Echo

by J. K. Accinni

  Until the fateful night Abe came home without a juicy piggy. Armoni and Kelly had not heard him enter. They were fully engrossed, giggles masking Abe’s footsteps. The bare bulb hanging over Kelly’s bed snapped on. Armoni felt strong fingers digging at his throat, swinging him back over the mussed bed to crash him, naked, against the bedroom wall, leaving a hollow bulge where his shoulders cratered the cheap sheetrock. He lay panting on the floor as his father looked down on Kelly, slowly unbuckling his pants.

  “Don’t remember giving you permission ta touch something that belongs ta me, boy. Can’t say I blame you, though. With your looks, you ain’t ever gonna get yourself your own woman.” Disdain and contempt distorted Abe’s face as he taunted Armoni.

  Kelly tried to slip off the bed, her nakedness inflaming Abe. Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her back to the bed, pinning her down with his weight, slapping her across the face.

  “You whore—lying with your own brother. Can’t help yourself, can you? Time for this juicy piggy to give her daddy a little payback.” He fumbled with his navy workpants, sliding them to his ankles. Kicking them to the side, he stood with his erection, engorged and craving satisfaction, his dissipated face a tribute to greed and mad fervor. Plunging into his daughter, he slapped her face again.

  “Let’s see a little enthusiasm, piggy.” Kelly lay still, clearly in shock while her father raped her until he was satisfied. Suddenly, Armoni plowed into him, knocking him off balance, allowing Kelly to twist out from under him, escaping the room.

  “You mongrel, after all I did for you.” Rubbing his arm and rising, he shot Armoni a vicious look. “Time to teach the pups some lessons.” Raising his fist he struck down violently, landing on Armoni’s nose, busting it, blood splattering them both. Armoni staggered back, his father pressing forward aggressively, then suddenly freezing. His eyes flared briefly, valuable air with a spot of blood retching from his lungs over his curled lips as he turned in time to see Kelly, having yanked out the kitchen butcher knife she gleefully stabbed him in the back with, plunge it into his heart. He went down hard.

  The cover up proved easy. Armoni took the blame. They wiped the knife handle clean, replacing it with Armoni’s prints. Their father’s semen, extracted after Kelly’s exam at the hospital, along with signs of sexual activity at a very young age, helped bolsters their claim of incest and rape. Armoni’s broken nose and his blood on his father’s fist made the story believable. They never told the authorities about the wooden box in the basement. The whole town already knew what a lousy father Abe was anyway. The brief investigation exonerated both of them of all responsibility.

  Kelly might have been slice and dice happy as she matured, but it never caused them any trouble as they strove to duplicate the high they experienced together the night they killed their father. He truly enjoyed watching a babe that enjoyed her job. Yeah, he sure missed his sister; no one to share his conquests with now. She was one of a kind. Doubtful he’d ever run across a bitch as good as her again. A tear fell from his eye, landing on Kelly’s favorite knife. Hmm, good omen he thought, selecting that same knife as his weapon for tomorrow.

  Opening a can of pea soup from the plywood shelves in the pantry, he grabbed a spoon, not bothering to heat it up. He needed thinking time. He suspected he wouldn’t be returning to the house after his satisfying moment (and I do mean satisfying, get it?) with Baby Tiff. He chuckled to himself over his unique cleverness.

  He was reluctant to leave the house with the ripe DNA in the basement. He thought about torching the place along with the gold joint. Considering other methods of covering his tracks, he decided fire covered the best. He could care less if they discovered it was arson. They couldn’t prove enough to pin it on him. He would be long gone anyway.

  Once he caught up with those motherfuckers that killed his two best friends, he would have all the gold he needed to go anywhere in the world. After he had his fun with that stuck up bitch and her weird fuckin’ pet. Yeah, he thought, he would torch the bugger too. Or stomp him, just like he had done with the slobbering mutt.

  He sucked the last of his pea soup off his finger, enjoying the sensation and letting the can drop to the filthy floor. Kicking it to the other side of the room, he paused. Hadn’t he heard the chicks in France were a bunch of whores? Yeah, he would put France on the top of his list. Reaching down to his crotch, he felt for his penis. Stroking it lovingly, he shouted out loud, “Yeah, wait’ll they get a load a this!”

