It was a chilly mid-December night in 1984. The tree had been trimmed, the stockings had been hung, and Robert and Monique Hamilton were on their way home from Robert’s office Christmas party in the city. Little did they know that an unexpected present would be arriving early this year.
(I couldn’t help myself from using this 007 image)
Monique was a devastatingly beautiful woman, the kind that was always the object of the lingering and appreciative eyes of every man who encountered her. Her long legs, svelte figure, and flowing blonde hair had helped her achieve a successful modeling career in her late-teens and early-twenties. Modeling, however, was just a hobby for her while she was putting herself through business and later law school. In just a few short years, she had successfully built a career as a defense attorney, representing some high-profile clients in some equally high-profile cases. Her relentless determination and winning record paved the way for her to become the youngest partner in the history of Baynes-Sterling-Feinstein-Hamilton at age 31.
Her husband, Robert, was a few years her senior. He was a high-ranking executive, specializing in mergers and acquisitions for a large corporation, whose name shall not be disclosed. With their combined income of well into six figures, and no children, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton were very well off, to say the least. Robert had finished a very profitable year, and thanks to Monique’s charm and fluency in her native French, had just closed an enormous deal to buy out a French-based industrial firm, earning his own company a significant profit right before the holidays. He was a bit more of an American traditionalist than his international-flavored wife. Whereas she chose to drive a Mercedes 380 SL, he stuck to the principal he had been raised on – Cadillac was the ultimate expression of success.
That night was meant to be a night of celebration and enjoyment. His company had rented out the swanky restaurant located on the top floor of a skyscraper in the city. It would be a night of socializing, dancing, and drinking.
Mr. Hamilton had the tendency to over indulge it in the drink department a little on these occasions, but tonight he had stayed seemingly sober enough to drive. Monique had wanted to stay at a hotel in the city, but Robert couldn’t bear to leave their precious Yorkshire terriers alone over night. They left the party in his 1984 Cadillac Seville at around 12:30 in the morning, to make the 45-minute drive to their large home in the suburbs.
It was just after 1 AM. Robert was driving, and Monique was dozing on his shoulder, as “Betty Davis Eyes” played on the radio. Her peaceful state was abruptly shattered by the sudden screech of brakes, Robert’s shouting, and her body propelled forward into the dashboard. Looking up, the sight of a bloodstained, shattered windshield sent chills of terror down her spine. She wanted to scream, but if her legal career had taught her anything, it was to remain calm and composed in the face of an unexpected situation. Robert was just sitting there eyes wide, faced forward, with his hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I hit him, I hit him”, he kept muttering, as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
Monique got out of the car, and scanned the surrounding area. No one had arrived on the scene; there was no one around at all, only the lifeless body of a man lying in the middle of an otherwise empty street. She momentarily froze, then rushed over to him. Quickly taking his pulse she confirmed what she already knew –that he was dead. In that moment, any lingering effects of alcohol disappeared, as the gravity of their situation sunk in.
By that time Robert had let himself out of the Seville, and was slowly walking toward them. She continued gazing down at the motionless body in front of her. His clothes were filthy and worn, his shoes had holes in them, and his grungy long hair and beard looked as though things were living in them. Searching his pockets revealed no wallet or keys – just some change, a pack of Lucky Strikes, and a fifth of cheap whiskey. The man they had struck was a homeless drifter – what he was doing out in the suburbs was a mystery.
We would all like to think that we’d do the right thing in a situation like this, but when faced with the actual reality, things aren’t so simple. You see, Robert had already had several serious driving violations, including a DUI back when he was in college. Although he wasn’t falling over drunk, Robert was clearly intoxicated. Given his history, and her knowledge of the legal system, Monique knew he’d receive no sympathy in a court of law. Robert wasn’t just some man she married – he was the love of her life, and she had hopes of starting a family with him, if this got out all those hopes would be dashed.
She pondered the situation for a moment. In reality, who would be affected by this homeless man’s death? For all she knew, he had no family, no job, and no obligations. His disappearance and death wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who knew him; maybe no one would even notice. By contrast, Robert turning himself in would destroy both of their lives.
Robert was just standing over the body, his hands pressed against his temples. Taking his wrists, Monique looked directly into his eyes. “I’ll make this okay”, she whispered in her smooth, seductive voice.
Tossing her mink coat into the back seat so as to not get blood on it, Monique shivered in the cold December air. She grabbed the victim’s ankles, while Robert lifted him by the shoulders. As together they carried him to the car, Robert glanced up at his beautiful wife, her jewels glistening in the moonlight. He was overcome with love and respect for her. This was the ultimate test of their relationship, and she was willing to risk everything she had for it.
