by Clara Nipper
Perryman nodded.
I kept flipping my Zippo. I could smell the lighter fluid. “So if someone like that could earn my respect, maybe God is nonsense. Maybe this detective had something. It opened my eyes to a larger, saner world.”
“Murder sane?”
“Well, compared to Christians.”
Perryman choked and laughed.
“So he and I started talking. I saw that he was helping the world in a real way. I began to admire him. My curiosity grew, and he told me he saw something in me. A hunger.” I smiled at the memory, studying my lap.
“A hunger, huh?” Perryman said.
“So anyway, I let go of all the fairy tales and got my degree and grabbed with both hands the chance to work with him. The homicide department was much smaller then, and he had a lot of pull and wanted to mentor me. His daughter and I had split up amicably long ago, and she went to Middlebury vet school and married a man. Another vet, I think.”
“What was his name?”
“The husband?”
“No, your mentor.”
“Kendall.”
Perryman slowly turned to face me, the shock plain. “Kendall? He’s a legend! He mentored you?”
I nodded, my throat thick.
“Jesus, no wonder you can do no wrong.”
I let that go. “When he died, I…well, I had a meltdown.”
“You had a mental break?”
“I just couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t recover, heal, move on, or work. I was paralyzed. So my chief sent me to South Dakota to try to get myself together.” I snapped my lighter closed with finality and said brightly, “And here I am, all better!”
Perryman nodded. “I remember his funeral. Biggest one Tulsa had ever seen. They had to have three services to accommodate everyone. That preacher earned his money.”
I blinked water out of my eyes. “He taught me everything I know. He taught me to carry VapoRub and cram it into my nostrils at decomps. He taught me how to interrogate. And that there’s no such thing as good, old-fashioned police work; there’s just police work. He told me everything…” I drifted on memories.
“Except?”
“Except how to deal with the nightmares and the insomnia.”
“But you’re okay?”
I shrugged. “Okay is as okay does. I’m here.”
Chapter Thirteen
I emerged from the bathroom after brushing my teeth. I had been here five days. Since the whole house was cold and dark, we were living in just one room: the one with the fireplace. I saw Sophie sitting on the couch with the lit end of a flashlight in her mouth and her cheeks ballooned with air. She was looking at herself in a hand mirror. Her cheeks were glowing bright orange like a puffed-up blowfish.
“What are you doing?” I said.
Sophie collapsed against the couch as if her whole body were deflated. “I am so bored!”
It was then that I noticed the nearly empty wine glass. “Sophie, honey, do you realize how early it is?”
Sophie held the glass to the pale, thin, morning light, squinting at it and then tipped the last few drops into her mouth. “So? You got a problem, Rogers?”
I raised my hands. “No, ma’am. Where’s Alistair?”
“He found a Laundromat with power and he is washing our clothes. Isn’t he a prince?” Sophie sneered.
“That is very nice,” I paused, “isn’t it?”
“I am stir-crazy! He didn’t want me to go so I wouldn’t be stressed by the crowds or the work or endangered by traffic conditions.” Sophie picked up her wine glass again. “Therefore, I am drunk.”
“Well,” I looked around the wreckage of the room. Three bodies in a confined space without heat or electricity produced a lot of litter. “We could pick up a little around here.” I began gathering empty chip bags, Guinness bottles, pizza boxes, and candy wrappers. “Want me to restart the fire?”
“Who cares?” Sophie heaved herself upright, poured a fresh glass of wine, and handed me the empty bottle.
I went to the kitchen and dropped the bottles into recycling and stuffed the rest into the overflowing trash. “If you’re so bored, you could take out your trash!” I called.
“Eat me!” Sophie said.
I returned to the living room. I turned on the gas jets, opened the flue, and lit the fireplace with my Zippo. I lit all the candles. I folded blankets and piled them together. I fluffed and replaced pillows. I gathered books and magazines into two tall stacks. I opened the curtains. Still no sun, but no more ice for the time being. I turned the battery-powered radio on to easy listening. I knelt in front of Sophie. “Baby, you’ve got to get yourself together.”
