Authors: Eric Pete

Frostbite (7 page)

BOOK: Frostbite

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He stood two feet away, not completely confident in his assessment of me no doubt. I warily looked on as he opened the folder then flipped a photo at my feet.

“I could make you strip, but I think we’ve seen enough of that,” he commented as I looked at the black-and-white photo captured of me au naturel outside the compound down in Florida when I sprang Sophia. “Going to deny it’s you? ’Cause whatever is on your boarding pass I’m sure is more bullshit,” he taunted. Then he dropped another photo. Like fuckin’ playing cards and showing his hand one at a time.

It was the body of that man Hasan lying on the room floor of the Crowne Plaza with a bullet hole through his head.

“Messy,” he quipped. Then he dropped another.

This one was of a decomposed body in what looked to be a garbage dump.

I refused to give him the satisfaction of my recognition. But despite its appearance, I recalled the clothes of a man once sent to kill me. It was on an elevator in Dallas. In a place I once considered my sanctuary. Like Hasan, I hadn’t physically killed that man either. He died when his partner shot recklessly and missed.

Never knew what had happened to his body until now.

Not that I cared. He’d simply paid for trying to take me out.

“Tell me this,” my inquisitor posed, having laid out his preliminary evidence. “How does the murder of an Armenian thug in Dallas years ago connect with your little jailbreak at Prince Abdel Al-Bin Sada’s in Miami? I think Dallas PD was looking for someone named Chris Davis back then for that and the kidnapping of a blind girl. Now ... they never found this person, but his fingerprints happen to match yours we lifted from that Florida hotel. Thing is, there are no other matches in our database. And we have a big database. Huge. It’s almost like you don’t exist. So ... tell me. What’s your name? The real one,
Chris.
”

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” I taunted back.

“It’s no matter,” he chimed. “We got video of you while keeping an eye on ol’ Princey in our country. Had never seen or heard of you in my circles, but you’re obviously a professional. How is that, I wonder? Then
poof
... you disappear from under our noses without a trace. At least until our facial recognition software snagged you when boarding in Newark.”

“Then how’d you catch me here in Chicago? I switched airports.”

He made a whistling sound, pointing to the air. “Duh. Eyes in the sky,” he replied.

“You mean like a predator drone? This isn’t a war-zone. Those things are illegal over here, aren’t they?”

“Riiight,” he responded. “I didn’t say specifically what we used, but we’re the U.S. of fuckin’ A., son. We do what we want.”

I clapped, mocking him. “You’re too brilliant for me, jackass.”

“Watch your mouth. Since technically we have no record of you, I could throw your ass in Guantanamo and forget all about you.”

“You probably don’t want me there. Otherwise, I’d be in cuffs and face down on the ground. Not listening to you telling me how powerful and almighty you are.”

“A real cocky one, huh? Don’t let what you pulled on Prince of the Sand Niggers and his overpriced, underqualified seven dwarfs swell your head, son. You’re dealing with true professionals now. Underpaid and battle hardened.”

I stopped goading him, but had to show him I still had some fight left. “What do you want? You haven’t arrested me yet or read me my rights. And you had the room emptied just for this
talk.
You’re certainly not TSA. I would say FBI because of the surveillance on the prince, but from the Bruce Willis act, you’re probably a spook,” I said, offhandedly referring to the CIA.

“Spook? Such an outdated term. Too many bad late-night movies while Mommy was out whoring or shooting up heroin?” He saw the brief flash of anger, no matter how slight that it was, over his disparaging remarks about my mother. Could tell it amused him, but he moved on. Wanted something from me. “An agreement among gentlemen is what I want. A simple use of your unique talents. That’s all,” he said as he bent over and retrieved the three photos he’d displayed for dramatic effect. He placed them back inside the folder that contained other items either real or falsified to work on my nerves.

“And what do I get out of such an agreement?” I asked. “Because I don’t do pro bono. And despite those pictures, which may or may not have anything to do with me, I’m not a killer.”

