Comments to imagineer47@yahoo.com
"What a day." Valerie was beat. For more than a week she'd been job-hunting. She'd been to every business in walking distance (and some well past that, her sore feet reminded her) and nobody was hiring. Or so they said.
That little bat-faced woman at her old job couldn't have blackballed her, could she? It wasn't even Valerie's fault. It was that shit Spence...
He and Bobby had shown up at work, promising a pair of backstage passes to the No Doubt show. All she had to do was go to this guy's house and do it with Bobby on the couch while the guy watched through a peephole and jerked off in the other room. Spence even offered to cover for her at work while she went to pick up the tickets -- lucky for her the boss was out sick...
How could she have been so gullible? She was smarter than that. But she'd been especially horny that day... Between the reality of a good drilling by Bobby and the fantasy of kissing Gwen Stefani all over her sweaty post-concert body, how could she resist?
By the end of the day, Spence had badly faked several entries in the FedEx shipping log. He'd planned to file a claim against the fake insurance for the fake packages the next day. It was only Spence's extreme stupidity that kept him -- and her -- out of jail for conspiracy to commit fraud. The FedEx manager didn't need such a boneheaded fiasco in his district, so he quietly deleted the entries, gave Spence a "this is your life / this is your life in prison" speech, and left. Unfortunately, her boss at the ceramic lawn art mail order shop wasn't so sweet, and by the next morning Valerie was out on her ass.
More than a week later, she'd finally exhausted all the local service and retail establishments and small businesses without a single offer. "Time to branch out." Valerie picked up a leftover newspaper at the bus stop across from the apartment; she could scan the classifieds. Working sucked, but it beat the alternative. The boys were dumbassing their way to a career in the vehicular identification industry. Maybe they looked forward to stamping out license plates, but Val wanted something with better hours and a more relaxed dress code.
On the bench next to the newspaper was a World News Weekly. She picked it up... Valerie needed a good laugh, and the trailer trash in bikinis they called the Page Three Girls never let her down.
Valerie rifled through the mail as she passed the elevator -- the spoiled-milk smell made her wretch -- and entered the stairwell.
Phone bill. Dammit, TJ was calling his old girlfriend long-distance again. Bastard had his own place, why couldn't he use his own phone?
Invoice for Penthouse magazine. Bobby and his "bill me later." It should have read "bill girlfriend later." Soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, she fumed. Bobby might not be a total loser if he didn't tag along with whatever Spence and TJ did. No, he'd still be a loser. If only he weren't such a stud in bed. But Valerie was beginning to have other thoughts about even that. No doubt, Bobby had to go. Actually he could stay -- she'd be the one leaving as soon as she figured out a safe way to convert those stones into an appropriately-sized roll of cash.
The rest of the mail wound up tossed out the stairwell windows.
Coupons with a "have you seen me?" flyer, the printing so cheap every child's photo looked the same.
Secured credit card scam.
Fingerhut catalog.
By the fourth and final flight of stairs, Valerie had begun folding through the World News Weekly looking for Page Three. Every page looked the same and thanks to all the ads only one in eight pages had a page number; the only way she could ever get to the good stuff was to find the cover with the paper's big purple logo...
Valerie rolled her eyes when she read the cover's headline, plastered over a stock-photo collage of a masked burglar being stuffed into a patrol car and a winged angel descending a column of light from above.
GOD SENDS ANGEL TO SAVE QUICK MART
Convenience Store Angel Stops Bullets, Beats Up Would-Be Thieves
Witness stories and PHOTO PAGE FOUR!
"How do they come up with this stuff?" Valerie unlocked the door and put her things down, plopped onto the futon, and kicked off her shoes. "ANYBODY HOME?" she called out; silence returned. If anyone was here they were sleeping something off. Valerie briefly thought of changing clothes; she only had the one good pair of work slacks left, and would need them again tomorrow if she was to keep up the job-hunt. Her hands briefly went to her belt, a series of brass lockets chained together. Oh right, she'd worn the locket-belt. It looked good on her, and dressed up the plain thin slacks, but it was a pain to unhook. Heck with it. She was too tired to change now. She could wash the slacks later. Let's check out page three...
"Not bad this week," she said, appraising the Page Three Girl's photo. Redhead with sickly-white freckled skin and sunken eyes but otherwise a cute face. Her body had the heroin-addict skin-and-bones look the rag seemed to favor. Apparently fat trailer trash just didn't do it.
