Redemption For Two (9 page)

“I expect not.”

“Shit,” Davidson sighed. “Keys are in the drawer there.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know,” Mickey said.

“You get there,” Davidson said, “have a look at that leather couch in my office. Fucked your old lady on it, bunch’a times. Had that sweet ass in my hands any time I wanted it.”

Mickey felt the tension in his chest, but he wasn’t really angry. Maybe he was way past that. What he felt was a sort of murderous calm. He bent over the bed with his arms braced on either side of Davidson and put his face right down so they were staring eye to eye from about eight inches apart. He kept his voice very low.

“You touch my woman again, Linus, I’ll kill you. Won’t be any laying around complaining about it, and it won’t matter about who did what to who. One time, just one, and I’ll put you on a stainless steel autopsy table so fast you won’t even know until they cut your chest open and find out you got no heart at all. Am I clear about that?”

“Fuck you,” Davidson said, but it sounded weak, all of a sudden. His brown eyes skittered back and forth, looking at Mickey’s nose, or his ear, or anything that wasn’t those cold blue eyes. He was experienced, and knew how many ways Mickey McCord could do him right there in the hospital.

“I’m not kidding, Linus. One word to her out of line, I’m punching your ticket. Bang. No discussion. End of story. Meanwhile, you just lie here and hurt, and be glad you’re alive to do it.” He straightened again and looked at the man he had ruined. “Tell me you hear that loud and clear, man. Say it.”

Davidson had spent most of his working life studying criminals and criminal behavior. Whatever he saw in Mickey’s eyes seemed to sober him a bit. He’d seen a lot of killers in his time, and maybe he saw the potential for another one. His eyes slid away from Mickey’s again and he said, “I’m not talking to you anymore, McCord.”

“Say it,” Mickey said, bowing up, thinking about strangling the guy right where he lay. He balled his fist and his voice sounded hollow and dark like it was coming out of a grave. “Say it, goddamn you.”

“I
hear
you,” Davidson finally said. “You son of a bitch.”

“You poked a rattlesnake, and he bit you,” Mickey said. “Don’t forget that, Linus. Do it again, it’s going to be worse. A lot worse.”

“I hear you,” Davidson grated. “Now get the fuck outta here.”

And Mickey went.

He drove out to western Palm Beach county where Darrel Jones had a few ratty acres and an open-air shop behind a house trailer. The props were ready. Mickey loaded them up and they drank a beer sitting on tattered lawn chairs under a ficus tree. It was hot as blazes that far from the coast.

They shot the shit about work and diving and kids and smoked a couple of cigars without any need to hurry. Mickey kept thinking about what Linus had said. “I fucked your old lady on that couch a bunch of times.” A bunch of times. Shit. He had it all honed down nice and tight to the one night with the DeMarini bat, knowing all along it wasn’t the only time, but not thinking about the rest.

He hated being reminded. Damn, but he hated it. Christ, he’d threatened to kill the man, too. Had
promised
to kill him if he looked cross-eyed at Sandy. What had he been thinking, saying shit like that?

Darrel’s shed had a lot of junk in it, clearly visible from where they sat. “You planning anything for that treadmill over there?” Mickey asked at one point, trying to clear the conversation with Davidson out of his head.

“What treadmill?” Darrell asked. “Oh, shit, you mean my stinger rack?” He had weld cables draped over the treadmill’s cross bars, with more coiled on the deck.

“Does it work?”

“Last time the old lady was on it,” Darrell said. “Why? You need one?”

“Can’t afford it.”

Jones laughed. “Shit, just take it. You sell the thing, bring me the money. Isn’t doing me a bit of good sitting out here.”

Mickey got himself filthy again moving heavy gauge weld cable, and then had to pull the props back off the truck to load the treadmill. It took a few minutes to get everything arranged. Then he had to offload the props to get the treadmill into the garage at home. Sandy gave him a look.

“You’ll see,” he said.

While he got the dive gear reloaded, later on, Sandy came out on her way to bed. She had on an only slightly less offensive cotton nightgown than the night before. Mickey took one look at her and pointed to the trash can.

“What?” she said.

“Take that thing off,” he replied firmly.

“I don’t have anything else.” She stood there a little pigeon toed, clasping her hands in front, and looked about twelve years old.

