Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

Late one afternoon a couple of weeks ago, he had been in their living room in their apartment, waiting, a black videocassette cartridge in his hand. It seemed heavy enough to be made of lead. A few weeks earlier, he had gone into the back office of the store and rewired and reconnected an old security-camera system that kept watch on the store and the back office. He supposed he should have told Stacy. Right. He guessed he should have, but he hadn’t, so there you go.

So what now?

A voice whispered inside of him to toss it aside, get rid of it, never to view what might be stored forever on the magnetic impulses on the thin tape. Little impulses of energy that had the power to destroy his marriage. All right there.

He juggled the tape with some difficulty, cursed under his breath, and then went over and slid it into the VCR on top of the television set. On top of the VCR was a framed photo of him and Stacy on their wedding day, and blinking hard, he turned the photo around and picked up the remote.

Grainy images inside the store, not much going on. He used the fast-forward button, toggled it hard, until...

Until there he was. Dirk Conrad. Alone in the store with Stacy. There was no sound, so he couldn’t tell what was being said between them, but what the hell. He knew they weren’t discussing the latest zoning-board proposal. The screen was split in two. The left-hand side showed the countertop where Dirk and Stacy were conversing. The right-hand side was his office, and it was blank, since the lights weren’t on.

And then it happened. Stacy and Dirk slid out of view on the left-hand side, and then the right-hand side of the tape lit up, and there was the interior of his office. Dirk brought Stacy around to his desk — his own damn desk! — holding her hand, and that little betrayal right there — holding another man’s hand, even though Craig knew what was going to happen next — bore right through him like a drill bit from an oil rig, churning its way into his chest.

Stacy started unbuttoning her blouse. Craig got up and switched everything off, and then went into the bathroom to vomit.

Lunchtime. The overhead sun was high up and it was hot, and as in the other training sessions, sandwiches and drinks and snacks were produced from little portable coolers. The cops stripped off their helmets and gloves and vests and weapons, and dumped them on one of the long tables where the ammunition was stored. Young Sarah brought her revolver over and did the same thing, and he waited, waited long minutes, like the time waiting for a retiree to find a dollar bill in his wallet for a lottery ticket, and when he thought the time was right, he went over to the table. Some cops were now in the tall grass, dozing, while others tossed a football back and forth. Craig got up and stretched and reached into his pants pocket for the real 9mm. round. He went to the table and did his work quickly and efficiently, and then went back to the bunker and waited.

“All right, people,” the training officer said, “time for the third scenario.”

And when Sarah came back, holding the revolver in her hand, Craig held out his hand.

“Do you mind?” he asked. “I’d like to have a chance at shooting someone.”

She smiled and handed the revolver over. “Sure, why not. I’ve already done it twice. Why should I have all the fun?”

He smiled in return. “Exactly.”

Ever since he’d viewed the tape, it had been odd, but Stacy had been kinder and gentler to him, as if she was feeling sorry for him or something. A hell of a feeling. The tape had remained hidden and unviewed, and he was still trying to decide what in hell to do when one day, Dirk Conrad had shown up at his store.

Talk about your challenges. Underneath the counter of his store he had a sawed-off baseball bat, and wouldn’t Dirk have been surprised if that had been swung at his noggin when he came over to chat after getting another in a long series of free cups of coffee. Instead he gritted his teeth and held his ground, and made small talk with Dirk as he got his free newspaper and free cup of coffee, and he imagined in some way that Dirk probably thought the free wife from the store owner went with everything else.

So. All those thoughts were tumbling through him and again he was wondering what to do when Dirk said, “Hey, next week we’re going up to the base again, doing another SWAT training session. You interested?”

Hell no, was his thought, but he decided to be polite. “I guess so.”

Dirk nodded, put the folded-up newspaper under his arm. “That’d be great. We could have some real fun.”

“Sure,” Craig said, and damn it, that could have been the end of it, except for one thing.

As Dirk left the store, he looked back and winked.

Pretty simple.