4 comments/ 31108 views/ 1 favorites The Runaway Ch. 01 By: cantdog "Stop it!" she squealed. "Just stop it! Can't you just find a real--" "Janet, honey--" "--woman like other people and leave me alone!" her voice sounded high and crazy. "Janet, baby, open up right now and I won't punish you." She said nothing. She was over in her closet, the way it sounded. "Janet, you got one minute. Open up. Or I'll give you a hiding to go with it!" He tried the doorknob, which racked back and forth only a hair. "Fuckin slut cunt," he said under his breath. "You hear me? One minute! You best be strippin off!" There was a sound like a wooden box banging on something hard. "Janet, what're you doing in there?" Jake couldn't form a picture from just the sounds. No more box noises came through the door, but there was a lot of movement, frantic scrabbling. Listening made nothing any clearer. She was very busy in there. Was she trashing the place out of spite? Jake rattled the knob as hard as he could. "Open this thing! Right the fuck now!" Growling and cursing, Jake spun and made for the cellar. "Wreckin' bar. I get nothin' outta her havin' a latch anyway!" he said. He shoved the cellar door so it slammed against the old plaster. The ancient ceramic post switch clacked loudly as ever, but the bulb remained dark. "Jesus' ass!! The fuckin' light's out!" He clattered down the steep stairs anyway; he could turn on a light over the workbench. "A hammer and a wrecking bar." Janet heard him go and moved even faster to fill the suitcase. She was sweating, shaking, and crying under her breath. She put on the backpack, then swung the suitcase like a hammer-thrower in the Olympics, once around and out through the window. Glass showered back inside and the piece of luggage rebounded inside, too. But the window was broken and the screen was stretched and pulled loose from its frame. Sobbing and grunting soft curses, she shoved the suitcase out. She lay her winter coat over the sill against the jagged glass teeth and snaked outside, stepping on more glass. Her hand bled a little, her ankle hurt, but she loped to the street and across it. Dodging strong light, she worked her way to the exit on I-95. The house she left behind was silent. The next morning they would find Jake at the base of the cellar stairs. * * * * * Ten months later Ras Halili made his first mistake being born. He had come forth breach and the midwife had needed to turn him. Things had not improved much since; mistake followed mistake. Halili had somehow attained adulthood with nine of his original ten fingers and only a few small scars, but his eyes betrayed his haunted mind. "Expect the worst, Miss Fisher," he was saying this Monday morning, "then cry." "Right," replied Miss Fisher, giving him an eye askance. He burrowed into his little office and shut the door. "Cheery little rat," she remarked. "Who's that?" asked Joanna. "The fix-it guy, Mr. Halili," amplified Miss Fisher. "What a moper!" The two women sat together in a rectangular space near the main entrance and functioned as the friendly troubleshooters of the mall, giving directions, helping find lost objects and missing mothers, passing along messages and warnings, smoothing feathers. Miss Fisher was Information and Joanna Customer Service. At least, so the signs above their heads proclaimed. But there was a lot of time during the day to converse, just the same; they discussed poor Mr. Halili and spread the story of his little proverb about expecting the worst. Hal Kline from the custodial staff heard it from Joanna and told it to the girls at The Gap. Lisa at The Gap got a cell phone call from her roommate and told her the story. So it was that just after lunch Janet Waterman knocked on the little door marked MAINTENANCE. Like the duchess's footman, he told her "There's no use in knocking." "Why not?" Janet asked. "I'm not in there; that's my room. Can I help you with something?" "You're the fix-it guy, Khalil?" Halili gave her his name and placed himself again at her disposal. She noted the missing index finger and the sad eyes, but to Janet, he seemed friendly and equable, not depressed or despondent. "Can I come in?" "I suppose; there isn't much room there, but yes, if you like." He stepped up and inserted his key, the door ceded, and Janet moved into the little office ahead of him. She didn't notice the faint sour musk of the damp mop head, but it brought a twinge of regret to Halili. The customer oughtn't to have to smell such a thing. He resolved to be especially accommodating, to leave a better impression with her. Her head swiveled to take in the geography of the tiny office. She was young and, he thought, pretty; she reminded him of Concepción, the girl he'd asked to his prom in high school. Concepción, too, had been a mistake; she and her girlfriend were already going to the prom together to shock people with their lesbian relationship. But Halili imagined there was less at stake with this woman. It would be another repair to do. He was wrong, of course, but it was only a misimpression, not a mistake, not yet. "What do you need me to do, ma'am?" he prompted her. "Why don't you sit right here in the chair, sweetie," she said, smiling. It was a smile with a secret in it. Halili balked and wanted her to clarify, but she tugged his arm and repeated her demand, and Halili allowed himself to be seated. He'd hardly done it when she leaned on the chair arms, her face an inch from his. He smelled melons freshly cut, lipstick, warm cotton cloth. "Now hold still. Pull your feet down flat. That's right." Halili saw subtle glitter at her neck, upon her cheeks and eyelids, even between her breasts. Her melony, musky smell was very pleasant, her body was ample, even lush. Now her knee moved between his and nudged outward impatiently. "What are you doing, ma'am?" he babbled. People were so unpredictable; you could never tell, but this was unprecedented. Janet nudged his knee again. "Open 'em! There!" Both knees were between his, now, spreading his legs apart. She stood alarmingly close. His eyes flickered to her tanned breasts, back to her amused eyes. He held tightly to the chair arms. She leaned in more, past his face, and spoke right by his ear. Her breath played across his ear and neck as she told him to just stay still. Her cleavage filled his field of vision. Her bra was a lurid green; he could see the catch, green plastic, suspended between her breasts. But the cups didn't cover her nipples, he could see them, too, in the shadows. He told her he would be still. It almost didn't surprise him when she kissed his ear. Janet met all kinds in this job. This one was sweetly innocent and completely unsuspecting. These Mediterranean guys liked their women rounded and soft, most of them. Halili was clay in her hands, she felt licensed to do anything at all. She sensed his fascination and total complaisance. "I got him," she told herself. "Just a second!" she whispered into his ear. "Yes." She straightened, tapped a fingertip on his nose and made him blink, grinned at his open-mouthed amazement, and then turned away a little and bent over, presenting him her soft buns in the little skirt. From her bag on the floor she pulled up a CD player and speakers. She set them