Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (2 page)

George allowed himself to enjoy the view of Dottie Frank's cleavage as the lapels of her starched uniform gaped open. “I'll give you a fair price, Dottie."

“I don't want your damn money. Do what you must. We'll see who puts who out of business."

“Where have you been?” Greta pouted. “You were supposed to take me shopping this morning."

“Shut up, bitch,” Eddie barked, raising his hand as if to slap her.

She backed away and muttered, “You promised."

He eyed his companion from head to toe. She was fairly attractive and had large breasts. It was her vacant brown eyes that perfectly matched her long hair that betrayed the fact she was not very bright. “If it weren't for me you'd be behind bars, or at best you'd still be a hooker in Fayetteville,” he reminded her.

“At least the soldiers were nice to me. Well, most of the time."

“Yeah. That's why I found you in an alley stark naked and tortured half to death."

She did not reply.

“I'm horny. Get in the bedroom."

He watched her undress the way he taught her. She kicked off her shoes, pushed down her jeans, and ran her hand over her panties until it disappeared between her legs. It then reappeared with the middle finger forcing the cloth between the lips of her labia. She wiggled her hips as she pushed down the panties and stepped out of them, bending over long enough for Eddie to get a good view of her overstuffed brassiere. She stood up and briefly toyed with her soft, curly pubic hair before slowly letting her bra slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor. She squeezed her bulging breasts and fingered her nipples, causing them to harden noticeably.

“You have a great set of boobs,” he commented as he eased her onto the bed. “Nothing like the flat chest of Sandra Dollar."

“Who's Sandra Dollar?” she protested. “Is that where you've been? You're screwing another woman?"

“It's a long story. I happened to see her this morning, but I didn't screw her. Now make me a happy man."

She knew what he liked. She used her mouth to stiffen his erection, mounted and rode him wildly, shaking her shoulders violently so her breasts would be in constant motion.

When he was satisfied he roughly pushed her off, propped on an elbow and lit a cigarette. She knew better than to move until he gave her permission.

“I found a job today,” he said as he exhaled the first puff of the cigarette and handed it to her. “Got you a job too."

“That's good, honey,” she said. “Now you can take me shopping.” She saw the look in his eye and said, “I'm sorry. It's just that you promised."

“An old-timer is building a motel and restaurant in Dot. It won't be open for another two or three months, but we can go to work right away, helping with the final setup."

“Am I going to be a waitress again?"

“No. You're going to be a maid."

“Damn, Eddie. I don't like doing that stuff."

“Shut up. You'll do as I say. You'll have keys to the rooms. That'll give us a chance to help ourselves to any valuables the guests leave behind."

“I don't like stealing, Eddie."

“If everything works out right, Greta, you won't have to."

“You have a plan, Eddie?"

“Just an outline right now, but there's a bitch in Dot who owes me big time, and I'm gonna collect somehow."

“You talking about this Sandra person?"

“Yeah,” he smiled as he took back the cigarette. She tensed her stomach muscles against the pain of the hot ashes he tapped into her navel cavity. She held her breath as he lowered the burning end of the cigarette close enough to her navel for her to feel its heat. He sat back and sneered at her. “Go start the water running in the bathtub and clean up yourself up. I have a hell of a story to tell you while you scrub my back."

He finished smoking the cigarette, stubbed it out, waited a few more minutes and joined Greta in the bathtub. As she began to soap his back he said, “You remember what those soldiers did to your tits?"

“Yeah."

“You remember what they did to your rear end?"

She grimaced and tightened the muscles of her buttocks. “You know I can never forget that."

“You remember what they did to your hair?"

“It grew back."

“You remember what they made you do with that cute little mouth of yours?"

“Eddie, I remember it, damn it.” The tears began to flow.

“If you ever tell anyone what I am about to tell you, I will do all those things to you and worse. Do you understand me?"

“I won't tell nothing, Eddie.” She pressed her breasts against his back and began soaping his chest.

“I was a preacher once."

“No shit?"

