"That's right, honey," said Cynthia as she rested a manicured hand on my arm. "You look unwell. When was the last time you slept?"
I just stared at her hand. It looked as though it was made of wax. I shivered as she took it away to light a cigarette. The woman repulsed me. I didn't know what was making me more nauseous, the smell of her sweet perfume or the sight of her face that had seen so many facelifts she resembled a carpet fitter's kneepad.
"Well where's your limo?" asked Schiele, getting more annoyed by the second.
"I got the bus."
He stared at me as though out of everything that was taking place, this was the craziest thing to happen.
"Why?"
"Because I like to blend in," I said.
"Huh... crazy as a bag of wet monkeys," chimed in Cynthia.
"Is that... is that even a saying?" I asked, but the two of them were ignoring me as they stared out over the arid landscape.
“I ain’t getting on no bus,” I heard Cynthia say and I laughed.
“Hey,” I laughed and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You got any better ideas?”
Chapter Three
Berger
The motel wasn't there, but a bar was. Outside, dozens of Harley Davidson's lined the parking lot. From inside, I could just about hear the heavy beat of a kick drum and heavy guitar riffs.
"I don't really fancy this place," I said.
"Oh, you scared?"
"Actually, yeah. I'm pretty scared."
She laughed and flung her hair over her shoulder.
"Just keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine."
"Can't we find somewhere else to chill?"
"You see anything else around here?"
I saw an open road and that's all I needed. For a moment, I thought about leaving her here and heading off on my own but not even an old dog like me could leave her alone. An attractive woman like her in a biker bar was going to be an easy target.
"Okay, let's go," I said and reached for my t-shirt.
Finally, the sun was beginning to set. The sky was turning indigo and my eyes were shielded by shade but the heat was still almost unbearable.
"Hurry up, boy!" she laughed as she reached for the door. "I'm thirsty."
For some reason, the sound of her calling me boy was making me hard. I adjusted my pants, took a deep breath to calm down and followed her inside. I was expecting the room to fall silent as soon as we entered. I imagined dozens of hard Mexican bikers turning to ogle the outsiders, the beautiful woman and the deathly pale American man. I just hoped that they'd never find out I was a cop. Although I was retired now, I was always going to be a cop. It was in my blood now.
Luckily, nobody seemed to notice us enter. A few people eyed up Marcia as she sidled past but then returned their attention to their drinks. Maybe this place wasn't so bad. I got the impression it was full of transients and lost people looking for a few hours respite from the road.
I took a booth at the back of the room and let her order. She laughed and wiggled her hips at the barman, an older guy with a graying mustache and bulging muscles. It looked like she was just a regular girl on a night out, just a gorgeous girl having the time of her life. It was hard to imagine that she'd just buried her daughter. When she joined me, her smile had dropped and she was looking dour again.
"Here, drink up," she said and slid a beer over the table.
"Thanks. You know that guy?" I asked, pointing at the barman. "You looked pretty cozy."
"Jealous already, huh?"
Her hand moved beneath the table, sliding up my thigh, then higher still.
"Just wondering," I replied but I had to admit that there was a part of me that was a little jealous.
"No, I don't know him," she said. "But it's nice to flirt, right?"
With a cheeky smile, she wriggled her hips and swayed her breasts.
"Gets you what you want, right?"
I laughed and she slid her hand up even higher. Cupping my testicles, she licked her lower lip.
"I'm going crazy," she said. "I mean it. I'm losing my mind. Don't know what I'm going to do from one minute to the next."
My sanity was telling me to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay. Logic was telling me that she was a grieving mother and she needed to be handled delicately. She needed cared for, needed time to get over things. I'd dealt with a lot of people on the force during the worst time of their life. Women who had seen their husbands being murdered, women who were victims and mothers who had lost their sons to gang violence. All of these people needed to come to terms with their pain and most of all they needed to talk and channel their energy into something positive. Many of the women I'd worked with became warriors for justice. Some even became lawyers.
Back home I would have been handing this woman a leaflet on grief and sending her to specialist services but down here, I was letting het grab my cock and drink herself stupid.
"You don't have to do this," I said and tried to push her hand away.
"But I want to," she insisted. "Sex is my medicine."
I should have argued with this but I didn't. Instead I let her pull my zip down and take me in her hand. She carried on drinking as though nothing was happening. Looking out across the bar, I saw that no one was paying attention to us. No one apart from the barman. His eyes were on the table as though he could see beneath it. He leaned on the counter and twisted up his mustache, enjoying what he saw.
His eyes met mine and he winked before blowing her a kiss.
"He likes to watch, huh?" she smiled.
"We shouldn't really be doing this," I said.
A young guy in a leather jacket walked by, oblivious and made his way to the jukebox. A minute later, Roy Orbison's In Dreams began to play. I couldn't think of anything more surreal to listen to as I felt myself become slick with pre-cum.
"I could fuck you right here, right now," she said.
Leaning forward, she breathed on my ear and reached out her tongue.
"You make me so wet."
"People will see," I said.