all on a box of bath tissues and pushed a button. He was watching her bottom move inside the cloth in aroused shock. A bass line started and music filled the little room: pure Smokey Robinson. With Smokey's first lyrics, Janet made a little mmm and ran her hands up her hips and flanks, twisting her hips in a grind. Halili heard the sound of her stockings rubbing. Dancing now, she returned to her slot between his legs, rubbing her belly and then up to her breasts. She squeezed them with her eyes locked on his face, and then, to his astonishment, unbuttoned her blouse, still moving to the music. Her belly was tanned, too, and her navel deep like a tufted cushion. Her bangles and watch gleamed and rattled, her hips swayed. Once the blouse was open and free, she flashed him one side. Her nipple had more glitter on it; the pushup bra covered none of it. It dawned on Ras that she must be a stripper. Someone had sent a stripper to him, at his work, right to his office in the mall! Who would do such a thing? He knew no one here so well as that. It had to be a joke or something. His head swam. He listed his friends in his mind; none of them would think so much of him and yet so little of his sensibilities to have her come here. It was absurd. But he stopped thinking at all and held his breath when she twisted herself to let him see her unzip the skirt. The waist of it fell open, and Smokey's sensuous tenor accompanied her movements perfectly as she wriggled to drop it at her feet. They were not pantyhose, but stockings with lacy elastic tops. A double line of green lace snaked in little ruffles down the center of her little panties. Here, at least, she was less tanned. When she bent low to get the skirt, pink flesh, also ruffled, peeked out between the lines of lace. The whole thing was split and would easily open to expose her. Halili was awed; he had never seen crotchless ones before. She was plump like a peach, ripe and lush, soft. Her beauty was as the houris of in the gardens of plenty. Who would do this? "Stop worrying, sweetie. You don't owe me a thing; this is a gift, enjoy it." "A gift!" Ras grasped the information; it was a straw, but he had been drowning. "But who?" "My roommate and some people at her work. Now, listen. You get a lap dance, but they paid extra and Lisa said to do all I could to cheer you up. Shall I lock the door?" Lisa. The name didn't signify anything just then. "The door," he repeated in a brainless way, and she stroked his cheek with a smile. "All right, then. You smell nice, so I'm willing to see where this goes. I'll get it." Janet locked the door and Smokey was replaced by the Eagles. Janet was an oldies fan. Somebody's gonna hurt someone... began the voice over the tight drum and the vamp. Janet was limited in the tiny office, which was mostly shelves and tool cabinets, a little workbench using up a corner, a desk gulping up a wall, file cabinets. But even hemmed in she always could dance. Her curves jiggled and shook with every motion. Her green underclothes hid nothing yet it seemed too much was covered. She danced between his knees and rubbed her bottom on him, she straightened her legs and sent it up to his face. The split in the panties showed him her secrets, pink-brown ruffles between the pale plump loaves of skin, not inches away from his nose. His alarm faded; he felt safe with the door locked so he relaxed. When he did, a surge of arousal ballooned up inside his belly, as if his tension had been a lid. Pussy! Quim, trim, clam, cunt, mokus! The old eternal quiff Man has sought in all ages and all climes! Women universally mock men for their foolishness in the presence of a round ass or a glimpse of tit, but the responses are programmed, wired in. Instinctual and glandular responses of an ancient and powerful logic, never to be denied, requiring an effort of conscious will to override. Strippers make a game and a cynical living from a set of strong impulses embedded in the grue of men. Ras Halili was not immune, not crippled by any dysfunctions, and not thinking in straight lines. She possessed him. He was hooked by her body and gaffed by her attitude. If she'd known the state he was in, she could have steaked him up for dinner, but she was still doing a job. And a very expert job; she displayed her soft breasts, snaked her body over his to breathe on his cheek, laid a foot at his ear and opened herself so close he could smell the brighter smell beneath the melon scent. She bent over for him, she stroked herself to call his attention to her nipples, her belly, her soft tan flanks and womanly hips. She lay along him and writhed against him. It was beautiful and broken, as all such artificial contacts are. Halili felt acutely the falsity, and he was more certain than ever that something would go wrong. Still he lifted his body to meet her, moved his cheek to brush the breast, shivered when the nipple touched his ear and his neck, inhaled her cunt smell and squirmed in his cheap office chair to allow his rising cock to expand against her insistent ass. And both of them were receiving wages for the experience. "He likes my ass more than my tits," she thought, approving. She bent away from him and peeled the lace down over her buns, moving her knees to the music to make them sway and twist. "I can leave the bra on." Just today, she wanted the support. The little panties made their way to the floor. Janet turned and felt his cock through the blue Dickies. Hard as bone. "Your turn, sweetie," she purred, working his belt buckle. "Here we go." Even Halili's doubt was delicious. She stripped him to the ankles and opened his legs again. With a catlike quickness, she applied her warm breasts directly to his cock, smirking into his puppy eyes and running her hands up his chest. His smell impressed her again; something about the man was arousing her sympathy. Her soft belly followed the breasts, she nuzzled his neck. Halili could feel the sweet mound similarly nuzzling his cock now. She was pushing it side-to-side with the blunt flesh; he imagined a dampness in the contact and whimpered into her ear. His need and his tension rose together now. He felt great issues hung on his every choice, but he reached around her to touch the jutting buns, to feel them working under his shaking fingers. Her pussy pushed him back and forth, her skin felt amazingly smooth and beautiful. "Relax, now; I'm not dangerous," she chuckled. "Go ahead and touch it." "Thank you," he said. She had to smile wider to mask her amusement. "I like the hands," she breathed, feeling as she said it the cock shaft twitch between her labia. "Take them and squeeze! Play with them. Yeah. Yeah." She closed her eyes, and she was just a little less menacing. Halili's fingers felt of her anus, brushed the wet slit from behind. That part moved out of reach but she moved it like a mouth along his cock, slowly up along the underside and then down to the root. She rode its curve but didn't take it inside, her weight jamming it firmly into his belly. His fingers moved the flesh of her anus, her breasts deformed against his chest, her melon and musk overtook his inhibition. "Oh!" "Don't worry, hon." "Billah!" "Want more?" Watching his worshiping eyes, feeling his fingers open