No Regrets

By Gene Lewter

Is he the man Tori Yates has been looking for? He is a handsome, well respected attorney, flying her over the city at sunset in a single engine airplane. She feels the possibility of a budding romance in the air.

Soon, however, he is embroiled in a death penalty trial, representing an alleged serial killer who is none other than the Commonwealth Attorney himself. The defendant claims, like everyone else, that he is innocent, that he was set up, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. No one thinks he has a chance.

Tori is the only one who can track down the real killer and save two lives in the bargain, not to mention her own. She learns of a convicted killer in Phoenix, Arizona, awaiting his date with the electric chair in two weeks, who also claims to have been set up. The facts of his case are eerily similar to those in the trial in Lexington. Could he and the Commonwealth attorney in Lexington, Kentucky, both have been set up by the same evil genius?

The trial ends in a flurry, when the real killer realizes that Tori is on to him, and he sets out to shut her up. Permanently. She has other plans, but can she outsmart him in their private, personal battle of wits? The climax is a thrilling, unusual, high speed chase in two single engine airplanes, where the pursued becomes the pursuer, and the tree lined hills just below their wingtips await the slightest miscalculation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 15, 2006
• ISBN: 9781452091129

Gene Lewter

Gene Lewter is an attorney with over 26 years experience in the Fayette County Public Defenders Office, where he has tried hundreds of felony cases, including countless murders. He has successfully defended the accused in seventeen death penalty trials with no client of his ever placed on death row. Even as a public defender, he has been hired to help private attorneys with death penalty cases, because of his vast experience in such trials. Gene is an avid pilot, with a flight instructors certificate, commercial license, instrument and multi-engine rating. He lured the Fairy Princess, who became his wife, into his heart with a sunset flight in a single engine Cessna airplane on their second date. She fell in love with either his romantic notions, or his airplane skills, and theyve been together ever since. They adopted a wonderful Canine child, a seven year old husky-lab mix named Attorney who takes his daddy for a mile run every morning at 5:00 A.M, and every evening at 5:00 P.M., unless a trial keeps him late. Judges usually understand, however, and break trials early so Attorney can have his evening run with his daddy. He is also an avid scuba diver, and loves to travel to the Carribean for exciting scuba diving trips into its clear waters. His next novel begins with such a scuba diving trip, but ends up in a bizarre murder trial back in Lexington, Kentucky.

Book preview

PROLOGUE 

He watched her step slowly into the bathtub, first dipping her toe in carefully to test the temperature, then gracefully easing her lovely, naked body into the scented water.

Perfect, she said, smiling up at him as he casually walked into the bathroom.

I know just how you like it, Kathy.

Are you going to do my hair? she said, seductively pressing several long chestnut strands over each perfectly sculpted breast, sapphire-blue eyes peering provocatively at him through her thick, dark lashes. She was about five feet, three inches tall, maybe 110 pounds. Twenty-five years old. A face that would stop traffic.

What a waste, he thought. So beautiful, so young…but he was committed now. There was no turning back.

Of course. He carefully attached the cord from her hair dryer to the plug on the extension cord and carried it closer to the bathtub, slowly lowering the lid of the commode to sit down facing her.

She lay full length in the water, which he had purposefully drawn almost to the top of the tub. She loved to take long, hot baths, soaking until her pale, silken skin began to turn almost crimson, then have him wash her hair. He would blow it dry, while the water drained out of the tub.

This time he had a surprise for her.

He reached over and placed both hands tenderly on the top of her head, pressing down. She slid gently under the water, eyes closed, trusting him completely. He held her under while her long flowing hair swam in half the length of the tub, before releasing his grip.

She eased her way back to the top, lifting her head out of the water and taking a long, deep breath. She gently rubbed her eyes, then opened them, expecting to see him getting the shampoo.

Instead, she saw that he had the hair dryer in his hand. He flipped the switch to the on position.

Aren’t you forgetting something? she teased. Don’t you think you should use the shampoo first?

