Matt and Miranda began a session of dirty dancing as the cell phone in her purse behind the bar rang out from a series of desperate, unanswered calls.
CHAPTER 27
Reiser glanced up at the wall clock. It was almost midnight. He prayed she’d show up. He wanted to walk on the other side – the dark side where all things were possible and he didn’t have to be anything, but what he wanted to be.
He’d spent the entire evening readying his small residence for sex. This girl would come through – that was for sure. She was no tease. Rachel was the real thing – hardcore. It was apparent to him from their first meeting, but then he was constantly on the lookout for that propensity in desirable, young women. The subsequent encounters with Rachel had only confirmed what he initially felt, but there was another layer to her. An undercurrent that ran underneath the surface. That intensity coupled with her appearance made her almost spellbinding.
Rachel Abbott had captured his attention. Captured it in a way no other female had been able to do. He felt a pull towards her – a magnetic attraction. He swore at times he could read her thoughts. Because of this mysterious holy communion, he’d felt pressed upon to protect her. He’d spoken up for her and been an advocate. How he’d been recruited for that role was a conundrum, but then so was Rachel. He was emotionally vested in her well-being and care – and yet he didn’t have a clue as to what made her tick.
It was strange how captivating she’d become. He’d be hardpressed to describe it, but it was there – under his skin itching away and demanding to be scratched. He supposed he should thank Perrone for making everything possible, but then Perrone was no longer here. That was more than fine with Reiser. There was more than a little animosity that had developed between the two hard-headed police veterans. It had intensified into a complete hatred – on Reiser’s end, anyway. He hadn’t had the chance to ask Perrone his thoughts on the matter – and didn’t care. Perrone embodied everything that Reiser loathed. At the top of the list of irritating qualities, was the fact that he’d been obstinate and unwilling to learn. He’d been unwilling to change. Hadn’t he known that change was inevitable, and that those who resisted could rightly expect to die?
Reiser had changed. Things that now intrigued him, had never even occupied his wildest imagination. Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have yearned for what he craved tonight. He hadn’t even known about such things. Even if he had, they would have would have been off limits and verboten. He had been a wet behind the ears kid – and now – now he was a man. The pumped up biceps hidden from view by his button down shirt were proof of that. He liked working out and spent many hours at the gym making sure his body was buff and ready for what he loved best – unencumbered sex.
He couldn’t pinpoint the date, but somewhere along the line, something dark had been switched on inside him. That was the night he ventured out beyond the painted lines with a willing young lady and discovered there was an answer. Finally, an answer that made sense. While restrained sex increased tension – uninhibited sex released it. With this knowledge, his sexual appetite had increased to meet the demands of the mounting pressures resulting from his chosen profession.
When he thought about those earlier years, he had to laugh. He’d been such a puritanical lover – the product of a strict religious upbringing. He’d been taught premarital intercourse was wrong and he’d been gullible enough to believe it. He’d looked for chaste young ladies and wondered why his relationships with them always ended in frustration. It never occurred to him that he had been the problem, especially since he was always blaming them. He was a single-handed driving force upholding the idea of female virginity, all the while wanting a piece of it. Being a contradiction was tiring, but the waste of energy never deterred him from being a soldier on the frontlines of purity.
His pious views affected his job performance in a similar way. Years ago he would have collared and cuffed anyone that dared stray from a crosswalk, but the years on the force had taken their toll. He no longer cared about good or evil. The lines that had been so clear when he joined the police force had become blurred – by blood and tears. There had been too much pain and never any answers.
He was tired of seeing helpless victims splayed on the sidewalk with their lifeblood spilling into the cracks of damaged and degraded cement. The chances of catching the perpetrators were always astronomical. Most cases were never really solved except in the minds of the detectives that always seemed so sure. Detectives like Perrone who never cared about logic, and concentrated instead on only finding a pigeon to hang the crime on. It never bothered him that there was no evidence to prove who he fancied to be guilty. Reiser had the feeling it didn’t matter. It only mattered to Perrone that he continue to play his version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey – never even peeking under his blindfold to see the rest of the options available. That was Perrone – convinced by his own delusions and constructed reality. Delusion – all of it one big delusion.
And yet as far as Resier knew, Perrone’s sleep had been untroubled and unfettered since he felt it was his place to fix the odds. Why not change them to be more favorable at arresting whomever he wanted? Capriciousness shouldn’t ever invade or override the investigative process. That’s how Reiser saw it anyway, but Perrone? Perrone was a will of the wisp. He relied on instinct. What he called gut feelings. Once he had one, he’d never stray from his initial hunch. Reiser felt it wasn’t fair because what Perrone was feeling could only have been a case of indigestion. Yet, acid reflux was a justification for persecuting the innocent.
