Free My Wife's Li'l Secret by Eve Rabi Page B

it took every ounce of restraint not to slip into reverse, accelerate, and ram almost four thousand pounds of steel into their deceitful bodies.
    I could just picture the scene; both of them lying crushed and mangled against the garage door, a heap of broken bones, flesh and blood.
    End of all my pain.
    A car hooting behind me brought me out of my gruesome reverie. I sped away to meet Jai.

Chapter Thirteen
     
     
    Jai Subbash, former IT specialist turned Private Investigator, was an Australian-born Indian who had been working for us for about three years.
    Around five feet seven, slim, with dark, curly hair, he wore modest clothes and black-rimmed glasses.
    Nondescript is the word when describing Jai, which is exactly the image he wanted to portray. Because of his characterless look, he could blend into any environment, leaving him free to observe and investigate.
    He was a vital part of our business’s investigative team, and he proved valuable because of his local and international connections.  Best of all, he delivered in record time.
    His unassuming air made people underestimate his sharpness, his ability to miss little, and his eye for minute detail. Most importantly, he could be trusted to keep his trap shut about sensitive situations.
    “What have you got for me, Big Mac?”
    “Check your phone,” I said as I sent him all the info he needed for his investigation.
    “Yep, yep, yep,” he said as he flipped through the documents on his phone. When he saw Olga’s passport, his eyes shot up to mine.
    I gave a small shrug. “It’s…it’s pretty much what you think it is, Jai.” Each word was loaded with bitterness.
    His sympathetic stare brought a lump to my throat. With a slow and deliberate nod he said, “I’ll prioritize this, my friend.”
    I wished he wouldn’t use the kind, compassionate voice on me; it made me feel…four feet tall.
    “Appreciate it, Jai,” I said as I pumped my friend’s hand. “Dribs and drabs are fine. I’m impatient.”
    “For sure, mate, for sure. You take care now, Big.”
    With a heavy heart, I drove back home. Well, to a place I once called home.
    But as I neared home, I had a change of heart. If I went home, Olga would leave the house and I would be saddled with the housework and kids once again. My hangover was killing and I really needed to sleep it off. I called Bear.
    Thankfully, he answered on the first ring. “Big, how’s the hangover, mate?”
    “A bitch with talons.”
    He laughed. “ Premenstrual bitch with talons, I would say.”
    “Yeah. That’s why I’m calling you; I need a place to crash for a couple of hours.”
    “Sure! Come right over. Have you had lunch?”
    “No.”
    “Good, ’cause Arena’s cooking.”
    When was the last time I had a decent, home-cooked meal?
    “What’s she cooking?” I asked absentmindedly.
    “Hold on,” Bear said. “Rena, Ritchie wants to know what you’re cooking,” I heard him ask my sister.
    After a moment, he returned to me. “Rich, she’s making road-kill with three veg, savory rice…and a chocolate mousse to die for. Her exact words, so I think the mousse is poisoned.”
    “That sounds good!” I said with a smile, even though I had no appetite.
    Arena met me at the door with a hug. “We’ll handle this, boet (bro),” she said in Afrikaans, our Native South African language she switched to whenever she was nervous. Her tone of voice was similar to the one Jai used on me earlier on, Bear obviously having filled her in on everything.
    The concerned look on my sister’s face coupled with her kind words brought back that lump in my throat. There was so much I wanted to say to her about what happened. I wanted to share the sordid details, explain my fury, my disappointment, and even my disbelief over the whole situation, but I remained silent. Guess I wasn’t ready to talk about my wife’s debauchery. Or maybe I was still in shock. All I could do was nod.
    “What a pity, I happen to like Liefie,”