Sam smiled at his wife’s lifeless body crumpled on the living room floor. He took a long draught from his whiskey flask, wiping away a drip that fell from his upturned lips.

    "Who’s the loser now, Margaret?"

    Killing his nagging, money-controlling wife was something he should have done five years ago. He had married Margaret, who was ten years his senior, for her money. She was a homely woman, an easy target, falling for his sweet talk.

    Unfortunately, Sam quickly learned that she maintained an upper hand on the purse strings. She curtailed his expensive drinking habit, but he had found ways to get around her for several years until the tattletale signs of his vice caught up with him. Margaret turned elsewhere for love. She found another, much younger man and demanded a divorce. Not wanting to lose his meal ticket, Sam tried unsuccessfully to sweet talk her into staying. He had no other choice than to murder Margaret and to blame the crime on her lover. He was nervous over the idea at first, but after a few flasks of whiskey, Sam completed the first phase of his mission.

    "Let’s see what the police will think when they find your strangled body in his house with the scarf he gave you around your neck," Sam sneered after another swig. "They’ll think it was a crime of passion and your little friend will spend some time in ‘The Big House.’"

    Laughing, Sam brought his watch into focus.

    "Twelve-fifteen. Guess I’d better get you wrapped up for your date." After another drink, Sam staggered to his feet. He grabbed a large blanket from the linen closet, stretched it out next to Margaret, and placed her on the corner. He tucked the edges around her head and feet and rolled her up like a burrito.

    Swaying under his load, Sam carried his bundle out the side door into the garage. He fumbled with the latch on Margaret’s custom suburban, pulled the doors open, and flopped her down. Panting, he reached into his back pocket for another sip of courage. Sam replaced his flask and pushed the body under the back seats. He pushed too hard. Margaret’s arm flopped out.

    "You know, you’re getting to be more trouble than your worth!" he grumbled as he shoved her arm back under the blanket.

    Sam closed the doors, swaying on his feet. He dug out Margaret’s keys from his pocket. Before climbing behind the wheel, he rested the flask in the cup holder for easy access. Four miles is a long way without whiskey.

    Sam made a jerky exit into the quiet dark. Margaret’s voice haunted him like a demon with each swig as he bounced down the road.

    "You’re such a loser, Sam. Why can’t you be a better man like Mitch? You’ve let yourself go, Sam. You’re a fat slob. Don’t you have any pride? You’re a lousy husband, Sam. You only married me for my money. I’m leaving you, Sam. I’m starting a new life with Mitch and I’m taking my money with me..."

    Lost in angry thoughts, Sam suddenly heard a loud ‘bang.’ The suburban swerved to the other lane. Reflexes slow, he fought to bring the vehicle to a stop on the soft shoulder just outside the city limits.

    "Dang! I don’t have time for a flat." Sam guzzled down another swig. "Margaret, I told you last week to replace that worn tire. Can’t believe you’re a pain in death as you were in life."

    Sam switched on the emergency flashers, opened the door and all but fell to the pavement. Suddenly, lights flashed in his blood shot eyes. Sam leaned one arm against the suburban for support. His other arm tried in vain to block out the bouncing light that grew brighter in his eyes.

    "Do you need some help, sir." The feminine voice made Sam’s heart leap. He knew he could sweet talk his way out of this. Sam smoothed back his hair, popped a breath mint, and straightened to his full six foot four height.

    "Good evening, Officer..."

    "Granger."

    "Just a flat tire, Officer Granger. I’ll have it fixed in no time." Sam smiled, hoping that his voice sounded husky.

    "Do you need any tools?" Granger asked after a long pause.

    "No, I have everything in the back." Sam walked to the rear of the vehicle, gliding his hand along the side for support. He opened the door a crack, peeking in to make sure Margaret hadn’t fallen out again. She had. Her arm was sticking out from the bumping and swerving caused by the blowout. Acting calm, Sam extracted the jack without disturbing the body and quickly closed the door.

    Sam placed the jack under the back bumper and pumped the wheel off the ground. His throat was parched, but he didn’t dare take a drink now. And he wished the policewoman would get that annoying light out of his eyes. He couldn’t be charming if he was blind.

    "See officer," Sam panted. " I have everything under control. You don’t have to stay."