An original short story: Peace and Quiet

Peace and Quiet

“Honestly, Noah, have you ever seen such a hideous color for a front door?”

Noah kept his voice even and his hands at ten and two. “Can’t say that I have, dear.”

“I mean … I could tell when they moved in that these people aren’t exactly high class, but this … this is terrible! What would you even call that color?”

“Eggplant,” Noah muttered as he pulled into their driveway and opened the garage door to a pristine space, parking precisely where he always parked.

“Eggplant! That’s exactly right. I don’t know why I’m surprised; it’s not like money assures taste. But you would think that in this neighborhood, people would have at least a modicum of aesthetic charm…”

Charity’s voice droned on and on, through the mud room and into the kitchen, while Noah made a quick getaway down the hall to his study. Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath, feeling the peace and quiet envelop him with cool hands that soothed his agitation. As always, his eyes searched the room and found what he sought: perfect order and symmetry. He crossed the room to his bar and fixed a screwdriver, heavy on the vodka. Drink in hand, Noah settled in the large leather chair by the window and, as he had done too many times to count, pondered his life. His wife’s money – and only his wife’s money – allowed them to live the way they did. That was the only reason he stayed.

Noah had met Charity completely by chance. Her husband had passed away and she had come into the bank where he worked as a loan officer. She was friends with the President of the bank, who was on vacation when she came in. In his absence, Noah had offered to help if he could. Sitting In his office, Charity had sobbed as she told him she knew nothing about money and didn’t know what she was going to do. Even during that first meeting, her whiny voice was like nails on a chalkboard – a debridement of his very soul.  

While Charity continued her verbal vomiting, Noah pulled up her accounts. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Her wealth was staggering. And in that very moment, his path was determined. He reassured her, comforted her, wooed and romanced her, all the time thinking only of the payoff…all those millions of dollars. But the payoff came at a high price, Noah brooded, I lost my life of structured peace for this … this cacophonous existence and a ridiculously stringent prenup.

How can I listen to this tiresome woman another day, another month – much less for the next 30 years? Surely I have earned some peace.  Noah buried his head in his hands as his thoughts circled their well-worn trail of despair, round and round with no end in sight, except one.

A knock at the door interrupted his morose contemplation. “Yes?” he said sharply and their maid Mia opened the door.

“Mrs. King wanted me to let you know dinner will be in 20 minutes.”

Raising his glass in her general direction and with a wry grimace, Noah said, “Thanks Mia. I’ll be there as summoned. With bells on.”

Mia met his words with a blank stare and Noah reminded himself, yet again, that English was not her first language and she didn’t understand his lame attempts at humor. Finishing his drink, he headed up the back stairs to his closet and dressing area. Charity demanded a clean shirt and jacket at dinner, and God help the husband who made her wait. He could not endure one more lecture on that subject.

As usual, dinner was a painful process, with Charity holding forth about some gallery opening later in the week, as well as another rant about their hapless neighbors’ choice of paint color. Noah smiled on cue and affirmed his wife’s odious opinions about everything. He’d been at this for five years now and knew how to gauge her moods and tailor his responses accordingly to ensure as early an exit as possible.

After the tedious meal, Noah aimed for a light tone. “Darling, I’m meeting Wesley Logan for a drink at Roscoe’s tonight. He’s got some investment pitch he’s been wanting to make us and I can’t put him off any longer. Want to come with?” He knew the answer before he asked. Charity hated Wes almost as much as she hated conversations about money, a privilege reserved only for the ultra-wealthy, Noah mused.

“Oh no, thank you darling. I’ve got some things to do this evening,” was her vague reply.

Satisfied with his cleverness, Noah kissed her cheek and took his leave. At Roscoe’s, he took a corner booth and waited for Wes. He had been truthful about the location and with whom he was meeting, but not about the content. When Wes arrived – ten minutes late, as usual – Noah stifled his irritation and greeted him cordially. He ordered Wes’s favorite craft beer and waited until it came.

“So, have you thought any more about my proposition?”

Wes took a long pull from his beer. “I have, as a matter of fact. The money is too tempting to not consider it. It’s a lot of risk, though, and I’m not sure any amount of money is worth that much risk.”

Noah knew how much trouble Wes’s investment firm was in and he knew Wes was bluffing. “I need a job done and you need money. We just form a little temporary partnership to satisfy us both … a coalition, if you will. The risk is actually quite minimal. My plan is brilliant. You know that.”

“It is pretty brilliant,” Wes agreed with a half smile, half grimace.

“So you’ll do it.” Noah fought to keep the sheer desperation he was feeling out of his voice.

“Well … yeah. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent! Why don’t we–”

Wes interrupted him. “Half now, right? That was the agreement?”

“Of course; half now. It’s in the trunk of my car. I can give it to you tonight.” I knew he would do it, Noah gloated to himself.

They quickly finished their drinks and Noah paid, leaving a handsome tip. Once outside, they walked to the back of the parking lot where Noah had parked. He knew the security cameras did not reach this location. Wes had parked next to him.

Opening the trunk, Noah pulled opened the spare tire compartment and retrieved a large duffel bag. He gave it to Wes. “One million dollars in cash. And another million once I know she’s dead.”

Wes opened the bag and used the flashlight on his phone to see the contents. Satisfied, he closed the bag and looped it over his shoulder.

Suddenly a blinding spotlight was on them. “FREEZE! This is the police. Put your hands where I can see them,” came a commanding voice from the darkness.

Noah looked at Wes, who was looking down. “You set me up? Why?? You needed the money, man, and I – I just needed some peace and quiet.” Noah put his hands up and turned around.

The police officer barked out a laugh as he cuffed Noah. “Yeah, good luck getting peace and quiet where you’re going, pal.”