"Geez, guys, what happened to you?"
"Nothing that concerns you," growled Freddie, making sure he kept his face in the shadows so Arnie wouldn't see the burn on his cheek. "I got a job for you."
"Sure... name it... usual price of course," replied Arnie, knowing not to press the issue.
"Of course. Lilith’s Den. On the west side. I want it gone by tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow? That’s too quick. I need to check the place out. Find its weaknesses and the hours it’s closed."
"It’s a nightclub for Christ’s sake. They keep the same hours as any bar. Just take some gas over and torch the place."
"Shit, Freddie! I'm an artist! It takes time for me to do it right. If you think it’s so damn easy, do it yourself!"
Fuck! thought Freddie. Guy's a damn fruitcake!
Unfortunately, Arnie was the best arsonist in town. The number of jobs he had done successfully without getting caught was impressive.
"Look, Arnie. I don’t care what it costs. Just do it!"
"I’ll check it out, but I ain’t making no promises. It’ll cost you big time if I pull it off... say the usual price upfront and the same amount when the job is done."
"Fine. Whatever it takes. As long as you get it done."
Flicking his lighter open and shut, Arnie smiled again.
"Consider it done. You know where to drop the cash off. I’ll expect it two hours after the banks open."
Pushing away from the car, he walked away, playing with his lighter. Neither of them paid any attention to the motorcycle and its rider as it passed by them.
"Where to, now?" asked Jimmy.
"My place. I want to invite a few friends over for an all night party. Nothing like having a good alibi when you need it."
"Yeah," replied Jimmy, skeptically. His gut told him this was a mistake and he didn’t want anything to do with Freddie’s plan. Once he dropped his boss off, he was going to follow his original instincts and disappear.
* * *
Arnie gathered up everything he needed for the job from a small storage area in the apartment building basement. Acetone was his favorite accelerant. It burned hot and quick and was available anywhere. A common substance used by painters, it would be impossible to track down purchasers. A few small bottles, strategically placed around the building would create enough damage to have the entire structure condemned... and give him the fix he craved... fire. How could anyone not love it? The beauty... the warmth... The flames and smoke were a work of art, dancing wildly as sparks rose into the night like orange fireflies, painting a picture of both life and death. The crackling was music to his ears as it consumed everything it could. Arnie thought of himself as an artist, creating his own priceless masterpieces. His patrons may have been crooks, but he didn’t care. As long as he could make a living doing what he loved the most, he was happy.
Engrossed in putting together the tools of his trade, he didn’t hear his front door open or the quiet footsteps moving toward him. The sound of a board creaking made him spin around. Before him stood a short heavy woman wearing a black motorcycle jacket and tight jeans... very tight jeans. Heavy thighs bulged causing the material to stretch and wrinkle. It was obvious she was a dyke and packing.
"Damn, woman! How’d you get in here? And what do you want?" he demanded, unable to take his eyes off the huge bulge protruding down her left thigh.
When she giggled and grabbed her crotch, he shook his head.
She’s fuckin nuts! he thought.
"Listen, I think you’re in the wrong place. I don’t do dykes and they definitely don’t do me. Now get out!"
Again she giggled and smiled. Crooked, yellow teeth made her look a little freaky, not to mention the wild look in her reddish brown eyes.
"And I don’t do men, Sweetie," she said, winking. "At least not the way you mean."
"Then what the hell are you doing here?"
Laughing, the woman clapped her hands together gleefully. It was such a childish action, the arsonist was positive she had escaped from some nuthouse.
"Geez!" Arnie rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look! You have the wrong idea. Now are you going to leave or do I have to throw you out?"
"Hee... hee... hee... I choose... ummmm... neither!" Peeking over his shoulder, she noticed the can of acetone. "It makes a pretty flame, doesn’t it?"
"What do you know about this stuff? ... and besides, I use it for my art?"
"Oh... well... hee... hee.. hee... I have something better... and it doesn’t leave any traces like your stuff. In fact, it doesn’t leave anything behind that the pretty firemen can find."
"Really? Everything leaves something behind."
"Not everything? Wanna see?"
"Sure. Why not?" deciding it was best to humor her a bit.
The woman grinned and nodded. Rubbing her hands together rapidly and closing her eyes, she mumbled a few words and then flipped her hands toward him, palms facing upward. Blue flames shot from her fingertips incinerating Arnie within seconds.
"See!" she said, gleefully. "No trace!"
A distant scream made her laugh.
"And one more soul for the coffers of Hell."
Slapping her hands together as if knocking off dust, she bent down and picked up a small object lying on the floor.
My own little fire maker! she thought.
Minutes later, Arnie’s neighbors heard the roar of a motorcycle but thought nothing of it. It would be several days before anyone thought about checking up on him.
* * *
Freddie was in his glory. Several friends had shown up to the party even though it had been a short notice. Booze flowed freely and several of his whores were wondering around trying to drum up future business. Tonight, though, they had to put out for nothing, which had irritated a few but no one dared protest. If Freddie told them to accommodate his guests, then they did. It was better than ending up in the hospital... or worse.