It isn’t necessary this time, my dear, he smiled, holding the hair dryer by the cord about two feet from the dryer. He lowered it suddenly into the water, without another word.

Her eyes opened wide with fear, as she realized what he was doing. It took only a fraction of a second for the dryer to immerse into the water, but he knew that she knew what was happening. She had to. They had joked about it often, although the reference had always been to an accidental immersion.

He let go of the cord, and the dryer sank to the bottom. He knew she was helpless to remove it.

Every muscle in her body suddenly locked, as though it was frozen solid. She could not breathe, could not move, could not even scream. Her eyes were frozen in the wide open, shocked position, which had been her first, and very last, reaction.

He watched for a few seconds, then stood and walked quickly out of the bathroom. As her white Persian cat tried to sneak through the door around him, he kicked it harshly into the wall. The cat screamed, then streaked out of the room and squeezed itself under the nearby living room couch, trembling, ears back and eyes wide in terror. He had always hated that cat.

The man picked up the remote control for the television, turned it on and adjusted the station to a baseball game. He watched it momentarily to confirm who was playing, then tried to catch the score.

He then tossed the remote control onto the floor by the bathroom door, returned to the bathroom and unplugged the hair dryer. After one last look into the bathtub, he strolled casually to the kitchen and picked up the telephone. Holding the receiver in his hand he began breathing deeply and very rapidly, then quickly dialed 911.

HELP ME! HELP ME! he screamed into the phone. You’ve gotta hurry! My wife has been electrocuted! He began sobbing uncontrollably into the mouthpiece.

CHAPTER ONE 

Are you Tori Yates? the handsome stranger said to her as she opened her apartment door. She had been very nervous all day, waiting for this blind date to arrive. She knew a few things about him, but someone else’s description didn’t mean a lot.

But she was definitely pleased by her first impression.

Yes. She smiled. Are you Miles Johnson?

He nodded. I guess I found the right place. You give very good directions.

Thank you. Let me get my jacket, and then I’m ready. She walked a few feet over to the chair where she had placed her jacket. While she put it on, she felt a twinge of excitement. The outward description had been accurate, at least. Let’s hope the rest of it is, too, she thought.

She had been here before, met other strangers. Some made good first impressions, some didn’t. So far, none had worked out. It was a rat race, trying to find a decent, compatible man who wasn’t gay or already married, and she didn’t like blind dates at all. But what else could she do? Time was flying faster than Cupid’s arrow, and she wanted that arrow to strike her heart with a congenial match, the sooner the better.

She was forty-one, but well preserved. She had thought of listing her age on the information sheet as thirty-one, when she had signed up for the dating service. She knew she could easily pass for it. But she finally realized that she wouldn’t want someone to lie to her, so she decided to play it straight and hope they would, too.

She knew she was nice looking, maybe not beautiful in everyone’s eyes, but she didn’t want everyone. She just wanted one man. Mr. Right. She was five-feet- three inches tall, and weighed 110 pounds. She had long brown hair, and smooth, wrinkle-free features. She took care of herself, and worked out regularly. Plus, she had a Master’s Degree in Psychology, so she knew she had a lot to offer the right man.

Ah, yes. The Right Man. Whoever, wherever, he was.

She was lonely, and beginning to get concerned. All of her relationships had detoured into dead ends, and she knew she didn’t want to live alone all of her life. She had not met anyone new for a long time, keeping so busy with her job, hence the dating service. After a lot of soul searching.

Why not use a dating service? she had asked herself. Maybe there was a decent man somewhere who was too busy to be out looking. Besides, how would he ever find her, unless he came to the University of Kentucky and accidentally walked into her office by mistake?

Now here was the next applicant for Mr. Right. She knew that he was an attorney, therefore, presumably intelligent. She had written intelligence as the most important criteria for her when evaluating a man, and she had been told that Miles had also listed that first on his information sheet.

Plus, she had always wanted to be a lawyer, so they started out with something in common. She was planning to enter Law School in the fall.

