Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation (21 page)

“Giulia, you were right.
All pizza should taste like this.” Scott leaned against the back of the couch and finished his third slice. His laptop sat in the middle of his coffee table, his pizza and beer on one side of it and hers on the other.

“Thank you. The cook always likes it when the Prince appreciates her food.” She sipped beer and started her second slice.

“No, fellow ogre, you’re my consort, not my subject.” He took her free hand and nibbled her fingertips.

She shivered—a good sensation—and smiled at him. “So tell me about becoming a Siren.”

“You’re going to love it. Here, let me log in and I’ll show you what my new character looks like. I can help you design yours today.” He looked at her chest and nodded. “I recommend red body armor. It’s your color.”

Her cheeks grew hot.

The printer repair had taken longer than expected, and the pizza was cut and on plates when he’d finished. Hunger and cold beer became their priority. She still hadn’t decided about “the act,” however. Should she—no, could she—smother the convent and stalker voices in her head and give in to Scott? Spread her legs for him?
Stop it. That was the stalker talking.

“Wait. Before we get caught up in that, tell me about the initiation for Raging Death.”

A theatrical sigh. “If you insist. Urnu will have Ishtaria lead you on a short quest, to gain health and energy. When you’re skilled with your crossbow, we’ll battle as a pair, to get in sync.”

“Tell me again why is this so special.”

“Urnu’s Clan is legendary, Giulia. Whatever he asks to join him, it’s worth it. Fail any one of his trials, and we’re out. No second chance.”

“Will I have to eat a heart?”

He laughed. “Nah. That’s Urnu’s specialty. After we complete the quests and win the battles—and we will—the final step is a real-life initiation.”

She leaned away and her sweater skimmed off one shoulder. “Real life?”

“Yeah. Kyle gave me the details.” Scott closed the extra distance between them and stroked her bare shoulder.

“Tell me.” Giulia’s voice wasn’t as strong as she’d like. His hair smelled of her shampoo. She’d forgotten they used the same brand.

“Urnu invites us to his house. He has a converted farmhouse out towards Coraopolis.” His fingers unbuttoned another cleavage button on her sweater. “The rest of the Clan will be there, too.” Another button. “Veiled Siduri, how did you know I prefer front-hook bras?”

Giulia couldn’t take a full breath. Her head told her it was all pheromones. Her body told her nipples to harden.

“What happens at Urnu’s house?” Another button.
Think, don’t feel. Distract him.
“Does Urnu have a real name?”

Scott’s voice, thicker than usual, said, “Dan, I think. Kyle mentioned it once.” He unfastened the last button and the sweater fell away. “Who cares? It’s Urnu the Snake everyone wants.”

“So, what happens with the cult—sorry, clan—when we go to his house?”
If Scott’s attitude is typical, they’re more like a religious cult than a simple group of like-minded people
...

His hips moved and her thoughts frayed. The bulge in his pants pushed against her hand. She pushed back, gently.

“Oh, baby.” Scott put his thigh between her legs and rubbed. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She should stay new. She should stop this. How? Her face radiated heat. Her hips started to move in rhythm with his thigh.
Stop.
She didn’t want to sleep with Scott. She wanted love, not lust. She wanted—

“Gonna be real gentle with you, Giulia.” He traced the lacy top edges of her bra. “Gonna show you how good it’ll be at Urnu’s.”

He kissed her mouth, her neck, the curve of her breasts.

“Stop. What did you say? Stop, Scott.”

“I want you, Giulia.” He opened one hook. “Unzip my pants and I’ll show you how much.”

She put her hands on his face. “What do you mean about Urnu’s? Tell me.”

“The final ritual is complete obedience to Urnu. Game and body.” Another kiss. “The Clan, all of them, Stoneblood and Nightclaw and Hrunting and the rest, surround us. Urnu sketches a tattoo of our character on us. We get a real tattoo later.”

“Scott, I don’t want a tattoo.” She should stop him. She didn’t want to stop him. Her fingers touched his zipper.

“Oh, yeah.” Another hook. “Tattoos are cool. I know where I’d like you to get one.” He fondled her. “We kneel to Urnu and promise complete obedience.” Another hook, only one left. “Then we fulfill the promise.”

“What, what does that mean?”

“Urnu has sex with us while they watch.”

“What?” Giulia pushed herself backward and Scott’s face smacked into the cushion. “Are you nuts?” She grabbed her sweater and shoved buttons through buttonholes. “Public sex? For a video game?”

“For Raging Death, Giulia. It’s not just a game. It’s another life. A thrilling life. Kyle said the sex was weird at first, but then it really turned him on.” Scott’s voice was back to normal. “You saw Urnu with Lugal and Ishtaria in the bar. Kyle’s straight, but says Urnu gives head as good as any woman.”

“He does what?” She left her bra as-is and buttoned all but the sweater’s top button.

“Gives head. A blow job. You never heard that phrase?”

“I’m sorry I heard it now. Don’t those people have any morals?”

“They don’t sleep with each other after the initiation, only with Urnu as a reward for winning a battle. Urnu’s steady partners are Lugal and Ishtaria, but he lets them play around with the groupies when they want. They always come back to him.” Scott drank half of his open beer. “It’s worth it, Giulia. You should hear Kyle. He says the sex bond is what makes Raging Death so powerful.”

“Good God in Heaven. Scott, whatever made you think I’d agree to this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you like me?”

“I do like you, but not enough to turn whore for you.”

“No, no, babe, whores do it for money. This is for power and pleasure.” He groped her thigh.

She tumbled over the arm of the couch. “Sex isn’t supposed to be about power. It’s supposed to be a means of expressing love.”

