One Stiletto in the Grave (Reapers in Heels)

by Jason Krumbine

  The candles are on the coffee table, lined along the empty shelves in the bookcase. The lights are turned off and the only illumination is coming from the flickering flames. The candles encase the room in a soft glow.

  “Oh,” is all she can say.

  “Hey, you’re back,” Jack says, peeking out from the kitchen. He’s changed out of his scrubs and into a t-shirt and jeans. “I thought I had another hour or so.” He walks towards her, drying his hands on a dish towel.

  Avery drops her jacket and bag next to the door. She runs across the room and throws her arms around her boyfriend’s neck.

  Jack starts to say something but he’s cut off as Avery presses her lips against him. It’s a hungry kiss. A kiss hungry for a connection, for comfort and for passion. Jack stumbles backwards onto the sofa. Avery straddles him, running her hands through his dark hair.

  “You said you were working a triple tonight,” she says, coming up for air.

  Jack smiles. “I lied.”

  “You lied.” Her eyes narrow in mock suspicion.

  He shrugs. “I figured it was for a good cause.”

  “A very good cause,” Avery agrees. “What’s all this?” She nods at the candles.

  “I wanted to do something nice for you,” Jack replies, resting his hand her thighs. His touch gives little jolts even through her jeans. “You seemed awfully stressed out at the ER today.”

  Avery strokes his hair, dragging her fingernails lightly across his scalp. “It just got worse from there.”

  “Yeah?”

  Avery looks at him seriously. “I had to see a naked old man.”

  “Well, that does sound a little stressful,” Jack agrees. His fingers are tracing little circles along her legs.

  Avery lazily rolls her neck. “You have no idea.”

  She kisses him again. His lips yield against hers. Their tongues entangle with each other. He tastes like cherries and Avery melts against him.

  “Your mother called,” Jack says, tearing himself away from her lips. Avery runs her tongue across his jawline, tracing its definition. “She wanted to know if you still wanted to come over tomorrow.”

  “That’s interesting,” Avery murmurs. She snakes her hands up his shirt.

  “She was very adamant about you and Brooke coming over.” Jack’s talking in short bursts, in brief moments when his lips and hers aren’t pressed against each other.

  “Uh-huh.” Avery pulls his shirt off.

  “Hey,” he starts.

  “Oh, you didn’t need it anyway,” Avery insists, running her hands across his naked chest.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  She reaches his belt and deftly undoes the buckle. Avery reaches down inside his pants and gives him a playful squeeze.

  “You know,” Jack says, groaning at her touch. “I’ve got dinner in the kitchen.”

  “It’ll keep.” She strokes him as shadows from the candlelight flicker across them.

  “Actually.” Jack’s breath quickens. “It’s a stir fry. It won’t be very good cold.”

  “That’s fine.” Avery gently bites his lip. “I was in the mood for pizza from that place.”

  “After I slaved over a hot stove for you?” Jack leans into her neck, kissing behind her ears.

  “They say it’s the thought that counts,” Avery offers, leaning her head back. Each kiss from his lips feels like Heaven across her skin. A soft moan escapes her lips.

  Jack inhales her scent. “Why do you smell like garbage?”

  Avery sits up and holds his head in her hands. “I need you to do me a favor, sweetie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ruin the mood,” Avery says. “It’s been a long day.”

  Jack stands up suddenly. Avery squeals as she falls into his arms. “Well then, I think a bubble bath is in order.”

  “Best idea ever,” Avery agrees.

  Later, in the bubble bath, Avery reclines against Jack. Her eyes are closed as she rides the waves of euphoria that run through her. A soapy hand sneaks up from beneath the water and cups her naked breast.

  “Mmmm,” Avery moans. “That was good.”

  Jack pulls himself up a bit so his neck isn’t resting against the porcelain tub. “No argument here,” he says, lightly circling her nipple with his thumb.

  Avery nestles her head against his strong chest. “Have I told lately how much I love you?”

