Lustmord 2

by Kirk Alex

  Olivia saw that maybe she ought to apologize to the diner owner.

  “It won’t happen again, Mr. Jessup. I’m getting better at spotting the type.”

  “Okay. Forget it. You worked hard today. You did fine. I like having you around.”

  Biggs had picked up on the situation from his booth: Olivia’s naiveté, the gullibility, innocence—and it had made her all the more desirable to him every time he witnessed these traits (be they artificial, or genuine) He wanted her, wanted to degrade all that untainted beauty and youth, dirty it up. Maybe squash it.

  “You got a job here once you start college. That is, if it’s a local school you decide on. You know what I mean. You want to work part-time? That’s up to you. You worked your tail off for us all summer.” Just then Slim Jessup looked in the direction of Deacon Moron and his Sahib: Reverend Smelly with that head shaped like an ostrich egg that gave him the perpetual “I just woke up” look, eating. Still eating. Not only were they not through, but they seemed to be taking their sweet time about it.

  “As soon as ‘God’s people’ are finished, clear their table, and you can clock out. I’ll be in back going over inventory with Bertha.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with what’s left of the dirty plates. Tuco’s gone home for the day. You can leave them out here. I’ll take care of it later.”

  CHAPTER 309

  The thin aluminum door with the clear acrylic window swung back in place as he entered the kitchen. There was a sliding door, made of wood, that covered the right side of the entrance. The diner owner slid the left part of the wooden door out to meet the right half that made up the kitchen entrance.

  He turned the latch, locking the sliding doors. He fine-tuned the stereo that sat on a shelf in the closet. Turned up the volume so that it filled the place with tunes from the 40s, 50s, 60s, with crooners like Sinatra, Arthur Prysock, Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday, Tony Bennet, Rosemary Clooney.

  Big Bertha, apron off, was at the large kitchen table with a damp terrycloth towel, doing some wiping down; needing to wipe it free of as much flower and powdered sugar residue as possible.

  Slim walked up from behind, and before he had so much as had a chance to wrap his arms about her waist, the large woman had spun around and pulled him toward her and French kissed him with abandon. Slim had his manly hands down around her rump, and lower, exploring. Squeezed all that flank, and was back up to the heavy buttocks, and thought: Holy shit. Woman is big.

  Should be. At two-ninety-nine. They’d had trysts before, numerous times, did their share of the funky monkey, and yet each time they did she never failed to amaze him how big a woman she truly was, and best of all: she was easy to please.

  They kissed that way for a while, and then he got her to turn around and lean up against the large table where traces of white flower, dough bits, and sesame seeds that had been overlooked by her wiping a moment ago were in evidence, and he lifted her dress and flipped it back and that large rear end was his for the taking.

  He rolled Big Bertha’s panties down to around her knees, got both hands down between all that heavy, sagging flesh, parted it, and played with her pubic hair. Saw that there was no need to waste time on prelims, because she was as ready as could be.

  “Unzip my fly, honey-bunch. Unzip my fly and take my meat out. Take it out.”

  Bertha turned sideways, unzipped his pants, and pulled his erect groin out, stroked it; and she was back repositioning herself, bending over the bread table, resting her chin against it, and then some sesame seeds and flower got on her mouth and other parts of her face, as Slim Jessup slid his member up inside her and stroked.

  Big Bertha kept making little love noises, love sounds, moaning and gurgling, while at the same time releasing a lengthy series of farts.

  Slim wasn’t the type to be put off by the occasional emission of gas and was not about to allow it to interfere with his steady and determined rhythm in any way.

  “You gonna buy me a Cadillac, Vester? You said you was.”

  “Say what, honey-bunch?” Slim had his eyes closed. His mind was not on automobiles at the moment and he did not want to think about anything but the business at hand and how good it felt to stroke her this way.

  “Cadillac. I want a Cadillac like that boy Bigg’ got. You ain’t goin’ back on your word? ’Cause if you is, you can stop right now.”

