Hot Fudge (A Loretta Kovacs thriller)

by Anthony Bruno

  She took a deep breath and scanned the room. Where do I begin? she thought. But as she studied the crowd, she noticed that there was a guy dressed in a black leather jumpsuit and a matching mask, just like the outfit that Marvelli had been wearing back at Sunny’s dungeon. He was handcuffed, and a heavy chain was padlocked around his neck, the free end held by a tall, curvaceous redhead in a tight red-vinyl cocktail dress. She could have been a man, but Loretta wasn’t sure. The man in black and the woman in red had just come out of one of the hallways on Loretta’s side of the room.

  “Come on, Dragon,” she said, tugging on his leash. “Heel.” Loretta worked her way through the crowd, which wasn’t easy with a dog coming off a bender, and snuck up behind the man in black.

  She leaned into his ear. “Marvelli,” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  The masked man turned around and looked at her. “No, but I’ll be anyone you want me to be as long as it hurts.”

  “Hey!” The redhead yanked on his chain. “No talking!”

  The man whimpered like a pup.

  “Down!” she commanded in a husky voice.

  He got down on his knees, hands flat on the floor.

  “Stay that way!”

  He didn’t budge.

  The redhead looked down at Dragon and appraised him admiringly. “Nice dog,” she said, raising her eyes to Loretta. “Has he been bad, too.”

  “Ah … yes,” Loretta said. “Very.”

  “Good. You two have fun.” She jerked the man’s chain. “Stand up!”

  He obeyed her command, and they went on their way, blending in with the rest of the freaks.

  Loretta watched them go, still trying to figure out if the redhead was a man or a woman. She crouched down next to Dragon and held his head, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Listen to me, Dragon,” she said. “This is serious. Find Sunny. Find Sunny.”

  But the dog didn’t like having his face held, and he squirmed out of her grasp.

  Loretta grabbed him by the jowls, desperate to make him understand. It was starting to sink in that she might never see Marvelli again—at least not alive. “Dragon,” she begged, tears coming to her eyes, “please listen to me. Go find Sunny. Find your mistress.”

  But Dragon whipped his head away, refusing to look at her. She grabbed him again and raised her voice. “Go and find your mistress. Do you hear me? Find your mistress.” “If you can’t find her, will I do?”

  Loretta looked up. A giant dominatrix was staring down at her. She was NBA height without her heels. The dominatrix reached down and stroked Loretta’s cheek with the coils of a bullwhip.

  “Stand up,” the giant ordered.

  26

  “I am Mistress Mona,” the giant dominatrix said imperiously.

  Loretta stood up from her crouch, but she was still looking up at the towering monument to flesh, leather, and hair with a torpedo bustline that could easily take out an eye. The woman was wearing thigh-high, stiletto-heeled buccaneer boots, a black leather micro-miniskirt, and a shimmery black tube top. Her fingernails were little daggers, polished black to match her lipstick. She was wearing so much dark eye shadow and mascara she looked like she was wearing a Zorro mask. Her malevolently arched brows alone could have gotten her an audition for the part of a villainess in a Disney cartoon. Her hair was pulled up tight on top of her head with snaky banana curls cascading down to the middle of her bare back. She was rubbing Loretta’s bicep with the coiled bullwhip.

  “I’m glad to see that you take orders well,” she said.

  Loretta squinted at her. “What?”

  Mistress Mona smacked her arm with the whip. “Don’t talk back. I told you to stand and you stood. That’s the kind of behavior I like. However, I don’t tolerate talking back.”

  “Well, too freakin’ bad,” Loretta said.

  The dominatrix smacked her again, harder this time.

  “Hey!” Loretta said, pulling her arm away. “Cool it with that thing.”

  Mistress Mona moved like a cat, jabbing her thumbnail up under Loretta’s chin and forcing her head back. “Your attitude needs a great deal of improvement, my dear. I’m going to have to ride you very hard. Him, too.” She flipped the toe of her boot under Dragon’s chin and clacked his jaws shut. The dog reared back and retreated behind Loretta’s leg.

  Loretta was fuming. “You touch him again and I’ll make you eat that whip.”

