Jackpot

by David Bernstein

  Six

  Detective Eric Harper steered his unmarked cruiser through the Wal-Mart parking lot. He needed something wet to put his dick in, and he never failed to score a piece of pussy when he came here. Smiling, he saw what he was looking for striding toward him, pushing a cart with a super-sized bag of dog food, some beer, and two bags that probably contained some Campbell’s soup or some type of microwavable food.

  This hunt didn’t take nearly as long as usual.

  He’d only made one complete trip around the lot and was on his way back up the second row when he spotted her: a bleached blond mane of curls bouncing around a tired face. She had on an excessive amount of makeup to hide the stress lines and crow’s feet. Her large tits were stuffed into a pink tank top that had been slit at the chest so it drooped open over the valley between the two smooth mounds. Her cut-off shorts were so skimpy they barely reached the cambers of her buttocks, and Eric could just make out a purple panty line behind the frilly denim hairs tickling her tanned thighs. She wore flip-flops that slapped the heels of her feet as she walked. Cutting down the radio, he could faintly hear the soft taps when they touched her skin.

  He took his foot off the gas, letting the car cruise along the several parked cars on either side of him.

  Was she going to walk past him? If so, he’d throw the car in reverse and ride along beside her.

  Was he worried this wouldn’t fare well for him? Hell no. He was a good looking lad, pushing thirty, with thick golden hair that was never parted but somehow managed to dangle into his eyes. He’d been compared to Brad Pitt often, and he supposed it was an accurate depiction. After all, he was tall, lean, cut, and fucking gorgeous.

  And he had an endless hankering for white trash women, an obsession that probably stemmed from being raised in a trailer park. His teenage years were spent sneaking into trailers in the middle of the night, after his mother had passed out, to fuck neighboring women left home alone by husbands driving eighteen wheelers across the country. Eric knew how to fool them, to swoon them. He’d perfected a rehearsed performance that made the trashy women quiver in their too-tight panties. If they had tattoos it was even easier. Nothing got them talking like a compliment for their body ink.

  And this one had a nice flowery spread running up the side of her thigh. When she turned beside an old Ford Tempo with a cracked rear bumper missing chunks, angling the tip of the buggy against the aged green shell of the cart so it wouldn’t roll away, Eric steered the cruiser to the right, and slowed to a crawl as he approached.

  She was putting the key into the trunk when he stopped.

  Eric pushed the button for the passenger window, rolling it down. “Excuse me.”

  The trunk flew up. She turned around, hardly noticing him at first. But, as she started to walk away, planning to ignore him, she must have gotten a decent glance at him. Stopping, she ducked down to see him better. “Hello?”

  “Hi there.”

  Smiling, she pushed at her teased hair. “Hi.”

  “Out here alone?”

  She looked around. “Seems that way.”

  “What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Tonya.”

  That figured. She would make his tenth Tonya.

  “Tonya, huh? I like that name.”

  And, he did. He’d never met a Tonya that couldn’t fuck like a porn star.

  “And what’s your name, baby?”

  “Holt Watson.” His favorite redneck Casanova alias. “I like your tattoo.”

  “Really?” She turned to the side, extending her leg so he could see the design better. It was a vine of brightly colored flora. Eric didn’t recognize any of the flowers, nor did he care what they were. All he could focus on was how the sunlight glistened off the surplus amount of lotion she’d most likely coated her legs in. Her thigh curled inward with tone. “It hurt like hell.”

  “I bet so. D’ you get it all at one time?”

  “The outline, yeah. Went back when I had the money for the color.”

  Eric nodded. “Got any more?”

  The corner of Tonya’s mouth curled upward into a half-smirk. “Yeah.”

  “Can I see those?”

  Tonya laughed, then walked over to her buggy and hefted the large yellow bag from the cart. Her exposed skin flexed as she carried the dog food to the trunk and dropped it in. This was a tough woman, athletic, and very strong. He was going to have a lot of fun with her. Brushing off her hands, she faced his car once again. “You trying to play me or something?”

