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It's in the dirty details. How you wanna plead? (Murder will get you 15 conclusion )

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"No" whispered the dealer's wife. "No, don't say that."she continued reaching for the cell phone that her husband held out to her. "It's not what I said,"the dealer spoke, "it's what she said." the woman who was sitting crossed legged on the floor took the red cell phone and laid it momentarily in her lap as her thoughts scrambled. After a minute or two she picked up the phone that could now be heard saying "Hello? Are you there? Hello? Please don't hang up on me." the thready voice of Anita got a little louder, her volume rose in strength as her panic increased. The dealer's wife frowned then she put the phone to her ear. "Shhhh.....yes I'm here. Tell me again, where are you and what has happened? Where is Tim? Did you say he was hurt?" She could hear Anita breathing hard. In the background she could hear another voice."Who is that I hear besides you?" "That's Nicky, you know Nicky, my boy." Damn, thought the dealer's wife I'd forgotten he was there. "Just begin at our leaving earlier. Go from there forward." she told Anita. As she listened, Anita began to recount an ugly, emotional, physical struggle between the man, Tim, and the woman, Anita. It was full of insults, threats, cruel promises, and mockery, but not empty threats, no the threats had been followed with pushing, grabbing, punching, kicking, and choking. Finally the story began to take shape. They had fought, she had managed, somehow, to get her crushed up xanax into his beer. Then she had just let him beat on her until he began to stumble and slur. Them as he tried to grab her once more, she lifted her long neck beer bottle and with all her strength had hit him on the head. He had dropped like a stone in a pond according to the embattled woman."...and then I called you." Anita finished. "Me." Dallas said absently, "Me?" She slowly stood her heart racing, "ME? Who's phone did you call me from? Tim's? Did you call my cell phone number from a dead man's phone?" She reached up and pressed fingers against her temple with her free hand. Now her sluggish brain was racing. "Anita," the dealer's wife spoke very firmly. "I'm about to hang up. You may call me from a different number if you wish just not that one, I won't answer it again." And she hung up.

There was a silence then the room erupted into a center for solutions. Everyone in the room had an idea about how to handle things. Three of them talked rapidly, as one moved about the room quietly and took things out of her pockets and her purse finally picking up the Mustang keys. The three stopped and looked at her. Her husband spoke "And just where do you think you are going?" "To her side. to mass polices, to madd polices..........I don't know, but here's what I do know. pause  I can guestimate with some accuracy that this proves to be probably among her top 3 worst days ever. I barely know this lady but  if she dials my number in that moment, I'm honor bound to at least try to talk her i, the ledge ." and she walked out the door .and across the grassy incline to her car. She got down into the car and with a click, she shut the world out.

She turned the car onto the long winding driveway that led to the main roadifference and began surfing her contacts murmuring to herself as the names flitted by. Hmmm......who to call in the event of a murder. The obvious choice in this instance not so obvious in this upside-down world where the flow broke the law, rather than enforced the law. She read as she searched "Jack, Jay, Jeff Ingram, Jeff Schroeder, Jeff Young, John Bassett.........hmmm, she stopped scrolling and suddenly went to speed dial where she pressed Widow #2. She hummed along with her music. The phone number she was calling began to ring. Once, twice, three times then a throaty "Hello?" from the voice of one of the loveliest women that Dallas had ever met and coincidentally her best friend and road warrior when her man was in prison. She ran the drug world a merry chace with her unique style of doing business. Dallas told Widow of her delimma. "STAY AWAY!!" She didn't waste words. "I know you want to save the world but that's NOT YOUR PROBLEM." the Widow said flatly but not loudly. Dallas could hear the decidedly male murmuring in the background. "Got company? Who's the victim today?" Dallas swerved her car to avoid hitting a deer in the middle of the road. "Noone you will miss." The woman known as "Widow" laughed and hung up. The wife of the hook up called her mental health counselor and left a message with the woman's service, "EMERGENCY JANE IF YOU GET THIS CALL ME!!" Then hung up and left a duplicate message with her psychiatrist people. She hung up again. Everything in her wanted to run screaming into the darkness. She rifled her purse for her prescription of anti-anxiety medication and took a couple of them. She looked over at the blue rabbit that she saw appear in the passenger seat of the car. She quietly murmured to no one "Fill schizophrenic medication........and start taking them again." Finally a name came to her to call. This guy had seen it all. He would know what the best course of action would be. Quickly she called him. She had to call several times before he got the urgency of the call, because she never blew his phone up unless necessary, it was a system they had. Although they might not agree on everything they had a mutual respect for one another. She recounted the events of the evening to him and his reaction was completely what she was looking for. "Ok, I see, and who is the short straw tonight?" When she told him the name of the victim his demeanor completely changed, "NEGATIVE, GHOST RIDER!! DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT ENGAGE IN THIS SITUATION!!" He urgently warned her. The woman was utterly confused. He'd obviously wasn't shocked when she told him of the severity of the problem. Why now, would he tell her to bail on Anita. "The short straw is the nephew of a Sheriff in a neighboring county. You cannot save her, you can only hurt yourself at this point, she's gonna swing on this one." he quickly hung up.

As events turned out she never got the opportunity to see if she could "talk her in off the ledge", because Anita had gone to a far more law abiding house to try to locate a different phone number to call the dope man's wife from. While she waited she confessed to the phone/home owner who promptly called the proper authorities.

I probably chased a fox or two in the telling of that tale. Apologies. This tradegy could have been averted so many different ways but it culminated the way it did. Something lighter next time I promise. STILL, ALL IN ALL, mixing mental illness with ANY controlled or illegal substance is a cocktail for tradegy. Thank you for your time. Boots 

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