Redemption For Two (2 page)

Mickey remembered that he had her good pair tucked away in the garage. “You should quit that job,” Mickey said softly. “It’s too hard on you, working this late.”

“We need the money,” she replied, settling onto her side with her back to him.

The fact that she had to work two jobs because Mickey hadn’t been able to keep even one hung there like a cloud over them. Mickey ignored it and scooted up to spoon against her and she let him wrap his arms around and cup her tidy breasts through the nylon. He could feel the way her g-string cut into the soft skin at her hips and pressed himself against her.

“Feel that? Mick’s prick missed you tonight.”

Sandy held still and said, “I’m really not in the mood.”

“And I promised to leave you alone, didn’t I?” He kissed the warm back of her neck. “Don’t blame me, babe. It’s this pesky hard-on. Damned thing has a mind of its own, you know.”

“Please,” she whispered, meaning please, no.

“You’re the one said I should initiate sex more.” He pulled her shoulder to roll her onto her back and kissed her. “Didn’t you say that, baby, that I should be more...?”

“I said it,” she replied. “But I was thinking about candles and a little wine. Not two in the morning on a work day.”

“We’ll just do a quickie.”

He kissed her neck and propped up on one elbow. With the other hand, he stroked her thighs and the leather over her pubic hair. Sandy shifted a little under his touch, but kept her legs closed. Mickey kissed her on the mouth again and stroked the one hand up her belly and under the sheer top to her pretty breasts.

“Can’t we do this in the morning?” she asked with her eyes closed.

“Let’s do it
again
in the morning,” Mickey said.

Of course he knew she didn’t want to. And he knew why. There was a distinctly perverse pleasure in putting the pressure on her, knowing that she had no idea he was wise to what she had been up to. She’d fucked somebody else not half an hour before, and she’d cried about it, and then there’s old Mick with his dick in his hand, wanting a piece of what she had already put out for somebody else. The last thing he’d wanted from her was sex, and then without any kind of buildup, it was the only thing he wanted.
“I’m going to do the elastic thing,” he said.

Sandy’s eyes opened. “Please, don’t,” she said, looking worried.

“Just be still.”

The elastic thing could only be done with the leather g-string. If he pulled the leather up and tugged it, the elastic cord would stretch tight from back to front and cut into the soft flesh between her legs. He’d made her cum that way once, and she had told him that it hurt and to never do it again. Ever.

Her mouth sagged a little when he did it, and then her lips pressed together tightly when he did it harder. She made a soft little hum that was all protest but no denial, and Mickey bent over to suck her nipples through the sheer nylon. Her hips moved a little, and then her legs shifted as if they were doing it on their own. He kissed her neck and then her mouth again and held still until she opened her eyes.

“I like doing this,” he said, pulling firmly on the g-string.

“It...it...”

“Shush,” he said, whispery voiced.

Sandy closed her eyes again and licked her lips and swallowed. Her mouth opened finally when he kissed her again, and then the heat rose up from her suddenly, as if someone had opened an oven door. Her breath caught, and Mickey put his tongue in her mouth and she moaned.

Linus Davidson had missed out. All the silly bastard had done was prime the pump. Sandy’s reluctance evaporated like smoke on a spring breeze. While the kiss went on, Mickey sawed deliberately up and down with the g-string, knowing that the elastic was cutting hard into her labia and clitoris. She was wet. He could smell her. She lifted her knees slowly off the bed and spread her legs in invitation.

“Not yet,” he said. “Come on, San baby, cum for me.”

“I’ll...try,” she said in a raw whisper.

She let her hips go then and rocked them up and down with the motion of what he was doing to her. Jaw muscles clenched, and she arched her back, barely able to breathe. And then she moaned, a soft rising wail that Mickey was sure Linus had never heard or thought about. Sandy clutched at the sheets with her hands as the orgasm built and then arched all the way up so that she was suspended on heels and shoulders with her backside a foot off the mattress. She bared her teeth, growling with effort as the spasm took her.

