Getting Off: A Novel of Sex & Violence (Hard Case Crime)

by Lawrence Block

  “I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” Missy said, and there was something different about her voice. It seemed stronger. “And we’ll try it in a little while. But before we do that I’d like to tell you about my own favorite fantasy.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” Missy said, “but I’ve never had the chance. Can I tell you? You won’t laugh when you hear it, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I have this fantasy of being with a couple. A man and a woman, and all three of us in bed together. The ideal woman—well, you’re the woman of my dreams, no question. And the man would be tall and dark, and very distinguished-looking, with just a touch of gray at the temples. Like the man you were sitting with tonight before you came over to the bar.”

  Was this really happening?

  “That was his car in the garage, wasn’t it? The engine was still warm. He left before we did and was here when we got home, and he’s behind the screen right now, isn’t he?”

  “Who are you, Missy? Really?”

  “Me? I’m just a girl who’s never had such a hot evening in her whole life, and I have the feeling it’s just getting started. What’s your husband’s name?”

  “It’s Brady.”

  “Brady and Angelica. Perfect. And little Missy, the luckiest girl who ever lived. Brady? Come out from behind the screen, why don’t you? Wouldn’t you like to get over here and fuck me?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  So many ways to do it. Combinations and permutations, no end of them.

  Curiously, sex had never been that important to her. For all the men she’d gone to bed with, the sex was never what it was really about. She enjoyed it and she was good at it, she liked giving pleasure and liked taking it. Her partners always had orgasms, and she liked it when they did. And she generally had one herself, and she liked that, too, because what was there not to like?

  But it wasn’t about sex.

  In the beginning, with her father, it had been about making him happy, and making sure that he kept on loving her, that he was proud of her. And yes, she liked it, liked when he moaned with pleasure, liked the way his lovemaking made her feel.

  Until she let him down by beginning to grow up. At which point he decided they couldn’t make love anymore. Which disappointed her greatly, but not because she’d miss the sex. That, she knew even then, was something she would always be able to get.

  But he didn’t want her anymore. That was crushing, knowing that. She hadn’t known what to do, but then she came to know, and she did it, and since then everything had been pretty much all right.

  And she’d found that it was as she’d figured, that sex was never hard for her to come by. And God knows she got her share of it, but the fact remained that it wasn’t about sex.

  But it was really wonderful to try all the things that were available to you when you had three performers instead of merely two. A third mouth, a fifth and sixth hand, another set of genitalia—the possibilities increased exponentially, and when you added in the toys Angelica kept on hand, paraphernalia for the genitalia, as it were, well, there was no limit to what you could do.

  Now, though, there was a welcome lull in the action, and she lay between the man and the woman, breathing in their scent and the aroma of their mutual passion, with her face nuzzled between Angelica’s breasts and one of her arms extended, one of her hands lightly gripping Brady.

  And she said, “Did I mention that I was an orphan? I don’t think I did, and I know for sure I didn’t say anything about how it happened. See, what it was, I lived with my parents, no brothers or sisters, and I was in high school and I spent this one night at a girlfriend’s house. Not a girlfriend in the Eve’s Rib sense, just my best friend in school, and I called home to say I was sleeping over and there was no answer, and I got a funny feeling. And in the morning I went home and they were both dead, my mother and my father, and what happened, he shot her and then he shot himself. So it was very sudden, how I got to be an orphan.”

  And, while they were taking that in, she said, “Listen, there’s something I’d like to do, if it wouldn’t freak you out. I mean, it’s not physical or anything. It’s just inside my mind, really, but do you think it would be okay if I called the two of you Mommy and Daddy?”

  Brady lay on his back, his eyes closed. It occurred to him that anyone observing him would think he was relaxed and at peace. He was neither, and he knew what would have to happen in order for him to relax, to be at peace.

  He heard the girl say she’d be back in a few minutes, felt the mattress adjust itself as she got up from it. Heard her footsteps as she left the room, then as she descended the stairs.

  He sat up, opened his eyes.

  “She took her purse,” Angelica said.

  “She’s not leaving?”

  “Not unless she plans to run naked through the streets. She left her clothes.”

  She started to say something else, but he put a hand on her flank to silence her. “There’s something you have to know,” he said, “because I don’t want it to take you by surprise. But it’s something I need to do.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m going to do her,” he said. “I have to.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Brady, you’ve been doing her six ways from Sunday for a couple of hours now.”

  “I’ve been fucking her,” he said, “and I’m going to fuck her some more, but when I’m done with that I’m going to do her.”

  She looked at him. “You know, you’re just gonna to have to spell it out for me, honey. Say what you mean.”

  If he came out and said it he’d be one big step closer to the act. Did he want that?

  He drew a breath and said, “I’m going to kill her.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I have to.”

  “Some Daddy you’re turning out to be.”

  “You don’t have to be in the room when it happens. I’ll give you advance warning.”

  “Considerate of you. You know what I was thinking? That you were ready to adopt her and try living as a trio. I don’t know that I’d like that.”

