Daddy Cool (18 page)

"Miss," he began, noticing at once that it was a woman glancing out at him. "I'm the painter that the houselady requested to come over. We're supposed to start painting tomorrow, but I've got to see the rooms."

"Oh, yes," the woman replied, then added, "but you were not expected until tomorrow."

"I know," he replied, then added, "but like I say, I must see the rooms so that I'll know how much paint we're going to have to mix up tonight for the job tomorrow."

"Well," she began, "I'll have to check. Just a second, please." She didn't bother to close the door, but the screen door was still latched tightly so he still couldn't enter the home. The large redbrick house was just like the rest of the well-kept homes in the neighborhood, except for the doors. The front door was extra heavy. An old oak door that cost better than three hundred dollars. Two strong men could not possibly kick the door down unless they had some kind of tools at their disposal.

A tall, burly black man came back to the door with the mediumsized brown-skinned woman. He stared out of the door at Buddy. Seeing nothing but a young black man standing there, he relaxed somewhat and released the lock on the outer door.

As the door opened, Buddy wanted to glance back over his shoulder to see where his crime partners were hidden. He knew that they were supposed to be on the side of the house. His orders had been for them to come on the run as soon as he entered, so he didn't waste any time. He stepped into the house. Without holding back, he instantly went into action.

Snatching the gun, Buddy stepped back out of the reach of the burly black man. "All right," he yelled, "don't nobody move. This is a stickup!"

"What!" the man exclaimed, not wanting to believe his eyes. He stared at the young man holding the gun. For a brief second he was tempted to try and snatch the gun from out of the youth's hand. He didn't want to face the fact that he had been had.

It was too much. The very thought was intolerable. It was incredible. He didn't want to believe that this young punk in front of him would have the nerve to try to stick them up. What was worse, he couldn't bring himself to accept it. He moved threateningly toward Buddy.

As soon as Buddy saw the expression on the man's face, he raised the short .32 that he carried. Before he had the chance to shoot the man, the door burst open and Jimmy and Tiny came in. Both men were armed. They held their guns at the ready.

Seething with anger, the burly man gained control. "You punks will never get away with this shit. I guess you realize that, don't you?"

Buddy let out a laugh. It relieved him of some of the tension that had built up inside of him. "You let us be the ones to worry about that," Buddy stated, then pointed the gun. "Both of you get over there and lay down beside the couch."

Quickly Tiny and Jimmy had the man and woman bound hand and foot while Buddy explored the rest of the house. There were no other people there except a young, light-skinned girl in her early teens. She had long black hair down around her shoulders and anyone could see that when she got older she would be a beauty.

"Where the hell did you find her at?" Tiny inquired as his lustful eyes swept over the young girl's body. "Damn, but she's a fine motherfucker," he added, not concealing his desire.

The older woman moaned from the floor. "She ain't nothing but a child," the woman said quickly. "She just turned thirteen last week."

"Good," Tiny answered her slowly, allowing his eyes to roam over the mother slowly.

"Hey, man," Jimmy yelled, "we come for the cash, so let's get on with it."

"There ain't no problem there," Buddy stated. "It's all on the top of the dining-room table. You got the bag?"

Jimmy shook his head as he hurried past. A yell of delight came from him as soon as he saw the stacks of money beside the adding machines on the table. "Man, oh man, how the hell do you like that! I ain't never seen this much cash even at the bank." He began to shove stacks of money into the large brown shopping bag he removed from his belt where it had been folded.

"You," Tiny ordered the young girl, "get down on the floor so I can tie you up like the others."

The young girl began to cry as she obeyed the order. "Where the hell was she?" Tiny asked again, as he took out a dirty hankie and stuffed it into the older woman's mouth.

"She was back in the den," Buddy answered, watching Tiny closely. He had an idea of what was going through the man's mind and he didn't like it. "She had the radio going so loud that she hadn't even heard us come in."

Tiny only shook his head as he tied the girl up. First he tied her hands together, then he pulled the cord over to an old radiator and finished tying her to it. The only thing free now was her legs, and those he didn't bother with.

Before Buddy could move, Tiny ripped off the girl's white blouse. Her young tits stood out, not yet mature but still firm and hard. Before the startled eyes of his partner and the watching couple, Tiny bent his head and began to suck on one of the girl's breasts. He slobbered over her innocent flesh.

A loud sob escaped from the other woman as she watched her daughter being ravished.

"You no-good filthy motherfucker," the burly black man cursed, though in his mind he wished desperately that he could be the one enjoying the young girl. He had watched her dance in the den, and he knew she was a desirable young piece of trim, but it was a thought that he would never allow another person to know about.

Despite his dislike of what Tiny was doing, Buddy would only watch silently. The sight of Tiny loving the girl filled Buddy with a burning desire.

As the young girl twisted and turned, Tiny used one hand to rip her short skirt off. He didn't bother with pushing it up. He just gave it a vicious jerk and the cheap material tore. Next the silk panties came off. These he rolled down over her hips as she squirmed desperately.

"Oh, you dirty motherfucker," the bound man swore. "If I could only have a second with you, you bastard you!"

"Shit!" Tiny said over his shoulder, "what you really want is a second with this fine young bitch, you silly-ass nigger! You don't shit me, I know. You just ain't had the nerve to take what was in front of you, that's all."

As the mother of the girl squirmed around and sobbed loudly, Tiny took his larger finger and rammed it up inside the child. Her high scream was cut off as Tiny put his huge hand over her mouth. He didn't bother to remove his pants, he just tore the buttons off the paint outfit he wore and mounted her.

Buddy stared fascinated as the huge black dick disappeared between the young girl's legs. All at once a loud scream came from the girl, again cut off by Tiny's hand.

