For two days Jim had been working with a new recruit, another from Amy’s class named Terri. Sadly, and it got to him, Terri was Amy’s replacement. He could have seen it as Jessie or George’s replacement but for him it hit home; he shouldn’t be training a new recruit, not now. Terri had almost made it into the program but Amy’s high score bumped her off. With three lenders out Ted had no choice but to make the call and train at least one replacement right away. Terri was plucked from botany, and plunged into dream world.
Ted arrived late and squeezed his way past Abell and Bertha and sat next to Jim who saved him a spot. In light of the tragedy he muzzled some important findings based on the most recent flood of data. A breakthrough it was, but he didn’t have to struggle to reach his sensitive side. Today, science, data, and his bottomless-pit of computations got a kick downstairs, at least until after the likely-to-be very short trial. The breaking news would have to wait.
For what was assumed to be a quick judgment those that couldn’t fit inside stood outside, under the overhang of the courthouse or in the rain. In anticipation of the result, but mostly for a verdict of prevailing justice, they waited. The penalty was widely rumored to be exile, a first for the town. Investigators—board members and security working together—had gathered an avalanche of proof, and pre-concluded amongst themselves that Jessie was an equal part of the plot to kill Amy. Word had spread through the town like wildfire.
“Everyone please be seated,” Rob said tapping his makeshift gavel onto the dry and cracking wood bench. “Quiet please!” Moments later the chamber fell silent, except for Jessie still meekly weeping up front on the stand. “We are here today because, as you all very well know, there was a terrible incident Monday morning, involving young Amy. I don’t want to draw this process out any longer than it has to be. The board has reviewed the evidence and we unanimously came to a decision, but we must present the evidence and proceed formally. Also, should she so choose, we will all have a chance to hear from Jessie herself, which could affect her judgment.” He peered down onto her and paused. “Much depends on her honesty with the court today.” Jessie looked up to him eyes flooded with regret and a sad nod of acknowledgment.
“Hilda if you would please,” Rob said addressing Hilda Heisenberg who sat center of the security team opposite the jury. Stepping to the forefront Hilda stood tall at over six feet. She was in her late fifties and by far the tallest woman in town; her hair bun added an extra three inches. She had an angular bony and porous face and her light blue eyes were lasers. She carried an extendable pointer, always, and her movements were stern and swift. She had a prominent cleft chin and an accompanying Adam’s apple. She had been a polizist in Berlin before moving to the states for a leadership position in the LAPD. “Hilda, as all of you know is in charge of town security. She has compiled a full report detailing the incident. Please note the details of this are not for the faint of heart, and if anyone wishes to leave the court please do so now.” No one left. Hilda ruled with an iron fist, and if she gave chase to anyone, for even the smallest of crimes, she never gave up.
With a notable German accent Hilda spoke the complete details of the case. The audience gave complete attention—always did whenever Hilda spoke: Jessie had lured Amy, most likely befriending her to do so. George attempted to kill Amy but she fought back killing him. Jessie had gotten scared and ran home where she attempted the easy way out, suicide. Everything was just as Jim had so perspicaciously envisioned.
“Sobbing for pity!” Bertha loudly blasted. Her voice rocked the walls and jolted many from their seats. Abell tensed and got ready. “You didn’t show mercy to Amy, we won’t show any to you!” Rob pounded his gavel until the head came off and went flying, but she kept venting. She rocked the wooden barrier in front of her like it was a dollhouse partition. Abell attempted to control her by putting his large hands on her shoulders.
“Bertha please!” Jim said, and after a few tense glares they finally got her under control. The details had inflamed her rage; there was no stopping an inevitable outburst from her.
And Hilda continued to speak. Having been a sloppy crime the evidence was plentiful and disclosed to the court in full: Amy’s blood on Jessie’s door knob, matching footprints, items found hidden near the scene that would likely of been used to bound and wrap Amy, along with weights from the gym to submerge her into the pond or canal, Jim’s testimony of her visit the night before, and comments from others regarding how George and Jessie treated and mocked Amy on various occasions. After Hilda finished the court was visibly taken aback. Heads shrugged slowly, hands held foreheads, and tears fell.