  “How would I be?”

  “Well, you see what I’m wearing, right?”

  Eric nodded. “You better believe it. Why do you think I stopped?”

  “Hoooo!” Tonya laughed. Cheeks flushing red, she shook her head. “Then you have to know my other tattoos are in places a little more private, right?”

  “I figured as much.”

  “I bet you did.”

  “Still would like to see them, though.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She crossed her arms over her massive breasts, tilted her head. “I’m not a hooker or nothing.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “And, I’m not looking to shoot any videos. Done ’em before and saw them all over the internet. A girl’s not nothing without a good reputation.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So, you just stopped because…?” Now she was legitimately curious.

  “I stopped because I think you’re sexy as hell… and I want to see your other tattoos.” He spoke the last part slowly, enunciating each word for effect. “Can I?”

  “I think I would like that.”

  “Got anything in those bags that might spoil?” “Nope. My beer might get a little warm, but that’s nothing my fridge won’t fix.”

  Eric smiled. “Exactly. Why don’t you put those bags up and hop in.”

  “Give me a second.”

  In a rush, Tonya took the beer and two bags from the cart and put them in the trunk. She slammed the lid, but it rose back up halfway. A second attempt got it to finally stay latched. Finished with that, she started for the car.

  “Want to put your buggy up?”

  Tonya glanced at the shopping cart leaning against her car. “Not really. If it’s still here when I get back, I will.”

  “Fine.”

  Tonya climbed in, pulling the door behind her. She sat her large pocket book in her lap. Her eyes locked on the radio fastened to the bottom of his console. The curly wire dangling from the microphone swayed slightly from her movements.

  “You’re a cop?”

  “I’m nothing to worry about,” he said, gingerly pressing the gas pedal.

  She seemed to consider this for a moment. Eric hesitated, making sure she didn’t tell him to let her out before moving much further. She didn’t.

  “So where we heading?”

  Eric turned left when the car reached the end of the row. “Somewhere private.”

  “Oh?”

  Eric nodded. He reached across the seat and put his hand on her leg, rubbing it. She tensed up. Her skin felt slippery, smooth. He was right about the lotion. Her leg was smothered in it. This was nothing new to him. Her skin without the lotion probably felt tough and leathery from too much sun and years of tanning beds. Same for her hair. Without the leave-in conditioner, he would put money on it that it was dry and unmanageable.

  “How private?” she asked.

  “I know a little spot not too far from here. No one will bother us while I look at your tattoos.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

  “It’s all right. I won’t judge you.”

  Tonya laughed. It sounded forced, as if she was nervous and purposely trying to use the laughter to settle her nerves.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Not at all.”

  As she rummaged through her overstocked pocket book, Eric drove them away from the parking lot. He glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the giant blue sign with empowering wh
ite letters shrink in the tiny brick of glass. Though he put on a good act, he was never more scared when he was luring trashy girls into his car. Wal-Mart was his hunting ground, but it was a popular place, too. His fear was that one day someone would recognize his car. He wouldn’t get into any real trouble for it, unless he was on duty, which he rarely was when he did this. Still, the embarrassment alone would be bad enough.

  The lighter clicked from beside him. A moment later the car began to fill with the odor of cigarette smoke. Most nonsmokers hated the smell of cigarettes, but he was used to it. His mom had been a chain-smoker, passing away from lung cancer six years ago. It was bound to happen from how much she smoked, but the news had hit him hard. She’d gone quickly, her last weeks confined to the hospital bed. Eric had been asleep in the chair beside her when the chime of the heart monitor woke him up.

  “You okay, baby?” Tonya asked.

  “Wha-huh?” He shook his head. “Yeah.” He glanced at her legs, angled toward the door, knees together. “You’ve got some great legs.”

  “Glad you like them. I’m happy with them.”

