No Love for the Wicked

by Tiana Laveen

  “It depends on what you ask, what ya wanna know.” He took a puff.

  “A long time ago, Angelo, like a year or so ago, I read an article about the Son of Sam. It went into detail about serial killers. About how the mind of a serial killer works. It mentioned the Hillside Stranglers, The Manson Family, and John Wayne Gacy.” He nodded in understanding. “I understood from that article that there’s a difference between hitmen and them, ya know? It was interesting, really.”

  “We’re not the same, and I’m not sayin’ that to make myself look better, or make you feel better. If we were the same, I’d say so.” He took another toke of the cigarette, then passed it back to her. “There’s a difference between me and the indulgence-driven butcher. The Son of Sam and Hillside Stranglers were motivated by power and sex. Same with John Wayne Gacy. The Manson Family, that’s more of a cult situation – so that’s a bit different, but the core of the issue is all the same. The need to control and perversions.” He scratched his head, then tossed down a card. “I’m driven by money. If I get no more gigs, the killings stop, simple as that. I don’t care.” He threw up his hands. “It’s not somethin’ I itch to do. You walk past hitmen at least once a month, easily, baby.” Her eyes widened. “It’s true. We’re everywhere. Like ya said earlier, we provide a service. It’s not a pretty service, but it’s a service nevertheless.

  “If I could get paid the same amount for bein’ a teacher, or some shit like that, I might do that instead. This is all I know.” He tossed up his hands. “It’s in my blood. I grew up in it, watching it. It’s my roots, as you mentioned. My father was royalty. There’s a lot of us – but only a few of us are considered talented, I guess you could say. We bring in the top tier pricing because of that. Not to brag, but to say I’m financially stable is an understatement. I love nice threads and cars, but I save a lot, too. I don’t have to worry about my bills, none of that. I can say, honestly, there’s only three other guys in this city, to my knowledge, that can hold a candle to me and charge the same prices I do. I’m in a league of my own and they know it. I’m fast, but not slipshod. I’m in and out. I’m clean. I’m not gettin’ into any specific details with you because that’s where people fuck up. That some shit you’d have to take to your grave, but understand, I’m efficient. I’m not gettin’ my jollies off this shit, and I meet my deadlines.”

  She held the bottle of wine with both hands, and guzzled. He found it oddly sexy. When she was done, she smacked her lips and placed the bottle back down.

  “Do some hitmen turn into other types of killers?”

  “Ya mean like, do some contract killers turn to mass murderers or serial killers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, but I doubt it happens often. See, a serial killer is born that way, and somethin’ awakens in them that gives ’em the courage to act on it, or they can’t hold back their impulses anymore. Hitmen are born, then made. There’s nothing traumatic that triggers us.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Okay, let me explain it this way. I think serial killing is a state of mind. There are killers who don’t act on their impulses, but they’re still killers in their head. They’re sick. A true hitman isn’t motivated or turned on by the kill. It’s the contract that makes our dicks hard.” She nodded in understanding. “In those cases, some are hired to be like me but lose focus, for they are driven by pain and control. It gets good to ’em. They were always attracted to that; it just took something like this to bring it out of them. To me, that’s a weakness. We all have one thing in common though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You must take humanity out of it. You remove the person’s struggles, wishes, their names, their beliefs. You strip them, in your mind, of all identification. You see them like a cow going to slaughter. You have to, or you’ll go crazy.”

  She tossed another card down.

  “How old were you the first time you did it?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Fourteen. Self-defense.”

  “Your father taught you well?”

  “You’re askin’ a lot of questions. Too many questions.”

  “I’m fallin’ for you hard. I’m in a bad way, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  “So, I need to know if what’s going on up here, Angelo,” she pointed to her head, and in here,” she pointed to her heart. “Is going to blend with what you’re telling me. They don’t have to match. They’ll never match. But they have to align.”