Getting the six-foot corpse into the trunk of the Seville was no easy task. Its bustle-back styling severely limited its trunk capacity. Closing the lid required them to fold the corpse into a contortionist-like position. At last, the trunk lid gave a firm “thud”.
With Monique behind the wheel, they sped off, heading back towards the city. The car had sustained some front-end damage, but mechanically, it was still driveable. Visibility was the hard part, as the windshield had been shattered and only one headlight was still working. Within twenty minutes, they were in a rough part of the city. Recalling a case from the past, Monique knew the spot to ditch the car, where it would likely be stripped for parts. They pulled over, left the keys, and walked off into the night.
Naturally they both feared they would be caught, but days passed and nothing happened, not even a mention in the news. Weeks turned into months, and then years. No one else had witnessed the accident or the subsequent removal of the body. What became of the Seville is unknown, but amazingly Robert and Monique were never caught.
Needless to say, 1984 was not the merriest Christmas for the Robert and Monique Hamilton. Neither that night, nor the Cadillac Seville was ever mentioned again between them. Given their wealth, the appearance of a new car in their elegant driveway shortly after Christmas didn’t seem out of the ordinary to any of their friends or neighbors. Robert couldn’t bring himself to buy another Cadillac, given the inevitable associations with that night forever engraved on his mind. The years went by, and Robert and Monique Hamilton went on with their lives. They continued their successful careers, had a few kids, and kept the secret of that December night in 1984.
It was an unusually warm December day, thirty years later when George and Monique got a call from their now-adult son, Adam. He had made a hobby out of restoring classic cars, and wanted to show them his latest purchase. They hopped in Monique’s Range Rover Autobiography, and headed down to the garage to meet their son. As they pulled up, they saw Adam waving them over, to a 1984 Cadillac Seville, identical in colors to the one George had owned thirty years go. It was then that Monique finally let out a high-pitch scream.
Nicely done bit of holiday-themed fiction! I do suppose it would be hard to fit a body in the trunk of a bustleback Seville, wouldn’t it?
Oh now that’s just sick… I like it!!!
+1
Great story!
Absolutely riveting! I didn’t see that ending coming. Good job!
I couldn’t understand why Robert traded his Cadillac in for a minivan until Adam arrived. Then I knew, but when I asked him what he got for the Seville, his eyes got that far-away glaze and he just looked at me and shrugged…
Wow! that was an unexpected present.
Anything else will only be deleted.
That Bond girl picture is not going to leave my mind anytime soon.
It’s been 30 years since the bustle Seville? OMG.
One editorial comment, probably all of these cars had the automaic trunk pull-down feature. No thunking trunk lids here. Otherwise, crazy ending!
I’m still hoping they’ll get caught…
Amazing shots. Ain’t like the fractured windshield… Happy X-mass to All!
Entertaining read, Brendan. I was waiting for her to doublecross then blackmail her husband, but you were nicer than that. 🙂
That’s what makes it fiction & not a true story!
Just think…had they been driving today’s Mercedes coupe CC, they’d never have reached a speed sufficient to kill the guy! Seriously nice work, bro. You’re a hella writer.
Wow.
I must say, the final twist does strike a chord with me – as I’m sure it would for anyone who’s bought, owned, or even just observed many old cars as I have.
Especially once a vehicle is decades old, having had several previous owners and stories forgotten or concealed with each change of hands, you wonder where it’s really been and what it’s really seen. Could be nice stories, or not so nice ones… “if these walls could talk” in an automotive context, more or less.
As more than one COAL has touched on (including a few of my own), we can only speculate on why that hood or fender was replaced, or what led to that interior swap. Sometimes the story is easy to piece together. Other times… well, it might be that the tale has been hidden by the passage of years rather than Bondo.
It’s fun to think about where an old car has been. Many of my vehicles have witnessed times and places that I’ll never be able to see, much as I might wish to. But things like this remind me that the people who lived their lives in those cabins had bad days, too.
The Plot Thicken’s (Evil Laugh!)
Well, that’s one way of getting rid of a HT4100 before it blew up…..
Great alternate ending: the Caddy erupts in a cloud of steam and oil smoke right as the couple passes a patrol car that just went back in service from writing a ticket for someone with a headlight out. “When we get out of prison, our next car will be a Toyota.” 🙂
Phew… I thought they’d hit Santa!
Which is not to say that mowing down the homeless is any more endearing.
Engaging fiction with sadly believable characters.
Nice work!