  ###

  The next day dawned early, swirling mists awaiting banishment by a stalwart winter sun. After filling his car with the items he felt worth taking with him, he went through the house, trailing a full container of kerosene, purely to make his job easier when he doubled back to light it up. He planned to be in a big hurry.

  Getting behind the wheel, he fought rush hour traffic to find a strategic spot to park his car. Observing Tiffany unlock the office, he decided to wait awhile to ascertain if her boss would show up this morning. Once convinced she alone staffed the office, he crept to the unlocked front door, silently slithering in.

  Looking around the empty reception room he observed cardboard boxes and packing materials piled with files and knickknacks. From the front door he could hear the shuffling of boxes from another room. Unsheathing Kelly’s gleaming prize baby, he extracted a pair of handcuffs from his pocket then locked the front door. The aroma of his staleness and sweat announced him as he opened another door to see Tiffany bending over a box unaware, her back to him with her miniskirt hiked so far up, her panties winked at him. Licking his slobbering lips, he said, “Hello there, Tiff, my name is Lover.”

  Two hours later, he had what he needed. Before he left, he dumped out the contents of the boxes hoping to pass off Tiffany’s body as a victim of a robbery gone wrong; or gone right. Depends on how ya look at things, he smirked to himself.

  Tiff sure was a fun gal, all that squirming while he was on top of her. He only stuck her once or twice with Kelly’s baby before she got the message. Just the sight of her arms cuffed above her head as he ran his tongue down to her goody spot made him hard again. Who knew she was gonna like it so much? He could tell by the way she said his name on his command. Slicing into her right titty convinced him of her excitement.

  After that, he got all the info he needed; including a mighty fine blow job, although the leaking blood disgusted him. Tiffany finally choked, heaving all over him. Punching her out kinda put a damper on their fun. She needed to be taught some manners. He thought a fine educated bitch like her would know better than to barf all over him. Ah, they’re all the same, he thought, shaking his big head in disappointment. Just cunts and stuck up bitches.

  Arriving back at his house, he just needed to flip a match where he dumped the kerosene and get out fast. Quickly pulling away, he drove to Route 80, knowing he would be in New York City in less than two hours. Thinking back to the information Baby Tiff easily blabbed to him, he wondered what appeared so special about Sarasota, Florida. He certainly didn’t relish a long lonely drive to Florida. He wondered how long he could stay on the road without falling asleep. He had to admit, making the long haul in the rickety old Volkswagen was not going to be pleasant. He wondered if he should buy something more befitting a man of his impending stature. He cackled, smacking his hand down on his knee. After he sold the gold in New York City, he should certainly be able to afford any set of wheels he wanted.

  He wondered how long it would take; probably a few days. He wondered if a little stopover in the city would put a dent in his plans, slowing him down. He never heard of Sarasota before. Must be another hick town like the one they were from in Sussex County. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot that motley crew of fuckers in a small hick town. It’s not like they were going to blend in with that freaky murderous pet of theirs.

  Feeling like a king, Armoni pulled up to the first hotel he could find after passing through the Lincoln Tunnel. He decided to make for 42nd street since it was the only one
he ever heard of.

  Pulling his car under the flashy mezzanine of the Sheraton Hotel, an attendant shouted at him, telling him to move on, he couldn’t park there. What the fuck is he talking about? Glaring at him, Armoni motioned to the For Guests Only sign and walked past him into the lobby of the hotel. Barging up to the reservation desk, he slapped down a wad of money that represented all of his net worth and demanded a room.

  “May I have a credit card, please?” He didn’t like how the pretty front desk clerk with the fussy professional demeanor gave him the ole eyeball.

  “What, my cash ain’t good enough?” Armoni asked in surprise. Behaving like she smelt something rotten, she explained how he would have to leave payment in advance, in addition to a deposit for incidental room expenditures. Peeling off some large bills, he counted out the amount she requested. It would cover him for a week. Counting what was left, he was surprised to see the dent he just made in his stash. Oh well, he would be back in the chips, soon enough.