"'Donna, a 19-year-old college sophomore majoring in communications, spends her time between classes doing modeling work. When she's not working or studying this New Jersey resident enjoys going to dance clubs with her friends. She likes a man with a winning smile. Donna's profile... Measurements: 34B-22-32' -- if that's a B-cup I'm Morgan Fairchild -- 'Weight: 98 lbs / Height: 4-feet-11 / Hair: Auburn / Eyes: Green / Occupation: Model / Turn-Ons: Smile / Turn-Offs: Reading / Dream: to work with Jerry Bruckheimer..."
Valerie's giggles grew into all-out laughter. When she calmed down, she reclined on the futon couch, letting the paper fall next to her. She needed a nap.
Something in the tabloid caught her eye. The photo looked familiar somehow. The story's headline recalled the front page: "AVENGING ANGEL CAUGHT IN THE ACT!" She picked up the paper and studied the grainy image. This wasn't a staged or doctored photo -- it was too out-of-focus and shitty-looking for that. A car was slammed into the front of a QuickMart -- most of the chain's familiar sign visible above the wreck -- with jagged blobs that must be the storefront window's glass still tumbling down on the car's hood in a dramatic action shot. But it wasn't the car or the window that caught Valerie's attention, it was the fuzzy shape hovering several feet above it. It was clearly a person. Probably jumped up in the air just before impact. But ten feet in the air? Maybe jumped down on the car from the roof. Barefoot? Cranked up on something, no doubt. But the shape still demanded her attention, as if she was supposed to recognize who it was... it was a girl. Bare-legged, with a flared skirt. Definitely not jumping down or the skirt would be up around her waist, Valerie reasoned as she studied the image more closely. Arms stretched out, and something hazy over her head, like a shadowy cloud in the bright wash of the sign light.
Valerie scanned the story for clues. Hey, right across town... a couple of weeks ago... dressed in a thin tunic dress with glittering jewels on her hands and feet... the 'angel' flew off into the night after beating them senseless...
No way!
It was the same 'angel' that had dropped in on Bobby and them that night. The barely-dressed 'angel' who'd "donated" the three big rocks to Valerie's emancipation fund.
Not that the World News Weekly was the most reliable source, but it made Valerie feel less ridiculous about remembering the girl fly off out of the alley... she read the story through again.
...witness said the robbers shot her with automatic weapons to no effect... store front and getaway car littered with bullet holes and shotgun pellets... no blood found on the scene...
Suddenly Valerie flashed back to the previous week when she'd had the stones checked out by that weasely jeweler. The accident in the street... the car's front end looked wrecked, but she walked away unscathed. Her clothes had been thoroughly road-rashed, but she hadn't developed a single bruise or scrape. She wasn't even really sore the next day like she had been in that other accident.
Did the stones make you bullet-proof? Oh come on, Valerie, that's just stupid. But what other explanation was there? Luck?
If there was even a chance that those stones were more than just big jewels, Valerie was determined not to let anyone get their hands on them. If they were special, maybe this mystery angel girl would pay to get them back. Or maybe Valerie could find some other way to benefit. Good thing she'd resisted the temptation to pawn them for a quick buck. She felt on the verge of something truly huge, and she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers. From now on she was keeping the stones with her.
Valerie rolled off the futon and hurried into the bedroom. She sat on the mattress which lay on the floor and pulled out the special drawer. Whew! The gems were still there under the false bottom, one-two-three, all snug rolled up in her velvet 'date' underwear. And her last $20. She stuffed the money and the ad-hoc jewelry bag in her pants pocket, but the lump was too obvious, even to someone not looking. Hey, her belt... some of the lockets actually worked. She leaned back on the bed, opening one of the locket clasps and dropping a stone inside. Damn, it wouldn't close. She tried another. No luck. A few of the lockets had a wire mesh front; she tried one of these. The stone caused the mesh to bulge a bit, but it closed. A second wire-mesh locket held another stone. But the third one wouldn't close. She tried two more wire-mesh lockets but they wouldn't close either. She reached around back and found another wire-mesh locket, but it was hung up on a belt loop and she couldn't open it. As she sat there trying to shift the belt to work it loose, she head the apartment door slam.
"Val!" It was TJ. Fuck! Valerie tugged frantically. "Valerie! Where are you?" TJ sounded pissed. She didn't want him cornering her in the bedroom. As she got up off the floor she clenched the third stone tightly in her hand, as if a tight enough grip would keep it safe.