“Sure, sometimes. You’re a fun gal, Giulia, I’m a nice guy, and we want each other. That’s all two consenting adults need, besides a condom.” He dug in his jeans pocket. “I’ve got one all ready.”

Giulia stood. This was possibly the most ludicrous situation she’d ever been in.

Scott jumped off the couch quicker than she expected and grabbed her butt. “Let’s do it, baby. When you’re loosened up, we’ll talk some more about Urnu.”

Giulia pried his hands away. “I never want to hear the name Urnu again.” She snatched her purse off the kitchen table and stuffed her disk and résumés inside. “And I am not loose, Scott. I’m probably the most repressed adult you’ll ever meet.”

“Giulia, where are you going?”

“Home.” She took the cooler off the counter.

“But—”

“Glad you liked the pizza. Keep the leftovers.” She opened the door on a—thankfully—empty hall. “I hope you find another game and sex partner.”

Don’t slam his door. Don’t give the neighbors a reason to see what the noise is about.

Giulia marched down the hall, down two flights of stairs, and out the front door. Scott didn’t follow her.

Even the pay phone
at the corner fast-food joint smelled of sausage grease. The disemboweled telephone book dangling from it still had the taxi company section of the yellow pages. Thank God for small favors.

“May I get a cab at the Bratmeister on the corner of Park and Pond Streets?... Ten minutes is great. Thanks.”

Giulia hovered by the plate-glass window and checked her watch. Nearly six. Should she buy something because she used their phone? No, not on the jobless budget. Bad enough she was spending money to get home.

The taxi arrived and she escaped into the clear evening air. “2244 Pearl Street, please.”

Ching
. $1.25 just for pulling away from the curb.

She put the cooler on the seat next to her and leaned back. How fast those tenths of a mile racked up.

Ching
. $1.35.

Public sex. Not even
Cosmo
pushed that.

The Music Man
had two weeks left to run. Six more shows to try and ignore Frank and Scott. She’d bet that by Friday Scott would find a groupie willing to sleep with the Snake for the privilege of membership in Raging Death.

$2.75.

Frank thought she was a slut. Scott thought she was an idiot.

Uncle Vincenzo was right. Mom, Dad, if you’re watching this farce up in Heaven, don’t cry over me. I deserve everything I get.

$3.15.

She couldn’t change it, so she would just move on. Stow the pepperoni and cheese in the fridge, be grateful she didn’t give her virginity to that man, and hit the sack early. Set the alarm for 5:45, get caffeine in her system, impress her potential new boss with her alertness, eagerness, and impeccable manners.

Sounds like a plan.

$4.65.

Her neighborhood. Just a few more blocks.

$5.15.

“2244 Pearl. That’ll be $5.35.”

“Thank you. Keep the change.” The price of escape and worth every dollar. One minute later, she leaned against the inside of the building’s door. Safe.

She was an anal-retentive idiot, and she didn’t care. Scott would flaunt his new “consort.” Frank would probably sneer when he figured out Scott had dumped her, and so what. She’d be able to sleep without her conscience berating her.

Giulia walked through the lobby and past the rows of mailboxes. She was glad she had morals. Glad she had standards. Glad she had, well, virtue, darn it, and the only idiocy would be to throw away all of it out of fear.

A door banged. The aroma of frying hamburger drifted down from the second floor.

“Jerk!”

“Baby!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Two sets of feet pounded down the stairs, and the prank-pulling twins from the second floor raced past Giulia, firing pressurized streams from humongous water cannons. The buzz-cut twin ducked behind her and soaked his brother’s shoulder-length hair. “Gotcha!”

His brother shook water from his eyes, used the anemic ficus in the corner as cover, and returned fire. Giulia stepped aside, saying, “I’m not a shield,” and got the full, ice-cold charge on her chest.

“Yow!” Goosebumps erupted all over her.

“Sorry, lady,” Long-Hair said.

“Missed me, jerkwad!” Buzz-Cut stuck out his tongue and ran out the door, slamming it in his brother’s face. Long-Hair pumped his gun and pulled open the door. “Chickenshit baby!” The door swung against the wall and bounced closed. From upstairs, she heard their mother yell, “Watch your mouth!”

Giulia leaned over the ficus and wrung most of the water into its cracked potting soil. Wouldn’t Scott have something lecherous to say if he saw her now? Doubtless including hi-beams, clingy rayon, and his desire to help her out of her wet sweater before she caught pneumonia.

She walked down the empty hall to her apartment. Mmm. Old Mr. Colombo in 110 was cooking enchiladas. Giulia’s stomach growled, ignoring the two pieces of pizza she’d fed it not so long ago. Her watch read 6:20. She could put together peppers and eggs. There should be brioches in the freezer, too.

She shivered. Her goosebumps didn’t seem to care that it was... 73, according to the hall thermostat. She had to get into a dry shirt before her encounter with the squirt gun on steroids sabotaged her immune system.
Brats.

When she inserted her key, the door swung open a few inches.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Giulia, you idiot.” After the sticky problem yesterday and today she still didn’t think to double-check it when she left for the theater. Well, after she talked to the doughnut shop tomorrow morning, she’d call the landlord. He might have a hangover if the Pirates won, but he could replace her lock despite that.

She twisted her key back and forth. Smooth to the left, a hitch to the right. At least the deadbolt worked. She shot it home and set her flute case and music on the counter.

Cold water soaked the front of her jeans, too. Giulia detoured from the kitchen to her bedroom: first, dry clothes. She pushed open the bedroom door and kicked off her shoes.

Blake Parker lay naked on her bed, hands and feet tied to the posts on the near side like a blond Slim Jim.