  “You should be.”He steered the car onto Patterson Road, heading east. “I can’t stop looking at them.”

  “Well, keep your eyes on the road for now. Don’t want any accidents.”

  “Right.”

  She puffed on the cigarette. “How often do you do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Pick people up and take them to your…spot.”

  Eric saw where this was going and if he wasn’t careful, he might offend her and ruin it. No problem, he’d just improvise. “I used to do it a lot. I stopped, though. Tried to go without it.”

  “Ah, I see. Giving it up because you met somebody?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So what changed your mind?”

  “Seeing you.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, but the tone of her voice suggested belief. “Nuh-uh.”

  “It’s true. I saw you and forgot all my vows.”

  “Wow…” Tonya shook her head, pulled a drag from her cigarette. “I feel special.”

  “You are.”

  “I better not let you down then…”

  Eric was confused by her comment, even as she tossed the cigarette out the window. Before he could ask her what she was doing, she’d turned to face him. Reaching over, her hand fumbled over his lap, found his zipper, and pulled it down in one quick yank.

  “Oh…” was all Eric managed to say before Tonya had his erected penis free of his pants.

  She leaned over, taking him into her mouth.

  Eric cried out. The car swerved into the other lane. Thankfully, nobody was coming from that direction. Correcting himself, he leaned back, giving her bobbing head room to move.

  Houses, lining the streets on both sides, were crammed close together with only a single line of fencing separating them. Cars were in the driveways, their owners probably about to eat supper. He wasn’t that hungry right now, maybe afterward he would stop at a drive-thru for a burger. A mile later, the spaces between the houses began to grow. After another minute of driving, there were no more houses, only fields. He spotted the ribbed gravel road on the left and slowed the car to take the turn. Once his tires hit rocks, he floored it.

  He needed this.It wasn’t a lie when he’d told Tonya he’d tried to stop. There had been too many occasions, with no breaks between, and he was getting sloppy. Eric wasn’t dumb enough not to recognize he had a problem. Looking down at the tight yellow locks shielding his lap proved that. He was addicted to it, needed it. Some days he felt like a crackhead fiending for a rock if he didn’t have his cock pushed deep between the thighs of a trashy hot trailer park angel.

  His hand reached into her hair, fisting a large mound of bouncing gold without him even realizing it. Tonya moaned over the slurping pecks her lips made on his cock. He needed this relapse, this little bit of fun to help clear his mind. The case he was working on had him so stressed he needed this release.

  A variety of body parts had been discovered in town. Eric and his team had been able to conclude the pieces belonged to five different people, but with no heads recovered, the identification process was difficult.

  So far, the only positive I.D. was Malcolm Price, a sixteen year old kid who’d disappeared on his way home from basketball practice. His was the only hand they found, used the prints to peg him. Eric had to call the kid’s parents, break the news to them. No matter how many times he had done that, it never got any easier. The rest of what they found was just bits and pieces, chopped up with most likely an ax from the looks of it, the bone splintered like wood. Arms and legs and tits and genitals and fatty chunks of belly and back. There was only one whole torso in the bunch, the breasts dripping milk, the belly slit open. The placenta still sat within the uterus, the umbilical cord hanging out like a dead earthworm. Someone had carved a fucking number one on the belly. He was still waiting for other agencies to get back to him with reports of any missing pregnant women throughout the state.

  His superiors, ranging from the captain all the way up to the mayor, wanted answers.

  And, Eric didn’t have any answers to give, not even guesses. Which made him feel inadequate and stupid and lousy at his job. He wanted to make lieutenant and, knowing this case would make or break him, added even more stress.

  The road dead-ended in front of a large field. Eric steered his car around and backed up to the grass, facing the car out in case he had to drive off in a hurry.

  Tonya’s head was still rising and falling, sucking on his cock like she was gaining nourishment from it.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hmmm?” Tonya replied, mouth full. “Climb on top of me.”