Tim "TJ" James was not the leader of his clique. Spence had that role, being the most gregarious of the trio of young men who grew up together. Spence was the glad-hander, always charming someone out of something. TJ was the strong, silent, and sullen type. When Spence was around, TJ was passive, like a younger brother in deference, standing and moving in a way that minimized his 6'5" and 230 pounds of natural athletic form. But on his own TJ was a different person. Intense with a barely-concealed hatred of everything, violence held in check only by intellectual indifference in the outcome of action versus inaction. Valerie had been attracted to him at first, probably because he didn't hit on her. But after a few months of working with the boys she came to realize he wasn't shy or moody, he was psycho. Their relationship was non-existent, two objects moving around each other without acknowledgement. Valerie could count on one hand the number of times she and TJ had been in the same room without Spence or Bobby around, and each time Valerie got the feeling that TJ was somehow one thought away from willing her out of existence.
It chilled her to the bone to hear him in her apartment looking for her now.
What did he want? Did he know about the stones? How could he?
Valerie steeled herself and entered the living room. "Hey, TJ." She tried to appear calm, like a visit from TJ was an everyday occurrence. She leaned back casually against the door frame.
TJ was standing in front of the couch, weight on the balls of his feet, his face flushed with anger. Clearly he'd rushed over without a plan. Her nonchalance deflected him; he visibly cooled, his posture returning to its usual minimized lax state. He couldn't just beat her up, not yet anyway. Get the product first. He took a moment to size her up. Kinda tall for a girl, though still six inches shorter than he. Dressed nicer than usual, tight black slacks and white peasant blouse in place of the usual cargo pants and T-shirt. Date? Job? Apartment-hunting? Suspicion gave way momentarily to appreciation of her graceful form. Valerie could look pretty hot as the girl next door when she tried. If she wasn't such a lying cheating bitch he might even be interested...
He sat down on the couch. His hand rested on the World News Weekly, just covering the Angel story, Valerie noticed.
"Bobby and Spence coming up?" she asked.
"No. It's just me."
Dread washed over her. She swallowed hard.
"Is this a social call? I don't mean to be rude, but I've got stuff I gotta do." She squeezed her fist around the stone, feeling its edges press into her skin.
"A social call?" TJ smiled a nasty smile. He picked up the paper and started thumbing through it. "Not that Bobby hasn't told me what a great fuck you are --" obviously said for shock value, and effective in its suddenness "-- but no. I'm here because you ripped us off."
"Excuse me?"
"I want the diamonds."
"Diamonds?"
"The stones you stole from us after we bagged that chick a couple weeks ago." He flipped a page, pretending to read. "The blue diamonds."
"Blue diamonds," Valerie repeated. They're sapphires, you idiot. What TJ lacked in height he made up for in intelligence.
"You're always after my Lucky Charms," she smirked. He didn't get the joke. She took a step toward the kitchen -- and the front door beyond. "You want the pink hearts, yellow moons, green clovers, and purple horseshoes too?" Now he got the joke. He wasn't amused.
"Is that supposed to be fucking funny?" Violent tension cracked through his surface calm for an instant. He half-rose from the couch; she slunk back against the wall.
Valerie knew she was stupid for antagonizing him, but she always got this way when she was nervous. Scathing humor was her defense mechanism. She fought to suppress it.
"Are you talking about the sapphires?"
"You know what I'm talking about. That chick in the alley behind the club that... we chased across the street to the park. The jewelry she was wearing. Bobby told me you have it hidden. Get it."
That prick Bobby, Valerie thought. He'd found her hiding place. He wasn't as dumb as he looked.
"Do you mean the sapphires I found by myself after you guys took off to fuck her brains out and left me behind to find my own way home? That jewelry?" Woah, check the attitude girl.
"Look, you wouldn't have found it if she didn't tangle with us and we didn't beat her down. That makes it part of the score. They're mine as much as yours."
TJ was bad news, but the three stooges had sponged off her long enough. She'd gotten the stones on her own after those three let their dicks take over and ran off. This wasn't their usual score. This was out of bounds. She was tired of dealing with them, of letting their small-time stupid shit almost land them and her in jail. She only had to get out of the apartment and she was gone for good. She just couldn't let TJ find the stones on her, or he'd take them... and probably knock the shit out of her. She had to talk her way out.
"I've been keeping them to myself because I knew Spence would take 'em the moment he saw 'em and sell 'em for shit to some tracked-up buddy of his, and probably get busted in the process. Jewels this big stay hot for a while." True as far as that went. "You know I'd give everybody their cut when the deal was done."
