The Perfect Murder
 

 

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                             THE PERFECT MURDER

 

                                             By  Kathy VanWey

 

 

            Michael Schiavo’s a freaking genius.  He committed the perfect murder. He got hisself one smart lawyer and a god damn judge to whack his wife.  You can’t get more brilliant than that. Schiavo, my hat goes off to you.   Thirty-six-year old Leroy Potts readjusted his position on the ripped barstool ordering his second fishbowl of beer and shot of whiskey.

             Now, Scott Peterson – he was sloppy. Not to mention stupid.  Did he really think an eight month pregnant woman disappearing on Christmas Eve wouldn’t be noticed?  What an idiot!

              O.J.?  He’s an idiot too, but he hired hisself one ball-busting mouthpiece. I just heard some radio preacher ranting and raving that Cochrane should spend all eternity in hell for getting off a cold blooded killer.  He took a long drink. Hell, the guy was just doing his job, earning them  millions O.J. was paying him.  Well, I don’t need me no fancy talking attorney.  I got Bubba.  Bubba will back me.

            He lit another cigarette and studied the greasy dirt around his nicotine stained fingers. “Yep.  Me and Bubba.  Why we knew each other while our mommas was still carrying us in their bellies.  We cut our first teeth together and learned to lift cars together.  Yep.  Me and Bubba, he smiled to himself.  We’ve gone through more booze, more drugs, more women, more jobs, more lies, more arrests and more jail time than most folks have a right too. Hell, old Sheriff Tubbs could retire if we gave up on wild ways.  But we’ll never do that. 

            Here’s the way I got it figured.  Me and Bubba will start at his Grammy’s.  We’ll take her some of them big old cinnamon rolls she likes so well from Brenda’s Bakery.  Then we’ll tell her we’re going hunting in her woods. Good thing the old gal can’t see worth a hoot. We’ll back-track to my place, knock-off that two-bit whoring wife of mine,  fix it so it looks like a robbery gone haywire, then head back to the woods. He lifted the enormous bowl to get the last drop. Before I leave that morning, I should leave the tramp a lovey-dovey note and a little cash.  Something like: 

 

                         Hey Darling,

                        You was sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you.  I’ll be at Grammy’s with Bubba.

                     Would you like to go to the dance down at the Legion tonight? Here’s some money for a new dress.

                                                All my love,                  

                                                Leroy

 

            He motioned to the bartender for a refill. Yep. Good old Bubba.  He’s always had my back. And it’s always gonna be that way.

 

           Sheriff Tubbs and Deputy Mandrin arrived with lights flashing and sirens screaming. They surveyed the bloody scene.             

            “He was gonna kill me Sheriff!” Lorilee howled, “He was gonna kill me.  He had his shotgun aimed right at me and he was gonna shoot me.”  She sobbed herself into a hysterical heap on the floor.

             “Bubba, what happened?” The Deputy asked.

            “Just like she said,” his hands were flying.  “Me and Leroy was supposed to go hunting.  I came to pick him up and he had Lorilee kneeling in front of him begging for her life. Why, why…why…he was holding his shotgun right in the middle of her forehead.”

            The pretty, buxom blonde added, “If Bubba hadn’t come when he did, those would be my brains all over the floor.”  The Deputy looked down at the gray matter he just stepped in.

            “That’s right!”  Bubba insisted.  “If I hadn’t come, why that’d be her dead.  And I wouldn’t have known.  Leroy would have met me outside like he most always did and we woulda gone straight to Grammy’s.”

            The Deputy whipped out the handcuffs.  “Come on Bubba, we’re gonna talk about this at the station.”

            “Just a second ...,”   the Sheriff interrupted. “Bubba, outside,” he ordered.

           

            The older lawman walked back in.  “Deputy, our work here is done.  This is clearly justifiable homicide, an open and shut case.  Call the coroner to get the body.  No need for an autopsy.”

 

            The Deputy slammed the cruiser door and drove to a nearby spot where the Sheriff told him to pull in.

             “Leroy was murdered!” The younger man fumed. “Did you know that Bubba and Lorilee have been carrying on for a good three months now?”

            The Sheriff howled.  “Hell, they started at Leroy’s last annual New Year’s Eve Bash. I make it a point to hide in these bushes.  I can see his whole place from here and make sure that none of his guests are too drunk or too high to drive. Anyhow, at these last festivities, Leroy was passed out on the ground by that old jeep. Bubba and Lorilee was a going at it like dogs in heat right next to him.  That girl’s a contortionist - and a mighty good one. ” He snickered, “Who needs the ball going down at Times’ Square when you can have entertainment like that.”

            “But Bubba shot . . .”

            “Even if he got sent up, he’d be out in eight-to-ten with good behavior.  And you saw for yourself Lorilee’s Oscar winning performance. Her collapsing on the floor was a nice touch, too dramatic for my taste, but a jury would sure buy it. Naw, he’d never get convicted.”

            The Deputy sat up at attention.  “Would you look at that?  What are they doing?  That’s the third trip Lorilee’s made to the car.  And check out yonder.  Bubba’s piling stuff in his pick-up.  It’s like they was moving or something.”

            The Sheriff reached into the glove compartment for a flask and two paper cups.  “Deputy Mandrin,” he said as he handed him one.   “You’re seeing history in the making.  Leroy and Bubba have been nothing but worthless, trouble-making, cancerous tumors on this community.  Today we were rid of both of them.  Yeah, Bubba shot Leroy.   And I got rid of Bubba.  I pulled my .357 and put it right on top of his groin. Told him if he ever set foot in this county again, I’d gladly end his manhood faster than he ended Leroy’s life.”  The Sheriff laughed, “Whew-ee. Wouldn’t you know, he done shit his britches. Smelled worst than the sewage treatment plant. But, as you can see, they’re leaving town.”

            “I guess,” the Deputy commented.

            The senior officer held his cup up for a toast.  “Now, I can retire in peace and quiet and your next thirty or so years in law enforcement will be a helleva lot easier than mine.”

            The Deputy grinned. “Why, thank you, Sheriff Tubbs.”

            “You’re more than welcome, Sheriff Mandrin.”