by Lou Cameron
He said, “We’ll have to be even more sly, after. Recent widows are supposed to cry a little before they start screwing openly. Let me work it out, Nan. It’s better if you don’t know the details. That way your surprise will seem genuine and you can fake the grief.”
She relaxed and parted her thighs as he worked her hotter. He didn’t really want her again. He’d had more than enough of Nan, even before he’d known she was a moral monster. He figured he’d make her come with his hand and send her back to her rightful room. But she seemed to have other plans. She threw one thigh over him, opened wide, and pleaded, “Put your hand in all the way, Dick. Give it to me with your fist.”
He laughed and said, “That’s not likely, honey. I’ve got big hands.”
“That’s all right, I’ve got a big cunt. Come on, two fingers are just teasing me. I want it all!”
He shrugged and worked his ring finger and pinkie in, driving all four to the knuckles as she started to gush. He started to say he’d told her so. Then, to his surprise, she gave a little grunt and his knuckles were inside. He found himself rising to the occasion as his fingertips fondled her cervix, deep inside as she pleaded, “Deeper! Put your thumb in, too!”
He insisted, “No way, honey!” as he drove his hand up into her until the web of his thumb was rubbing her clit as she started bouncing up and down, teasing his erection with the muscular hemispheres of her athletic derriere. She giggled and said, “Oh, that’s nice.” He thought she meant his hand until she arched her spine, reached in back of her, and grasped his turgid shaft to guide it into her anal opening. She got the tip in and then settled down, legs impossibly spread, with his wrist pinned to his belly, his hand almost fully inside, and his shaft up her rear. He could feel his own tool sliding over the knuckles of his hand through the fleshy partition between her openings. She seemed to like it, too, for she went sort of crazy. She had him pinned to the mattress but moved enough for any three people, from side to side as well as up and down. It was wild as hell. Then it got wilder. She reached down and grabbed his thumb. Then she folded it and tried to force it inside with the rest of his fist. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t think she could do it, either, until she did. His eyes opened wide with wonder as he felt his wrist filling her opening, with his fingers inside folded into a fist by her internal contractions as she began to come in a series of multiple orgasms. He was coming, too, as she moved her mad rump up and down in a corkscrew motion. It was a long and teasing orgasm because of his mingled desire and disgust. As she loomed above him in the harsh electric light, Nan was a vision of lovely well-bred womanhood. But he knew the brain behind that cameo face was filled with worms, and from the waist down she was a freak of nature. Almost a freak of nature, at any rate. Nan’s astounding capacity was more the result of self-abuse with anything she could stuff inside her insatiable love maw.
Captain Gringo exploded lustfully in Nan’s rectum as, at the same time, Nan’s husband exploded through the door, shouting, “So, I’ve caught you at last!”
Captain Gringo muttered, “Oh, shit!” as Nan popped off his shaft but hung on to his good right hand by clamping tightly on his wrist in surprise and embarrassment. As she rolled away and groped for some sheets to cover herself, Captain Gringo tried to pull his fist out of her. He needed it. Bruce had slammed the door behind himself, leaped on the bed with them, and was beating the shit out of everybody and everything in sight!
“Hey, take it easy!” grunted Captain Gringo as the outraged husband bounced a pudgy fist off his skull while the younger and stronger American tried to fend him off with his left elbow. Bruce was sobbing stupid things you expected husbands to sob at times like these and Captain Gringo had to agree he had a point or two, but the silly bastard’s punches stung pretty good when he landed. Bruce threw his fists like a girl throws rocks and Captain Gringo could have licked him with one hand tied behind his back, if it had been his left hand. But his right hand was hung up like a hound’s pecker inside Nan’s crazy twat and she didn’t help at all by rolling around moaning and groaning like that. Captain Gringo back handed her husband off the bed with his left and tried to sit up, saying, “All right, let’s all simmer down and talk this over, huh?”
But Nan was hysterical and wouldn’t or couldn’t relax enough to let him pull his fist out of her, and the damned fool Bruce was getting up and reaching in his pants for something as he said rude things about them both. Captain Gringo tugged in vain as Bruce pulled out a jack knife and said, “I’ll cut your balls off for this, Marvin!”
