Wild Knights

by Blaise Kilgallen

  * * * *

  Evan hurried through the American Airlines Terminal in Newark Airport, keeping an eye on his watch. He had bought a ticket on the early Saturday morning flight to Tampa with a return flight on Sunday afternoon. He'd wanted like hell to see Carla again, to be inside her again, but after his conversation with Rocco, his promise to his uncle took precedence.

  Gianni Postillio was 82 years old. If anyone knew the details of Lorenzo Lupo's murder, it would be him. Even if he hadn't been directly involved, maybe he'd lead Evan to who had been. Or maybe he would sign a statement that would hurt the Gardenia family even if the perpetrators of the crime were long dead, and Rocco's bid for reelection in Newark didn't win.

  Through various phone calls to former acquaintances in Newark, Bloomfield, and Nutley, Evan had learned that one of Gardenia's old soldiers had moved to Florida 20 years ago. He'd managed to coax the old man's unlisted phone number from one of his nephews. Evan had been very polite on the phone when he finally got through to the elderly capo. Polite, but firm, Evan mentioned his uncle's name, told Gianni he was coming to Tampa, and that he needed to speak with him. At first Gianni hadn't seemed to remember the name, Evan Lupo, until Evan spelled out what had happened to his father. The old man had sighed into the mouthpiece and told him to come. He would wait for him.

  When Evan arrived at the Postillios' address after his flight, he noticed the six-foot wall surrounding the small compound, complete with a locked gate. Evan rattled the iron doors until he saw the buzzer and pushed it. The front gate opened to reveal a burly looking butler. Evan noticed the definite outline of a shoulder holster under the man's jacket. He had to show some identification before he was allowed to enter.

  The house was a stucco ranch with a red tiled roof. It was surrounded with lush, tropical bushes and flowering shrubs. The first floor windows were barred. It almost looked like an armed camp. The windows were draped, pulled tight. No one could see in.

  The inside was cool and quiet. Evan was glad of the change from Florida's heat to the air conditioning. The butler led him to a rear glassed-in porch where a middle-aged woman and two teenaged girls were sitting with an old man and playing a board game. The old gent didn't get up. He waved a hand at the women in the way of introductions. "My daughter-in-law and her daughters." Then he imperiously told the women to go somewhere else to play. Picking up the game board, the three rose and left immediately. As they left, the sliding glass doors to the main part of the house clicked behind Evan.

  "Tony's nephew, eh? They grow them big up in Union County nowadays. But not so big that they don't know who's boss, eh?"

  Evan stood his ground, facing the old warrior without smiling. To his way of thinking, it was better to attack than wait for what might be coming.

  "I want to know who was involved in the murder of my father 25 years ago," Evan said curtly. "Was it the Gardenia family?"

  From where he sat, Gianni scowled up at Evan. "What difference does it matter now?"

  "It matters because my uncle wants to know ... and so do I. Isn't it time we were told?"

  "Basta! Don't be a young cogliane! Don't you know you can be pushing up daisies if you get too curious?"

  "I'm a big boy, Mr. Postillio, like you said. So, I'll take my chances. Tell me what you know."

  "Your father was too ... how can I say? Biga. Cocky. He shoot his mouth off once too often, I think. Lotta like you."

  The old man raised a clenched fist covered with age spots. He made it in the shape of a gun, index finger and thumb raised, then pointed it at Evan. "Bang, bang!" He said softly in a raspy voice.

  Damn, Evan thought. I hit the jackpot.

  "Who pulled the trigger?"

  The elderly Italian shook his head, lowering his hand. "I wasn't there. Me? I heard about it from the grapevine." His condescending smile ignited Evan's temper, and he thought if he could get Postillio angry enough, the old soldier might spill more beans.

  "You're a liar, old man!" Evan said, a sneer evident in his tone. "I learned you were one of Franco Gardenia's right hand men in the old days. It must have been you who shot my father!"

  A black scowl descended over Gianni's brow. "Get out!" he shouted, trying to lunge at Evan, but he was too crippled with age, too weak, to get out of the chair. "Bastardo! Ask Luca Amante! Now get out of my house!"