“Does anyone have anything to add?” Judge Rob asked. No one spoke. “Does anyone know any details about the incident that were not mentioned here today?” He waited, nothing. “Anything else?” No one else spoke up. The attendees were speechless. “Before we make a final judgment—” He turned to her. “—Jessie Star do you have anything to say on your behalf?”
Jessie wiped the tears from her baby-soft skin. She pulled the blond hair back from her face. She pressed her luscious lips tight then let out, “Yes Judge—I do.”
She did have something else to say, and was finally able to compose herself enough to speak clearly. First, with both hands on her heart, she sincerely apologized to Bertha, Jim, and the town. Her words were as genuinely spoken as words could be, and with a poetic rhythm she let them flow from her heart. She wasn’t going to be rush-judged and ramrodded to her doom and she wasn’t in the lender program for her beauty, far from it. She was exceptionally creative, intelligent, articulate, and she began to explain the full story, every minute detail, honestly as she knew it. She released her soul in the courtroom, and Bertha, as mad and stubborn and tendentious as she was, opened an ear.
Before Jessie had finished speaking a few frantically rushed out of the courtroom.
38. Murder Plot
A few days earlier…
“We’ll, what if we just got rid of her?” George said relaxing on a Saturday night. He was lying on the bed naked and splayed waiting for the next movie. The drapes were shut as usual, with extra blankets stuffed to seal the cracks. A lamp on his bedside table lit the room dimly.
Always her, never him, she had to get up; also because, remote controls were banished. Anything that could transmit, even partially, was nonexistent in the town. It was their chance to enjoy one of the town’s ten screens privately; of which only six were available for a three day checkout; of those six, three were priority to lender housing; an antique video cassette player came bundled with the screen.
She’d picked out a few old movies, George’s favorites. The quaint town library was stuffed with old media, and its staff made deliveries. Anything that could be scavenged from the homes or elsewhere had been transferred there, to one single place: VCR tapes, DVDs, cassettes, players, books, records, newspapers, magazines, even old ads; everything had value. Early on the first town panel decided to organize a library, reasoning it would be best to have all information and media available to every person: one, because what relatively little they possessed from the outside world could be cataloged and accounted for, and two, why have content occupy one place and rot, not being used when the entire town could have a chance to enjoy it. Much was shared in the town, and there was a lot of time to share it.
Fully nude as well—neither wore clothes when they didn’t have to, George’s rules— she rose to change the flick. Jessie unpacked the next video cassette: same old western. George had seen it a hundred times; one of his all-time favorites. He liked the whole idea of the saloons and whorehouses, and even based some of the ideas on rules he created for their life together. Jessie met him young, and never really knew much else, so didn’t complain. In a sexy manner she bent over more than needed to, legs straight to insert it, while George admired. With a command he had her hold still for a moment, then gave the okay. They had the screen sitting on a short old dresser and the video cassette player on the floor. She st
ood waiting for it to play and it started, then jumped happily back onto the bed with George. He waved a finger, then pointed. She saw. The tracking. She got up and fixed it, bent over, legs straight.
“Well my love?” he asked.
“Well what?” Jessie replied cuddling up to him.
“Get rid of Amy—then you, I mean we, won’t get old, bald and ugly. Shit, you saw Jim. I mean—fuck. And Nanny? She looks like she aged twenty years in a week—ready to croak.”
“You know we can’t do that,” Jessie replied blowing off the idea as if she was sure he was joking. “We’re just gonna have to go through with it George. We’re young—come on, how much worse can we look.” She stood up and posed for him then spun around flinging her long blond hair. “How much worse can I look? I do not think I’ll go bald George—but, you might.” She joked, moving gracefully.
