But the girl, if she understood them at all, gave no reaction to Jake’s ugly remarks. Instead, she simply followed suit.
Jake moaned, leaning his head back. He watched the queer squiggles of light rove the ceiling. It was like a sea up there, a churning, stormy sea of shadows and firelight, and again he thought of the sound of the surf as the nightsounds pulsed in from the opened window. The sensation, backed by the buzz of his angel dust, brought an excruciating pleasure he’d never felt anything like before. Gawd almighty, he thought. I’ve had bitches suck my dick hundreds of times but never like this. That lumphead outside was right. This gal gives the best head in the county and then some…
In fact, the sensation was so remarkable that he pushed her face off a moment, and pushed her lower lip down with his thumb. Then he cracked off another laugh.
The girl had no teeth.
Don’t that just beat the bushes! No wonder she sucks such a good cock—she ain’t got a single chopper in her yap!
Jake grabbed her hair again, giving it a hard twist, and urged her to get back to business. His penis felt caught in a hot, wet trap which seemed omnipresent over every inch. “Where’d you learn to suck cock so good, honey? Your daddy teach you that? Yeah, I bet he did. I bet you were suckin’ dick the same time you were suckin’ milk out your mama’s tit.” Jake gave her hair another twist, then reached down with his other hand, to her breast. At once his fingers found that remarkable, jutting dual-nipple. From then on it was instinct; he began to squeeze the gorged, pink double-knot of flesh between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough that the girl whined immediately from deep in her throat. The harder he pinched the more she whined, and this bizarre vocal sensation only added to the mounting pleasures of her mouth. “Honey,” he gasped, “your cock-sucking’s so good I’m afraid I’m gonna have to blow my first squirt right down yer throat.” His laughter hitched up. “You won’t mind none though; in fact you’ll thank me ’cos it’ll probably be the best meal you had in weeks,” and at that same moment everything Jake Rhodes felt converged to a pinpoint of irrevocable, demented lust. The firelight on the ceiling swirled into chaos, the nightsounds rushed, and the girl continued to whine in her pain as the moon glowered in through the window, and Jake’s climax broke like a wild ferret let out of its trap…
His eyes crossed, and all that dust-edged lust poured out of him as he squeezed the girl’s face to his groin by tight fistfuls of hair. She was gagging, but Jake didn’t care. The sensation seemed impossible. As good as it was, it just didn’t seem quite right—
Eventually he released her hair, and she fell back gasping against the couch, her chest heaving. “That was real good, mushmouth,” Jake complimented her, “but something’s really fucked up here, and I aim to find out what ‘fore I fuck you so hard you’ll be shitting out your nose.”
He grabbed her head, turned her face up, and jammed his fingers into her toothless mouth. “Open up, retard. Open yer yap unless you want me to punch your lights out.”
The girl’s panic had nowhere to go. Tears smeared her cheeks along with the bewilderment and terror in her scarlet eyes. Then she let her mouth yawn open.
Jake squinted. The fuck? he thought. He grabbed her slender throat and squeezed.
“Stick out yer tongue, ya cumbucket.”
The girl resisted, whining, gagging. Her eyes seemed lidless as she stared up in total incomprehension.
Jake squeezed her throat a lot harder, till her face began to tint pink. “Stick it out, ya Creeker freak. Right now.”
The pink tint began to darken. Then, tremoring, she stuck out her tongue.
Jake stared back.
It was not a tongue that stuck out of her mouth, but a pair of them, both roving like fat worms on a hotplate.
She’s got…two…tongues, he marveled in the most grotesque fascination.
And that’s about all Jake Rhodes had time to marvel over because at the same instant the fidgety shadow slid up behind him and—
Ka-CRACK!
—brought a yard-long two-by-four straight down on top of his head.
««—»»
“Where’s the chief?” Phil asked brusquely when he returned to the station at the end of his shift.
“You didn’t call in 10-6 for shift change,” Susan smirked in reply.
Phil fumed. “Straker, Philip, ID 8, reporting 10-6 from eight-to-eight shift. Out of service,” he said. “Now, where’s Mullins?”
“If you mean Chief Mullins, I believe he’s back in the supply building—”
Probably checking coffee filters, Phil thought,
But Susan Ryder continued from her console, “And one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you. What kind of service ammunition are you loading…Sergeant Straker?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It seemed like a pretty cut-and-dry question to me. But just let me remind you that sabot, teflon, liquid-filled, and especially quad ammunition is illegal for all law-enforcement use in this state.”
So that’s it, Phil realized. That’s why the Ice Bitch hates me. “I get the gist of what you’re saying, Ms. Ryder, and not that I’m in the habit of reporting the nomenclature of my service ammunition to radio girls, I’m loading Plus P Plus .38 wadcutters, which is what I’ve always loaded.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” she said, and redirected her gaze into her textbook.
“Yeah, well, you’ve probably also heard that I’m a kid killer, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you’ve heard that Jesus Christ is really an astronaut from another solar system and that Elvis is alive and well and has lunch regularly at Chuck’s Diner, nor would I be surprised if you actually believed those things.” Phil leaned over her console desk. “But let me make a suggestion, Ms. Ryder. I really think it would be prudent for you to not only get your snooty nose out of other’s people’s business, but you also might find life a lot more agreeable if you put a lid on that outrageous ego of yours, and—” Suddenly Phil pounded his fist—BAM!—down on her desk, whereupon Susan Ryder’s derriére lifted at least an inch from her seat in complete surprise. “—and let me tell you one more thing. I’ve never loaded quads, and I never killed a kid. That whole Metro mess was a sham, Ms. Ryder; I was set up. And if you don’t believe that, I don’t give a flying fuck. But I do have one more suggestion, you rude egomanical bitch. Don’t make judgments about people until you know all of the facts.”
Then, in utter calm, Phil turned around, walked into Chief Mullins’ office, and closed the door very quietly behind him.
God, I hate women so much sometimes, he told himself. Through the window, he saw Mullins coming out of the lock-up-turned-supply building and the man did not look happy.
When the back door swung open, Phil beat the chief to the punch. “Look, Chief, I’m sorry, but I forgot to pick up the coffee filters. Bust me.”
“Christ, you kids,” Mullins griped and sat his girth down behind his desk. “Can’t trust ya to take care of your own bowel movements, huh? Looks like I’ll have to waste valuable tax-dollar-time getting the friggin’ filters myself.”
“Guess so,” Phil said. “But I suspect the world will still continue to revolve while you’re gone.”
“That’s what I like about you, Phil. You’re a smartass after my own heart.” Mullins raised a paper cup and spat tobacco juice into it. “You stake out Krazy Sallee’s in plainclothes last night?”
“Yeah,” Phil replied. “Got some tag numbers, descriptions, stuff like that. It’s a good start.”
“You see that ugly fuck—Natter?”
“Yeah, Chief, I saw him.”
“You see anyone else?”
Phil rubbed at minute stubble on his chin. “Yeah, Chief, I did. And right now I got a burning question for you.”