With a Tilt of My Hat

by Mary Matuskey

  “Harder, suck harder, bitch, make me cum!” Sal yelled.

  Beth became fearful of the strength with which he was holding her, he ejaculated and released the grip he had on her. Sal rolled her over and stretched out his body on hers, purposely crushing her. Beth’s breathing was shallow, near suffocation. He slid his knife from the pocket of his jeans and made her hold his shaft tightly while he traced small cuts around her nipples. His body moved from hers so he could see the acts he was about to detail on her skin. This allowed Beth to breathe more steadily. At first, she let him scratch her, but then Sal cut about an inch deep into her chest. Beth screamed.

  “Shut up, bitch! Just shut the fuck up. You know how I like it,” Sal yelled back.

  He the stuffed the blue cloth into her mouth, but not before he witnessed the glorified moment of her blood trickling down her skin. And heard the last of her screams echo him into another realm of pleasure. Again fully erect, he thrust himself inside her, her body begged for it, presenting moisture for easy play.

  She spit out the cloth and struggled to push him away. “Sal, stop right now, you’re hurting me. Sal, that really hurts me, please stop that!”

  But Sal was lost in his own reality, her words barely audible as his knife cut deeper into her side. He scooped a fistful of mud with his other hand, reached across her face and smeared mud on her cheeks. Then he slid his hand tight around her throat, and held her firmly in place. Ready to climax, he stopped and came out of her. Sal moved his cock lower and entered her ass with brutal thrusts penetrating her as deep as possible. Warm blood oozed between their legs; Sal was lost in his own sexual euphoria in this dark hole he’d created. Quiet, stillness, and with a steady hand he sliced her throat with his knife and climaxed when her body went limp.

  Without movement, Sal remained like that with Beth, in all her familiarity and comfort. Subdued, he continued to lie on her for half an hour. Later, when he pulled the blanket from under her, he covered her body with it. He climbed out of the hole like a new man feeling calmness like nothing he ever had before. When he moved the camouflage netting over the gravesite, it brought an intense relief to him, especially when he looked down upon her body for the last time.

  Somehow the stream seemed closer; he had arrived at its banks so quickly. Immersing his hands and forearms into the extremely cold water, he cleansed them of her filth. Standing in the beauty nature always offered, Sal observed the shadows of light that glistened upon the stream before he made his way back to the cabin.

  Chapter 60

  “I don’t understand why I feel so sluggish this morning, but I better drag myself into the shower before I get dressed for lunch.” Bo Bo had told me, one o’clock at the barbeque pit, which was only a few blocks from our hotel.

  “You look like shit,” he said when I approached his table.

  “Well, I sorta feel the same way I look,” I replied.

  “Where did you go last night?” asked Bo Bo.

  “Let me just sit for a minute and order a sandwich before talking with you. Damn, I don’t recall what happened; I think I hit my knee on the bus.”

  Bo Bo interrupted; he was now practically carrying on a conversation by himself regarding visiting the Seattle Center today. I replied to nothing he said, as my thoughts were far away. I took the bus and rode back to my hotel. Maybe I dreamt the whole thing, but I remember being lost and trying to find my house in the woods. I stopped at a corner bar and had a few drinks. I think I called Kari, or maybe it was Bryan. Yeah, it was Bryan because I remember him explaining his recent oceanography excursion he went on with his college group.

  The pork was drenched in barbecue sauce, a heavenly scent for Bo Bo and me. We devoured our sandwiches in a few bites.

  “Fantastic pork,” Bo Bo said.

  I nodded in agreement.

  “So why do you look so disheveled—what happened to you, Steven?”

  “I went out for a few drinks, couldn’t sleep and felt the desire to walk through the forest close to my old neighborhood. I took the bus towards Tacoma and got off at a secluded bar. I had drinks, and then made a phone call to Kari. I don’t remember anything else, Bo Bo. Except, I felt scared, ya know? Maybe I missed my mom or something. Or hell, maybe it was just a nightmare, ya know, like I never left my room, and it was all a dream.”