“No shit. My first job out of the seminary was with the Dot Baptist Church. Man, I was a somebody in those days. Everybody respected me. I used a different name then—John Baxter. Everywhere I went it was, ‘Good morning, Rev. Baxter. Nice day, Rev. Baxter. Can you join us for Sunday lunch, Rev. Baxter?’ Man, I ate it up."

“Why'd you change your name?"

“I just did. I was run out of Dot and the name ‘Baxter’ became a liability."

“How come you were run out of town?"

“I'm coming to that. Tim and Sandra Dollar live in Dot. Hell, they run the damn place. He inherited a fortune from his uncle. I don't know how or where Tim met Sandra, but I sure as hell remember when and where I first met her."

He raised his left arm for her to bathe. “I was working the graveyard shift in a service station on the outskirts of Raleigh, trying to earn enough to stay in Southeastern Seminary. A bunch of vans pulled up about three o'clock one morning. The place was deserted. They robbed me and beat the crap out of me. There wasn't much money in the register, so they stripped me and stole my clothes. They even stomped me in the balls."

Greta shuddered. “They were mean bastards."

“I was lying there on my back, completely naked. I was in so much pain I couldn't move, but to make sure, one of the bastards pressed his boot against my testicles and commanded me to open my mouth. That's when I met Sandra. She was wearing a mini skirt and didn't have on any panties. She stood over me with her feet on either side of my head. While her friends laughed, she pissed on my face. I couldn't stop her, but I swore that one day I would get even."

“When you went to Dot as a preacher you met her again and got even. That was why you were run out of town?"

“Not exactly. She pissed on me again."

Greta stifled a chuckle. “How did that happen?"

“I recognized her the minute I saw her, but she didn't recognize me. She was all respectable, now, and married to the richest dude in the world. Hell, she even called him ‘Dude.’ I trapped her in my study one day and told her who I was. Man, did she turn pale. I beat the shit out of her and made her have oral sex with me. I told her that from now on she was going to be my sex slave."

“Sounds like you did get even. Something else must have happened."

“Something else happened, all right. As I said, she pissed on me again. She set me up. This great looking black woman offered me a good time. You know what I mean. While I was doing her in my study, a huge black giant broke down the door, snapped some pictures, and then beat the crap out of me. He told me to get out of town or he would ruin me."

“And you left?"

“What choice did I have? He had photos of the preacher's white ass between a whore's chocolate legs. I've been knocking around the state for over three years now, dreaming of one day getting my revenge. That day is fast approaching. The black guy's name is Bobby Elliott and I saw him in Dot today also."

“Won't they recognize you?"

“No. I walked right by Sandy this morning while she was sitting in her car at the service station. She just looked at me and smiled. Back then I wasn't the fat slob I am now. I was thin and muscular and I didn't have this beard."

“What you gonna do, kill them?"

“Maybe. I'm certainly gonna kill the black bastard, but I may toy with Sandra a little. There was a kid with her this morning. They called him Junior. Wouldn't it be a kick in the ass to kidnap him, cut him up and mail the pieces to her one at a time?"

“If she's as rich as you say, it looks to me like the kid would be worth more to us alive. We could trade him for a ton of money and move out west someplace and live it up."

He reversed his position in the tub, sloshing water over the side, and pulled her lips to his. “Greta, for a dumb ass like you, that's a hell of a good idea, but I'll need your help."

She pulled her tongue out of his mouth long enough to say, “Sure Eddie. Anything you say."

“Hell, Greta. After we get the money I can still blow her sexy face off."

She stroked his head as he placed his lips on her breast. “Yeah. Or you could take her with us out west and make her your sex slave like you intended in the first place. If we do that, Eddie, can I have a go at her once in a while?"

He looked up at her incredulously. “You like girls?"

“Damn, honey. I like sex."

Sandra Dollar sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the den fireplace, playing with her three year old son, Timothy, Junior. Junior pushed his bread-loaf sized blue tractor at his mother and laughed when it crashed into her leg.

“Okay, Smart Guy, here it comes.” She pushed the truck towards Junior.

He stopped it with his hands and moved it around him on the hardwood floor. “Brrrrooom,” he shouted as the truck picked up speed and headed towards his mother again. Before Sandra could send the truck on its way back to Junior, he got on all fours and pushed himself erect. “Let's play reading, now,” he said.