“I’m offering you freedom, mystery man. The ability to continue to move around this country and probably the world if you want,” he replied, trying to fake a warm smile. “And the alternative? I cart you off, photograph and fingerprint you then lock you away. And even if you somehow pull a Criss Angel, I post every scrap of info on you I know on watch lists with every jurisdiction, every airport, every seaport, and every border crossing imaginable. You become hunted for whatever heinous crime I can come up with. And I have a vivid imagination, trust me. Now you seem like a man who values his anonymity. I can guarantee that continues. And that people like Prince Abdel Al-Bin Sada or the Dallas PD or whoever don’t suddenly catch wind of your trail again.”

My shoulders dropped in defeat. “What do I have to do?” I asked.

“Well. Wasn’t expecting you to give up so easily,” he admitted, taken aback.

“And I wasn’t expecting to get caught,” I commented, slowly morphing into a beaten man who would fan the flames of his ego. This guy was used to winning, so it wasn’t very hard. Sun Tzu once said, “While strong in reality, appear to be weak; while brave in reality, appear to be cowardly.”

He smiled, genuine warmth intruding as he felt at ease enough to share.

For now I would listen.

And when the time was right, it would be my turn to spring a trap.

But first ... patience.

Patience.

“Thought you weren’t going to make it back on in time,” my fellow passenger, a woman I hadn’t particularly noticed when I first boarded back in Chicago, stated as we exited the flight together. But I noticed everyone now. And as fine and sexy as she was, she made it easy to hold my attention. The cute down jacket with fur lining was made for cooler climates giving her that East Coast swagger. Lady Lovely wore her designer jeans with a certain bop of her hips. Like she just
knew
they fit her well and she was expecting high fives from passersby. Her sandals were Louboutins, evident by the signature red bottoms that flashed in the reflection of the terminal windows every few steps.

“I had a one-way ticket, so they decided to search all my stuff. Do I look like a terrorist?” I scoffed as I held my gaze in her eyes longer than necessary for basic conversation. The sister sported an expensive ebony lace front wig that framed her slight, angular face. From her exotic eyes, looked like she may have been mixed with Korean or something. If I had to guess, I’d say she was once a military brat. Straightforward and direct who answered to authority yet mixed with a devilish, rebellious streak.

“No, you don’t look like a terrorist at all,” she said with a smile meant to make me think she was bashful or modest. “In fact, my opinion of you hasn’t changed since I first saw you board. Was going to ask if you wanted some company on your row. Before they halted the flight and yanked us from the plane. After that, I just sat my black ass still and prayed we didn’t get deplaned again.”

“Definitely would’ve made it more pleasant, but I understand. Still, I’m glad they didn’t find anything. Otherwise I might not be having this conversation with you,” I responded, smiling even more.

“Cathy,” she said, taking the opportunity to introduce herself as she switched her roller bag trailing behind her to the opposite side. Hand was soft and smooth with French tips on her manicured nails. Kinda wanted to interlock my fingers with hers.

“Russell,” I replied off the name on my boarding pass which I’d just dropped in the trash.

“I heard you mention a wedding when we were pulled off the plane. You the groom, Russell?”

“Nah. Not in my future. Single and lovin’ it. A friend of mine’s the sucker. Wedding’s up in Napa. I’m actually early, so wanted to see a little of the Bay Area before that.”

“Friends picking you up?”

“No. Solo. Just me and my rental car.”

“Could I bother you for a ride then?” she asked, a little less bashful, a little less modest.

“Mmm. Yeah, daddy. Give. Me. That. Dick,” Cathy gushed literally and figuratively, heavy on the baby talk while riding me as if she were an accomplished equestrian. As Kelly Rowland’s “Motivation” played in the background, I took a swig from the remaining bottle of Louis Roederer then poured some of the bubbly across her chest. Lapped it off her with my tongue then sucked on her bounding breasts as the drops gathered on her taut little nipples.