He must have meant it for he dove headfirst across the bed and stabbed down hard with a knife as he landed atop them both. Captain Gringo grabbed Bruce by the nuts with his free left hand and squeezed hard. The outraged husband gave a gargled gasp of agony and pounded fist and knife wildly as Captain Gringo tried to tear his crotch out by the roots. He felt Nan’s vaginal muscles relax and pulled his fist out with a magnum cork pop. He grabbed Bruce by the hair with the wet hand and rolled him off his chest as he rose, starting to feel thoroughly annoyed. Bruce wound up on the floor again as Captain Gringo swung his feet to the rug and leaped from the bed to land in a boxing stance. Bruce came in for another try with the knife, crouching low.
Captain Gringo muttered, “Some guys just never learn,” as he grabbed the knife wrist with his left and drove a right cross into the pudgy man’s face. Bruce must not have had as many boxing lessons as he should have: he didn’t roll with the punch, but took it like a sucker. The blow straightened him up for a lovely left hook. So Captain Gringo threw it, and felt something snap as the smaller man staggered back to the wall, slid down it, and lay limp on his side.
Captain Gringo rubbed his tingling knuckles and muttered, “That’s more like it. You okay, Nan?”
Nan didn’t answer. She couldn’t. When he turned to stare soberly down at her she lay spread-eagle across the bed, eyes open and a faint little smile on her saucy face. He could see, now, why she’d let go of his wrist like that. Bruce had stabbed her smack in the bread basket. Most of the bleeding had been internal, but a hell of a lot had oozed out of the little hole between her breasts to run down and ruin his bedding. He noticed some brown streaks he’d have trouble explaining to the chamber maid, too. He sighed, stepped over to the bed, and wiped his stained penis off on a corner of the sheet while he was at it. Then he turned and said, “Okay, Bruce. We’d better figure out a good story for the cops.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Captain Gringo went over, knelt, and felt the side of Gordon’s neck. Then somebody poured ice water down his naked spine. The poor chump was dead, too. That snap he’d felt had been Bruce’s neck!
Captain Gringo muttered, “Oboy!” as he cast a nervous glance at the silent and fortunately shut door leading to the hallway. Apparently they hadn’t made enough noise to be heard in the lobby, so he had at least a minute or two to get his ass out of there.
He moved Nan’s feet out of the way as he sat on the bed and started hauling on the clothes he’d dropped beside it under friendlier conditions.
How the hell had Bruce gotten through that locked door like that? Oh, yeah, now he remembered. He hadn’t tried the door when he spotted light under it. He’d assumed it was locked, but Nan had let herself in with some jiggle-jiggle of her own and then simply waited for him, with the door unlocked in welcome. Old Bruce had come home to find his own bed empty, gone exploring, and who could miss the noise of a lady who came as enthusiastically as the late Nancy Gordon?
He shot her corpse a sad disgusted look as he muttered, “Well, he had to catch you sooner or later, doll. But you two sure picked a hell of a place for the last act of Hamlet!”
He checked the time and chambers of his gun. The night was young; his gun was still loaded; the name he’d given downstairs was a fake. He’d just leave quietly and see if he could find Gaston and ...
And if he didn’t find Gaston, Gaston would be wandering back to find him, about the time this place was crawling with cops!
He stood up, stared around the shambles, and muttered, “Oboy, this figures to be one long cheerful night! In this heat you kiddies will both be sort of rank by sunrise. So they’ll find you before noon even if I hang up the ‘Don’t Disturb’ sign. Gaston and me will have a short lead and it’ll be broad daylight and ... Jesus, Nan, I sure wish you’d taken geometry instead of algebra at good old Jefferson High!”
He heard footsteps out in the hall and stiffened warily. Whoever it was passed by without breaking step, probably on their way to take a crap. He took out a cigar and lit it, too keyed up to sit down as he paced, considering his options. He knew Gaston would have cut out by this time. He knew Gaston would think he was a jerk to stay. But he knew he had to wait for Gaston, and if Gaston didn’t get back soon, they’d both be nailed, anyway.
