Dagger

“I don’t want her around here if she’s going to upset you like that.”

“I can’t just not see her, Dagger. She’s my sister. Granted, I’d like her to be a little different, but she isn’t. I just have to put up with her the way she is, like it or not.”

I shook my head in warning. “I don’t like it, Whit. You can call it sibling rivalry or whatever you want, but I don’t like that you feel responsible for holding things together. Have you ever considered just telling her to fuck off? Just to see what she’d do?”

“She’d laugh in my face. She knows me too well. I can’t be somebody else just to throw her off balance; that’s not being true to myself. She’ll settle down. She’s always been the wild one, and I had to keep things even for Mom and Dad. That got me more positive attention and her, less. It made her jealous, and that was why she behaved like that. Believe me, by tomorrow, she’ll forget all about it.”

“But I won’t.” I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. Whether she realized it or not, I’d already laid a claim on her. I just had some other matters to settle first. “Has she ever gotten violent with you?”

“Heck no. She’s a coward with a big mouth. Her biggest problem was that she always hooked up with the wrong crowd. She got pregnant when she was young and had it aborted. I had to help her through that and keep her secret. Now you know, but as far as I’m aware, that’s it. Leave her to me. I know how to handle her.”

I shook my head. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Aren’t I always?” She was grinning at me, leaning over me, and her breasts were pressing into my chest. It made my hairs stand up, and that wasn’t all. I pulled her down to kiss her and her leg swung over mine, allowing her to straddle me. She was so sweet and so tempting. I didn’t want to leave. Her long, slender fingers began to undo my pants, lowering the zipper and sliding my cock out carefully so nothing got caught in the zipper’s teeth. I wanted more, so I pushed the pant legs down with my feet and pulled my shirt over my head. I slid off her layers of leotard and then we were finally body to body. Her soft, unmarred skin seemed almost unreal when up against my tanned, hairy arm. God, but I adored this woman.

Now naked, she climbed back over my legs and began sucking on my dick. Her tongue walked it over and over, looking for the sensitive areas that would trigger the chills of pleasure. She was clever about it, too—she not only recognized them, but memorized their potency and learned to play me like an instrument. She could make me rise to a level of need that almost drove me insane, and then with a few puffs of cool breath, drop me down as she began again. She was born to pleasure me, and I to pleasure her. She seemed to want control this time, and I let her take it. Besides, it felt so damned good!

Now came the golden moment as she raised her hips and scooted forward, coming down with her hands holding her labia lips open so she slid easily onto my dick, fitting over me like a rich velvet glove. She was magical, intense, and she made my head swim. She rose upward and downward on me, grinding her hips in a small circular pattern as though I was a corkscrew and her pussy the cork. When she settled flat upon me, our genitals almost disappeared within one another. We were interchangeable and yet inseparable.

I knew her climax was approaching as her pace increased. She humped me hard and increased it even further. Her head rolled back, that magnificent hair falling down her back. I felt like I was watching Venus reborn and my cum was the fluid empowering her rise from the sea.

She called my name. It wasn’t guttural or even wild. It was a high-pitched cry, a slender thread of crystal descending from the sky, fragile and yet strong enough to hold the worlds together. She collapsed onto my chest and I slowly rolled away so I could hold her and gently disengage our bodies. “I love you, Whitney,” I whispered, and her head snapped up, her eyes sparkling with recent passion and the emotion of what I’d said.

“Thank you. I love everything you are and have brought to my life,” she answered, and I crushed her against me, wrapping myself around her like a cocoon.

I pulled the blankets over us later and we slept. I had nightmares; the same feelings of being underwater and then watching Tim disintegrate as the explosion blew the U-boat compartment open. It faded after that point, and although I lay awake for a while, a sweat on my brow, Whit was undisturbed. I was glad she was there, but I had a very strong feeling that something bad was headed toward me. I finally fell back to sleep, and when I awakened, Whit was out of the bed and gone.

I lay there for a while, inhaling the scent of our lovemaking and trying to engrave it on my mind. The sense of doom had crept back, and I needed her against my back. Not only to protect her, but to protect me.

***

Whitney was directing some people who’d come to clean up after the previous day’s party. There was vacuuming and the clatter of dishware—sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. I kissed Whit and told her I had things to do. Kat was eyeing me carefully as I passed her. I knew she’d had some part in letting Tiffany in the night before. Kat was like the terrier that was all licks and squeals of happiness one moment but became jealous, petty and vengeful if you set her aside. Again, I was coming close to looking for someone to fill her job. I’d have a talk with Whitney about it. It would be better to get rid of her before the clients became familiar with her.