We were in her suite at the Hilton Garden Inn. Just off the Bay Bridge in Emeryville. She was in town for a music conference, covering it for her urban magazine and Web blog. I decided to stay around, sticking to my role as a simple traveler en route to his boy’s wedding. I’d really held off on my drive up to Seattle in case my new client, with all the resources at his disposal, was still having me tracked.

Or if Cathy was not who she appeared to be.

For trust was something I was short on in this world.

Either way, I decided to make the most of my time.

Played all attentive-like while Cathy had shared her thoughts on current R&B from Trey Songz, Ne-Yo, and Chris Brown, comparing it to the singers of the late ’80s like Keith Sweat, Al B. Sure!, and Bobby Brown. Had passionately discussed topics ranging from the musical genius of Prince to Jennifer Hudson’s weight loss. Even hung out with her while she shopped on Bay Street at places like Bebe and Victoria’s Secret, with the promise of her modeling some of it for me later.

After a full day of indulging her music industry commentary and shopping fetish, we’d dined on spring rolls and lettuce wraps at PF Chang’s where we came up with the wild idea of champagne and strawberries back at her hotel.

The strawberries, while fresh and tasty, were long gone.

And the champagne wasn’t far behind.

With one hand on the bottle, I cupped that ass of which she was so proud then stood up, carrying her with me. Let her wrap her arms around my neck as I walked to the window while still all up in her moist confines. She tightened her powerful thighs, flexing and releasing them as she cinched up against my waist until our sweaty bodies merged. Felt those passionate lips on my neck as she mumbled, “Damn, I ain’t came like this in a long time.”

As I stared out at the Golden Gate Bridge and the tiny specks of light dotting it, Cathy resumed slowly riding up and down on my dick. “Don’t quit on me now, boy,” she purred as another shudder went through her body. Had briefly gone back to my frustration of what had happened in Chicago, but now my full attention returned to her.

Sweet.

Seductive.

Clueless.

I let the almost-empty champagne bottle slip from my grasp. It made a single thunk as it landed on the carpet and rolled away.

Took full hold of her ass as I looked into her eyes and smiled.

“What?” she asked, no doubt curious about the pause of the man she knew as Russell.

I didn’t answer, letting my actions speak instead. Pressed her against the window, whose cool touch to her back evoked a startled gasp from her wanting lips.

I engulfed her mouth full on with mine, a chorus of desire rising from us as our breathing built in intensity. I kissed those full, soft lips, sucking heavily on them. Played with her tongue, too, then peppered her neck with a mix of smaller kisses and sharp bites that seemed to delight her to no end. She grasped my face, darting her tongue lazily across my cheek. Then she nipped at my earlobe with her teeth while whispering sweet obscenities of how she needed the dick so bad. Obliging, I pressed Cathy more firmly against the window, fingers digging and finding purchase in handfuls of her ass as I began working my hips in further exploration of her—rocking, winding then plunging with my swollen dick until it filled her. Each thrust deeper inside evoked more and more of her sweet, sticky honey, waves of cum besieging me as I went in and out.

“Shit,” I gasped, feeling myself overcome and heading toward the eventual. Instincts moving me into the passing lane where no letup existed until that final crash.

“Uh huh. Don’t stop,” she said, understanding where our bodies were taking us and egging me on. I carried Cathy away from the window and over to the bed where I dropped her onto the mattress. “How you want it, daddy?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me then licking her lips over the sight of my hovering dick. She crawled over, licking a bit of her still-moist essence off the head before lingering on the tip where she proceeded to tickle with her tongue. For a brief second, I saw Sophia instead as I shuddered. But feeling the scar on my lower abdomen quickly dispelled that illusion. I motioned for Cathy to turn around and get on her hands and knees then slid my dick in again, taking her from behind. On my first hard thrust deep in them guts, she reached up to make sure her lace front was still secure in place. On my next one, she moaned readily, arching her back to receive me. With each pump, she bumped her ass against me, eagerly accepting my length. With both of us in a groove again, she came even harder. Our bodies slapped together repeatedly, the room air filling with the overpowering aura of our sex as we fucked.