  Bo Bo stared as if he wasn’t seeing me, but someone else. “Hey man, you’re under a lot of pressure with the music gig and having all these family vibes around you. Steven, I bet you had yourself too much whiskey and fell asleep in your room and had a crazy dream. Now your mind is unsettled about the reality.”

  “Shit man, I believe you may have nailed it. That’s exactly what I thought.”

  The street life rose to a full chatter with cars honking, people rushing along the sidewalks and the city pronouncing its new day. The shuttle car arrived in front of the hotel with its destination to the Seattle Space Center. Bo Bo squirmed and smiled like a ten-year-old getting ready to go to his first circus. I delighted so much in his excitement that I looked forward to sharing with him my experiences of childhood days here with my family.

  The entrance opened to an amusement park with a small Ferris wheel on the grounds as the main attraction. Further in stood the Space Needle—which looked like some kind of spaceship. It towered over us. The park was surrounded by the tilt o’ wheel ride, along with other rides such as the roller coaster and arcade games that featured stuffed animal prizes. The Space Needle was constructed for a World’s Fair in the 1960s, but the community’s people liked the architecture of it so much that it remained a landmark for the center. Now the established Needle is a famous site for Seattle’s tourists.

  Memories flooded through me as we walked the grounds. I easily envisioned my brother throwing balloon darts, striking each balloon every time. He had an outstanding aim for all events. That’s why I liked going to fairs with him, because if I didn’t win, he always had enough prizes to give one to me.

  Once there was this bully type guy who tried to outdo George, but George was ahead of him each time 4-3. The bully got mad and pushed his body into George during his second throw. George held tight onto his dart, turned in the direction of the guy who was doing the shoving. When suddenly the screams were heard all through the surrounding area where the balloon arcade stood. Blood oozed from the bully’s shoulder where a dart dangled freely. George turned back toward the board, threw his third dart, smiled, and just walked away.

  I decided to tell Bo Bo that story. I knew he would appreciate the boyhood antics.

  “Hey, that’s some brave-ass brother you have, Steven. Now I’m curious as to what’s at the top of the Space Needle,” he said.

  “It’s a glass wall of windows that has a restaurant in the middle of the room. We can go up and view the city if you’d like, and use the telescope so you can view the ocean far beyond.”

  “Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s enjoy a shot of whiskey to top off the day,” Bo Bo added.

  We entered the Space Needle with its steel architecture, which was an awesome feeling. The only drawback I saw was the gift shop on the bottom floor that took away from the amusement of space phenomenon when one entered. An elevator quickly ascended to the top of the dome, which placed us, and other tourists, amongst a vast towering glass spaceship.

  Bo Bo spun himself around slowly like a child in awe while he moved in dance to the windows.

  Later, when we were back on the ground, we watched the children laugh in the distance while they splashed in a fountain of water. A green park surrounded the outer edges of what looked like a fifty-foot cooking wok holding a spout of water shooting out of its bottom. It truly was quite an amazing architectural development. The children raced down to the base of it with screams of delight while parents and onlookers, like us, sat on the benches being entertained. A sidewalk path encircled the area, and we observed many older couples walking hand in hand.

  The sun shone in all its brightness this afternoon; not a cloud
in sight. I observed my jazz friend in this area of activity. Today, he enthralled me with new meaning as to who Bo Bo really was. I slapped my hand in a kind gesture on his upper back. He slowly turned towards me. Eye to eye he said with deep emotion, “Those little ones could be my grandchildren.”

  Chapter 61

  That night I slept like a baby bundled in a soft haze of bliss. All memories of the wandering night I previously had seemed to distance themselves. When I awoke, I felt fully charged with Gypsy Jazz music on my mind.

