Great Exploitations(11)

“You’re doing this to get even,” I stated. I was fine with that. Even was good enough reason for me. Hell, at the end of the day, I didn’t need a reason. When the term domestic abuse came up, that was all the reason I needed.

Mrs. Tucker shook her head. “Revenge,” she stated, her eyes narrowing. “I’m doing this for revenge.”

So Mrs. Tucker had a bit more fight inside of her than I’d thought. Good for her. “You’re divorcing the bastard and taking him for half of everything.” I gave her a nod. “That’s a solid case of revenge if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I’ve got twenty years’ worth of revenge to dole out. If there was a way to take him for more, I would.”

I dropped the envelope into my briefcase. I needed to wrap things up. Time was a luxury I never had. Especially time with the Client. “You realize that when this is done and you’ve got the damning evidence you need, you’re going to have to get out of that house and stay away from him while you file for divorce, right? He can’t be anywhere close to you or know where to find you when he receives those papers. You know that, right?”

That speech wasn’t in my job description. I didn’t council or advise or offer post-marital counseling. My job was one thing and one thing only—to seduce the husband and open up that pre-nup loophole. Something about Mrs. Tucker, however, left me conflicted. She wasn’t just married to a cheater—she was married to a man who beat her. I didn’t know what he’d do when he found out she was leaving him, but I knew enough to guess it wouldn’t turn out well for Mrs. Tucker. Whether it meant a few more bruises, or some mental blows that would leave permanent scars, or if he was one of the crazy ones who came at her with a loaded gun, I wouldn’t be able to sleep well if I didn’t say my piece.

“I’ve already got that figured out. I have a couple of suitcases packed and hidden and an emergency fund I’ve been stowing away for years. I know exactly what I need to do. I’m ready. All I need is for you to do your part, and I’ll be free.” She exhaled as a shadow of a peaceful expression came over her face. “I’ll finally be free.”

I gave Mrs. Tucker’s hands a squeeze before rising. The sooner I got the file studied, the sooner I could arrange the Greet with the Target and the sooner I could stick it to that asshole. Mrs. Tucker focused while I gave her the standard Meet lecture and when I gave her the phone, her eyes went a little glassy. “You know what the ironic thing about this whole thing is? If I could do it all again, knowing what kind of a man Rob would become, that wouldn’t stop me from marrying him. I’d do it all over again.”

My forehead creased. “Why’s that?”

She stopped twirling the ring on her left hand and lifted her right. She wore another ring on her right ring finger. One with two different gemstones. Mrs. Tucker smiled at it. “Because I got my two angels from that devil of a man. Because I might have had to endure twenty years with him, but I get to spend the rest of my life with them.” She polished her thumb over the ring before setting her hand back in her lap. “They were worth it.”

I smiled conventionally and waved as I left Mrs. Tucker. The thing that stuck with me most about our conversation was that I didn’t doubt what she’d said. She would go through another twenty years at the mercy of a pair of fists in exchange for her children. When I slid into the car, I was hit with a wave of depression that my whole life, I’d only loved one person like Mrs. Tucker loved her children. There’d been a single soul I’d walk through hell for.

He was the same person who was responsible for dropping me in hell and leaving me there. The person I was seeking my own revenge on.

Love is positively fucked up.





MR. TUCKER’S FILE WAS probably the least surprising one I’d ever gone through. Since I already knew he beat his wife, the rest was easy to fill in. I know that stereotypes were generally frowned upon, but in my business, stereotypes were less about labeling and more about math. To an Eve, stereotypes were a rudimentary form of probability and statistics.

I could study a Target’s file until my fingers were numb, but no amount of paperwork could prepare me for every situation that might arise with the Target. So I read the file, took what I learned, and applied the stereotypes I’d picked up along the way to improvise my way through an Errand. Yes, I planned. Sure, I manipulated. But I improvised just as much, if not more.

Rob Tucker owned a string of car dealerships throughout Florida. His commercial and billboard advertising included him in every shot, with his blinding white smile, too-bronze tan, and bloated ego. Looks-wise, he was attractive for a man in his fifties, but he was aware of it . . . although he was probably inflating his looks by double. Mr. Tucker probably couldn’t pass a mirror without stopping and smiling at himself before making a douchy pistol shot.