am too stupid in love as my Mama and Mama-in-law both keep chiding me.

Deborah (not Deb, not Debby, always Deborah. She had known a Debby in High School and they'd had some sort of feud going on.) Laughing at my angry face, my oytzer purrs "Mister Yungotch, what a pleasant surprise that we just happened to meet here tonight. Did you bring a date for yourself? Cause I doubt if you'll want to share mine!"

Struggling to pretend I wasn't the one caught by surprise. She giggled at the contorted expression on my face. I tried to swallow my anger at her taunt.

Now it's fucking obvious she's known all along that I've been shadowing her. The realization dawned on me, that she must have been tipped about my arrival here at the club. Probably the same people I've been bribing! And then, as soon as I reached the bar, she deliberately steered the asshole over close enough for me to overhear them talking.

Choking on my rage, I snarled "Feh! Whats the shmok's name? Be nice to know who I'm going to be beating on."

She smirks and flips back her long, dark-brown hair and shrugs her bare shoulders. With an impish tone she blatantly lies "Haven't a clue, darling. Didn't really care to bother to inquire."

Ohh yeah, she knows how to piss me off! Deliberately pushing my jealousy buttons. Fucking woman has me psyched insane. I understand it is a common opinion among everyone who personally knows the two of us, that I should have been committed for wanting to marry Ms Devious here. And that eventually I will be committed, stark raving mad, for staying married to her!

I glared my suspicions at her as she stepped closer. Draping her left arm around my neck while her right hand toyed with my necktie and her tits pressed against my chest, while her left leg curled around my leg as she rubbed the 2inch heel of her Jimmy Choo's up and down my calf. Looking up at me with those big, dark-brown eyes, expressing her repressed laughter.

"Actually, my pet. My little Hebrew Pit Bull. The alter kracker's name is Kevin Hartford."

"So you know the asshole?"

"Not personally well but particularly wisely." She snickered.

"Levi, baby. You've gotta love this part." She giggled as I flinched.

One thing I was absolutely certain of, was that I will hate this part of whatever the hell verdreht she was about to drop on me. I could feel my stomach churn up with dread.

"Hartford's the Media Manager for Assemblyman Pollard's run for the Governorship. You know, your favorite politician to loathe. Kevin's on loan for this election to the State Republican Action Committee from Fox News, where he is a big schlong. Your favorite newsmongers to despise."

Oh Fucking Hell! What kinda chazerei has Deborah dumped me into, this time?

"Last year he seduced my friend Clara Goldstein. And you remember Mrs. Terrence who was our neighbor a few years ago? Her youngest daughter, Felicity?

He was banging Clara and Felicity simultaneously. When he tried to force them to do a three way, he rather beat them up physically and psychologically before dumping them. He has them on video and if they had gone to the authorities, he would have used his connections to go after their families. He's a real shtuck dreck!"

My phone briefly vibrated twice, that was Peter signaling me his boys have picked up the wannabe lothario and were taking him to the empty garage over on 14th Street.

I text him back to double-check that the jerk was bagged and everyone had gloves on. This guy has juice and pull and would have to be handled with some measure of caution.

My Beautiful Brunette Bugbear pulled my head down, leaning into my left ear and in a soft voice "And for the cherry on top. His latest conquest is Sandra Mannheim. Beloved wife of Assistant Police Chief Paul Mannheim."

She pushed my head back and with a smug self-congratulatory tone, trumpeted to the look of astonishment on my face "Ta Daa!"

Damn it! She drives me crazy! Always with the manipulation. So, she's set me up one more time. Fuck! I HATE that smug look she get's when she knows she's put one over on me, One Damn More Time Again!"

My suspicion is that Deborah is the reincarnation of Rahab. lʼáwwyng wwypʻ ʼyz ʼa ṗʻrl wwyyatʻr ʼalʻ ṗryyaz!

As I was texting to arrange for one of our cabs to take Deborah home, she leaned in and made her intentions in this sordid affair, crystal clear. "Levi, my darling, this is important. This creep has pictures and recordings and who knows what else of all the girls and women he has been targeting. He slips them some sort of drug, then videos as he rapes them!"

The anguish in her voice matched the look on her face. A face as pretty as hers should never bear that expression.

"That's why he wanted me to go to his house. He must have it rigged with cameras. You need to have rachmones for his victims and destroy those videos. Our friends and neighbors and their families do not need to be dragged into a scandalous tsuris. Have their lives destroyed by this lowlife mumzer!"

I did several more texts to the experts I would need for accessing Hartford's house and electronics. As I was concentrating on this, Deborah was climbing all over me, giving me butterfly kisses where ever she could reach. Once I finished passing out the marching orders to my team. I turned my head towards her face, grabbing a big fistful of her hair to force her head back and gave her a fierce, hard kiss. She reciprocated with heated passion, grinding her lush body against me.

