No Witnesses

No witnesses.

That was the key. It’s tough enough to get away with murdering someone you know. But killing someone you’re married to is guaranteed to put you in the frame - especially if an unaccounted-for witness sees the killing.

Jordan fondled the knife. Looked over at Avery in the passenger seat. And tried to calculate the best moment to strike. It needed doing soon. Loan sharks don’t use the courts to collect debts. And Jordan owed money to violent people all over town.

But not now. The police are not stupid. Random thieves hiding in the back seats of cars, slitting throats, only happens in slasher movies. In the real world, mugging is a street crime.

Maybe on the way to their front door, Jordan thought. That happens - right? Someone fumbling for their keys won’t be paying attention to thieves in the night. It would be the perfect scenario for a cash grab gone wrong.

They lived on a quiet suburban street. There were no businesses or ATMs with inconvenient cameras to record a marriage ending in murder. Their house sat at the end of a long driveway on an oversized wooded lot. Trees hid their front door.

No witnesses.

Jordan needed money. But had none. Goddamn slow horses, cold dice, and shite cards. The unlucky gambler watched sports in an agony of anticipation, more often thwarted than rewarded. The big guy in the sky laughing at the joke.

Avery was the one who came from generational wealth and hoarded it. This was an unexpected and unacceptable development. Jordan thought life after their marriage would be hedonism on steroids - with the cash going into a mutual pot. Wrong! Jordan had an allowance. But Avery guarded the pot of gold with the tenacity of a bad-tempered honey badger defending her young.

Goddamn misers never want to have fun. You can’t take it with you, right? They didn’t have kids - what were they saving for? Jordan could scream at the unfairness of it all.

The car rolled up the driveway and stopped. Husband and wife got out. Jordan looked around. The night was moonless, dark, and uninhabited.

No witnesses.

They walked to the front door. Avery led. Jordan trailed. Avery had the house key out. Jordan took the blade out. Looked at the cheapskate’s back. This was it. Jordan looked around and checked one last time.

No witnesses.

Avery put the key in the lock and turned it. The door swung open into the dark house. Jordan raised the blade. And moved to stab down. Darkness vanished. The lights in the house blazed. A group of grinning, paper-hatted revelers blowing party whistles yelled, “Surprise!” and “Happy Birthday.”

Avery turned around and beamed at Jordan.

“Happy Birthday, darling,” he said to his wife as she stood there frozen with the knife poised in mid-air, the business end glinting in the glittering light, wondering how she would explain its presence.

She was amazed her skinflint husband had remembered her birthday.