Runner-up 2

Genie plotted her revenge against Bonner as perfectly as she acted the dumb blond trophy wife. Her plans went smoothly. That is until Ernesto wrestled the Beretta from her hands and pointed it at her head. The plan hadn’t called for that.

“Note to self,” Genie thought as they approached Falco’s door, “unhire this SOB as soon as this is over.” Genie cursed, thinking about the sum she paid this chump to double-cross Charlie. Now she was the chump.

“First, though,” Genie thought, “Get back on track.”

Her marriage to Charlie was over as soon as it started: the novelty of new sex wore off; the attentiveness of new love faded, the gift-giving of courtship stopped.

All that would have been OK -- she’d sustain herself living in Malibu, leaving behind the pitiful acting career, shopping Rodeo -- if the money hadn’t disappeared.

At first, she thought Charlie was just a poor money manager. Since she was smarter than she looked, she knew that had to change. She quickly stripped him of that responsibility.

Nothing changed.

Then she noticed little things, odd things, that didn’t add up. It didn’t take her long to piece together the signs: His agitation grew intense, his mood swings like giant arcs. It all added up.

“Bipolar, by coke,” she snorted to herself. “How utterly cliché. Not even an original habit.”

But that wasn’t his only one. Before long, she noticed the frequent trips. Alone. To Vegas.

“Let’s see,” Genie said one day. “No money, coke, these trips.” She hadn’t bargained for this.

Genie had him followed. She tapped his computer. She discovered the Birds.

“The last straw,” Genie said. “If Charlie discards me this quickly, he’ll need to pay.”

She waited, plotted, and gathered information. Day by day, evidence mounted.

“Blackmail is the best revenge,” she smiled to herself, tweaking an old adage. “How sweet it is.”

Her smile broadened the day she discovered the Birds were even seedier than imagined. Some little congressmen were involved. And some judges. And people trying to blackmail other people. Mobsters were even thrown in for good measure.

The plot thickened and her payday grew exponentially. She needed to be careful in executing her plan. Or she’d be the one to be executed.

She acted surprised -- she was getting good at that -- when Charlie said they were going away. Together. She played the sulky, spoiled spouse. Said she didn’t like surprises.

She acted surprised when he fished around for the flash drive.

She acted lovey-dovey when she kissed him on the cheek, slipped her hand into his pocket, and walked away with the drive.

She planned for Ernesto to pick her up and drive her to Carmen’s. Carmen was the last link in the chain, the corroborating witness, the one to testify firsthand about what she knew. What she did!

She’d get Carmen, go to Falco, tell him she knew about his little dalliances with the Birds. Unless he paid up, she’d expose him for the hypocritical -- now stereotypical -- “family values” politician he’d become.

But someone got to Carmen first. She was nowhere to be found. Maybe she’d gone to Falco herself.

Then Ernesto took that call with “Copacabana” in the background and lied about Charlie being in Cabo.

“He got to Falco before me,” Genie said under her breath.

Ernesto muttered something about his plans.

“Change them,” was all she said in reply to him, pointing the Beretta at his head.

“Who was changing ‘em now,” Genie thought, as Ernesto pointed the gun at her and told her to push Falco’s buzzer.

Santa Ana resident Elizabeth Atwell Hart is a transportation planner by day and aspiring fiction writer by night.