Pernicious (28 page)

         
Emboldened by the wine, he stood abruptly and accidentally knocked over his glass. Red wine ran down the white tablecloth, leaving a crimson streak, and dripped to the pearl-white shag carpet. He couldn’t contend with that now; he was on a mission.

         
He crossed to her, staggering a bit, leaned in to kiss her neck, missed, and almost fell. He played it off by kissing her arm and steadying himself. To his surprise she did not resist.
  
He kissed his way up to her neck…her chin…her lips…She allowed him there, though he couldn’t sense a longing on her part; no heat whatsoever. This struck him as odd. Maybe she needed more priming. He kissed his way back down; at the shoulder he bit the silk strap and tried to pull it loose. No go.

         
If she hadn’t tied it in a knot…

         
Perry sighed and pushed him back. “Let’s go into the parlor.”

         
He followed her. Perry sat down on a black leather couch, her expression blank, hands on her lap, as if she were waiting for a sermon to begin.

         
Unfazed by her demeanor, he immediately resumed biting on the strap. He bit and pulled, pulled and bit, not thinking to simply undo the knot with his hands.

         
Finally he gave up and went straight for her breast.

         
“Uh-uh,” Perry protested.

         
“I want you.” He tried to think of something witty or romantic to say, but nothing came to mind. “I want you,” he repeated.

         
“Wait,” she said, pushing him away. She stood and pressed the wet, wrinkled spot on her dress. “Let me change into something more comfortable. Please.”

         
“Yeah. Sure.”

         
When she left, he pulled out his wallet and extracted a condom, an old one but it would have to do. He kissed it and put it in his front pocket, for easy access.

         
He sensed someone watching, turned and saw her standing in the doorway in a red bathrobe, untied, wide open.
Perry just stood there, posing, allowing him to feast his eyes on her body. He focused on one area: her pubic hair, dyed.
Red? Or bronze?
He couldn’t tell.

         
His erection told him to get up and do something. He stepped to her, almost in a run, and hugged her.

         
“Arrrgh,” unable to speak again.

         
“Excuse me?”

         
“I want you!”

         
“I know.”

         
Hungrily, he nibbled her neck. “I want you!” he panted, backing her against the wall, his hand groping for the dyed area between her legs. “I want you so much!”

         
Once his hand was there, she screamed, “Noooooo!”

         
He immediately released her and stepped back. “What’s the matter?”

         
“It’s too soon. We just met.”

         
Huh? Why the hell did you go get naked?

         
Reading his mind she said, “It’s the wine. I’m sorry,
 
it’s too soon.” She closed the robe and double-knotted the sash. “Way too soon!”

         
“No problem. No problem at all.”
Only my nuts are going to swell up like grapefruits and explode
. “It’s no big deal, really.”

         
“Maybe we should try this again. Without the wine next time. A real date.”

         
“Yeah. Sure.”
Next time I’ll know to slam my nuts in a door before coming over.

         
At the door she kissed him, a quick peck on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow.”

         
“Yeah,” he said flatly.

         
She waved bye-bye. He didn’t; he had something calling his name, something he couldn’t put off much longer.
         
Thirty minutes later, inside his pad, he rifled through an old suitcase, where he just knew he’d seen a small jar of Vaseline. Finding no lubricant whatsoever, he opened a small can of Crisco and relieved himself.

                                     
* * * * *

         
Perry closed the door and locked it. She sat down, smiling.
He took the bait, bit into it hard and fast. Set the drag and let him run with the line a bit, let him tucker himself out, get all tired and frustrated. Give him a little jerk, just enough to set the hook, and then reel him in. And then
…She grinned, chuckled, and moments later she was on the floor, laughing hysterically.

                          
Chapter 13

         
Tasha was preparing sack lunches when her cell phone rang. She recognized the number.
Craps! It’s my day off!

         
“We got one,” Bob said.

         
“Craps, Bob! Derrick and I were just on our way out to the park.”

         
“Sorry, kiddo. Grant and Steve went upstate to serve a warrant, we got bumped up in rotation.”

         
Tasha groaned. “Where?”

         
“Valmar, eighteen hundred block. In the alley.”

         
“I’ll meet you there in fifteen, twenty minutes.”

         
Derrick didn’t appear upset when she broke the news. “Guess I’ll hafta go over to Daddy’s,” was all he said.

         
“I’m sorry, Derrick. I was looking forward to us spending the day together.”

         
Derrick picked up both sacks and headed for the door.

         
“Why are you taking two sacks?”

         
“Daddy might want one.”

                                     
* * * * *

         
It depressed Tasha going to Neal’s place, as he called it, a garage located in the back of his aunt’s Mabel’s house. She steered her car into the rear of the driveway and tapped the horn.

         
After a few minutes she said, “Come on, Derrick. I’m in a hurry.”

         
At the aluminum garage door, Tasha banged on it with her fist. “Neal? Neal?”

         
The door creaked, slid open slowly. Sunlight rushed inside, illuminating an old dresser, a space heater that doubled as a cook stove; an antique stool, a small black-and-white television and a single mattress on the floor, upon which lay Neal, a pink sheet wrapped around his feet.

         
“What time is it?” he said.
         
“Put your clothes on!” Tasha said.

         
Neal pulled the sheet up. “You’re in my place now. Take the bass out your voice.”

         
Near the mattress was a small can of Crisco, opened, without a plastic lid. Tasha picked it up, grimaced, and threw it at Neal. He ducked.

         
“The hell wrong with you?” he shouted.

         
“You’re disgusting!”

         
“And you’re in
my
place. Whatever goes on here is my business. If you don’t like it…” He stopped, noticing Derrick.

         
Tasha said, “Neal, you can pretend decency regarding your son.”

         
“I didn’t know y’all were coming. You should call first.”

         
“You don’t have a phone, Neal.”

         
“Call Auntie, she relays all my phone messages.”

         
“Whatever. I’m gone.”

         
“Wait,” getting up and wrapping the sheet around himself toga-style.

         
“I haven’t the time, Neal.”

         
“Derrick,” Neal said, “go see what Auntie is cooking for breakfast.”

         
Derrick said, “Okay, Daddy,” and disappeared.

         
“What is it, Neal?” Tasha said, exasperated.

         
Neal started to speak, stopped.

         
“What?” Tasha said.

         
“Maybe I should talk to someone else.”

         
“Maybe you should.” Louder: “A therapist!”

         
“I wanted to ask you about…about…”

         
“Write it down. Okay?” going to her car. “I’ll read it when I get back.”

         
An hour after talking to Bob, Tasha parked her Honda at the intersection of Seventeenth and Valmar and walked down the alley to the crime scene.

         
A small area in the middle of the alley was cordoned off by yellow tape, a cluster of onlookers beyond it, gawking and squawking.

         
Six uniforms stood near a cruiser parked in a backyard, holding a rap session. Tasha mingled in the mix for a minute, then, after hearing nothing useful, ducked underneath the tape.