So you chose to turn this gem of a Seville into a work of fiction rather than a CC? Was that a way to avoid controversy? 🙂
It was mainly because this car has been extensively covered here, and I couldn’t think of much more new to add, other than it would probably be difficult to stuff a body into the trunk 🙂
This was terrific!
Robert may be one of the few people to turn away from Cadillac for the reasons he did – or maybe he wasn’t….
Great ( if chilling ) story with an excellent plot twist. No matter who you are, your past will always catch up to you eventually.
The story’s main jist reminds me of a CBS or NBC TV movie I saw many years ago titled “Dead Silence”.
Three college gals, lifelong friends, head to Palm springs for a weekend of fun, unaware it will change their lives forever. After renting a Mustang convertible, the gal driving, a gorgeous blonde college senior on her way to a successful career in journalism, accidentally runs down and kills homeless man who unexpectedly darts across the desolate desert highway that they’re on.
Even though the accident technically wasn’t her fault, due to her prior DUI conviction and the fact that she’s slightly tipsy, she potentially faces serious criminal charges and major prison time. Girl #2, seeing the guy is a homeless drifter, suggests hiding his body in the desert and never mentioning the incident again. Girl #3, the youngest, most naive, least wordly, and most timid of three uses her credit card to replace the Mustang’s damaged windshield and not report it to the rental agency.
Months later, after being hired as a field reporter by a local TV station, blondie’s first assignment is reporting the discovery of human remains in the Palm springs desert. You guessed it- the body is that of the guy SHE killed.
Thanks to the work of a relentless detective, the girls’ terrible secret begins to unravel, and with it their lives. Drunk Girl keeps her silence, but begins to crack under the pressure. Credit Card Girl, terrified of going to prison and unable to live with the guilt and shame, chucks herself off the roof of the motel where they were staying. Body Stash Idea Girl finally goes to the cops and spills her guts, telling them exactly what happened. After telling drunk girl what she’s done, the two share a last good cry before the cops show up and haul Miss Drunkie off to jail.
The movie ends with Body Stash girl sitting in their now-empty rental house, crying her eyes out while watching old home movies of the trio during happier days.
hehehe. Good stuff.
I’m almost slightly surprised nobody noticed. Picture two caught my breath, as did picture four:
Windows on the World
One, World Trade Center, Floor 107
New York, NY 10048
The view is looking east.
North. Empire State in the center. It’s late.
Yes, indeed it is. That was the restaurant I had in mind, and I purposely used that mid-’80s-ish looking pic. I failed to use specific location names, because I wanted each reader to have their own interpretation of where the story took place. By coincidence, I was actually in NYC earlier this week.
I miss Windows. It was a great place to take a client or a girlfriend to (either / both on the company card) and my then-GF had a friend who was in mgt there who would regularly – it being the early ’80’s – would sneek a nose treat to us.
I walk pass the holes in the ground 2x day but having worked there, refuse to get close enough to read the 75 or so names I still grieve over. It will always be a graveyard to me, and I really dread my current co moving into the new tower.
THANX ! .
Very well written .
The first two photos really grab me , one because I grew up Down East and really remembered the beauty of those bone chilling long snowy nights it was too cold to sleep in , I’d watch the snow silently drifting down in the lone street light and think about my future….
Two because I instantly imagined my Sweet Lady in that outfit ~ it’d have to be made of asbestos to avoid spontaneous combustion =8-) .
I’ve been missing the fiction posts .
-Nate
Thanks, Brendan – good story, well written.
Hahah, never would have predicted the awesome and dark twist this story took after the first couple of paragraphs. Very nicely done… if this had happened in a 2014 CTS, their EZ-Pass tags, universal surveillance cameras and DNA evidence would’ve ratted them out.
Fascinating fiction story… or was it real ?
Well, in 1977, a year after independantist Quebec party took the power, it’s chief and then prime minister (René Levesque) hit an homeless lying in the middle of the road on it’s way home. The funny fact is the homeless was not known to spend it’s time on that deserted road crossing Montreal’s only mountain (the Royal Mount), and was a regular on Ste-Catherine st, downtown. Many miles further…
Lévesque was probably not sober, it was late in the night, he was alone, and he was a methodic man driving the same road in his Ford Capri. Perfect victim for a frame-up from the Federals ? They were fighting independantism with much vigor, and not always legally or ethically…
Anyway, the case was closed without much publicity, but even if there was no official story, rumours were spreading. The homeless was already dead when Levesque hit him. He had a deal with the Feds to keep this story untold. He was not alone, Etc…
That story didn’t prevent Levesque and its party to propose a referendum on independance, which was lost 60-40 in may 1980. Levesque is now known as one of the greatest Quebec Prime Minister, notwithstanding its poilitical bias.