  “No.”

  “It might be fun for a while, but then it wouldn’t. But what you said, you’re serious, aren’t you? How are you going to do it?”

  “With my hands.” Saying the words, spelling it out, bringing the act another little bit closer to reality. “I’ll take hold of her,” he said, “and break her neck.”

  “You can do that?”

  “There’s a technique,” he said, and put his hands out in front of him and mimed the movement. “You twist hard,” he said, “and the neck snaps.”

  “You’ve never—”

  “Of course not. But I’ve thought about it. It’s been playing in my mind for a long time now.”

  “A fantasy.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to make it real.”

  “I need to. Listen, she’ll be back any minute and—”

  “We’ll hear her on the stairs. When is this going to happen?”

  “When we’re done playing.”

  “That may be a while.”

  “We’ve got the rest of the night. And I’ll give you warning, so that you can leave the room.”

  “Are you kidding? I want to be here.”

  “Really?”

  “If it’s gonna happen,” she said, “I damn well want to be here when it does. I want to see you do it, I want to watch her face when she knows what’s happening, I want to watch her big eyes when the life goes out of them.”

  “Jesus, Angelica.”

  “God, feel how wet I am just thinking about it. And I swear it’s never been my fantasy, but I have to tell you it is now. But not too soon, all right? Because all of a sudden there are a lot of things I want to do with her. I want to teach her something new.”

  “You think there’s anything she doesn’t already know?”

  “Well, let’s see if anybody’s ever taug
ht her that fist is a verb.”

  “She may not like that.”

  “So? You’re going to break her fucking neck, so what difference does it make what she likes and doesn’t like? And once she’s dead I want to lie on top of her while you fuck me.”

  “God, you’re something.”

  “And so are you. Thank God we found each other. And I can’t wait to—shhh, she’s on the stairs.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Something had changed.

  She sensed it the moment she entered the bedroom. She could feel it in the air, as unmistakably as she’d felt Brady’s presence behind the Japanese screen. No one had entered or left. They were both there, Brady and Angelica, both of them in bed, both of them naked. They were just as she’d left them, but something was different.

  Whatever it was, she had the feeling that it would be a mistake to wait.

  She’d put on a gingham apron, and she was carrying a round tray she’d found downstairs, a flat disk of polished walnut with an inch-high rim to keep drinks from sliding off. The tray held two glasses, small crystal tumblers each filled halfway with orange juice.

  “Sorry I took so long,” she said, and curtseyed elaborately, then giggled. “Does the apron make me look like a French maid?”

  “It makes you look hot,” Angelica said. “What have you got there?”

  “Something you’ll both like.”

  “I don’t want a drink,” Brady said. “I don’t think we need them.”

  “It’s just orange juice,” she said, “from the fridge. Plus a miracle ingredient.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s this herbal tonic somebody turned me on to. It’s pretty amazing. I mean, it’s all natural and organic, and it’s actually good for you, but what it does right away is give you energy like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Energy?”

  “For sex,” she said. “I put some in my Orange Blossom at the bar, that’s why I made sure I finished it. And that’s why I got so hot so fast, and was as bold as I was. I had some more just now, while I was downstairs. And I divided the rest of it in two, and as soon as you both drink it, the night’s going to be even more amazing than it’s already been.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It sort of makes everything moreso,” she said, “plus it gives you energy so you can just keep doing stuff. Just drink it, I promise you you’ll be glad you did. You’ll thank me for it, you’ll want to know where you can get more. And it can’t hurt you, it’s genuinely good for you, so please drink it, okay? For me?”

  The first sense to awaken was touch. Angelica’s eyes were closed, her limbs heavy, and she was being touched. Her thighs were spread and a hand had reached under her and one finger was moving slowly, ever so slowly, up and down. She felt herself begin to respond, and then, tantalizingly, the finger stopped. And then it started again, and stopped, and started.

  Her hips began to move in response. And, as the finger did its work, the rest of her senses began to come awake.

  She was lying face down. There was something beneath her, not smooth and even like a mattress, and it took her a moment to realize that it was in fact a person. She was lying on top of another human being.

  It was not until she tried to move her arms and legs that she discovered she was unable to do so. Her arms and legs were fastened in place. The person under her was spread-eagled on the bed, and her wrists and ankles were somehow fastened to his wrists and ankles.

  His, because she knew that it was Brady upon whom she was lying. Brady lying on his back and herself lying on her stomach, on top of him, and fastened there. And someone—it could only be Missy—was fingering her.

  But why had she lost consciousness? Had the sex been so intense that she blacked out?

  She remembered Brady’s remarkable announcement, and her own astonishing reaction to it. One moment they’d agreed that Missy would never leave their house alive, and the next moment she herself was lying on top of her husband, unable to move. How had that happened?

  Missy: “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Orange juice.”

  Her own words surprised her. But even as she spoke them she remembered—Missy had brought two glasses of orange juice. She and Brady had each taken a glass, but she didn’t remember actually drinking anything.

