Chapter 2: Introductions

When the screaming and whimpering turned to silence I switched to defensive mode. I was now without Cosmo’s eyes watching my back plus I was at a crime scene, so additional caution was indicated. I pulled my Glock and grabbed up all 4 machetes into a bag I carried for that specific purpose - it would not leak blood.

Next I surveyed the scene like a CSI. There were four lifeless bodies - three in parts - and one very attractive loose end. My rules said I should not leave a witness, except she was very nice even by LA standards, and in this fabled city “very nice” gets extra consideration; it is our highest unwritten law. I could not help but stare at her perfect and well-displayed breasts, they were purely fine and held the eye. They even pulled my eyes away from her exposed and ready-to-use pussy and ass, which were very tempting, if Cosmo was still alive he would be all over and into that.

As I thought of it the term “witness” really did not fit since she could not see a thing. Unlike Cosmo she could not tie me to this in any way.

If her body was kept out of this, the cops would do a minimal investigation, classify it as a gang-on-gang Friday night and let it slide to the bottom of a big pile. They would have Cosmo’s DNA and the tags, but that would not tell them who walked away. They knew they would never get those names. Despite our tags on the building 49 might not even be mentioned; we rarely got caught doing Friday night violence.

However, if the cops tied the white girl’s pretty young body to this, it would make all the papers the cops would pour a lot of resources into it, the sexist pigs. I did not want that. But if I moved her, what then?

I had a few moments to consider her life or death in blissful silence.

Then, like women always do, she started talking; maybe she heard my breathing, hacking bodies is hard work. Damn, unlike most girls I find tied and bagged, she even had a sweet voice, like an angel drunk on honey.

“Hello,” she said, using her polite indoor voice. “I can’t see, but I am guessing that I owe you some thanks.”

Such calm courtesy was not expected, any of the chicas I knew would start to bitch loudly, and the white girls I knew would whine and screech demands while crying. I supposed that said more about the girls I hang with. This white girl’s voice was like a normal conversation so I did not have the immediate urge to cut her very pretty throat.

She continued. “I suppose I should explain. Honestly, I was not opposed to what they had promised for the evening, I was looking forward to a bit of rough handling with my sex, and I figured three was a good number ... you know, no waiting? Airtight? Anyways, I was all in when they mentioned sharing some ex and cocaine. I figured that with the marching powder we could party all night. But after we got here they started getting out of hand with something else. Once I was secured they began talking about pliers and dry ice to make sure I could not ID them; also giving me extreme pain while they were inside me just, you know, to feel me twitch real bad. Then they talked about maybe removing my tongue, weighing me screaming in pain versus them enjoying my tongue on their cocks ... or other places too disgusting to mention.”

Amazingly, she kept her civil tone as she spoke. Like she was talking about furniture.

I saw the cooler of dry ice and the tools the animals planned to use on her fine body. I mean, I don’t even think that way, and I be crazy, according to three expert doctors who declared me unfit for gentle society just before they died.

On a calculated whim I took the needle nose pliers from the detached hand of a dead Black King and followed through on what he intended, sticking about 4 inches of it into Cosmo’s ear. He didn’t object and it just added a touch to the story for his gang. Small details can make such a big difference sometimes.

White girl kept talking, from the tone she was inviting me to do something. Normally that irritated me but I must confess she sounded so good I listened.

She continued, “I guess the point is, if you are interested, I don’t mind at all if you help yourself to a quick ‘thanks’ from my ... well, either portal I guess, I seem to be pre-lubed ... or maybe something ... longer? I’m okay if you call some friends. I’m grateful, really. I have time. Like I said, I was looking for something rough and am inclined to co-operate.”

The place stank of death and there was foul blood and other things all over the place; it sort of killed the mood even for me. Also, I am not usually a sharing type of guy, just ask Cosmo. Oops, too late.

