Benny knew he had to keep a low profile for at least a few days. Not that this thing was going to blow over any time soon, rather, to conspire a less messy modus operandi. The exact same method of execution could not be repeated for the remaining three. And the alibi, if needed, had to be the same. This is something he didn’t plan until after he left work on Wednesday. So after work he drove to Balmoral Race Track in Crete, Illinois and rummaged through their garbage bin for discarded betting slips from the night before. Luckily the second bag he pulled out from the huge green bin contained hundreds of tickets from Tuesday night’s simulcast. He brushed away a myriad of old disgusting cigarette butts and pop cups and got about six hundred dollars worth of losing tickets plus that night’s racing form. He sorted them to make sure they displayed the right times, and not for earlier races. He hid the tickets in his Camry’s sunglass compartment. If anyone asked, they were for ‘tax purposes’.
It was 8:30 p.m. Thursday evening, May 14th, 1992. Benny had just arrived home from the office and Marsha was out with the kids. He was clutching a standard sized manila envelope containing two pictures. Earlier in the day he went to his clinic’s x-ray room and developed the two black and white pictures he took of Tommy. Photography was one of Benny’s childhood hobbies and it came in handy. He knew exactly which developer and fixer to use. Then he got the shock of his life.
There, blinking on the kitchen counter, was the new beige and yellow answering machine Marsha bought at Sears a week before. As Benny was making a peanut butter sandwich he went over to the counter and pushed the play button. It rewound for almost thirty seconds. Someone just left a hell of a long message, he thought. It wasn’t a message. It started in the middle of a conversation between Marsha’s friend Stephanie and Marsha, who apparently didn’t realize their exchange was being recorded.
“Yeah,” Stephanie said. “I just heard on the news the murdered guy’s name was Tommy Gunther!”
Marsha inhaled deeply. This was quite a shock for her.
“You never told Benny what happened, did you?” Stephanie continued.
There was a long pause. It was all Marsha could do to digest what she just heard.
“No, no, no, I didn’t,” Marsha confided. “That affair was over five years ago and it just lasted a month.”
“A month?” Stephanie knowingly said. “More like three.”
Benny listened another minute and found out plenty.
* * * * *
Marsha met Tommy quite by accident while taking an evening accounting course at the I.U. extension in Gary one summer. By that time, Tommy’s tire business was taking off and he took the course just so he would understand his own accountant. Marsha already knew a lot about bookkeeping and wanted a refresher for when she did work for her husband. Benny and Marsha were having some marital problems then, mostly over her lack of personal time and the stresses of raising two small children. Benny didn’t think it was anything serious, but it was a difficult time for Marsha who was very pretty and attracted a lot of male attention. Marsha was thinking divorce or at the least, having an affair--which she did. But Benny didn’t know all the sordid details. If he had he would have killed Tommy sooner.
Late one Thursday evening at the I.U. accounting class, Tommy walked up to Marsha, not knowing she was the wife of the man he tormented in high school. Both had just completed a particularly strenuous test. Tommy recognized the name Weinstein when the instructor asked Marsha a question, but didn’t put it together right away.
“My name’s Tommy Gunther,” he said, introducing himself to his potential conquest. “I know your name is Marsha Weinstein. I heard when the teacher called you. I own a small tire store on County Line Road. I’m glad I’m taking this course. Lots of stuff my accountant didn’t tell me.”
Marsha glanced at Tommy and smiled, then walked down the hall on her way to her car.
Tommy was 32 years old and looked a whole lot better than he did in high school. Very fit and wore nice clothes. He cleaned up his act big time after his sentence was up and decided to make something of his life. He worked at another tire center before he saved enough money to buy his own. He wasn’t married, but he fathered a son with a stripper he met shortly after his release. His son’s mother moved to California with the kid. He rarely saw them. At the time he was taking the course he just ended a three-year relationship with a woman he had intended to marry. Just before Benny killed Tommy, he got back with his ex-fiancé and they had planned a June wedding.
Tommy followed Marsha down the hall.
“If you’re not too much in a hurry, would you like to go out for a drink?” Tommy asked in a lost Who’s On Third puppy-dog, sort of begging way.
Marsha stopped to answer.
“I’m married.”
That didn’t deter Tommy.
“Oh, I don’t mean anything by it,” he said. “There’s a place just two blocks from here. Come on. You can follow me in your car.”
Marsha liked Tommy’s charm. And really liked the attention. She was extremely pissed at Benny and was sure the big D was imminent. And she looked really good that night. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore the sexiest lavender lipstick and tight fitting jeans and a yellow blouse that accentuated her large breasts, with no bra. She had on Estee Lauder’s Pleasures perfume. Her figure was perfect, even after having two kids. She worked out a lot. Tommy noticed.
“Okay,” said Marsha. “I don’t see how one drink can hurt. But just one. Benny’s expecting me home by eleven.
Tommy stopped in his tracks. It can’t be! he thought to himself. This is fucking perfect!
“Fine. Good,” he eagerly agreed, suppressing his excitement. “One drink and I’m gone. I have to be at the store early tomorrow anyway.”