her anus, and rubbing her clit hard into his ridgy cock flesh-- it all added up. Janet was close to actually coming. "More!" His eyes widened. "Please! Yes!" "Lick me, then?" "Yes, yes!" The Eagles predicted a heartache, but neither of them paid much attention to that. She placed a shoe on his chair arm and tossed her hair back, standing. His cock sprang away from his belly, slick and shiny under the naked lightbulb. The man moved slowly down and pulled her hips in close. His eagle's beak nose invaded her pussy, his tongue scraped across her sensitive asshole, languidly around and back again. In the quiet following the Eagles' last guitar riff came her indrawn gasp. Her body shook with surprise; a detonation in the groin sent sparkles of delight through her. The bridge of his nose kept the heat on while his tongue and fingers played beneath her, opening, stretching. Her grunts of appreciation formed a segue into the Pretenders. "I got brass," sneered Chrissy Hynde, "in pocket!" Halili's beefy fingers plunged into her and circled a little roughly. His tongue moved up and worked the clit like a speed bag. "Jesus, Khalil!" "Halili," he corrected, leaving Jesus on his own. He found the place and pushed against it, pressing in and moving the pressure in a circle, licking the clit in sharp staccato to the bouncing beat of the veteran band. He knew the G-spot, but he'd never had a chance to use it. He looked up at her face, but she was not focused on anything. She looked like a dervish in trance, and it made him grin. As he continued, obeying her frantic Harder! Harder-- Jesus! she was coming like fireworks over the bay. Her legs shook and she laid hands on top of Halili's head, leaning a lot of weight on it. His neck hurt. "Please, you must bend down, I will get it from behind you," he said. "All right, sorry, oh get it!" Her big soft buns turned up as she buried her head in his chair, imploring him to keep going. She looked so perfect. Halili turned and gave the spot his thumb, working his tongue against her asshole. She muffled her shrieks in the chair cushion. Chrissy wailed, "I wanna have some of your... attention! Give it to me!" His tongue took the cue and penetrated her now guileless ass. The next few bars he fucked it with an avid tongue, rubbing his thumb harshly inside her pussy. He pulled his head back to breathe and there it was, hanging open, dark, inviting. He took her cheeks in both hands, opened her, and jammed his cock at her gaping hole. Janet squirmed under him and the head slid exquisitely through the ring of dark puckers. "O God! O Halili, yes!" He leaned on it and drove into her gut. Three strokes and he was in to the hilt in this heavenly white ass. "Oh, you prick! Fuck me, you bastard--!" Her words drove him mad, he came in spasms as he jammed cock over and over into the utterly compliant stripper. The friction built but then his seed made everything smooth and fine again. He wallowed in her delightful ass, his joyful praise ascended to heaven. Janet bit her lip and panted as the little man took her. "It's fantastic!" she thought, "I never came so hard!" Then with a plummeting feeling she realized all at once that it was unprotected. She hissed in sudden fear and stood, making little yelps, slapping him on the thigh. He extracted himself and regarded her face, uncomprehending. "Jesus motherfuckin Christ, you idiot!" she said. Her arm came back behind her and she swung an artless roundhouse to the side of Halili's head. His pants were still at his ankles and he fell asprawl among the supplies and tools. She hit him a few more times and then kicked him while she got dressed. He howled and tried to fend off the blows with his arms. He ended in a curl of misery among his scattered gear, looking at her pale grim face in disbelief. "Fuck this!" Janet, dressed now, banged down on the button to stop the music. Flinging the door wide she stalked off fuming to the nearest exit. "Can you say, death wish, boys and girls?" People gave her plenty of room and she marched in straight lines to her car. Halili had to crawl naked to the door and shut it. At least three people saw him doing it, and he lay sobbing and miserable on the floor, bruised and completely ignorant of what he had done to offend her. "Always!" he cried. "Always! I am cursed!" When he poked his head out, though, no one seemed to be noticing. When he got into the men's room, he saw red slap marks and a fresh bruise on his face. He moped through his remaining hours speaking to no one and drove disconsolately home. * * * * * Eleven days later Halili almost never was the last to leave the mall, but he did leave after closing most nights. He checked the lock behind him and turned away. It was a cool fall night and the stars were out. There are no real trees near malls. The sky is always visible and there's a wind there, if there is one anywhere. They're like airports, in that way. Halili liked the stars. Most people never seemed to look, so he felt they were just for him and the other people who looked up. A woman was approaching, though. The Runaway Ch. 01 "Halili?" "Who--? That girl!" "I'm Janet," she said. "I don't think I told you my name." "I'm very very sorry, Janet! I made a terrible mistake! I thought you--" "It's okay, listen, I have to tell you something." "Can you forgive me? I was an animal!" "You were great!" "I was great?" Janet laughed. "You were brilliant! Where are you going?" "Me?" "Yes, you!" "Home!" "Can I talk you into having coffee or something instead?" This was not the way Halili lived his life. Nothing ever happened to him. Except Janet. "Coffee. It's very late. Where? That donut place?" "Dysart's." The truck stop was always open, with plain simple American diner food. Halili agreed. In the parking lot they spotted one another. Janet smiled and led him in. They took a table against the window, and the hostess promised their waitress would be right with them. "I never should have kicked you and stuff; I was just panicking." "I didn't know you were afraid. You seemed to want-- I mean, I thought you--" "I did want it! Christ, I asked you to, remember?" "Yes. But then--" "I know, but I was worried all of a sudden, about..." Janet lowered her voice and leaned close. "About AIDS. No condom." "Oh." Halili processed this. "Oh! I see! But I don't have the AIDS," he whispered, "I never have any sex!" "Shh! I know, I got a test and I talked to Lisa, too. I was worried for nothing, and I hit you and kicked you and I want to say I'm sorry." Halili sensed someone closing in, and looked up to see who it was. It wasn't the waitress, but a large state trooper in uniform. "Is your name Janet Waterman?" he gritted. "Yes." The massive man's black belt, laden with armaments, creaked. Halili stared at it. "You're wanted for questioning in the Jake Philbrick case." The Runaway Ch. 02 The voice just gave a greeting, in a friendly contralto. Halili's eyes left the flagstones and met those of the woman before him. He made a noise in acknowledgment, but he didn't want to speak to anyone. "You look down. You in trouble?" That was no large leap. Halili usually had a haunted look, anyway, but now he was sitting on the granite steps of the police station. The young woman stood there, bent