  Her lips pulled away with a wet pop. “You got it.” Leaning back in the seat, she raised her legs, kicking out of the cut-offs. Her silk panties came off next. She was mostly hairless between her thighs, just some light stubbles of hair coming back after a fairly recent shave. There was a single tattooed star on the smooth band of flesh. She rubbed it with a finger. “Here’s one.”

  Eric moaned. “I like it.”

  Her eyes aimed at his cock again. “That fucker’s huge. It’s gonna leave me walking bowlegged for days.”

  “I’ll definitely try.”

  Tonya laughed. Eric reached down beside the seat, found the lever, and pulled it up. The seatback shot down. As he lay back, Tonya climbed on top of him, a knee on each side of his hips. Reaching between her legs, she found the staff of his cock, and held it in place as she slowly dipped down, impaling herself.

  Thrusting her hips, Tonya pushed the baleful memories of the dead bodies to the back of Eric’s mind. When the shame of his encounter with Tonya haunted him later tonight, as he knew it would, he would be kept awake by the images his mind produced of what had been done to the ill-fated victims. They’d stay with him until he passed out in a beer-induced coma.

  Seven

  Hamid screamed as the pliers clamped on his nipple were twisted. The fleshy tab continued to wind like lint until it finally tore off. A small line of blood shot out like a milk carton with a pin-sized leak. “Why are you doing this to me?” he managed to cry between huffs, gasps, and blubbers. Sweat poured down his face, singing the cuts and welts on his face. His left eye was a swollen tanned ball that bulged around his peripheral slit. “I did nothing to you! Nothing!”

  He bucked against the rope holding him to the chair. It used to be Winona’s sewing chair. She’d sat in the wooden seat for thirty years, maybe more, while she’d sewed every stitch of clothing her children had ever worn. It was no good to her now since arthritis had gnarled her hands into fin-like appendages. It had been crafted out of solid oak by her late husband—God rest his soul—and it was resilient.

  Winona Rollins sat in a folding lawn chair on her back deck, watching Arnie, her oldest grandson, open the pliers and pluck out the mushed nipple. His smile was beaming inside the thick bushel of beard ar
ound his mouth. “D’you see that, Me-maw? The damn thing popped off like a scab!”

  Winona took another spoonful of Rocky Road from the carton in her lap and licked a smooth trail over the chocolaty mound before cramming it in her mouth. Her dentures grinded the chunky ice cream into mush so it was easier to swallow. Sometimes the sharp tips of chocolate chunks scratched her throat, making her choke. But she loved this flavor too much not to eat it. Every night for the past decade she’d headed out to the Quik Stop to pick up a carton. Some people went out for beer, cigarettes, but her routine was devoted to the ice cream. And Hamid always had it in stock. She’d gotten to know him pretty well in the five years since he’d bought the Quik Stop from Earl Summerset. Dare she say she even liked the guy, despite him being an Indian or Iraqi or whatever?

  She stabbed the spoon into the mound of ice cream, leaving it jutting like a shovel in a pile of dirt. She adjusted the blanket spread over her knees, settling the carton in the groove her thighs made when they pressed together. Didn’t want her legs getting numb from the cold. “I saw it,” she said. “The way you’s tuggin’ at the damn thing with those pliers, what’d you expect?”

  Arnie didn’t respond, too fascinated by the bloody dot clamped between the plier’s metal teeth to notice he’d been spoken to.

  Benny, the baby of her two grandsons, rummaged around the shed.Things clanked and rattled as he searched through the junk piled up in there. When he stepped out, he clutched a metal tube in his right hand, a curled snake- like spout growing from the top. At first, Winona thought he might be holding a fire extinguisher. But the only one they owned was in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. So, what was that?

  As he walked into the yard, stepping into the pool of luminosity the ring of Tiki torches threw on the yard, she could see the object clearly. A blow torch. Dangling from his other hand was a welding helmet. He put it on top of his head, leaving the shield flipped upward so his face was bare. “My turn!”