  It was clear to Evan that the ancient Mafioso was more than angry. "Vaffanculo! Fuck you," Gianni shouted with another angry, huffing tirade that had him pushing against the arms of his chair to rise, but without success.

  Hearing the shouts, the butler entered and jerked a hand toward his jacket.

  Evan held up a pair of open palms in a sign of compliance, and spun around to leave. The butler followed him outside. Evan was shoved through the open gates before he heard the sharp clanging of metal against metal behind him. The butler glared, waiting for Evan to leave. Glancing up at the house, Evan stood immobile for a few minutes longer. Drapes in an upstairs window fluttered, but he recognized no one peeking out.

  He walked slowly to his rental car and climbed in. When he drove off, he didn't look back. He headed north toward the home of another Medieval Showtime showplace and spent the evening talking to other knights after their performance. He rose early to catch the flight to Newark on Sunday.

  * * * *

  Evan arrived at Newark Airport during the early evening. He immediately headed for Carla's house, stopping on the way to pick up Chinese food and ending up on her doorstep at 7:30 p.m.

  Carla, who had been reading in the backyard, didn't hear the car, but she did hear the doorbell. As she went around to the front to see who had stopped by, her eyes widened when she saw Evan.

  He produced a large, brown paper bag. "Chinese food. Spareribs, Wonton Soup, Shrimp with Lobster Sauce, Szechwan Chicken, and Pepper Steak. I'm starved, Carla. Let's eat."

  With a girlish laugh, she opened the side door to the house and motioned Evan inside. "This is a surprise," she said as he placed the full sack of food on the kitchen counter. "Sit down, Evan. I'll get some plates and silverware. I've eaten so I'm not very hungry, but..."

  Evan stepped behind her, and as she grabbed two plates from the shelf, placed his large hands around her torso and slid them around her ribs. Carla sucked in air, arms raised, the dinner plates hanging precariously in her fingers.

  "Eek! Evan! Don't do that! I'm ticklish!"

  "Ticklish, huh? I didn't know that." And he chuckled all the while like a big kid teasing his young sister. She wiggled and giggled uncontrollably. She kept trying to get away from him but he held her firmly, pinning her backside against the kitchen cabinet. He kept strong fingers moving up and down her ribs, gently but with mischievous intent, until she gasped, out of breath. "Oh no, please, Evan, stop, or I'm going to drop these plates! You're making me crazy!"

  He stopped then, and nuzzled her ear. "I plan to make you even crazier in a little while."

  Oh wonderful! Thank you, God!

  Evan spun her to face him and leaned hard into her. She clutched the two dinner plates against her chest. His big work shoes lined up on the outside of her sandals. She felt the soft, washed fabric of his jeans and the muscles beneath them moving against her bare legs from thighs to knees. "I missed your pussy." His deep voice wrapped around a wicked grin.

  "Cleo? Why would you miss her? She ignores you ... oh!" It dawned on Carla he wasn't talking about her cat at all. Heat rose to her cheeks.

  "I love it when you do that. Your cheeks turn soft and pink--like my Mom's roses." He bent and kissed the tip of her nose and looked deep into her eyes while her gaze focused on his face. Time dissolved into unreality. Their eyes finally unlocked when he said jauntily, "Get with it and dish out the food, woman. I'm a growing boy and I'm very, very hungry." He released her and stepped back, leering at her beneath arching, black eyebrows.

  Oh God, she thought. He almost reminds me a little of Billy. Young and strong, fabulously, tantalizingly, beautiful and well built. But
then, Evan Lupo is erotic in so many more ways. He gives me the hot shivers when I just look at him. Good Lord, men like the two I've known in bed are ... well ... are just too damn easy to love.

  Carla quickly shook the mind-bending thought out of her head.

  She reached back into the closet for two small bowls and dished up the soup. "Can I share some of your ribs, Evan?"

  "Of course. I already told you that you can have anything of mine you want--to taste or gobble up," he said with a sly wink as they seated themselves across from each other at the kitchen table.

  "Who said?" she retorted, giving him a look that said, 'I know what you're alluding to, and I think you're very naughty.'