Who’s On Third was a new sports bar but already had a decent following. For that part of town it was fairly up to date, with a large screen TV and several smaller sets every five feet hanging from the ceiling.
Tommy slowly drove his cargo van out of the school’s parking lot, waiting for Marsha to catch up to him. It was two blocks away just like he said. They parked their cars and walked into the place.
“Pretty nice,” Marsha said, looking around as Tommy pulled out a bar stool for her as she sat down.
“I like it,” Tommy said. “This place has only been open a couple of months, but I’ve been here at least a half dozen times.”
They talked about their class for a few minutes as Marsha sipped a margarita. Tommy had a rum and coke, served up by Curly, the balding twenty-something-year-old bartender. Tommy ordered two more drinks in spite of Marsha’s half hearted protests, but she drank another anyway. All the televisions flickered with the White Sox-Angel’s night game as some of the other patrons talked about the Sox’s chances that year.
An hour went by with Marsha having four drinks in all to Tommy’s five.
“I better get going,” Marsha said as she held her head, looking a little woozy.
Tommy got up to hold the chair for her. Marsha grabbed her purse and headed towards the exit. Tommy threw seventy bucks on the counter for a fifty dollar tab then winked at the bartender. “Keep it!”
“Thanks,” said Curly.
Marsha, not used to drinking, staggered to her car, fumbling with her keys, and made five or six unsuccessful stabs at the lock.
“You’re in no shape to drive home,” said a somewhat inebriated Tommy as he put his hand on her shoulder. “And neither am I. You wouldn’t want to get stopped by a cop this late at night with four drinks in you. Better lay down in my van for a while.”
Marsha agreed and walked with Tommy to his cargo van and lay down in the back next to three tires stacked to the side. Tommy sat beside her and put his hand on her stomach, waiting for some sort of response.
“I don’t know, Tommy,” said Marsha, who was aware but very tipsy, her breath scented with alcohol.
“But I do,” Tommy said as he took both his hands and boldly unbuttoned her jeans in front and stuck his hand through the opening, pulling down her skimpy, white laced Victoria Secret’s panties and slowly worked his middle finger past her coarse pubic hair and into her hot squishy pussy. “Who’s on third now?” Tommy joked, as his finger went in deeper and deeper.
Marsha pretended to resist, but then caressed Tommy’s balls through his Khakis. Tommy got hard instantly as he put his mouth on hers while grabbing her ponytail with his other hand. Marsha passionately kissed him as he continued fingering her steamy box. Her top was still on.
“Ohhh, ohhhhh,” Marsha moaned as Tommy’s curious digit probed and found her clitoris while Marsha peeled off his pants, unleashing his rigid organ. Marsha unsnapped the top of her jeans so Tommy could get in there better. He pulled her jeans all the way down and flung them to the side. He then pulled one of her legs out from her skimpy panties, letting them lay next to her amber bush. Tommy parted her thighs and stuck his tongue inside her waiting snatch. She moaned even louder as Tommy’s tongue glided up and down her pink slit. Then he stuck his tongue deep in her pussy. Marsha got feverishly horny and returned the favor by putting Tommy’s hot cock in her mouth while Tommy slid it in between her full, red lips. Marsha sucked even harder which almost made Tommy cum too soon.
“Not yet,” Tommy said as he pulled his rod out of her mouth and placed it next to her inviting crack. Marsha grabbed the base of his unyielding meat and worked it inside of her until she was fully penetrated. Tommy steadily pumped in and out of Benny’s wife and watched her reaction while she climaxed.
“I’ve got to see those gorgeous huge tits of yours,” Tommy said as he ripped her blouse away, the buttons pinging against the metal door, as he put his mouth on her stiff nipples then sucked each of her plump, white, soft mountains as his cock pumped inside of her powerless beaver.
“Do you get it this good at home?” Tommy asked as Marsha shivered with ecstasy.
“Oh Tommy! Oh Tommy. Keep fucking me. Don’t stop. Don’t stop!”
It was almost impossible for Tommy to hold back. He was never so horny in his life--nailing the pretty wife of the guy who sent him to jail.
“Don’t cum in me Tommy,” Marsha pleaded during one of her climaxes. “Don’t cum in me. Ohhhhhhhhhhh!”
Tommy didn’t say anything as he kept pumping and watching Marsha moan as her head rocked back and forth on his van’s floor with each plunge. “Don’t cum in me,” she repeated. “Don’t cum in me. Don’t cum in me. Don’t cum in me” After ten minutes of reddening her squishy pussy, Tommy put his hand over Marsha’s mouth, muffling her protests as his beast erupted, dumping a load of hot jizz deep into her accommodating pussy. He slid in and out of her a few more times until the last of his goo was inside her. He drilled her but good. Take that, motherfucker, Tommy silently thought while remembering Benny. Afterwards they both passed out from booze and exhaustion but woke up when they heard a loud muffler from the last car screeching out of the parking lot at 2:00 a.m., closing time.
Benny didn’t ask any questions the next morning, even though he knew his wife didn’t get home until almost 3:00 a.m. He figured she was due for a ladies’ night out after class. Little did he know.