And he certainly was nice looking. That was not the most important characteristic, of course, but it sure beat the alternative. If she could have intelligent and handsome, that was definitely preferable to intelligent and ugly.

Miles appeared to be what she had been told. About five-feet-ten inches, maybe 160 pounds. Very nice features. A slim, narrow, intelligent looking face with deep blue eyes and light brown hair trimmed neatly just over his ears. Certainly, she concluded, he was not too fat, not too thin, not too tall, not too short. In fact, not too anything. And he was just forty-two years old.

Here we go, she thought, turning back to the door, both eager and nervous, but ever hopeful. Maybe he was the one. You never know!

Have you decided where you would like to eat? she asked, stepping out of her apartment behind him and locking the door.

How about the Fifth Quarter? Have you ever been there? On Nicholasville Road?

No. But that sounds fine. I’m not too particular. I’ve heard it’s a nice place.

Parked curbside in front of her building was a shining black Porsche. He opened the passenger’s side door for her, then closed it behind her. Nice start, she thought. Some men didn’t think it was necessary to open doors for women anymore, but she liked it. And this was some car! He appeared to be financially flush, too.

She sighed contentedly and settled into the plush, bucket seat. This was going to be an extraordinary evening. She just knew it.

CHAPTER TWO 

That first date, and the second one, had gone very well, indeed, she thought, peacefully reminiscing about Miles a week later as she waited for him to come to pick her up. She had seen him once more during the week, when they had gone to a movie, and they had talked on the phone a few times. He had told her that he was a pilot, and he had asked if she would like to fly over the city today. She was excited, particularly since she had never flown in a small plane before. He had promised to teach her to fly, if she was interested. He was actually a certified flight instructor!

So far, they seemed to be a nice match. But she always moved slowly. She had been burned too many times by smooth-talking men, who wanted only another conquest before moving on. Didn’t anyone want a serious relationship anymore? A monogamous one? She had caught her last two boy friends in bed with other women, and she was determined to be more careful in the future. Was honesty and integrity too much to ask of an intelligent, handsome man, with a wonderful sense of humor and a very pleasant personality?

Well, maybe her goals had always been too high. Maybe that’s why she was forty-one and never married, she smiled ruefully.

She picked up the newspaper while she waited for him.

Oh, no, she gasped, as she saw the article on page one. Another murder! God, this was getting scary.

Now the press was calling it a serial killer, because this was the third one in just over three months. The victims were all white, middle class women. So far, the only known connections between the women were that they were all victims of homicide, and, apparently, from the photos she had seen in the paper, all were very attractive. As far as the police knew, the women didn’t know each other, and each had been killed in a different manner.

The only reason it was being called a serial killer by the newspapers was because Lexington, Kentucky, had so few murders of this nature. Sure, they had the drug related murders, the husband-wife, boyfriend-girlfriend type murders, the bar fights and robbery murders. Occasionally even a rape murder.

But not the random victim who was not robbed, and apparently not sexually assaulted. These were different.

Lexington was getting scared.

So was Tori.

She jumped when she heard the knock at the door.

* * * * *

Did you read about the latest murder in the paper today? she asked Miles as he came in.

Incredible, isn’t it? I wonder how people can do that? I saw it on the news this morning.

He had reached out and pulled her to him, in a warm embrace. She felt safe in his arms. She stayed in that position for a few seconds, thinking how natural it felt, then stepped back. Have you heard anything downtown about it?

Miles was a criminal defense attorney, and she knew he talked to prosecutors and police officers every day, in addition to other attorneys. Perhaps he would hear things that hadn’t made it into the news media.

Not really, Miles said thoughtfully. No one really seems to know much. It’s certainly the talk of the Short Street crowd, though. Short Street was where the Courthouse was located, along with many of the city’s law offices. Gossip was said to run rampant up and down Short Street.

Do you know if they have any suspects at all? she asked, nervously biting her lip.

They rarely have anything close to a suspect this early in the process, Tori. The killer is obviously quite intelligent, and has left little or no clues.

