Love Me or Kill Me (The Cable Denning Mystery Series Book 2)

by James P. Alsphert

  I laughed. “Damn, but I think you’re a special lady, Misty Sheridan. That last kiss is still hanging around on my lips, you know. I have to admit it was hard not saying to hell with it all, taking you up into my arms and carrying you off to your bedroom.”

  “I wish you had. We only delayed what’s going to happen anyway, you know.”

  “You sure of that?”

  “Yes. All of me says ‘yes,’ Cable. There’s a song I want to sing for you some night at the club. It’s called That’s My Desire. And right now, Mr. Detective man, you’re my desire. When can I see you again?”

  “You’re a true romantic, kid. I like that. Your softness contrasts my everyday life fraught with human debris.” I thought about when I could commit to seeing her again. I knew I’d be stepping into a new chapter of my life with this babe. “I—I, uh, have a few things to do this week. Maybe Sunday? We could have a late lunch or something. What’s your schedule look like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…by then it may be too late. Who knows, I may have forgotten the man who aroused me last night. If you come in Saturday night late, I’ll sing that song for you…entice, entice, entice…” she kidded.

  I chuckled. “Okay, I’ll do my best. Oh, one other thing. I need to take it slow, Princess. I don’t know how soon I can—can, uh, swell to the occasion, if you know what I mean. But once I’m there—"

  “—you leave that up to me, big boy,” she said in her most seductive voice. “But I’ve waited at least ten years for you, Cable. I guess I can wait a little longer. See you Saturday…?”

  “Yeah, babe—so long!” We hung up and I was thinking how it felt to have the world lifted off me when I talked to Misty Sheridan. Feeling that young woman’s legs wrapped around me would feel like knocking out Dempsey in the first round in a world title bout!

  The rest of the day was like a lack-luster football game with amateurs playing on a soggy field. I slogged through bookwork and conversations on the telephone like a bookie who’d lost interest in horses. And talking about horses, Misty Sheridan had made me feel like a wild stallion hot for some young filly who came up over the hills of my life and reared up, tossing her beautiful head so I could see her. And I did.

  By day’s end I was tired and sat back in my chair with a Lucky Strike and a large shot of gin in my usual unwashed glass. Sometimes you wonder how much of life is pretending because you want it to be better than it is, or how much gold dust falls out of the heavens and covers you long enough to experience something really good and lasting, like maybe love or a beautiful sunset you can’t forget, or some babe singing a song that rips your heart out but replaces it with a better one. Maybe I stood at that threshold right now, feeling the warm naked breasts of Misty Sheridan against my skin, her wet, pulsing womanhood thrust against my crotch, those incredible lips clinging to my own like an abalone on a rock at high tide. I could see her wondrous blue eyes looking into mine, my nostrils buried in her hair, the smell of her neck as my teeth nibbled it, sending rivers of shivering nerves up and down her beautiful body. Yeah, that’s what I do with her in my fantasies already, spinning out all that pent up passion that I’d saved for Adora and thought I could never release again. But now I could, thanks to this dish— a singer who came into my life out of nowhere, to rescue a thirty-two year old ex-cop who had begun to fall through the grating of a street gutter. And I would give back to her what she had denied her natural woman all these years, because of a vulgar man’s degenerate lust.

  I was almost dozing in the twilight of early evening when I happened to see two figures approach my office door through the opaque glass. I opened my center drawer and took out my .38. My intuition was working overtime and adrenaline began pumping through my body. I hadn't turned on any lights yet, so whoever it was wouldn't even be able to see if I was in. I heard the sound of the door lock being picked. Then two goons entered slowly, creeping around like the slime they were. They looked Asian to me. “Can I help you, boys?” I spoke up, surprising the two idiots who now whipped around to face me. We were at a standoff, both of us with guns drawn at each other. “I can probably kill both of you before you get me,” I said, still a little groggy from the gin.

  They seemed Chinese, although who in the hell knows with Asians? They all looked alike to me. One spoke English. “We have orders not to shoot. We take you. Now. If you please.”