Mickey got an arm around her as she came and then rolled on top, pushing her flat onto the mattress again. She drew her legs back, still caught in the orgasmic spasm, and he thrust into her with one motion. She cried out, breaking through the natural reticence that usually kept her near silent during sex. Mickey hoped it hurt. And he fucked her like he had beaten Linus Davidson, letting all his rage flow through the weapon of choice.

He took her hands in his and pinned them to the pillow on either side of her head to hold her down. Sandy gasped and shook underneath him, not knowing how to react, and not able to make a choice about it. He fucked the living shit out of her, and she came again while he did it and then, miraculously, again as he spurted into her body. They had cum together exactly once before in their nearly seven years of marriage.

“Man, oh man,” she said afterwards, clearly impressed. “You sure don’t beat around the bush, if you’ll pardon the pun. I mean, wow. Did you feel that?”

“Maybe you’d better get used to it,” he said, liking how it sounded. He kissed the tip of her nose, and said, “Come on, let’s do it again.”

The second time took forty-five minutes. Mickey checked the clock to be sure. He was tired, and there was a muscle somewhere in the middle of his back on the right side that was sore from swinging the bat into Davidson’s ribs and knees, but he wouldn’t stop. He had one of those aching, rubbery hard-ons that never seem to end, and he kept after Sandy until she was panting from exhaustion and weeping a little from having him inside her. Served her right, Mickey thought, and kept at it.

He put her in every position he could think of and the only respite was when he pulled out to have her suck him while he took a break. She was getting a sort of haunted look before it was over, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening, or who it was happening with. One thing for sure, though, she had never known him like that. Never even imagined him like that. He was forcing her in a way that she had never known, raping her in fact, only she didn’t know that and for the moment, didn’t seem to care.

Finally, when he came for the second time at last, Mickey had her lying face down with pillows stacked under her hips. He half knelt between her splayed thighs, held her wrists pinned together at the small of her back, and he knew beyond a doubt that he had never fucked anybody harder or wanted to cum more than at that very moment.

Sandy lay under him limp as a murder victim and he had absolute and utter control over her for the first time in his life. He came grunting like a rutting hog and thinking about another use for the bat he had used on Linus Davidson. He wondered, idly, how she would sleep with
that
shoved up her ass.

When she got up to go to the bathroom, Mickey went to check on their daughter again. Sandy came back to bed and was very quiet. For a minute there, Mickey thought she might suddenly have been a little afraid of him. He was very gentle with her after that, and she fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter Three

Sandy had on her old granny glasses the next morning, and looked at him like he’d grown horns or something. Mickey pretended not to notice and helped the baby with breakfast. Momma had to get stirring, tired as she was, and get to work. Mickey had gotten up with the alarm and made love to her for the third time while she was still half asleep. Three for him, four for Sandy, the bitch, and he wanted her just as much as he ever did. When she came out of the shower, he suggested that she wear stockings instead of panty hose.

“Stockings will print right through my uniform,” Sandy replied in the patient, talking to an idiot child voice. “Everybody on earth will know.” Her full time work was as a lab tech at an orthodontics office. All the girls in the office wore white dresses, or white pants and colorful smocks. Sandy usually wore dresses, because Mickey liked to see her legs.

“Wear a slip,” he said.

“I have a half slip for that white dressy dress, Mick, but not a...”

She’d argue about anything, trying to make you understand that if you’d just listen to reason for a minute, then you’d see she was right and stop making unreasonable requests. Mickey held up one hand as little Cindy toddled in. Sandy stopped talking because they never argued in front of their daughter, even when it wasn’t really an argument. Cindy went straight to the bed and reached for her mother’s leather g-string. Mickey reached over her head and snagged it first.

“Here, this will complete your ensemble,” he said to Sandy, and put it in her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, with that mulish set to her face, like she was working herself up to lay down the law about something.

The little one was ready for her morning bicycle ride, and day care. Mickey sent her over to kiss mommy good-bye, and then left Sandy to do whatever the hell she was going to do. He had his bike rigged with a plastic child seat on the rear cargo rack, and he got Cindy strapped in and took off. It was what they did most mornings since he had joined the ranks of the unemployed.

