Eventually a woman approaches me and smiles at me. She’s blonde, close to what I want. When I think about it, I think I would rather see the blonde girl, Courtney, naked than Kendall, but this woman is a far cry from Courtney. She’s not much of a looker in the way of the girls around here, but she’s trying. She’s wearing a sheer shirt that I can see her nipples through and a G-string. Her heels click as she approaches and I look at her pigtails and think that it’s a nice touch. If only she could be a little prettier and a little younger. She’s clearly in her late twenties.
“Hi, baby,” she says, approaching me and leaning over, putting her elbows on the table. I can see her breasts through her low cut shirt and her ass is sticking up the way she’s leaning over to look at me. She’s smiling at me and I have no time for her. I’m on a schedule and if she keeps flirting with me and taking up time, I feel like it’s a commodity I’ll quickly run out of. The pressure inside of me is building up. I’m afraid that if I don’t get a release here, I might make my way back to Whispering Hills and do something that I will regret later. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m looking for your youngest employee,” I tell her. She looks at me, a little taken aback, and I don’t really give a shit. I know what I want and it isn’t her. Clearly she had pegged me from the moment I walked in. I’ve only come to The Backseat a few times, so I know that she doesn’t recognize me. I try to visit multiple locations so they don’t begin to pick up on me as a regular. It also keeps them from catching on that I’m a cop. “I’ve got a thing for younger looking girls.” I give her a look up and down and then smile at her. “Not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve got.”
The hurt and offended look on her face melts away and she smiles at me with a pleased sort of look. “Don’t worry, baby,” she says to me in a sultry tone. “I think I’ve got a friend here who might be interested in what you’ve got going on.”
“Thanks,” I say to her until she vanishes into the flashing colored lights and the hanging mists. I sit at the table drumming my fingers, wondering if I should order something or if I should keep sober, in case Mendez wants to meet in person. I’m probably going to have stripper glitter on me already, I don’t think I need alcohol on my breath.
It takes a moment until the vixen arrives that the other stripper had talked about. She’s a tall, leggy beauty who appears as a silhouette that’s all slender hips and legs as she makes her way toward me. As the mist parts, I look upon an olive skinned wonder that I hadn’t been expecting when I came to this place tonight. She has long, black hair and an award winning face that makes me melt inside. This is a woman that I can actually look at. There’s this perfect harmony of beauty, youth, and vitality as I look at her. She’s wearing a bra that only technically can be called an undergarment. Her perky, plump breasts are waiting for me. A small triangle of cloth is hiding her nipples, but I want to feel them. She too is wearing a black G-string that hides nothing from me. As she approaches, I feel myself hardening and I smile as she approaches.
“Nice to meet you,” she says in a soft, velvety voice.
Without even asking me my name, she pulls out the chair and offers me a seat. I gladly take it and can’t help but feel the wonder and excitement that she offers. I’m not diverse in the colors that I go for. I wouldn’t say that I have a race preference, but I’ve only ever slept with white girls and she’s the closest thing to black that I’ve ever had. I’m guessing that one of her parents is white and the other is Indian or milk chocolate. She comes over to me as I sit down and starts swaying, pulling off her bra and letting her breasts fall free as she sways. I watch her eyes and feel incredibly aroused by her. As she turns around, grinding up against me, I can’t resist anymore. She leans back against me, grinding harder and harder against me as she goes.
“You willing to make a little extra?” I ask her, holding out a hundred for her.
She turns her head and I can see her profile as she smiles at my offer. She takes the money and stands up, stretching out her hand for me to take it. Helping me up, I follow her through the mist, watching the eyes of other men who are looking at me suspiciously. Some of them aren’t even aware of this possibility and the fact that they see me leads them to suspicious and curious routes of thought, no doubt. A bouncer looks at me as I pass through yet another curtain entrance and I’m in a backroom with a series of booths tucked away. I can hear someone giving another one of the ladies a really good time. She’s moaning and nearly screaming. Thankfully for them, the music in the main room is loud enough to drown her out, but I can’t help but feel happy for her and the guy that’s enjoying her.