  “Well now, since you’re asking so nicely, I guess I’ll oblige.” I knew this was the summons from Cronus-Gor I’d been expecting and Hestia/Vesta had told me was coming. I put my gun down on the desk, went over to the coat rack and got my London Fog and hat—put them on—picked my gun back up and joined the two smallish men awaiting me. “By the way, if you damaged my office door lock when you gained entrance, I think I’ll kill you, just for the hell of it,” I joked. But Orientals don’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, so instead they put a couple of gun barrels into my ribs and moved me out of my office, down the stairs and into a waiting car.

  The local headquarters for the Oculus Pyramis Mandatum was a pretty classy affair. Of course I didn’t know where it was located because the mugs who’d kidnapped my person, had blindfolded me once they shoved me into the automobile. Large rooms with high, domed ceilings painted with angels and cherubs, gods and goddesses were framed with excellent hand-carved woodwork. I was led to a rather large banquet room and made to sit at a very long table with maybe twelve chairs. Only one item was on the table. A very fine Sheffield silver server, the kind with the tray and huge domed lid and handle. It sat in the center of the table. The lighting was subdued with one particular light focusing on the domed platter. Then I heard the unmistakable voice of Cronus-Gor.

  “So we meet again, Denning…” the low rumble of a voice spoke.

  “No, you got it wrong, Gor—you meet yourself again—I don’t recognize a being I can’t see or speak to one-to-one.”

  “You…you…are an impertinent, human!” There was a sound like a clap of thunder. “I am patient with you only long enough to get what I want. First you all but seduce my wife—whose familiar and appealing body I regrettably had to destroy…then you all but seduced my daughter, who is unaccountably enamored with you. Then you employ the services of those weak, inept aliens, fruitlessly attempting to defeat me—by sending my Cassiopeia off to some dimension I cannot trace, abetted by Saturnalia as a silly, bouncing orb of energy consciousness.”

  “Well, you brought it all on yourself, you piece of cosmic crap! Creatures like you make the big mistake of assuming superiority—god or no god—not knowing this is a big universe and all who are born in it have equal right to its intelligence. So guess what? You’re not smarter than other beings. You treated Saturnalia like a tramp after you stole her, took her virginity and made her bear you eight kids—seven of whom you devoured because you couldn’t take the competition. Then your clever wife tricked you with Cassiopeia to disgorge your consumed children, bringing forth Zeus, your own son, to unseat you for the domination of the earth. You then force Saturnalia to humanize your daughter for fear you will kill her too—again, Gor, you can’t stand to be challenged because you might lose the game after all, you invisible coward!”

  Again, a roll of thunder filled the room. “Silence! You impudent human! I have a gift for you, a reminder that I am playing this game you talk about for keeps, as you humans say. So thus, I give to you in remembrance of me. Lift the domed lid, Denning, see the puny weakness you humans are bound to, your sentimental nothingness.”

  I looked at the silver server in the middle of the table. I got up, leaned over and slowly opened the lid. The horror that greeted me made me sick to my stomach. There on the serving tray were two feminine hands, cut off just above the wrists. “What the…? What unspeakable cruelty have you done here, you worthless piece of shit!”

  “She played the piano and sang to you, didn’t she?” Gor continued. “Look…at the delicate hands—she loved you, Denning—the hands even loved you and she gave up her life—if
not willingly, then…painfully. She didn’t run away from you, she would have come with you to Los Angeles. But we captured her and read her mind, and I thought…what better gift could I give you, than the hands that played for you and almost fondled you with passion in the dark of night?”

  I replaced the lid and sat down hard on my seat. When cruelty without a trace of conscience takes over the world, then I no longer want to be in it. Jane had more right to life than that son-of-a-bitch who hid himself from me out of cowardice, afraid to be seen so he wouldn’t have to face another being one-to-one. “How do monstrous things like you get born, Gor? What terrible perverted element is there in the cosmos that gives birth to dark, irredeemable creatures like you?”

  “Ah, this is a world of dualities, Denning…you cannot have light without darkness. You cannot have goodness without evil—or regard for life or conscience, as you say…without the lack thereof. You little striving mortals whose moral codes bind you to your own prison, have no understanding that they are the very reasons I can rule over you.” Then there was a pause. “Now…to the subject at hand, so to speak. Last time we encountered one another, my errant wife assisted you in escaping from me. Not this time. I will now extract the knowledge of the Fen de Fuqin from your otherwise stupid brain and then shrink you down into a piece of dry dust on my floor.”

