Bang Up

by Jeff Strand

  "Why do you have air freshener?" she asked, completely naked.

  "I always spray air freshener before you get here. I just lost track of the time and day and didn't realize that you were coming."

  He went into the bedroom and sprayed the "beach at sunset" scented air freshener all over. Then he hurriedly began to put the sheets on the bed.

  "Do you want some help?" asked Myra, standing in the doorway.

  "Sure." It would be weird to turn down her offer. Kirk didn't want to act any weirder than absolutely necessary.

  He and Myra put the new sheets on the bed. He thought he saw her nose twitch a couple of times, but that might have been the way her nose normally worked. Though Kirk wasn't convinced that the spray had been sufficient to cover the fragrance of love, she'd know he was trying to hide something if he gave it another blast.

  "Would you like some wine?" he asked.

  "Sure."

  "It's in the fridge."

  "Okay." Myra walked out of the bedroom. The sight of her ass was still enticing, even in his exhausted state. If he did the massage very slowly, there might be enough recovery time for him to get it up.

  When he heard the refrigerator door open, he sprayed the air freshener again. That would have to be enough. Also, he could start by rubbing a big blob of the scented lotion onto her shoulders, which would also mask the aroma.

  Myra stepped into the room, holding two glasses of red wine. Kirk took one from her. They clinked their glasses together and kissed. Kirk untied the belt of his robe, then let it slide off his body and fall to the floor. Since he was a dude, it wasn't all that sexy of a move, but it got the job done.

  Myra kissed him again, then placed her hand on his penis. "I just want you to know that I know you're hiding something," she said.

  "I—"

  "Shhh. I don't care. It's all fine. I just don't want to leave here after we're done and have you think you fooled me."

  "Okay."

  "Now make me feel good."

  She set her glass of wine on the nightstand, then lay face-down on the bed. Kirk squeezed a generous amount of lotion into his palm then rubbed it onto her shoulders. She might know he was hiding something, but that didn't mean he was going to quit trying to hide it.

  As his fingers kneaded her flesh, Kirk found himself getting aroused.

  Already?

  God, he was a machine!

  * * *

  "Oh, yeah, baby! Don't stop!"

  Myra was bent over the bed while Kirk thrust into her from behind. He'd gotten so horny that he accelerated the timeframe of the massage, doing only a cursory rub of her lower half and skipping her feet entirely. They'd already had sex to completion with her riding him, but he'd asked her to stick around, and now they were several minutes into round two.

  Best day ever. Best day ever. Best day ever.

  The doorbell rang.

  Dammit.

  Kirk ignored it. A moment later, it rang again.

  "Somebody's at the door," said Myra.

  "They can wait." Kirk kept thrusting. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that it was probably a better idea to stop fucking Myra and answer the door than to continue fucking Myra and ignore the door, but he simply was not inclined to stop fucking Myra at this particular moment. He bent over her and kissed her back as he kept going.

  "Don't stop," said Myra. "Don't stop, baby."

  Kirk assured her that he had no intention of stopping.

  Whoever was at the door began to knock.

  Kirk stood up straight but kept thrusting. In fact, he grabbed Myra's hips tightly to assure her that he had no intention of stopping this pleasant activity.

  You should stop and answer the door, he thought.

  Fuck you, Kirk told his inner voice.

  He should answer the door. It might be somebody selling something or passing out pamphlets, in which case it would be fine to ignore them until they went away, and it might be a neighbor complaining about the noise level in his apartment, in which case they could go fuck themselves, but it could also be one of the people involved in the recent craziness of his life.

  It could be Julie. He'd love to see Julie again. Given the choice between a naked Julie standing before him and a naked Myra, he'd choose the naked Julie, but he wasn't going to be the kind of douchebag who'd kick Myra out of his apartment so he could have Julie. That would be tacky. And he certainly wasn't going to sacrifice a very nice friends with benefits relationship for one more romp with Julie. He did consider the possibility that the ladies, upon meeting each other, might go into full-on porn star mode, offering him the superior gender distribution of a threesome, but even for this week that was far-fetched.