low, too long for him just to ignore her. "Please," Halili said, "I don't know you." "Monica Park," she chirped, as if giving her name took care of it. "How bad can it be? Look, if you were really in trouble they wouldn't let you back out on the street, right?" The woman sat on the next step down with a whisper of nylon. She was compact and had a broad east Asian face. "I'm not the one in trouble." "She's inside, right, and you're waiting?" Halili nodded. He needed sleep. His defenses were low. Monica kept on. "Close friend?" There was only one answer to that, if he were honest. "No." "No?" Monica didn't believe him. From her athletic knees and calves, Halili went back to staring at the stone flags. He was thinking, not for the first time, that maybe he had no right to wait for her. But he remembered her eyes when the trooper put her in the cruiser. "No, but I will wait anyway." Monica brandished her purse in his face. There was a tag clipped to it, with her picture. "You are the police!" "Detective Park," Monica agreed. "Come on. Maybe you should wait inside." "For what? I am--" Monica waited, but Halili didn't know what he was, exactly. Innocent? Not involved? "You're what?" "I just want to make sure she gets home okay." "Where's home?" "I don't know where she lives," Halili admitted. "but her car is still at Dysart's." Detective Park wrinkled her nose. "You don't even know where she lives? Are you some kinda knight in shining armor?" "God. I don't know." Just a fool, I guess, he thought. "Come inside with me." Monica got briskly up. "But I don't know anything about her that can help you." But she took him inside anyway. There were too many questions. ***** The A.D.A. was waiting for her on the other side of the glass. "Well?" "There are things he's not telling," Monica said, dissatisfied. "I don't believe he's going to, do you?" "I can get him." "Let's give Forsythe a shot, for a minute. You already know what he's not telling, anyway, don't you?" "What?" "She's a stripper. He's just not going to turn her in, that's all. He's being noble; you can see it." "Could be." Park considered it. "What about her?" "Miss Waterman's story checks out with what we know. You don't have enough for a search, even. Right now the county isn't prepared to charge either of them." "There's still more to do on this case," Monica said. "Okay, tail them. Talk to the roommate. But it looks from here like there's no case." "He's Palestinian!" "No, he's naturalized. And Philbrick was no Palestinian, he was a drunk and a plumber." "Yes, sir." Park opened the Interview door. "You can go, Halili." "Where is Janet?" he blurted. It felt to him as if it had been hours. Detective Forsythe stood up. "Dammit, Janet," he said. Park grinned. "Rrockay!" she responded. Halili listened to them chuckling, but he didn't hesitate to leave the little gray room. Suddenly, he remembered; he called out, "Dr. Scott!" in shocked tones. Into the silence that followed this came Forsythe's laughter. Park glowered at her partner. "You should have seen your face!" Forsythe exulted. "Halili!" "Janet!" "Oh, Jesus!" Park said, disgusted. "Rrockay!" sang Forsythe. ***** Janet's car had been following him. His speculations were confirmed when it stopped behind his, in front of his apartment building. Neither noticed the little silver-gray Yaris which stopped half a block behind that. "I have to work in five hours," Halili told her. "Then we better get started right away," she smirked, "so you can get some sleep afterwards." Halili stepped back to let her open the door. She pinched the remote and the car's lights blinked back to it. He led her to number 5. "It's very small," he apologized. "Could I use your bathroom? Good." He pointed to it, and she told him she wouldn't be a minute. For a few seconds, Halili stood, listening to every sound, trying to visualize, but then he repented, and felt weariness invade him. He sat at the kitchen chair and removed his boots. He emptied his pockets atop the fridge. He looked listlessly inside it, but little appealed; he was too far gone. Sleep! I need sleep. He took a jar of olives and sat, munching, staring out the window at the wavers of heat rising off the pavement. Her face emerged from his bathroom, backlit by the fluorescents. Like an angel, he thought. Her red hair was loose, a dawn sky all about her shoulders. "Your turn," her sunny voice told him. "And get your clothes off; the bed is through there?" He watched her over his shoulder on the way, but all she did was to poke around in the fridge. He looked very tired in his mirror, but he began to smile. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, smiling more widely and foolishly all the time, and threw his clothes in the hamper very quickly once he'd cleaned up a little. "You look an idiot, Ras Halili," he told the mirror. She put the juice bottle down and hugged him, naked, at the doorway. Their first kiss became heated very soon. He ran fingertips down her flank to the swelling curve of her hip, then jumped when she clasped his cock and slid her hand out to the end. She broke the kiss, then, and bade him lie down, retaining his cock in her hand, stroking it. His calves and forearms were well-muscled-- he worked for a living. The rest of him was spare and corded, like swimmers' muscles. His shoulders were broad but he was certainly not beefy. He smelled fine. She straddled his ankles and opened her mouth. When her lips touched his cock, a noise came from deep in his chest. He called her name in wonder. It was beyond his dreams. Her tongue circled it, her fine hair swirled over his groin and belly as she bobbed down and up. Janet thought that even his groans had a little accent, and she felt a tenderness for him. The head exposed. She teased it lightly with kisses, then plunged to the root. She came back up fiendishly slow, tasting every millimeter with her busy tongue. Holding his balls in her hand, she looked into his dark eyes. "I brought my lube in here, it's there by the clock. We can do whatever; but I want you in my ass again." Her other hand skated lightly up and down his curved, corded cock. "Tell me," she insisted, in a voice ragged with emotion. "Turn. So I can lick you," he said. "Yes!" "Come around, then suck." "Yes!" Halili investigated the lube, and when she had straddled him again, applied it to her ass. She squealed, though her mouth was full. He rotated his knuckles in the cuplike hollow of the tight opening, spreading the slick substance, softening the tightness. More strong pushing and rolling, and the puckers effaced themselves. He placed another dollop of lubricant and screwed a thick finger in. Her coo of pleasure was delicious to his ears. He capped the lube and let it fall to the rug, bending his head low, licking her swollen lips, teasing them with his tongue. His finger slid into her anal depths; he drew her cuntlips into his mouth, urging her to move closer with peremptory tugs on her hip. She complied, sucking him strongly. Once her pussy made full contact, she could feel the urgent approach of another exquisite come. It percolated out from his lips and tongue, his invading hand. A bubble of heat and excitement conquered everything down there, and would not be denied. His touch, firm