Then as I looked down at that perfect ass of hers and slapped it, I felt it again. The body following its own urges and the need for release that I could only fight for so long. I leaned over and reached to Cathy’s front, grasping her breasts as I worked her pussy from behind even more. Pressed harder, firmer up against her ass as any sense of control fled me. Went deeper with my dick throbbing wildly inside her, those primal moans now a spiritual chant as she sat up on her knees, arms writhing up to heaven with me steady fucking her from behind. I was a speeding race car absent a driver as I slipped and slid about, awash in her all.

“Yes, yes,” I panted as I kissed her neck.

Cathy, sensing it, flexed her hips even harder, ass cheeks quaking and jiggling with each collision of our bodies as she goaded me to end it.

Then it came.

My senses plunged into disarray as I released my seed in a violent eruption. Reflexes led me to clench her body tighter as we both came, our spasms generating even more sensations between us as we tumbled onto our sides, puppets whose strings were cut at the conclusion of our act. There wasn’t enough sex-tinged air in the room for us to breathe as I labored for a moment to get past the black spots before my eyes. Euphoria had given way to beautiful exhaustion.

With us both lifeless and spent naked across the bed, I somehow found enough energy to get up and head to the bathroom. Inside, I removed my condom and discarded it with my DNA down the toilet before splashing some water on my face. Looking up, I glared at that scar once again. The bullet wound, now healed ... at least physically. When I peeked out, Cathy had settled into a slumber, her eyelids flickering as she breathed with her mouth agape. Wanted nothing more than to lazily join her bliss just then ... and maybe fuck again later, but other duties were pressing.

I’d snagged her purse.

Inside it, I found a Kentucky driver’s license due to expire in three months and several credit cards belonging to a Catherine Yoon-jin Wilson along with some business cards from New York and the Chicago area. All looked to be legitimate.

I’d brought my phone with me in the bathroom and after a quick search, found Cathy’s online presence including her Twitter account. I smiled when I found one of her tweets from earlier in the evening.

@MissMuzak773 Ya girl in Oakland n already found a nice chocolate treat on da flight in. Don’t know his name yet, but ... #YaKnow #BayArea-MusicConf #Winning

When I crept from out of the bathroom, Cathy was stirring. Before she turned over, I placed her purse back on the floor among her discarded clothes.

“You coming back to bed, Russell?” she cooed groggily as she rolled over, seeing me standing there by the light of the bathroom.

“In a minute. I left my wallet down in the car. Don’t know this area like that,” I said as I quickly threw on my clothes.

“Don’t take too long. I’ll be ready for another taste of that soon. You the truth, boy,” she said, pointing between my legs as she stifled a yawn.

“
What did you say?
” I asked.

“I said, ‘you the truth,’” she answered. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothin’. Forget about it,” I said with a smile, laughing inside at being spooked by her unintentionally saying my real name. “Just keep it warm for me,” I taunted, knowing that pussy would be long cold before she ever saw me or my dick again. Shame, but I’d enjoyed the distraction.

Downstairs, I went outside where I was greeted by the cool, damp air. Shit. The temperature had already dropped several degrees from when it was daylight. I walked across the parking lot, heading to a spot where I knew the cameras lacked sufficient coverage, but still cautiously looking over my shoulder for anyone who might be watching me. Coming to my rental, I wiped away any potential fingerprints of mine then slashed both tires on the driver’s side of the brand new Chevy Cruze.

I had three phones now. Two were mine, but one was a gift from the mystery man in Chicago. Wanted to chuck that one in the bay, but decided the trouble he could cause might not be worth it. For now, I stowed it back in my pocket, knowing I would have to turn it on at a predetermined time. On one of the others, I called Hertz.

“This is Russell Dillon,” I said when the operator answered. “I rented one of your cars and now somebody’s slashed the tires.” Acting irate and frustrated, I provided the operator with the hotel information and location of the car then went inside where I left the keys with the front desk.

By the time they would arrive, I would be long gone.

And neither Hertz nor Cathy would ever hear of a Russell Dillon again.

BOOK: Frostbite

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