Cuckold? I didn’t even know what the word meant.
“It means your wife is being banged by another man,” said Jarmon.
He didn’t explain it like that. He used the F word.
Jarmon is a private investigator that I hired to follow my wife. I knew she was cheating on me. I could spot all the signs. Whenever I would enter a room and she didn’t notice me… when she did notice me, she would change the subject. Or walk out of the room. Or she wouldn’t answer her cell phone. And even when I left a message she didn’t get back to me. It was always the same excuse. I forgot to recharge the battery. And one night, while she was sleeping, I turned on the bedroom light and looked at her neck. I was right. It was a hickey. A so-called love bite.
Jarmon told me the guy that she was having an affair with was Maurice Chevlet. A pretty ladies’ man that hung out in fashionable – rich – clubs on the East Side of Manhattan and preyed on gullible well-to-do women. He was also heavy-handed. And had been arrested twice for assaulting a woman. More than likely Barbie met him at one of those clubs.
Barbie and I were married almost two years ago. And at the time I was hoping that we would spend the rest of our lives together. What is so strange is that when I met her, I had just recently divorced my second wife.
At the time, I had it with women. They were costing me a fortune in divorce settlements. Everyone warned me that Barbie was a gold digger. Her real name is Barbara. She’s twenty-years younger than me. I’m forty-nine.
My family warned me to stay away from her. All she wanted was my money. But I didn’t listen. How could I? Barbie is beautiful and stacked. And like the original Barbie doll… she had blond hair. I love blond haired women. Her hair was long and flowing and was a perfect complement to her gorgeous face.
I tried to stay away. I really did. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. After only two months of dating, we were married. But I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that I did with my two previous wives. I was going to have her sign an iron clad pre-nuptial agreement. And one that stated that she had to be faithful, or she would not be entitled to anything. Both of my ex-wives cheated on me.
But I knew even with an iron clad pre-nuptial agreement she would still walk away with a fortune. That’s just the way it is. I’m worth almost twenty million dollars. But my attorney told me that if she were unfaithful, that I would definitely have a big advantage in negotiating a settlement that would work in my favor.
It was garbage that Jarmon gave me. What kind of PI is this? He gave me dates and times that they met, and photos. But none of the photos showed them in a compromised situation. They weren’t graphic enough. No nudity. They looked like they could be just friends.
Jarmon told me it was very difficult to get the pictures that I wanted. My wife and Maurice were very careful. They would never kiss in public or even hold hands. And they made sure to always have the blinds closed.
Jarmon suggested that I get the pictures myself. Tell my wife that I’m going on a business trip and later that night sneak back into my house and take pictures of them together in bed. It was that simple.
I always carry a gun. It’s for protection. And even though it’s very difficult in New York to get a carry permit… money makes these things happen.
It wasn’t enough to just take the pictures of them together in bed. I wanted to frighten them. I would take out my gun and threaten to kill both of them. Of course I wouldn’t do it. I’m not crazy. I’m a rich man and can easily find another woman. But I wanted to frighten them. Especially her. I really loved her and felt so hurt by her betrayal. We weren’t even married for two years.
** ** ** **
Maurice and I are getting married. It’s been a year since we killed my husband. It wasn’t even our plan. It was private investigator Jarmon’s idea. He contacted us and we went to visit him in his office. It’s in midtown Manhattan.
“Your husband knows about your affair,” said the P.I. while looking through a notebook. He handed it to me.
It had the dates and times that Maurice and I met. We both went through it. And then he handed us photos of us being together and kissing. He even had a photo of us in front of my bedroom window, naked.
I was stunned. There was a clause in my pre-nuptial agreement that if I were unfaithful, I would not get a cent. And I agreed to it.
But Jarmon had a plan. If we were willing to kill my husband, I could get his money. And his fee for helping us was 200 thousand dollars.
Jarmon looked at both Maurice and I intently and asked again, if we “were willing to kill my husband?”
All three of us started laughing. The answer was obvious. I was never in the relationship for love but for money. And the thought of killing my husband had crossed Maurice’s mind and mine before. We even talked about doing it. We just didn’t know how. But Jarmon did. And he already started the plan in action.
We waited that night in my bedroom for my husband. He told me earlier in the day that he had to go on a business trip for a few days. He even packed a bag.
Maurice and I were on the bed with night clothes on. The lights were off. We heard my husband opening up the door and then he turned on the light. And Maurice – an excellent marksman – shot him twice in the chest. It was over. He was dead.
We didn’t know if the cops would believe us. But we rehearsed our story with Jarmon a few times.
He told us not to worry. To just stick to the script.
The story was simple. We were sitting up in bed and talking, when my husband entered the room. He fired off a shot at us and Maurice grabbed his own gun that was on a night table and shot him.
Of course, after we killed my husband, Maurice placed my husband’s gun in his hand and fired off a shot toward the bed.
The fact that my husband lied and didn’t go on any business trip, but secretly came home, and had his own gun out, and shot at us, bolstered our defense. He was going to kill us. And of course, Jarmon told the police that my husband was aware of my infidelity. He showed them the notes and gave them the pictures. Including the one in my bedroom, where Maurice and I were naked. And Jarmon told the police that, before my husband left his office, he said, “I’m going to kill both of them.” That was a nice touch.
After an investigation, no charges were pressed against us. It was justifiable homicide.
The story will be continued in Cuckold 2.
Photo by Tsvetoslav Hristov via Sunsplash
Fictional stories by John Saccone 
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