“You don’t need anything else,” he said. She gave him a blank look. “Off,” he said again, hefting the newly filled scuba tank.

“What about...you know, what if Cindy...?”

“Wakes up? Put your robe on the foot of the bed. You can grab it if you have to go see about her.”

“But honey...”

“Off, damn it!”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“So?”

She huffed a little, but removed her glasses and pulled the gown up over her head. She had on powder blue panties underneath.

“Them, too,” Mickey said. “I told you, no panties.”

That stiffened her face up. “You’re pretty damned bossy, aren’t you?” she said. “You think I like this, you telling me what to do all the time?”

“We’ll see,” he replied, and turned his back on her.

Chapter Twelve

The alarm jarred Mickey awake and it felt like he’d been down for about ten minutes. He groaned and got up, leaving Sandy asleep, and went to make coffee. He’d left his running gear in the living room and got dressed. Then had a big drink of water and dropped down to do his workout. He was sweating when he got done, and it wasn’t quite five o’clock. He poured another cup of coffee and one for Sandy.

“Good God,” she rasped. “What time is it?”

“Time to get moving,” he said. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

She sat up in bed and reached for her glasses, and then for her bathrobe. Mickey crooked a finger at her. She sighed heavily and followed him out to the garage. The treadmill was clean and plugged in.

“Got you set up for thirty minutes, no incline,” he said. “It’ll be an easy way to start, I think.”

“Start what?” she said, trying to hug herself and hold the coffee at the same time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mickey.”

“Exercise program,” he said. “You do the treadmill while I’m out for my morning run. Same in the evenings before bedtime.”

“You’re running again?”

“Starting today. Here, let me show you how this works.”

“I need to get dressed,” she said uncertainly.

“No you don’t.” He gave her a wicked grin. “This here is a nude treadmill.”

“A...what?”

“You can wear socks and shoes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Cindy could waltz in here...”

“She sleeps until seven. That’s why you’re up at five. You get a cup of coffee, a pint of water, half an hour on the treadmill and a shower, all before she so much as budges.”

“I’m not doing it without clothes,” she said flatly.

“Want to bet?”

He spent five minutes showing her the controls and had her practice straddling the walking belt to start the thing, and then stepping aboard. It wasn’t hard, and Sandy had no trouble figuring that kind of thing out on her own.

“Now, go have your coffee and do your bathroom business,” he said. “I’m going to do some stretches.”

Sandy turned and went back into the house. He watched her, remembering Davidson in spite of himself. “Had that sweet ass in my hands anytime I wanted,” he’d said. Mickey wondered what that big ass would look like after he took a belt to it.

She came out later in her bathrobe with tennis shoes on, looking mulish again, and not even a little bit happy about the expensive machine Mickey had brought for her. She hadn’t even remembered to give him the third degree about where it came from, or how much it cost.

“This pisses me off,” she said with her face drawn flat and cold.

“Do you good,” he said. “Your weight’s just right, but you spend too much time in that office. Need to get you toned up again.”

That got him a cold cut of eyes, but she stepped onto the machine and set a water bottle in the holder on the right handle. She had a towel in her other hand, and draped it over the rail by the water. Then she looked at Mickey. He motioned toward the machine.

“Come on, get that robe off,” he said. “I don’t have all day. And you’d better be sweating when I come back.”

Sandy took the robe off with a set look on her face. She was naked underneath, and Mickey breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He’d been afraid she was going to pitch a fit about it. Instead, she had decided to do it with that “so there” kind of tone, like a little kid proving herself to a bully. He was alright with that. She reached out with an index finger and pushed start, but forgot to step off the belt beforehand. With a yawp of surprise, she lunged forward for the rail and got her legs moving before she lost her balance.

“Bet you don’t forget that next time,” he said.

“Screw you, McCord,” she said grimly.

Mickey went for his run, but cut it short. He wanted to keep an eye on Sandy. She was still on the treadmill. He could see over her shoulder that she’d run the pace up from two miles an hour to two and a half. Not fast, but okay for the first time. Her back was wet with sweat. He went to pour another cup of coffee and took it out to sit on the tailgate of the truck and watch her.

