Dark Remedy by Patrick Ritter

Dark Remedy by Patrick Ritter

            Cliff Mallory glared at his wife, Tish. Not how he wanted to start his Saturday. The day’s fight card had started with a light sparing – house matters mostly – as it often did.

            “Ok, so I forget to pick up more eggs. What is so god awful crucial about that?” Cliff said. “Just change the damn recipe. What’s the big?” Cliff massaged his eyes. Felt more weary than angry. Not resentful, yet. But that was coming.

             “No, not fine,” Tish Mallory hit back. “You don’t know anything about actual cooking. And you can’t even remember a simple errand. Or maybe you don’t want to.”  

            “Oh just get off it. May I remind you, miss perfect, because you forgot to bring in the patio cushions last week, they’re now a molding mess.” Counter punch landed.

            “Me get off it? I didn’t bring them out there! You think I’m just here to pick up after you and the kids?” Parry and weave. “Not in my job description buster-boy.”

            “The hell you talkin about?” Cliff’s voice rose on each word.

            From down the hall the Mallory’s son Billy, fourteen, and daughter Susie, eleven, listened to the blow by blow. Billy looked up from his video game screen and mouthed a silent expletive.

            Tish kept at it. “At least you could show a little backbone for once and discipline those kids. They’re idling their life away on their computers and games. They’re addicted to them.”

            “Yeah, yeah, they spend too much time on computers,” Cliff said. “What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

            Then a below-the-belt upper cut from Tish. “You are totally worthless as a parent, you know that?”

             Cliff slammed his coffee mug onto the table. “Here we go!” Blood pressure rising now. “Mother of God, can you just shut your trap for one minute?” To pause the pummeling he said, “I’ll go down and deal with it.”

            Down the hall, Billy turned to his sister and said, “Uh-oh.”

            Although only in his early forties, Cliff had elevated blood pressure. His doctor warned him about getting too angry. But he thought, How am I supposed to avoid getting angry, living like this? He knew there was a way out though. Didn’t want to think about it, but there was a remedy.

            Cliff stormed down the hall. Unfortunately for the kids, they were directly in the path of the hurricane. As Cliff barged into the bedroom, without knocking, Billy scrambled to turn his video game off, unsuccessfully. Suzie stuffed her laptop under a pillow. But she was too late. Cliff pulled out her laptop and powered it off.

            ”Hey, wait a minute!” Susie protested.

            Cliff said, “You two need a break. One week hard stop for all computers. No video games, emailing, surfing. Nothing for one week!” He moved across the room quickly and yanked the power plug on Billy’s prized game console.

            “Hey, that’s my game!” Billy grabbed for the cord but was pushed aside. “And our computers, you can’t just –”

            “No more games for a week,” Cliff said, picking up Billy’s game console, along with his controller and laptop.

            “What did we do?” Suzie said, tears forming.

            “Call it a breather,” Cliff said, stomping out of the room carrying all the equipment.

            Susie, crying now, said, “It’s just not fair. Aren’t they on their computers all the time, too?”

            Billy stared dejectedly at the floor. “Yeah, it’s way out of bounds. Why can’t they just get a divorce like other parents and leave us alone?”

            Back in the kitchen, Cliff and Tish ramped up for the main bout. In this corner, from a remote county in an undistinguished state, former high school beauty queen, weighing in at 145 pounds, and piling on weight rapidly every month, the carping wife. “You just don’t care about us. You never did. I gave up everything and now…I just can’t believe…” 

            And in the opposite corner, wearing black jogging shorts and a beet-red expression, struggling trader on Wall Street, the philandering husband. “I don’t care! Just look at yourself!” And much more.

            The fight went a full fifteen rounds. By lunch time, both combatants were punched out.

            Cliff stormed out of the house, two hours late for his Saturday jog. So consumed by resentment he forgot that he hadn’t logged out of his office computer. Big mistake.

            Tish was strictly forbidden to enter Cliff’s office. Strict, meaning if a fire was raging in there, she was not to enter with a fire extinguisher. Ever. Had to do with the financial privacy of his clients, or some bullshit. Today Tish was more pissed than normal. Her breathing came in short, hard gulps. That son of a bitch, she thought. But what could she do? Well, he was out running for at least an hour. She could violate his stupid rule, that’s what. Yeah, why not? She marched into Cliff’s office and went to her husband’s large desk. Stepping behind it she peered at the screen. And gasped.

