I had my chance. I could have testified. But, like a sheep led to slaughter, this cat was cool and did not utter one meaningless sound. After all, what was I going to say?

"No, Your Honor, I didn't kill the Bitch."

Of course, I killed her. Why wouldn't I kill her? The first time I shot her, I shot her in the side. I wanted to watch her suffer. But, with the second shot she died. Touche! She was deader than a rusty doornail.

I don't want your sorriness, or your pity party, or anything else. You see, I had my chance. I didn't have to fall in love with her. I was married to an angel who never even looked at another man. Or, so I thought. Boy, I can't say the same thing about me and the ladies.

"Like Carter's has pills, I had women all over the place," I boasted to my cellmate.

To which he replied, "There ain't but a handful of things in this ole world that's worth a solitary damn."

I quoted the list, "There's dogs, and children, and fine wine. Of course, there's plenty of pretty women, and good music, too."

We laughed.

Wine, sweet and warm. Just like an exquisite female, you want to take the libation in your hands and gently caress them both. And, I mean at the same time. Women are good for that.

Many is the time she poured herself all over me, liberating my body and my spirit. All the way. That's how I drank her up. Then, when the well ran dry, I chucked her into the nearest garbage can.

That would be the Blue Moon Saloon down the street from where we lived. And, I should have known. I should have known nothing but trouble would come out of that dive. Trouble with a capital "T".

"Pour me another," I told the barkeep.

The old, silver-haired, geezer was a good friend of mine. He had been, for years. He always told me this limerick. I'd heard it at least a million times before.

"There was this genie, who had a ten foot weenie, and took it to the girl next door. She thought it was a snake, and whacked it with a rake. Now, it's a two-by-four," he said.

"Just give me the Corona," I replied, "that joke's as old as you are, John. And that, amigo, is ancient."

He sat the ice cold mug on the countertop. It was my third that night. How was I to know it'd be the last brewski I'd ever swallow? Earlier, I'd downed a fifth of Black Label.

I looked across the bar and there was my wife. My wife! In the arms of my ex-lover. So, you see. I had my chance.

She didn't. Man, you should have seen the shocked look on her face when I stumbled, drunk as a skunk, up to the table where they sat. I could tell by the uneasy way she squirmed in her chair this was going to be good. I knew her alibi would have to be great. I couldn't wait to hear what she told me.

"I can explain, Reggie," she began fumbling for the words she prayed I'd listen to.

"Go ahead, Marybeth," I encouraged her with a slight smile. It was the whiskey talking, saying, "I'm all ears."

Meanwhile, I reached for the snub-nose in my pocket. It was fully loaded. Sometimes, the weak have got to be strong.

Before she could continue, I shot her. Right there, in that packed barroom, among two dozen lookie-loos who could identify me. The exploding sound of the bullet echoed louder than the music pulsating off the walls.

She fell out of her chair and landed on the floor with a loud thud. Her hand grasped for the hole in her side. I could smell the putrid, stale, metallic aroma of her blood. The second bullet landed between her baby blues. Oh, I had my chance. And, what did I do with it? I grabbed the bull by the horns and seized the moment that defined our lives. That's what I did with it.

With my feet on the trap, I see the buzzards circling nearby. Now, I'm swinging and here I go... go...go! Pirouetting underneath a clear sky, I perform my final dance of death. As I dangle at the end of a short piece of rope, the final thought that enters my mind?

I had my chance.