Lisa's lover took off his clothes.

She watched and put her glass of wine on the dresser next to his. Taking charge, she pushed him down on the bed with her hands on his shoulders.

He grinned as she undressed. Her blouse went first--slowly--then her jeans, leaving a soft blue lace bra filled to the brim, and matching blue panties he hadn't seen before. She slipped her fingers down inside the elastic of the panties and pushed them over her thighs. After she removed the bra she lay beside him, her head propped up on her elbow.

"Let's take our time, there's no hurry," she said, quietly. Almost a whisper. "There's nothing to worry about."

She opened and closed her mouth while she held and kissed him. He put his tongue in her mouth and felt her body flatten against his.

Kissing her ample breasts, he took the nipples into his mouth and traced his fingers down the flatness of her stomach, then felt her reach down and take his erection in her palm. He ran his hands over her ass and thighs, gently biting her shoulder while she wrapped one calf inside his leg and rubbed her hair on the side of his face. He gripped her shoulders and looked in her eyes.

"Doing it in your house rattles me a little, baby, that's all."

"I told you, it's not a problem, honey. He's out of town until Tuesday. Relax." She giggled and continued to stroke him. "This big fella' doesn't seem to mind."

When he mounted her she hooked her legs in his and laced the fingers of one hand in his hair. Her other hand pressed the small of his back. He felt her breath against the side of his face, felt the perspiration on her stomach and inside her thighs. Her tongue licked at his neck, the wetness of her mouth moved to his ear as he slowly thrust his hips and ignited her moans.

He finished before Lisa and moments later she raised herself up and smiled as she stroked his wet penis, then kissed it and placed it in her mouth. Working him until he was ready again, she spread her knees and sat on top of him, holding his stiffness between her hands. She put him inside her, then leaned down and kissed him on the mouth and brushed strands of hair out of his eyes as her hips pumped with a slow and easy rhythm of her choice. He ran his hands over her back and pulled her down on top of him. The only sound in the room was the rise and fall of Lisa's breath against his chest, the squeak of the bedsprings under their weight and an occasional small popping noise when her stomach formed a suction against his.

Soon, her body began to stiffen, the muscles in her back hardened, her thighs tightened on his. With her eyes closed, her face grew small and soft and tense at the same time.

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

It was almost dark when Tony Gillardi pulled in the driveway in his Dodge Durango. His wife's green Lexus sat in front of their three-car garage. He already knew she would have company, so the asshole must have ridden with her. Even though Tony was prepared for this, his thoughts raced; he wanted to puke.

Sixty-three-year-old Tony was six feet tall and still had substantial strength in his massive frame, evident in his long, knotty arms, and broad shoulders. Even the wide girth of his middle carried the promise of exceptional power. His olive complexion and square jaw gave him a handsome face. His black hair was now spiked with traces of gray and he wore a goatee that looked like a cluster of black wire on his chin. His eyebrows were one dark, uninterrupted line.

It was that time of year for orange and purple sunsets, when ducks covered the sky from horizon to horizon, the red leaves spinning out of the trees onto the ground in that peculiar gold October light that is both warm and cold at the same time. Halloween was less than a week away.

The front door was locked. Of course, because Lisa and her latest illegal dick were upstairs humping their brains and vital fluids out; there was very little doubt about that. Tony entered through the side door to the garage. That was best anyway. He laughed to himself. The cheating bitch really thinks she can pull shit over on me. Ha! Tony knew that screwing this guy was not her first extracurricular sex.

Twenty-three years younger than him when they married, six years ago, Lisa proved to be a miserable wife. She couldn't even cook or blend in with his friends. In less than two years, Tony totally regretted their union. Arguing and fighting became a way of life shortly after the honeymoon, and it didn't take Tony long to realize he'd married a tarantula disguised as Betty Crocker.

With love no longer an option, sex for the sake of emptying a full scrotum was all that was necessary. He had considered divorce, but with the pre-nups in place, all of that lawyer and court shit would be a big pain in the ass. There was no other way; Lisa had to go.