The lady I’m following pulls back another curtain and we step into a booth with an overstuffed chair and a small table with a bowl of condoms and a box of tissues. The lady turns and pushes me down onto the chair. I want something more. I want something closer to reality than this. I want to put her on the chair and go down on her, kiss the inside of her thighs and lick her clit. I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on the more powerful part of sex. The girl is taking off my belt and unzipping my pants, freeing my dick and taking it in her cold, slender hands. I feel her licking the shaft and I close my eyes. It feels fantastic. It feels more than fantastic. Her lips are wrapped around me and she takes it deep, her lip gloss sticking and then making my dick slippery. I smile and she looks up at me with those large dark eyes of hers.
“Interested in something a little more interesting?” she asks me.
“Oh yes,” I smile.
I stand up from the overstuffed chair and get around behind her, she knows exactly where this is going and bends over, putting her hands on the seat of the chair and sticking out her ass. She grinds her ass against my cock and I feel the warmth of it. Reaching down, I run my fingers down her slit and feel the warm wetness and I can’t help but feel that this girl likes me more than just a client. She actually enjoys this and that makes me feel a little better. She continues to grind up against me as I fish out a condom packet form the bowl and open it, slipping the wrap over my dick with one hand and rubbing her clit with my other. She’s beginning to groan and her grinding is a little fiercer as I ready myself and start to put my head against her slit. She doesn’t wait, she starts pushing back on me.
She’s tight and I know that she’s clean. If a place like this gets one girl that’s got the clap or any other STD, then they’re going to get hammered by some pretty tough and angry men. That girl is probably going to end up beaten and left out on the street to find another job on the Avenue where people aren’t so selective about who they stick their dicks in. Thankfully, I’m confident in my exotic beauty here and as I plunge deeper and deeper into her, it feels like a warm wet hug around my dick. I smile and listen as she lets out her noises, real or not, I don’t care at this point. All I want is the simulation that she gives a shit about me and that she might actually like it.
I put my hands on her hips and I pull her close as my dick sinks into her as far as I can go and her ass is grinding up against my hips. I hold her there for a moment, gripping her tightly and swaying her ass a little, getting a full range of sensations as I hold her there. She groans and I pull out a little and start pumping her. I start out slowly, going in slowly as she breathes out and lets out her little sounds. But as I start to enjoy it more and more, I thrust harder and harder, pounding her harder until she’s starting to moan louder and louder, rivaling the other girl back here. I keep fucking her until she’s really letting the sounds escape and I lean forward, reaching out with my hands and cupping her breasts, taking them and squeezing the perky wonders and feeling her puffy nipples between my fingers. I love the feeling of her and I can’t help but keep thrusting into her. I pull out, not yet close enough to completion and pull her up against me. Reaching around her, I grab both of her breasts and squeeze them, inhaling her perfume as I take in a deep breath.
Switching places with her, I sit down on the overstuffed chair and let her crawl on
top of me. Slowly, she sits down on my cock and sinks down until she’s sitting on my lap and I’m giving her everything I’ve got. I watch her breasts bouncing before my eyes and watch as she throws back her head and moans. I reach out with my tongue and lick one of her nipples. I try to keep it close, but she’s too far away and it slips away every time I try to get it, so I wrap my arm around her tiny waist and I pull her close, hugging her to me as I put my mouth on her breast and suck in her nipple, feeling it between my lips and circling it with my tongue. She’s moaning and screaming, completely oblivious to whatever it is I want right now. Her hands scratch at my blazer and I don’t mind. I like that she’s enjoying this as much as I am. It makes me feel like I’m not such a screw up. I keep fucking her until I feel the wave of relief, the tension, the frustration, all of it come to a climax before rapidly expelling out of me and into the condom.