  I removed my guitar from the closet safe, and strummed at the foot of my bed in my boxer shorts. A new surge of energy ran through my body as I plucked each string. Raindrops hit the glass, resembling light sounds of a drum brush sliding over a snare drum. A hint of sunlight gleamed onto the window, which enhanced the creativity of the song I was playing, at least in my mind.

  My fingers strummed chords of vibrant jazz and the rain beat down harder. The louder staccato, the louder the rain came, as in unison with earth’s elements, I escalated my music to the beat. Then a clap of thunder roared that brought several lightning strikes into the realm of my music as if on cue at my last guitar strum.

  Now that was incredible! Gifts rejuvenated my soul, which instilled a charge in me for tonight’s performance. Hyped and ready to take on Seattle’s patrons, I ordered room service for brunch.

  * * * *

  With two hours before our first gig at the Blue Waterfront Club the guys met downstairs curbside and awaited the shuttle van.

  “This is it!” John bellowed in delight.

  “Where’s Ryan?” I asked.

  “He’s already at the club making preparations and setting up CDs. He hired that teenager from the music store we met on our first day to promote our CDs from the sidewalk door of the club,” John explained.

  “Hey, that’s cool,” Bo Bo added.

  “Yeah, it’s alright, but I want us to remember that the music is our first passion. I don’t want to hear talk about the promoting part and money right now, so leave me out of it, alright?”

  Cigar odors breezed through the door when we entered the dark wood room. The owner, Mr. Barrows, waved us to come over to the bar where four glasses of whiskey and cigars sat neatly in a row. “Come sit down. Let’s have drinks of good luck for VitalWinds.”

  We took our seats at the dark wood bar and held our glasses high—clink, clink—to each other with “Congratulations”, “Best of luck” and “Good music to everyone.”

  “Light up, boys. Let’s soak in the atmosphere before we set up,” John said, smiling.

  I was into this moment—just a couple of guys hanging out. I was totally relaxed here; we spoke about music while we smoked our cigars. I felt the old aura of energy that was once bestowed by the musicians who moved from town to town as I listened to Bo Bo and John share stories of playing clubs across Chicago and Seattle.

  The light crew worked the lighting fixtures, the stage bright with orange glows alternating from yellows and back to soft whites. While John shared his tales of the great jazz trumpet players at one of his gigs in Chicago, the colors created an invigorating liveliness.

  I guess this large-busted woman just had enough of Bo Bo’s smart-ass mouth, so she pretended to bring him a glass of whiskey on stage in between songs. That was quite an eye opener for the old guy, and Bo Bo said, “That would be my ex-girlfriend.” Mr. Barrows burst out laughing.

  After a couple more hilarious stories, one in which Barrows recalled a trumpet player who encircled a woman with his plaid scarf between sets; he extended the break an extra five minutes so he could encourage her into having sex with him in the coat closet. Funny part was, each occasion he came back on stage with his belt buckle dangling between his legs. “Damn good jazz player, though,” Barrows added.

  Time was upon us, and we took our places on stage. The spirit of gypsy sounds embraced my body like goose bumps covering my skin, creating a cocoon of music for myself. Patrons gathered at the back, and took their seats until the room was full to capacity.

  Ryan approached the stage first to make our introduction. The applause was so loud I could barely hear the first two beats when we started the first set of songs.

  The clapping finally quieted but my eyes remained closed, encompassed with euphoria. We played each song right after another. It was a never-ending epic night of music.

  These people were so hot for us that we gave them an encore of an extra ten minutes prior to our break. That was when we hit them with the melancholy song I composed titled, “Vintage Souls.” The song produced an immediate calmness that totally engulfed the patrons with a yearning for more. At my last strum, I raised my head, removed my hat, and I observed their faces, with all eyes forward on us. Oneness breathed with peace, I stood momentarily and then walked off stage. Their applause was amazing.