How can you say he’s intelligent? she asked, momentarily outraged. He has to be totally crazy to do these things. One woman was stabbed repeatedly, one was beaten with a club, or baseball bat, or something… She sputtered, running out of steam.

It was a baseball bat, he finished for her, remaining calm.

The first one was stabbed, wasn’t she?

Yes. Several times, if I remember correctly.

So, how in the world can you say that he is intelligent?

Tori, I don’t mean to disillusion you, but many serial killers are highly intelligent. Remember Ted Bundy? He was a law student. You know how intelligent lawyers are. He was going to be one. He smiled to show he was teasing.

Well, he wasn’t a lawyer yet, though. So maybe he wasn’t smart enough to be one. She also smiled, trying to take the sting out of her previous remarks. Why was this bothering her so much? she asked herself.

You have a point there.

But you still haven’t answered my question. How can you say that this particular serial killer is intelligent? Maybe it was because she valued intelligence so much, she thought, and she hated to imagine such a person as being intelligent. She was still trying to reason through her emotional reaction to his comments.

He has left no clues. Right? One: there have been no identifiable finger prints. He counted his points off his extended fingers. Two: no murder weapons found. Three: no witnesses who saw anyone with any of the victims. Four: no one heard or saw anything, or at least the newspaper hasn’t reported anything like that. I think if the police had any kind of promising lead they would have leaked it to the press. There’s a lot of heat on the police at times like this. They need to convince the public that they’re on top of it, that they’re getting close to an arrest. They would certainly let the world know if they had anything at all.

So, you’re saying they have nothing at all, then, right?

As far as anyone appears to know.

That’s really scary. Especially when you factor in his reputed intelligence. How do you protect yourself? They sat down on the couch, at opposite ends, while they considered the situation.

Tori, Miles spoke softly now, sliding casually to her end of the couch and putting his hands on her shoulder. He looked directly into her eyes. You seem to be getting a tad upset at me. You don’t need to do that. We’re on the same team here.

She put her arms around him, whispering, I’m sorry. I’m just scared. And, she leaned back, glancing up into his warm eyes, I don’t like to think of him as intelligent. I think he’s an animal. She hesitated, rethinking her comment. Actually, that’s an insult to animals everywhere. He’s worse than any animal, since he’s totally crazy.

Well, all I meant to say was that he was smart enough to leave no clues, and smart enough not to do it in front of witnesses. How many times have you heard about people who rob convenience stores and don’t even bother to wear a mask? And they should all know by now that they are being videotaped. And what about shoplifters? Almost all of the larger stores have video surveillance cameras in place. They have people whose sole job is to watch the video monitors to spot thieves. Yet people keep stealing and keep getting caught. All I’m saying is that this guy isn’t doing those stupid things.

You’re scaring me even more. If he’s that smart, he might never be caught. Tori was almost whispering now, thinking of the ramifications of what he had said.

All criminals make stupid mistakes, eventually, and they all get caught. He will, too, and they’ll get him. He smiled again, trying to lighten her mood and remove some of her obvious anxiety.

So, maybe he’s not so smart after all, she concluded, aware that she was being petulant. That is, if you’re so sure he’s going to make a mistake.

They always do.

Let’s not talk about this anymore. Ok? I’m already terrified.

I’m so sorry, Tori, Miles said carefully. I know it’s a scary subject, especially with a killer on the loose. Let’s forget about him and go flying. He stood, taking her by the arm and escorting her slowly to the door.

That is an excellent idea, kind sir. She allowed herself to be gently ushered out of her apartment and to his sleek, black Porsche, where he once again opened the door for her. Her mood began to lighten.

They drove mostly in silence. Miles was a member of a flying club and had access to several airplanes in the general aviation area of the airport. She had not seen any of them yet, although he had showed her pictures of the one he flew most of the time. It was a brand new Cessna 172. He preferred to fly this one because it was so comfortable, easy to handle, and he did not like the older airplanes in the club. She was very excited about flying in a small plane, with him. That would certainly take her mind off their earlier conversation.