He saw that a random stream of Nan’s sluggishly wandering blood was almost to the edge of the mattress. So he folded the sheet back to keep it from dripping on the rug. The rug was still clean. Aside from Bruce over there in the corner, most of the debris seemed to be confined to the bed they’d all been romping together on.
He wondered if the dead man had soiled himself. He went over and rolled Bruce over. The corpse was still limp and Bruce flopped on his face like a wet dishrag. His linen pants were a little brown in the seat, but nothing much had soaked into the rug. Captain Gringo hauled the dead man over to the bed and shoved him on the soiled sheets beside his messy bride. Then he stared soberly down at the loving couple and muttered, “Now, why did I do that?”
He blew a thoughtful smoke ring as he stared around the rest of the room. Except for the God awful mess in his bed it seemed neat as a pin.
He nodded and reached in the purse Nan had dropped near the foot of the bed. Yeah, her room key was inside and the number on the tag said it was just down the hall. There was nothing else of interest in her purse but the half-empty tube of vaginal jelly. He’d been wondering about that.
The footsteps returned and faded away. The coast was clear outside. At this hour few guests would be in bed. He turned out the overhead light and carefully cracked the door open. The hall was darkly deserted. Somewhere in the night a ballroom combo was playing a two-step. There was a dance or something going on downstairs.
He closed the door behind him and locked it. Then he moved down to the Gordons’ room and unlocked it. He stepped inside and flicked on the light. Their room was almost a mirror image of his, but the bed looked a lot neater. It had the same spread his had, and it hadn’t been slept in. Moving quickly and smoothly, Captain Gringo got to the bed, unmade it, and rolled up bedding and mattress cover in a neat bundle. He switched off the light, checked the hall, and scooted back to his own room with the clean bedding. He tossed it in a corner for now. Then he said, “Ladies first,” as he proceeded to roll Nan’s body in the messed up covers of his own bed. He had no idea how he’d explain a mad desire to deliver laundry’ at this hour if he met anyone, but he didn’t meet anyone as he carried Nan to her own room and sat her down, still bundled, and muttered, “Don’t go ‘way. I’ll be right back.”
Bruce was a lot heavier, but not as messy. Captain Gringo delivered him in the sheet with the shit smears on it and left him next to Nan while he went back for the rest of his ruined bedding.
Nan’s blood had soaked into the quilted mattress cover, but the mattress under it was okay, save for a little piss. He turned his mattress over, damp side down, and remade his bed. Everybody pissed in bed once in a while, if any maid ever noticed the stain, once it dried.
He made it back to the Gordons’ room without incident and placed the bloody mattress cover on their own bed. Then he rolled them out of the other bedding and tossed it loosely aboard. As he got Nan back in bed her corpse farted, loudly. It was amazing how anything he’d been having so much fun with a few minutes ago could seem so unpleasant to handle. He’d heard there were guys who enjoyed making love to dead women. They had to be sick.
He started to put Bruce to bed. Then he reconsidered. Nan looked natural in bed. Bruce was fully clothed, so what the hell would he be doing in bed, right? It was best to leave him there on the floor like that. Let’s see, the guy had come in as somebody was knifing his wife a la Jack the Ripper. They’d struggled, and he’d been killed, too. Where the hell was the chump’s knife?
That could wait. Captain Gringo took the purse and clothing Nan had worn and hung it neatly on wall hooks across the room. He studied her and decided she looked like she’d gone to bed as usual. The bedding was a mess, but what the hell, the killer had been raping her when the husband came in, see?