and knowing, had convinced her body to release itself to the man, to trust him utterly. Her nostrils were filled with Halili's scent, her mouth full of his hot cock meat. Nothing mattered in the world, any more, but this moment. Except the next moment! The next moment, she was going to come. His hand snaked in and out of her ass without limit. "God, Halili!" His mouth worked magic. "Oh, fuck." From her center the electric bubble of warmth sent a shockwave out, all at once. The wave passed over her to the toes and fingertips, leaving her panting and tingling. "Oh, fuck. Oh, God." God is great, thought Halili. "They're in there fucking, you know," complained Detective Park. "Probably." "You don't care, do you?" She was fuming. Forsythe eyed her. "Look, I don't get this," he said, going for reasonableness. "Let 'em fuck; what's the difference?" "What's the difference! She killed her father, and now she's screwing a hajji scumbag!" There was too much to say about that deadly little utterance. Forsythe had to pick one. "She'll be in prison for decades, if we're right. This is ten minutes, maybe even an hour. No comparison." "Okay. Yeah." "A little patience, is all." "You're right." Park could be a handful, but she had drive. She's a bulldog, reflected Forsythe, and they don't pay me enough to do therapy. He didn't want to change her, anyway. "Coffee?" Ear flat on the bed and knees on its edge, both hands pulling herself wide open, Janet hissed gratefully. The purple head of the Arab's cock slid out of his sight into her asshole. His own grunt of satisfaction heralded his slide down inside. His hipbones thumped against the pale, freckled skin. He worked his knees to make the hard meat wobble side to side within her. "Billah. You have such a sweet ass." His accent brought on a giggle. "Good," she said, "because there's an awful lot of it." "It is perfect. And, I am going to fuck it." He slapped it, then gripped onto it and got started. "Oh, yeah. Ride... ride, baby." He had some strength, but Halili's great gift had always been endurance. Despite the fast pace he had set, he could have stayed with it longer than many younger men. Janet wanted him to have a great come, but the fierce strokes made her curl her back to set a limit to how deep he could get, and the relentless slams began to carry her off toward her own new climax. The curving column of hard gristle was driven in and pulled rapidly forth over and over. It moved her sensitive flesh, it caused a tingle and a friction. Her face and tits were mashed into the mattress repeatedly by the Arab's power and momentum. She rubbed her clit and savored his savagery. Her knees trembled, her chest and throat opened, letting out inchoate moans. Still his unrelenting masculine thrusts sank into her. His slaps brought a dark blush to her milky skin, but she loved them, too. In the end, though, her youth defeated him, deliciously. The young anus never gave up clutching cock with sweet insistence. All too soon, with a twinge of pleasure which shocked him with its force, the sperm jetted the entire length of him. Then again, again; Halili howled and ground his hips as tightly into the fleshy cushions as he could. Spasm followed spasm, Halili lost his grip, his breath, almost his consciousness. He lay draped down her back, gasping raggedly, sweat dripping from his soaked forelock onto her shoulder. It was as if a tropical storm had passed over. Janet was amazed. She let him recover his breath a minute, then gently reminded him he needed to sleep. His softening rod slipped out of her. She turned and tucked him into the bedclothes with motherly little noises, removing the condom she'd made him use. She washed herself a minute, then lay behind him, spoonwise, snuggling into his nape and shoulder. With one hand, she rubbed her poor abused anus. She marveled at his power, since after all he'd had no sleep all night. "Halili?" "Mm?" "What does 'billah' mean, love?" ***** Janet opened her eyes in a half-light. Was it morning or evening? Then she focused on the window, a double-hung with eight panes in each section and beautiful lace on the curtains' edges. There was a strong funk and her ass was sore. I know where I am now. Dear Halili's tousled head was pressing into her upper arm and she herself had rolled up against the cool wall. The narrow bed was flush against that wall; otherwise she would surely have fallen out in the night. Memory came back. With great caution, she lifted her head to check the time. Halili was due in to his work in fifty minutes. Ideal, she exulted. Sneakily, she slid herself lower, keeping his head in place, and then she reached in to fondle him. She could rest her head in an angle between his elbow and flank and lie comfortably. Slowly his cock awoke and stiffened under her fingers. She freed his balls and cupped them, rolling them lightly in her hand, then slid the cock skin in a wringing motion, around the shaft and then back rather than up and down. Subterranean muscular twinges caused it to lift toward his belly and fall back away from it again. He whimpered and his breathing got louder. He was bone-hard and pulsing. It was a very small bed and Janet was trapped against the wall in a tiny space. Just the same, she eased her arm out from beneath Halili's head and scooted down even further. Halili's dream took a weird turn, and he shot awake. His cock was being sucked, exquisitely. He dispelled the dream and embraced the reality. "Janet, my heart, ahhh! You are more than anyone deserves." "Then you ought to fuck me. Bill-lah!" ***** A fortyish plainclothes cop with what looked to be an iPod sat on the bench by the mall entrance, though the first bus wouldn't be by for more than an hour. He was there when Lisa came out the door to intercept him. He had known Halili was on the way, since the second shift had followed the man from home, but he hadn't expected Lisa. He froze and listened. "Okay, Halili, what do you have to do with this?" Exactly, thought the cop. Halili recognized the girl who worked in The Gap, but he'd seldom had much to do there, beyond fixing a door and some wiring. Why was she angry? "With what?" "With Janet and her stepdad! They asked me if I knew you, so don't try to deny it. They questioned me for two hours!" "I am sorry! They questioned me, too, for very much longer, but I--" "I knew it! What happened to her stepdad?" "They didn't say! I don't know!" "Sure you don't. Well, is she in jail now?" "Is who in jail?" "Janet! Gawd! Janet! She didn't come home. I think she must have gone to jail for killing her stepdad. Don't you know anything at all?" By now, Halili had put it together. This was Lisa, Janet's roommate. She had been the one who had called Janet to come and give him the lap dance in the first place. "You're Lisa, aren't you?" Her glare was answer enough. "I want to say thank you a thousand times." "What?" The cop got to hear no more, though, because the doors closed behind them. He wandered over to the tan Yaris. Officer Tim Laliberte let down his window. His partner was eating a cinnamon roll; the smell came out and made the cop hungry. "Hey, Laliberte." "Was that the roommate? What'd she say?" "She gave him some shit, but I don't think she has a clue." "All