  It could be Ralph. It probably was Ralph. Well, he didn't want to see Ralph right now. He'd have to make up some excuse to Myra why he was wrapping up his dick and fingers. If Ralph was angry enough, he'd come back later.

  It could be Skip. He couldn't think of any good reason that Skip would be knocking on his door, unless he'd left behind an article of clothing. He could wait, too.

  Kirk acknowledged that this analysis might be different if he weren't currently having energetic sex. There was, for example, probably a pretty good reason that Skip might show up at his door that didn't involve a forgotten sock, but Kirk couldn't think of one. It would be okay. He wasn't going to be having sex with Myra forever.

  The knocking turned into more of a pounding, like whoever was outside was using both fists.

  "Maybe you should stop," said Myra.

  Kirk shook his head, even though Myra was facing the wrong direction and couldn't see it. Admittedly, he did speed up, but only grudgingly, since things were going so well that he wasn't ready to come quite yet.

  He was a single guy, living alone, and though this left a certain emptiness in his life, the advantage was that he wasn't supposed to be interrupted while having sex. That was for teenagers and people with kids. He moved his hands from Myra's hips to her ass, squeezing it hard while he pounded away.

  Now the person was kicking the door.

  "I should probably stop," he admitted.

  "Yeah," said Myra.

  Kirk pulled out of her, cursing under his breath. He picked up the bathrobe and put it on, still cursing. He continued to curse as he tied the fluffy cloth belt around his waist. His erection was visibly protruding, but he didn't care.

  "Back in a second," he told Myra.

  "Is somebody mad at you?" she asked.

  "Why would anybody be mad at me?" He hurried out of his bedroom before she could answer. Now that he was devoting more of his brainpower to wondering who might be at the door than to saving sex with Myra, he really, really hoped it wasn't Ralph.

  He looked through the peephole. It was Skip.

  Kirk opened the door and let him in. "What the hell are you doing?" asked Kirk. "Are you trying to get me in trouble with the apartment manager?"

  "It's important," said Skip, closing the door.

  "I didn't answer the doorbell for a reason. How did you know I was even home?"

  "I heard your girlfriend telling you not to stop."

  "What do you want?"

  "I needed to...oh, hello," said Skip, looking over Kirk's shoulder.

  Kirk turned around. He knew who Skip was talking to, of course, but he wanted to see what state of undress she was in. Myra had a sheet wrapped around her.

  "Uh, hi," said Myra.

  Skip seemed transfixed. Kirk couldn't blame him. Myra was beautiful under normal circumstances, but now she had that "I was in the process of getting really well laid" glow, and the perspiration on her chest made the sheet cling to her.

  "I'm Skip."

  "Myra."

  "How do you know Kirk?"

  "We're friends."

  "We're fuck buddies, okay?" said Kirk. "Why are you here?"

  "Just buddies? No romance?"

  "None," said Myra. "That's why he's allowed to lie to me."

  "If there's no roma
nce, maybe we could re-enact this afternoon," said Skip.

  "Are you serious?" asked Kirk. "Did you really just say that? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

  "Let the lady answer," said Skip.

  "Are you serious?" asked Myra. "Did you really just say that? Are you out of your fucking mind? What happened this afternoon?"

  "Nothing happened," said Kirk.

  "Are you the guy who paid Kirk to have sex with your wife?" Myra asked.

  "No," said Skip. He turned to Kirk. "Wait, Ralph paid you? That's fucked up."

  "Why are you here?" Kirk asked.

  "Did you two have sex with the guy's wife here today?" Myra asked.

  "It's not my place to answer that," said Skip.

  "Yes!" said Kirk. "Yes, that's what happened! This asshole and I had a threesome with the wife that I was paid to badly fuck! Okay? Has your curiosity been satisfied?"

  "It went well," said Skip.

  "Shut up," Kirk told him. "Myra, just so you know, it wasn't something we planned. She came over here—so, yeah, that part was planned, I'll admit—but Skip was here, and she just seized the moment and made us do her together."

