The Girl with the Pearl Herring. Part 4

 Jaques hung up the phone. “Sherry is my ex wife,” he explained, “and today is our wedding anniversary.  I like to call her when I can.” He sounded bitter, “One day each year, one day”

“How long?” Asked Lincoln

“About three years I guess.” Jaques answered, “close enough for gov’ment work anyway.”

“What happened?” Lincoln persisted.

“Are you sure you really want to hear this?” asked Jaques.

Lincoln motioned to the traffic.

“Okay,” Jaques said, “remember, you asked for it.”

He began his story, “My Ex, Sherry, is from Colombia and she and her family are devout Catholics.  Divorce wasn't really in her vocabulary at that time.  But after I had several long talks with her priest, it seems the church has moved on a bit, not much but a bit, I petitioned the Archbishop of the diocese for permission to divorce. He presented me with the truth as the Catholic Church sees it.  The only way a divorce could work was if either of us could prove infidelity or we could claim a ‘lack of consummation’.  We chose the second option because, to be brutally honest, consummation is the kindest thing you can call what we suffered through.”

Jaques drained his bottle of Orangina and opened a bottle of water.

“By the end we had tried couples therapy, I went to her church, hell, I even went on an ayahuasca retreat in the Amazon, but I came to realize that I… I like guys.”

Jaques stopped and looked over, intensely, at Lincoln. Lincoln didn't notice because he was negotiating a stalled truck in the middle lane, and the resulting traffic. He was looking for a path through the mass of cars to the road ahead.

“So, that’s my secret, that's why I call once a year.  I’m gay, not flaming I dont think, but I am happier with dudes, what can I say?  Anyway, I'll go back to having my own room.

“Why?” Lincoln glanced over at his friend, “Why would you do that?”

”Because I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” was the answer.

“What? You won't, you don't. Dude, I don't care.”

“Un Hunh,” Jaques said bitterly, “I have heard that before.”

“Nah man,” Lincoln said earnestly, it was important to him that Jaques believed him, “I really dont give a shit.  Sherry is happy, you are happy, and her mom is happy, what's wrong with any of that?”  Lincoln was finally past the stalled truck and accelerated smoothly away. “So, Fuck you and your seperate room, you cant afford it anyway.”

“Lincoln,” Jaques said, swallowing the lump in his throat, “Thank you.”

JAQUES was dozing, no flowers, steady drizzle on the window, Wax Tailor ‘on the box’ as it were when he was jarred out of his nap by a loud exclamation,

“Holy SHIT!” Exclaimed Lincoln, “Ho-Lee-Shit.”

JAQUES looked over to see Lincoln, covered from the nose down in croissant crumbs. There was a partially eaten pan au chocolat in his hand.

“Pan au chocolat?” exclaimed Jaques excitedly, “where did you get that?”

“I was thirsty,” Lincoln answered, “you were sleeping so I pulled over, there was a spot in front of the patisserie and I took it. I got you a cafe le American and one of these things, Pawn-day-shock-a-lot. But if you don’t move quickly, all you get is that cafe lea American.

JAQUES suppressed his shudder, ruining good coffee by making it ‘American' made no sense to him, but it was a sweet and thoughtful gesture so JAQUES took a healthy swallow and fished his pan au chocolat out of the bag.

One big bite and JAQUES said “in the words of my man Action Bronson…” together they sad “fuck that’s delicious”

Lincoln woke up in great distress, his tummy tum hurt, was rock hard, and painful.  Lincoln walked to the bathroom, and with a certain amount of pride broke a long and lusty wind, another, and then a third.  Feeling better, much better, Lincoln turned the fan on and sat on the toilet and waited.  The fan was noisy, but did its job and Lincoln, drinking a glass of water, opened the door to the bathroom.  And Froze.  There were two men over Jaques, withdrawing a hypodermic needle from his upper buttocks.  Both wore cheap balaclavas and nondescript dark clothing.

“What the fuck,” Said lincoln from the door of the bathroom, “seriously, what the everloving fuck?”

The two men turned to him, exchanged glances and advanced.  Lincoln gilded forward to meet them in the wide part of the room.  The man on the left was walking with a limp, and Lincoln could see, behind the mask of the other man, an absolutely stunning black eye.

“The fuck you doing in my room?” Lincoln demanded.

There was no reply from the two men but they continued to advance. The shorter one, the man on the left, fell slightly behind because of a limp.

“Why did you stick my buddy in the ass?” Lincoln demanded, “why?”

There was no answer, but the men attacked.  Doing the unexpected Lincoln stepped past the man on his right, ahd kicked the left man in the leg.  The man howled in pain and reached for Lincoln, who was no longer there, it seemed he was never there.  Where he was, was on the receiving end of a punch from Mr. Right.  It hit Lincoln hard, it hit Lincoln fast, and as he went to his knees Mr. Right got a knee under his chin. Lincoln was on his back shaking his head when Mr. Right attacked; he put the boots to Lincoln, but as before, it seemed Lincoln was never where the boots were. Still, one out of three strikes landed, but they were weak and ineffectual.  Lincoln reached up, grasped Mr. Right’s crotch, and squeezed and turned.  Mr. Right went pale and opened his mouth. Nothing more than a soft moan came out. Lincoln seemingly pulled himself up off the ground by the man's scrotum and then, with no emotion or seeming effort, punched him in the face three times until he fell and lay still.  Mr. Left was left, he had taken the time to regroup, and was in some martial arts stance that Lincoln did not recognize.  Both men paused and then began exchanging strikes. They both landed small punches, were seeking out gaps in defenses, judging reaction times.  When Mr. Left lifted his leg for a kick attack Lincoln caught it, kicked the other leg, and when Mr. Left fell, Lincoln kicked him in the head until he was still.