First, we have to do a pre-flight, Miles told her after they had parked and walked out to the hangar. Tori was impressed that Miles had his own security pass to get them through the locked gates.

What’s a pre-flight?

It’s a standard procedure that every pilot does in every single airplane before he takes off. To make sure the airplane is airworthy.

Even the jets?

Every airplane. With the jumbo jets, of course, the pilot doesn’t walk out on the wing to check every rivet, but they have their own pre-flight procedure.

Don’t tell me you’re going to walk out on the wing to check the rivets.

No, he said, laughing. You are.

WHAT? Tori was suddenly petrified. She had never flown in a small airplane, and now he was going to entrust her to tell him it was ready and safe to fly?

Relax, he laughed again. We don’t have to climb on the wing. We just look at the under side of it. I’ll show you. He began walking under the passenger side wing. See, this airplane is a Cessna. It’s called a ‘high wing’ airplane. We’ll just walk along under the wing and I’ll point out what we’re looking for. If you’re going to learn to fly, you might as well start off with your first lesson.

Somewhat mollified, but still nervous, she followed him under the wing and watched as he moved part of it up and down. These are the ailerons, he explained. When these go up or down the airplane turns. See? Watch the other side. When this one is up, the other one is down. See that? The controls in the cabin are used to lift or lower these, and we turn in the direction that we turn the controls.

As simple as that, she said, still anxious.

Now you know how to fly, right?

I might need a few more lessons before I start running a charter service. All you’ve told me is how to make it turn. Will I still have to land the thing? She was trying to calm herself, thinking that maybe it was a little too early in her flying career to try to understand how things worked. Better to leave everything to him, for awhile anyway.

Let me show you the back of the plane. That will help you understand the vertical controls.

You’re losing me.

I’m giving you a written test when we get back down, so you better be listening. He looked at her seriously and for a brief moment she was concerned, before she remembered that he, too, had listed a sense of humor as being an important characteristic to look for in a love interest.

Suddenly I remember a dentist appointment I had scheduled this evening, she smiled. I think I’d rather go and have that root canal they’ve been badgering me about. Even without the anesthetic. Bye.

As she turned to walk away, he held up his passkey. You can’t get out, remember? He smiled.

Tori realized that she enjoyed the time she spent with Miles. Well, except when he called serial killers intelligent, she mused. This easy, casual, bantering with him made her feel good, and positive about the direction in which they seemed to be heading. She was comfortable with him. It had been awhile—a good while—since she had felt this way with a man.

She knew she had to be careful: she could be hurt very easily. She was not like younger women who merely went out on dates to have a good time. She actually was thinking in terms of a relationship, a commitment, even a lifetime companion. She checked out every man she went out with from that standpoint. Is he a suitable candidate for the position of life time companion and lover for her? In other words, husband material?

So far, she thought, this Miles character was looking pretty good. It also appeared that the feeling was mutual.

Here, he said, taking her gently by the arm. Let me help you up to your seat. You’ll sit in the pilot’s seat.

What are you talking about? I can’t fly this thing. She looked into his eyes. Was this a joke?

Look over there, he pointed to the passenger’s seat. We have dual controls. I can fly from the right hand seat. When we get up to altitude, I’ll show you how to use the controls and you can fly a little. It’s nothing to worry about. I used to teach flying for a living, remember.

And now you’re a lawyer. Maybe that means you were a lousy Flight Instructor? she teased.

You tell me, he said, helping her climb in and get seated in the left hand seat. Then he locked her seat belt in place. He went around to the other side and climbed in. He pulled a piece of paper from a side pocket of the plane. This is the written check list. We use it before and during startup of the engines.

She watched and listened as he read a line, did what it said, then explained to her what he was doing. Sometimes she didn’t even hear what he was saying, because she was marveling at how gentle he was, how knowledgeable. She forgot to remember to be afraid.