  For a large woman she was remarkably tight down there, tight and just right, Slim thought, and moist. Sure was.

  “Ol’ Slim Jessup ain’t just gonna buy you one Cadillac, honey-bunch. Gonna get you a Cadillac for every day of the week. That’s right. In all different colors. . . .”

  “You gimme your word now. You gimme your word.”

  “You got my word, darlin’.”

  “You ain’t never kept your word yet.”

  “Ain’t I bought all that gold you wearin’ on your fingers, darlin’? That one rock set me back damn near as much as a Cadillac.”

  “You done did that, lover man. Still want me a Cadillac. Love to have me a big ol’ Cadillac one day. My dream car. Gonna get it one day. I know I will.” Big Bertha moaned some more. Released an encore torrent of gas. “You feel real good in me like that, Vester.”

  Vester “Slim” Jessup did his best to keep her feeling real good, too.

  CHAPTER 310

  The front of the diner was silent even more so now than before and the silence carried a palpable eeriness with it. Olivia went from window to window, tugged on a cord that flipped the blinds closed. She saved the door for last. Stood there for a moment to take in the setting sun outside. Flipped the blinds over the glass portion of the entrance.

  She walked back behind the counter, glanced at Cecil Biggs and his unclean friend from time to time and wished they would hurry up and leave, wholly oblivious to what was taking place under their table. Biggs had slipped Marvin a pair of latex gloves, then another. Heard Muck draw on the initial pair over his hands, then jam the other gloves into his shirt pocket.

  “We better double-glove it here.”

  “Why come?”

  “Do it.”

  Marvin followed the other man’s suggestion. Biggs did likewise: snapped on two pairs of gloves. His eyes remained on Olivia, scrutinizing her every move. Wondered if she had an inkling that her world, as she knew it, was about to be turned upside down, at the least. Things happened in life that we rarely, if ever, had any control over—and hers was about to receive a rude awakening.

  CHAPTER 311

  Olivia Duarte turned her head in their direction again, wondered what was taking them so long? What were they waiting for? Were they stalling? Why? Why couldn’t they just get up, pay their check, and leave, so that she might do the same.

  She turned away, from fear that they might be offended and got the wrong message. Mr. Jessup liked for his employees to be courteous at all times, courteous and bouncy, cheerful. Being positive was the only way. Still, she wished that they were gone already. Her sister Yolanda would be arriving pretty soon to pick her up. She’d had enough of the diner for the day and was eager to get home, take a shower, maybe soak in a hot bath, a bubble bath . . . (if Yolanda and Carla hadn’t used up all the Mr. Bubble by now); play some records. There was that new Billy Idol record she’d wanted to pick up at the record store next door, and she still hadn’t had a chance to buy Madonna’s new album, either.

  She might do that, she thought, when Yolanda got here. Run in and out; buy her records. Yolanda might be in one of her foul moods and give her a hard time about it, but so what?

  She would just have to remind her to stop being so negative all the time. This and the other went through her mind, and she did not hear in time as Biggs walked up from behind, covered her mouth with his hand, and jammed the Magnum barrel into the back of her neck.

  He pushed her hard up against the glass-encased shelf on the wall.

  “Make a sound and your cunt gets blown apart.”


  “There’s money in the cash register, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Shut your mouth.” Biggs looked at Marvin. “Where’s that pocketknife you got off the punk that night in South Gate?”

  “Pocketknife? You kept it, the way you keep most everything.”

  Biggs searched his pockets. Found the knife. Tossed it to him.

  “Cut her fucking head off if she makes a sound.”

  Marvin opened the blade. Felt the sharp tip. Yeah; he could do damage wiff it if he had to.

  “How about lettin’ me have one of them gun’ instead, homie?”

  “You heard what I said? Cut her up if she so much as farts. I’m going out the back to get the van.”

  Cecil palmed the keys on the counter. Looked at Olivia Duarte. “If I go out the rear exit, will it set anything off?”

  Olivia reached for the switch below the cash register. Flipped it.

  “Any other alarms I should know about?”