He tried to think like a sex maniac and decided robbery called for fewer artistic touches. He knelt by Bruce and started going through his pockets. He kept all the coins and bills he found and tossed everything else across the rug, carelessly. Unlike himself and Gaston, the couple had checked in with luggage. It was locked. Bruce had a ring of keys, but Captain Gringo took out his own knife and slashed open the leather luggage to toss the contents around. There didn’t seem to be much worth stealing, but the cops would figure the thieves had taken anything of value. It was sort of funny that Nan hadn’t had any jewelry until he remembered the hotel safe, downstairs. He straightened up, took a last look, and decided he’d set the stage artfully enough for most small town cops. As he made ready to leave he spotted an attaché case in a corner that he’d overlooked. That gave him another idea. He put it on the dresser and forced the lock. It was filled with typed papers. He folded them, put them in his side pocket, and tossed the case out the window. They’d find it in the mud, some day, and a diplomatic courier’s missing case might give them a few more red herrings to sniff at.
He went back to his own room, switched on the light, and got down on his hands and knees to look for the missing knife. He found it under the bed where it had been kicked in the fight. The blade was still bloody but there didn’t seem to be any visible stains on the rug. He left it open as he switched off the light again and tossed it out the window at an angle, to land as far out of line as possible. Now all he had to do was get rid of the diplomatic dispatches and there’d be nothing to connect him with the people down the hall.
He decided he may as well read them before he flushed them down the drains down the hall. So he switched on the light, pulled the shade, and sat on the bed to go over the latest gossip from the delta. He was still reading when he heard a light tap on the door between his room and Gaston’s. He called, “Entrada,” and Gaston came in, saying, “I see you are alone. You’re slipping, Dick. What’s that you’re reading?”
“Diplomatic pouch. They don’t have a magazine stand downstairs. Hey, did you know Uncle Sam was serious about this Monroe Doctrine shit? They say here that they want to send a raiding party into British Guiana to show the Brits they’re not bluffing.”
Gaston pulled up a chair and sat down, saying, “I don’t need to read other people’s mail to tell you that, Dick. I just came from the waterfront. Everybody in the cantinas expects the Americans to back Venezuela. Everybody but the British, that is. It looks as if that big war everyone has been arming for for so long is’ about to start in this odd little corner of the world. I would have placed my money on the Balkans, but we live and learn. Where did you steal those papers, anyway?”
“It’s a long story. Hang on to your hat.” Captain Gringo sighed as he folded the papers and proceeded to bring Gaston up to date. When he’d finished, Gaston sighed and said, “Merde alors, that’s what I get for leaving children alone and unsupervised. I had a few nibbles on our boat load of arms, but I imagine our best bet, now, would be to see how fast she travels, hein?”
“Damn it, Gaston, we have no place to go that’s any safer. Tell me about your nibbles.
Who’s in the market for heavy weapons these days?”
Gaston shrugged. “I don’t know about the cannon shells, but 30-30 rounds are going for a dollar a dozen on the open market, no questions asked. The price should rise in a day, or so. Meanwhile, I ran across an old comrade who owns a boathouse where we can hide our launch. He asks no questions, either, but the species of insect demands a dollar a day.”
Captain Gringo consulted his watch, saying, “That sounds reasonable. But do you think we can make it to the boat and back before daylight?”
Gaston nodded and said, “Oui, if we leave at once and run into no river patrols. Washington has just loaned the Venezuelans some old monitors and they seem anxious to try the gun turrets out. Fortunately the old tubs are slow and how often can one hit anything in the dark, hein?”
“You don’t have to hit anything often! You just have to hit it once, if we’re talking about big guns. Are we talking about those monitor class gunboats left over from the Civil War? I didn’t think they were still around. The guns must have rusted solid by now.”
“Mais non” Gaston said. “The hulls and engines have been reconditioned. The guns are new. Six-inch breech loaders, I have heard. But, as I said, the craft are slow and deep draft. Come, we have some marching to do, non?”
Captain Gringo nodded and started to rise when he heard a woman scream like a banshee out in the hall. He looked at Gaston, who put a finger to his nose and murmured, “Perhaps we march another time?”
Captain Gringo went to the door and opened it for a glance down the hall. A sobbing chambermaid was on her knees by the open doorway of the Gordons’ room. Male staff members were either milling around down there or appearing in increasing numbers on the stairs. He spotted a couple of police uniforms and shut the door, muttering, “Shit. We’re not going anywhere. Let’s get rid of these papers while we make up a damned good story.”