***

I’d gotten a message from Kenny, far earlier than I’d expected. I managed to find one of the remaining pay phones in the city and called him back.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” were his opening words.

“Telling me what?”

“Your guy Malchevsky? My guys know of him. And you know why they know of him? Because he’s fucking one of them! So if they ever find out this came from me, I’m going to be right back where I was that day outside the bowling alley. Except deader. Anyway, he’s back and not far. They say he hangs out at a place called Turbo’s on the north side.”

“I know it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing yet. A little cat-and-mouse is called for first. If I need you, I’ll get in touch. One more thing. What does he do for them?”

 “Don’t know exactly. Probably drugs. I think he’s a dealer.”

“Got it. Thanks, Kenny. I guess this makes us even.”

“You’re goddamned right it does. And Dagger? Whatever you’re up to, just do not mention my name. They’re not forgiving people.”

“I get it, Kenny.”

I disconnected and set out to do a little exploring for myself. I was heading back to my car when I heard a noise from the alley I’d just passed. It sounded like a can had been kicked. My training kicked in, and I continued on like nothing was amiss, but I was listening hard. Then I heard some footsteps; fairly loud, but for some reason they sounded more like tap shoes than heavy men’s dress shoes. Steel-toe boots, maybe? It was a fading neighborhood, and very likely someone had seen my car and followed me to jump me for my wallet. I eased my hand into my jacket and looped my key ring over the knuckles of my hand. It wasn’t brass knuckles, but it was better than nothing. I sped up my pace and then slowed; the footsteps did likewise. I crossed the street against the light and eventually the steps caught up with me. At the next corner, I turned and dove into a doorway, waiting for the pursuer to come around. As the body rounded the corner, I jumped out, grabbing the coat and holding my key-laden fist to the throat.

“Don’t!” she shrieked.

Who the fuck was this? A woman?

“It’s me! Tiffany!

I swung her around so the street light was in her face. “What the hell, Tiffany? I almost killed you!”

She smiled cunningly. “I see why people are scared of you, but you wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

“You don’t follow someone like that! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she replied, her finger rising up and caressing my cheek.

I pushed her hand away. “Don’t. Go home. Leave me alone.”

“No way, Dagger. I get what I want, and right now I want you.” She leaned forward, pressing her breasts into my chest.

I took a step back and she stumbled from the suddenness. “Tiffany, are you drunk? I’ll get a taxi to take you home.”

“No! No, just let me go with you, Dag,” she cooed in a flirtatious voice. I pulled my cell out to find the number for the cab company, but she grabbed my wrist and pulled it to her breast. “Wouldn’t you rather have some of this?”

This woman is certifiable! “Tiffany, I don’t have time for this shit right now. I’m not interested. Not now. Not ever.” I pulled my phone back, tapped the camera and took a snapshot of her standing there, one hand down her pants while the other opened her blouse to my view. “I’m showing this to Whit, so don’t get any smart ideas, you little bitch.”

I tapped the cab company and tersely ordered a car to the spot where we were standing. Out of respect for Whit, I’d wait until it came.

Tiffany wasn’t done. “You know you’re ruining my sister, don’t you?”

I couldn’t resist. “What do you mean?”

“She’s way too high and mighty for someone like you. She can’t make it on the streets, but that’s where she’s headed as soon as you dump her.”

“Who said anything about dumping her, Tiffany? You?”

“Oh, you will, eventually. She’s demanding and picky. You’ll get your fill. Now, if you were to hire me, instead, you’d find someone who is far more willing. I don’t have my head up my ass, but I’d sure like to have it up yours.”

She disgusted me. But she was Whitney’s sister, and I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I saw her. She stepped up to me again, and this time she grabbed my crotch. “Mmmm… bet I can make this big boy sit up and take notice.”

“God damn it! Tiffany, that’s enough!”

Just then the cab pulled up and I grabbed her by the arm, opened the door and more or less pushed her inside. I reached forward and handed the cabbie a hundred-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. “Take her home… or… well, just somewhere else.” Walking back to my car, I thanked God that Whitney wasn’t like her sibling.

I headed for Turbo’s, keeping it slow as I drove so I could think. I was getting close to the old neighborhood and turned down Wickham Street to see what my childhood house looked like. The houses looked so much smaller than I’d remembered them. That got me to thinking where I’d like to live, to raise a family. Whitney’s face kept popping into my mind. I realized, with some surprise, that I’d begun thinking of my future in terms of we, instead of just I. That was a serious departure from my normal state of mind. When I lost my parents, I became unwillingly alone. When I joined the SEALs, that changed to intentionally alone, facilitated by the fact that I’d lived in a secret within a secret, buried by even more secrets. There was a point when the lines became blurred. What was I allowed to acknowledge and what was off limits? I’d opted to make it all off limits. It was easier.