They rode down the road and across the highway, turning the opposite way to Linus Davidson’s office. Cindy chattered about things like she did and Mickey talked to her about the birds she saw and why weeds grew taller than grass and whether they’d go to the beach on Saturday. He still had that little kink in his back from hitting Linus, but it didn’t bother him much.

The florist was open over by Cindy’s school and Mickey ordered a dozen roses and gave Sandy’s work address for delivery. The lady behind the counter said she could have them there by ten o’clock, so he wrote “
Meatball subs at the beach, 12 noon
,” on the card and paid in cash. The beach always meant the same place for them, the Bob Graham access that used to be a gay hangout back when that was a problem for the police, and a bigger problem for the gays. Sandy would know where to go.

It was clouding up to rain, but Mickey stuck to his routines. Drop Cindy off. Roses for Sandy to commemorate their spectacular night. Donuts and coffee and the newspaper at the Sugar Shack. Just like he always did. There was nothing in the paper about Linus. Mickey wasn’t surprised. It had all happened after the newspaper had been put to bed. Then the news came on the television behind the counter.

He only heard snatches of commentary, but there were pictures of Davidson’s place with three police cars in the lot around Linus’s red Caddy. Mickey tried to listen over the clatter of dishes and got bits and pieces from the talking head.

“Badly beaten in an apparent robbery...broken bones...ribs...knees...leg...possible concussion.” The police allowed as how they couldn’t talk about an ongoing investigation...blah-blah-blah...victim, a retired FBI agent whose name is being withheld pending family notification, was transported to the hospital with life threatening injuries...blah-blah-blah – they would appreciate any witnesses with information...blah-blah-blah.

One cop made a wry face and said that whatever else happened, somebody really went after the guy. He was laconic about it. Muggings were no more unusual in Riviera Beach than the tide. Fucking-A right they went after him, Mickey thought, and ate another donut.

He took the long way home, pedaling steadily but unhurriedly through the Port of Palm Beach lot and then out to Broadway. He cut across Linus Davidson’s lot on the way back to Avenue C where it ran to Bicentennial Park. The red Caddy was still parked where it had been the night before. There was police tape on the office door and a black spot on the weedy pavement beside the back steps where someone had bled. And Mickey knew who that was. He saw it but just gave a cursory glance on the way through, wondering who would do Linus’s work now that he was going to be laid up.

He put the bicycle away and went to get Davidson’s stuff out from behind the water heater. The wallet had the regular sort of pocket plunder in it, a Florida driver’s license, two credit cards, an FBI retiree card, his concealed carry permit. There was three hundred dollars and a bit in there.

Mickey kept the money and ran everything else through the shredder, then made a pile of the pants and shirt from the night before and used the shredder crap as kindling to burn everything in the grill out back. Sandy’s glasses were still in the pocket of his blood spattered shirt. He got them out and put them in the back of a drawer in the tool box and went out back to burn everything else.

The gun was a worn Smith 642 loaded with +P hollow points. A serious little gun. Mickey hefted it thoughtfully and wondered if he could keep it. Of course not. It was probably worth five or six hundred bucks on the street, but he couldn’t sell it, either. And wouldn’t. He didn’t want some crackhead gang banger shooting some poor bastard with Davidson’s gun. And no way was he going to start a trail of evidence that might lead back to him.

Linus was an asshole, but he had spent his life investigating things, and Mickey had no intention of letting himself become a suspect. The gun would have to go. Shit. What a waste.

Mickey spent a little time stirring the ashes in the grill and squirted starter fluid over them to do the whole thing again just to be sure. While it burned, he went to get Sandy’s black bikini and rolled it up in a towel, in case she wanted to take a quick swim. Then he got the Harley out and took a ride into the country to bury Davidson’s pistol where it wasn’t ever going to be found.

Just after twelve o’clock, Sandy pulled into the Bob Graham beach parking lot and got out of the Volkswagen. Mickey had sandwiches and a bottle of water in the saddle bags and got them out as she locked the Beetle. She had on a white nylon uniform dress, and the cut of stocking tops around her thighs was visible through the fabric, even with the slip. Very pretty.