  “Every guy like me that’s gotten caught, it was more times than not because of conversations like this… Women. Other times, it’s a fuckin’ Judas. I would never get caught up with a Judas. I keep my circle too fuckin’ small. But women? Geesh! You broads are the fuckin’ worst.”

  “You’re so full of shit.” She chuckled.

  “It’s true and you know it. Some good-lookin’, wicked ass women have brought entire empires down, Andrea. God knew what he was doin’ when He made you chicks. It was a way to keep us guys in line. But it went too fuckin’ far. Like Eve in the Garden of Eden, you people are our downfall…”

  “Do you really believe that, Angelo?”

  “Yeah. I do. But we can’t live without ya. You bring life into the world. Have our babies. Hold our secrets. If we find the right one, you become our everything. Ya take care of us. Make us feel all right. And we’re addicted to you because of your beauty, personality, and softness. Femininity is a drug. We need you, and there’s just no way around it. Needing someone and trusting them though don’t always go hand in hand.”

  “What can I do to make you feel safe, Angelo? To prove to you that I won’t share your personal business, even if we don’t work out? Ya think I’d squeal on ya outta anger? I’d be risking my life. You’d try and get revenge. I know that as fact.”

  “I told ya, I don’t do women. Chicks and kids are off limits. I’m old school.” He exhaled some smoke.

  “Right. So you’d kill some of my male family members instead. That’s what you’d do. Ya think I was born yesterday?” He chuckled. The witch was right. “I’m a righteous chick.” He smirked, not so certain. “I’m serious.”

  “Let’s make a deal. I’m not telling you anything else, Ms. Andrea Ellison, until you tell me something that if I repeated it to the pigs could land ya in trouble. Hot water. I want three examples.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “And don’t make up something. I know when I’m being lied to. I think you know that by now.”

  The beautiful woman sat there for a long while, looking down at her cards. And then her lips curled into a smile.

  “I stole some gloves from my job, two years ago. Leather. Fur-lined. I gifted them to my aunt for Christmas. She’d wanted some. I couldn’t afford them.”

  “Retail price?”

  “A little over two hundred.”

  “That’s small potatoes. Next.”

  “I also keyed an ex-boyfriend’s car a few years ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Found out he was married. I never confronted him, so he didn’t know who did it. I played it cool. And no, before you ask, empathic ability doesn’t always help with matters like that. He was an excellent actor. I didn’t love him, but I liked him a lot… He played with my heart, so I was angry. I let my emotions get the best of me and I wanted him to pay.”

  “You owe me one more.”

  “It’s the one I shouldn’t talk about. I shouldn’t tell you this… I really shouldn’t tell you this.”

  “Of course you should.” He grinned, only to be met with an eye roll.

  “Here goes. Putting it on the line. I have never confessed to this incident. Ever.”

  “What? You jaywalked?” he teased. “Better arrest ya right now and throw away the key!”

  “I almost had an aggravated assault charge. Got into it with a customer who called me a nigger because I caught her stealin’ and reported it. This was before I stole the gloves. Ironic and a bit of payback, I guess you could say.”

  “You’re into
revenge… like when ya sent that nightmare my way.”

  She shrugged and took a sip of wine.

  “I never thought of it that way. I guess you could say that’s true.”

  “How’d ya do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How’d you put a fucking nightmare in my head?”

  Her smile twisted her face and her eyes darkened like the wrong damn side of the moon. She was made of crushed dreams at that moment. A gorgeous, evil magician conjuring up the affections from the pit of his black heart – tricking his mind into disastrous nightmares. He recognized her brand of mischievousness, though she was far purer than he could ever muster, or stand to be.

  “You wouldn’t understand it, even if I explained it. Really though, I’m never sure if it even worked every time I’ve done it. In your case, it did. I know only because you told me. And hell, you son of a bitch deserved it. I regret nothing. Who knew you hated snakes so much?” She blew him a kiss. He caught it in midair.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When a Man Loves a Woman

  Rule 13: Never accept no for an answer.