With his .357 Magnum jammed inside the waistband of his slacks, Tony slowly entered the garage. It was dark except for the small fluorescent flickering above the tool bench. His eyes not yet accustomed to the dark, he bumped his legs into the edge of the boat-trailer. "Goddamit!" he groaned.

As he skirted past the tool bench, he had a brilliant afterthought. Grabbing the short-handled sledge hammer that hung on the pegboard, he smiled as he felt how heavy it was. He jiggled it up and down in his hand, knowing its potential. Yeah . . . this will be just right.

Opening the door to the breezeway, Tony continued through to the dark kitchen like a cat on the prowl. Around the corner, he climbed the stairs, then stopped. The sounds of their screwing drifted down on him. Bedsprings coiling and uncoiling, the headboard hitting the wall. His jaws clenched as he reached the second floor landing and his heart thumped much faster. A jolt of adrenaline raced up his spine. His breath came in short, harsh gasps. Holy shit! He wasn't out of shape; it had to be the stress of everything going down.

When he reached their bedroom on the second floor, the moans and bed noises were much louder. Tony's rage swelled. Damn! I hate her. He drew the .357 and turned the bedroom doorknob. Locked. Yeah, like that's gonna help you. He backed up and kicked the door in with one hard swing of his foot.

"Heeeeeeeeere's Toneeeee!" he yelled.

The sexing couple jumped apart like two kids caught necking on the back porch.

"What the hell!" Lisa screamed as she fell over herself trying to get out of bed. "What are you doing, Tony? Put down that gun, you crazy bastard!" She huddled up against her boyfriend who tried to shove her away.

"Shut the fuck up, you miserable slut!" Tony yelled.

Running, he vaulted over the bed and smashed her head with the hammer. Swinging it like a tennis racket, with a good forehand, he got his back and shoulder into it. The hammer scored with a double shock, hard, then soft, like knocking a hole in a plaster wall. The impact knocked Lisa into a spin. She made a loud noise, like the caw of a crow, as the air escaped from her lungs. Then she dropped as though somebody had cut her puppet strings. Tony straddled her and continued to swing the sledge over, and over, and over again. Blood splattered his entire body with each swing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife's naked lover bolt for the door. Tony jumped up, grabbed the man by the hair and yanked. "Ahhhhhh!" the guy yelped.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going, Needle Dick?"

"Please! Please! Good God, man," the guy blubbered. "What in the hell are you doing? You killed . . ."

"Shut the fuck up," Tony growled. He jerked the man's head closer. "What am I gonna do? Well, I usually do one behind the head, one in the ear, and three under the chin. But in your case, asshole, I'm not gonna waste bullets." In one swift motion Tony jabbed the .357 into the center of the man's forehead and pulled the trigger. The gun roared and the top of his head blew off. Chunks of brain matter flew every which way with a fountain of blood. His body dropped like a sack of wet laundry.

Tony's blood pressure had doubled; the sudden metabolic change he was experiencing made him dizzy. It was unbelievably quiet except for his own ragged breathing. He stood, frozen in one spot -- his face red, chest heaving. Sweat covered his forehead and his hands were shaking. The room smelled like a wet penny, the odor of fresh blood.

Tony studied his handiwork for just a moment. Lisa's unrecognizable head. The body of the woman he loved, so long ago, lay akimbo on the floor in a pool of blood that was spreading on the carpet under her, like a black halo. One eye hung out of its socket, the other was macerated into her skull.

Constellations of blood spattered the ceiling, bits of flesh and brain were pasted to the walls. The room was a shambles, blood smeared everywhere. A nightstand was tipped over. So was the television set from the dresser. His king-sized mattress, splattered with blood, hung half way off the bed.

