“What are you trying to say, asshole?” I clench my teeth, seething.
Simon throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just gathering information is all.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folder in front of him and squints at it. “I’m just looking over your statement. It says you arrived at your father’s office that morning around seven am. Is that accurate?”
“Yes. That’s when I called the police,” I say.
“That’s not what I asked. What time did you arrive at the office?”
I start to speak, but immediately realize I can’t remember. I can’t recall walking through the front doors of Larsen International, and riding the elevator up to the top floor. Detective Simon sits back, making a “huh” noise.
I breathe heavily. A growl rattles in my throat.
“Control your fucking temper,” Joel whispers. He turns to Simon. “My client has been here for long enough. If you have anymore questions, you can call me.”
We turn and walk out of the door. The detective lets us go without a fight.
In Joel’s car, I’m desperate for something to punch. Who does that fucking guy think he is, accusing me of murdering my own father? And did someone murder him? Was it suicide or not? Why can’t they give us the fucking answer? I want Joel to turn the car around so I can burst into that police station and tear it apart.
Joel must sense my boiling red anger. He lightly touches my arm.
“You need to get your temper under control,” he says in a steady voice. “It won’t help you any. Are you still seeing your therapist?”
“Yeah.”
“Recently?” Joel asks carefully. “You’re going through something traumatic. You’re grieving. Now’s not the time to skip sessions.”
I turn towards the window, watching the gray concrete streak by. Joel glances at me warily, but drops the conversation.
“What the fuck was that about?” I ask, getting back to the matter at hand.
“I need to find out more.” Joel tightens his face, getting back to business, which is when he’s most alive. “Right now, they have the advantage, because they know more than we do. I need to flip that around.”
“Are they accusing me of murder?”
“There’s no sense in speculation. This could be nothing.”
A dark cloud passes through my mind, sending a chill down my back. “Was Father murdered?”
Joel blinks, then swallows. “There’s no sense in spec-“
“Fucking speculate.” I smash my fist into the dash. The glove compartment snaps open. I immediately go into apology mode. “I’m sorry, man. I’ll get that fixed for you. Just fucking tell me, Joel. Don’t bullshit me. In your professional opinion, is this a murder investigation?”
The corners of his mouth drop, telling me all I need to know.
“In my professional opinion, they wouldn’t have called you in for questioning if it wasn’t.”
I fold my hands in front of my face, sinking deeper into the seat. I realize I’ve known all along that Father didn’t kill himself. He had too much of a hard-on for the power he possessed to go out willingly.
“Turn around.”
My voice pierces the smooth hum of the foreign made engine. Joel doesn’t answer at first. I turn to him, my eyes cold.
“I said, turn around.”
“Why?”
I straighten up in the seat, and point my finger inches from Joel’s face. “Because if someone killed my father, I want to know who it is.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Not a good idea. Getting justice for my father isn’t a good idea?”
I lean towards Joel, making him cower slightly. Joel willingly expels the fear from his face.
“Get a grip,” he says, through gritted teeth. “What was it your therapist told you to do? Take ten deep breaths.”
He’s right. I’m sliding down that cliff, picking up speed, and throttling towards a crash. If I don’t stop myself, I could lose control. It’s happened many times before. I glare at Joel while I take ten slow, deep breaths.
“I just think,” Joel starts, choosing his words carefully. “The less you talk to the cops, the better.”
“They’ve got nothing on me.”
“We don’t know what they have.”
“They’ve got nothing, because I didn’t do anything.” I’m surprised when Joel doesn’t agree with this immediately. “I didn’t do it. You know that, right?”
“As your attorney, it makes no difference to me. My job is make sure you’re treated fairly in the legal system.”
I stare at him, numbly. The anger, exhilarating at first, has cooled in my belly, leaving my limbs feeling stiff from the lack of adrenaline.
“Are you really feeding me this shit?” I ask.