Sandra smiled. She was hoping he would say that. A few weeks earlier, while she was reading a novel, he climbed into her lap and innocently said, “I wish I could read."

Her first thought was to tell him that he would learn to read in a few years when he was old enough to go to school, but instead she asked if he would like for her to teach him. His reply was so enthusiastic that she put away the novel and immediately began to show him the alphabet. He learned so quickly and took such pride in imitating her printing that she found herself pushing him beyond his level of interest. It was Tim, Senior, who warned her to back off. Now she waited for Junior to ask to “play reading."

“Okay, Big Boy,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. “Your wish is my command.” They went to her study, which was originally the library, and sat at the mahogany conference table. The ceiling to floor bookshelves that lined the walls of the room, all filled with classics and reference books, provided Sandra with an inspiring ambiance as she went about her creative writing efforts and she hoped it would also inspire Junior in his quest to learn to read.

“Today I think you are ready to really begin to read,” she said as she beamed at her son.

“Oh boy!” he said, clapping his hands together.

Using a pencil and yellow legal pad, she printed the letter ‘a'. “What do you think that word is?"

“It's not a word. It's the letter ‘a',” he laughed. “You are trying to trick me."

“No I'm not,” she smiled. “It's a real word. What do you think it is?"

He studied the single letter on the page and finally said, “I don't know. It's just an ‘a'."

“That's right,” she said. “It's the letter ‘a’ and also the word ‘a', as in Junior is
a
smart boy."

“That's easy,” he laughed.

“Sure it is.” She printed the letter ‘I’ and asked, “What is this word?"

“I,” he beamed. “Like in
I
am a smart boy."

“That's right, Junior!"

He grabbed the pencil from her hand and slid the legal pad in front of him. “And this,” he said as he carefully formed the letter ‘u', “is ‘you'."

She tousled his curly hair and laughed. “It should be, but it isn't. ‘You’ is spelled y—o—u,” and she printed the letters on the legal pad for him. “Think of the sounds of the letters and then run them together when you say them."

“Yohu,” he laughed and she hugged him.

“Good try, but trust me, son. It's ‘you'."

“You,” he said while looking at the word and nodding his head. “Show me another word, Mommy."

“Okay.” She picked up the pencil and wrote, “love."

“Lohvee,” he said. “Lohvee ... lohvee ... that's not a word.” His face brightened. “Love?” he asked.

“That's right, Junior!” She pulled his head to her bosom. “Junior, I'm so proud of you."

He pulled away and smiled up at her. “You is y-o-u."

“Let's try another word.” She wrote “dad."

“Daid,” he tried and immediately corrected himself. “Dad. Is that right?"

“It sure is.” Now lets put the words in a sentence. A sentence is a bunch of words put together so that they mean something.” She wrote on the legal pad, “I love dad."

“I love dad,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Mommy, this is fun. I'll be so glad when I can read and write like you do."

“Junior,” she beamed. “You've just read your first sentence. There's a lot more to learn, but you
can
read now."

“Let's see if I can write,” he said as he bent over the legal pad and carefully moved the pencil. He pushed the pad back to Sandra. “Did I write something?” he asked.

“I love you,” she read aloud.

“That's right!” he squealed and he again clapped his hands.

Sandra saw Tim pass by the door on the way to his study. “Tim,” she called to him. “Come in here a minute."

With a disgusted look on his face due to the interruption, Tim moved behind Sandra and Junior.

“Tell Daddy what this sentence says,” she said to Junior.

“I love dad,” Junior read proudly.

“Hmmm,” Tim said. He took the pencil and wrote, “Daddy loves you, too."

“Tim, give him a break,” Sandra scolded. “He hasn't learned but one of those words, yet."

Junior studied his dad's printing. Without looking up, he said, “I didn't know you knew how to read and write, Daddy."

Tim's eyes widened in amazement.

Sandra laughed. “Of course Daddy can read and write, Junior. Why did you think he couldn't?"

Junior continued to study his dad's sentence. “He just watches TV."