  “Too late again, asshole. I don’t have that memory in my consciousness. It’s been removed, along with your daughter. Search as you will, you won’t find her, because we’re discovering your secret—aren’t we?—you are not all-powerful, Gor!” I was struggling not to picture Cassiopeia or the Cave of the Seven Truths because I knew he could read my mind if he chose. Instead I concentrated on the picture of his ailing Saturnalia, sitting in a shadowed alley with boils all over her face, dying from his hand.

  Another clap of thunder filled the room. “Ahyrrrrr…!” Gor shouted in frustration. “Suck his head dry!” he commanded. Instantly two men in white coats came in with a little machine with rubber sucker pads on each end of a couple of tubes. They put the pads to my temples and turned the little machine on. I heard a high frequency that hurt my head. “Probe first…let me see it on the mind-screen!” Gor demanded.

  The two men then told the invisible creature they could not find the sought after knowledge in my memory banks. “Go, idiots!” Gor exclaimed. I could tell the god-Gor was really pissed. “Now! You…Denning!…I am beyond patience with you, yet I am forced to concede…for the moment. Cassiopeia shall be forced to return—whatever spell has been cast on her—she’ll come back along with your knowledge of the Fen de Fuqin. Then I shall extract it from her humanized brain cells and put an end to you—once and for all!”

  “Maybe…maybe not, you pretentious egomaniac! You know, Gor, I’m not afraid to die, but I always wonder how in all the universes there can be beings like you. Why? Because I keep looking for one scrap of something good or decent in you that might tell me you have a heart. How can one being fill himself with only avarice, greed, lust for power and control—and not have one redeeming quality? Why did you choose to vibrate so low—when you so-called immortals could do so much good in the world—any world?”

  There was a silence. Then the voice was slow and deliberate. “Go now, Denning. I will be watching every move you make—and hoping you make a false one...”

  “For all the good it’ll do you. It’s payback time, Gor. Your days as supreme ruler of the earth and those of all your minions are gonna be over soon. You’ll have your hands full as your past comes back to haunt you… you worthless scum!”

  The thunder clapped again and I heard the god Cronus-Gor laugh as I never heard him laugh before. “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No matter if I am detained with minor distractions…I will destroy Cassiopeia once I extract the knowing of the Golden Capsule from her. Then I shall be all-powerful with all the knowledge of Creation at my disposal. You might know, also, Denning, I am grooming a new evil to rule over the world in my stead, just in case. He will rise up from European soil and I will empower him with every darkness in my divine cells. No man shall oppose him and he shall carry the seed of my conquering nature within him. Hister, the God of Evil shall rain fire and destruction upon the earth until he has cleansed you and your weakened kind away. Ha! Go now, leave me!” he roared.

  In came the two Asian goons and whisked me back to my office, leaving me in peace once again. Every encounter with Cronus-Gor took a hell of a lot outta me. It was almost as if I lost years from experiencing his presence, even if I couldn’t see him. It was like I found myself fighting the intention of his energy. And I was thinking of poor Jane Slaughter. Were some people slated for an early death? Or was it a matter of bad timing? These were mysteries that still baffled me on the playing field of human existence. If it wasn’t a moral universe, and no inner governing mechanism within the individual to be positive existed—you know, the one where you do good and decent acts, and simply heed The Golden Rule—what was it that caused order, then, in the cosmos?

  It was getting on to dawn. I shed my clothes, took a shower and fell onto my bed, exhausted. The world would have to wait.

  CHAPTER 12

  ANOMALIES CAN BE LONELY

  Zelda the Warrior

  Life is often a strange harmony of contrasts. Things you think would never fit into your life suddenly do. Somewhere in the Christian Bible it talks about the least shall become the most, or the meek shall inherit the earth…and like that. Zelda Blodgett was one of those anomalies. As Honey’s housemate, she seemed the perennial bookworm, the studious aspiring botanist, following in her father’s footsteps. She had had a brief romance with only one young man I knew of, otherwise Zelda’s life was bereft of male companionship. I knew she looked to me as a kind of friend, maybe-could-be-lover type. Women can have crushes for years. I fear such was Zelda’s story.

