The apartment building was a tall, dark spire of despair rooted deeply in the ghettoed area of the city. It seemed to grow out of the urban sadness, a large weed in the overgrown part of the garden of glass and steel. Missing windows made it look abandoned. Apparently it wasn’t. His wife’s new aquaintance lived here, a wealthy man’s wife. How fashionable. A struggling poet, eking out a meagre existence in that melancholy environment. It reeked of being contrived. He was probably the kind of artist that was sure he needed to experience pain and suffering before his work could be credible. The rich man stepped from the safety of his limousine. He wore a black overcoat and sunglasses. Brown-blonde hair swept away from his face in waves. He walked up to the stairway and into the building. The interior was mildewed and even the floors looked rotten. Dank in the extreme, wallpaper peeled off the walls like shedding lizard skin. Picking his way through the debris on the floor, he walked to the stairway and climbed up. Each step elicited a sharp click. Hard soled shoes on the concrete. On the second floor, he stopped and chose his hallway. He arrived at the apartment after stepping over a lone derelict amid the refuse. The drunk man never woke up. That was good. So far, no one had seen him. He turned the handle and, pushing with only slight hesitation, walked in. The apartment retained the neglected look of the rest of the structure but gave off a warmer feeling. It practically emoted a sense of romantic dramaticism. Unframed paintings, most gray in matter, hung on the walls or sat tilted on the floor. Through an undecorated archway, he saw a table. Upon a white tablecloth sat settings for two and an unlit candle. A wiry, black haired man walked into the doorway. He wore a black t-shirt and the same colored jeans with bare feet. Black stubble put a chiseled shadow on his face. A dark poet, indeed. In his hands were two wine glasses. “Jack, I assume,” he said. The artist had not seen him and jerked his head up from the table. His face showed neither shock nor surprise that someone he did not know was in his apartment. The stubble faced artist pushed his long bangs from in front of his face. “Yea. And you are in my apartment because...” Jack let it trail off as he put down the clay bowl in his hands. He walked into the living room. “I am Carol’s husband. The man whose wife you have been enjoying lately. My name is Adam.” If Adam’s tone had had a temperature his breath would have been visible. “I think you have the wrong apartment,” lied Jack. The perfidy was a little too obvious. “I don’t know a Carol.” Adam pulled an envelop from his coat and tossed it to Jack. It slid along the floor and stopped at his feet. Jack lifted it from the floor and opened the metal clasp. Inside were photos of the two. Nothing graphic but enough to show an aquaintence. “No? I could have sworn that was you.” Adam eyed Jack. Jack’s eyes showed confusion. He didn’t know what to say. What lie to make up. “Let us circumvent the web you are about to attempt feebly to weave and move on to why I’m here. I am not here to confront you or engage in some sort of territorial fisticuffs. I have an offer that may entice a man of your...” Adam gave the apartment a look obviously meant for Jack, “means.” Jack sat down on the floor and let the pictures and envelop flop on the tiles. He drooped his neck and cradled his head in one hand. “What. Are you going to pay me to stay away from Carol? Come on. A little cliche isn’t it? I can’t believe...” Adam cut him off with a barking voice. It was a voice he used in board meetings when he needed to get his way. It was practiced and always gave pause to its target. “Shut up. I am not here for that. I simply need a way to get Carol out of my life and into yours without losing face. It’s that simple. My pride is important to me and I want to keep it intact while giving Carol what she wants. Our marriage was never one of love. It was always what you could look at as an arrangement between two families.” Adam looked at Jack to take his measure. Jack sat and stared. Not in disbelief or curiosity but something different. “What?” asked Adam. “Are you serious?” Jack had all the tact of a cannon. How had Carol fallen for this man? “Yes. Why do you find this hard to understand?” Jack gave a small cough of incomprehension. “Because it sounds like you are just going to give her up and give pay us for it!” “That would be exactly what I am doing.” Adam walked over to a window and looked out at the city. He continued talking without looking at the slack jawed painter. “If Carol were to be attacked and traumatized, or violated in some manner, it would be possible to claim we divorced over some sort of mental hardship. It would be through no fault of my own and no blame could be placed upon her. A simple robbery, where she is tied up and helpless. Something of this nature.” “How do you know Carol will flip out like that?” Jack interrupted. “She’s a pretty stable woman.” “All the wives of wealthy men go to therapists. It is the fashion these days to have pains no one knows details about but everyone gossips around. If you are going to a therapist, it is not polite to bring it up in conversation but it is also difficult to disguise. “Carol goes to just such a therapist and he happens to be a very good friend of mine. We have discussed this in a hypothetical context and he is quite sure it would work. Carol is strong because she believes she is fairly invincible. If shown she is not, she is as malleable as a child.” “Did anyone ever tell you how sick you are? I want Carol in a bad way. I have never felt like this toward anyone before. My painting is improving, my inspiration has to be her. I...” “How nice. So are you interested?” Jack looked at the floor. It would give him what he wanted and what Carol deserved. She could have the fiery passion of an artist instead of this cold man. He may have money but that is all he could offer her. Jack could give her so much more. It would cause Carol a little pain but in the end... “What do I have to do?” Adam was beaming inside. His face, however, was as serious as it had been when he came in the door. “At nine o’clock tomorrow evening, the front door will be unlocked. I will be at an emergency board meeting. Carol will be alone in the house. In the bedroom is a jewelry box with an assortment of diamonds and gold. Take a handful but do not sell it. Drop it down a drain or something. If you are caught selling it, the entire scanario becomes untenable. “The most difficult part is going to be this. Carol has to be hit at least once. Enough to put her down so you can go about your business in the house. Hard enough to show she is not invincible. Can you do that?” A little bit of pain, but in the end... “Yes.” Jack was truly hesitant, the thought of hitting Carol did not appeal to him in the least. Just enough force, though. Just enough. “Nine o’clock. Any questions?” Adam left the window and walked to the door. He was sure the painter would go for this offer, especially after seeing the building and his apartment. Pain and suffering come before inspiration and joy. What crap. “No questions.” Jack felt sick and excited all at the same time. He would use just enough force. Just enough. # Jack had decided to walk to the house. It was a good two hour hike but it seemed appropriate to put some work into getting where he had to go. A simply taxi ride would have diminished the importance of his task. It was a clear night. Even through the usual dim city sky the star clouds were visible. How beautiful. He should be sharing this sky with Carol. Soon, he would be. Jack had bought a ski mask. He thought that was uncreative and very criminal-like. He had even been practicing a gravely voice but had decided not to talk. Carol would know his voice even changed. They were too familiar with each other. He winced inside. They could never be too familiar. He found himself at the front gate of the house. A short climb would put him inside the grounds. A jog up the driveway would put him in the house. He grabbed the wrought iron gate that spanned the black-top driveway and hauled himself up. Taking care not to rip anything on the sharp points at the top of each bar, he flipped over the top and dropped to the driveway. Jack pulled the ski mask out of his pocket and pulled it over his head. A few steps later, he was well on his way to the house.