  Noticing the way the desk clerk stared at him, he kept his mouth shut and wondered if he should do some shopping for some new duds while he stayed here. Dropping his car keys on the desk, he ordered her to have his car looked after. Didn’t want it stolen his first night in New York City.

  Taking the room key the desk clerk gave him, he strolled over to the elevators, gawking at the well dressed and attractive crowd that all appeared to have very important destinations. Was he intimidated, he asked himself? Nah, just a bunch of stuck up pussy and sons a bitches. Fingering Kelly’s baby tucked away in his pants, he knew he was the intimidating one.

  Arriving at his room, he struggled with the room key until he figured out how it worked. Letting himself in, he heaved his bag with the gold on the huge bed, looking around the well-appointed room, impressed.

  Spotting an advertising directory, he curled up on the bed. Wrenching his boots off, the room filled with a foul foot stench, Armoni completely impervious. Marking the ads for gold dealers, he finally turned to the auto dealers like a house cat that just took down a wildebeest. He feasted. Eventually, he found his eyes drooping. Climbing under the covers, fully clothed, he drifted off to fuzzy dreams of Kelly and him, speeding down a country road of gold in a cherry red convertible, laughing their heads off, Tomas in the back seat. Lost in his dreams, he farted and slept the night away.

  Chapter 22

  Departing from her plane, Abby felt disoriented. She followed the stream of fellow passengers as they made their way to the baggage claim, trying to spot Peter. Touching her sunglasses for reassurance, she felt relieved to note she wasn’t alone. Everyone wore sunglasses. As she made her way to meet Peter, she tried to quell her nervousness. She almost didn’t believe she arrived safely in Sarasota; her ease with travel almost nonexistent, never before having traveled out of New Jersey. Hardly out of Sussex County or Short Hills either, for that matter. Her eyes roved everywhere as she took in her surroundings. The airport sparkled, bright and clean. She grew goose bumps from the air conditioning, yet everyone dressed casually, in brightly colored shorts and sandals. They appeared fit, happy and attractive. No signs of poverty here. No downtrodden welfare faces dressed in hand me down thrift store clothing. Self-consciously, she smoothed her worn sweater, wishing she could be with Jose and Scotty. She felt undeniably out of her element.

  Spotting Peter, she felt a measure of relief. He gave her a quick hug taking her small bag from her hands.

  “I’ve arranged some time with a personal shopper for you this evening. I hope that was okay?” Peter’s timid smile belied his efficiency. Abby saw past his blank owlish face into the intelligence of his unblinking eyes. She felt herself in good hands. Peter’s quick competence enabled Abby and Jose to start knitting a psychological safety net, woven entirely with his help.

  “Do we have money in an account here? I only brought enough to pay my hotel bill until the boys get here. I didn’t want to carry a lot on the plane.”

  “My dear, you can spend as much as you please. I have already transferred funds from the two major gold sales to a local bank. The transaction took one day. The money made it to Florida before I did.” Handing Abby three plastic cards, he explained how they worked.

  “We can activate them with your thumb print before you go shopping. Don’t worry about losing them. All vendors provide readers for your print before a sale is wrung up. No one but you can access your card.” Changing the subject he declared, “I’m embarrassed to admit I enjoyed a delightful day yesterday with our realtor. This town is impossible to be depressed in.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this process. I worried you would find it tedious. You’re so important to us, Peter. We’re all so please this is working out. Have you completely closed your office in Sussex?” Peter bowed his head, trying to hide the flush of pleasure from her words.

  “Yes, the office is closed. Tiffany is shipping my files to my hotel here. I’ll store them until we settle on the new move. I turned anything active over to other attorneys in the area. I wonder, what do you think of hiring Tiffany and moving her down here? I think we may need an assistant to do personal errands, shopping etc.?”

  “That would be fine. She seems very sweet. Can she leave her family? This is a big move.”

  “Who would say no to trading Sussex County for Sarasota?” Laughing together Abby and Peter stepped out into the sunlight.

  Peter had a Savanna Rover waiting at the busy curb. As he hustled her out of the terminal, he gave her the low down on their itinerary. First stop, Bird Key and their realtor. Pulling out into the traffic, he dumped sheets of information on her lap, told her to buckle up and off they went.

