Charlie, trapped in the perpetual bartender’s state of drying a glass, lifted a brow at the drunken devil. “Easy there, buddy. We serve all types here. Nobody knows that better than you.”
The Pour Man grumpily mumbled into his drink, something about a “rat king,” and as Nicky Smiles ordered his rum and coke, one of his cronies decided enough was enough.
“How about you shut the fuck up, old man?” The hired friend and hulk of muscle said the words loud enough to impress his new boss. The Pour Man chuckled at the fact that the guy had a false sense of security among his beefy friends. The brute clearly thought he was in a “safe place.”
“You’ve got some fookin’ lip, huh laddie? Maybe I’ll make it bloody for you, ya little shite. Maybe if you’re lucky I won’t rip it from your face.” Despite his gruesome threat, the Pour Man laughed like he was telling a joke.
The hired muscle fired back. “I’ll give you some lip, you rag bearded old fuck. You wipe your ass with that ass rag? Moan another pathetic word and I’ll choke you out with that shit.”
The louder the hired muscle got, the more confident he became. Some of the other cronies laughed at their friend’s play, easily impressed. Nicky kept curious eyes on the man, wondering what his next move would be. Things were getting interesting.
Only, the interest took a turn. Instead of continued banter, the bar went deadly quiet, like a gun had just been fired. All eyes turned to the Pour Man, then to Nicky Smiles. Charlie broke the moment of silence.
“Now you’ve done it, son. Ever see the movie Pulp Fiction?”
The hired muscle was still grinning like a tough guy, but weakly, as if deep down he knew he had crossed some kind of line. He was sweating.
“The Pour Man has this thing,” Charlie said. “And in about five seconds he’s going to say—”
The Pour Man cut the dwarf off, right on cue, commencing a speech fit for a screaming concert hall.
“Hell, Heaven, are here to stay, laddie.” His grin was growing. He was gesticulating more and more. “Fookin’ devils and demons start to play. Human souls we fookin’ crave. And now you’re gonna fookin bleed from your fookin…”
He took one step towards the man.
“…Sinful…”
Another step.
“…Fookin’…”
His eyes went wide, forming an intense stare, and he appropriately concluded with, “…eyes.”
All the while, his face reddened, exhibiting all-new levels of evil. Without looking away from Mister Big Mouth, the devil put a hand out on the bar. “Pour me a fookin’ fresh one, Charlie.”
In a sudden, youthful spring, The Pour Man closed the remaining distance between himself and his soon-to-be victim.
“Hey, uh,” Nicky said to Charlie, in a verbal flounder. “Are you going to stop this?”
“Oh no, Nicky. Oh no.” He slid a drink to the Pour Man and leaned in towards Nicky. “Your boy mentioned the man’s beard. Never make from of his beard.” He leaned even closer, whispering. “He’s a bit sensitive about it. Only one person can play in that court and get away with it, and your boy ain’t him.”
It was a standoff that would have had long odds in any other arena. The big-mouthed bodyguard had at least an extra foot on the Pour Man, and had clearly been hitting the juice for way too long. His bulging muscles wanted to rip through his tight fitting black shirt.
And, in the red corner…
Just an angry, old, drunk man. But there was something else to him, something within. His face was now a devilish red, his eyes abyss-black. Those eyes looked like they wanted to eat the body guard whole, but the over-juiced man held strong, clearly wanting to prove his worth.
“Stand back, Nicky,” Charlie said. “You might want to cover your eyes. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”
Whatever un-pretty sight was looming, Olga and Helga seemed to have been through it plenty of times before. They ordered the dancers backstage, looking sorrowfully at the tragically confident muscle piece. Sympathy was a tough thing to elicit from the two giants.
Olga shut the door and locked it. Helga shook her head, moved off, and said in a grumble, “This time I get the mop and you can use it.”
Olga was too enthralled to give a rebuttal.
Then the beefy henchman doubled down, trying to rattle the Pour Man’s cage with words, as if he hadn’t done enough of that already.
“What are you gonna do, you short, corn-fed piece of drunken shit?”