            She had always wondered what was so secret about his office. Suspected he was turning some financial deals he wanted to keep hidden from her. Maybe a gambling addiction. But this.

            The pornographic image of the girl was shocking enough. She had never seen a girl exposed in that kind of pose. Nothing was left to the imagination. Is there no privacy at all? But it was the message below the girl, who looked no more than seventeen, which made her struggle to get a breath. Below the photo was an email addressed to Cliff from Debby@SexEncounters.Tor. It read: “Ok, big guy. I’ll meet you at the Fortuna Hotel tomorrow at three. Same room? Looking forward. Bring your gear.”

            Tish stumbled backward. She recalled how Cliff sometimes looked leaving his office, smiling, even whistling. What a depraved bastard. She wanted to scroll around on his computer to see what else was there but was afraid she would mess something up. So, she rushed out of the office, seething, and headed to her bedroom. Not before grabbing a bottle. Then she started drinking. Hard.

            Cliff jogged a while, rested, brooded, and then jogged some more. Didn’t really want to go back into the home ring, but he was getting chilly, so he jogged back. The house was unusually quiet. No irritating war game sounds blasting from the kid’s bedroom. No obnoxious music. No berating greeting from the wife. No arguing. Almost tranquil if he didn’t know better.

            Cliff walked past Tish’s bedroom, dripping sweat onto the carpet. Tish couldn’t complain as she was sprawled on the bed, passed out. The gin bottle was half empty and she was way more than half in the bag.

            Jesuz, what a mess, Cliff thought. He knew he would have to prepare dinner and deal with Billy and Susie, who would be fuming because he had taken away their digital toys. Well, tough bananas. She didn’t stir as he showered and dressed.

            Cliff went into his office and closed the door. He thought about it for fifteen minutes and then decided. I just have to do it. His computer screen was dark but leaped to life when he touched the mouse. He stared at the girl, and then switched back to the main browser her site was on, the dark web’s Tor. Accessed through a special router called Onion, the Tor browser opened the door to the dark web, a vast forum for illegal activities: drugs, credit card numbers, porno, money laundering, you name it. It was anonymous and untraceable. At least that’s what Cliff understood. He started searching. It took a long time as the dark web wasn’t as efficient as the regular internet. Slow, but beggars can’t be choosers. He checked out a few leads, and then found something that looked promising.

            The site name was called Dead-Done-Right, an illegal murder for hire site, the darkest of the dark web, offering violence for sale. He scrolled down and read, “Main services are killing, acid attack, facial scar, crippling, blinding, torture, beatings, and many more.” He wondered what could be any more than that list.

            Dead-Done-Right. Reminded him of the ACDC song, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. But this wasn’t going to be cheap. What’s the going rate for murder?  $10,000? $50,000? Did they adjust for inflation every year? Would they guarantee it? Was this even for real?

            He thought about Tish’s life insurance policy. It was – what – at least $400,000. And all of her assets would go to him if she died, plus the house of course. Ok, it pencils out. With all that extra money, he could afford higher priced girls, and be free to pursue them. Had to look like an accident though. Could Dead-Done-Right do that? Damn better be right.

            Cliff vacillated between anticipation and high anxiety. He was on a steep precipice, ready to hang glide off as he pushed back the fear. He wanted to do it, but didn’t. More accurately, just didn’t want to get caught. But to be rid of her, what his life could be like. Total freedom, total fun. And then there was the money.

            He tapped ENTER SITE and heard a deep voice, computer generated, gravelly, with some kind of weird accent. “Welcome to Dead-Done-Right, the premier murder-for-hire service.” The screen showed a computer-generated image of a house bursting into flames and then turning into a pile of black ash. “Make appointment on calendar below for consultation.” 

            Cliff selected midnight, that night. The screen immediately went black and his computer shut down.

            “What the –” Cliff stared at the blank screen.

            That night he logged back in. The gravelly voice came back. “You have requirement for services?”

            “Yes, well, I’m just looking, I guess.”

            “Only look? This is for serious only, sorry.”

            “Ok, ok. I do need, ah, services. Or a service.”

            “Who is article?”

            “What?”

            “Target, who is target?”

            Had to be a foreigner behind the curtain. But that could be advantageous if they were a long way away.

            “My wife is the target, here in California. Can you do it here?”

            “This is not problem. We have many staffs with high skills, including California.”

            “What kind of price are we talking about?”