"Good," she breathed and licked my neck. "I want everyone to see."
"No. You don't have to. You should-"
"Shut up."
She clamped a hand over my mouth and sat on my lap, pressing her breasts into me. Now people were staring to notice. Someone at the back of the room whistled.
I'd never been harder. The pressure of her body against my cock made me feel I could come already. I was so horny it hurt. Out the corner of my eye I could see the barman approach.
"How about a show?" he said.
His ugly face should have been putting me off, instead I was somehow growing harder. The sensation of everyone watching was tipping me over the edge.
"Fuck me," whispered Marcia. "In front of all of these people."
To my surprise, some of the bikers appeared disinterested. Clearly this was something that happened here a lot. Some of the younger ones however, stood around the table, beers in hand as they watched.
Marcia looked deep into my eyes as her deft hands tore at my belt. She freed me from my boxer shorts and stroked me hard.
"Urgh... Not so fast."
I was red hot and pulsing in her hand and didn't know how much longer I could last. Her wicked smile was intoxicating as she slipped me beneath her skirt. I eased inside of her as she let out a groan. There were cheers of appreciation from the spectators and the feeling of all their eyes on me was making me uneasy, but not uneasy enough to stop the impending orgasm.
"Close your eyes," she whispered in my ear. "Don't worry about them. It's just you and me."
She kissed me softly, the sweet taste of beer on her lips.
"Just you and me..."
Reaching round, she tugged at my balls and said, "I wanna feel you come inside me. Hard..."
Just the sound of her voice, just the feeling of her body against mine and her breath on my neck was too much. I came hard, shaking violently, ejacu
lating so hard I was almost in tears.
My heart hammered in my chest as the sides of my vision blurred. Now I wasn't in some random bar, I was in heaven. There was nothing around me, no problems, no guys standing around the table to watch us, nothing at all. Just the tightness of her pussy around me and her lips grazing my cheek. Then there was something else... A cold sensation against the side of my head.
I opened my eyes and saw Marcia with a stormy look in her eyes.
"Do it," came a voice.
I looked up and saw the barman right beside her, laughing.
"Do it!"
It was then that I realized she was holding a gun to my head.
"What the fuck?" was all I could say. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Hand it all over," she demanded.
"What?"
"All of it."
This couldn't be happening. This had to be some sort of joke.
"You heard her," said the barman.
Before I could react, he reached into my pocket and yanked out my keys, my phone and wallet, laughing the whole time. I tried to grasp for them but Marcia pushed the gun harder into my temple and cocked it.
"Move and you're dead," she said.
The bikers around the table were laughing. This must have been a usual occurrence around here.
"You heard the lady," said one of them.
Slowly, she began to move away but the gun remained pointed at my face.
"You did know him," I said, looking at the barman. "This was planned the whole time."
Then I remembered her words, "Who said there'll be a tomorrow?"
Terror set in. Without my car or money I was dead out here. I looked around the room for a way to escape then scanned my eyes over the barman as he took my things and tossed them over to a heavy set guy in a leather vest. He had a scar down one side of his face and arms as thick as my waist.
"Fucking friend of Bosworth," spat Marcia. "Scum!"
She slapped me hard across the face.
"I'm-I'm getting away from him too," I insisted. "He's a madman."
She wasn't listening because she was shaking hands with the barman.
"The cash is mine," she said. "The rest is yours."
He nodded in response.
"Always nice to work with you."
Bitch, I thought. I could kill you.
But her gun was still pointed at my face and I was surrounded by armed men who saw me as nothing but a dumb tourist. I was sure than even the hint of me being a cop would have made me a dead man. And so, shocked and confused, I found myself being picked up by the scruff of my neck and dragged outside.
"Don't fucking touch me!"
Everyone laughed. I had never felt smaller. I just about caught a glimpse of the guy holding me. He seemed little more than a boy but the scars on his body and the weapons strapped to him told me he had lived the life of someone three times his age.
"Pussy is dangerous," he laughed as he dragged me out into the dirt.
He was pulling me toward a rusty pickup truck. Something told me that as soon as I was inside it, I would die. In a panic, I swung a punch at him but he ducked out the way and laughed harder before pummeling his fist square into my nose.
"Idiot," he said. "Try that again and you're dead. Besides, we've got a long journey ahead of us so we're going to have to be friends."
"Journey? I managed to ask as blood ran into my mouth.
I spat into the sand as it sank into my teeth.
"You're going to the border," he said. "Then you're not our problem anymore."
Thank fuck, I thought. Once at the American border they could help an old cop like me. They'd make sure I got a new passport and help me get back to Normont. Then a thought hit me.
"But the border's three days' drive away," I said.
He looked at me as though I was insane.
"What the fuck you talking about? It’s only a half hour drive to Guatemala."
Chapter Four
Lincoln
"So you're both here, ain't that wonderful."
Schiele and his wife were sat on loungers by the pool with cocktails. Cynthia had calmed down at the first sip of her mojito but Schiele was still highly strung as he sweat through his suit.
