“Alright, for burglary.”
“What happened?” She played with his cock, stroking it, “C’mon, tell me, please?”
“Alright. The security system of the place I was breaking into was simple enough, just a simple alarm and video feed, but I guess I wasn’t as good as I thought.”
She played with his cock some more, stroking it harder, faster, “So how big is it?”
“Eleven inches.”
“Is it naturally that big?”
“I grew it three inches.”
“How?”
“There are techniques, pills you can take.”
“You need it that big to do porn?”
“No, but it helps. There are bigger.”
Kara looked up into his face, “He beats me, my husband. Richard beats me. I think it’s because he has a little dick.”
Willie stared out at the moon and calmly said, “That motherfucker.”
So Kara laid it all out for Willie – told him about the mirrored bedroom, the dominatrix chains in the ceiling. How Richard liked to tie her up, fuck her, which she was okay with; but then he’d beat her afterwards, choke her, punch her in the back, smack her ass, hard forceful slaps that left her black and blue for days.
She said, “I think maybe it’s because he has a small dick, and he’s a premature ejaculator. He’s embarrassed by it. He has a little dick complex or something. I try faking orgasms, but I don’t think he buys it,” Kara said. She wanted revenge; she wanted to take Richard for everything he was worth, which was over one hundred million.
The Devilwood Springs estate alone was worth a cool twenty mil.
Kara stroked Willie’s cock harder. She kissed his chest, sliding down to his cock, and inhaled the tip of it into her mouth. When she finished, she smiled up at him, “Why was it called Comanche? You know, I mean the porno?” He said, “I guess because the background song they used was called ‘Comanche.’”
Willie snapped out of his daydream and stepped down off the ladder. He placed the step ladder in the corner. He snuck back through Devilwood Springs, marveling at all the post-modern decadence. The extravagantly furnished bedrooms lavished in a mixture of Moroso and Marquette Turner designs. The Philip Plein gold-plated living room furniture, or the Toyo D-Land kitchen with Swarovski crystal encrusted handles. Another kitchen was a Porsche Design Poggenpohl luxury kitchen set. Finn Stone lamp made from an English telephone box. Solange Azagury-Partridge gold and diamond chandelier hanging in the foyer. There was even a Klimt hung on the wall at the base of the sweeping grand marble staircase leading up to the second floor. The outside grounds were typical manicured lawns, hedgerows, flowerbeds, Gold Thread Cypress and Japanese Red Maples, no walls or gates, only a long driveway connecting from the street to the turnaround with a Maidens and Lions Italian marble fountain in the center.
He waited in his Audi half a block up the street. The spy camera was hooked up remotely, recording to a small battery powered television on the passenger seat. He rested the TV in his lap. An hour later, Kara and Richard pulled up in a Porsche. The car turned down the driveway, parking in the turnaround. Richard opened the car door for her, his eyes bugged out. His ears were large and fanned out like a bat. He put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her inside the mansion. Willie watched the TV intently. Soon they walked into the empty mirrored bedroom, Richard strapped her wrists to the chains, tore away the Jovani jewel-encrusted strapless cocktail dress she was wearing, and fucked her from behind. After a few quick powerful thrusts, he gasped in orgasm, chin on her shoulder, drooling down her left tit. Then he spun her around and slapped her hard across the face. He started choking her, punching her in the back, smacking her ass with hard forceful slaps.
Willie threw open the car door. He rushed up the driveway, to the Brazilian cherry wood imported front door. The door was unlocked. He rushed inside Devilwood Springs, winding his way through the mansion, back through all the post-modern decadence. He burst into the empty mirrored bedroom out of breath but Richard and Kara were gone. Willie closed the mirrored door, walked to the middle of the room, boots thudding the vintage Mexican saltillo clay tile floor. He looked to the hole cut into the glass ceiling where the metal ring was bolted to the ceiling and the spy camera wedged inside. The camera lens shone back at him. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, turning in time to see the mirrored door open. Richard strolled into the bedroom wearing an indigo silk Samue with the image of a giant white tiger stitched on the back. Richard grinned, Beretta held tucked to his side, aiming the gun at Willie. They locked eyes. Richard thrust the gun straight out in front of him, and Willie nearly tripped backward over his feet.