Joel sucks in through his teeth, and exhales. “We can’t get ahead of ourselves, Jack. That’s a rookie mistake. We’ll end up fucking ourselves. I have to treat you like any other client. It’s what’s best for you.”
I’m on the other side of my angry outburst, the calm after the storm where I’m numb to the core.
“Can you speak to me as a friend, not an attorney?” My voice is quieter, and sounds like someone else’s. Joel nods. “Do you think I did it?”
Joel’s upper lip curls. “Did you?”
“No.”
He turns back to the road. “Then I believe you.”
We’re quiet the rest of the way. My brain is on overdrive, planning, plotting. I’ll find out who killed my father, and make them pay for their crime. Then, I’ll become CEO of Larsen International.
I’ll take what’s mine.
2.
I’m keeping one eye on the brunette waitress’ thick ass, and the other on the attendants of this luncheon. Everyone is a suspect in my eyes. Whoever killed Father would stand to gain something, and is probably a close associate. I look every person in the eye, willing them to reveal their guilt.
It’s been almost a week since I was in that interrogation room. My anger over being treated like a criminal has subsided. I’ve decided my reaction to the situation was uncalled for. I’m sure the cops suspected foul play, and questioned a lot of people just to get a feel for them. I hope I haven’t fucked myself in that regard. I couldn’t have made the best impression on the detective. Joel has a contact inside the police force, and promised to let me know if they were building a case against me.
Mother hosts this luncheon every year, and even though she’s newly widowed, this year is no exception. It’s a fundraiser for whatever cause is fashionable at the moment. Rich people have donated days on their yachts, or vacations on their private islands, to be bid on by other rich people. The brunette waitress offers me another glass of champagne. I smile at her, making her blush. I’m so competent at seducing women, sometimes I do it on accident.
Everyone’s acting boring as usual. I walk around the event, getting steadily drunker. I accidentally bump into a woman I know, Angel. Her father is a hedge fund manager. I think Angel and I hooked up one night, though the memory is fuzzy.
“Easy, partner,” she says, grabbing my arm to keep me steady. She giggles lightly, and I can tell she’s pretty drunk herself. “It’s good to see you, Jack. It’s been awhile.”
“Has it really?” I’m starting to feel that drunken euphoria, the warm comfort that alcohol can take all of your pain away.
“I was sorry to hear about your father.”
I grab a glass of champagne from a nearby tray and drink it in one gulp.
“Don’t be so boring,” I growl.
Angel’s face brightens up. “Oh, you’re looking to have fun? Why didn’t you just say so?” She opens her sequined clutch, then presses a small pill in the palm of my hand.
“You’re a good friend,” I say. I hear her say it’s Molly only after I’ve swallowed it.
I swoop Angel’s hair away from her face in an overly familiar way. “Let me ask you something,” I ask her. “Have you noticed any suspicio
us behavior?”
“What?” she asks, cracking up with laughter.
“Is anyone acting differently? Saying strange things? Or acting guilty?”
“Just you.” She shoves my arm so hard I almost lose my balance.
“How many of those pills have you taken?”
“Two with breakfast, one with lunch,” Angel says, proud of herself.
I rake my fingertips up her arm. She bites her lip as she shivers.
“You must be feeling pretty good,” I whisper against her ear.
She presses against me. “I’d like to feel even better.”
A smile carves into my cheeks. Angel’s practically begging for it. It would be so easy. But I know this rich girl isn’t enough for me. I find the brunette waitress and summon her over. She fights a smile as she offers us champagne. Angel and I both take a glass.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask.
“Alice,” she says with a sweet southern drawl.
“Nice to meet you, Alice. I’m Jack, and this is my friend, Angel.”
Angel gives a tinkling wave, squeaking “hi” in the upper register of her voice. I nod to Angel, while looking at Alice.
“I told you I’d find the hottest waiter here,” I say into my glass of champagne.
Alice blushes deeply.
“Don’t you think?” I ask Angel.