Again, the devil’s response was only silence. He smiled, big enough to show through his red beard that he was missing a few teeth. Then came a hideous laugh that soon grew unruly, uncontrollable. All the while he kept glaring into the man’s eyes. The over-confident muscle man looked at the Pour Man with confusion, almost concern for the poor lunatic.
The devil’s laughter suddenly cut out like a speaker had just blown. The ensuing silence was even more disturbing than the cackling nightmare that had preceded it. The Pour Man pounced, wrapping his arms around the big man’s midsection, holding on tight. Mister Muscle tried to push his opponent off of him, but couldn’t.
“What the fuck, old man? You gonna hug me to death?”
“Precisely, you Italian fook.”
“Go to hell,” the man said, pushing and prying at the Pour Man, his laugh turning from confident to concerned. Now the Pour Man’s body was starting to change shape. Sharp barbs were pressing out, extending from his flesh and ripping through his clothes. He grew taller, so much so that he was now face to face with the hired muscle.
“Well looky here,” he said right into the soul of his pained and partially panicked adversary. “Finally speechless. Ya think you’re the one that has the power to send me to hell? Oh no, laddie. Ya don’t know the meaning of the name, but you’re about to get a lesson.” The Pour Man’s barbs slowly began to pierce the man’s body. “Oh, the fookin’ fun they’ll have with you.”
Now it was as if the muscle man was actually being popped, with blood leaking from his roided-out body. He somehow managed to reduce his agonized scream to desperate grunts. Nicky and the rest of the bodyguards looked on as they gained a new definition of terror.
The Pour Man was over eight feet tall, now, and his barbs had found their way in one end of the grunt, and out the other. The belligerent man was now in full bleed mode, leaking his life force all over Charlie’s floor and, tragically, Nicky’s nice shoes. Olga and Helga watched with reluctance, standing at the door to ensure no one came in for the show, or left to get help.
The Pour Man released his deadly hug, as it was no longer needed to hold the dead man in place. The bodyguard was dangling from the barbs about a foot off the ground. The moment that followed was, in a bizarre sort of way, awkward.
The murderous devil, still about two feet above his normal height, with a dead man hanging limply in front of him, looked over to Charlie and spoke in his normal, human, Scottish brogue.
“You’ll have to fookin’ bill me, Charlie, for the drink and the cleanup, I mean. This one’s a real bleedah.”
Olga leaned over to her sister and grumbled, “see if we get any of that cleanup fee.”
“I might be gone a while,” the Pour Man said, looking at the prize he had just fetched. “This fook might go on the auction block.” Then he gave a sharp-toothed, devil’s grin to Nicky. “Any other guiny fooks wanna say somethin’ about my fookin’ beard?”
Nicky didn’t say, “no,” per se, but the notion was implied. The Pour Man winked at him, and in a flash, was gone. All that remained was a mess of blood and entrails for Olga and Helga to clean up. They got to work.
Chapter 8
“Jesus Christ,” Helga said, watching Maven enter. “I already got this mess to clean and now another one walks right through the door.”
Olga looked up. “Hey Mave. Here for some excitement?”
Maven winked at Olga and nodded to the bloody mop. “Looks like I missed the most of it, huh?”
As he stepped up to the
bar, Charlie, somewhat ceremonially asked if Maven wanted a glass of “the usual.” The answer was always, “yes.” A demon’s blood cocktail was comprised of Jagermeister, Sambuca, special sauce, and mint schnapps. Maven needed a little extra sauce today, and he ordered the drink as such before looking down to the other end of the bar, at the Pour Man’s empty seat.
“Where is he?”
“Let’s just say he took a bloody trip straight to hell,” Charlie said.
“I think you’re supposed to say something vague after ‘Let’s just say.’ Who was it?”
Maybe Charlie answered, maybe he didn’t. Maven didn’t notice because his eyes had just landed on Nicky Smiles and his crew, sitting at a large table in the corner of the room. They looked skittish, probably in recovery over whatever disaster had just transpired.
“Must be my lucky night,” Maven uttered, grabbing his drink and crossing to Nicky’s table. He decided to prey on the nervous mood by launching some extra authority. No questions, only commands or statements.