  “Wrong,” Mistress Mona thundered, brandishing her little daggers. “I shall make you eat this whip. And when I’m through, you will thank me. Is that understood?”

  “Screw you,” Loretta said, and she turned to go. But as soon as she turned away, the braided whip came over her head and was jerked tight around her neck.

  “I did not dismiss you, you pathetic lump of lard,” Mistress Mona said. “Face me and make that insipid mutt lick my boot.”

  Loretta turned around, the whip still looped around her neck. She spoke slowly and deliberately. “I realize that you think this is some sort of sex game and that I want you to do this. But I really don’t want any part of this. I’m not playing the game. Get it? Now let go of me.”

  “Or else what?” Mistress Mona grinned like the Grinch and pulled the whip tight as if it were a bolo tie.

  “You won’t want to find out,” Loretta said, ready to take her on.

  “Really.” Mistress Mona’s face went deadpan. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Sic Tinkerbell on me?” She kicked Dragon in the ribs hard enough to make him yelp.

  That’s it, Loretta thought. She grabbed the back of Mistress Mona’s hand and manipulated it in a move she’d learned from Marvelli. He’d said it was something he’d learned when he used to take aikido lessons, and it worked like a dream. With just a twist of the wrist, she was able to apply an excruciating amount of pain. Mistress Mona let out a wail and jumped back on her toes as soon as she felt the torque. Loretta slipped out of the noose but kept her grip on Mistress Mona’s hand.

  “Ooowww!” the big dominatrix yelled. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”

  “I know,” Loretta said calmly, but she didn’t let go.

  “Come on!” Mistress Mona begged. “Please!”

  She was hopping up and down, her banana curls boinging along with her, backing up and bumping into people in an attempt to avoid the pain. But there was no escape.

  “Please!” she whined. “Please, please, please!”

  Loretta finally let go. “I thought you liked pain,” she said.

  “Not that much pain.” Mistress Mona was cradling her wrist as she skulked off. The dominatrix was frowning deeply, her chin crumpled, about to start bawling.

  “Wuss,” Loretta called after her.

  “Loretta! Loretta!”

  Loretta looked all around. She could hear someone calling to her, but it was hard to tell where it was coming from because of the loud pulsating music combined with the undercurrent of crowd noise.

  “Loretta! I need some help over here. Like right now.”

  Loretta finally spotted Vissa making her way across the dance floor trailed by a swarm of four female impersonators. As they came closer, Loretta could see that the four men were all Judy Garland but at different stages of her career. One was done up as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Another one was wearing patent-leather tap shoes, turned-down bobby sox, a yellow gingham dress, and a yellow satin bow in her wig to be the young Garland when she played opposite Mickey Rooney in the Andy Hardy movies. The third Garland was in petticoats, a floor-length skirt, and a long red wig with short bangs—Garland in Meet Me in St. Louis. The last one wore a short dark wig and a sparkly red slit-leg cocktail dress, Garland the Vegas headliner.

  “Please, please, please, please!” they buzzed in unison, all of them reaching tentatively but persistently toward Vissa’s hair.

  “No!” Vissa shouted, trying to shield her head. But they weren’t dissuaded.

  Suddenly Dragon started to bark viciously, which startled everyone, including
Loretta and Vissa. He was finally back to his old self. Dragon strained at the leash, and Loretta needed both hands to hold him back. The Garlands threw up their hands and backed away. Their four mouths were little lip-glossed O’s.

  “It’s Toto,” Dorothy exclaimed in both fear and joy.

  “Ooooo, you’re right,” the young Garland said. “A bow and a big basket and he’ll be perfect.”

  “We’re not doing Oz,” Meet Me in St. Louis Garland complained, stamping her foot. “We have to do the old Judy. Just before she died.”

  “Yes,” Garland the lounge act agreed. “The way she was on The Jack Paar Show. Simple skirt, white blouse, bow at the neck, dark hose, and black pumps.”

  “And smoking,” Dorothy interjected.

  “Yes, smoking,” young Garland concurred.

  Loretta looked at Vissa. “What the hell are they talking about?”