            “Straight murder, thirty thousand dollars US. Pay ten thousand first and rest when job complete. Must pay in bitcoin only.”

            “This must look like an accident,” Cliff said quickly.

            “Yes, ok. No problem. But add extra cost for looking like accident. Only five thousand more. Good price. Foolproof.”

            Cliff paused. “What is your experience in this? Do you have any, ah, references?”

            A throaty laugh. “References not smart. You want me give your name for next customer? This is take it or leave it.”

            Cliff took a deep breath and said, “Ok, I’ll take it.”

            Sunday morning, late, Tish couldn’t tell if her headache was due to the gin binge or her anger towards Cliff, which was simmering to a boil. She had little energy to prepare breakfast

for Billy and Susie, so she just let them fend for themselves.

            I gotta get out of this marriage, but how? She dug out their pre-nuptial agreement and read it several times. If she divorced Cliff all she would get is half of the house, which was community property. But half a house wouldn’t be enough. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to start working. No, she needed the whole estate, which would only go to her if Cliff was deceased. Challenging the pre-nup probably wouldn’t work. Change it? He wouldn’t go for that.

            Maybe there was a way, though, to put a permanent stop to his infidelity. She recalled a recent documentary she’d seen about the dark web. They said you could get all kinds of illegal stuff without being traced. Even hire a hitman, supposedly. Was that possible? Without Cliff around she could live again. No more arguing or fighting. And it would be a rough justice end to his unfaithfulness. Yeah, kind of a sisterhood thing. And then there was the money.

            One way to find out. She googled around and learned how to reconfigure her laptop to access the Tor server, veiled onramp to the dark web. After several false starts she got in. Now she was anonymous, she hoped. Tish started searching. There was one that seemed pretty good, and she entered the site. A deep computer voice came on.

            “Welcome to Dead-Done-Right, the premier murder for hire service.” She made her “appointment” for late that night. Afterward, it took her a couple of hours to fall asleep. She wondered how she was going to get thirty-five thousand dollars. The answer came to her the next morning. As she accessed the kid’s college mutual fund, she lied to herself, I’m doing this as much for them as me. Thirty-five thousand dollars moved into her personal account.

            Tish locked herself in her bathroom to set up a bitcoin wallet, as if hiding behind a closed door would protect her. Made no sense, but then, Tish often didn’t make sense.

            Didn’t everyone say the bitcoin blockchain was untraceable? Her finger paused over the TRANSFER BITCOIN tab for a moment. Then she sent the initial payment of ten thousand dollars to Dead-Done-Right. No turning back now.

            Cliff was more cautious. On Monday he purchased a cheap, new laptop, all cash, and set up a new email account with the false address moneyman1. Might impress them. Didn’t matter though. All that impressed was the ten thousand dollars in bitcoin he transferred to Dead-Done-Right.

            By the end of the week, with their digital shutdown over, Billy was contentedly playing his favorite war game: Absolute Annihilation. Susie was emailing friends. Tish, nervous and wondering what was going on, started drinking early in the evening. From her bathroom, she made another “appointment” on the Dead-Done-Right site. The gravelly voice came on and assured her everything was proceeding. “Must take time to plan,” the voice said.

            Cliff was more insistent when he logged onto the site the next day. “But when will it happen?”

            “You must bring target to certain location. We will inform you soon.”

            “What! No way! This isn’t some COD deal. I can’t be directly involved at all. You told me that –”

            His screen went blank.

            “Damn it!”

            Three days later, the knocking at the door, if you could call it that, came during breakfast. More like staccato hammer blows. Cliff sat up. Tish, already jittery, inhaled sharply, making a thin gasping sound. Susie dropped her muffin. Billy finished his spoonful of cereal and looked up.

            Cliff opened the door. Two uniformed policemen walked in. They were followed by a woman in a flak jacket labeled with an FBI logo, who said, “Mr. Clifford Mallory?”

            “Yes?”

            “I am placing you under arrest.”

            “What?”

            Tish was halfway to the door.

            “Mrs. Theresa Mallory?”

            Tish nodded, jaw agape.

            “You are also under arrest,” the FBI agent said. “You both have the right to remain silent and the right –”

            “Hold it,” Cliff interrupted. “What are we being arrested for?”

            “Conspiracy to commit murder. Based on an anonymous tip we have been authorized by the court to track your online activities, and we’ve obtained evidence that you are both arranging to have the other one killed.”

            Cliff stared at Tish. Both? She stared back at him.