Sophie set fire to my head with her flat stare. She gulped her glass of wine and slammed the empty stem onto the side table and slumped again.
“Don’t let yourself unravel,” I said.
Sophie snorted. “What do you care?” She stretched one leg and rested it on my shoulder, stretched the other, and placed it on top of the bottom leg, crossed at the ankles.
“Oh, I care!” I seethed.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yeah? How much?” She lifted the top leg, and with a twist of the foot of the bottom leg, hooked the back of my neck and pulled me forward. I stood up suddenly, throwing her legs to the side.
“Thought so,” Sophie laughed, closing her eyes. I clenched my fists and counted silently. Sophie, her eyes still closed, sleepily said, “I’ve walked; I’ve read; I’ve napped; I’ve played board games and cards; I’ve eaten till I can’t fit my pants,” Sophie snapped her waistband, “and there’s still no electricity!”
“Have you showered?”
Sophie’s eyes opened slowly like a vampire’s, mean and hungry. “I got your shower right here,” she said, cupping her crotch.
“That’s sweet,” I said. “I’m gonna get a bath started for you.”
“Mmf,” Sophie said, wiggling her wine glass for a refill. “Mm starving.”
I left her there splayed out like a wilted flower. I went through her clothes and found a sweater and jeans. Then I took a deep breath and dug through her panties drawer and pulled out underwear, socks, and a bra. I found one last thick clean bath towel that Alistair hadn’t taken to launder, and I started the shower so it would be as hot as possible. I went to find Sophie.
She was in the kitchen, weaving at the counter, drunkenly sipping cold chicken noodle soup from the can, the jagged edge of the lid looking as if it would cut. “Sophie! Stop that!” I rushed to her side and took the soup. Blood was trickling down her mouth and chin from the laceration between her upper lip and nose. There was a film of blood floating on the top of the soup. I grabbed some paper towels, soaked them in cold water, and cleaned her up and held them to her injury. “Oh, baby, what have you done?” I murmured.
“Was hungry.” Sophie whined.
“I’ll feed you after your shower, okay? Come on.” I led her to the bathroom, pushed her in, and shut the door behind her. Stripping and soaping her was beyond me. With my next breath, I involuntarily imagined Sophie in the shower. Oh, God. I leaned against the wall and slumped to the floor. Sophie, her eyes closed, steam rising, tendrils of lather snaking down down down her slick, silken skin, finding the quickest way over her curves from her delectable throat, tender and delicious as plump scallops, suds white and foamy, then easing lower to her breasts—pale and sweet as whipped cream, tipped with aching tart raspberries of delicate pink. The soap gathering in a slippery sheen, coating each breast in a clean, rainbow shellac and then sliding into the truffle cleft of her buttocks and the dripping lather of her ruby red pomegranate cunt and all the suds meeting there, the bubbles mingling and mixing, all the hot wetness so soft, before sliding gently down the smooth, carved alabaster that was her legs.
All that precious soap being wasted and washed down the drain. All those suds that knew Sophie in a way I didn’t. All that lather that got to touch her and probe her crevices and ride down her spine and lick between her toe
s. That bar of soap that rubbed against her breasts, jiggling and lubricating them, readying them for me to consume Sophie completely and leave only a husk. That bar of soap that tickled her golden red pubic hair, filling the folds with lather, combining her pineapple slickness with soap suds, Sophie’s fingers slowly parting and opening her secrets, washing her fantasies down the drain.
Was she under the hot spray of water, hoping I would come in? Was she sitting on the floor of the shower, her legs open, her fingers trying to imitate me, her mind sending me scorching messages of desire, wishing I would walk in and take her? Was she imagining me just on the other side of this door, in torment? Was that making her bath sweeter?
“Fuck that,” I said, standing up in a surge. I flung open the bathroom door, and on my way to the huge glass shower cube that was opaque with steam, I tore off my clothes and dropped them in the path of my charge. I jerked open the shower door and walked in, temporarily blinded by vapor clouds.