"Great party, Freddie!" yelled a short, balding man who saluted him with a bottle of beer.
"Thanks, Tony. Feel free to make use of one of the girls. It’s on the house tonight."
"Will do!"
"Hey, bro!" interrupted another man, wearing a flashy blue suit and matching tie. "I hear you lost one of your hos this yesterday?"
"Yeah. She decided to join up with another pimp. No big deal."
"You must be getting soft! Last I heard no one quits you!"
"Don’t be stupid, Carlos! She was shit! Couldn’t please the customers so I cut my losses. You know how it is!"
"I know what I heard," snickered Carlos.
Freddie stiffened.
"Just what did you hear?"
"Nothing much... street talk... like those lady pimps at the Sisterhood had you pissing your pants and then stole your ho."
"That’s a fuckin lie and I’d be careful about repeating it," threatened Freddie, giving one of his bodyguards an angry glance. The look warned of payback later.
"Whoah, man! No need you gettin that way with me. We’re bros, remember?"
Freddie glared at the black man for a few seconds and then decided to cool it. He had enough enemies without alienating Carlos.
"Sorry, Carlos. It’s cool."
"No problem. Just thought I’d let you know the talks on the street just in case you need someone to cover your back. We bros got to stick together, you know."
"Yeah. Thanks. I’ve got it covered."
"There you go."
Slapping Carlos on the back, he motioned to one of his younger servants to come over.
"Elliot, this is Carlos. Make sure he gets whatever he wants... you get my drift?"
* * *
Elliot was in his early 20’s. By the way he dressed, it was obvious he was gay... and high on drugs. Smiling coyly at the dark Hispanic, he took his hand and pulled him toward a bedroom. He had understood exactly what his boss meant and since Carlos was fairly handsome, in a dark way, he didn’t object to the order.
Th
e party was in full swing with half the men drunk while the others banged whores in the bedrooms or wherever else they could. Freddie was sitting on the couch joking with his drug supplier and feeling good. Looking at his watch, he was sure Arnie had completed his job by now. One of his men should be back soon to let him know the extent of the damage.
When the front door opened, a few occupants glanced up to see who else was arriving so late. Mouths dropped open as a slender, dark-haired woman strolled in and looked around as if searching for someone in particular. After making eye contact with Freddie, she smiled and strolled casually over to him, her hips swaying seductively.
Freddie couldn’t help but whistle at the sleek figure in tight, low cut blue jeans and orange tank top. Round full breasts jutted perkily from beneath the thin cotton blouse. Exposed stomach muscles rippled as she moved slowly in his direction. Wavy, dark brown hair hung wildly around her face emphasizing the brilliant green eyes.
"Mama mía," exclaimed Julio, his dealer. "Who is she?"
"I don’t know," Freddie answered. "But I’m about ready to find out."
Rising to his feet he stood and waited for the woman to reach him. As his eyes wondered lewdly up and down her body, he could feel his penis harden against the tight chinos he was wearing. Unconsciously, he reached down to adjust himself but stopped when he noticed she was watching his actions. He quickly slipped his hand in his pocket and blushed slightly. She smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything.
"You must be new around here. I’m Freddie, the owner of this place."
"Oui. Je suis nouvelle ici," she replied, drawing the words out slightly, her voice a husky whisper.
The room grew quiet. Everyone wanted to hear what the woman had to say.
Holding out her hand, she offered it to him.
"Je m’appelle Jouvart."
"Jouvart. An unusual name... but a nice one. What can I do for you, Jouvart?" Freddie asked taking her fingers in his and bowing to kiss him. "I’m afraid I don’t speak much French."
"It eez o.k. I speak Engleesh. Some friendz of mine... they tell me you are having a party, oui? They say women like me can come."
"Oh, you can come here anytime. Right boys?" he asked looking at the others, smugly.
Grunts and nods confirmed his offer.
Taking her by the arm, Freddie led her to the couch and motioned for her to sit, before hiking up his slacks and sitting down next to her. He couldn’t stop admiring her looks or physique. She was stunning, and he wanted her badly... for himself.
"So tell me Jouvart, who sent you here?"
"No one send me, Monsieur. I came on my own. Am I not a big girl?" she asked, giving him a coquettish look.
"Oh yeah. I’d say you were that."
"You’re a fucking goddess!" he thought, running his tongue across his lips. "And before the night’s over I’m going to be fuckin you."
Too engrossed in his own thoughts, Freddie didn’t notice the slight stiffening of her body or the red sparks glowing faintly in the green eyes. All he could think of was slipping his dick inside of her and filling her with pimp juice. Shit, she’d be worth getting pregnant with her looks. He might even pay the bitch’s medical bills, he thought.
Jouvart’s growl was so low Freddie barely heard it.
"Something bothering you, lady?"
"Mais non, monsieur. You make me a leetle nervous is all. You are... how you say... such a beeg man... un grand homme... oui?"
