Chapter Twenty-One

The man wept uncontrollably into his hands, his wrenching sobs unheard over the din of the speakeasy beyond the restroom door.

She’d been unfaithful. His beautiful Angela. How could he bear it? He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and flushed the toilet where he’d thrown up his supper.

Luckily none of his buddies had witnessed the abomination. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d get even if it was the last thing he ever did. She’d pay for making a fool of him.

He retched again, the bile burning his throat as the memory of Angela’s unfaithfulness clouded his thinking.

He shook his head, trying to remember. She’d lied to him. Said she was sick and then left him. For a long while all he’d had were the photos, but she came back to him. She’d never been able to stay away. Then he had her again.

When his head cleared, he’d finish this business. He leaned his forehead against the stall’s cool metal door. He loved her. He was rich now. She’d come with him wherever he wanted to go. Oh, she’d come with him. He’d show up that stupid high hat. He’d teach him to put his hands on his Angie.

He stepped to the sink and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the bowl. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face. Raucous music blared in the background. He thought of the blonde he’d been buying drinks for all night long. She’d been all over him. He’d take her for a fine ride. If she wasn’t game, it was too bad. She’d been quick enough to spend his money.

He staggered toward the door.

Why couldn’t he get his fill of the bitch? Damn her, anyway! Damned slut! She was never satisfied. How many men had she plowed through?

He was sick of it. He hated her. She’d pay for what she put him through. He hated her. He hated her.