right. You and Montreux got the towel head. They want us to come double up on Waterman." "Ten-four." ***** When she went home after her shower, Lisa was gone, and she took stock of things. Jake had been dead, right downstairs, the night she'd left. The idea took getting used to. She looked around the room. Most of the clutter was Lisa's; her music was already in the car, as always; she could pack all her clothes in one bag, easy-- every last thing she owned would fit in the car. Maybe I should just go. She began to gather the things in the room that were hers. One by one she put them on the couch, and it wasn't a big pile. She looked at it. "The answer's no, I guess," she said to herself. She'd disappeared nearly a year, the first time. But a year was nothing. "No. But if I decide to, later, I'll be glad I was packed." Then she hit the kitchen and bedroom, going through the drawers and shelves in earnest. I'll hit the bank, too, take it all out. They can track you if you use a card. It made her feel good to have something to do. She assembled the bags and suitcase in the bedroom. It was a bit depressing how quickly it all was finished. Janet Waterman made a small footprint in the world. Montreux at the mall had decided to send his partner with the iPod in, and stay himself with the car. If there was anything duller than watching Halili's day, though, it had to involve watching paint dry. The man acted for all the world as though all he had to do was maintain things at the mall. Also, he seemed to be oblivious to his shadow, almost as though he never imagined anyone would be sent to watch. Montreux's day was even less eventful. Two cars full of police followed Janet on two jobs for her agency. After each one, the man was interviewed by one team while the other carried on following Janet. Neither customer had a thing to add of any relevance, and Janet hadn't even committed prostitution. Doggedly, the surveillance continued. They watched her deliver money to the agency; they watched her go to the bank. They watched her return home. They witnessed her lunch and they saw her buy a sweater at Goodwill. The sergeant of detectives had spoken with the A.D.A. By change of shift in the evening, the word was given to drop the tail on Halili. That told Detective Park she had very little time to make something break. ***** "Janet! Thank God!" "Hi, Lisa. There's roast beef--" "So what happened? Are you out on bail?" "Bail? No. They just told me I could go." Lisa had to know everything. They had cold roast beef with Janet's ancho and horseradish mayonnaise, spinach Madeleine, and Barefoot. She kept talking about it until Janet's cell rang. "Hello, Janet. Is this a bad time?" "No! You're off work?" "Yes. I'm worried--" "Want some roast beef? I made some. We're eating." Lisa's apartment was 21½ B First Street. The "half" meant that the house stood in behind the other houses which actually fronted on the street, and the B apartment was tucked up over the porch. You reached it by a fire escape with stairs and landings which snaked across the side of the structure. It was Halili's first visit, and he was uncertain he was doing it right. So it was that he saw the silver Yaris with the familiar Korean face in the window. He was relieved to find the knock answered by his Janet. "They are watching," he told her. "I saw them, right outside." Janet swallowed the greeting she was about to give him. "The police?" "The detectives, the ones who talked to me, in a car." He stood by while she went to the railing to try to spot them. "They are in the gray car," he told her helpfully, "behind the motorcycle." "I see it. Oh, now what? I told them everything! I didn't even know he was dead! What can they want?" Panic was making her voice rise. Her hands were fists with white knuckles. "Police, they just watch." "What?" "They watch." He shrugged. "It's what it is, to be a detective. You have to watch and suspect people. Forget them." "Forget them? How can you ever forget them?" "What's going on?" Lisa stepped in to the doorway and looked from one to the other. "Well, not forget them; you have to realize they are watching, so you don't do something stupid. But you can't change anything. They will give up when someone new comes along." "The police?" Lisa said, becoming animated. "Where?" She stepped to the railing. "The gray car--" Halili and Janet had said it together, and they broke off, laughing. They looked into each other's faces, and then... then it was deeper than that. The Runaway Ch. 02 "There it is!" Lisa was excited. Her roommate wasn't just a naughty girl who was a stripper, she was a glamorous woman of mystery with police on her trail. Lisa loved the Forensic Files and the CSI shows. The joy of it was all over her face. Suddenly, everyone was happy. "Come on in!" "Yes! Come in, Halili," echoed Lisa, "there's cabernet." The Runaway Ch. 03 The placid public edifice of stone and oak rose high-ceilinged above its seedy neighbors. South Slavs and Italians had carved and laid its imposing granite face a century ago, when the apartment buildings around it, even older, had been the manors of the barons of industry. The tall room on the second floor, lit, floored and furnished at low bid, retained little of the dignity intended by its Gilded Age architect, though the windows held their lintels the height of a man above the functionaries working in it. On a report from the morning shift Detective Park saw a banal item in a list of banal items, and had a flash of insight. She identified it as her wedge, the one that would pry open her case. "Come on, John," she said, "let's go. First Fed. Waterman went there yesterday afternoon and I want to find out why." The two strode through the aging sallow corridor and down the granite staircase. "What've you got, Monica?" Forsythe asked, as the slanting sunlight struck them. "A feeling." Monica had redeemed her intuitive beliefs with courtroom convictions in the past. "So, nothing yet?" "The bank will tell us, but I'm right." Forsythe drove the silver-gray Yaris out of the annex and onto the street, signaling his turn. She was started on her story, now, and all he had to do was wait to get the details. He knew Park quite well after all this time. "I think she's making ready to bolt," explained Park. "So you think she pulled her money?" "She's a runaway. She'll run again." "Christ, you'd have run away, too. Her stepfather was raping her!" "And now, we're going to pin his murder on her. Every bit as bad. She's going to run. I'll take point in the bank." I'll go in, you loom behind me and look intrepid, Forsythe interpreted silently, but the role she was asking of him was an easy one. They stepped purposefully, yet with a certain casual insouciance, into the First Federal's black polished marble lobby. Without a warrant of any kind, it was important to look steely and official. No sweat. These were detectives on duty, large egos exempted from doubt by their heroic role and armored by their impunity. Park's compact, athletic body stood ramrod straight at the corner of the mahogany desk until her presence alone forced the woman sitting there to address her. From the jacket of her power suit Monica produced her gold badge, so John displayed his. She