Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  “Oh . . . that’s Fumi’s gift. We’ll open it at home.”

  “What’s this . . . out of sight, out of mind? Come on, I get all wet when it comes to gifts,” I said, more excited about the gift than he was.

  “Thanks for that bit of helpful information. Alright . . . how come you’re always tellin’ me what to do . . . ? Stop tryin’ to be my mother!” Douglass was being jovial. Valerie leaned in to reply in his ear.

  “I can’t be your mother, baby . . . but you can be my daddy anytime.” Douglass mashed Valerie’s face (playfully) with his open palm and opened the gift. A question mark overcame his face, there was a set of keys and a phone number.

  “O-kay. I guess I’m suppose to know what this is. Let me guess . . . it’s the key to life!” Debbie was sitting in Douglass’s lap now, Mechelle had just returned from tinkling and the private dancers were shaking up a storm for the dozens in the VIP area.

  “Call the phone number, silly!”

  “Are you in my business, woman?”

  “No . . . but it’s like—duh . . . common sense, dude.” Debbie went valley girl on him.

  “Demetrius, lemme have your cell phone.” Demetrius handed him the slim digital wonder from his shirt pocket and Douglass dialed forthwith.

  “Good morning.” The voice alerted Douglass to check his watch. It was 3 AM.

  “Oh, I’m sorry . . . this number was left with me . . .”

  “I’m to inform you that the key you are holding is now your own, sir . . . Prince Fumi has left his house for you.”

  Douglass almost dropped the phone as his body stiffened. He thought he had heard what he heard, but he wasn’t sure if he heard what he thought he heard.

  The Point

  “You comin’?” Ken wanted to pop Max upside the back of his head, but the twerp would probably sue him.

  “Ken . . . just this one day, man. Can’t I have some fun, huh? It’s a holiday . . . officially, man!” Max was rocking back and forth on the outer soles of his feet, within a scent of the thongs wiggling in front of him. He was OD’ing on the dancers.

  “Max, we’ve been invited to breakfast with Gilmore.”

  “You go . . . it’s good publicity. I’m gettin’ laid tonight. These girls ain’t no fan club poultry, man . . . this that good chicken.”

  “Do me a favor, Max . . .” Ken slipped a folded 100 bill in Max’s pocket. “. . . Take a cab home. You can’t drive like this.” Max squinted his face when he calculated Ken’s insinuation. But Ken was gone now, so Max went right back to drooling.

  “Max can’t come, but I’m game,” said Ken.

  “Cool. My Jeep is out back . . . a black Navigator . . . pull up behind and follow us.”

  “You too? I’m driving a Navigator, too . . . black.”

  “Another Lincoln fan, huh? A man after my own heart. Okay, luxury-man. Meet us outside.” Douglass also had a slight buzz goin’ on, after 4 glasses of bubbly. The ladies were helpful, escorting him down the steps. The party on the main floor seemed as lively as ever . . . even with just 300 people left in the club. Longtime Gilmore’s customers congratulated him as he passed by—all smiles. It was only when Ken and Douglass tossed those acknowledgments to one another that Wade and Demetrius realized Douglass had invited Ken to breakfast. And now, as Ken peeled off of the entourage, Douglass headed towards the back entrance.

  Outside the club, the twilight hours were looming and a line of taxis were stretched from the entrance of Black Beauty into the next block. Drivers were standing outside of their vehicles soliciting every last partygoer to leave the complex. Across the street, that same dark Chevy was parked with the window opened. Moet’s killer now sat wide awake with binoculars zeroed-in on the entrance, and on Ken, who was now emerging from within. During the past five hours, he couldn’t help but to doze off. However, there were images on his mind that all climaxed to one big jolt that shook his body. It was as if he’d just woken while driving in 55 mile per hour traffic . . . a nightmare. Now, Ken was turning the corner at the right side of the club and crossing the street, over to where his truck was parked. Ken turned his alarm off and got in. He turned over the ignition, lowered his window and rolled the jeep closer to the rear of the club, across from a fleet of vehicles that were idle in the back lot. Ken let his seat back a little, reclined himself and rewound the images of the evening.

  “Say . . . aren’t you that baseball star, Steven something or other?” Ken was startled, but it was nothing that he hadn’t experienced before.