The apartment had mirrors, plenty of them, which George had used his conniving and sly bartering skills to acquire. Without removing an eye he turned up his bedside light and looked her up and down while she spoke. She was a creature to behold, and he lusted for every opportunity to watch her flaunt as she so often did for him. One of his rules, dance often, and he loved how it had become second nature to her. She was his own personal play toy and he would do anything to keep her, anything. And as far as he was concerned life was perfect.
She played with her smooth curvy body, inches from his eyes. As he leaned closer she teased him; another chance to catch the likes of his eye. She devoured the attention; it called her like a drug. She knew he’d starve her for it once in a while, but that just made things build, and explode more blissfully later on.
Watching her snake from side to side, her petite waist above generous hips, her lightly oiled and shaved skin, it was all right there, all for him. She waved her smell, and he drew it in. A day’s worth of being alive and everything that came with it, salty sweat and body odor, all mixed with the sweet pungency of dirty sex; it drove him wild and she paraded in it, never, ever washing until morning. She held her nose—like the genie in one of her favorite shows—and wriggled down, then turned around, back to face him. Pulling her hair forward over her shoulder she revealed the perfect heart that was her rear, and she palmed the dirty floor. Inching forward she brought her breasts lower, and lower. She kept her body still and held the squat firm, elevating her rear more so with each second—then turned quickly to see his focused eyes. She teased him with a slow and sensual smile, and pulled on her luscious lips with clumsy but delicate fingers; her long nails almost scratching the pink. Wriggling back up, slowly, she winked then blew him a kiss. Her long blond hair teased him painfully as she arched her back and let it feather into place, eclipsing her ass. And she straightened like time meant nothing, slowly, until her hourglass figure brought the world to its knees. Her electric blond veil rose like a curtain, revealing all as her grazing delicate fingers rode the silky waves of her creamy skin. All the way up, up, until her hands circled her breasts, then she grabbed them both, firm and tight, squeezing them hard enough to clench her teeth, then spun letting her hair fly around her magnificence in a time-stopping orbit.
He made up his mind. What George wants—George gets, he thought to himself. What George has, George keeps, and no one will take it from him. No one.
“Don’t stop,” he said to her. “I want to remember you like this.” She lowered the volume on the screen and pressed the play button on a cassette tape player. It contained an island music cassette, and her dance changed to follow the vibe with kink. She jumped and bounced, but made it sexy.
His plan formed quickly, within a minute. Phase one, Jessie. He raised a finger and pointed. “Your ass is perfect, the best in town. But, I must say farewell to it. It will sag, maybe by week’s end.”
Jessie arched her spine and looked back to her bare ass reflected in the double set of mirrors beside the bed. She bounced it a little and flinched a little frown, but quickly resumed the dance for him. She enjoyed doing it really, and he was flooding her with attention. Attention, more, more, she thought, quickly forgetting his comment.
“Your breasts,” He continued. “The perfect size, not too large, not to small, with those delicious pink nipples—as young and firm as a woman of say, twenty years. Men stop in their tracks to watch you pass. But, they will fall, by Friday you’ll tote empty bags of skin with droopy nipples.”
Jessie spun around continuing to move her hips side to side with the beat. She had excellent rhythm but broke it to take another look. She took a deep breath and lifted her chest, examining her perky breasts, flinging them side to side in the mirror, bouncing them a little, then frowned at the thoughts.
“Your skin—”
“Stop it George,” Jessie said abruptly, ceasing her erotic dancing. She put her hands on her hips. “I know what you’re trying to do. As much as I hate it, what else can we do? I’m not gonna start working in the restaurant—or cleanup duty. We’ll still look like this when we’re logged in, won’t we?” George lifted a single eyebrow and shrugged. With a long face, she plopped next to him, one leg hanging off the bed, one knee toward him.
“It’s okay, we’ll both look our age,” he said casually. “Only the young women are supposed to have…" He reached forward gently and massaged her breasts and she looked down at his hands. He told her just to forget it. And he knew, he had her right where he wanted her.