Angel twirls her hair, giggling and nodding like someone who’s shed all of their inhibitions. Alice looks between the both of us. Her lips part with a small gasp. I know then that she’s interested, so I go to work. I come alive, charming both Alice and Angel, getting them juiced up for me and each other. My instincts take over. The conversation comes easily. All I have to do is ride this wave of euphoria. After so much darkness, I’m starting to feel like myself again. For the moment, I forget about my father’s murder (or is it suicide?) and concentrate on what I do best; chasing pleasure.
With both of the women, I slowly, meticulously push their boundaries. I start by casually touching their arm, then perhaps the small of their back and the outer edge of their hips. After awhile, I let my hands linger for a little longer, and longer. The luncheon is winding down. Alice keeps mentioning that she has to help clean up, but every time she turns to leave I grab her hand, and entangle her with my charm.
“We were looking to have some fun,” I say, slipping my arm around Angel’s shoulder. She presses her perky tits against the side of my torso. “Would you like to join us?”
“I should get back to work,” Alice says.
“You don’t want to do that,” I say. “Angel, do you have another pill?”
Angel nods her head with enthusiasm, then produces another pill from her clutch. I grab a glass of champagne, and drop the pill inside. The three of us watch it fizz to the bottom. I offer it to Alice. She stares at the fizzy golden liquid suspiciously.
“So, dear Alice,” I say, holding onto Angel as I slip my arm around the waitress’ waist. “You can either clean up these rich assholes’ trash-“ I press my mouth against her ear. “Or you can come with us.”
I let my hand travel down Alice’s back, to her soft, luscious ass. I squeeze her flesh through her thin black slacks. Alice shivers, then downs the champagne in two gulps.
Holding both of their hands, I lead them down the hallway to an empty ballroom. Alice’s Molly must be kicking in, or maybe it’s just the excitement. I instruct the two of them to take off each other’s clothes, and they readily obey. Angel is thin and artificially tan, with small, pert tits. Alice is thicker, curvier, with full, delicious breasts. I smack her ample ass just to watch it jiggle.
“Don’t be shy,” I say, drawing the two of them together. “Kiss for Daddy.”
The women giggle at each other, then shyly touch lips. I unzip my pants, grasping my hard dick as they kiss and fondle each other. I stroke myself for awhile, watching. I ignore the voice inside my head, asking how depraved could I be to be doing this while my father’s death remains unsolved. I push it away as the skin of my cock stretches tight over my hard flesh.
I wrap my arms around the two women and we form a three person hug. I dip my head down to their chests, greedily sucking and nibbling their tits. The Molly has enhanced my senses in the best way, making their nipples taste sweet like candy.
I lay Alice on her back on top of a table, spreading her legs so I can see her pink, wet pussy. I grab Angel by the hair, and push her head between Alice’s legs. While Angel licks Alice’s clit, I fuck Angel from behind. I bend down, pinching Alice’s nipples while her back arches with pleasure.
After I feel Angel’s pussy clamp and gush around my cock, I pull out of her. I tell Angel to climb on the table and sit on Alice’s face. While she does that, I plunge in Alice’s pussy, grabbing at her tits, and her thick, soft middle while I fuck her brains out. Alice’s orgasmic moans vibrate against Angel’s clit, causing Angel to come again. I grab Alice’s ass, then fuck her nonstop until I feel my balls tighten. When I explode, I shoot cum all over Alice’s belly button.
“Stay there,” I instruct the sweet young waitress as I pull my cock out of her.
I search through my jacket pockets until I find my bag of coke. I lay out a line across Alice’s tits, then snort it up with a hundred dollar bill. Alice watches me uninhibited, trying to make sense of what’s happening in her drug addled mind. I make another line on Alice’s inner thigh, and let Angel snort it up. Then I put a small pile on my fingertip and press it against Alice’s nose.
Things get fuzzy after that. It’s been awhile since I’ve mixed substances like this. My therapist advises against it. I’m not an angry drunk. Molly always puts me in a good mood, and coke levels me out. But taken all together, they mess with me so deeply sometimes I don’t recognize myself.