"You already took the goods downtown. Just when was this cut going to happen?" No eye contact. His question came with a surface detatchment that emphasized the hatred underneath.
How'd he know she'd been to the jewelry store? Had he been following her? Had she slipped and said something to Bobby? No... so how? Never mind that now... think...
"I flashed 'em on purpose, and I'm still holdin' 'em on purpose. Not everybody is as dumb as Spence. You don't just sell to the first jerkoff you meet. Rocks this... unique, the owner's gonna be looking for them, and he's gonna be willing to pay. More than some fence." That sounded plausible. It might even be true, now that she thought about it.
"Rocks that big, the owner's gonna be looking to slit the throat of the bitch that stole 'em from him." Val knew he was referring to himself as much as he was referring to the real owner. She also knew he was right both ways.
He continued, "Street trash with no friends, no family, it's cheaper to kill 'em than pay 'em." He stood, folding the paper and tapping it in his open palm.
Valerie feigned indifference to TJ's aggression. "For a minute I thought that might be the owner at the door. But it was only you." The last part was meant to be belittling. He recognized her intent.
She knew their conversation was just stalling, a game TJ was willing to play out only to come after her that much harder when it was done. She watched him measure the distance between them with a quick dart of his eyes. Val considered her options. He was between her and the front door -- no dice. The bedroom window? She could probably reach it and get out before he caught her... if it was already open. She couldn't remember. If it was closed he'd probably get to her before she got it open; then the best she could hope for was a lucky hit in the tussle that would ensue. She regretted not changing out of her job-interview clothes. The thin silk top and crepe slacks weren't as much protection as her normal street clothes, even though she knew if it came to a fight with TJ it wouldn't matter if she wore armor.
He kept tapping the paper against his palm. The paper was folded over to the Angel article. She could see a part of the subheadline.
"Stops Bullets"
Armor...
Her mind recalled the image of the yellow Saab, its front end crunched in as she rolled off the hood to the pavement...
...and the image of the Angel, kicking TJ in the face in the alley...
Valerie pushed herself off the wall and turned to face him. Her fist clenched around the sapphire in her hand. She raised it up to her chest.
"I've got your jewels right here, TJ." She opened her hand, rolling the gemstone back and forth between thumb and forefinger. TJ's eyes went wide as they homed right in on the glittering rock.
Valerie watched TJ's eyes follow the stone as she moved her hand away from her in a flourish, then back to her chest to drop the stone emphatically in the cleavage of her blouse.
"Take it if you can, asshole."
She saw his face flash bright red in shock and fury. In a flash he was over the orange-crate coffee table, his shoulder driving into her upper chest, his momentum meant to slam her up against the wall. Valerie heard more than felt the back of her skull Crack! against the wall.
Valerie thought: Well *that* was stupid.
His speed took her completely by surprise. She found herself limp, back against the wall, pinned there by TJ's shoulder, his body turned to her right, still leaned in and thrusting with his legs to keep her immobilized. His left hand was groping under his right armpit at her stomach, fishing upward for the stone trapped in her bra.
She'd been hit hard on the head before. She expected to become dizzy and pass out, but to her surprise her disorientation faded quickly.
TJ was straightening up, lifting her on his shoulder, her body still pinned against the wall. She felt her feet leave the floor. Val flailed her fists at his back, but the blows were mostly ineffective, landing on his hard shoulders. He kept rocking forward and back, up and down, slamming her into the wall repeatedly. Meanwhile, his hand continued groping. Valerie felt like a rag doll. When TJ realized he couldn't reach her bra or its prize in this position, he withdrew a step. Valerie flopped back down to the floor.
He reached for her chest, but she'd recovered from the initial shock of the attack. She'd been in her share of street fights, against girls and guys. Val juked down and to her right, TJ grabbing nothing but air, outstretched hand gripping the wall. Val brought a quick knee up to the groin, but because she was off-balance there wasn't much force in it -- just enough to slow him for a moment. She scrambled away to the right, recovering her stance. TJ turned to face her.
"To get out of here you've gotta get past me, bitch. Now give me the *fucking* rocks and I promise I won't hurt you." His voice briefly rose to a yell and fell back to a growl.
Valerie looked at the wall where they'd first collided. The sheetrock was collapsed in where her shoulders struck, but down the middle was a wall stud. She could see the impression up against it up higher; the back of her head smacked right into the stud. She should be out cold, maybe bleeding. But she felt fine, the tingle on the back of her neck faded to nothing.