Jessie thought about the hit they would take, and the big picture. The reason for lending in the first place, it faded, dispersing into oblivion. She saw George’s eyes, and thought for a second about him with one of the younger girls. And George, well he watched her dwell on it.
He’d inserted the idea, deeper than needed even, with only a few sentences. It wouldn’t have worked without their many years together, all the rules, the routines, the drilling—his special training. And he knew that too.
Jessie looked up at him, then down along his body. He was hard and ready. The number one rule awaited, and she reached to touch him. They made love again for the fourth time that day.
Once again, George got exactly what he wanted. Watching her on top of him, pumping, sweating, for upwards of an hour, he smiled. He put his hands behind the back of his head as she kept on. George always gets what he wants, he thought.
The screen was nothing but white fuzz. Jessie woke up and quietly slid out from his arms. He stayed asleep and she was glad because she wasn’t sure if she could do it again. It was still early in the night, only ten; they usually didn’t go to bed until eleven or so but she was dreadfully sore. She went to the bathroom. She was about to pee but hesitated, stood in front the mirror, then flicked on the light. She stood there for a good minute, staring at herself with her arms straight at her sides. For some reason she didn’t feel happy at the moment. That empty feeling was coming back, or more so, the premise of an empty future. She caressed her nipples, and around them, then cupped her hands under and bounced them a little, then glided her hands down her curvaceous thin body and stood back a little. She looked at at herself in the other larger mirror. She loved George and did not want to get ugly, for him. And her thoughts tormented her. What would Monday bring? How ugly will I get? He won’t love me anymore. Of course he can have any other. She made up her mind, then went pee.
“George, George. Wake up,” Jessie said pushing at him. He awoke from his short hour nap to see her on his side sitting on her calves.
“Again? Can’t you ever get enough,” George said laughing groggily.
“I—guess I’m in,” Jessie said meekly. “But we don’t have to hurt her do we? We can—hide her, until our turns get passed—”
George elicited a sinister grin and the power of it cut her words. “Get us a drink and I’ll tell you.” His eyes followed her. Another rule: strut side to side, swing it, gracefully, always. His grin mutated into all out prideful joy. She’s mine forever, he thought to himself ogling at her motions.
She returned with more than a drink. She’d put togeth
er a nice late night snack remembering the good times they’d so often had: staying up late, eating, talking, and lovemaking. She reminisced and wanted things to be great, forever. And seeing him, lying there nude, propping his head, elbow on the pillow, with a contented look of approval; it filled the emptiness she’d had in the bathroom. And likewise it filled that void, that pit, that one that constantly needed filling.
George grabbed a handful and stuffed his mouth. Jessie sat with half a cheek off the bed, the other stretched on to it.
“Well?” she said holding the plate for him. “Are you gonna tell me? What do I—”
“You have to fuck David,” he said with stuffed mouth. “The one in the control room.” He spit seeds onto the floor and took another bite.
When she came out of a momentary shock that left her speechless she screamed, “What!? You are kidding right?” He shrugged and took a drink. “No fucking way! David who? Are you crazy George?” He kept eating, studying her reaction. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She was overly upset and stood up. She crossed her arms and looked down at him. George just sat there chewing, his head fixed but his eyes following her. “George!” she exclaimed, “Answer me!”
“Sit down babe please,” George said as he swallowed his last mouthful and the last bit of food on the plate. He wanted to test his control on her, nudge it, push it. “Look—you don’t have to, but if we want this…” He touched her leg close to her knee, brought two fingers up along her inner thigh. “Baby. There is no other way.”
Jessie was still steaming mad and her face flustered. But her madness changed to utter sadness and her color faded so quickly it made her weak. She sat again, the same way. “George, how can you ask me to do this? Don’t you—”
“Jess, David works in the control room. He can—”
“Gross George, come on!” Jessie protested. “That beady-eyed guy? I hate the way he looks at me. David Wolfe! You are crazy. He already practically rapes me every time he sees me—with those dark raccoon eyes. I hate the way he looks at me.”
Lenders Page 33