After she heard the tower clear them for takeoff and they began to gently roll down the runway before lifting into the air, Tori was amazed at how good she felt. The sky was so gentle, so peaceful. Miles had explained that when it’s not too hot outside, and not windy, the flight can be very smooth. The best time for a first flight, he had explained, was very early in the morning, around sunup, or late in the evening close to sundown.

We’re now three thousand feet above the ground, he pointed out in a few minutes, touching the instrument panel in front of her. See this instrument? This is the altimeter. It shows how far above sea level we are. The ground here is about one thousand feet above sea level, and the altimeter shows four thousand feet. That means we’re three thousand feet above the ground. If we fall out of the sky it’s the ground we hit, so we actually care more about ground level than sea level.

She watched him casually manipulate the controls, as he looked around for various landmarks. There’s the University of Kentucky campus, he said, turning the plane to face the campus. See the football field over there? he pointed out his side of the plane. She had never had this view before, and it was breathtaking.

It sure beat the view from an airliner, she realized.

Are you ready to fly some?

You mean, me handle the controls? I don’t think so, she said in a tone of voice that left no doubt. She put her hands far away from the controls, up against her chest, to avoid any misunderstanding about who was flying this plane.

He reached over gently and took her left hand in his own, lowering it to the controls. Here. Hold on with a loose grip, with your left hand. Your right hand will deal with the power controls, and other things that we’ll get to later. First, your left hand learns to handle the directional controls. Now, don’t clutch it like you’re trying to choke it to death, he added gently as the plane lurched suddenly to the left when she gripped it too hard. We’ll just make slow, easy changes. He leveled the plane easily with no outward effort.

He kept his hand on hers, gently putting enough pressure on her hand to turn the controls, or move them forward or backward. When he moved her hand back toward her chest the nose of the airplane turned up, and they started a slow climb. When he pushed the controls away from her chest, the nose angled down, and the plane descended.

She was amazed at how easy he made it appear. Hey, I can fly, she said, triumphantly. She was thrilled.

He released his hand from hers. Just keep doing what we were doing. No sudden movements.

Shouldn’t you be holding your controls? she said, suddenly nervous again, seeing that his hands were nowhere near his set of controls.

No problem, my dear. You couldn’t do anything with this airplane that I couldn’t get us out of immediately. I’ve had plenty of terrified students who panicked and did all sorts of crazy things. Don’t worry. Just remember one thing. When I say, ‘my airplane’, you immediately release the controls. No discussion, no argument. Got it?

Absolutely. No question about that.

She tried to relax, but couldn’t, now that his hand was no longer on hers. She was very conscious of the fact that she was flying the airplane all by herself. This was exhilarating, but also nerve wracking.

After about ten minutes of handling the controls all alone, making very shallow turns first to the left, then the right, she decided she’d had enough. She felt too much tension to enjoy it fully, and her hands had begun to perspire. Your airplane, she said, removing her hands from the controls.

He took over immediately.

After flying in silence for a brief time, she began to relax with him at the controls. He turned to face her, smiling, I guess it’s fair to say that you have never been kissed in a small plane while flying at four thousand feet above sea level, have you?

Well, certainly not in a Cessna, anyway, she said demurely.

He leaned toward her, and she met him halfway. He gently touched her lips with his and held it for a few seconds, then sat back behind the controls.

Ah, he said. I think I’m falling in heavy like with you.

She smiled. I know what you mean. Ditto back at you.

They flew in silence then, with Tori lost in thought. This flying thing had been a good idea, she concluded.

CHAPTER THREE 

Jaime Morgan walked down the hall at his office, which was on the second floor of the Legal Aid building in Lexington. He had been an attorney here at the Public Defender’s Office for about three years. With brown eyes and short, generally uncombed, dark brown hair, he usually claimed to be just under six-feet tall, depending on who was asking.