I was going to eat her alive. Sophie would have no say except yes. I would bend her backward and she would drip and melt like crystal sugar into honey. Her breasts would be turgid with lust, and I would ravish them, marking her once and for all forever. I would bite my way down her ribs and lift her into the air, pressing her back against the marble shower wall and raising her cunt to face level where at last, finally, I would take Sophie’s vibrating pearl into my mouth, and we would be joined.
Sophie’s screams would demolish the house around us, but still I would pleasure her, the ground zero of her orgasms rippling through me like little earthquakes. I would be her succubus and she my everlasting food. When she cried no more, I would plunge my arm in her trembling cunt up to my elbow and impale her on my hard, brown arm. I would only stop once all thoughts of Sophie had been obliterated and not even a flutter of desire remained for either of us. Then I would gently fold Sophie into me and we would sleep where we lay.
The hot shower, with its multiple heads and hard spray, was very soothing as I felt my way into it. The stall was the size of a steam room, so Sophie could be anywhere. I stretched out my arms, expecting a delighted shriek any second. I touched the wall. Empty! I snapped off the water, and the steam cleared and the chill set in immediately. The silence was eerie. I stepped out of the shower, grabbing the towel. Sophie was fully dressed and curled up like a fist by the spa tub. She was sleeping and snoring softly. My desire evaporated like the steam. As my skin cooled, I got goose flesh, and I could feel my jawbone tensing as if my teeth were about to start chattering. “Shit,” I whispered, scrubbing myself dry, getting dressed, and standing in front of the fire until I was warm. I left Sophie on the floor to wake up on her own.
Chapter Fourteen
“Rogers? Have you just quit working? Why aren’t you in the office? Have you solved all the crimes? What the hell are you up to?” I had answered the phone after having woken from a fireside nap, and I was now chewing on a cold slice of pizza like a cow with cud. I rubbed my eyes.
“Who is this?” I asked sleepily. I knew exactly who it was: Perryman. But she needed tweaking. I swallowed and then finished a leftover glass of red wine that was sitting on the coffee table.
“Goddamn you, it’s the sheriff! Have you been fired or something?”
“Honey, slow down. I have not been fired. Homicide is on winter hiatus.” I reached for another stiff slice of pizza. “In case you haven’t heard, we’re right at the epicenter of a natural disaster.”
The latest news was that two million people were without power and that there was no end in sight. The power company had three shifts working around the clock, and electric workers from all over the nation were converging on Tulsa to help. There were trucks here from Texas, Missouri, Illinois, New Mexico, and North Carolina. Restoring power was at a snail’s pace because of all the trees. The urban forest was old and extensive.
All those trees were experiencing an arboreal holocaust and were dropping limbs, splitting in two all the way to the roots, or keeling over whole, blocking traffic and exposing their enormous root balls. Cars were crushed, houses were cleaved, roads closed, and power lines snatched from poles as the trees went down as if they were thrashing and flailing for lifelines; their bodies so overloaded with ice they gave out, unable to support all that weight for one more second. Sub-stations were pummeled into exploding darkness. It was like living during the time of dinosaurs, and extinction was causing them to drop dead where they stood. And this city was lousy with dinosaurs. Tulsa prided itself on what a green, forested cityscape it had, and now that was crashing down like bombs of ice while we helpless humans cowered in the cold blackness.
“That’s no excuse!” Perryman said. “While you’ve been eating bonbons, I’ve been solving this case! We found his girlfriend!”
“Smooth,” I said. “What about the financials?”
“On the way. I’m telling you, after this, Jesus Jim will have to prosecute!”
“Careful,” I said. “Don’t get your hopes up. So you need me for something?” I picked ham off the rest of the pizza.
“Just to remind you that you have a job to do.”
I rolled my eyes and stared out the window just as a great limb snapped off and fell to the ground with a boom and shatter. “Perryman, honey, you’re a bore.” I ended the call and my phone rang again immediately. “Rogers,” I sighed.
“I need help starting a fire. I’m all cold and stuff.”
“Well, hello, Penelope.” I licked my lips.