explained that she was Detective Park, and that this was Detective Forsythe. At two o'clock the previous day, one of the bank's customers had been seen to enter it. She had evaded questioning in a suspicious death for almost a year, and was now consorting with a Palestinian, suspected also of involvement. Park gave her the name: Janet Waterman. "We want to know what transactions she might have done here," she finished. Behind her shoulder and above her head Forsythe's impassive French features gave away nothing. Because I say so wasn't a good enough reason for Helen Vukcic. People came in wanting to know what other people had done at her branch at least once a week. She remained seated and composed her answer carefully. "And that is why the court has ordered that I get the record for you, I take it? No problem at all. I'll have to file the warrant, and then we have a desk for you, right in there." Her tone was helpful and gracious. "We have not yet got a warrant, Ms. Vu--" "Vukcic." "Vukcic. Time is important here; we were hoping for your voluntary co-operation." Park was seething as she strapped into the seat. "The bitch." "Ms. Vukcic, she's the bitch, a bit of a hitch," agreed Forsythe. "Cammack should have gone into the bank yesterday, you know? We have to take over surveillance on Waterman in half an hour. If she buys a bus ticket or anything, we can make sure we hear her." Forsythe put it in drive. "Sloppy," snarled Monica. "And that officious, prissy-bitch manager!" "Half an hour. Where do you want to go for food and coffee?" "Giacomo's?" "Good." Cammack and Montreux drove away, making for the stone edifice on State Street hill. Their taillights vanished around the corner, leaving Park and Forsythe alone in the darkening areaway. Lights showed in the windows of Janet Waterman's apartment. John settled in for the evening. He pulled out a cigarette and tamped it on the car's window frame. "Another long night, it looks like," he observed. He heard Monica release her seat belt, and then felt a little thrill as her fingertip drew a line from under his earlobe down to his collar. "We can make the time go, John," she purred. The finger traveled out to his shoulder and down his arm. He smirked into her broad Korean face and caught her chin in his hand, caressing. "Well, then. Let's hope it's very long." Her finger moved across his thigh top and made a circle around his zipper. "I'm hoping it's long. And hard, too." She closed her eyes and bent in to kiss his lean mouth. Forsythe wondered what risky plan she wanted him to cover for, this time, but the price was right. When she had a gut feeling about a case Monica got it done, one way or another. He was willing to do his part, especially this part. She smelled faintly like spice, wax, and distant flowers here at her cleavage, and he looked forward to the more animal scent further down the taut, creamy little frame. Her small fingers cupped the bulge through the crotch of his worsted wool trousers and her firm lips rolled over his. Forsythe's hand worked up the inside of her stockinged thigh and put pressure against the dainty cunt. She curled her torso and opened her thighs to him, pressing him in tighter with her own hand. The impudent little cunt lips separated and moved against each other under his fingers. A whisper from the nylon and the subtle crunch of hairs came to his ears. Though they may become familiar, some things never lose their ability to excite. John's head seemed to fill with heat. Her eyes, in the semi-darkness, looked like dark slots set in the oval face. She was meeting his gaze directly and she opened her legs more definitely to his hand, thrusting against it with twists of hip. "I want it, John," she breathed. "Back seat," he tersely ordered, "and get those off." ***** Janet lay on her side, one leg on Halili's shoulder. Her man fucked her, strong and slow, while he knelt between her legs. She raised up on an elbow to watch his face. She loved to watch his expression when he was close to coming. She squeezed her full, soft breast and held the nipple tightly. The soft flesh of her ass and thighs rippled under every thrust. Halili's belly muscles tautened and released, his thigh muscles stood out. In this position her pussy's grip was soft and subtle, his movement free. He worked his rough thigh against her clit with devilish science in a circular stroke, though she had already come, howling, when he had taken her from behind. She bit her lower lip and whimpered, her fingers brushed her nipple. The delicate clutch of her pussy had its way, and Halili felt the tingle and tightness under his balls take on shape and point. "I'm coming, Janet," he panted. "get it with your mouth! Quick!" Janet rolled and turned, peeled the covering from his swollen cock, and took him deep into her mouth. Six quick sucks and he seemed to explode. His cock lifted up, the head flared, and the first jet struck the back of her palate like a torrent. It jumped again, and splashed her tongue, and it kept twitching even once the jets of sperm no longer came. He had grabbed her red hair and pulled her to him, so that her forehead pressed his belly, and now his fingers relaxed. She loved his flavor. She loved his musky smell down there, everything about him made her just want more. "Gawd, she had to hear us that time!" she said, grinning. And she certainly had. The way the cheap walls and doors were made, they may as well have been behind a curtain. Lisa could hear that they were done, too, and she hurried to finish, fingers flying in and out across her swollen clit. She knelt, leaning an elbow on the back of the recliner to muffle her cries against. Her jeans were at her knees. Her naked ass squeezed tight, tipping her cunt forward into the path of her rapid strokes. Yes! God, there it comes, oh Christ! Despite herself, a gasp and a little hoot escaped her mouth. She was sure they had to have heard! But she brought her come to a nice rounded end, wallowing, clutching her wrist between her strong thighs. Then she listened. She could hear the man's change and keys jingle, and a zipper go. Swiftly she stood and closed her pants, then smoothed down her shirt just as the door opened. "I saw them swap over," Lisa reported. "There's a new car there, now." Her eyes were bright and her face rosy and damp. She moved around behind them, almost dancing. "Have a look," she told them, gesturing at the window, "it's the gray one again." Her roommate's voice was a little unsteady, and her smile too wide. Janet misinterpreted the signs. "Sorry, Lisa, I'm really embarrassed." Impulsively Lisa gave Janet a quick hug. "Please don't even think about it," she said. "He's so good for you. Now, you'll have to excuse me a minute." Quick as a squirrel, she darted around the door jamb into the bathroom, and closed the door. The two lovers grinned at one another, then peeked out the window. They saw the two detectives get into the back seat. "Did you see what she was doing?" asked Halili. "I think she was taking off her pantyhose; what do you think?" "Yes! That could have been it. There was a green thing, too. He was unbuttoning his shirt, I think." "My God, they're gonna do it in the car!" Halli laughed. "No question!" "This is hilarious!" The