“You’re not just going to stand there staring, are you?” she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“I’m sitting,” he said. “You’re standing.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Bump it up a little,” he said. “Go for two point seven, and we’ll work you up to three pretty quickly. Maybe four, next week.”

“This is hard,” she said, and he could hear the depth of her breathing. The motor whine raised a notch. Sandy scowled, adjusting her pace.

Mickey found that he enjoyed looking at her. Her breasts shook a little with each stride, and the flesh on her hips and thighs jiggled every time her heel came down. Very pretty.

“Now slow down to two miles an hour for the last couple of minutes,” he said. “That’ll let you catch your breath and cool you down a little.”

“There’s nothing cool about it,” she panted. “I’m sweating like a hog.”

“Nice talk,” he said reprovingly. “What did I tell you about that?”

“You can’t expect me to be nice without coffee.”

He went to refill her cup and took it out to the garage just as the timer ran out on the treadmill. Sandy slowed to a stop with the belt and stood there breathing deeply for a minute. She drank the rest of her water in long gulps from the bottle. Mickey put the coffee down and went to towel her off.

“This is crazy,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“What, exercise?”

“No, I mean all this naked stuff.”

“My kind of crazy,” he said. “Get used to it.”

“Christ,” she said, and took the towel from him to dry her legs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” She started to wrap the towel around herself sarong fashion but Mickey took it away from her and folded it on the tailgate.

“Sit here,” he said, and kissed her. “I’m proud of you, baby. This is a good start.”

“Bare ass exercise?” She sniffed, pretending to be miffed. “Gimme that coffee, man. I earned it.”

“Bare ass everything,” he said, passing the cup.

“Honey, it’s kind of fun, but you have to realize...I mean, we’ve got a kid, and...”

“She’s one thing, this is another,” Mickey said. “Whenever Cindy is asleep or out of the house and you’re here, I want you naked.”

“All the
time
?”

“Okay, you can wear high heels.”

“You can’t just frog march me around like this, Mickey. I’m not some...” She shook her head with that half fond, half exasperated look. “You’re an impossible man, you really are.”

“Nothing’s impossible, darlin’,” he said with a grin. “And look, here’s how I figure this. If momma’s having fun, and daddy’s having fun, then baby’s going to have fun, and a better life to boot. Everything will be better. For us, for her. For everybody.”

“And me shaking my little boobs on a treadmill is going to do this how, exactly?”

“Not just on the treadmill,” he said.

She sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Mick?”

“What do you think?”

He gave her a look and she knew what he was thinking. She reached out to turn his hand over and looked at his watch.

“Cindy will be up in twenty minutes,” she said.

Mickey put his cup down. “Hell, that’s plenty of time,” he said.

“Do you think?”

“Get a move on,” he said.

Sandy took her shoes off. They dashed through the quiet house and locked the bedroom door. Mickey grabbed her and they tumbled laughing and sweaty onto the bed. There wasn’t much time for the niceties. Sandy yanked his crank to get him up to strength, and he rolled over on top of her and kissed her hard while she guided him in. That little sound came out of her, and Mickey folded her legs back.

One of his favorite positions was her legs doubled with her shins caught under his arms. Mickey could put however much of his weight down on her that he wanted, and still be able to reach around underneath her quivering thighs and get his hands on her taut breasts. It raised her hips right off the bed, so that he could drive straight down into her and it was the deepest inside he could get.

It hurt to be fucked like that. Sandy liked it, even though sometimes it made her cry. She liked it almost as much as Mickey did, and sometimes she liked it more. He could never really pour the coals to her in that way unless she was a little drunk, or at least he never could before. She was mad at him, but she was also ready.

She dug her fingernails into his ass and hauled at him, rocking up to meet the thrust and grunting every time the head of his cock thumped into her cervix. She wouldn’t cum with all that going on, but Mickey damned sure would, and she didn’t seem to mind it too much, either.

He rose up at the last and pulled out to spurt onto the folds that being doubled up had put into her belly, and onto her chest between her heaving, sweating breasts. She made a face, because she liked to feel him cum inside her, but she helped him, and liked what he did. They stayed locked together like that for long minutes, stroking each other, trying to catch their collective breasts. Then finally he lifted himself enough so she could put her legs down.