  “You will tell me one day how you give grown men nightmares. Finish your story.” Angelo encouraged Andrea to complete her tale. He was determined to get the facts from her later. There was no way he was going to let that shit slide, but for now, it could go on the back burner with the leftover string beans.

  “I’m not telling you anything. Trade secrets.” She stuck out her tongue in a teasing gesture. “Anyway, yeah, back to what I was saying. Where was I?”

  “The lady who stole from your job.”

  “Yes, that’s right. It was some rich White chick I had to put in her place.” She snorted. “She’d only got spoken to by security, a slap on the wrist. They even laughed with her about it. She said it was a misunderstanding, and that I was jumping to conclusions. I’d seen her shove the shoes in her bag. Wasn’t no damn misunderstanding. Police were called but they refused to come out. That didn’t sit right with me. I witnessed plenty of Black people be accused of stealing, and the police were always called and came, Angelo, even if it wasn’t true. Always some clerk thinkin’ all Black people steal. Had things been fair, she would’ve been detained until they arrived. So, she flaunted it, right? She kept coming into the store a few times in the following weeks, taunting me, laughing. She would constantly call me a nigger when she’d walk past, and other shit, too. It was like she became obsessed with me. One day, I’d had enough.”

  “What did you do, beautiful? I really want to know.”

  “She headed out the store, and I followed right after her, making sure she didn’t see me. I didn’t even know why I did that, but I was enraged. I decided I was going to get her and get her good, so I picked up a brick that was lyin’ on the side of the street, and when no one was looking, I bashed her in the back of the head with all my might!” The woman’s eyes turned to inky slits. Sinister. Dreadful. Wicked. “She dropped to the ground, passed out cold. I took off. She lived. I heard about it later, and of course I feigned surprise. I did the ‘poor lady’ thing and everything. She’d never seen it coming, and after that day I never saw her again. It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  He scratched the skin by his eye, curing an itch. It seemed to him that she was telling the truth. “So, we’ve got petty theft, vandalism, and aggravated assault. The first two aren’t worth shit. But that last one? That’s a doozy. I’m proud of ya. Not bad.” They both burst out laughing. “All right then. About my father…” He took a drag of the cigarette. “Ya asked about my father.” She nodded. “He was the best at what he did. Highly regarded. I had no choice but to be taught well because he was a good teacher.”

  “Was your father in the mafia, Angelo?”

  “No. Most Italians aren’t in the mafia. That’s just what some people of other races sometimes think, but I can promise ya, many of the Italians here in New York do know someone who is involved. My family was just closely associated because they accepted several contracts from people that were a part of the organization.” She nodded in understanding. “Anyway, my father wanted to pass on the legacy. I mean, as strange as it may sound to others, this was his business. My older brothers, well, that didn’t work out, like I told you. I was his last hope. So, he took me under his wing and I was a natural, I guess you could say. Oh, and for the record, you were right. He was ill. Not well.”

  “You told me he was murdered, and I could feel that, you know.”

  “He was. After he got shot up, the autopsy guy noticed during the examination that his liver was done for. My dad already knew he was sick we found out later. He would’ve been dead in a year or two, anyway. So, when you said, ‘he’s not well,’ I knew you weren’t some quack. We never told anyone. That, and the detail about the chocolates kinda unnerved me.”

  “Do you know who shot him?”

  “Yeah. Those guys are long gone. I won,” he said with a smile. She looked down at the cards.

  “Damn. You did.” She chuckled.

  He got to his feet, taking with him the bottle of wine and draining the paltry contents on his way to her kitchen. He found another bottle in the refrigerator.

  “Can I crack open this Cold Duck?”

  “Yeah. Go right ahead.” He grabbed the bottle, her cork remover, and headed back into the living room. She’d lit a few more candles and just then, ‘Peg’ by Steely Dan was playing on the radio. She was up on her feet, dancing and smoking. After taking a sip of the wine, he handed her the bottle and wrapped his arm around her waist. She drank and moved with him, having fun. They swayed back and forth, and he laughed when she made a silly face.