  “Sure . . . Ken Stevens.”

  “Can I have your autograph for my son, Bobby? He really loves you, and he’s got your baseball cards on his mirror, too.”

  “O . . . okay . . .” Ken reached to his glove compartment where he kept his 5X7 photos.

  “Say . . . it’s kinda cold out here. Do you mind?” The stranger indicated the passenger seat and put on a shiver to dramatize.

  “Why not. Come on around.” Ken popped the passenger lock, feeling spirited with the holiday climate and all. While the man circled the vehicle, Ken got a closer look through his windshield. Baseball cap. Overcoat. Jeans. That’s all he picked up, aside from the guy’s vitality and that he was a white dude with dark hair spilling from under the hat. Ken shrugged it off. Nothing extraordinary about this—just another baseball fan; sort of. Meanwhile, the man jumped in and recited what he wanted written in the photo.

  “To Billy . . .

  “I thought you said Bobby?” Ken had just pulled the top off of his marker when he gave a second look at his passenger.

  “Yeah . . . Bill, Bobby, Buddy. Same difference. Put on there, ‘Thanks for your love and support . . . Ken Stevens.”

  Ken shrugged off the incongruity and simply rushed to get it over with. Comes with the territory, he considered.

  “Nice jeep! You guys must get these things free . . . like what do they call ’em, perks? Just like the sneakers and stuff . . .” Ken already had the photo extended, hoping the guy would get ’n go. “You baseball players get it all, don’t you? Money . . . fame . . . pussy.”

  Now, Ken caught a bad vibe. Suddenly, the friendly father of a fan sounded like a demented wrestling fan. An altogether different situation.

  “I wonder if you can sign something else for me . . .” That’s when the man reached into his overcoat and pulled out a black-barreled .45-caliber pistol. He kept it in his lap with his free hand cradling it. “Now don’t get excited, Mr. Baseball. I just need your assistance.”

  “Listen . . . if you’re here to rob me, just take my . . .”

  “Uh-uhh! Just don’t move those hands there, buddy. Put ’em up on the wheel. Gowon.”

  “Please, just take my wallet and go. You want the jeep?”

  “This ain’t about no jeep! . . . Or your money. Just sit quiet . . . I wanna wait here with you and see what’s in store. You celebs always have the key to the city. So, now I got the key to the man with the key.”

  It wasn’t more than a few minutes later when a group spilled out of the back door of Black Beauty. There was Valerie, Debbie, Mechelle, Douglass, Demetrius and Wade. Douglass waved for Ken’s acknowledgent from across the street.

  “Wave back—go ahead.” The gun wiggled as incentive, and Ken gave a quick wave and a blank expression. Douglass and friends piled into one of 5 identical trucks. “Looks like we’re going for a little ride, aren’t we.”

  “You’re that guy that killed Moet. The one I saw that day at her house.”

  “You know, for a jock you’re not as dumb as I thought you’d be. So now that you have all the answers . . . DRIVE! And SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

  Ken’s perspiration was showing now. He was shivering, and his heartbeat was thumping like a drumroll. The two jeeps made their way down the side streets and onto the main road until they reached the throughway. It was a short drive up 1-95, to the exit close to The Point. Ken kept one car length behind the leader all the way to The Point. The security guard stopped the lead car and promptl
y let him pass after a call to the house. Ken had clearance as well. The stretch of road took the jeeps to the oval driveway in front of the home, a quicker arrival than Ken would have liked. Somehow, Ken saw this fool getting stupid and he had no reason why . . . except that he was a killer. There was no questioning his credentials. Demetrius pulled up to the right side of the driveway, just before the walk-through. Ken parked one car length behind him. All six disembarked from the truck.

  “Tell ’em you’ll be right in . . . reach out and tell ’em.”

  “Hey . . . go on. Give me a minute, I’ll be right in.” The stranger in Ken’s truck hunched down, remaining out of sight, until he was certain that everyone was turned and heading into the home. And just before Ken could fully adjust his head back in the window of the jeep to face his captor, whop! The man thrust the barrel of his pistol into the back of Ken’s skull. Ken didn’t quite black out from the strike, so he hit him again. Out like a light. With a gash and some blood to go with it.

  “W-o-o-o-ow . . . I can’t believe this place.”