  ###

  Sylvia Wadsworth’s enjoyment of her seventy-third birthday just increased with the execution of the last contract of her long career. It had been two very long days. She fingered the heavy faux pearls draped around the layers of crepe at her throat while her other manicured hand fluffed her perfect blond highlights. Chuckling to herself, she couldn’t wait to enjoy the expression on her third husband’s face when he saw this contract and the commission she stood to receive from the sale. What a way to start her long deserved retirement.

  She would have suspected a hoax after meeting the purchaser, had not her stoic attorney accompanied her. A shy respectful young man for sure. Ms. Preston appeared to behave like a lovely young lady but clearly not from a family of substance. She idly wondered if Ms. Preston might share the name of her stylist, her golden streaks absolute perfection.

  Sylvia did not possess the nerve to inquire as to where the funds for such a purchase came from. The attorney supplied the proof of funds letter so she kept her mouth shut. Between the three mansions on pricey Bird Key, the sixty four foot Bertram motor yacht, included by one of the sellers, and her fee for coordinating the furnishing of the homes with one of the top designers from Kane’s of Sarasota, her purchase would come to sixty three million dollars; to close in thirty days. Nice.

  But what did an unsophisticated, single young woman need with these properties? It sure appeared suspicious to her. During her previous appointments with the attorney, he failed to reveal who he represented. Now, after spending two days together, she knew. But the purchaser revealed very little. And what is with the constant sunglasses? The girl never takes them off. Like never. Maybe she should keep an eye on Miss Abby. Wouldn’t want any harm to come to her elite community, now would she? Sylvia sniffed, thinking Miss Abby better watch her step if she thought she could break into Sarasota society just because of her flashy new money.

  The size of the purchase certainly will be commented on in the real estate section of Sarasota Today. Everyone in town will be dying of curiosity. Preening, Sylvia realized she would receive reflected glory being the realtor of record. She could sure use a status bump at the country club. Maybe she should be a tad more generous toward the poor girl. Picking up her cell, she dialed her husband. She felt like celebrating tonight. Asking him to call Michaels on First f
or reservations, she looked forward to an icy cold martini at her favorite restaurant.

  ###

  Returning to their hotels, Peter dropped Abby off first. His hotel sat just a half mile away, closer to the marina. Working feverishly on his new client’s affairs, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about the ramifications of this momentous move or his own future. He loved seeing the world outside the small confines of Sussex. He knew Tiffany would love it along with the new clients. His fondness for Abby and Jose continued to grow. It was clear how Abby referred to Jose that they were in love. He wished them well but it made him feel lonely. Perhaps when they settled into their new homes he might try to date.

  He started to wilt in the late afternoon sun, his shirt sticking to his back. He decided to try to adopt a more informal dress. Although he wore them as armor, business suits apparently weren’t necessary in the warm climate. Rolling up the sleeves of his no longer crisp white shirt, he entered his hotel. He passed the glamorous pricey shops, available to only the wealthy, the acquisition of their wares, now within his means. Who was he kidding? He wore thrift on his soul like a clown wore makeup on his face. Remove the makeup, is the clown really there? Remove the dressing from his soul, is Peter really there?

  He sighed over the burden of his personal insecurities. He would just have to find a more inexpensive place to shop.

  Entering his room, he turned on the shower in his sumptuous bathroom, the marble unlike anything he had ever seen until Sylvia Wadsworth introduced them to the finest side of Sarasota real estate. Tomorrow will prove the wisdom of his advice to move. Jose and Scotty will arrive late this evening. They planned to meet first thing in the morning to go look at Abby’s choice of homes. By the end of the day he hoped he could maneuver them to a quiet location for a talk. He planned to ask some pressing questions that anxiously nagged him. His job description prevented him from questioning the motives or private business of his clients, yet he couldn’t dismiss the nagging premonition that something mystical permeated his clients. He allowed this phenomenal opportunity to overwhelm his life. Because of this momentous change, he felt the right to ask some questions. He longed to avoid confrontation; yet the clearly unexpected and curious wealth of his clients, begged questions. He hoped his interest would not cast him in a venal light. He wanted their relationships to flourish on a more fiduciary, affectionate level. He enjoyed their confidence but clearly felt an invisible wall of some sort.