Content note: This story is darker and deals with adult themes, including infidelity, violence, and disturbing family secrets.
Vince, a well-dressed man in his fifties, sat on a brown leather sofa, lost in shadow. A single lamp lit the oak-panelled room. His fingers danced over a grey reel-to-reel tape player, a beautiful thing but a relic from a bygone era, and it cost a small fortune when new. Vince enjoyed an abundance of money, but, as with so many things in his possession, he bought this with another currency: intimidation.
The audio system hummed as Vince sifted through reels, selecting the next track to play.
The soft strains of jazz filled the room, recorded live in Vince’s club, music of a particular time and place. Captured on tape.
Minutes passed, and the recording reached its end.
Vince’s wife, Marlene, entered. Her expression mixed anger and frustration. “Vince, we need to talk about Christina and Tony,” she said, her voice tight with emotion.
Vince glanced up, his expression nonchalant. “What about them?” He began changing the reel again, opening another book-sized box.
Marlene’s hands clenched into fists. “I know about the affair. About your bastard?”
Vince shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Why yous raking over old dirt?”
Marlene stood watching the tape wheels turn. She turned and stared at her husband, trying to get her words out and swallowing her rage.
“They’re seeing each other, Vince. Your daughter and... and your son with... that woman.”
Vince shrugged, continuing to wind the tape onto the receiving reel. “So? What they don’t know, ain’t hurting nobody?”
“Don’t you care?” Marlene’s voice rose in disbelief. “This is wrong on so many levels. The infidelity, the lies, and now this!”
Vince paused, his eyes cold. “Why should I care, Marlene? When have I ever cared—when have you ever cared?”
Marlene looked abashed.
Vince continued. “As long as a new Cadillac sat on the drive, and you farted against silk and a mink coat in the winter, when did you ever care?”
Marlene exhaled, and her mouth opened. Vince, a man entangled in a life of crime and deceit. Her life beside him with her eyes and ears closed. Blood in the shadows. Days and nights alone, in this fine house with finer things. She accepted this because deep down she liked it.
“You can’t...” Marlene said, her voice breaking. “What if... The shame, Vince, what about the children?”
Vince played the tape, his demeanour unchanging. “Let it be, Marlene.”
“But they’re siblings, Vince!” Marlene’s voice cracked with desperation.
He stood to face her, his gaze steel. “Truth is a luxury we can’t afford. That woman didn’t run away, Marlene, leaving Tony with his Nonnie, if you get my drift. Some things are better left—buried.”
Vince laughed and sat down again, saying, “But you go, ask Father Antonio about that Sara and Abraham. How about their boy Isaac?”
Marlene stared at her husband. Vince sat in silence. His face set like flint. It didn’t mean a thing. His silent laughter sounded all the louder for it, laughing at her, her religion, her life. “Vince, you’re a psychopath. I see it now and, deep down... I’ve always known it.”
The jazz music played on. Vince’s attention stayed with the reel-to-reel player, not her—on the past, not the present. Marlene left the room.
Vince’s choices created a world where his lies mattered more than truth. Where Christina’s and Tony’s happiness didn’t matter at all.
Marlene’s gun, a pearl-handled Derringer, shot Vince in the back of the head twice, at point-blank range, just to be sure.
The music ended, but the reel-to-reel tape player kept going; silence except for the loose end of the completed tape flapping, the wheel turning without ceasing.
Great content warning. I actually didn't expect Marlene to do that at the end, but well served
Whoa. Poor Christina and Tony. I'm glad Vince got what was coming to him.