Jimmy came rushing out of the dining room carrying the brown bag stuffed full of money. He took one glance at the action and smiled. "Goddamn, ya puttin' ice cream on top of the cake!"

Buddy stared angrily at his brother, but in his heart he wished he had the nerve to fuck the young girl. But he knew he was too ashamed. If she had been dragged off to one of the empty bedrooms, then he might have gotten a piece, but he would never be able to find the nerve to fuck the young girl in front of everybody. He doubted if his dick would get hard.

"Hurry up, man," Jimmy said as he set the paper bag down and leaned over Tiny. "Man, oh man, you're sure puttin' dick to her young ass." Before he could finish the sentence, Tiny let out a loud moan and slumped over on the crying child.

Before Tiny could get up, Jimmy had his pants open and was kneeling down right beside him. "Shit, man, get off her. We ain't got all night," Jimmy said wildly.

Tiny rolled off the crying child and lay on the thick carpet. "Oh, wow," he moaned, "that's what I call tender pussy." The girl tried to scream.

"Momma, Momma, please make them stop, oh, please," she cried over and over again. The sound of her voice only added passion to Jimmy's burning desire. He forced himself into the tightly built child. Before he could really enter her, he felt himself coming.

"Motherfucker," he swore, as come came pouring out of him onto the girl's leg.

"Shit, man, you talkin' 'bout a sixty-second man. You wasn't on that cock a minute. Let me have another go at her," Tiny begged, waiting for Jimmy to get out of the way.

"If you do," Buddy stated loudly, "you'll be here by your fuckin' self!"

After making the statement, Buddy picked up the bag of money. He didn't even bother to look back because he didn't want to see the young girl. "I'm leaving," he stated again. "I came for the money, not to rape nobody, so ya can do whatever you want, I'm gone." Without waiting, he opened the front door, and after a quick glance outside, he continued on his way.

Struggling with his desire, Tiny pulled himself away. He cursed angrily, knowing that if he had had one more crack at the young girl, he would have really been able to bust her open. The second time, he reasoned, would have been longer and more enjoyable for the girl. He was conceited enough to think that he would have made her enjoy it, even though it was rape.

Jimmy followed his partners out, glancing back to make sure everything was in order. He also cursed. He would have enjoyed another go at the girl, but he also knew that Buddy was right. They didn't have the time for playing. They had come for the money and now that they had it, it was time to go.

Three sets of eyes followed their progress out the door. The young girl was crying yet thankful that her ordeal was over. Her mother was almost in a state of shock because of what she had witnessed. The burly bodyguard knew he had made a big mistake on his job. If it hadn't been for his stupidity, none of it would have happened.

But now that it had, there was one thing he was sure of. The three young punks would be seen again, and he had no doubts about that. He remembered the hidden camera inside the house. Everything that had happened was now on film. The burly black man shivered as he thought about the rage the girl's father would be in once he saw the rerun of the film with his young daughter raped.

Yes, there would be hell to pay, and some crying. But casket buying would be the order of the day in the near future.

4FTER LEAVING HIS CAR parked in the middle of the driveway, Daddy Cool staggered toward the front door and let himself in. Once inside his beautiful ranch home, he didn't bother to turn on a light. He sat in the dark, staring at the carpet on the floor. He had no idea how long he had been there; his mind was overwhelmed by the knowledge he had gained that evening. He could only sit and stare into space, trying to figure out which course should be taken. The thought of killing Ronald came and went until he got a headache from it.

That was the way his wife, Shirley, found him, sitting alone in the front room. "Honey," she called softly, then switched on a light, "why are you just sitting here?" She wondered why she bothered to ask such a banal question. That wasn't what she had on her mind.

When she didn't receive an answer from Daddy Cool, she continued. "Larry, your private telephone has been ringing like mad. I mean, I've never heard anything like it before. It's as if somebody had nothing more to do than sit at the telephone and just call this number.

"I know," she continued, talking fast in the offhanded manner of hers, "you've told me not to answer it if you're not here, but they kept calling until I thought I would go out of my mind."

She glanced at her husband and saw that she now had his attention. "So since you didn't want me to answer it, and I couldn't get any sleep with it ringing every five minutes, I went into your room and took it off the hook."

Her words rang a bell in his mind. Any other time he would have chewed her out for doing something so dumb, but now it was as if everything inside of him was dead. He just didn't care anymore. After spending a lifetime trying to get everything to give to his children, then to find out that it was all wasted. All the years of planning and saving, to find out that his only child wanted to be a whore. Or if not that, the money he had put his life on Front Street for would now go to a pimp who would run through it like wildfire.

"When I tell you not to touch my telephone," he stated rather harshly, "that goes both ways. It's just as bad for you to take the phone off the hook as it is for you to answer it. Neither action on your part is any help, so in the future, please do like I say. Keep your hands off it, understand?"

He didn't wait to see if she understood or not. He just got up and walked back to his room. He didn't want to be bothered with the senseless chatter of a woman who had a bird's brain in her head. He closed the bedroom door quietly behind himself and walked over to the nightstand and replaced the telephone.

He slipped off his shoes and stretched back on the bed. He felt if he slept forever he still would not get enough rest. For the first time in his life, Daddy Cool despised his very existence. What was his life for? He didn't enjoy it. And now, with his daughter going her own way, what was the use? He couldn't figure it out.

All the plans of seeing her through college, then one day giving her the kind of wedding a woman could be proud of were going down the drain. Where had he gone wrong? The question bugged him. Somewhere down the line he must have made a hell of a mistake to end up having everything fucked up. He might as well give the money to his two no-good stepsons.