Richard said, “Will you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly?”
Kara walked in behind Richard, touching her hands to his shoulders. She stood behind him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Is this him?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she stared at Willie, through him, cold and unsympathetic, like he was more an object than a man. Willie slowly stepped away from the chains. He straightened up, perfectly straight, too proud to beg.
“Mr. Willie Jones, big time porn star with the eleven inch cock,” Richard said.
Willie took a few steps back, behind the chains.
“Did you think you could trust her? What’d she tell you? That I beat her? She’s a masochistic nympho. She likes it rough.”
Richard reached his free hand over his shoulder, clenching a handful of Kara’s hair. He yanked her around in front of him. She whimpered, grabbed his wrists, and he threw her to the ground. Richard moved toward Willie, motioning with the gun to the chains, “Put your wrists in the straps.”
Willie said, “Fuck you, asshole, make me.”
Richard motioned to the step ladder in the corner, “What were you doing with that step ladder?”
There was a click behind Richard.
The unmistakable sound of a hammer cocked back on a gun.
He turned around and Kara was pointing a .38 Smith & Wesson at his gut. Willie stood on the step ladder, pulled the spy camera from its hiding place, showing it to Richard.
Willie said, “She never liked it rough, she just liked your money. Plus, I have a way bigger dick than you.”
“Two-timing bitch!”
Kara aimed the .38 lower, “I want a divorce. I want everything.”
Willie took the Beretta from Richard, “Now you put your wrists in the straps, asshole,” he bashed Richard on the head with the butt of the gun. “Do it, asshole!” Kara disappeared for a moment, returning with a leather mouth and chin harness with red ball gag. The song Comanche played a second later over a deafening sound system in a neighboring bedroom. Willie tightened the straps.
Richard said, “Willie, buddy, can’t we work something out. Seriously, c’mon guys.”
Kara shoved the gag in Richard’s mouth. He started screaming, and she strapped the gag on tighter. She started jumping gleefully up and down like a little school girl, clapping her hands together,
“Go medieval on his ass, baby!”
She pulled Richard’s pants down, smacked him on the ass. Willie bent Richard over, sinking his hands into Richard’s squishy ass; and then she unzipped Willie’s giant cock, opened a magnum condom and slipped it on.
-
Jason Duke is a Sergeant in the U.S. Army who served fifteen months in Iraq between 07-09. His short stories have appeared in Plots With Guns, Thuglit, Spinetingler Magazine, Crimewav.com, Crimefactory, Needle, Darkest Before the Dawn, and A Twist of Noir, among others. He has a story in the e-anthology D*cked available on amazon.com.
Misirlou
By Jimmy Callaway
1. Cheeseburger, Hold the Relish
Mal walked in the front door, said, “Cheeseburger’s dead.”
Bronson looked up from the TV, said, “What?”
Stillwell looked up from the TV, said, “Who?”
Mal said, “Guy that runs that Greek place down the street. I stopped
in for a gyro, joint’s closed for a week. Death in the family notice in the window.”
Bronson said, “Jesus.”
Stillwell stubbed out his cigarette. “You guys call him ‘Cheeseburger’?”
Bronson shrugged. “He looks like Belushi.” To Mal, “Does Romano know?”
Bronson’s phone went, “All the old paintings on the tomb, they do the sand dance, don’cha know...”
They all looked at it. Mal said, “I guess he does.”
2. Ashes to Ashes, Funk to Funky
“Ah, hell,” Bronson said as they pulled into Romano’s lot.
“What?” Mal said.
Bronson pointed at the Taurus parked in front. “Funk’s here.”
Mal said, “Ah, hell.”
Tina looked up from her desk as they came in. “Hi, boys,” she said, “go on back.”
Bronson said, “Thanks, Tina,” and smiled. Mal said nothing.
They let themselves into Romano’s office as Funk was saying, “And so the genie says to the Polack, he says, ‘Whatever your wish, sahib, is my command.’ And the Polack says, ‘Man, I’m lonely. I wish my two friends were still here.’” Then he and Romano and Hughes all laughed, Romano pounding on his desk. Empty sandwich wrappers and Coke cans were in front of them.