  Backstage, the table was dressed with more whiskey and snacks along with a card for me. A bit embarrassed, I moved to the corner of the room to open it in private. Written in green ink was, Welcome, I’m wearing the green blazer, would like to see you after your performance.

  Second set, I walked out slowly behind John, and tried to get a glimpse of this Miss Green Blazer when I approached the stage. She stood against the right side wall of the room. I picked up my guitar in preparation for the second half, and focused on Heather the psychologist from the coffee shop. I recalled that she mentioned she was interested in my music and might come to our first gig. What a great surprise; I hadn’t even thought of her.

  The rhythm jammed and we brought down the house with most of the patrons sill dancing. VitalWinds blared through the souls of everyone, and the vibes that ramped through me shook like no other gig. With a huge smile on my face, I rocked in time, embracing this moment.

  The band was incredible; we kept the same strong pace all night. This jam party could have lasted through the next morning if we were game for it. But we closed out the gig with one of John’s old time favorites, echoing our music out onto the streets. Everyone stood and cheered for more. Man, it was better than any dream I could have imagined, for it was the reality of a dream come true.

  When I opened the front door, I had to steady myself because that’s when I saw her. Heather held her hat in one hand and wore that green blazer. She leaned against a vintage clock tower pole. Our gazes met. I signaled with a wave of my hand to her, in hopes that she would wait for me. After I put my guitar in the van and told the guys to take off without me, I walked across the street to Heather.

  Each step I took I felt the anxiousness, although I continued to look her in the eyes. There was no shyness, just a sense of familiarity along with that anxiety, peeling away in my gut, this underlying yearning for me to be in her presence. We merely stood there, toe to toe without a word spoken; she slid her hand into mine.

  Minutes seemed like hours. I soon found myself sharing past experiences with her. Hidden lives that were buried deep within my subconscious were now put into words, transformed into sentences revealing the inner core of who I am. We were then one entity under a glowing moon. Her gentleness was hypnotic, her touch enticing upon my skin. The touch of a feather, her lips barely brushed against my cheek when she departed for the night.

  Chapter 62

  Detective Fike slammed the door of his SUV, extremely pissed off. Parking once again at the foot of the muddy forest entrance where the first murder happened. Jones slammed her door and she sank ankle deep into a mucky grass hole.

  “Detectives, follow me. We have your rides ready.” An officer urged Fike and Jones to the left side of his truck. He informed them that the pathway to the crime scene was marked just beyond the stream. He stopped in front of the truck to introduce them to their driver, a stocky young man wearing a beige shirt with an officer’s badge.

  “Thank you, we’ll take it from here,” Fike insisted.

  A team of men riding ATV quads were revving up ready to pursue the mission. The officer informed Fike that a Mrs. Stewart and her do
g Charlie discovered the body this afternoon while they hiked a path near a stream. Charlie was sniffing the ground when his paws grasped a netted object that nearly pulled both of them into the hole. Mrs. Stewart screamed bloody murder then hiked back up the hillside to make the 911 call.

  She waited for the first team of officers to arrive, and then proceeded to her own cabin. Her husband walked her home, she’d also phoned him to come get her after she called the police.

  Fike entered from the south side, which seemed similar to the path they had been on with the previous murder case. Fike made it clear he wanted to focus along this route. Jones concurred that the information thus far acknowledged the behaviors consistent with a deranged killer. The stream flowed in ripples over the boulders, and that’s were several pieces of evidence were noted on its banks. One bloody shirt, which was torn in half, showed teeth marks on the upper right front side. A blue strip of material, approximately ten inches in length, had been found a few feet away. All the items were already bagged and tagged by the time Detective Fike arrived. Jones questioned the officers who found the items while she examined each piece.

  The second crime scene, actually being the first site where the body lay in debris at the bottom of a rectangular shaped hole, was marked with security tape. The length encompassed at least twenty feet around trees, with two red marker flags. The stream was forty feet from this site, with an incline of about sixty degrees.