"You don't look so tough," she spat at him, even as he straightened up and shook out his shoulders. He was built like a bear. TJ snarled. A very angry bear. But she was shaking off his vicious slamming like it was a love tap. "I think I can take you."
"Oh suddenly the cunt thinks she's a bad-ass? Come on... come on..." he motioned her forward with a hand gesture.
Valerie's mind whirled. Now what? Unsure of just what benefit the sapphires might provide, she realized she might have pressed her luck too far. Best just to try to get past him and get the hell out of there. Indeed, the stones struggled to provide her protection despite the dampening effects of her clothing, and without anything to focus their discharge, much of it fed back through the slim girl's sexual nerve centers.
Valerie juked to the right; he matched her movement. She stepped to the left; he shifted back to block. Right, left, right... Valerie finally dodged to the left, trying to duck under TJ's big arm. But he caught her around the waist, winding up like a spring as her legs kept pumping to get past him. His left arm came around, wrapping her in a hug. Val felt herself lifted off the floor as the spring uncoiled, TJ bellowing as he tossed her like a rag doll back into the corner of the room. Val fell back, crashing into and collapsing an old sheet-metal shelving unit in a cacophany of twisting metal and falling knicknacks. She landed on her ass with a thud just as TJ closed the three steps between them.
Valerie felt something sharp under her hand. She lifted it and looked down. The underside of one of the shelves was twisted up, exposing the sheet metal's sharp edges. She was surprised it hadn't sliced her open. Then she noticed her pant leg, a long rip up the calf and past the knee. "Dammit, TJ, these were my good slacks!"
She rose to her feet slowly, broken ceramic and glass raining down from her head and shoulders.
TJ stepped toward her, cocking one hand up and swinging it around. Valerie heard the slap before she felt it, a sickening fleshy smack! echoing around the spartan room. Next thing she knew she was picking herself up off the floor again. Funny, it didn't hurt much. Just an electric tingle, like touching your tongue on a nine-volt battery. The shards of glass and tangle of bare metal shelves were doing a number on her slacks and blouse but didn't seem to be breaking the skin. She pushed herself back to her feet.
TJ grabbed her by the front of her blouse and shook her violently. "Get Me Those Jewels!" Her blouse ripped open as he shook her back and forth, sending her back to the floor in a heap. TJ's eyes went wide momentarily, then took on a hungry look in addition to boiling rage. Valerie noticed the front of her blouse hung loosely, exposing her lacy demi-cup bra. She felt the gemstone wedged uncomfortably under her left breast. Her chest and pelvic area felt warm and tingly, some kind of weird rush. Was she losing blood? No, there wasn't a drop anywhere... It was like her skin was charged with an electric forcefield or something. The gems really did work.
"Fuck you, TJ." She didn't shout; there was a strange... disgust in her voice. She looked up at him and sneered.
TJ leaned down and grabbed for the bra but she slapped his hand away, HARD. He looked stunned. He reached again; she slapped again, sending his arm back like a projectile. Valerie's hands buzzed, but not in pain like a normal slap. TJ just stood there with a dumb look on his face, unable to comprehend why his hands weren't going where he expected and why his arms hurt so much -- and marveling at the paradox of feminine beauty and resiliant strength laying before him.
Valerie rolled over to get up. TJ recovered, seeing an opportunity, wrapping his elbow around her neck in a chokehold. He yanked her to her feet, pulling her back onto him, her feet dangling in the air, her long slender legs flailing uselessly. Valerie panicked for an instant, but felt no pressure around her neck, just a sparkly-pinprick feeling.
"Give it up, bitch!" TJ yelled, shaking her about like a doll. Val grabbed at his arm but couldn't pull it away. She saw the room shaking about in front of her; it was making her dizzy. Unable to grab at him, she threw her head back; he froze at the impact. She did it again, and again. Repeated head-butts smashed TJ in the cheek and nose, each one harder than the last.
Suddenly Val found herself dropped to the floor.
"Fuck!" she heard, slightly muffled. "You broke my fucking nose!" She pushed herself to her feet and looked up at him; his nose was bleeding. His hand nursed the misshapen bridge of the nose. When he saw her standing before him with a... bemused look on her face, he reached out and grabbed her by the hair. Valerie felt her head yanked down until his knee hit her face; she staggered back but kept her feet.
