Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I (22 page)

“Are you gonna eat something? Do you want to see the
menu?” She offered him the folded cardboard.

“Alright, I am getting pretty hungry.” He took the
printed cardboard and saluted the owner. The tension was finally diffused and
he earned a smile of delight from the waitress.

“Why don’t you give me a few minutes? Two friends
will be joining me and we’ll order after they get here.”

Just as Mark stated his culinary intentions, he was
joined by a duo of kinetic lettermen. Both were yearbook pictures come to life.
One had a brush cut and a varsity jacket covered his athletic form. The other
wore a school sweater with a letter for football.

When they entered, they were discussing the latest
episode of
Bonanza
. They continued,
arguing over who was cooler, Hoss or Little Joe. Mark didn’t join in the
discussion, ignorant of the full extent of the debate. He was sure both parties
had valid points, but ever since Marilyn was found dead and in the nude, Mark
felt downbeat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t watch television; he
preferred books and movies. He liked a definite beginning, middle and end.
Television kept going on and on, week after week. Implausibly, problems were
always solved within the span of a single episode. In books and movies, life
was portrayed more believably.

Seated on either side of Mark, the two secondary
scholars provided a contrast, bookending his still, coiled presence. They smiled
and joked as Mark waited for them to be still.

“She’s quite a lovely girl, isn’t she?” Mark turned
his attention to the waitress. Her form reminded him of Marilyn, but much
fuller and rounder.

“Yeah, I guess. If you like ‘em roomy,” one of the
guys agreed.

“If she let me, I would go all the way with her, no
hesitation,” the other said.

“Mmmmm. A good idea gone and lost, I’m afraid,” Mark
continued, “now that you two showed up, wearing your identities for anyone to
see.” As he indicated their clothing, they both hung their heads in defeated
irritation. They silently cursed each other and themselves. None of their
illegal hijinks could go on now that they could easily be recognized as local
high schoolers.

“You know what I like about her?” Mark continued.
“She’s sturdy. She looks like she could take a good pounding. There’s meat
there, all over her body. More cushion for the pushin’.”

Mark’s eyes followed her every move, though no one
could tell, his dark glasses completely hiding his eyes. The glasses matched
the rest of his somber garb — a black buttoned-down shirt and trousers.

He reached for a cigarette and lit it. He didn’t
offer the pack to the two men beside him.

“She’s a little big though. Don’t you think, Brad?”
Brad gave this question the same consideration he would a math problem. He
looked at his friend, blinked a few times and nodded. He took that as a sign of
agreement, not being able to see the vacuum that inhabited his jacket-clad
form.

Mark saw it and smiled inwardly. Someone began
playing Neil Sedaca on the jukebox. For old Neil, breaking up was hard to do,
but Mark couldn’t care less.

“And for whom would you go?” he asked.

Brad’s friend answered instantly. “Cindy Cooper. Man,
she’s hot to trot. Boy, yeah.”

“Cindy Cooper. Yeah, I can see that, but I prefer our
lady here. Let me explain why. Cindy looks like she would break after a
decently harsh humping. She’s small and petite. That’s short and tiny. On the
other hand, our girl here is tall and robust. Look at the way her rump shifts
as she walks. Look how the muscles roll from left to right. Those legs look
like there’s a wealth of power in them. When I have her, I’ll be between twin
engines of power. Cindy is a lawnmower engine. What we see before us is a
Cadillac. She could go for miles and miles. Do you two understand?”

Brad’s eyes showed disappointment. Mark knew that he
wished to be looked at in the same way. His every gesture betrayed it. On the
other hand, Brad’s friend was confused. There was no surprise there. “I would
let her go down on me, but she’s not hot enough to go all the way.”

“I can’t explain, any further than I already have,
why she’s a much better fuck than Cindy.” As he spoke, Mark’s contempt for
Brad’s friend rose. “You would have to understand what I’m talking about, and
you obviously don’t. Your experience in this field is mainly between your right
and left hands.”