  “Are you serious? Fumi left this for you? For us?”

  “It seems that way. Chuckuma just ran down a few particulars for me . . . but it looks like this is the gift of gifts.” Even Wade was caught up in the atmosphere, giving special attention to the jazz legends that were exhibited along the stairway.

  The ladies eventually broke off into their own direction, checking out the mostly stainless steel and tile kitchen with ultra-modern appliances. Douglass was guiding Demetrius through some of the finer luxuries of the 30-room home. Now, they were in the home theater while Chuckuma was upstairs preparing an early breakfast for 7. Wade found himself upstairs, looking down from one of the balconies. He could see out towards the front. Ken was not in his jeep and Wade sprung awkwardly back toward the staircase.

  “Douglass. Douglass . . . Demetrius!” No answer. The house was so big and the two men were in the basement, next to a massive game room. Now, the ladies were out on a patio that was set off from the kitchen and dining room.

  “Mechelle, do you believe this view?”

  “I’m lovin’ this. Look at the flowers, the shrubbery, the Long Island Sound. They must go out boating from that dock.”

  “They probably have a yacht, Debbie.”

  “They . . . they?? Girls, this is Gilmore’s house! I mean, for real, we keep saying they, and they is really us! We can have our own yacht trips. Big house parties with all of the girls . . .”

  Gilmore’s House

  “You know, back in Chicago, they make a big deal about Playboy, Hugh Hefner and the Playboy Mansion . . . but for real? This house makes the Playboy mansion look like a doll house!”

  The girls eventually headed back indoors.

  With the patio door opened, Valerie saw Wade first.

  “Ladies!” The girls almost jumped out of their skin, Wade was so abrupt, like the drill sergeant he never was.

  “Where’s Douglass? Demetrius?? Has anyone seen Ken?” Wade was hyper, eyes swinging all over the place. “I want you guys to stick by me. I MEAN IT!” Wade only startled them at first, but once he shouted, they all jumped in unison. At the same time they moved towards Wade, he looked past them where a figure suddenly rushed into the dining room through the open patio door. He had his arm extended and his .45 pointed—specifically at Wade.

  “Don’t try me, sir. I’m a very good shot. Very . . . good.”

  Debbie appealed, “Oh my God.”

  Mechelle grabbed Wade for support and gasped.

  Valerie simply stood there, amazed, with her mouth hollow and dry . . .

  “Richard?”

  “That’s right, Valerie, it’s me. I’m here to rescue you.”

  “Rescue me? What happened to you? What are you doing here? What—is—going—on?!” Wade could see Valerie’s fear was dripping with her tears. At the same time, he had Mechelle in one arm and Debbie in his other. He saw that Richard was more focused on Valerie, even though his gun was pointed at Wade’s head. Wade’s body felt like an ironing board, with hot irons at his waist, at the small of his back, and on his calf. His firearms were calling him, only the ladies were a big problem right now.

  “Oh . . . I gained a little weight . . . changed my hair some . . . almost overdosed . . . you know, the basic GIRL LEAVES BOY SHIT!”

  The eyes in Richard’s face were on the verge of rupturing as he released his rage. Wade had his arm away from Mechelle’s shoulder now, reaching towards his back. He was moving them further away at the same time.

  “You must have taken me for a fool, Valerie. You just thought you could use my love up for so long and just up and leave WITHOUT ANY EXPLANATION!”

  Wade felt the need to act. He’d have to push the girls to the floor first, and then shoot. If he aimed and shot first, he might be jeopardizing a life. Better he took all the risk.

  “But I’m over that now, Valerie . . . it’s been a while . . . you know? I think I’m healed . . . now that I’m here with you. Here to rescue you. Uh-uh-uh . . . don’t try it, mister.” Richard wasn’t standing in place anymore. He reached for Valerie, but she was apprehensive. He shuffled closer until she was standing next to him. He put his arm around her neck and pulled her closer. A rough kiss. And his palm grabbed her breasts through the tuxedo. Valerie looked over at Wade and the girls, unable to give an explanation, but knowing that this was her fault in some way.

  “Remember those lips, honey . . . these hands? Remember how I LOVED YOU!?” His voice was fading up and down again. He was obviously angry. And his last shout was Wade’s cue.