The three of us are lying naked on the floor, having just finished round two. I’m turning between the two female bodies, burying my face in their tits. My fingers dance between their legs, playing in their slippery wetness. I’m using Alice’s juice to lubricate her asshole, when I notice Angel quaking beside me. I turn my head, half expecting to see her writhing with a seizure, saliva foaming between her lips, something I’ve seen many times before. What I do see sends a jolt of anger through my drug addled brain. She’s fucking laughing.
I take my finger out of Alice’s tight asshole and turn my body towards Angel. She clasps her hand over her mouth, squeezing tears from her watery eyes. Her tits bounce as her body convulses with soundless laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
My low, serious voice shifts the tone in the room. Alice rises up on her elbows, watching us carefully. Angel tries to speak but she’s overcome by laughter. I slip my fingers through her hair and tug.
“Tell me,” I growl into her face.
“Oh, Daddy, I like that,” Angel says before cracking up again.
I know how to handle this. I jump on top of her, rubbing my semi against her clit.
“How about I fuck that smile off your face?”
I take her earlobe in my mouth, bearing down with my teeth so hard she yelps. I’m kissing a line down her chest when she goes completely still.
“It’s you,” Angel says with complete certainty. She stares up at the ceiling like she’s gazing into another realm. “You did it.”
I press my fists into the carpeted floor. “Did what?”
She smiles, mocking my ignorance. “You killed your father.”
I want to wrap my hands around her skinny neck, but even in my intoxicated state I know that’s wrong. I take a deep breath, tightening my stomach on the exhale.
“That’s what everyone’s saying,” Angel continues frivolously. “At first I thought it was just talk. Now, it makes sense. You’re an angry boy, Jack. You always have been.”
“Then you must have some kind of suicide wish.” I trace my finger down the front of her neck, as if that somehow proves my gentleness. She giggles, and her eyes bat closed.
I’m vaguely aware
of Alice standing up and searching for her clothes. She’s being mouselike and quiet, trying to escape our notice. My full attention is on Angel. I’m even starting to feel some version of sober.
“I didn’t kill my father,” I say for the record.
Angel’s face is softening like she’s about to pass out. “Oh, Jack. You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”
Her voice trails off on a whimper. Her head turns to the side, and her breathing deepens. I stare down at her naked body. Her skin is covered with goosebumps in this freezing room. She’s so vulnerable, completely at my mercy.
I force air into my lungs and stand up. Angel’s snoring now. The guttural sound pierces my ears, rousing something primal inside of me. Alice is fully dressed and inching for the door. When I grab a heavy brass candle holder and hurl it into the wall, the waitress makes a run for it.
Who the fuck is saying I killed my father? Are these rich assholes really throwing that around, like it’s some debutante gossip? Angel’s out cold. I won’t be getting any information from her for hours. I do the gentlemanly thing and cover her bare body with a table linen before getting the fuck out of there.
My car’s waiting for me on the curb. It’s the last one left, since the luncheon ended over an hour ago. I slide into the backseat and immediately pull up the partition separating me from the driver. It’s raining now, and the window is cold to the touch. I press my cheek against it, shocking my brain into sobriety.
All I can focus on is the night before I found my father. The memories of that night have gotten buried under the recent crisis. The more I think about it, the more I realize that much of that night is lost from my consciousness. It’s not unusual for me to get so drunk I black out and can’t remember a thing the next day. I recall fucking the brunette waitress, Chloe, I suppose is her name. Then what?
I clench my eyes, focusing all of my energy on summoning that lost time. I see flashes of the Chloe’s pale skin, a line of coke across her ass. I remember snorting that coke, and then another line immediately after that.
And then I leave the club alone. Or do I? I reach deep into my memory. Where did I go? Did I go home? The images I conjure are patchy.
Assassin In My Bed Page 21