Brad’s friend reacted with further confusion and an
irritation that quickly vanished when he looked at Brad. Mark took note of this
and continued.

“But do you know the difference between the right and
the left? Have you ever experimented? I very much doubt it. Even in your
imagination, you’re limited to a lawnmower over an eight-cylinder. It’s your
loss.”

Brad’s friend got up and left, without incident. The
sturdy waitress returned.

“What do you boys want?”

“If only I could tell you,” Mark replied. “But let’s
just start with a couple orders of French fries.”

After she left with their order, Mark flicked a
string of ash from his cigarette. “Do you have any money on you?”

“Only about a buck,” Brad offered. “My parents
haven’t given me my allowance yet.”

“It’s ok, I’ll pay then. Don’t worry your pretty
little head.” Mark continued, “Well, for what it’s worth, Brad, you’re a
bulldozer. Isn’t that right?”

“I guess.” Brad’s face dropped coquettishly.

Mark smiled at him and noted Brad’s reaction and the
way he smiled at the waitress when she brought their fries. Brad could’ve
smacked her without any qualms about who saw.

The waitress also noted this reaction and smiled,
first at Brad, then raised her eyebrows at Mark. She turned and walked away,
her bottom rolling from left to right, right to left, like puppies under a
blanket. Mark sighed and then looked at Brad, who stared at him. A few minutes
later, after they finished their fries and stood up from the table, Mark
stretched his lanky frame above Brad’s boxy shoulders.

As they walked past the bar, they gave the owner a
nod, though they did not see the object of their interest. Her shift must’ve
ended, Mark thought. As they walked out of the front door, past a garish “Happy
New Year 1963” tinseled banner, they saw that the sun had almost descended
behind the distant hills.

“Hey there.” To Mark’s surprise and delight, the
robust waitress stood behind him, dressed in black, short heels and stockings.
A run extended up the length of her left ankle, from just above the top of her
shoe. Mark’s breath quickened, the run in the stocking giving his fantasy a
sense of perfection. It was a descent from the perfect, which made her all the
more desirable. Mark walked forward and knew that Brad would follow.

“Hi, yourself. Is there an out of the way place
around here?” He exhaled with each word.

“We can go behind here. It’s out of the way. What do
you have in mind?” she asked.

“Oh, I think you know what I’ve got in mind,” Mark
said.

“What about your pal there?” She indicated Brad, who
joined them and looked at Mark with the imploring denial of a child who didn’t
want his new playmate to be sent away.

“If you don’t mind, he’s welcome to join,” Mark
replied.

“Hell no, I don’t mind. He’s awful cute. Why would I
mind? Come on, honey.” Her hand cradled Brad’s face and she brought it up to
look at her. “We can share him, sweetie. I’m sure there’s plenty for
everybody.”

The trio walked to the back, hidden from the street
by a number of bins and boxes, left out for trash collection the following day.
Mark felt a rush of breath as hands and lips were all over his body. Kisses
were being placed on his chest and back as she hiked up his shirt. He closed
his eyes and gave into the pleasures he felt on his flesh.

When he opened his eyes and looked toward the mouth
of the alley, he saw a dusty cab come to a halt. The unzipping of his pants
brought his attention back long enough to see that both the waitress and Brad
were sharing and manipulating his dick. His eyes shut as he felt one mouth,
then the other, close over the shaft — one after the other, back and
forth.

Finally, he remembered the Chevy and craned his neck
to see a tan man opening the trunk. A small boy, with brown hair, stood beside
him. The man wasn’t very tall or very big, though he wasn’t skinny. He moved
with precision — a precision like he’d seen in the career soldiers who
knew his father.

The boy was even plainer than the man.

Tongues, stroking the length of his shaft, brought
Mark’s attention back to the two faces bobbing up and down and around his
balls, eliciting a long sigh.