TJ watched in amazement as the girl straightened up. Her nose should be broken -- bitch deserved it -- but her face was flawless, like it hadn't happened. "Is that all you've got?" she growled. The girl didn't wait for an answer, lunging forward and slamming a fist hard into his gut. He brought his fists down together on her back but the blow was glancing, his fists almost bouncing off. He hit her with blows to the midsection, but she just stood there, toe to toe with him. TJ shook his head -- his vision must be affected, some kind of blue sparks seemed to be flying off when he hit her.
"You hit like a girl!" she taunted. Valerie leaped up with an uppercut, straightening both of them out. But TJ was no glass jaw. He hit back, right in the face, an uppercut and a roundhouse. Valerie just shook it off and smiled cruelly. TJ couldn't believe it; it was like punching a brick wall. She lunged forward again, a fist to the gut, with amazing power; he doubled over, only to feel her hands on his head, yanking him down lower. His face met her knee; he saw stars as she shoved him back upright, knocking him over the back of the couch.
TJ was on the defensive now. He'd misjudged her badly. Most bitches got quiet after a few smacks, but she just kept taking it! And except for her ragged clothes it looked like he hadn't touched her. Meanwhile he felt like he'd been hit by a truck -- winded and stinging all over.
He began slowly coming to his knees as Val rounded the couch. She had a clear path to the front door... but didn't take it. She felt invincible. Energy surged through her body; this was no mere adrenaline rush. This was better than any drug she'd ever tried or heard about. It was like the gems made her a Godess.
A brutal kick to the chin knocked TJ back against the wall. "See how you like it!" She Lunged at him, sending them crashing up against the wall, smashing the sheetrock between two studs. The sapphire forcefield energy spit angrily at the collision. Val felt electric, powerful, in charge. Dominant.
"Thought you could make me your bitch, did you?" One, two, three wicked slaps echoed through the room. TJ's head lolled forward. He was bleeding and bruised and wheezing... but he couldn't help staring at her chest in the lacy bra. He should have been trying to run, but he was frozen by some strange feeling. All he could think was how fucking sexy she was as she stood there beating the crap out of him.
Val saw his lewd and confused gaze. She knew what he was looking at! She ground herself up against him; she hadn't felt this good, this powerful, this controlling in a long time. "You like that, huh? Did you come around here looking for a piece of ass?" While one arm pinned his chest up against the wall, her other hand reached down and grabbed his crotch. His dick was twitching, growing despite his wooziness. "Looking to take charge of the situation and get what's yours, huh?"
She pulled her arm away long enough to rip his shirt open. Her open palms shoved him in the chest, slamming him up against the wall again. His hands reached weakly for her chest -- hadn't she put something he wanted in there? Her tits looked so nice... trembling but experienced fingers managed to pop open the front-hook bra; the gem spilled to the floor.
Val felt a sudden wave of sexual energy wash over her. Her hands grabbed his wrists and planted his hands on her tits. Instinctively his fingers began kneading.
"Or do you want someone else to take charge?" TJ felt her grab him by the front of his pants; she wheeled him around and tossed him down on the couch. He felt her crawl up on top of him. His torn shirt yanked up off him; he felt it wrapped around his wrists and tied off. No one had ever dominated him before. No one had ever roughed him up. Through his punch-drunk haze he thought he liked it. He felt fingers brush his rock-hard dick; no, he knew he liked it.
"You want a girl to make you her bitch?" Waitaminute; his brow furrowed; this wasn't right, was it? TJ tried weakly to get up but she slapped him down. Hands popped open his fly.
Val rutted up against TJ's sweaty, welted body; he was enjoying it, all right. She gasped as his mouth found her nipple, pulling up into a sitting position. She guided his hands to her ass, then reached around to squeeze his thick shaft. "You came here to fuck *me*," she spat, "now I'm gonna fuck *you.*" She started struggling with the tiny zipper on her slacks. As she did so she felt his wiry leg hairs against her bare inner thighs. Valerie regarded her shredded slacks in frustration, reaching down to pull the split seam open more. TJ saw was she was doing and his hands moved to help, pulling the pants open to the crotch with a staccato Rip! Val felt the open air on her hot wet slit; it gave her chills. She guided him inside her. "You're not hung like Bobby, but you'll do." TJ was too far gone to register the slight. Valerie started rocking back and forth, leaning forward, grinding down on him. Any hope TJ had of surprising and overpowering her now were lost to the intensity of feeling in his loins. His eyes rolled back in his head as every fiber of his being focused on cumming...