The way he treated Rachel was a perfect example. Sure she was a little eccentric, but a murderer? Unlikely. How on earth could she garner the strength to rip an adult woman to shreds? Maybe a child. The right woman, given enough time, could inflict a mutilating type of damage upon a tiny body, but not to another adult. Reiser had tried to reason with Perrone, but he wouldn’t stop. Instead of realizing how ludicrous his accusation was and coming up with another theory that at least held water, he went and invented an accomplice to explain the deficit in common sense. It wasn’t enough that he had convinced himself that Rachel was guilty, now he conjured up an unknown person that helped her. And left no DNA … and no fingerprints … and not a trace of his foot or fingerprints at the crime scene. But Perrone had been convinced. That was it. That was enough. No need for a motive, or evidence, or any solid basis to reach his conclusion. Only suspicions on which to fashion a noose and slip it around her creamy neck.
Sure, Rachel was in cahoots with a phantom. A phantom with the strength of ten men. Perrone never even stopped to consider that this new theory lacked credulity. Even if she had found a man that was willing to murder Dr. Puhlman for god knows what reason, how many men possess the strength to commit such a brutal atrocity? Not many, but it never stopped Perrone’s fantasy factory from going into full affect – all because he couldn’t admit he was wrong.
Reiser was pleased with how things turned out. He wasn’t sorry that Perrone had disappeared. In all likelihood he was dead. Good riddance to bad trash. Reiser had no doubt it was someone from Perrone’s past – someone he’d framed like he was trying to frame Rachel. He wouldn’t even have minded if Rachel had something to do with dropping Perrone in a swamp somewhere. Why shouldn’t she get even by having him eaten by gators? He wouldn’t have blamed her at all. He’d thought about it often enough, so if she had managed to pull it off, kudos. In a way, he’d respect her for it.
He gave the clock another look. Two minutes to go until midnight. When Rachel had first called him, he’d been thrilled. While he’d wanted her to call, and his sixth sense told him there was a connection, he was a realist. It wasn’t until she actually did that his intuition was confirmed. They’d agreed to meet at 8:00 PM. He’d ordered take-out and was prepared to serve a late dinner, but she’d called to say she was delayed. A crisis at work prevented her from leaving. She needed to work late. It was plausible, but then again she could have been blowing off the date
and Reiser. He was a wait-and-see kind of guy. While Perrone would have jumped to a conclusion, Reiser didn’t. There were two possibilities and he’d see which one was correct. Consequently, he hadn’t questioned her. When he was off-duty he tried not to play detective. He’d only told her to come over as soon as she could – no matter what the hour. He’d never expected it to be this late, but he’d been the one to extend the boundaries. Midnight was late though. Perhaps too late for her to pursue. He’d give her another few minutes and then write the evening off as a loss, but he still had hope.
He sprayed more cleanser on the counter and wiped it with a soft cloth that he rinsed out in the sink. He’d wiped every counter down and vacuumed every rug. If this was to be a special night, then things should be pristine. He’d lit candles he bought for the occasion and kept the lights low. It was what he thought she’d like. Low light that would illuminate her timeless beauty. He was glad she didn’t starve herself like so many other girls. Only dogs like bones. Even the prostitutes he’d hired, had been thick and healthy. While he didn’t mind working girls, that kind of sex wasn’t what he was after. Sure you could do what you wanted – for a price – but that was the problem. Prostitutes are paid. Making the sex dependent on money, turned them into robotic slot machines. You could sample their bodies, but not their minds. Their heart wasn’t in it. They were jaded and blasé. For a sure thing, they couldn’t be beat, but he was ready for an amateur that just loved the game of hide the salami. He knew Rachel loved it. He could tell from looking in her eyes. He recognized it even through those outlandish tinted contacts she’d begun wearing.
He stopped and listened thinking he was hearing what he wanted to hear. No, there it was – the soft knock at his door. She was here. He wrung out the cloth and placed it over the edge of the stainless steel sink. He washed his hands, drying them on a paper towel. He tossed it away, tugging down his black shirt until it was over the belt loops of his jeans. He rushed to the door and opened it. She was standing in the dark – her jet black hair falling freely over her bare shoulders. She was scantily dressed. Just enough to adhere to the laws of decency. He’d see if he could rectify that situation.
He spent several seconds looking at the statuesque brunette. Her beauty was extraordinary. She possessed an eerie type of exquisite perfection. He had to admit that moonlight became her. It amplified the whiteness of her skin and the darkness of her hair. And her lips … her lips were … for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Why didn’t she come in? She held back in the shadows. It made him want her all the more. His aggressive side was coming out. He felt like grabbing her hand and pulling her inside. Was she shy? He hoped he hadn’t misread her.
“May we come in?” she asked politely.
We? What did she mean? Reiser was momentarily confused.
A tiny meow rang out. He wondered if it was a stray cat or whether a neighbor had a new kitten. He looked down and saw the moving black shape. She’d brought along the small feline he’d seen in her office. It was weaving between Rachel’s shapely legs.
“You did say something about getting to know my pussy …” she added dryly. “The only way you’re going to do that is if I brought it along.”
Reiser liked the humor, but wasn’t sure about the feline. What the heck?
“Please,” he said moving to the side.
“Come on, Velvet. This nice man has invited us in,” she said a smile playing on her ruby red lips.