Who needs it, I'll sleep in my fuckin' La-Z-Boy downstairs. Fuck this shit, I gotta lot to do. Out on a really big limb, it was a long way down if Tony didn't get it all done before dawn. Before he headed downstairs, he tossed the gun and the hammer on the bed and grabbed a flashlight from the nightstand.

The doorbell chimed.

Who in the fuck ! Who is that? He scrambled downstairs, then stopped short. I can't let anybody see me like this! Jesus Christ! Whoa, Tony!

The drapes were drawn in the living room and he tip-toed to the front door without being seen. He squinted and looked through the peephole. Charlie . . . fuckin' Charlie! Goddamnit, not today!

The doorbell chimed again. Tony froze and waited.

A friend from four doors down, Charlie Dubiel, decided to stop by while he was out walking his dog. He'd taken the dog home and doubled back just to see Tony. No big thing usually, depending on whether Tony was in a good mood or not. Today it was definitely "or not." Most of the time, talking to him was like driving an RV across North Dakota at seven miles per hour. Except less interesting.

The bell chimed a third time -- then a fourth.

"Yeah!" Tony finally yelled through the door.

"Tony, it's me . . . Charlie! Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yeah. I ain't feeling too hot, Charlie. I was laying down, ya' know?"

"Oh, shit, Tone. I'm sorry as hell. I saw your cars out here, figured I'd stop by -- drink some mash, talk some trash. But hey, listen, I'll leave you two alone, man. Say hi, to Lisa. You get better, Buddy. I'll catch you later . . . Okay?"

"That would be good. I'd appreciate it, Pal. Thanks for stopping." Tony watched through a crack in the drapes until the man was out of sight.

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

The cellar was a maze of plastic trash bags, old wooden barrels, trunks, cardboard boxes and clumsily tied piles of newspapers. A mouse scuttled out of the beam from his flashlight as Tony made his way through the junk.

The furnace room sat off to the right. The door whined like a hurt animal when he pulled it open. A few of his small tools lay on a bench next to the furnace. Larger ones were on the floor underneath. He reached down and retrieved a red case and lifted it up on the bench. He flipped three snaps, opened it up and stared at the chainsaw.

I have to hurry. After rounding up extra-heavy duty construction bags from the garage, Tony went upstairs to retrieve the bodies. It took him awhile to cram them into the huge bags. Nothing could be done about their bare legs waving in the air as he humped them down to the furnace room, one by one.

Draping a vinyl shop apron around his neck, he tied it in the back and slipped his hands into rubber gloves. He butchered the man first. The chainsaw groaned from time to time, but otherwise, it sounded like a zipped-up motorboat as he sliced his victim like a side of beef. When he was done, seven chunks fit nicely in the oversized bags. The guts had to go in a separate bag with the head.

When he finished packing the guy in, Tony thought out loud: Shit, that asshole wasn't so tough.

Next, Tony went to work on his wife. After he sliced off her head, he cut just below her rib cage where he could see the little dip above her hip bones. Her arms and legs came off next, then he sliced her torso again. Her head was the last piece to go in a bag.

He took off his gloves, sat on a milk crate and smoked a cigarette. Cleaning this shit up will be a bitch, but I got friends. Some that owe me, big time. And the best thing was, Tony could depend on them to keep their mouths shut. When my boys finish the job, nobody will know from nothing. His face was flat and emotionless.

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

Tony waited until just after midnight. It was black outside and as cold as the middle of winter. Just a sliver of moon was visible, with low clouds sliding fast across the night sky. Except for a square of window light here or there, all of the neighboring houses were dark.

After loading up his grisly cargo, Tony hurled a spade onto the floor of the backseat and slid inside the Durango. He was breathing hard, almost panting. Putting the car in gear, he backed out. He stopped at the end of the block and waited for a couple of cars to pass, then pushed the SUV toward the countryside.

He soon sailed past jagged rows of trees on both sides of the road, the wide, grassy ditches deep and soggy; the dull pulse of some flat-looking stars were now his only source of light other than the car's twin beams stabbing the darkness. Within an hour the suburbs disappeared. The only thing visible was lined asphalt and walls of trees. Tony reached over and fished some napkins out of the glove box to mop the sweat off his brow.