Val sensed TJ's impending orgasm. "Not so fast, hotshot." This felt better than she'd ever felt; she wanted it to last. Against the driving energy of the gems glowing in her belt, she forced herself to slow her pace, pausing on each upstroke, grinning with satisfaction at the looks of tortured ecstacy she was extracting from her coerced lover. But her orgasm was calling. The feeling built inside her as she picked up the pace, until she was bobbing madly up and down, locks of hair spilling and dancing in her face. Her vision short-circuited as she felt the first splash of his cum. Valerie milked her attacker's cock for everything it was worth, the gems grounding more and more energy through the young woman's central nervous system, burning bright the most intense mind-blowing rush. Her muscles spasmed out of control; she thought for a moment she was going to die before it subsided.
TJ spurted his last and passed out, quickly going limp all over. Val took minutes gasping for breath, her senses slowly returning to her, first sound, then sight, finally touch as her nerves tried to calm down. She felt as if she'd fucked the essense right out of the now-limp body beneath her and somehow channeled it somewhere. Normally sex awakened her senses; now she just felt drained, like her body had been overloaded and was shutting down. Why did she fuck him? Why didn't she just leave? She felt like she'd had to prove something, she had to subdue him... it was like she'd been someone else, no, an angrier, more powerful version of herself. It felt good to control him, dominate him, drain him... her head swam in a sea of confusing emotions. It hurt to think...
Val pulled herself off the limp man beneath her and staggered into the bathroom.
His cell phone rang. "Yeah, this'z Dean." Pause. Andrew stroked his chin; he needed a shave. "You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding." Pause. "Why the hell did it take you a *week* to find this out? I've been pulling shifts on this stakeout for six days while other leads go stone cold, and you *just now* discover that the house was sold three fucking months ago?" Pause. "Well, maybe if we hadn't pissed away a week sitting in front of an abandoned fucking building we'd *have* some other leads." Pause. "Well, of course I can see there's no one there *now*, but the knowledge that nobody's been there for three months still would have been useful." Pause. "Fine, I don't want to argue about it. Do you have anything else, or can I chamber the bullet and blow my fucking brains out now?" Pause. "That's what I thought." He clicked the END button and tossed the phone on the couch.
Andrew looked through the telescope; from this rotten third-story apartment that smelled of curry and KFC he had a good view between the poplars to the front of the house three blocks away. The house where the package had been delivered. The house that had been uninhabited for three months. Fuck. Once again, Eric and his partner were just fucking with him.
"Fuck!"
Andrew thought about the suggestion from his team that he investigate local pawn shops and jewelry stores. He knew it was pointless, but it would kill some time. At least he'd have something to report. It would give him a couple of days to come up with something else.
"What the hell, it beats sitting here counting cockroaches." Andrew grabbed his keys and the phonebook off the counter and headed out.
The blaring stereo competed for attention with the growling exhaust as the big sedan hustled away:
The impression that you sell
Passes in and out like a scent
But the long face that you see comes from living close
to your fears
If this is up then I'm up but you're running out of sight
You've seen your name on the walls
And when one little bump leads to shock miss a beat
You run for cover and there's heat, why don't they:
Do what they say, say what they mean
One thing leads to another
You told me something wrong, I know I listen too long
But then one thing leads to another.
One thing leads to another
Andrew put on his best detective grimace. "Excuse me, sir? I'd like to ask you a few questions."
The jeweler turned white. "You're here about the girl."
Andrew hid his surprise. "Yes," he said straight.
"How is she?"
"She'll be fine," Andrew improvised.
"So what do you want to know?"
"Why don't you just tell me what happened?" Andrew prompted.
"Well, she came in last week, Wednesday I think. Yeah, Wednesday. She wanted a sapphire appraised, but when I offered to buy it she wasn't interested."
Andrew perked up. "A sapphire?" Son of a bitch...
"Yeah."
"Go on."
"...and she hasn't contacted you since then."
"Well, no."
"And you don't have any more information on the driver."
"Well, no. Honest, sir, I didn't think I was really involved, I mean, I feel bad that I distracted her but she should not have been jaywalking like that. Avondale is a busy street, you know."
"Yes, well thank you for your time Mr. Lancaster. If she should contact you, please page me immediately at this number." He handed the jeweler a card. The jeweler turned it over in his fingers, puzzled. "There's no name on it," he said.
"It attracts less attention that way." The jeweler looked confused. "Some of the people I deal with don't like carrying cards marked with law enforcement offices on them."
The jeweler shrugged his shoulders. "So you must be after her for something, then."