  “You make me smile.”

  “I make you smile,” she repeated. More of a statement, than a question. “I make killers smile, huh?”

  “Yeah. Killers have dreams. Killers fall in love, too.” He caught her chin between his fingers and kissed her. “Mmmm. I haven’t gotten a taste of that cha-cha since I picked you up for lunch the other day.” She blushed. “Don’t act shy now,” he said good-humoredly as he kissed up and down her neck. She giggled. “You weren’t a bit shy then. I ate you out in your work restroom… had ya pinned up in that stall with your legs in the fuckin’ air like it was a stick-up, and my chin drippin’ wet. Groveled on my fuckin’ knees for ya, with only five minutes to spare before you had to be back on that showroom floor, selling that expensive, sweet water. You gotta give it up, baby.” She tossed her head back, clearly enjoying his spiel. “I wanna jump ya bones. I didn’t come all the way over here just for a fuckin’ porkchop. Give uh dog a bone.” He slapped her ass, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as his libido soared.

  Gliding his hand up and down her back, he loved the feel of her body, even beneath the soft material of the gown. She pulled away just long enough to set the wine bottle down, looking so damn mesmerizing with her full lips, the lipstick faded from eating and drinking and kissing. She tugged at his belt, her gaze locked with his. Raising his hands to give her better access, he let her do the honors of undressing him.

  “Something is on your mind.” He raked a hand through her textured tresses.

  She said nothing in response, and it was no time at all before he found himself sitting on the couch, his shirt ripped off, pants around his ankles, and her hot, wet mouth enveloping the head of his throbbing johnson while she held the shaft with both hands.

  “Fuck!”

  He writhed about, pumping his hips in rapid thrusts. He could feel the veins bulging from his forehead and neck as he used all of his resolve to not let her know how much she had him over a barrel. That when she touched him, he felt like fucking magic. A king drowning in liquid gold.

  “You like that, baby?”

  “Baby, I love the way you suck my fuckin’ dick… Don’t stop. Suck it good, baby.”

  Her soft, incredible lips kissed all over his cock, up and down the shaft, the head, along his balls and all around. She ministered t
o him with tenderness and appreciation, as well as a delightfully nasty urgency. Her juicy mouth explored every inch of him, neglecting nothing. She was bringing him to the brink as she vigorously pumped up and down. All he could see was a thick crown of soft black curls. Her desire for him poured out with each vital lick, turning him on so much, he was sure to explode at any moment. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her closer, moving his hips to her sensual rhythm and forcing more of himself between those glorious lips. Steve Miller’s, ‘Fly Like an Eagle’ floated from the speakers as he reached the point of no return. Pulling himself out of her mouth, he shot cum onto her chin and neck in fast, thick spurts.

  “Uhhh! Uhhh…”

  He cursed to high hell as his body jerked until he was spent. She casually got to her feet and slid her gown off, letting it hit the floor. Weak, he regarded her through blurry eyes. The lady opened a drawer, then lit a joint. She tiptoed back towards him and put it between his lips, then disappeared out of sight.

  He heard her cleaning up in the bathroom. When she returned, she pulled him up to a seating position and helped herself to the weed. Taking a deep breath, he worked his pants the rest of the way off and placed them on the couch arm.

  “We’re just getting started. Let’s go back there and finish strong,” he said, pointing to her bedroom.

  Minutes later, they were settled in her bed, sharing the joint and drinking more of the Cold Duck. He kissed her shoulder, slid across her body, and enveloped her left nipple in his mouth, eliciting a moan from her. He massaged the other, then switched sides. Eager to taste her, he pulled away from her breasts and disappeared beneath the sheets. He pushed her big, warm thighs wide apart and slipped his tongue against the slick folds which held tight to her sweet nectar: her special tonic. Within seconds, the woman was screaming and bumping her pussy against his working mouth, falling apart at each swipe of his wicked tongue.