  Evan took a few ribs, leaving the rest for her. He had a giant-sized appetite for food and other things, like his otherwise endowed attributes. He took half of what was in the cardboard containers, dumping the food on his plate, and started devouring his meal. Carla squeezed sweet sauce over several ribs, picked up the pork with her fingers, and chewed along the edges of the bones, licking sauce off her fingers with the tip of her tongue. She looked up and caught him staring at her.

  "What?"

  "Er ... nothing." He ducked his head, hiding a grin, and began eating again.

  Then she realized what was going on. He had been watching her tongue working on the ribs, nibbling and sucking on them. Carla swallowed and put the well-cleaned bones aside on her plate. Feeling her cheeks warm again, she leaped up to get a couple of paper napkins to wipe her fingers. She placed a few napkins next to Evan's plate and sat down again.

  He gave her a long, wolfish look, but said nothing. Clearly she wasn't the only one thinking about what tongues could do to drive a person nuts.

  Carla finally closed the cardboard cartons, stashed the leftovers in the refrigerator, and placed the dirty plates in the sink. She made coffee. Meanwhile, they had a few laughs from the Chinese proverbs they pulled out of the crispy, rather tasteless, fortune cookies.

  Twilight fell rapidly. Carla suggested they drink their coffee on the rear-screened porch. They might find a cool breeze there, as the house wasn't air-conditioned. The porch contained wicker furniture: two cushioned chairs, a loveseat and a few small tables, as well as a daybed almost as old as she was. As a youngster, Carla had often asked her parents during hot summers to let her sleep on the porch where it was cooler than upstairs in her bedroom.

  Evan sprawled on the loveseat, taking up most of it, while Carla tucked her bare feet under her on a cushioned chair across from him. Earlier, the residential neighborhood had hummed with children shouting, playing ball, or rolling on skateboards. Now the streets were quiet, music and the sound of television programs drifting from the open windows of nearby houses.

  "You must have had a busy schedule this week, Evan," Carla said. "A few of our curious tenants were wondering if you'd be coming back to the Spa." It was none of her business what he did with his days--or nights either--but she couldn't help inquiring.

  As it was nearly dark on the porch, she could hardly see to read his face. "Should I light the lamp?"

  "No," he replied. He shifted forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, cupping his coffee mug in both hands. His features were bathed in dim light from the 25-watt bulb in the pin-up lamp she had left on over the kitchen sink. "I had to make a fast trip to Florida, an errand for my uncle in Newark. He asked me to do him a favor. He's failing. It's the least I can do."

  "Ah. That was nice of you. Are you and your uncle close?"

  Evan didn't reply immediately and a silence stretched between them. Carla puzzled about what he was thinking. Was it because he didn't want her to know about his family relations? On the other side of the coin, she had rambled on about her life and family like a magpie, but Evan had been closemouthed about his.

  "No, not close," he finally answered. "My father was my uncle's brother." He didn't expand on it, so Carla let it go, not wanting to be too persistent. It seemed their only real communication involved drowning themselves in exquisite, ongoing, sexual pleasure as often as they could, but not talking to get to know one another.

  She wracked her brain to make idle conversation, waiting to see if Evan was going to ask her to go upstairs. Then she remembered the rosebushes.

  "I've never planted roses before in my yard, Evan," she said. "But when I watched you...

  Oh God, I didn't want to tell him that I'd been spying on him when he worked in the Spa's rose garden!

  "Well, I stopped by the Garden Spot and bought two beautiful bushes. A ruby red and a pure white. I dug them in the backyard where I can see them when I'm sitting here on the screened porch. Of course, you can't see them now," she added lamely.

  "Just make sure they get plenty of sun," he warned. "And watch out for the Japanese beetles. You'll probably have to spray the leaves."

  Carla heard rather than saw Evan put his mug on the table in front of him when he leaned back. "Why don't you come over here and sit by me," he offered. "C'mon. Time to get comfy before it's time for me to leave."

  Her heart plummeted toward her painted toenails. Was he going to leave without doing it? Pleasuring her? The anticipation had been so high and she was so ready and needy, she thought she might rip off his clothes if he didn't at least kiss her.

  Carla stood, banging her shins on the coffee table, then skirting around it and stopping in front of him. He grabbed her hips, pulling her onto his lap. "This is much better, huh?"