            “No, no way,” Cliff protested. The two policemen moved to either side of Cliff.

            “Look, it’s all over,” the FBI agent said. “We’ve got evidence, including both of your IP addresses, and bitcoin transfers, using an illegal murder for hire site, called,” she looked at her notes, ‘”Dead-Done-Right.”

            “That’s impossible,” Cliff said. “The dark web is anonymous. Users can’t be traced.”

            “Guess again, smart guy. Yeah, typically the Tor server issues a false IP address, using a bunch of global relays to mask a user’s identity. But it’s not fool proof, at least not to the US government. We used an advanced hacking technique to exploit vulnerability in the Tor browser, allowing us to get your IP addresses. That was the hard part. From there it was a simple matter to subpoena your internet service provider to obtain the customer details, including your names and address.” The FBI agent waved her arm and smiled. “And here we are.”

            “But, but, that doesn’t prove anything,” Tish said, looking panicked.

            “No buts about it. Your bitcoin transfers were monetary consideration for a contract to commit murder.” She looked at Cliff and then back to Tish.” In your case, contracts to commit murder. So you both will be coming with us, right now.”

            One of the policemen pulled out handcuffs and put them on Cliff. Then he cuffed Tish. Susie began to cry. Billy stared, unmoving.

            Looking at the kids, the FBI agent said, “We’ve made arrangements with the children’s grandparents, whom, as you know, live in the neighborhood. They have agreed to take custody of the children and will be here shortly. One of the officers will stay here until they arrive.”  Cliff and Tish both looked shell-shocked, two punch-drunk combatants with little fight left. The FBI agent led Cliff and Tish out of the house to a waiting squad car.

            That night, several blocks away, Billy said, “Thanks, Grandma, but we would just like to just go to sleep now, if that would be ok.”

            “Oh yes, of course,” she replied, showing Billy and Susie to their new bedroom.

            When Grandma Mallory had gone, Billy pulled out a brand-new laptop from his day pack. “I’ve already got their Wi-Fi password,” he said. “Got it when I looked around their office before dinner.”

            “Is that a new laptop?” Susie asked. “Don’t you already have one?”

            “Yeah, I still have that old clunker that Dad took away, but I needed more firepower.”

            “More firepower?”

            “Yeah, for special, ah, projects. I’ve had it for a couple months.”

            “Didn’t Dad ban new computers?” Susie said.

            “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t show it around the house. Strictly on the hush hush. But it’s a new ball game now with all the stuff he was doing.”

            “Stuff? What do you mean?”

            “You know I’ve got serious cyber chops, right? So I’ve been hacking into Dad’s online activity for a couple of months, and it’s not a pretty picture. He’s been cheating on Mom, with all kinds of different girls. Then he hired a hitman to kill her. Can you believe it? I was shook. And she’s no better. I’ve been tracking her too. She stole money from our college fund to hire the same hitman to get rid of him. From our college fund, Susie! Even if they didn’t go through with it, they were both planning murder. That’s a crime that will send them away for up to ten years. I researched it.”

            “Up to ten years? How will we get by?”

            “With them going away we’re free. Living here with Grandpa and Grandma will be much better. No fighting, right? And they’re all good about us using computers and games. They always let us play when we’re over here, don’t they?”

            “Isuppose so.”

            “They were big-deal crimes, Susie. That’s why I sent an anonymous message to the police to let them in on it. Gave them enough info to allow them to do some surveillance of their own. The rest is justice in action. You know they deserve it.”   

            “You told the police?”

            “Of course. Look, our worries are over. I’ve taken care of everything. Here, check this out.”

            Billy opened a voice synthesizer program on his laptop and typed a couple sentences. A deep, gravelly voice, with a strange accent, came on and said, “Everything done right. Now can live free.”

            “Who is that?”

            “Sounds like a real hitman, right? It’s a computer-generated voice I created. Fully awesome, I would say. Even has a Russian-type accent. I used it on the fake website I set up on the dark web.”

            “The dark what?”

            “Look, you don’t need to bother with all the details. Just know that it fooled everybody, even the cops, and got our parents off our backs. By the time they get out, we’ll be out on our own. I even made us ten thousand bucks in the deal. Pretty cool, huh?”

            “I guess.”

            Billy unpacked his game console and powered it up. He selected Absolute Annihilation. Grabbing his game controller, he said, “Game on!”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Patrick Ritter 2024