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, I woke up tangled in sheets. The roar of the generator outside and the portable heater in the room reminded me that I was in Penelope’s bed.
After Penelope’s phone call, I waited on the curb for her to pick me up. She never said a word to me after, “nice to meet you,” when I got in her car. She lived in a small bungalow not far from Sophie. Once at her house, I walked around in amazement, flicking on lights, opening the refrigerator, and even turning on the television. After so many days with shadows and nights with candles, Penelope’s house seemed bright and loud to the point of garishness. I felt like a caveman, goggling at the portable heaters and Penelope’s glowing computer screen.
“How?” I asked, staring at the sparkling chandelier over her dining table. Penelope pointed out the window where there was a great box like a jet engine and sounding as loud as if we had parked on the runway.
“Right.” I nodded and turned back to Penelope who handed me a glass of champagne and then took off her blouse as I sipped the drink. I didn’t care about power anymore; I lost myself in her doe-brown eyes, small, tight afro, nutmeg skin, and supple body. Penelope wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts were so high and tight, they looked cast in bronze. Her nipples were tantalizing thimbles of chocolate. As Penelope removed her wool slacks, my mind reeled. I’ve met eager, but this was new. She left her high-heeled leather boots on. I gulped the wine. Penelope strode naked to the refrigerator, removed the champagne bottle, and refilled my glass. Then she sipped from my flute, drew my lips to hers, and let the liquid trickle into my mouth.
Penelope led me to her bedroom and I was astonished at the warmth. Penelope could be naked and not cold. I could see where I was going without a flashlight or candle. Sophie’s house seemed so dark, chilled, and antiquated, like a castle in Dickensian times.
Penelope threw me on the bed and landed on top of me, ripping away my clothes. I was helpless as she jerked my jeans off. I tried to hold her, but she was like a wild animal, fierce, silent, and unstoppable. She kissed my neck and clawed at my skin. I clamped my mouth on one nipple and tugged. She yelped and smacked me, but I knew she liked it and wanted more. I seized the other nipple and bit. She groaned and dug her nails into my back. I heard her panting so I spread her cunt and caressed her slick clit and shoved three fingers in deep.
Penelope clutched my throat in a vise grip and my eyes bulged. I grabbed her waist to draw her closer and I fucked her harder. When I began to see stars from lack of o
xygen, I pulled my hand out, and Penelope slapped me. I tasted blood from the inside of my cheek. I swatted her ass. Penelope smiled and leaned over me, opened a drawer, and withdrew a thick, black dildo. She strapped me in and straddled the dildo. I tried to help or to touch her, but Penelope kept hitting me until I was subdued. I watched hungrily as she slid down the cock, enveloping its entire shaft. She rode the cock, her buttocks slapping my thighs, her eyes closed, her taut breasts barely bouncing.
She let me brush her turgid clit occasionally with my thumb. I flicked it and she moaned. Penelope worked that dick, changing rhythms, riding fast, faster. Finally, I began caressing her clit continuously, and Penelope stopped altogether and arched back, pushing her pussy forward for me. I cupped one buttock and stroked her fast. Penelope came with an eagle scream and began gyrating on the dildo so hard, I knew I’d be bruised. When she calmed, instead of smiling, crying, or crawling into my arms, Penelope leaned over me again and handed me lube and a butt plug. Then, without raising her cunt off the dildo, she turned around and put her ass in my face and began riding the dildo slowly, her hands braced on my thighs.
I tickled her asshole, wishing I could eat it up. Instead, I squirted lube on to the plug and eased it into her anus. Penelope shuddered and curled, moving so slowly. I savored every second of that sight: the black, shiny dildo, the juicy pussy, the hard, round ass, and the black rosebud anus. I gently fucked her with the plug as she rode my cock.
Penelope leaned all the way back toward me, relaxing to let herself be filled completely. She reached for my hand and pulled it around to touch her clit, and I stroked her gently and got harder and faster as I followed her lead. She had a deep orgasm marked only by a grunt and sweat droplets landing on my belly.