The Waiting Game (Garvey Fields) (12 page)

“That’s awful, I still can’t pay.”

“It’s your lucky day; Marley One has paid me six large to find the people that killed him.”

“Why are you so sure he didn’t take his own life?” she said with a curious almost playful smile.

“The boy was obsessed with monograming everything with his initials and his shorts in the closet have the wrong monogram. Last night when I was helping him pack his stuff I noted the obsession with his monogram. Now do me a favor.”

“Sure what?”

My first thought was disgusting and involved a delicate part of me and her mouth.

“Put some less tempting clothes on and get Olivia’s home address.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Can you get it?”

“I don’t …”

“Call the agency she works for; tell them you want to send her flowers because she’s been doing such an exemplary job. They should pony it up if you lay it on thick enough. Then call me and I’ll make a visit.”

She nodded

“Right, can you isolate the air-conditioning in this place.

She nodded, “it can get to minus five degree, I have no idea who needs air-conditioning that cold.”

“Good, turn the one in your room to the coldest setting to stop him going off.”

“Thank you for this,” she said. “Do you still want cowgirl?”

She smiled at me and pulled her wifebeater vest off to reveal her nicely sized breasts in a pink jeweled bra. Then she started undo the drawstring on her sweats.

I took my six grand and left before I got myself into a situation I couldn’t control anymore.

6

I
was at my apartment and ready to work. People shouldn’t obsess about money but I’d learnt a long time ago that sentiment only had a place if you thought you were exploiting people. I thought that McKinley would pay me for getting his protégé off this rap and he’d pay me for the service. It was a risky strategy, but I’d already lost my job and didn’t care so much for consequences.

My buzzer sounded.

“Yeah,” I said on the intercom.

“It’s Nayna,” a sweet voice said back.

Nayna had been a mistake. Not because the sex wasn’t good, not because she wasn’t fun or smart, but because I’d given her my home address. She was under the misguided idea that she was my girlfriend. I’d given her the health warning when I met her with friends at a bar in Manhattan. I’d made it clear that I didn’t really date, just had meetings that sometimes result in sex and on other occasions started with the cinema. She said she got it; six months late she said she wanted a key.

I did the not available thing, stayed out late, but I couldn’t shake her and every now and again I’d wake up next to her thinking the wild sex had been a dream. That nonsense was okay when I had a job that meant working through the night and I sat at home reading Harlem renaissance literature, watching CSI and designing my new house. Now in this moment I didn’t want to have to think about anyone else, I just wanted to solve the puzzle or prove a theorem. Sex was like food, love was not and I didn’t want to hurt her so I knew I’d have to end it.

I buzzed her up.

By the time she reached my front door I had a huge erection that was about to burst out of my pants. I opened the door and she stood right in front of me tickled pink, looking down at my boner.

“It’s good to see you,” she said. “And you.”

She pushed me back into the apartment towards my bedroom, kicking the door closed behind her. I fell back onto my bed and she stood in front of me. She was wearing Ugg boot and thick woolen coat.

Then she wasn’t.

She had a face and body like Olivia, not the sweet little thing who assisted and betrayed Lucy Pearl but that girl that used to sing hooks for G-Unit.

She stood before me in a red lace set gazing into my eyes, giving me a playful, wicked grin, she glanced briefly at the suit I was going to put on after my shower, then back down at the bulge in my sweats.

“You know you shouldn’t treat a girl like me the way you do.”

“You’re right…”

“Ssh”

She roughly pulled my sweats down to my knees, straddled my thighs and put one hand on my shoulder.
 
Her free hand was on my thigh with finger tips carelessly caressing the top of my cock.

“Why don’t you return my calls?”

“Because I’m a bad boyfriend and you deserve be…”

Her finger nails pinched the top of my erection and I gasped softly as a shock went shooting through my body right into my hard dick.

She started to pump her hand, “do you like that?”

I nodded; I didn’t like fighting women if I could avoid it.

She was making act stupid and she knew it.
 
She ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips to wet them. The only thing in my head now was those moist lips on my sugar stick and whether the lips inside those lace boy shorts were just as damp.

She straddled me like a cowgirl, her lady garden hovering above me with only a thread of fabric stopping me from slamming into her.
 
Her wet full lips were just a fraction of an inch away from mine; she exhaled blowing her warm breath into my mouth. Her breath was so minty fresh that I could almost taste it, I wanted to taste it.

My heart was hammering in my chest, blood surged through my like a lightning rod connected to my hard throbbing member. I was so hard now that I was beginning to ooze pre-cum.

She moved her head, motioning me towards her. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth slightly, put my hand on the back of her neck brought her mouth towards mine. I could feel the warmth of her soft flesh pressing against my crotch as she did so.... while I waited for her lips to touch mine.

As we kissed she grinded on me and I had to grab her butt to slow her down. Her breath was minty but her tongue was salty.

Like a pro I took hold of the clasp at the back of her bra with one hand the clasp and opened it allowing her perfect firm breasts to fall free.

I brushed my other hand up over her rib cage until my hand was under her loosely hanging bra. I massaged her breasts at first with one hand then two; lift the bra to expose them totally.

She gripped my virility tighter and stroked it

“How does it feel?"

“Like you’re about to get it.”

Then she started sucking my ear.

That was the limit of myself control

I lifted her by the butt with one hand and knocked away her hand with the other. Holding her like that I used my free hand to pull her boy shorts down to knees to restrict her movements and started to ease myself into her moist opening.

She slapped. It wasn’t hard and she gave me a playfully teasing grin.