  He pushed the girls away from him and as he raised his arm, Richard beat him at his draw, busting off two shots. One caught Wade’s upper arm. Another to his chest. Wade fell to the floor and lay there, eyes wide with pain. Richard stepped over and picked up Wade’s piece. Then he patted other areas of his body.

  “I know you cops keep another one somewhere.” Richard pulled the velcro strap from Wade’s calf, releasing the 9 millimeter from his ankle, complete with holster. Feeling more confident, Richard ordered the girls to a corner of the dining room and placed his own pistol on a counter. He strapped the holster haphazardly around his shoulder, looking like an adolescent Jesse James imitator. Now he had two pieces, one in each hand, as he motioned for the girls to move into the hallway.

  “Come on, we’ve got others to find.”

  “Douglass! That sounded like gunshots.”

  “Gunshots? Are you sure?”

  “I know a friggin’ gunshot when I hear one, Doug—and those were gunshots.”

  “We’ve gotta get up and see what’s happening. The girls . . . Wade . . . Chuckuma.”

  “Easy, Doug. Let me lead. Please. Stay back.” The two eased out of the game room, creeping like in a Scooby Doo cartoon.

  “Keep steppin’, ladies . . . I have a surprise for you.” With Wade bleeding on the floor behind them, Richard prodded the girls along. “Let’s find a bedroom.”

  “Valerie, what’s going on? Who is this guy?”

  “A crazy bastard, that’s who.”

  “Yeah, well . . . you were fucking this crazy bastard?” The girls whispered amongst themselves. They now stood in the main foyer, a gallery that was central in the house.

  “Now, girls, I know who’s here in the house with you, so the deal is . . . they either come on out and I don’t shoot anyone. And if they don’t, you guys are going one at a time . . . beginning with . . . you!” He pointed a gun at Debbie, and she screamed.

  “What’s your name, you pretty, caramel treat!” Debbie answered with her hair tight in his grip and her head bent back until her eyes met his. “Well, let me ask you” Richard spoke in her ear at a low volume, “. . . you like fucking girls, don’t you? I said, don’t you?” He pulled her hair tighter. She squealed and answered with fear in her voice.

  “Yes! Yes! Ye-e-esss!” she cried aloud.

  “Good . . . good answer. I’d say we’re doing pretty good, wouldn’t y
ou, Valerie?” Valerie had her arms crossed now, coming to remember that this arrogant, obnoxious bastard once controlled her every move when she lived with him.

  “WOULDN’T you, Valerie?” Richard pressed the nose of one gun to Debbie’s neck, with the other gun and a whole bunch of Debbie’s hair squeezed in his grip. He whispered into Debbie’s ear and she cringed and whined in response. Then he put his mouth over hers and kissed her apprehensive grimace.

  “Now, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it? Kissing a MAN. Now, Valerie, call your FUCKIN’ friends, or she gets it RIGHT here—RIGHT now.”

  “That won’t be necessary. You want me? You got me. Now . . . please let her go.” Douglass was calm about it, emerging from the basement.

  “Good . . . good. Now where’s your friend? The big guy.”

  “I’m here.” Demetrius stepped out of the stairwell from behind Douglass. The two didn’t seem to have a plan, or a clue as to who this guy was. They just knew they were facing two loaded guns.

  “There’s no need to hurt . . .”

  “Listen to me, big man. I do the talkin’ here—understand?”

  “What we’re gonna do now is go upstairs. Ladies with me . . . guys, you stay behind us.” Pistols pointed everywhere, Richard was stepping backwards up the steps, with the jazz legends behind him. The girls were somewhat of a shield for him, with Demetrius and Douglass both tempted to lunge and grab the gun.

  “Don’t you try and be a hero, now . . . you know, we’ve already got one lying on the floor in the kitchen . . . so, I don’t need to show you a resume, do I?”

  Upstairs, Richard pulled down a gold decorative tassel from some velvet curtains. He tossed it to Douglass.

  “So we finally meet. The playboy himself. So how does it feel to have so many luxuries . . . so much money . . . so many women at your feet?” Douglass was speechless behind Demetrius as they continued following the man with the power. The man with the guns.

  “I bet you didn’t know about me, did you? You didn’t know that I was fucking Valerie FIRST, did you? Well, for your information player, this one is TAKEN!”