If he had to be under six feet tall to qualify to play in a basketball three on three tournament for under six-feet players, then, of course, he was under six feet. If a nice looking young woman happened to ask, he was just over six feet. That sounded a little more impressive, at least in his mind, but in the over all scheme of things, he knew it really didn’t matter. It was just a way of looking at things.

He was a little under two hundred pounds, and that’s what he always said, regardless of what the scales might have to say about it. Somehow, he didn’t like the sound of just over two hundred pounds, so those words never left his lips. He tried to keep in shape by running, playing basketball, working out at home with his various exercise machines, and what ever else he could find the time for. He had recently lost the slight paunch that he had sported for awhile around his middle, and now he had to try to keep it off. In his early forties, he was a late blooming lawyer, having been a high school French teacher until closing in on forty, then deciding to go to law school. He joined the Public Defender’s office right out of law school, just to get valuable trial experience before implementing his plan to go into private practice.

He knocked on the door of Miles Johnson, whose office was just down the hall from his.

Come in, came the resonant voice of his best friend.

So, what’s the latest with you and your new flame, Tori? Jaime asked as he opened the door and came in to sit in one of the two soft leather chairs in Miles’s office. He always glanced around at the several strange Picasso paintings adorning the walls of Mile’s office. He had noticed that the prints were changed with some degree of frequency, and he never knew what to expect.

Great, great. I took her up flying yesterday. Her first time in a small plane. She loved it.

Been to bed with her yet?

No, not yet. He smiled, teasingly. Give me a little longer. You know what they say. The difficult I can do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer.

So now she’s impossible? I thought things were going well.

Jaime usually came in to talk every day after their early morning court appearances. They always began with women, then gradually switched to other topics. He knew Miles had recently joined a dating service, and he was very curious about the caliber of women Miles would meet. Tori had seemed to be the most promising so far, according to Miles. Jaime was still contemplating joining the same dating service.

Things are going well, but she guards her body like it’s Fort Knox. Hell, I don’t know how long it’s going to take.

You planning to stick with it, or throw in the towel? There’s plenty more in that service for you to meet, you know.

Are you kidding? I love a challenge. It’s not like I’m desperate. She’s had some bad luck in her love life, and she’s wary. I have to stroke her, if you know what I mean, and be very careful.

Yeah, well, I might need to join that service soon, Jaime said thoughtfully, thinking again of Sheila. I just have to make sure my head is on straight before I hook up with somebody else. Sheila had been Jaime’s girlfriend for two years. One week before they were supposed to get married, she had broken up with him and moved off to Texas with another man. He hadn’t seen it coming at all, and had been very distraught.

After she married the other man she had soon developed second thoughts, and later called Jaime saying she might want to come back to him. That was a year ago. His life had been in turmoil since. She still wasn’t back, but they spoke frequently on the phone when her husband was away.

I told you, man, Miles pontificated. Sheila is not worth the sweat off your nose. After dumping you for no good reason and marrying that Gargoyle for his money, she says she wants to leave him and come back to you? Then she keeps you on the string by not even hinting when she plans to do this? Miles spread his hands, palms out. Hello, he said. She’s just keeping her options open, Jaime. Surely, you can see that. I can’t see her leaving him, and his money. And I sure as hell can’t see you taking her back. You’re not that crazy.

I know. I just can’t get her out of my mind. I think I just don’t deal very well with rejection.

Who the hell does?

I know, I know. The thing is, I knew she wasn’t right for me. I had been ready to break up with her long before. Then, boom, she broke up with me and I was devastated. It hurt like hell, and I forgot that I had wanted to break it off with her. It’s crazy. He frowned. I’m thinking of giving up on women and becoming a monk. Is there a school for budding young monks I can attend?

It’s just that your pride was hurt, man, Miles responded, ignoring Jaime’s question. Jaime seemed always on the verge of giving up on women. It’s always better to be the dump-or, instead of the dump-ee. Go out, look around. There’s plenty of women to take your mind off her.

I’m so pissed off at her now, that shouldn’t be any trouble.

What suddenly happened to bring that on? Miles asked, leaning back