  Jack kisses the top of her head. “Well, you mentioned it once or twice a few minutes ago.”

  She smiles, kissing his chest. “I love you.”

  “Did you get your man today?” Jack asks.

  “Men,” Avery says.

  “Two of them?”

  “Three, actually.”

  Jack’s hand drops from her breast. “Should I be jealous?”

  “Of course not. They were dead men,” Avery says, pulling his hand back up over her nipple. “Don’t stop. It feels good.”

  His palm presses against her nipple and she shudders slightly. Her breast fits perfectly in his hand as he gently massages her.

  “There’s a new reaper outfit in town,” Avery says, her eyes still closed.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Jack admits.

  Avery smiles. “That’s what I love about you.” She finds his other hand beneath the water and places it on her breast. “Massage,” she commands.

  Pressing her breasts together, watching the soaps suds slide off her skin, Jacks says, “I feel like I might be getting the raw end here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Avery promises. “I’ll make it worth your while in a few minutes.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Jack says. “So what’s the deal with the new reaper outfit?”

  She rolls her head across his chest. The breast massage is stirring up an aching sensation in her. “They’re handing out jobs.”

  “Jobs?” Jack pauses to lightly pull on her nipples. They pucker and harden beneath his fingers. Avery moans in response.

  “They’re snapping up independent reapers in the city and offering them staff positions,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper as her breathing becomes more irregular. She’s having hard time focusing on the conversation.

  “Steady job,” Jack says, cupping the undersides of breasts. “Steady money, I guess. Sounds like a dream.”

  “It does, doesn’t it,” she murmurs. Her toes curl as he rolls his thumbs into the sides of her breasts. “Hey,” she says, opening her eyes and looking up at him. “Want me to tell you how much I love you again?”

  Avery feels him poke up between her legs.

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.” Jack grins.

  twenty-eight

  Brooke’s waiting for Stanley when he enters his bedroom. She’s perched on the edge of his bed, dressed in her father’s jacket, zipped all the way. Brooke’s dark hair is draped along her shoulders and she smells faintly of cinnamon. Her bare legs are crossed and a shiny red stiletto dangles from her foot. “Hello, Stanley.”

  “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he says, dropping his keys on the dresser. “I didn’t know you still had a key.”

  Brooke smiles. Her lips are covered in a shade of shiny red ruby lipstick. “I don’t.”

  Stanley grins. “A woman after me own heart.”

  “I assume you’ve heard from your mother?” Brooke asks him.

  The grin drops from Stanley’s face. “You know how ta kill the mood, luv.”

  “Not a mood killer, Stanley,” Brooke says. “Just making sure all the facts are straightened out.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, I heard from her.”

  “She’s happy?”

  Stanley snorts. “The old biddy hasn’t been happy in years. But she’s satisfied she don’t have a giant ghost pirate haunting her bloody shower anymore.”

  “So we’re square?”

  “I think you know the answer to that one, luv,” Stanley replies.
>
  “We’re square to a point.”

  “To a point,” he agrees.

  “Well, then I guess I should get to my proposal,” Brooke says.

  Stanley perks up. “A proposal, eh? I like the sound of that.”

  Brooke gets up from the bed and walks up to him, her hips seductively swaying side to side with each step.

  “Here,” she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “I have three thousand dollars. Not a lot, but a nice chunk to go towards the remaining balance.”

  Stanley nods his head. “I’m liking the sound of this so far.”

  She presses her finger against his lips. “Now, now, don’t tip your hand too soon. You haven’t heard the second option yet.” Brooke playfully twirls the wad of cash across his chest. “You can have three thousand dollars in cold hard cash, or.” A sultry smile brushes across her lips. “You can have this for the same value.”

  She unzips the jacket and lets it fall open.

  Stanley takes in the scene with wide eyes. “That’s just not fair, luv.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Brooke says, tracing a finger down the swell of her breast. “Seems pretty fair to me.”