"Let's go." I snarled. Searching my eyes, she saw the promise of death and destruction I could barely contain. Nodding agreement she passively allowed me to possessively clutch her above her elbow as I shoved our way through the crowd to the front door.

Outside, I looked over the bouncers on duty. I saw Grace Wallace and waved her over. Using my IPhone to text Jefe that I was borrowing one of his people for bodyguard duty. So he could get a replacement for her and bill to me.

The tall, muscular bull dyke cocked her head for my instructions "One of my cabs will be here in a minute. Take Deborah home, make sure she gets there and stays there. Message me if any trouble comes knocking."

She nodded understanding and stepped next to my wife. They started talking sotto voce. She had worked with Deborah before, protecting a friend of my wife from a murderous husband, so they knew one other. Grace is a County Sheriff's Deputy, working as a bouncer to make up for being on short hours while consigned to desk duty.

Deputy Wallace had been a little too enthusiastic about breaking up an after game brawl between two rival suburban High School's that included several young school girls being sexually molested. Grace don't cotton to punk jocks who victimize females.

The parents and team boosters were infuriated that several key players from both teams were damaged while being arrested. The Sheriff is in the middle of a tough re-election bid and was getting a lot of flack from some of the boosters and/or parents who had contributed to his campaign. So Grace is desk bound on short hours as the scapegoat.

I saw the silver BMW pull up across the street, being driven by one of Peter's men. As soon as Deborah and Grace were in the taxi, I crossed to the BMW and he drove me over to the abandoned garage in the middle of the ruins of a derelict industrial park.

*********************

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This old garage was mostly empty. Under a hanging light, chained onto a wooden folding chair, groaning was the battered personage of Kevin Hartford. I stood a few dozen feet away next to a folding card table and a large burn barrel under a forced air chimney hood. I was doing a quick eyeball of the labels on the films and photo envelopes, disks and files, all the dreck my men had retrieved from their search of Hartford's apartment.

Then I heard a small side door open and saw Peter let in Assistant Police Chief Paul Mannheim and his driver/bodyguard Sergeant Ezekiel Freeman. The three men approached me as I continued to drop the rape recordings into the bottom of the barrel.

Hearing the sobs and whimpers of of the beaten man, Mannheim looked askance in his direction, then glared at me and snarled "Levi, you gone loco on me? Cause it'd be a whole lot of satisfaction, shooting you down as the mad-dog you are!"

Freeman and Peter gave one another wary looks.

I answered with a grim grin "Sorry to have to spoil your desire for my expire but you have bigger fish to fry then me."

The look on his face said how much he'd like to gut shoot me just for that groaner and how little amusement he was willing too endure during our graveyard shift confab. Peter and Ezekiel rolled their eyes at one another in silent agreement, 'These bosses be crazy!'

I then began to explain this little not-so-mellow drama I was staging "You might recognize Mister Kevin Hartford over there. Well, maybe not. We had to get creative all over his sorry ass before he would give up his home alarm codes and safe combination and computer passwords."

"These films and disks and memory sticks are that sick bubkes' blackmail stash of women and girls he had drugged and raped. His latest targets were our wives. He went after Deborah last night and then the bastard was going after your wife next."

Mannheim and Freeman had shocked looks on their faces from the news that the creep had intended to drug and rape Sandra. Then Mannheim got a puzzled look on his face before blurting out "The fucker didn't know Deborah's reputation? Moking Furon! The stupid fly into the cunning spider's web! Let me guess, she set him up to be caught red handed? That is one scary freaky woman you're married too, Levi."

I shrugged agreement with a grimace of self-inflicted pain on my face. He was just speaking the truth. Deborah has well earned her reputation for having a finger in every pie and an ear at every keyhole. If this Borough could be said to have a Boss, my wife would be the SpyMaster. SpyMistress? Rahab, indeed.

Freeman snickered "What an ass, he fell for the old Badger Game!"

For a moment I pondered and then I asked "Ever wondered why Fox News broke so many juicy stories these last few years or so? Since this asshole transferred to this station? Won so many awards for 'cutting edge journalism'? Well, his blackmail victims paid him with whatever gossip and confidential records they had access to."

"Now, it has turned out that around eleven pm, a drunken Hartford while recklessly driving his car had collided and pushed off road a couple of other cars, with families in them. Fortuitously those victims have suffered only minor injuries. Then the asshole drove away without calling for assistance or stopping to render aide.

So, I would advise you to put out a APB on a silver BMW with recent body damage for two Hit & Runs. I imagine you will find his damaged vehicle abandoned and get a warrant to search his car for alcohol and drugs. What you find will give you reasonable cause to get a search warrant for his apartment. Where I am certain due diligence by the searching officers will discover a stash of narcotics and date rape drugs and child pornography."