  But she must have, and there must have been something in the orange juice. Not the energizing substance they’d been promised—she remembered the promise now, remembered the skimpy apron that revealed more than it concealed. Not something to let them make love for hours but something to put them to sleep.

  A drug. She’d been drugged.

  Only to wake up to a finger wave from the girl who’d drugged her. But Missy had withdrawn her hand now, and it rested lightly on Angelica’s hip.

  Should she open her eyes?

  If she kept them closed, it might all remain a little unreal. If she opened them—

  She opened them.

  Her face was resting on Brady’s, their cheeks together like a pair of romantic ballroom dancers. She moved so that she could see his face. His eyes were open, and she looked into them, barely able to focus at such close range, and their sightless stare confirmed what she must have known all along.

  She gasped.

  “I’m afraid so,” Missy said. “He never really felt it, if that’s any consolation. You were both out cold, and I got the icepick from my purse and took care of him right away. Slipped it between his ribs and right into his heart, and he gave this little twitch, and just like that I could feel the life go out of him and into me. Then I took out the icepick, and I didn’t even have to wipe it off because it came out clean as a whistle. No blood on it and none where it went in. I could show you, and you’d have trouble finding the spot. You could find it, but you’d really have to look for it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because dead bodies don’t bleed. The heart stops so there’s no circulation, and when the wound’s tiny there’s no room for anything to leak out. But that’s not what you meant, is it? You meant why kill him.”

  There was a pause. Then Missy said, “Well, see, it’s what I do. With, uh, men. Not always with an icepick, although I did use this one once before. I don’t remember how it got into my purse, but I guess I must have bought it somewhere along the way, or just took it from someplace. But I was hitching, and I got a ride from Uncle Ben. Calling him that makes him sound African-American, like the brand of rice, but his name was Ben and he was real avuncular, so there you go. He was nice, and I was hoping he wouldn’t want to do anything, but no, he wanted to stop at a motel, and I wasn’t going to say no to him. And then he wanted to fuck me, and I wasn’t going to say no to that, either, so we went to bed, and he drank most of a pint of whiskey and got all teary and emotional about his dead wife, and I finally blew him and he passed out. And I thought, well, I could just leave him like that, but rules are rules, and where would we be without them? And anyway I’d been wondering how it would be with the icepick. And it turned out to be pretty much the same as it was just now, with Brady.”

  And I must have liked it, she thought, or I wouldn’t have kept the icepick.

  “What’s funny,” she said, “is I went to that bar tonight because I figured it was my shot at having sex without killing anybody. There’s not a man alive who can tell his friends what I’m like in bed, or even warm himself with the memory. Well, there’s one, the only one I haven’t been able to find. I tracked down all the others. But, see, I thought I’d be all right with a woman. Only I didn’t know if I’d like it. See, you’re my first.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, I guess that’s a compliment, huh? But it’s true. There’s a woman I’ve been thinking about a lot, and we’ve become very close. And there was one night when we sat across from each other in her living room and had phoneless telephone sex, telling stories and watching each other masturbate. And I want to go to bed with her, but not if I’m gonna kill her
afterward, you know?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Shut up, let me finish. Her name is Rita and she’s beautiful and she’s really hot. She got her hairdresser to teach her how to suck cock, can you believe it? And a few weeks ago she went to bed with a hundred and fifty-two men rolled into one, and—oh, wow!”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I just thought of something, but never mind. Anyway, where was I? Back at Eve’s Rib, I guess. See, I knew all along about Brady, I saw you with him in the bar, and I was pretty sure he was part of the deal. And the minute you told me about your out-of-town husband I knew it for certain, and then the hood of the car was warm, so by the time you and I were in bed I knew he’d be joining us, which meant I’d wind up using the icepick.”

  Idly, she stroked Angelica’s bottom, listened to the woman’s measured breathing. There was a question on the way, she could feel it, but still it came as a surprise.

  “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  “Killing somebody.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Nobody ever asked me that before, but then how could they? What’s it like? I don’t come from doing it or anything like that. But it’s, oh, satisfying. I mean, the sex is always okay, even if it’s nothing much, but no matter how good it is or how many times I get off, it’s never over. Not until the life goes out of him and into me. Not literally, I mean I’m not sucking up anybody’s soul, but it feels like it’s a zero-sum game, and I get stronger every time I do it.”

  Another long silence. Then, “Please don’t kill me.”

  “Silly. I only kill guys.”

  “Could you take the tape off? It’s uncomfortable, lying like this.”

  “Not just yet,” she said. “You have to tell me about the money.”

  “Money?”

  “I got what was in your purse, and I found his pants in the other room and emptied his wallet. See, I’m traveling all the time, and I constantly wind up having to buy new clothes because I sometimes leave places in a hurry. And I don’t have a job. So this is how I support myself, and I know you’ve got money in the house. So you’ll tell me where it is, and then I’ll cut you loose.”