Part 21 - Wolfe: Taste of Darkness

Her eyes never left the window, and mine never left her. How she didn’t see me. How she didn’t sense my presence. She was lost in her own world. Nothing around her registered. What she saw in the glass, I couldn’t say. But I watched her from my perch on the L, and I could see it — the night itself looking back at her.

I held her down when I fucked her. Stared down into the blacks of her eyes, irises wide in the night like inky black pools I couldn’t escape. She bent like a circus freak, as if she was made for pleasure not police work. Red had fought back. She battered me with her fists when I didn’t tie her to the bed. Cracked a tooth with her knee once. This whore, Gretel — whatever her name really was, whatever her game — she gave herself up the moment I reached over a tore her shirt open.

Fingers coiled around her throat, squeezing, panties shoved into her mouth, I bent her double and plunged in. She let out a moan that told me a truth I needed to know. It was the only thing out of her mouth that wasn’t a lie. Her face told me the truth. How she gasped for breath. How she let me have everything I wanted and more.

My cock twitched when she began to talk, her warm breath washing over me as she lay on the couch. Spent but talkative. I pulled on the Ultra, washing down the taste of her cunt as she spilled her story. All lies. Every single one of them. She thought I was a fool, and I wouldn’t have denied it, but I know I liar when I hear one.

Two years on the force. West Coast. Recruited to the Bureau. Violent crimes. Three major crimes cracked. One certified kill — unavoidable, but she’d gotten a taste for it. A promotion and choice. A desk or something darker. Trafficking then. Massage parlors and fuck trucks. Runaways and illegals looking to get by. Drugs, sex, torture. She needed more. Bigger. Darker. Harder. Volunteered for an assignment that sent her East, here, not La La Land anymore, but the Big Shiny, glistening with darkness and bright city lights that cast long shadows, shadows she could get lost in.

I could see how lost she was, hear the stories. Maybe they were the stories she told herself to justify what she was doing. Her silver lining. Her way to make it right with the Universe. The lies she told herself to accept what she was.

The case — a horror show. Trafficking scheme that preyed on innocents in shelters. The forgotten, the lost, the ones with nothing but their souls to call their own. Another two years of darkness almost over. The case almost done and her ready to go back to the Sunshine State.

She needed the money back, she said as her tongue slid along the length of my cock, rocking it back into play with a talent I’d not experienced since my early days in Vice. So close to bringing down the whole scheme she whispered, her lips playing over the head and then pulling the length in and down. She just needed the money she’d been carrying for him, whoever he was. Jack Someone or other.

Lies, all of it lies. Lies I could accept for the moment as her dark hair played over my stomach and thighs. She sucked my cock while I played her lies back to her. I had the money. I’d found it. And she was welcome to it. No questions about why she was in the alley that night. No alibis. No words from her lips. Mine draining the bottle. Maybe a hundred thou in the bag in crisp bills. The most expensive blowjob in the history of the Big Apple. I knew it, but I also knew there was so much more to what was happening, and I was ready to play along.

She didn’t blink when I pushed into her ass, her legs trembling against my neck. Earn the money, whore. Her eyes fluttered when she came, hissing between clenched teeth. She reached for me, but I batted her hands away, leaned in until she gave me another, and only then did I give her all I could, all my pent up needs and desires, the anger that flowed out of me, the darkness of the alley and the horror of the beauty sprawled lifeless on the cobblestones.

Even when I’d lost sight of her, I couldn’t help but find her again, pick up her scent, the glint of her wet hair in the drizzle, the sway of her hips, the way the crowd parted around her. Hungry eyes devoured her, the white tee I’d given to her — Red’s own — plastered to her heavy tits, nipples pushing against the fabric.

We walked down 3rd Ave. Just three blocks between the stations. Time for me to check for a tail, to size her up. Crowds were heavy, but heads down and faces out of the steady rain. I stopped to size up a worn movie poster tucked under a frayed awning. Mooks crossed behind me, my eyes in the window to catch stray glances.

Satisfied, I located the fed crossing at the corner, knee-high black boots splashing through the puddles without a care in the world. The entrance to the 63rd Street station beckoned. Locker 23 on the lower side where you catch the Q line. She made a bee-line for it, the key dangling between slender fingers. Locker open, bag in hand, she didn’t even see the massive fuck. I didn’t see him until it was too late and his paw was wrapped around the back of her neck.

He turned her, spinning her like a doll, her head slamming against the lockers.

Arm up, she presented the bag to him, but the hulking fuck only pointed down the platform as the 4 hissed in for a stop and the crowd went into motion.

I checked my watch. Looked up to see them slide through the doors of a car near the front.

A taste of darkness — her darkness — was what I needed. Now I needed more. I pushed through the crowd and slid through the closing doors.