  Stanley swallows hard, his gaze traveling down her naked body. “Yor not drunk again are you?”

  “Stone cold sober,” Brooke replies, unzipping his pants. “It’s just business, isn’t that what you said earlier? Nothing personal, just a fair trade.”

  She reaches in and grabs him. He’s mostly hard, a few tugs brings him to full attention.

  “Heh,” Stanley gives a small laugh. “Yor a crafty one, luv.” He reaches for her, but Brooke swats his hands away.

  “No touching until you’ve made your decision,” Brooke says, running her hand across his tip. She smiles as she watches him shudder with pleasure. “What do you say?” She holds up the money again. “Cold hard cash or,” she shrugs and the jacket slips off her shoulders, “my womanly affections.”

  “A man might get the wrong impression,” Stanley says, his breathing becoming irregular.

  “Oh?” Brooke says, running her hand down his length. “What impression would that be?”

  Stanley grunts. He wants nothing more than to grab her and toss her on the bed. It’s taking all of his self control to keep his hands at his sides.

  “Sex for money,” Stanley replies. “It’s a concept normally frowned upon.”

  Brooke twists her hand around, pulling him through the zippered opening in his pants for better access. “Please,” she says. “We used to date. It’s hardly prostitution. What did you call it earlier? A trade?” She lets go of him and takes a step back. “Although, if you’d rather have the money...”

  “Oh, luv, no contest at all,” Stanley interrupts her, peeling off his shirt.

  In one swift motion he grabs her and drops her onto the bed. A playful giggle escapes Brooke’s lips.

  Stanley winces as his pants follow his shirt. “Luv, you know better than to giggle at a naked man. It kills the mood.”

  Brooke arches her hips up to meet him as he climbs atop her. “Sorry. It’s just always amusing when you get all cave man.”

  Stanley growls like a challenge has been issued. He grabs her buttocks and thrusts forward, sliding inside her. Brooke writhes on the bed as he fills her up, pressing the palms of her hands against the headboard. A hot tingling sensation overwhelms her body and Brooke’s eyelids flutter with delight.

  Stanley smiles at the woman of beauty beneath as she responds to his touch. He shifts his grip to her waist as they settle into a rhythm. “Now, luv, let’s see what we can do about knocking down that debt of yours.”

  twenty-nine

  It wasn’t yet noon, but Alan Gold was already perched at the bar, his cheap suit looking extra cheap in the light of the morning sun. He picks at his teeth, trying to dig out a piece of cheese that had gotten stuck there last night. He hears the bar door open, but he doesn’t bother to pay it any attention.

  Alan raises his drink as a hand slaps him hard on the back. He jerks forward, spilling his drink on the counter.

  “Hey,” he starts as he turns around and then shuts up. The Graves sisters are standing there, looking bright eyed and bushy tailed.

  “Alan,” Avery greets him. “How’s it going?” She gives him a friendly wink, sitting next to him at the bar.

  “Avery, Brooke,” Alan smiles nervously. “It’s,” he swallows, “nice to see you again, so soon.”

  “Yeah,” Brooke grabs the stool on the other side of Alan. “Let’s cut the chitchat.”

  Alan’s head twitches back and forth between the two sisters. “What can I, uh, help you with?”

  “Where’s Messor & Decessus’ office?” Avery asks, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the spill from Alan’s drink.

  Alan shakes his head. “I don’t-”

  “No,” Brooke cuts him off. “You ‘helpfully’ clued us in on a new reaper outfit that’s opened up in town and less than twenty-four hours later we run into Suity-McSuity from Messor & Decessus.”

  Alan looks back and forth between the sisters. “Look, girls, they’re a top notch organization,” he says. “They’re originally out of LA. Did you know that?”

  “Alan,” Avery says, simply, almost with a touch of child-like innocence, “we didn’t know anything about them till yesterday.”

  “And then, all of a sudden,” Brooke continues, “they’re all up in our grill. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Girls,” Alan starts again.