Romano looked up, said, “Oh, the boys are here. Funk, you remember the boys.”
Funk stood up and shook hands with them, said, “Of course, of course. Mal, Bronson, how you guys doing?”
Mal said, “Hey.”
Bronson said, “Good, man. You?”
“Good, yeah. Good, good, good. Well, all things considered. You heard about Gus, I take it?”
Bronson said, “Cheeseburger, yeah.”
“Cheeseburger?” Funk said and laughed, “Yeah, I like that. Poor bastard.”
Romano said, “Poor bastard nothing. Gus was good people, but if he was gonna get killed protecting my numbers receipts from some half-assed burglar, then he shoulda fucking protected them. Getting killed for nothing doesn’t do anybody any good.”
Hughes said, “I’m really gonna miss his souvlaki.”
Romano said, “Shut up, Hughes. Anyways, normally, botched robbery, open-and-shut. But Sarge tells me there was no forced entry.” Romano shrugged. “And I don’t know, but the whole thing feels wrong. Why I called in Funk.”
Funk said, “Thank you, Mr. Romano. It’s a shame about Gus, but whatever I can do to help. And you sure gave me the right boys for the job.” He smiled at Mal and Bronson.
Bronson gave a weak smile back.
Mal just nodded.
“Anyways,” Romano said.
Funk said, “Yeah, anyways.” To Mal and Bronson, “Shall we?”
3. We Shall
Traffic was light on the 15 South.
Funk said, “You guys don’t like me much, do you?”
Mal shrugged.
Bronson said, “No, it’s not that. It’s just... Romano calls you down here, it kinda makes us look bad. That’s all. Right, Mal?”
Mal shrugged, lit a cigarette.
Funk lit one himself, cracked his window a bit. “Well, that’s just... no, that’s not it. I mean, I see what you’re saying, I do. But I’m here to help, that’s all. We’re all on the same team.”
“But this is our town,” Mal said.
“And that’s just it,” Funk said, “This is your town. I’m just visiting.”
Mal shrugged, said, “Yeah, okay.”
Funk said, “You guys ever play Dungeons & Dragons when you were kids?”
Mal said, “No.”
Bronson said, “Yeah.”
Funk looked in his rear-view. “Yeah?”
Bronson shrugged.
Mal said, “Bronson was president of the D&D club in high school.”
Bronson said, “Vice-president.”
Funk said, “So, all right, it’s like this: This is just an adventure, another adventure in an open-ended campaign. And I’ve got my own alignment, my own stats, blah blah. But if I’m just rolling dice by myself here, all alone, then nothing’s happening. I need a party to get things going.”
Bronson said, “So Romano’s what? The DM?”
Funk shrugged, said, “Sure, yeah. You could say that, I guess. But I like to think any one of us could be the DM. Y’know? Great thing about that game: The Dungeon Master might have the title and a plot and a plan of how things might go, but it’s the players who really run the game.” He grinned at his rearview.
Mal took a drag on his smoke, said, “You guys are a couple’a nerds.”
4. May His Memory Be Eternal
Cheeseburger’s son let them in, led them to the back bedroom where his mother sat in an old recliner. Bronson noticed they had twin beds.
Funk said, “Mrs. Laliotitis.” He took her hand. “Memory eternal,” he said.
Mrs. Cheeseburger did not look up, but she did pat Funk’s hand twice with her own.
Funk sat down on one of the twin beds, said, “Mrs. Laliotitis, I have some questions for you. I know it’s a terrible, tragic time right now, but we need to act quickly.”
Mrs. Cheeseburger nodded.
Funk said, “Did Mr. Laliotitis have any debts that you know of, any gambling, anything like that?”
Mrs. Cheeseburger shook her head.
Funk said, “Was he having any trouble with the neighbors, here or at the restaurant? Any neighborhood kids giving him trouble?”
Mrs. Cheeseburger said, “Gus catch a boy spray-painting the restaurant. Nikos hit him.”
“And when was that, Mrs. Laliotitis?”
“Last year, I think. Christmastime.”
Funk said, “Okay,” and nodded his head. “Okay. Mrs. Laliotitis, this is a difficult question, but it’s one I have to ask.”