She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, “slow your roll cowboy, condom or no party in the pants.”

She slapped me playfully again and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “I will slap seven shades of shit out of you. Condom!”

I smiled and pulled a Trojan out of my draw, as I undid the packet and set myself up for action she rolled off me. She kicked of her panties, threw her bra after it, lay on my pillows and prepared herself. She liked breathing exercises.

I looked at her beautiful body, as I got naked, and admired her willful desire to have me and I was a fool not to want her. I wasn’t sure I didn’t anymore.

Lucy Pearl could go to hell.

Then the phone rang.

7

N
ayna and I were officially not a couple anymore because of the phone call and my lack of forward planning.

My cell phone connected to my landline automatically and that went loud speaker if I didn’t answer it immediately. Well the phone call was from Lucy who gave an address for Olivia and made a few obscene comments about riding me cowgirl.

Nayna didn’t find it funny or my excuse that she was the victim of murder suicide setup probable. I should have just told her straight I wasn’t interested and she would have understood. So she left my apartment and me to ponder what could have been.

I was a little tense now.

Olivia’s place in Murray Hill wasn’t particularly big in keeping with the other residences on the block. It was a prewar with a little front porch and a small drive. The idea was to smoke her out and either get her alone or find the man she sold the key to.

I jumped the steps, rapped my knuckles on the light front door and stopped back down the steps. Regardless of the politics and truth, a big black man at the front door still intimidated most and I didn’t look like a Jehovah’s Witness.

Someone behind the door shouted for me to hold on a minute. When the door opened it was an elderly woman who stood before me in white pants and a floral shirt. She had a plentiful amount of white hair and large glasses.  Her eyes looked to the left a right of me quickly before she settled on my smile and noted that I was at the bottom of her steps; she’d even have enough time to close the door.

She was quiet for a while so loudly that I didn’t think I had permission to introduce myself, the volume of the silence caused her partner to attend the front door. I’d been in situations like this before where the simplest request had caused people to go into temporary paralysis because they hadn’t met a person of color under what would be regarded as natural conditions. I wasn’t delivering anything, trying to harm or deprive them of something, so they couldn’t categorize me. A softly, softly approach nearly always worked.

“Josephine, you okay?” said a man with a walking stick trundling up behind her. He was a tall man with a bald head, liver spots and determination in his walk that said he would not be broken by whatever ailment was afflicting him.

I spoke to him directly, “good afternoon sir, and you too mam. I am here from Miss Lucy Pearl. Are you perhaps her parents?”

“You look just like him,” the woman whispered.

“Who dear?” said the man.

The man put on some glasses that had been hanging around his neck.

“My god, you're right.”

“I'm sorry sir, who?”

“It’s been about twenty years now, so we know you're not him, but you look almost exactly like the police officer that told us our daughter and son in law were dead,” said the man.

“Are you here grandparents?”

“Sure thing,” said Olivia’s grandfather.

“How did they die?”

“Josephine, go on in the living room and lie down.”

Olivia’s grandmother sort of hobbled off into the hall and disappeared.

“They died in a car accident, nothing sinister, but the officer went out of his way to help us out. Will you come in Mr.…?”

“My name is Termini Russet sir, and I’m afraid I will have to refuse your kind offer. I simply sent her to speak with Olivia.”

“Was it anything important?”

“Miss Pearl said she wasn’t feeling well and wanted Olivia’s to stay over and help create some new itinerary.”

“Okay, I’m afraid she’s not in, you sure she’s not in any trouble?”

“I don’t believe so sir, why?”

“You friends with Miss Pearl?”

“No, not at all, I don’t expect to be working for her long.”

“Well Olivia says she likes to entertain men and thinks she’s going to be a big star somewhere. But the big house is just a front. The people that employ her wanted to get a smaller place and they let her do the singing thing so clients think they are paying to sleep with a real superstar you know. But she’s not smart enough to realize what’s going on. She said she wouldn’t notice if Olivia took a little of the spending money for herself.”

“With the greatest respect sir why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I’m fed up of talking to god about it. My granddaughter could get into a lot of trouble and I don’t want to lose her over a few thousand dollars she could earn writing business plans for people.”

“So you don’t know where she is now?”

“All I know is she didn’t come home last night and didn’t come back this morning, you sure you won’t come in?”

“If I could I would sir, but I have my orders, where do you think I would find her?”

“She likes to spend time with a guy out in Saddle Rock, he drives red Mustang with the words ‘badass’ on the side and gold exhaust pipes, even got red rims. I think she said the ‘Cuckoo’s House, no door number. She said he was into sports, big guy look like he could handle himself, we never spoke though.”

I thanked him for his help and walked half a block down the street in time to avoid getting a ticket.

8

T
he houses were all more or less the same Mc Mansion type developments, printed in a factory and reassembled like Meccano in hours. House building traditionalists mocked the system of prefabricated homes but I saw it as a way of the future even though the method wasn’t exactly new. I was trying to find some decent land to build my house.

No one was at the address the grandparents had given me.

I took a drive around the neighborhood, a few houses had for sale signs on them, and one in the middle of two had a foreclosure sign on it. The house looked out of place like a neglected dog at the finals of Crufts. What was odd about it though was that it had a brand new convertible Mini on it with no license plates.

I pulled up across the street and walked over to the car like it belonged to me, I was still driving my lease Mercedes so I expected no one looking to get too suspicious, after all I could have been a realtor.

I came up beside the car with gun almost drawn, by the time I looked in through the right hand side window my gun was out and almost let off a round at the sight inside.