  "She made you?"

  "She threatened us with not having sex with her."

  "Got it."

  "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't absolutely awesome. And now I wish I'd lied. But, yes, it happened, and however you want to react is fine with me."

  Myra turned to Skip. "And you're hoping we'll re-enact it?"

  "I wouldn't say hoping. I figured I'd throw out the idea and see if it sticks."

  "It didn't stick."

  "Fair enough."

  "There is no scenario in which I would have sex with both of you at the same time. Literally no scenario. Figuratively no scenario."

  "Okay," said Skip. "Didn't hurt to ask."

  "It did hurt to ask, because now I think of you as a depraved pervert."

  "Oh."

  "If there are an infinite number of alternate timelines that spring from each of the decision points in our life, there isn't one where I will have group sex with you guys. Even in my darkest, most private fantasies, from now until the day I die, you will not find one where I imagine letting you two double-team me. Have I clarified my position on the subject?"

  "Yes," said Skip. "I have no further questions."

  "You still haven't told me why you're here," said Kirk. "I assume it wasn't just to ruin my relationship with Myra. Although, knowing you, it might have been."

  "No, I feel bad about that," said Skip. "I'm here because Ralph knows that we both had sex with Julie, and I'm not sure he's taking it well. I thought I should warn you."

  "That's a good reason for coming over here," Kirk admitted. "I apologize for taking so long to answer the door."

  26

  Ralph didn't want to make any rash decisions. He set a timer on his phone, and decided that he was going to take a relaxing walk for exactly fifteen minutes before he decided how he was going to handle this matter.

  Fifteen minutes later, he'd decided that Kirk and Skip needed to die, as slowly and painfully as possible.

  He wasn't a wealthy man, but he could afford to rent a soundproofed basement somewhere, along with a variety of tools like pliers, saws, blowtorches, corkscrews, potato peelers, vices, scalpels, hypodermic needles, cheese graters, hammers, nails, and jagged dildos. He'd lock them down there for, oh, six or seven months. Hire a corrupt doctor to make sure they didn't die early.

  The basement idea was probably impractical. But no way were those pricks getting off easy with broken necks or gunshots to the back of the head. They were going to suffer. And Ralph was going to laugh. Not a deranged laugh. Not one where they thought he'd gone insane. It would be a merry laugh, so they knew he was fully in control of his mental faculties and was enjoying every moment of their hellish misery.

  He hadn't yet decided if he was going to kill Julie. Most likely he would. If Kirk and Skip turned up missing, she'd suspect his involvement, and he couldn't have her going to the authorities with what she knew. He wouldn't lock her in a basement and torture her for months. He'd just shoot her or something.

  Maybe fifteen minutes wasn't long enough to decide if he truly wanted to kill them. He'd walk for another fifteen minutes and go from there.

  About ten minutes later he started to waver, but his anger built over the remaining five, and by the end of the second fifteen minutes he was more committed than ever to the idea of Kirk and Skip dying horrible deaths. And, yeah, he'd kill Julie for sure.

  Ralph didn't want to be stupid about this. He wasn't going to shout "Yaaaahhhhh!!!" and run at them with a butcher knife. It had to be gruesome and messy and splattery but he had to maintain his composure during it.

  Two minutes later he decided, no, he was just going to go over to Kirk's apartment and stab him to death.

  He owned plenty of knives at home, but Julie might get suspicious if he came home, grabbed a knife, and immediately left. Even if she didn't actually see him take the knife, she'd be thinking that she hoped he didn't find out about what she'd done, and wondering how he'd react if he did find out, and so having him come home and then leave right away would put her on high alert. He'd just buy another knife.

  A gun would be better, but Ralph didn't have any real connections in the criminal underworld and didn't know how he'd acquire an untraceable weapon. Also, guns were loud. Stabbing was quiet, assuming the victim didn't scream.