  But St. Louis Garland answered for Vissa. “Look at that hair!” she screamed in ecstasy, pointing at Vissa’s do. “It’s already halfway there. All we have to do is deflate it a little, change the part, and it’s perfect.”

  “Yes,” the spangly Judy chimed in. “A little pancake to make her paler, and you’ve got it. Judy just before she kicked the bucket. She’s absolutely perfect. You just have to join us, honey. We’ll be the Five Judies.”

  Vissa growled in Loretta’s ear, “Get them away from me before I kill the bunch of them.”

  Loretta was trying not to laugh. She let out a little of Dragon’s lead and broke up the bevy of Garlands. They fluttered their hands and scattered, fleeing out of Dragon’s reach.

  “Oh, you’re such a party pooper,” Dorothy snapped at Vissa as she departed. “It would’ve been so much fun.”

  “Yeah,” the other three agreed in unison.

  Vissa glared at them in silence as they huffed off.

  “Why don’t we stay together and look?” Vissa suggested.

  “That might be a good idea,” Loretta said. “Come on, Dragon.” Loretta started to walk, but she was abruptly halted by the leash. Dragon had planted himself like an anchor. “Come on, boy,” she said, tugging on the leash, but the dog wasn’t moving.

  Dragon was down on his front paws, butt in the air. His lips were curled back over his gums as if he were growling, but he wasn’t making a sound.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” Loretta asked. “The Garlands are gone. It’s okay.”

  But then she saw what was bothering Dragon. Another man in a black leather mask and a black leather motorcycle jacket was standing a few feet away, staring at Loretta and Vissa. He had a considerable gut and gray chest hairs showed under the jacket, so Loretta knew it wasn’t Marvelli. The man seemed to be unfazed by Dragon’s snarl.

  “What the hell’s this guy’s problem?” Loretta whispered to Vissa.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her gaze locked to his.

  Loretta was getting a little tired of this S&M nonsense, so she went right up to him. “Is there something you want?” she said point blank.

  The man didn’t answer, but he angled his head slightly, and suddenly the static features of the mask seemed to take on a curious expression.

  Goose bumps crawled up Loretta’s arms.

  The masked man opened his black-gloved palm. “Dance?” he asked.

  Loretta was flummoxed. “I … I don’t think so.”

  “Dance?” he repeated. He left his palm out.

  27

  Marvelli had his back against the bars of the cage. Sunny was stepping inside, coming toward him with Dorie right behind her. Dorie had a vague look on her face, but Sunny’s eyes were keen, her nostrils flared.

  “What’re you doing, Sunny?” he said. “You’re making me nervous.”

  But Sunny didn’t answer. She just kept coming closer. “It’s getting kinda crowded in here,” he said. “This cage wasn’t meant for three people.”

  “Sunny?” Dorie said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sunny didn’t answer her, either.

  “You’re gonna share, aren’t you, Sunny?” Dorie persisted. “You’re not gonna keep him all to yourself, are you?”

  “Nope,” Sunny finally said, her voice a low rumble in her chest. “I’m gonna give a piece to everyone who wants one.”

  Marvelli clenched his fists and fought the handcuffs. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Think of this as your wedding day,” Sunny said to him, “and you’re the wedding cake. Everybody gets a piece. Starting with me.” She was right in front of him now, almost nose to nose. She laid a finger on his chest and slowly ran it down his torso until she got to his crotch where she stopped to poke and prod and feel the expanding merchandise through his leather pants. “Well, I see what’s on your mind,” she said with a humorless grin. “And I thought you were such a good boy, so loyal to your dear Loretta.”

  Dorie peeked over her shoulder and gazed down at his bulging crotch, “Oh, don’t take it all, Sunny. Please?”

  “So tell me,” Sunny said, breathing into Marvelli’s face. “Have you been thinking about it all day? Imagining what it would be like to do it with me? Or with Dorie? Or maybe with both of us? See, I didn’t think you were that good. No man is.”

  Marvelli was sweating. “Hang on, hang on, hang on,” he said, trying to get his mind straight. “You’re all wrong about this. It’s not what you think.”