“Nicky Smiles.” He badged the suave and nervous guy, fast enough that the old, scratched, and dented shield with strange markings couldn’t be studied too closely. “Detective Drake.”
“If you’re here about the murder that just happened,” Nicky said. “All of us will testify.”
“What murder?” Maven asked, leaning onto the tabletop with his knuckles. “You mean the spilled bloody Mary back there? Dropping a drink is a crime but I wouldn’t call it a murder.”
“That’s not—” Nicky started, but caught himself when he realized he was being messed with. “What do you want, Detective?”
“Nothing much. It’s just I have this mess on my hands and I was hoping you could help me clean it up.”
“Oh really?” Now Nicky was grinning a little. “Why is it I can’t go one month without some law guy hounding me about my family’s sanitation business? The cops on a menstrual cycle or something?”
Maven leaned a little closer, turning his voice to a slight growl. “I’d be careful, Mister Smiles. By the looks of things it’s your boys who are doing the bleeding tonight.” He wrapped his knuckles on the table, leaned back, cleared his throat, and struck a more casual tone. “So anyway, now that you mention the business. How’s it going, anyway? Everything clean?”
“As a whistle,” Nicky said, showing that he didn’t respond well to threats, especially when he knew he couldn’t stand against them.
“That’s great. Good for you, because I got a real shit storm on my hands and people say you’re the guy to clean it up. You know a guy by the name of Stanley Belman?”
“Belman?” Smiles almost seemed shocked, relieved that Maven wasn’t asking about one of a million other things. “Yeah I know Belman. He helps me crunch some numbers.”
“For the clean whistle business?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. What’s up with Belman? He in debt with the cops now, too?”
“He’s dead, Nicky. You kill him?” Maven let the words snap, it was always good to let accusations like that fly quick, before someone could prepare their reaction. Maven looked straight through Nicky’s eyes, sensing motive.
Nicky let out a chortle. “I don’t kill people, my man. Not my kinda business.”
“Right,” Maven said. “Mister Clean. You’ll have to let me know if anyone flushes information you’re way, and don’t soften my meaning when I say ‘You’ll have to.’”
“Cross my heart,” Nicky said, regaining some of his charisma. “I’ll let you know.” Before Maven could turn completely away, Nicky added. “Say, Belman owed me a healthy chunk of change. He’s married right?”
Maven immediately knew what Nicky was going for. The slick-haired scum bag wanted to collect from Ashley. The demon stepped right into Nicky’s face, his eye pulsing red.
“I’d steer clear from her, Nicky. She has friends with anger issues.”
Nicky, staring into Maven’s demonic eye, slowly lost his cocky smile for the second time that night. Maven headed to the bar, leaving Nicky to stew in his own melting ego.
“Hey, Charlie,” Maven said, taking a seat on the Pour Man’s vacant stool. “Cherry Bombs or Double D working tonight?”
“Not my department, Maven.” He nodded his head towards the kitchen. “Fish-Eye Kai runs the schedule.”
“Fish-Eye… you mean Teets? The cook?”
Charlie nodded. “She’s a woman of many names and many jobs. Come on back, you two are due for a ‘hey, how are ya.’”
Maven, loosened up and free to go with the wind thanks to his drink, drifted his way to the backroom. He stopped at the door, suddenly wanting to hold off on the introduction.
Fish-Eye Kai, or Teets, was not exactly what he would have expected. She was a Hawaiian woman at her roots, but her two large eyes were stuck on either side of her head. She was balding, and had two enormous breasts that sagged almost all the way to the floor. But, they weren’t just breasts, were they? The two appendages were snake like, moving independently, seemingly under Teet’s will. Maven didn’t want to imagine what the things were used for if the dancers needed disciplining.
“I’m fine right here,” Maven said, stopping at the door. “Dirty guy in the kitchen… I’d hate for the F.D.A. to come through and write you up.”
“Suit yourself,” Charlie said with a grunt. “I’ll go ask about your girls.”
Normally Maven might have corrected that they weren’t his girls, but he was too busy being amazed at the sheer amount of sweat that was dripping off of Teet. Charlie had his talk with the woman, or thing, and when he returned he seemed to notice Maven was gawking.