  Avery cuts him off. “First, stop calling us ‘girls.’ Second, they’re not in the yellow pages. And strangely enough, Steve Russell, you know him, the in town representative for the Council of Reapers, doesn’t actually have an address for them yet. In fact, other than us and Billy Z, nobody’s heard of these guys,” she looks at Alan. “Except for you.”

  “Good old, Alan,” Brooke says.

  Alan raises a hand. “I never mentioned them by name.”

  “That doesn’t help your case,” Brooke says.

  “Look,” Alan says, “Things are tight these days. You know what I’m talking about. The Council’s not big on passing me a lot of work.”

  “Gee, I wonder why?” Brooke mutters.

  “I have a real shot with them,” Alan says. “Messor & Decessus, this could be my chance to turn everything around.”

  The sisters aren’t budging.

  “You know, your Dad,” Alan starts.

  Brooke cuts him off. “No. You really don’t want to be invoking our father, Alan.”

  “If Messor & Decessus thinks I’m some kind of snitch,” Alan says.

  “And why would it matter if they thought that?” Avery asks. “You know, they’re on ‘the up and up.’”

  “And they are,” Alan says. “They’re good, real good,” Alan points his fingers against the bar. “I need these guys. They might offer me a staff position.”

  Avery snorts. “Yeah, that’s not a ship you want to be anchoring yourself to, Alan. Where’s their office?”

  Twenty minutes later the Graves sisters are sitting in the lobby of Messor & Decessus.

  The receptionist is pointedly ignoring them as she flips through her catalogue.

  “This is a nice office,” Brooke says, admiring the paintings on the wall. “How come we don’t have an office this nice?”

  “Because apparently we’re not willing to commit crimes against the Council of Reapers,” Avery says.

  “Should we really be here without somebody from the Council?” Brooke asks.

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Brooke drums her fingers against her legs. She nods at the painting across from them. “That’s a nice painting.”

  Avery studies it for a second. “It’s not really.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “Since when did you become an expert on paintings?” Avery asks.

  “Steven’s a painter.”

  “Steven the bartender?”

  “Yeah
.”

  Avery looks at her sister dubiously. “He’s also a painter?”

  “Well, yeah,” Brooke says. “He can’t be a bartender all the time, you know.”

  Avery just shakes her head. “It’s an ugly painting.”

  The phone at the receptionist’s desk rings. She answers it. She hangs up after a second and then addresses Avery. “You may go in now.”

  thirty

  The man behind the desk is an older man, probably in his late sixties. His hair is mostly white with flecks of gray. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a purple tie. He gets to his feet as the sisters enter his office.

  “The sisters Graves,” he greets them. “Good to finally put some faces to the names,” he extends a hand across his desk. He introduces himself. “James Decessus.”

  The sisters shake hands with him. Decessus gestures to the seats in front of his desk.

  “Please, have a seat,” he says, settling back into his chair. “I understand you had a run in with Mr. Ibanez?”

  “Yeah,” Avery says. “He gave us this.” She sets the spectral analysis device on Decessus’ desk. “He’s also apparently going around freelancing for rich paranoid freaks, ripping out souls before they’re deceased and providing binding sigils for said souls.”

  Decessus focuses on the device for a second. He folds his hands on his desk and looks solemnly at Avery. “Yes, I was recently made aware of Mr. Ibanez’s extra curricular activities. Here at Messor & Decessus we are deeply distraught over Mr. Ibanez’s actions. Obviously none of us realized how deeply disturbed he was. As soon as Mr. Ibanez’s illegal activity was brought to our attention we immediately turned him over to the Council of Reapers.”

  Brooke and Avery look at each other, confused and slightly deflated.

  “Just like that?” Avery asks Decessus.

  “We’re grim reapers, same as you, ladies,” Decessus says. His gaze lingers a second longer on Avery. “An individual like Ibanez casts a black mark on us all. I won’t tolerate that kind of behavior.”