She keeps moving up and down on me as I sit there in heaven, watching her body and how it moves, the subtle grace and wonder to all of it. I wish I was married still. I got laid so much more when I was married. She sinks down on my softening cock and sways her hips, smiling at me. “That one was worth every cent,” she says to me with a practiced smile.
“You say that to everyone,” I tell her.
“Only to the ones I like,” she gives a shrug. “The others tip me and I leave them back here to clean up.”
She stands up, off of me and I pull off the condom, tossing it into a trashcan that I suddenly wonder whose job it is to throw out every night. I would hate that job. I would hate any job here. What kind of hell would it be to see attractive women naked and fucking every day and not getting to enjoy it? It would be like how war desensitizes men to violence, but with sex. Do these bouncers even get the chance to get an erection anymore? Maybe they’re all gay. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Whoever gets condom duty is definitely on the lowest level of the totem pole.
I zip up and reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I hand her another hundred.
“You want to go again?” She lifts an eyebrow, showing that she’s more than willing to give it a shot.
“No,” I shake my head with a smile. “I think you should take the rest of the night off.”
“That’s generous of you,” she looks at me. “What’s the catch? You want to be one of my regulars?”
“No catch,” I shake my head. “A pretty girl like you should find a different line of work.”
“You can be my sugar daddy,” she winks at me. “I can clean, but I’m not much of a cook.”
“A girl fucks like you and she doesn’t need to,” I smile, and smack her ass as I pass her, pushing open the curtain and making my way outside. That was exactly what I needed. I put that off too long and it builds up to scary levels. I don’t want to do anything I’m going to regret, so I need to monitor my urges better. Truth be told, there’s probably a lot that I should be doing better.
18
Dropping down behind the wheel, I can’t help smiling after I’ve been laid. There’s something about it that puts me in a mindset that makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. I know that some guys get sleepy or other guys get angry. But not me. I’ve always felt energized after sex, stimulated and ready to get back to whatever was happening the short while before I took my trip to pleasure town.
Looking out the window at The Backseat, I wonder if she will take the night off. Maybe I should go back in there and tell her to go get a cup of coffee with me. Hell, I know I’m about to retire, but maybe I could be her sugar daddy. I’m about to retire and no one is going to think differently of me if I hook up with some young, fine piece of ass just so I can have crazy sex with her and enjoy the rest of my days. Hell, I’m miserably divorced and have no life to speak of outside of the job, people will think it’s fairly natural for me to look for something to fill the time with. She was sexy, young, and everything that I would want on a steady basis. Sure, it wouldn’t work out forever. She would have to keep her young figure and I know that no matter how hard she tries, I’ll still want someone younger, but maybe by then we could be roommates. I’ll move on to someone younger and she’ll keep on living with me.
I shake my head. What the hell am I thinking about? I’m going to be flying to Miami where there will by young bimbos every year that will be wanting a man to pay for their drinks and their days while they go to the beaches and clubs on my dime. I will be plenty happy with the sex bots that are waiting for me on the sandy beaches of Miami. Why waste my time with a stripper in this dump? I stare back at the building, knowing that she’s going to keep working for the rest of the night. She’ll make more than a hundred dollars if she just sticks around for the rest of her shift. I’m not stupid and I don’t know why I’m being so naïve about her.
My phone starts to vibrate and I watch as the doors to The Backseat opens and my exotic beauty walks out onto the sidewalk in a trench coat, even though it’s still hot enough out there for a man to walk around naked and still feel like he’s boiling. I smile at the sight of her and feel like there might be some hope for the human race yet. That is, until I look at my phone and see that Owens is calling me. I hadn’t thought about the case a second since I fucked that girl. I shake my head and curse myself for being a terrible detective, let alone a lousy human being.
“King,” I answer.
“It’s me,” Owens identifies himself for once. “We’ve got another one.”