“Oh, come on, Mave. You’ve seen stranger things.”
Maven had, but he was still coming to the awful realization of why Charlie’s food always tasted so good. Extra sweat. Extra salt. Charlie broke the moment.
“Double D missed her last two shifts. Teets is going to have a word with her.” Charlie shook his head, like “having a word” was a horrible fate. Maven didn’t doubt it.
“What about Cherry?”
“Off tonight. Looks like you’ve got a search on your hands.
Maven downed the rest of his drink. “That I do, and it looks like this one will be an all-nighter.”
Eerily on cue, AC/DC’s Hell ain’t a Bad Place to be, came on the joint’s stereo system. Strangely appropriate things like that had a tendency to happen at Charlie’s. The dwarf only smiled.
“Nothing like an all-nighter in the big city. Go have fun, and come back any time.”
Maven appreciated the wishes, but wasn’t sure if Charlie meant it.
“Thanks, Charlie. Put one on my tab for the Pour Man whenever he gets back.”
Chapter 9
Slumber parties weren’t for teenagers. That was ridiculous. Ashley Belman could do what she wanted, when she wanted. She was a grieving widow for Christ’s sake, and if she wanted to have a little sleep over, then she would.
Shelly Katzmire, or Kat, was the wife to another rich attorney. Kat had been helping Ashley through this difficult time, and at the moment the two women were about two bottles of wine into their night of, of all things, trying on lingerie. If only the boys out there knew what these two did while they were together.
It was getting late, and soon the “slumber” got the upper hand on the “party.” As the women let the wine and dreams take hold, a nocturnal visitor appeared.
“Hi, Ashley,” the man said, dreamily. Although Kat had never met the man, Ashley knew him well. She wanted to know him more. Once again, she tasted his name on her lips.
“Maven.”
Both women thought they were deep in their own dreams, and Kat found it particularly odd that she seemed to be a spectator in this one. Why did Ashley know this man, but she didn’t?
“I’m making progress in your husband’s murder,” Maven said. “But I’ll need a little more time. Following up a few leads. I may have a few questions.”
“Ok, Maven,” Ashley
said, almost in a daze. “Anything you need. Just hurry. I’ve been speaking with an attorney friend about some things regarding Stanley’s financials. I don’t anyone to start suspecting I’m the murderer.”
Maven nodded and grinned. Ashley seemed to be getting on just fine with out her husband.
“Who’s your friend?” He asked, nodding to Kat with an abundance of charm. More than just charm. There was a powerful sexual energy to his words.
Ashley, feeling mischievous, pulled the blankets away, revealing two almost naked bodies in revealing lace panties. Kat, entranced and aroused merely by the man’s presence, looked into Maven’s eyes and asked, “What are you waiting for?”
Ashley looked at Kat, surprised at how her friend handled the sudden exposure, dream or no dream.
“Ladies first,” Maven said, eyeing Kat, who took the command well, and moved to start sensually massaging her friend. In a moment, the two women pulled at and practically ripped each other’s panties off, compelled by insanely powerful urges. The dream went utterly wild as Ashley broke through her shyness, pushing into more intimate touching, then reaching under the bed, grasping for the various sex toys she kept hidden there.
Maven let the action play out in front of him, getting turned on at the sight of his masterful creation, two gorgeous housewives making each other quiver with pleasure.
“You ready for some fun?” Ashley asked Maven, getting onto her knees and seductively putting her ass high in the air. She looked back over her shoulder at him, daring him with her eyes, begging him to take her from behind. "C'mon baby, you know you want it. Come fuck me."
Maven obliged, gladly. He pressed deep into her, pulling her hair back for a touch of sadistic leverage. Soon, he allowed the woman to lower her head, but only to go down on Kat. This chain of pleasure went on until Maven decided he wanted to take Kat for a ride, or maybe he wanted her to ride him.
Guiding Kat with firm hands, Maven lay onto his back and lifted the woman on top of him. She was much more vocal than Ashley, and was brought to screaming ecstasy as she rode Maven. Ashley stayed close, playing with her friend’s nipples while still panting from the incredible force that Maven had put into her from behind.
The Incubus Detective Page 4