A metallic clunk brought him out of the swoon that
the ball and dick licking produced. With two eager mouths, concentrating on
him, Mark was beside himself. If that wasn’t enough, they were out in the
relative open. They weren’t behind closed doors. Who knew who might be watching
from some of the windows that faced the alley?

He smiled and arched his back into the enthusiastic
duo that clung to him. He weaved the fingers of his left hand through the
waitress’ long tresses, as well as the spiky top of Brad’s head. As his hand
continued to alternate between the two, he glanced back at the Chevy. The man
and the boy stopped, not thirty feet away.

“How many does this one make?” the boy asked. His
head was now at the same level as the man’s belt as he struggled with a burlap
sack from the trunk.

“There was one in Columbia. Two in Utah, three in
Washington, and this one makes seven.” He straightened and a foot emerged from
the side of the bag.

“They weren’t all old ladies though. The first one
was. One in Utah too, but the other one was a little guy. The other three were
little kids, a little older than you, and this one was…”

“A fat businessman,” the boy replied.

“That’s right, very good.” The tan man grunted,
unceremoniously dropping the sack beside the other trash. The burlap shifted
enough to reveal a mouth, pulled back in a grimace, showing ragged rows of
beastly teeth. He repositioned the trash, covering the exposed contents.

“Do you think there’ll be more?” the child asked.

“Mmmm-hmmm. Yes, I do, but with what we learned from
this one, we’ll be able to do something.” He walked around the boy and opened
the rear door of the cab, helping him in. “We’ll have to stop it at the
source.”

Mark’s attention snapped back to the couple, hanging
off of the end of his dick.

“Why don’t you hike up your skirt and bend over the
side of the trashcan over there?” He motioned with his head and the waitress
complied. As the skirt rose above her quivering thighs, Mark bit his lip at the
frayed garters that wrinkled her stockings. He walked forward and entered her
with a liquid, forward motion.

“Brad, come around here and lick me as I slide in and
out. Taste her too. Taste her juices running all over my balls.” Brad did as he
was told, hoping that he would be next.

TIME: FEBRUARY 3RD, 1963. JOE’S JUKE JOINT, SAN FRANCISCO,
CALIFORNIA, U.S.A

“What the hell are you thinking?” Oscar Peterson
swung his right fist and connected with the man’s face. Oscar’s hands flew
forward and caught the guy’s lapels, pulling him closer. He looked at the man’s
face and decided to delay the beating until he had recovered enough to endure
it.

“You show up here, with half of what you owe me, and
think I’ll let you off the hook? You must be crazy, dumb-ass!” As he spoke, he
kept thumping the guy’s back against the wall and lifting him off of the floor.
He figured that the force was strong enough to jar and revive him.

“I’m sorry. It was all I could get. I’ll get the rest
of it by next week.” For the past five minutes, the man said variations of the
same thing.

“Why should I believe you, Paul?” Oscar’s face was
pained. He did not want to hurt him, but Paul had been stringing him along for
months.

“I lent you a thousand dollars one year ago and you
told me you’d pay me back in a month. You said it was a short-term loan.” His
voice was bouncing off the porcelain walls and fixtures of the jazz bar
bathroom. Oscar did not want to have to resort to the skills he learned, as
muscle for loan sharking, but this was ridiculous.

“It’s a year later and you’ve only paid back
two-fifty. I look at you and see your suit could pay back another hundred. You
must think I’m a big, dumb fool!” More than anything, Oscar was hurt Paul was
clearly taking advantage of him.

Over the past year, he watched Paul Rupert indulge in
extravagance upon extravagance, all the while claiming he had no money. He was
behind on rent, utilities and all his bills, yet had a new refrigerator and
stove.

“I want the rest of my money. I don’t care about all
the others. They’re not my concern; they’re yours. I want it all by the end of
the month,” he spat at Paul.

“What about Audrey and the kids? If I pay you back,
I’ll have nothing left.” Oscar’s face softened a second, but quickly hardened
once he saw the glint in Paul’s eyes. He was trying to play him, even now.