Rachel brushed his newly-shaved cheek with the side of her soft hand as she rolled by. She didn’t walk as much as undulate. She sauntered in an exaggerated manner – just short of making a mockery out of being too feminine. The motion came from the complete shifting of her weight from left to right instead of staying centered. It was highly stylized and an aphrodisiac – not that Reiser needed any help getting in the mood. Velvet danced ahead of her on his tiptoes, sniffing objects and jumping on the couch as to discover the best vantage point to watch the evening’s proceedings.
“May I offer you some wine?” Reiser asked holding up the bottle he’d specially selected. “There’s dinner in the refrigerator. Didn’t know if you’d be hungry.”
“Had a bite earlier, but the wine sounds lovely.”
Reiser eyed her from over the kitchen counter. He’d had his small house remodeled into a more open style. He’d done most of the renovation himself, and had liked the outcome. Now he could keep an eye on his guests while in the kitchen.
Rachel looked around at his comfortably furnished living room. She appeared to give her decision some consideration, but ultimately chose to sit in Reiser’s favorite chair. It was an old-style arm chair he’d found in a second-hand thrift store. It was a wise purchase. It was perfect for watching TV or for staring at the fireplace. He loved watching fires. They were endlessly fascinating and sexy as hell. It’s why he lit one tonight. Although it was a summer evening, he cranked up the air conditioning so he could have one to set the mood. Velvet hopped up on the armrest and slid onto Rachel’s lap. She stroked the cat now contently curled in her lap.
He was glad she wasn’t making small talk. He’d found women that needed to fill up space with useless chattering did the same thing during sex. It was annoying. He’d noticed that great lovers seized opportunities to remain silent. They understood that it was silence that allowed you to hear all the sounds of passion. The sounds were part of the turn-on of sex. Reiser liked to hear every moan, groan, and sigh. People that were into sex did, while prudes … they kept on the cable TV.
A strong, noxious odor hit him. It smelled like death. Reiser had enough experience with that odor to recognize it. It was ever present at crime scenes and the morgue. It was something you never really got rid of. He wondered where it was coming from. He checked his hands and his shirt. He confirmed that hands smelled like the cleanser used to disinfect his kitchen, and that his shirt was laden with the fragrance of his fabric softener. It meant it wasn’t coming from him. He’d been worried as he’d often brought it home with him. That stench lingered if he didn’t shower carefully, but if it wasn’t on him, then where was it coming from? There was an outside chance that he was imagining it. Sometimes it pocketed itself in his nostrils, releasing itself at inopportune times – like before he ate. He looked around and saw the open kitchen window. Shit! He hadn’t closed it. He ran over and shut it. The wooden pane slammed against the baseboard. Must be a goddamned dead animal out there. He’d check his backyard, but not tonight.
The smell made his stomach churn and his skin crawl. He hoped Rachel’s nose wasn’t so sensitive and that it didn’t put a damper on the evening.
Reiser carried the two goblets of wine into the living room. He handed Rachel her glass and then sat cross-legged on the floor. He liked sitting at her feet – gazing up into her pale face. She looked majestic – almost regal. Like a princess of royal birth that had blue blood racing through her veins. Her mouth was tantalizing. The way her lips curved was maddening. They promised unending delights to whoever was strong enough to taste them.
He had the chance to see her more clearly now. His eyes traveled the length of her body noting every crack, crevice, and turn. Her ample breasts were flimsily covered by a black camisole that was at least three sizes too small. It was pulled to the point of unraveling. It didn’t need to be removed for Reiser to tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was obvious from the way her nipples poked through the thin material. Her pants looked sprayed on and dented into her vaginal lips. The hem of her black slacks flared out at the bottom. Her manicured feet were shod in platform heels. The only surprise was a touch of cruelty in her face. He hadn’t noticed that before. Now that he had, he knew that she’d make one hell of dominatrix, if she’d just let herself go. If she ever did … giddy-up. She’d have more clients than she knew what to do with. There was an authority about her. She was someone that commanded respect. Like the way she was seated, she seemed to own whatever spot she occupied. The memory of his partner filtered ba
ck to him. His spectre was making an appearance because Perrone tried so hard to get respect. It was something that was never accorded to him by Reiser. It was because Perrone was a weasel – a stupid weasel that lied to get what he wanted. This girl got what she wanted, but without resorting to subterfuge. Perrone’s suspicions about her were an aberration – his persistent hounding of her unnecessary harassment. It wasn’t her fault that people couldn’t recognize what was before their eyes. She raised the glass – ready to drink. Reiser stopped her by gently taking hold of her wrist.
“Wait,” he said lifting his glass to meet hers, “to us and this night. May it be the first of many we share together.”
“I like that, John,” she offered in a raspy murmur.
A soft ting rang out as his glass hit against hers. Rachel drank looking over the rim of the circle directly into John’s eyes. He stared back at her trying to read her enigmatic expression. She drank deeply almost draining her glass. She rested her hand on her right leg, using her long red tongue to lick whatever remained on her lips. He watched as it darted to the inside corners of her mouth. He noted that the color of the wine matched that of her lips.
Adduné (The Vampire's Game) Page 38