Both their expressions went pokerface on me as I speculated of other possible criminal activities by the sick fucker that needed to be investigated.

"Plus evidence might be discovered that he has been dealing at his workplace. At the very least you would have reasonable cause to search his offices and desks and work computers at the Campaign headquarters and at the Fox administrative building.

I wouldn't be at all surprised if it turned out that there may be others at Fox, and the SRAC and Assemblyman Pollard's campaign staff with whom he shared his drugs and his child porn.

That in turn would give you access to comb through the campaign funds he was using to launder his ill-gotten profits from those wicked activities. Which would then provide you the opportunity to uncover clandestine local and illegal foreign contributors.

You play this right, this series of investigations could be spread out over the rest of the year right up through the elections. You would be earning a shitload of political favors from Pollard's opponents. As well as putting the proverbial spanner to the SRAC nominees."

The policemen's faces looked pensive but they both nodded understanding.

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"Unfortunately Mister Wonderful here, will be unavailable to stand trial. As of about thirty minutes ago, someone with a close resemblance to Kevin. With his id and credit cards and passport, flew out of the country on a jet leased for the use of Fox News senior executives.

After dropping off their last minute, surprise passenger, somewhere in Mexico I presume. There, A Mister Hartford will check in and pre-pay for a month's stay in a luxury suite at an expensive hotel. Order up all sorts of expensive drinks and food. Drop a lot of money in the casino. Get an instant reputation as a great tipper. Order and pre-pay for expensive tailored clothes and shoes and accessories to be delivered to his suite.

Then, by this time the day after, Kevin Hartford will just disappear. Eventually, even the Mexicans will notice that the Golden Goose is a gone gander. Suspicion will undoubtably be kidnapping but who knows the whims of a rich fugitive?

The jet and crew meanwhile, will have continued on to Australia and South Asia to chauffeur around several other Fox executives, clients and junketing Congressmen. It is not scheduled to return Stateside for at least a couple of weeks.

It will probably take you that long for your investigation to confirm the rumor that Kevin had given you the slip and left the country. The investigators will have to wait till the jet returns before they can interview the flight crew and have them positively id the wandering asshole from his photos.

Oh yeah. I would guess that his bosses at Fox will try to suppress records of him using their jet to make his escape? If you can't definitely prove their involvement with any other of Hartford's activities, you might get them for conspiracy to cover-up his escape?

And publicizing the Congressmen's luxury junket on the Network's tab with a side order of exotic whores could have valuable political repercussions?"

Mannheim stepped back and gave a vicious glare at the moaning Hartford.

I shrugged and casually commented "Sounds like a swine is in the room and that means it's time for a Bar-ba-que."

Both Mannheim and Freeman nodded their heads, turning their backs on the bound man they left the building to their car. Obviously to return to the Police headquarters and begin sorting out priorities for investigating this assortment of criminal activities.

I finished dropping the last of the rape recordings into the burn barrel, while Peter went out and carried back a large can each of kerosene and oil. As he poured a large bag of briquettes into the barrel, followed by the oil, I went over to Mister Hartford.

He squinted up at me over swollen cheeks, spitting blood as he begged through his smashed mouth. I stepped around and stood behind him. Leaning over close to his throbbing, cauliflowered ear, I softly explained "That was MY wife's ass you were pawing tonight. My wife who deliberately set herself up as bait, to be publicly humiliated, just to bring YOUR sorry ass to justice. And, those other women you drugged and raped and blackmailed are friends of my wife."

With a malevolent laugh I mocked "Geh Gewalt Gesund! As I slowly garroted him with a bit of wire looped onto two wood dowels.

Peter helped me break the chair up and bag it all up with the body using the sawdust covered canvas tarp underneath. Holding it all together with some rope. We then carried the whole meshuggah mess over to the barrel and stuffed it in. It wasn't even three- quarter full. I poured in several more bags of briquettes around the body. Then Peter poured in the can of kerosene.

As we left the building and got into our car, I could hear a "Flumpf!' noise as a thermite timer set off the liquid accelerants. We drove over a couple of streets, that gave us access to a fenced yard by one of the empty buildings. From here we could watch the old garage, it'll take a couple of hours before the flames die out. And the forced air hood have time to expel the fumes into the normal factory stink that enriches the ambience of these old industrial parks.

I took a nap while Peter watched, then he napped while I observed. At 5am I woke him. I got out of his car and went over to an old Oldsmobile 4-door, left parked nearby. Then we both drove our respective vehicles back to the empty garage. I drove inside the building.

Using a couple of CO2 fire extinguishers, we made sure the fire was out. Ignoring the ipish, we strapped a lid onto the barrel. With insulated gloves, the pair of us wrestled the barrel into where the missing back seat should have been in the old sedan. Followed by the heavy insulated gloves, coveralls and galoshes we had been wearing. We'll dispose of the inner cotton gloves later, on the way home.

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