  Ralph walked back to his car. It felt good knowing that they were going to die. Killing them was something a real man would do. A real man didn't say "Oh, so you had intercourse with my spouse? Well, I certainly hope everybody enjoyed themselves. Sorry I couldn't be there!" No, a real man said, "Die, you motherfuckers! Die! Die! Die!" And then he stabbed them, over and over, opening his mouth wide to catch the drops of—

  No, a real man did not open his mouth wide to catch the drops of blood. That was what an insane man did. Ralph had not snapped. If somebody witnessed the murders, they would understand that these were about vengeance, not madness. Ralph would not giggle. He would not keep any souvenirs. He wouldn't keep stabbing after they'd bled out. In fact, upon some reflection, he wouldn't even stab them in the really gross parts, like the eye. A few stabs to the chest, a witty comment or two, and then he was done.

  A perfect plan. Flawless.

  Ralph drove to the nearest department store. He didn't think it would seem odd for him to purchase a knife (it wasn't as if he was also buying a rag, some chloroform, and a body bag) but just in case he grabbed a few random items and also tossed them into his cart. The cutlery section didn't have anything that stood out for him, so he went over to sporting goods. He briefly considered how much fun it would be to tear them apart with fishing lures, but regained his focus and selected a stainless steel hunting knife with an eight-inch blade. Nobody fared well when they had eight inches of steel inside of their body.

  He bought the items then went back to his car. He took the knife out of its packaging and held it for a moment, loving the way it felt in his hand, hearing it whisper to him...no, not hearing it whisper to him, but loving the way it felt in his hand.

  He'd also purchased a package of Swedish fish, so he stabbed the shit out of those, pretending that they were Kirk's face.

  Yes, this knife would do just fine.

  Maybe he should wait until tomorrow. Sleep on it. Decide then if he was still this angry.

  Nah. Tomorrow he might not be this angry, and then he might live in regret that he hadn't murdered Kirk and Skip when he was filled with enough fury to go through with it.

  He'd head over to Kirk's apartment now.

  He realized that he was stroking the knife in a loving manner. At least he wasn't cooing at it. He set the knife on the passenger seat, started the engine, and drove away laughing, but not maniacally.

  27

  Kirk and Skip were seated on opposite ends of the couch. Myra, now dressed, had elected not to sit between them, and was
instead pacing nervously around the living room.

  "Define 'not taking it well,'" said Kirk.

  "He wasn't yelling and screaming or anything like that," said Skip. "And he wasn't frothing at the mouth. He was quiet. Too quiet. Like he'd internalized his rage. I got the vibe that if he bashed either of us to death with a baseball bat that he'd have a blank expression the whole time."

  "That's not good," said Kirk.

  "Nope."

  "And he said he'd leave Julie alone?"

  "Yes, but when somebody has a psychotic breakdown you can't necessarily take their word as gospel."

  "I'm going to send a quick e-mail to warn her."

  Kirk got up off the couch and walked over to the dining room table. He opened his laptop and sent Julie an e-mail: Ralph knows everything. He might be murderous. Please be careful. Call me. He typed his phone number and sent the message.

  "You should leave," he told Myra. "You could be in danger."

  "No. You guys were stupid enough to get yourselves into this mess. You need somebody smart to keep you alive."

  "So what's the plan?" Skip asked her.

  "Don't ask her that," said Kirk. "We want her feedback but she shouldn't be responsible for coming up with a plan to save our dumb asses. God, do we suck! Okay, there are three of us and one of him. That's an advantage right there."

  "Unless he has a gun," said Skip.

  "Right. That will make things worse for us. And, quite honestly, if he's on his way over here seeking revenge, he may very well have a gun. So what do we do?"

  "We could just not let him in," said Skip.

  Kirk glared at him. "Please try to stick to saying helpful things."

  "I'm just saying, unless he's willing to kick down your door or shoot off the lock, he can't get in here. It's not like we're out in an isolated cabin with nobody around for miles. I could hear you two having sex from the hallway, so surely your neighbors would hear him breaking down a door or opening fire. If he tries to scale to the second floor, we can just lean out the window and give him a shove. I really think that 'lock the door and don't let him in' is a solid plan."