"Nice place you got here," he said, ignoring me to look around the complex. "You always were a tasteful son of a bitch."
There was no disguising the jealousy in his voice. He sipped on his drink, bitterly. Beside him, the suitcase lay at his feet. I knew he wouldn’t let me just reach over and take it but at the same time, I needed it. At this point I would kill for it.
I couldn't believe that not only had Schiele followed it all the way down here but he'd brought his pain in the ass wife along with him. Why? What did he think she was going to do? Take part in my experiments?
Asshole I thought. He always has to poke his nose into everything.
He noticed me staring at the case and his eyes twinkled.
"So you'll probably be wondering when you can get your hands on it," he said, nodding toward it. "You're looking at it like you're hungry for it, like you're fucking desperate to have it."
"Aw Jesus, language!" squealed Cynthia’s voice.
She lay her head back against the sun lounger and gazed up to the sky.
"Anyway," he continued and turned his back to her. "You never really told me what it was for and the amount of money you were offering was..."
"Too much to turn down?" I offered.
"Suspicious," he replied. "It was a suspicious amount of money and after everything you've been getting up to in the news recently, well I had to see for myself what you were going to do with my invention."
Beneath my calm exterior I was ready to blow. Just give me it, I thought. Fucking give it to me.
For a second, I even contemplated killing Schiele and then his wife but I knew I couldn't. He was a high profile professor and was last seen getting on one of my private jets. It would be obvious where he went, even more obvious who killed him.
Pretending to play it cool, I strode over to him and tried to play it easy, resting my hand on the case.
"So, it would be awesome to take a look at it," I said and reached for the handle.
"Er, not yet," he responded and before I could move any closer, he grabbed the case and pulled it onto his lap, holding it close to his chest.
This was going to be more difficult that I thought.
"What are you playing at?" I asked.
"Look, I came down here with the Tricephthial because I’ll be honest, Bosworth. I don't trust you. Nobody trusts you right now. You're pretty much in exile down here doing who knows what and you left behind this trail of destruction back home. There are so many questions about you!"
I knew I should have tried to placate his worries but if I was being honest with myself, I'd have to admit that I was getting exasperated and just wanted this to end. I wanted the case firmly in my hand and I wanted Schiele and his stupid wife back on that plane.
"You're forgetting the other reason we're here," said Cynthia.
"There's another reason?" I asked.
I turned to Schiele and saw he was looking down at his lap, sheepish and cow towed by his wife.
"Why else would you two be down here?"
Schiele remained staring at his lap.
"Oh for Christ’s sake," groaned Cynthia. "Just tell him."
Schiele huffed and drained the last drops of his glass.
"We're here for business," he said. "Or rather we're in Monterrey for business. Cynthia figured since it was only a few hours away from here we could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."
He cleared his throat and looked at his shoes.
"And of course kill would be the perfect word," laughed Cynthia.
God, you really are ugly, I thought to myself. With her lipstick smeared around her mouth and her powder blue eyeshadow, she looked like a crushed up mannequin from a seventies horror.
"Okay, guys, you're going to have
to spell it out for me. I've not got much time for deadly riddles."
Schiele gave Cynthia a panicked look.
"Well?" she said to him and raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to start or am I?"
He cleared his throat again and finally looked up at me.
"Cynthia is indulging in a new hobby," he said. "It's, erm, rather unusual."
"A killer hobby down in the desert? Nice."
Things were about to get more interesting but somehow I couldn't imagine Cynthia hurting anyone. Not because she was too nice a person, but because it would ruin her manicure. She was just about the laziest, most vain person I'd ever met.
"It's lucrative too," she laughed.
"Ooh," I mocked. "Please tell me you've become a hit man."
The thought of her twisting a silencer onto a gun wearing a balaclava made me laugh until my stomach hurt.
"Not quite," she said.
Schiele was looking more uncomfortable by the minute. He was sweating even more and tugging at his tie. He looked as though she was just about to divulge the most embarrassing secret and I couldn't wait to hear what it was.
"I've an associate down here," she said. "Who deals in..."
She paused for dramatic effect and lit a cigarette.
"Cynthia," I breathed, leaning toward her. "If you don't tell me what you're talking about I'm going to kill you myself."
I smiled one of my most rehearsed dazzlers and she melted. Her cheeks flushed pink beneath her thick layer of makeup.
"Oh, you're such a charmer," she giggled. "Anybody tell you that? That you're charming, in a rather dangerous way?"
"All the time..."
I could almost feel the shame as Schiele turned to me and with large, drooping, watery eyes said, "Cynthia has started collecting...Murderabilia."
"Woah."
"Yeah," he sighed and reverted his gaze to his shoes.
"Great money in it," said Cynthia. "And God forgive me for thinking it’sexciting as hell too. Do you know how amazing it is to hold a letter written by Richard Ramirez in your hands? Or how exhilarating it feels to own an original Gacy painting."
Schiele appeared mortified and stood up. Straightening his tie, he strode into the kitchen.
Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series Page 67