  But one has to hand it to her. She went from a slightly frumpy young thing with thick glasses to a far more streamlined version. Now, an attractive young woman who had slimmed down, lost the glasses except for reading and looked great in a low-cut dress. She was always a bit busty, I guessed, but in losing weight, her bosom was definitely one of her standout features. I liked Zelda. She was honest—and real, the kind of woman who would be a girl for a long time without the assumptions of sexual experience and how it transforms the female nature into a competitive, seductive creature. Not that it’s all bad, mind you—but on Zelda, seduction would at best be an awkward attempt at becoming a sexually active woman. Somehow I couldn’t feature that as being high on her list of priorities.

  We met up at seven o’clock Friday night. She lived a couple of miles from my office and I had chosen The Wishing Well, a respectable dinner house with a nice dance floor. But I had failed to make reservations in time and when we got there, the line was interminable. On a lark, and perhaps not the best decision I ever made, I suggested going out to Santa Monica to the La Monica. Could be it would be less crowded, but mainly my manhood was aching for Misty and I had this thing inside that kept itching to see and hear her again. Her Wednesday night kisses were still playing chills up and down my spine when I thought of her. Funny, I thought, most dames don’t even come close to doing that for me, including beauties like Cassiopeia.

  Zelda didn’t mind. She was just happy to be with me. We made our way out to the Ballroom about 8:30 p.m. The plan was for Misty not to notice me in the crowds. By a stroke of good luck, I slipped the waiter a fiver and he got us a secluded booth quite a distance from the bandstand—and the bar.

  It was nearly nine when we finally got seated. It was only then that I realized how good Zelda looked. She was wearing a low-cut black-satin dress, tight around the middle. It came up to just below her knees and she wore shiny black heels with a fine set of white pearls around her neck. Her face was a good face, ruddy cheeks, thick lips, a very sexy chin and very graceful looking hands. Suddenly, Jane Slaughter’s hands came to mind and a chill came over me.

  “Gees, Cable, this is exciting
. Thanks for bringing me here. I like it.” She looked around. The band was playing a lively version of Keeping Out of Mischief Now and I was beginning to think I had just stepped into a big pile of it.

  “Yeah, Zelda, I’m glad you like it. It’s a jumpin’ place, isn’t it?”

  She started tapping her fingers on the table to the music. “I love music. I always wished I could sing well. When I was little, my mother would let me stay in the bathtub as long as I wanted on Saturday nights. I liked singing in the bathroom because my voice reverberated in there. I thought I actually sounded pretty good. But now I’m too shy to even attempt it.”

  “Singing’s good for you, kid. It cleanses the psyche, you know.”

  She looked at me and smiled. “You say the darndest things, Cable. But I get what you’re saying. I always felt better when I sang.”

  Then I saw Misty emerge from behind the bandstand and my heart rate went up. She was wearing a light-blue sequined dress and I thought if it was cut any lower she could get arrested. What a figure the babe had! She joined the band and took a chorus of Keeping Out of Mischief Now, that sounded wonderful. She had a pertness about her, and add to that, her naturally sexy, sensual nature and you had a recipe for a hell of dish who just happens to entertain people with her voice, emotions and body. Yeah, she was a deadly combination for any unsuspecting chump in the audience who might fantasize about Misty when she sings.

  As soon as she finished the lively number, I had this funny feeling she could tell I was in the room. Don’t ask me how. Then I saw her eyes searching around in the crowd. She left the bandstand, drifted up to the bar, and got a drink. Some obnoxious character was hitting on her and I could tell she was irritated as hell but trying to be polite. The guy had a buddy with him. They both had been drinking and the buddy tried to pull his friend away from Misty. But the jerk pushed the other guy, which got him mad. Instinctually, I told Zelda I’d be right back and made my way through the noisy throng until I got to the bar. “Hey, buddy, the lady’s the entertainment here, not some dame you can maul. I hate pushy guys on the make.” Misty was shocked to see me, but also delighted. I could feel it. I was her knight in shining armor come to rescue the damsel in distress.