  “Slim arms the main alarm after everyone has left.”

  “For your sake—and theirs: I hope you’re telling the truth.” Biggs took a step in the direction of the hallway. Suddenly paused. “Which of these keys opens the emergency exit from the outside?”

  Olivia pointed out the right key with a shaky finger.

  “The loading dock?”

  She showed him the key for it. His eyes were on Muck. “You know what to do if she gets out of line.”

  “What if the nigga back there got hisself a gat? My shit be out of luck then, homes.”

  “As long as you got that blade ready to slit her throat, he won’t try anything.”

  “Glad you think so.”

  “If you have to, as a last resort: shove the blade in her as deep as it’ll go, and keep shoving it in. Got that? Got it?”

  “Yo. Ain’t got to tell me twiced, homie.”

  Biggs glared at him, then walked off down the hallway that ran along the left wall of the kitchen and was, in fact, the length of it. He walked past the restrooms to the rear door with the bright red neon EXIT sign above it.

  He hurried down the alley toward the green van, moving about cautiously, looking in every which direction as always, and as always, in a tense situation such as this was the idea that he had to rely on a halfwit as unpredictable as Marvin, even for a short period of time, increased the tension tenfold. Tension equaled stress—and stress was something he could do without, like the hemorrhoids. The hemorrhoids made it nearly impossible to move any faster than he needed to. Move, he did. Plates needed to be switched. He also had to remember to hit the switch that would disengage the lights prior to pulling into the alley. Security was on his mind. Roving patrol. Reminded himself that it was a huge parking lot and the security vehicle didn’t come down the alley that often. Luck had to be on their side. For a change. All it took to pull something like this off.

  CHAPTER 312

  Inside the diner, Marvin Ritalin Muck held the blade directly under Olivia’s chin and gave it a slight nudge. A thin stream of blood appeared where he had the sharp tip dug in. He moved up against her, got his other hand on the back of her head and forced her face against the sliding glass panel of the cake shelf until it slid open wide enough, continued to push her head this way until he had her features buried in the chocolate mousse cake; let her up for air, and then forced her face down against a lemon meringue pie.

  Olivia struggled to maintain a sense of calmness. Fear won out, and her eyes welled. Marvin grinned. His own face was so close to hers that she could smell his foul breath.

  He stuck his tongue out and began to lick some of the chocolate mousse off, the lemon meringue. Olivia’s tears flowed freely at this point. Marvin noticed and gave a chuckle.

  “Thought you was too good for us. Didn’t you? Thought yo pussy was too pure for us. . . .”

  He pressed her face against the pie again, and licked it off of her. Lapped up some of the tears along with the lemon meringue. He jabbed two fingers into the cream pie, scooped up a mound of white cream and slid it in his mouth. He scooped up a handful the second time and ate it up.

  “It be like this, you ain’t nothin’ but a bucket of ugly gut’ on the inside. Intestine’ fulla shit. Just like everybody else. Just a big mess of ugly gut’. Aks me—I know all about it. I know what make’ you hoe’ run. Seen it up close.”

  Marvin slipped his free hand under her skirt. Reached inside the moist panties. Felt the wet stream of urine that trickled out of her. He liked that.

  “Please take the money and leave.There’s enough in there.”

  “That right?”

  Marvin, knew to stay clear of it. Didn’t need for Omar to be givin’ him any more of his boo-shit. Not only that, cash register’ made noise the minute that drawer popped open—and he sure as hell didn’t need to have Slim come at him with a loaded piece. Instead, he probed with his fingers, feeling the wetness that came down below. He liked that.

  “Scared, ain’t you? That be all right.”

  He rubbed her privates. Inserted two fingers inside her vagina. Ruined Cecil’s virgin trim. Maybe. Who give’ a shit? He withdrew the fingers, then slid them back inside. Repeated the act for a while. Withdrew them entirely, and brought the fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.

  “You be pissin’, ho, and yo snapper still be smellin’ clean and taste real good. Better than Valley tap water, for sure.”