  “It’s not what I think?” Sunny said incredulously, weighing the heft of his merchandise in her hand. “What do you mean it’s not what I think? Look down. What else could it be? Men don’t think about anything else.”

  “Stop,” he said. “You’re wrong. I’m not hard because of you.”

  “You’re not?” Sunny stuck out her bottom lip, pretending to be hurt. “Then it must be Dorie you want.”

  “No, no, no. It’s not her, either.”

  Sunny laughed at him. “You don’t expect me to believe that you’re thinking about your dear Loretta and she’s the one responsible for this?”

  “No,” he said. “Even though it’s none of your business, it’s not her, either.”

  A smile of glee broke out on Sunny’s face. “So you’re just a plain old horn dog, just like the rest.”

  “Well, yes,” he said. “And no.”

  “Self-serving obfuscation,” Sunny said accusingly.

  Dorie looked puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “It’s typical male behavior,” Sunny said. She looked Marvelli in the eye. “But I’m sure you’d disagree.”

  “Well, no. Not exactly,” he said. “See what I mean?” Sunny gave his jewels a squeeze. Marvelli winced. “Easy.”

  “Why? You don’t like it rough?”

  “You know, I don’t mean to pry,” Marvelli said, “but someone must’ve hurt you bad at one time in your life. Am I right about that?”

  Sunny scowled. “This is not about me.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Marvelli said. “You’re the one doing all the doing. It seems to me you’re working something out here, something that’s bothering you, something deep-seated.”

  “Gosh, you think so?” Dorie asked, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah, Dorie.” Marvelli nodded. “I do think so.”

  “Quiet!” Sunny snapped. “Both of you. This is about him,” she said to Dorie. “Him and his lust to have every woman who comes on his radar screen. Right, Marvelli? Say what you want, but this little guy doesn’t lie.” She squeezed him hard and made Marvelli flinch.

  Marvelli glanced down at himself, checking for damage. “What’re you picking on him for?” he asked. “He never did anything to you.”

  “No, but he wants to.”

  “Of course he wants to,” Marvelli admitted. “But not really. It’s just a thought. You don’t act on all your thoughts, do you?”

  “There you go again. Obfuscating.”

  “That’s not obfuscating. That’s just being a guy. That’s the way guys are.”

  “Bull.”

  Dorie tried to
shoulder her way past Sunny. “What do you mean, Marvelli? I don’t understand.”

  Marvelli was holding his breath. “Tell Sunny to loosen her grip and I’ll tell you.”

  “Sunny?” Dorie said with a pleading high note.

  Sunny stopped squeezing, but she kept her hand on his goods. “Go ahead. Talk,” she said. “I want to hear this.”

  Marvelli took a deep breath, then looked down at Sunny’s hand. “Do you have to keep your hand there?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “You don’t really have to.”

  “Stop stalling,” Sunny snarled. “Explain your miserable self.”

  “Well … ” He looked at Dorie. She was an easier audience. “See, women think that all men think with the little guy in their pants. But that’s not exactly true. It’s really a circuitry problem.”

  “You mean, like electricity?” Dorie asked.

  “Yeah, very similar,” he said. “Men have weird circuitry. The little guy’s connected to the brain, and the brain’s connected to the heart, but the heart isn’t connected to the little guy. But in women it’s different. You’re all wired up right. We aren’t.”

  “You’re tap dancing, Marvelli,” Sunny said with a deadpan expression. “And you’re no Fred Astaire.”

  “No, no, you think about it,” he said. “Women are big on their feelings. Men aren’t. Why? Because you’re connected directly to your hearts, and we’re not.”

  Sunny scowled at him. “This is bull.”

  “No, listen to him,” Dorie said. “I think he’s on to something. I don’t think Barry or Arnie really feel anything for me. Marvelli, are you saying that men can’t have real feelings for women?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. A man can love a woman, but it has to go through his brain first. See, we can’t make that direct feeling connection the way you can.”

  Sunny squeezed him again. “Your little guy seems to be pretty chubby right now,” she said. “What kind of connection do you call this?”

  “Just the normal horny guy connection. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just him and the brain testing the circuits, thinking things up, imagining this and that.”