I just had to put my hand on her magnificent ass. Even with my surgical gloves on I had never felt skin softer, it was a real shame they had scratched it. Damn, I was tempted to kiss her sweet bottom. My hand traveled up her side and across her more kissable tits. Despite the bondage and death’s presence her response was like a kitten I was petting, arching against the touch like it was so good; I half expected her to purr. She was sincere about it. Plus, DAMN, she was real nice stuff.

I got stupid and curious so I picked up the purse and dug out the wallet. Time to gauge my own risk.

I rested the gun on her back as I kicked my voice to a low register (a survival skill learned when I was very young) and sort of growled my first spoken words. “Miss Vacario ... Gracie Vacario of ... Hmmm, this is a good fake ID. But you are not 24 years old.”

She stayed cool. “Thank you. The ID is even in the system so it will fool the cops and bouncers - at least on age. I don’t need it any more ... but force of habit ... The real one is in the bottom lining...”

So it was, cleverly hidden in the bottom. She was damn smart, the Black Kings would never have found it, but the cops would have after - for notification of the next of kin. As a random thought while looking at her very nice body I wondered, for maybe the fifth time in my life, can a psychopath fall in love? I mean, if I really love coconut ice cream, can’t I love a person the same way?

I read from the ID. “Yes, Gracie Robinson, just turned 21, of ... my goodness, that is a nice address. Happy Birthday!” In this city, every zip code had a status rating. “Hmmm, didn’t that guy from that live comedy show...”

“Yeah, we bought it from him after he was arrested last time. Mumzy says that when he dies we will make a killing.”

It was a location I knew, I had been inside the house more than once, selling expensive medicinals and herbal crops grown by my family back home. I was running a different crew then. The funny guy had a nose like a vacuum cleaner and was devoted to self-medication at heroic levels. He also had too much money. I helped with both. To my eye the address said plainly that if Gracie went missing at least one first class PI would start looking. The thing about a really good PI is that, if he really wants to, he can question all kinds of people, using all kinds of motivation, so they can get critical answers the cops can’t.

I had to ask. “Why would a person with your resources associate with ... this street trash?”

“Oh, my own bad judgement, no doubt. Like I said, I was looking for a thrill, some rough handling not available from my usual wimpy limp dick boyfriends - that is all Mumzy lets me have. The cute one with the lip ring?”

The guy with the lip ring was NOT cute, he was the complete opposite but I let that pass. My bad.

She kept talking. “He and I were at the mall where we got into this charming risque conversation, with lots of sophisticated double entendre and subtle compliments.” Now, I knew these chunks of meat were barely articulate when alive, so I should have stopped her there, but her voice had me entranced, so I just could not bring myself to interrupt.

“Like I said, the promise of the drugs sold me. Look, the thing is that Mumzy and her latest step-wimpy are doing their sex-month anniversary thing in Jamaica; she is fucking six young black studs each day and he is wearing a cock cage while strung up watching the show. She sends me pictures instead of being here with her own precious flesh and blood on the big day.”

We shared a “YUCK” moment.

Then she went on. “Anyways, my 21st birthday was two days ago and I wanted a special day, something more interesting than vanilla cake and daring strawberry ripple ice cream at one of LA’s finer restaurant. I wanted something dark, like Mumzy was getting stuffed with ... Say, would you mind? The cable tie ... I just realized I can’t feel my right foot.”

The ties were way too tight. I clipped the ties on her ankles, they were not looking good but would heal. Next I slipped regulation handcuffs on to one wrist, clipped that tie, twisted the hand behind her back, then clipped the other tie and brought her other hand smoothly into the handcuff. Exactly like a cop was trained to do it. She did not fight or object. Once cuffed she started to get up but I rested a hand on her back. Damn, she felt good. My hand had to wander a bit, we will say “the lower back” where the skin was so soft and warm. She stayed down, relaxed and did more of the ‘kitten’ stuff. That seemed either absent-minded or automatic, but either way it was sure nice.