  He had her take the sweater off. Ran his hand toward the front of her brown server’s dress, feeling and then squeezing her breasts.

  “Where’s Slim and Big Mama?”

  He grabbed a hunk of her hair and yanked back.

  “You know where they are.”

  “Yo. I akst you a question, ho.”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “That right?”

  He yanked on her hair some more. Pulled her with him toward the aluminum kitchen door. He held his ear up against the acrylic part of it and could hear Jessup and Big Bertha Lenier in there going at it, making enough noise over the music: Nat King Cole, Billie Holiday, Bessie Smith. Shitty music to fuck to, but they was fuckin’ to it.

  CHAPTER 313

  He had her step away from the door. Made it over to the cigarette rack on the back counter. Marvin jammed two packs of Kools in his jeans, book of matches, rolls of Lifesavers, and a Snickers candy bar. In time, too. Cecil was back. Had him that Trusty the Clown shit on his face. Mothafuckah looked evil. This was the one wiff the mask that had the stitches above both eyes, and below, too; then all around his face. His eyes was bloodshot, red. Maybe contacts. Cecil liked to wear ’em sometime. Made peeps crap their drawers. Couldn’t keep ’em in his peeper’ too long on account the peepers got dry and it could hurt like a bitch. There was blood on the dude’s teeth, too. They was more like fangs. Sharp, too. Made that part look like a shark. Top of his head and back of it was like a skull, just like a dead dude been dead a long time. Something like some of them stiff’ they had them buried back at the cribby, down there under the house. Looked downright fucked up. If he didn’t know it was Cecil his dick woulda gone down right then. Still could.

  Bigg’ had the army duffel bag wiff him. Winced as he moved about. Homie got rectum trouble. Homie and his Preparation H. Fuck him.

  “We got work to do.” Biggs pulled worn and grime-stained dusters out of the duffel. Handed one to Marvin.

  “Van’s parked in the back.” Bishop got into his own duster. “Try not to get too much blood on your clothes.”

  Marvin looked at him.

  “Won’t be easy. Do your best.” Cecil noticed the smeared cake on Olivia’s pained features. “What did you do to her?”

  “Ho got hungry.”

  “You molest her?”

  “Wished I did. No time for it.”

  “Get it off.”

  “Why do it? Ho be lookin’ good that way.”

  “So we can tape her mouth shut.”

  Marvin leaned in. Proceeded to do some more licking as before. Biggs
grabbed a damp rag off the counter and flung it at him. Dishrag hit Marvin full on the face, slid off and landed at his feet.

  Marvin hadn’t liked it. Was reluctant to do so, but he picked it up and wiped the cake off the petrified girl’s face. Cecil asked what was going on with Slim and Big Ass. Marvin indicated the kitchen door.

  “They be doin’ the nasty, what else? Slammin’ Slim be slippin’ it in.”

  “Still at it, huh?”

  “Them large ho be like a wolf that way, ’cause they never know when they gonna eat again.”

  They had to move fast now, Biggs thought. Looked at the girl.

  “When I unlocked the rear door to the kitchen and tried to open it, why couldn’t I get it to open?”

  “Slim uses an iron crossbar to keep burglars out.”

  “Burglar’?”

  “Shut up, Marvin.”

  Biggs slapped a large Band-Aid across her mouth. Cuffed her wrists behind her back. Yanked a pig mask from his hip pocket and shoved it at Marvin. Muck held it up. Thing was gross. They was always gross. Smelled bad.

  “Parfrey? Yo. Want me to put this Parfrey mask on now?”

  “If I can stand wearing contacts and the Trusty mask, you can stand being Parfrey for a while.”

  Muck hated it. Was against it. Drew it on. Couldn’t see as well out the eye holes. Shook his head. Cursed to himself.

  Biggs didn’t care. They had to move. Made certain the front door was locked, double-checking, before holding open the swinging aluminum kitchen door and had Marvin knock on the locked one made of wood. Tension mounted as they waited for the door to open. It never did.