"I'm afraid I can't share that information with you. I don't want to put you at risk unnecessarily." Andrew saw the jeweler swallow hard. "Just call me if you hear from her and everything will be fine."
"Okay."
As soon as Andrew was out of the store he pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.
"Yeah, this'z Dean. I've got something. Check out any injury accidents involving pedestrians that happened a week to two weeks ago. Hospitals and police records. Our target got hit by a car. And dig deep because at least one witness says she *walked away*."
The envelope sits patiently in the "in" basket, beneath a misdirected Summons.
The Summons is removed. "Dammit, I thought I told Johnson he was gonna have to find some other department to play Lose The Summons with. I've got enough shit to sort through."
The envelope modestly informs the handler of its contents with a hand-written note in Red Sharpie Fine Point: PHOTOS - DO NOT BEND. A deadly blade nestles its tip gently in the corner of the flap, hovering, anticipating the kill.
A phone rings, staying the envelope's execution. "World News Weekly Submissions Department. [pause] I'm sorry we do not pay mailing costs for submissions. You'll need to buy your own stamps."
The letter-opener returns. This time there is no hesitation; the throat is slit with ruthless efficiency. The envelope spills its guts.
Expert fingers rifle through the handful of photographic inkjet prints; grainy, underexposed, overcorrected. All with the same odd constellation of smudged light or dark spots vaguely resembling a winged human silhouette. Or a flying squirrel. All but the last print, which sticks to its neighbor on the first rifling and is missed. "Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap."
A phone rings; the fingers pause on their way to the circular file. "World News Weekly Submissions Department. [pause] I'm sorry we do not pay mail-" [pause] "I don't care if it's so clear you can count Jesus's nose hairs, we do not pay mailing-" [short pause] "Ma'am, you-" [pause] "Ma'am, I-" [long pause] "Ma'am-" [short pause] "Goodbye."
The fingers, distracted by the phone call, forget their prior mission and rifle through the prints again. And stop.
"Hello."
A face interrogates the print mercilessly. "This would be a lot easier if they'd just put a link on the web site and let the geeks mail them in; their printers are shit." An eyebrow raises, then scowls, then raises with its partner.
"Wow."
The print lands on a clean desk; the envelope corpse is retrieved from the circular file. Fingers perform a cavity search.
No description. Just a phone number on a slip of paper.
"Mickey, you remember the guardian angel story we ran last week?"
A voice comes from the other side of the cubicle wall. "Yeah, what about it?"
"I've got another one."
The inkjet print is dangled over the cubicle partition. Stubby-nicotine-stained fingers tug it down and hold it under a desk lamp.
The print's female subject is studied closely. Very closely. Even from below and behind in a dark snapshot, it's clear she has a great body. Left leg tucked up and back, right leg extended down and forward, toes pointed, thin lines marking the tall stiletto heels on her feet. Taut asscheeks visible below the flying halo of rags that pass for a skirt, just enough of a triangular shadow to pass for a garment, skimpy but enough to get past the censors with a little cajoling. Back arched, emphasizing a slender waist. Dark hair flowing up and back. Arms extended trailing shadowy wings from wrists to neck. The right foot just covered the other subject's face, as if she were standing on his bottom lip, or he were sucking her toes. He was leaned back at an awkward angle, clearly off-balance, and clearly being driven back by her foot. Her ass is examined again...
"Too bad you can't see her tits." The comment is met with a groan.
Eyes continue studying the print, focusing on the female subject's attire. A hand reaches for a ratty-looking tabloid on the otherwise-clean desk and lands in brown goo.
"Hey, toss me your copy of last week; somebody parked a chocolate donut on mine."
A tabloid arcs over the wall.
Eyes dart back and forth skimming the article and comparing the tabloid image to the inkjet print. "Well, fuck me nekkid. This is the same girl. Same costume, just a little ripped up in the new photo."
"No shit? Lemme see that!" Tabloid and inkjet print get passed back to the first cubicle. "Hot damn! We've got ourselves a legitimate vigilante."
"One who can fly."
"Or at least has a vertical leap to shame Jordan."
Fingers snap above the partition, asking for another look at the print.
The print lands on the desk.
"I'll agree she's got legs that won't quit."
The turning of elder mental gears is almost audible.
"Jesus..."
"No, an Angel." Wisecrack.
"Do we have a name?"
"Just a phone number."
"Get somebody out there tomorrow. I want the story and the photo release by the end of the day. We can still make next week's cover."