Mrs. Cheeseburger let out a low, almost inaudible moan.
Funk said, “I apologize in advance, but –”
“There is a girl. She lives in Hillcrest, near Hillcrest.” She dabbed at her eyes with a crushed wad of Kleenex. “There was always a girl.”
Funk wavered for just a second; if Mal and Bronson hadn’t been watching for it, they’d have missed it. Funk said, “Was this girl also married, Mrs. Laliotitis? A boyfriend?”
Mrs. Cheeseburger shook her head, and then spat on the rug. “Egyptian cunt,” she said.
“Mom,” her son said. He looked at Mal and Bronson, looked at Funk.
“Cunt,” Mrs. Cheeseburger said.
Funk stood and rested a hand on her shoulder. Her head inclined, just a bit, toward it.
5. The Sun Never Sets on El Cajon Boulevard
Funk’s phone went, “Oh, no, not the bees! Not the bees!”
Funk answered it, said, “Yeah.”
Said, “Yeah, hey, we just left Cheeseburger’s.”
Said, “Oh, yeah?”
Said, “Yeah, we’re on it.”
Funk hung up, said, “Ashley’s place is on fire. You know where that is?”
Bronson said, “His house?”
Funk said, “No, no, the shop he’s been running.”
Bronson said, “Yeah, it’s on El Cajon. Get off right here.”
Funk whipped the wheel to the right, barely made the exit. Horns blared.
Mal said, “Your ringtone is from the fuckin’ Wicker Man?”
6. Everything Must Have Gone
Ashley stood across the street in front of the pho place with all the other looky-loos. He nodded as Funk, Mal and Bronson walked up, said, “Fuck, I’m tired. Up all night and now this.”
Mal held his hand up to the heat of the blaze across the street. The sound of glass shattering punctuated the air every thirty seconds or so. Mal said, “Jesus.”
Ashley said, “Tell me about it, mate.”
Bronson said, “Ashley, you remember Funk, yeah?”
Ashley said, “Yeah, how’s it goin’?”
They shook hands. Funk said, “Sorry about your place, man.”
Ashley said, “Yeah, cheers, but y’
know. Just lucky I went for a coffee. Dennis and Vince, though, man.” He shook his head.
Funk said, “Well, what happened?”
Ashley shrugged, said, “This chick comes in, had a bingle in her Beemer, put a big dent in the fender, like someone took a fucken rock to it. Asks if we can have it done by this afternoon. I said sure, of course. She says ta, back later then.”
Funk said, “What’d she look like?”
Ashley said, “Oh, nice-looking girl. Nice pair of legs. Kinda conservative dress, y’know. Business woman. Or so I thought.”
Funk said, “White girl?”
Ashley said, “Yeah, no, Middle Eastern, I think. Dark-skinned, but didn’t look like a lotta Middle Eastern girls I’ve seen. Not in the face, anyways. Her nose wasn’t that big, really.”
Mal and Bronson looked at each other.
Another fire truck arrived. Funk had to shout over it. “So then what happened?”
Ashley said, “Well, the most I could get outta Dennis before the ambulance got here was they set about working on the fender and the fucken thing exploded.”
Bronson said, “The fender?”
Ashley said, “Nah, the whole fucken car, mate. Musta been plastique, a fucken time bomb or something. Blew Dennis right out the back window into the neighbor’s pool. Bit’a luck, that. Vince, man.” He shook his head. “Even if he ever wakes up, he’ll probably never see again. Burned the retinas right outta his head. Poor guy.”
Funk said, “Wow, that’s terrible.”
Mal said, “The merch.”
Funk said, “Right, right. What about the merch, Ashley?”
Ashley said, “Well, there wasn’t a whole lot. Had an order come in last week for as many mufflers as we could put a hand to, any make or model. Guy wanted a hundred or so by today. What I was up all night taking care of. We got that and change, but now.” He shook his head again.
Funk said, “And who was this guy?”
Ashley shrugged. “Dunno, never met him. Cheeseburger was the broker.”
Bronson said, “Shit.”
Ashley said, “What?”
Bronson said, “Cheeseburger’s dead.”
Ashley said, “Shit.” Then he said, “Well, one less headache for me, then.”
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