The Divorcee Murder Club

Dieciseís ~ 16

              Sometimes life is like a kaleidoscope. With every twist, the image changes into another obscure scene of shapes and colors. It’s beautiful, but it’s not reality, and after a while, it stings to keep looking. 

 That’s how I feel. 

Stumbling into Angie’s world was a misstep. I let my dick guide me instead of my actual head. Yet, not all of it can be blamed on her. The situation with Richie Reddy fell into my lap thanks to my attraction to Mindy. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been sleeping with Angie because the moment I lay eyes on that Bollywood goddess, I fall right back into her orbit. 

And she needs protection from the cruelty—protection from assholes like Richie fucking Reddy.

This is why I’m entertaining Angie by sitting here in this diner with Alma and Jackson. The air conditioning is blowing, but sweat rolls down my back, and Angie places her hand on my thigh, forcing it to stop jiggling. I can’t help it. This meeting is too much. It’s one thing tossing around deadly ideas with Psycho Killer, but bringing on two more people is asking for trouble. So, I might bite the table to break my jaw and go to the hospital as an excuse to get out of this warped shit-hole I dragged my dick into. 

“I mean, ever since that night at Baretta where we joked about offing our exes...” Jackson glances around the diner and whispers. “Alma and I have been discussing how it would change everything for her.”

Yeah, like spending life in the slammer, I think to myself.

“Now, I’m not saying I would do it, but her nasty custody battle would stop, and her ex wouldn’t be able to step foot near her again. She’d finally get to see her kids.”

“Through a plated glass,” I snort, and the three of them dart their eyes to me. Jackson’s nostrils flare, and Angie kicks me under the table. 

Tough crowd. Yet I can’t help but notice how quiet Alma is. 

“That’s not going to happen because we’re going to be super careful about this,” Angie replies.

“Look, I’m not trying to burst anyone’s bubble, but we need to be real about this. Having multiple exes turn up dead—whose spouses attend the same support group is fishy as hell. We would automatically become suspects, and the fact some of us have nasty divorce cases going on would paint a giant target on our backs. Not to mention... Jackson, you’re Black, so you’ll for sure sit on Death Row.”

“Miguel!” Angie elbows me.

“Oh, don’t give me that. If we’re going to discuss this, then let’s be fucking realistic! We all know Jackson would get the worst of it because of his skin color.”

“No, you’re right about that,” Jackson sighs. “Cops pull me over just for jogging in my neighborhood.”

“Yeah, now imagine what would happen if you become a suspect in multiple murder cases?”

“Look, I’m not saying I want Alma’s husband dead, but maybe just rough him up?” Jackson says.

“Listen, I get it. My ex is sending me to the cleaners with this divorce, too,” I reply and do a quick survey of the diner before continuing, and Alma is still quiet as a mouse while sipping a milkshake. “Some days, I would love to slap the shit out of Celia, but I’m pretty sure roughing up our exes would land us in jail too. Even just talking about this makes me nervous.”

“So, if you’re so worried, why are you helping Angie?” Alma cocks a dark brow. The zombie has awakened.

“Yeah, why are you doing it?” Jackson asks, and Angie shifts in the squeaky booth to stare at me, a red-painted smirk on her lips.