bathroom door creaked open. "Lisa! The detectives are fucking in the back seat!" ***** His back to the door, Forsythe had hooked a leg over the front seat's head rest. A naked Detective Park washed his balls with an avid tongue. Cords and veins stood forth on the glistening surface of his cock, as it wobbled obscenely above her eyebrows like a tube worm in an undersea fissure. With a lithe twist, Park rotated face-up and wormed forward. With her head wedged under him, resting on the carpet, she was able to drive her tongue deeply up into the man's ass. He watched her hands as she masturbated herself before his eyes. Her athlete's body writhed and bucked, glistening with sweat. Her grunts of passion rent the air. It was incredibly hot. Forsythe was glad she wasn't touching his cock, because he'd have come for sure. Her tongue drove in and out, its rough surface the nastiest great sensation he'd ever felt. "I want to eat it, Monica." Her leg swung up and hooked around his knee and the creaking headrest, and suddenly there it was, barely out of his reach. Park didn't trim it, so the hair, in the poor lighting, hid everything but the opening in the center, pink, turgid, soaked, infinitely desirable. "Come up another foot! Damn!" Park lifted the other leg blindly, and Forsythe grabbed it, pulling her crotch in, tasting the gorgeous, rich musk and slick sweet salt, driving his generous nose between its folds. The detective closed his eyes and feasted, soaked in the fragrance of his partner's pussy. Curled like a snail, she rocked her head on the floor, fucking him. She was very close to her climax under his cruel tongue. ***** "You can't see anything from here," objected Lisa. "How do you know that's what they're doing?" The two recounted their evidence. "Let's go out on the landing," Halili suggested. But the little Yaris stood mute. "Let's go look!" "Gawd, Lisa! No!" ***** "Oh, Christ! John, you have to stop! Please. No more." Park was supersensitive, overstimulated. She curled up and held her poor pussy in both hands. "Just give me a minute, okay?" "How 'bout lubing up for that minute?" "Yeah, okay. Where is it?" "Just south of the minge." Detective Park dug into her handbag. There was a squeeze bottle of Astroglide. Her badge wallet fell to the floor when she pulled it out. "Got it, got it. Just a minute, John." "I like you like this, hands and knees. God, I love this. Rub it, round and round. Oh, yeah. You scabby slut. You crib whore!" She had such exquisitely toned creamy skin, such perfect abs, such cute little tits. Her ass was like a boy's, though, all muscle, very slim, even though it was set wider than any boy's. But it was for free, and you can't order à la carte. On all fours, she was such a sailor's dream that it didn't matter. He already knew how tight and elastic she was going to be, when he fucked it. Park craved a full-on, thorough, callous fuck. It must not be damped or tuned, and especially not tender. It was by no means just to ensnare Forsythe in her schemes that she awaited him, head low. Her clit was still tingling and her nipples singing. "Treat me like a whore, now. I'm ready." He walked in on his knees in the tight space of the tiny automobile. "Fuck my ass!" ***** Janet stood at the railing, watching Lisa and Halili approach the little car. They hugged the shadows, but every tread of a foot was audible. Nothing grew very well in among the apartment buildings; it was all clay or gravel. They all froze for a weird, wordless groan, inside the Yaris. Lisa giggled. Janet whispered, "Gawd!" They could hear his voice then, and hers-- little wails, mostly, and grunts, but they could make out some blasphemies. The stalkers were grinning now, and moved up more boldly. Janet's cell rang, and she spoke into it. The two below could hear that she had an outcall. Lisa went right up to the car, then circled right a little. She stood stooped forward, one arm braced tight between her thighs, one hugging her chest. More circumspectly, Halili came slowly up behind her, ducking and peering in past Lisa's shoulder. Halili could see they were fucking doggie style in the cramped space, but he could make out no details. He arose and turned at the sound of footsteps on the fire escape stairs. Janet was going out to dance, somewhere, he realized, and the detectives would have to follow her. Gently, he tugged Lisa's shoulder. "Lay off!" she hissed. "Janet is going out. They will go after her! Come back inside!" He waved to Janet, who blew him a kiss in return. "Shit." They were halfway to the first landing, still below the porch roof, when Janet's car started, casting red light back over the Yaris and over them, too. Lisa slapped a hand on Halili's back, and they both crouched there, looking between the railing supports. After a few beats, there came a ringtone, and the doors opened. Forsythe, hard dick still swaying, opened the front door rapidly and bent over. He spoke into the 'phone in acknowledgment. Both naked people were dressing in the red light and then in the succeeding darkness. In a flurry of clothing and soft laughter they put themselves together. Forsythe had to talk on the 'phone the whole time, numbers and code phrases. The Yaris took off, spinning up gravel, turned and was gone. "A policeman's lot is not a happy one," Lisa sang. He didn't get the reference, but no one ever did. Halili seemed genuinely content. "That was fun!" Life was altogether better, from his angle. "He was buttfucking her! Did you see that?" "He was? No, I could not tell." They headed upstairs together. "He had this little, make-believe ass!" "And big feet!" Lisa frowned. "Everyone has all this sex, but me." Both police cars followed her when she returned to 21½ B. She found it very menacing, as if hyenas were following her everywhere. But in fact, she'd just had a break. Every other job since the surveillance began, they'd rousted her clients as soon as she'd gotten out of sight. A few more days would surely erode her livelihood. But the cops knew the address she'd been at this evening. It would pay none of them to molest a member of that family, even for the sake of a murder investigation. The idea wasn't even discussed. At the door, Halili noticed her haunted expression right away. With gentle sympathy he drew her out and heard her worries through. Lisa impatiently cut the session short. "We can cheer you up, though! Tell her!" "I brought something from home, while you were out. Lisa has waited very nicely, but now you're here. Have a look." "The hash!" "Yes, indeed," Lisa smiled, "and the time has come. You were a long time. What happened, anyway?" "It was a party, three guys. Nice house. I got a huge tip." "Sit. Halili says, you first. Want Kind of Blue?" They smoked and listened to Miles. Eventually, Halili brought up the thing that worried him. "I wonder when you will go back. That man is gone. Won't you have to do something about the house?" Janet stared at him. "That's right; I hadn't even thought!" "Is it your house, Janet?" Lisa asked. "I guess it is, partly. I have a sister, older than me. She lives in California." Janet thought about it. "Who would call her, though? I wonder what did happen? It's been a year, almost." "Will the cops even let you go there?"