  "Much," she whispered, turning her face toward his. She leaned over and brushed his lips with a tiny kiss. It didn't take long for him to tighten his arms around her and open his mouth over hers, their tongues meshing, sucking, building passion between them higher and higher.

  "I missed you," she said, pulling back a little, murmuring her words against his lips.

  "I missed you more," he answered.

  They were both breathing rapidly.

  "Did you like what we were doing in the Caddy last weekend?"

  "Yes."

  "Want more?"

  The inner muscles of her cunt flared in reply.

  "Yes."

  "Okay. C'mon, I'll do you. Turn around on my lap and spread your knees open. Kneel close to my hips on the cushion, then sit back on my thighs for a few minutes."

  She did what he asked.

  "Does that feel comfortable?"

  "Um hmm."

  Grabbing the bottom hem of her shirt, he gradually pulled it over her head.

  "Evan! I'll be naked on top!"

  "So? I've seen your boobs before, and they're great-looking." He ran a warm palm over her nipples.

  "Oh, you're some tease..." But she didn't stop him.

  "Anyway, it's black as pitch on this porch. Nobody can see you, Carla. I'm not like Cleo. I can't see in the dark, you know, but I kinda like to use the touchy-touchy method."

  His raging lust had simmered down while he'd eaten. It was a good thing or he might have scared her to death; all he wanted was to make her come, over and over, until she fainted. Maybe then, he could get enough of her. She was so responsive and uninhibited. He'd never fucked anyone before where the fit with his cock was so perfect.

  Thank God for mature women!

  He threw her shirt on a chair and reached back, one-handed, to unhook her bra.

  "How come?" he asked, curious. "I thought you didn't wear a bra on Sundays."

  Not answering his question, she stroked his cheek, kissed it, and sat up straight so he could slip the bra off of her and drop it on the porch floor.

  He kissed the tops of her breasts and then tickled the undersides. She wriggled restlessly on his lap. "I told you I'm ticklish."

  "Okay, okay. Have it your way. But I love to fondle your boobs."

  His fingers went to work on her nipples. He didn't need to see them; he could feel them hard as pebbles when he touched her with a callused fingertip. He tweaked her gently, and leaned forward to take one nipple into his mouth, suckling hard until she threw her head back. "Oh yes,
Evan, keep doing that! I want you to make me come, and soon, please."

  It's been a week since I've seen him, touched him, felt his tongue on my skin and his prick pushing into my core. I'm on fire for him. How am I going to live this way? He'll be leaving in a few weeks. I'll die if I need to go back to masturbating.

  He released one nipple to pleasure the second. He pulled even harder on the second one, biting on the sensitive tip. Fierce, fiery sensations streaked to her womb. Bucking, she cried out until he smothered her loud moan with his palm. "Shhh," he said. "You'll wake the whole neighborhood."

  She heard smothered laughter bubbling from deep in his throat.

  Arggh, the beast! He's teasing me to death tonight. I'll fix him.

  She knew she was getting to him. She felt his burning bulge lying against her backside where she sat facing him. If she got rid of her shorts and panties and zipped down his jeans, all she had to do was press her cunt down onto his stiff penis.

  But she wanted to tease him, make his cock grow bigger, like a kid playing with fire. She felt around in the dark, unbuttoned his waistband, gripped the zipper and carefully yanked it down. Tonight he wore skivvies. Carla reached through the underwear's front opening and took his massive erection into her hand, pulling it though the slit. He jerked at first as she wrapped both palms around his thick lance. Only once had she touched him there, since he had always been the aggressor. Well, tonight things would change.

  "Go ahead and play with 'big boy.' I don't mind," he said, giving permission and chuckling shamelessly. He gripped her shoulders lightly in his hands.

  Lord, he was big!

  If she hadn't done this before, she'd be sure it wouldn't have been able to fit. However, she knew it did--gliding in slick as greased lightning after that first time. She remembered he had taken such pains not to hurt her after 15 years of celibacy.

  The blunt end of his pecker was as smooth as satin and red hot as a poker. Carla ran one finger over the head, feeling a slippery drop of fluid seeping out.