Nearly an hour of driving passed before Tony felt as though he was close to his destination. The odometer was about right, so he slowed down and strained to see the marker he spotted the week before. A huge maple branch, felled by a storm, lay near the two-track entrance that would take him in. The SUV bounced, dipped, and swayed as he followed the tracks deep into the woods. The load of body bags squeaked again and again as they rubbed against each other.

Finally, Tony stopped, turned off the engine and got out. He looked around while he finished a cigarette and he listened. The wind seemed to moan through the bare birch trees overhead, but the woods were quiet except for the rustling and swirling dead leaves blowing in a vortex around his feet.

Off to his left, an owl hooted from high in a stand of pines. Still listening, Tony thought he heard something different and abruptly turned but saw nothing. I'm too fuckin' jumpy. Still, he felt rather than saw somebody behind him. Just a characteristic little burr down the small of his back. Nah . . . bullshit.

He used his flashlight and checked the area up ahead. It had rained two days earlier, but the ground was firm underfoot, sandy rather than muddy. He reached in and got the shovel, put it over his shoulder and, with the flashlight playing on the ground, made his way through the brambles, back to the edge of the swamp. The ground changed from high and sandy to soft, and finally to muck. Better get started, he thought.

Tony jammed the flashlight into the branches of a bare bush and began to dig. Time passed quickly as he worked frantically, talking to himself, spitting , digging like a badger. He used his shovel as a scoop until after an hour passed and he figured the hole was big enough. He tromped back and forth to the Durango and dumped eight bags into the hole. The grave filled quickly and that was good, because the first hints of dawn crept in as he beat the surface down with the shovel, then kicked some leaves and brambles over the freshly turned soil. With his hands in his pockets, he stared at the grave.

Rest in pieces, he thought.

Tony got back home a bit after sunup. He felt beat up . . . needed sleep. Stumbling into the kitchen, he tossed his keys on the counter, opened the fridge and popped a beer, then he ripped the stinking clothes off and showered a good, long time. He didn't bother trashing his blood-soaked clothes just yet. They'll keep 'till I wake up. He crashed on his La-Z-Boy sitting in the living room.

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

Four days later was Halloween night. Tony wasn't big on celebrating, but he figured he had better go along with the program. Anything to keep from rocking the boat. He left the amber porch light on and waited for the Trick or Treat monsters like the rest of the Baby Boomers in the area.

The wind blew hard that night; branches whipped back and forth, the sky was bursting with trees of lightning. A gust of rain brought a quick, furious drumming on the roof and windows, but it all blew over by nine o'clock.

Tony sat in the front room watching Freddy Krueger Meets Jason on AMC's Halloween bonanza while he munched caramel corn. A big bowl of goodies sat on a hutch close to the door. Trick or Treat traffic was a bit slow because of the cold, wet weather. Hooray for our side, Tony thought. He checked his watch. It was nine fifteen and he was tired of getting up and down for those kids. He continued watching horror flicks until he dozed off.

Nearly an hour later a noise woke him. He wasn't really sure what it was . . . Just something . . . something out there on the periphery of his sleep.

He listened. Nothing. Aahh, I was dreaming, maybe. He looked at his watch. Hmmm. Going on midnight.

Tony twisted himself out of the La-Z-Boy and shuffled to the door. His porch light was still on. Might as well leave it on for tonight. Maybe it was the noise he'd heard . . . out there. Maybe not, but something told him to open the door.

When he looked down at the top step his mouth dropped. His eyes widened and he staggered back, grabbing at his chest at the same time. He couldn't breathe. The pain -- terrible crushing pain. His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to his knees.

"Naaaaaaah . . . who . . . who the . . ."

Tony choked, then made a gurgling sound and toppled sideways against the open door.

A transparent plastic bag sat on his doorstep. Two bloody heads were inside.