"Bigger than you think. How about we go to my room and I’ll show you size does matter?"
"As you weesh, monsieur. Tonight weel be a night we weel both remember."
Grinning at his companions, Freddie took the woman’s hand and stood up. Saying his good-byes, he led her into his bedroom and shut the door behind him, making sure it was locked.
"I don't want anyone popping in while I'm entertaining you."
"But of course... and just how weel you do thees entertaining... you must show me what you like, Freddee."
Freddie rubbed himself, trying to alleviate the pain from his engorged penis and hoped he didn't come too quickly. He was sure the bitch knew how to please a man.
"Take off your clothes."
"Ah, monsieur, that ees too easy. I theenk first you must remove yours. After all, it ees I who must please you, yes?"
"Well, yes."
"Then let me do my job, please," she offered, stepping in front of him and unbuttoning his shirt. Each button was taken gently between her fingers and pressed through the slot with care. The process was slow but it made Freddie grow so hard, he felt his erection being compressed painfully against his groin and thigh. The pressure on his testicles was excruciating. Unwilling to wait for Jouvart to finish with his shirt, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his slacks. When his erection popped out he felt an immediate relief and sighed.
"My, my. You are queek. But then so are most men. Such a shame men don’t appreciate foreplay. We women, we take hours to reach such a state of arousal."
"I can’t wait hours," Freddie replied, feeling frustrated. "Get undressed."
"I think not! I didn’t come here to be fucked by a pig," Jouvart hissed, suddenly losing her accent.
Startled by the change, he grabbed her by the arms and shoved her onto the bed and straddled her.
"Listen bitch! You got me this way... now you get to take it away. There isn’t a bitch alive who tells me when or where... you got it?"
Jouvart laughed as she stared at the angry man perched over her.
"Then you won’t be so disappointed, monsieur." Reaching up, she grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him down to her. Thinking she was giving in, he relaxed but soon found himself on his back with her sitting across his thighs.
"Top or bottom. I don’t care as long as I get to fuck you," he grinned.
"That, monsieur, is going to be your dying wish... sadly though an unfulfilled one," scraping her nails across his chest, blue flames trailed the scratches left behind. As the nerves below the skin began to react from the burns, Freddie screamed and tried to throw her off him.
"You must be quiet, Freddie. They will think you are having too much fun... if there’s anyone out there who really cares."
"Who are you?" he whispered nervously.
Each stroke of the fingers left burning skin, making him writhe and scream louder. A banging on the door caught his attention but when he started to call out, a hot fingertip was placed over his lips searing them. Instinctively he licked them, trying to soothe the pain.
"Shhhhh! Mon ami! If you cry out I will have to kill you too quickly."
Freddie’s eyes widened in terror. He realized this woman was like the two at the nightclub. She had to be one of them.
"Good. Now you understand! You should have listened to Lilith. Instead you choose to burn down her club. That wasn’t very nice."
"Well, at least you’re too late to stop that." Freddie smirked, trying to regain his composure.
"Poor Freddie. Did you really think we would let Arnie do such a thing? Mudada assures me he has been taken care of."
"Mudada?"
"An old friend. No one you need concern yourself with."
Freddie swallowed nervously.
"What... what have you done to him?"
"Arnie played with the fire here... now it plays with him... it is... how so you say it... ironical, yes?"
This isn’t real, he thought. Someone probably spiked my drinks.
"Oh no, monsieur. This is very real. The pain... it is real... and your death... it will be real."
"Listen, I can pay you. I'm very rich. Just name a pr..."
"I don't need money... and neither will you. You've always bought everything you wanted or taken it if it wasn't for sale. Tonight, you'll find you can't buy your way out of this."
"This isn't real. I mean... Am I... are you..."
"Oui... but I have special punishment for you. Agra... she is most unhappy you tried to kill her whore. She wishes you to be with the one
s you killed. They get to decide your fate. It is most fitting, don't you think?"
Before Freddie could reply, Jouvart gripped his throat and squeezed lightly, her long nails pressing into the skin. Leaning close, her hot breath fanned his skin, scorching his face and singeing his eyebrows. The pressure around his neck prevented him from screaming. All he could do was lie there and feel the skin and muscles burning away. The fluid in his eyeballs began boiling and still Jouvart would not let him die. Shielding the nerves to the brain just enough to prevent him from going into shock, she fed him images of what was happening... flesh bubbling and peeling away from muscles... muscles sizzling and turning black until they turned to a black charcoal and fell onto the pillow... white bones shining through and eyeballs turning red and then starting to steam until finally they exploded. Only then did she free the nerves to feel... and Freddie died one of the most horrible deaths imaginable. When his guests heard his final scream, they broke open the door and stared in horror at the body and incinerated skull. The woman was gone. No one thought enough of the pimp to call the police nor did they want to be around to answer their questions... and besides... he wasn’t going to be missed. Pimps like him threw great parties and were a good source for booze and drugs, but they made lousy friends. There were plenty more out there to take his place.
Lilith - TI3 Page 30