“Are you serious?” I close my eyes and rub my temples. My faith in humanity has evaporated in that single sentence. Who is this guy? How is he working so quickly? What is he doing to get to them so quickly? I suppose it makes perfect sense that he would be able to move around so quickly and to target his next victim so easily without us knowing because there was no way of knowing who someone like Chad Roberts has been in contact with. I open my eyes and watch the girl getting into a Taurus and starting up her car. Thankfully Owens lets me think for a moment before he badgers me more. The exotic girl pulls out of the parking lot and heads for the nearly vacant road. “Who is it this time?”
“Put on your work face for this one,” Owens warns me and that doesn’t inspire any form of confidence in me. “It’s a kid, King. The asshole’s killed a fucking kid.”
I’m speechless. I’m staring at the parking spot where the girl’s Taurus had been, waiting for something to hit me, a sentence, a thought, something. Something needs to come raining down on me like an apocalyptic meteor crashing into my mind, but there’s nothing, just a vacant horror that I might have heard what Owens was saying wrong. I stare at that spot and feel only hatred for whoever this guy is. Who does he think he is that he could get away with killing a kid? What could a kid possibly have done to make him think they wanted to end their life? What does a kid know about life yet to give up on it? I look at the parking spot and feel the growing fire of rage inside of me.
“Give me the address,” I say to him.
I know the neighborhood that he’s talking about, another suburban paradise close to the other victim’s house. He’s getting bolder. He’s killed two victims in the past twenty-four hours and I can’t help but wonder if he had been there, outside of the house, watching me with the other maggots and vultures looking for scraps of meat to take back to their producers. I start the car and know that before this time tomorrow, we’ll probably have two more victims if we’re not careful. We have to catch whoever is doing this. We have to stop him now.
The neighborhood has been besieged by dozens of news vans that have crowded the street around the house, warning me when I’m getting close. There are police officers at every house, talking with scared families who are huddled together and staring up the street to where the media is already spreading out, trying to get their own statements from the community around the victim’s home. How they got here so quickly is beyond me. How did I just hear about this and they’re already on top of all of this? It doesn’t matter. I feel angry. I feel furious that they’re here. This time, it isn’t just
the television news crews, the written word has come calling. Journalists from every newspaper and private journal across the city have decided to make their presence known here. I pull my car up behind another squad car and step out, shutting my door and realizing that I’m still pretty far away from the victim’s house. Unfortunately, there’s no way I’m getting closer through all this chaos and insanity. There’s someone inside the department that’s feeding them this information. Someone is ratting us out to the vultures.
I feel like I’m on the beaches of Normandy, trying to get to the victim’s house. I’m dodging the flashes of cameras, the spotlights, the shouting, and the insanity of it all. I push past them with the help of a uniform, putting my hand to the lenses of the cameras, shoving them aside as I continue moving, listening to their curses and their questions. I don’t have time for this. I’m trying to solve a murder here and these assholes want the scoop. I look at them with fiery eyes, hating every last one of them. As I push past the last of them, a uniform holds up the yellow tape and I approach the house, skirting the manicured lawn.
There’s a cold, stone-faced uniform at the entrance to the house, looking at me with haunted eyes as I approach, like a soldier who has seen too much. He probably was a soldier. He looks at me with dark eyes, probably never expecting to come home and see horrors like this. I understand the look. I’ve seen it in dozens of officers’ eyes. This is the price of the job. This is the toll we all pay. I step over the threshold, nodding to the officer as I enter the house which is a flurry of death, solace, reverence, and sorrow.
In the living room, two detectives are consoling a distraught woman who is wailing and sobbing as one would expect of a woman who has been told that her child is dead. I turn my head and see Owens talking with another officer, discussing details about the scene. He catches my eyes and gives me a nod. It’s a simple nod. It’s the nod of an investor who is finally starting to see some profit from all their trouble and risk. I don’t like feeling this way, feeling like a tool in Owens’s arsenal, but I suppose that I’m exactly that. He needed a job done, so he went out and got ahold of me and I fixed everything that needed fixing, for the most part. Everything but this kid. He’s just another casualty as we pursue an unknown killer into the darkness, not sure how many other bodies are out there that we might trip on as we go.
The Monster Within Page 16