I circled a few blocks, filled with nostalgia, and eventually came out on the main drag through that area of town. Turbo’s was there. It was the local pub, although it had declined over the years, like so many other things. I’d gone in there a lot with my dad. He’d have Scotch and business discussions while I drank a Roy Rogers, my feet dangling from the stool as I snatched salted peanuts from the bowl on the bar and consequently wanted more to drink. Turbo’s had probably launched more than its share of alcoholics over the years. Its atmosphere was subdued and expensive, just like the men in my father’s circle appreciated. No one off the street just wandered in to Turbo’s; our part of town never had people on foot, much less wandering. They all had a purpose, a meeting waiting.

My memory proved sound when I spotted Turbo’s. As I’d expected, it had lost its ambiance from when I was a kid. While there still weren’t any drunks pissing against the building, parts of the Turbo’s neon sign had burned out and no one seemed to mind. There were decals for cheap beer where once had hung expensive, glittery signs for aged Scotch and fine liqueurs. It seemed everything had changed.

I shut off the car, choosing to park, back end in, in a remote part of the parking lot. I risked my car being disassembled by local thieves, but I risked far more if Malchevsky tracked my license plate. I had insurance on the car, but not on Whit or me being exposed.

I sat for a few minutes, waiting to see what sort of clientele was wandering in and out. I reasoned that Turbo’s probably no longer offered dining, so by law I couldn’t bring my gun inside, despite my concealed carry permit. I didn’t expect to see any familiar faces. Too many years had passed. I just wanted to see the level of clientele.

I checked the time and realized I’d already been gone for two hours. I knew Whit wasn’t the possessive type. It was more that I didn’t like being away from her. Again, that illogical thought amazed me.

Keeping my head down, I entered Turbo’s and chose a stool at the end of the bar where I could watch the door. I hunched over the mug of beer I’d ordered and busied myself doodling on a dingy paper napkin. There was a fly-specked flat screen beaming a boxing match over the bottles of cheap whiskey. The bartender’s rag seemed locked in a never-ending circular motion. An old alarm clock with red LED numbers tolled the time for those who were there to kill it.

A few of the other stools were occupied, as were three booths that needed new upholstery. I considered the tales of woe that had been shared on that fabric, and whether they’d left behind a contagious energy. The room was stuffy, and I wanted to go, but I was there for a reason. They say rewards come to those who are patient, and mine walked in the door just then.

He looked older, harder and wasted. Conscience hadn’t done that—fear had. Men like him were layered with hatred and malice so they could hide their own fear. I’d seen it a hundred times.

He quickly looked around the room, as if he wanted to avoid running into someone. I knew who he was looking for. He chose the fourth stool as if it belonged to him, and the bartender slid a mug to him without comment. He was a regular, and I wondered why he’d chosen Turbo’s in particular.

That was when I remembered. We’d been on assignment one night after Malchevsky had joined the team. It was a “wait and see what happens” kind of thing, and out of boredom, and perhaps to quell the nerves that always arose when we were on a mission, a few of the guys began sharing stories. Someone had brought up favorite memories, and my mind had drifted to when my dad was alive and we’d gone to Turbo’s. I remembered now that I’d shared a bit of that. Malchevsky remembered; in fact, he made a point of it. That was why he was on the stool down the bar from me.

We were trained to watch without appearing to do so. I was fascinated with my doodling when I saw a grin open his grizzled face. He’d found what he was looking for, as well.

Malchevsky picked up his mug and slowly ambled down the row and took the stool next to mine, slamming the beer enough that it spilled over the rim. It was so typical of him to be a pain in the ass.

“Well, well, well… it’s a small world after all,” he slurred in an attempt to be disarming. I knew he wasn’t drunk. You never drank when it was important to have a clear head. Although we were seated side by side, our mental manifestations were face-on foes, bent low with intent to do battle.

“Malchevsky,” I acknowledged quietly, without emotion.

He snickered—a deadly sound. “Should I imagine that true to your name, there’s a knife somewhere beneath that jacket?”

“No knives,” I returned.

“Huh. You must be getting soft in your old age.” He was trying to get a rise out of me. I didn’t doubt that he was carrying. He wasn’t the sort to leave himself unprotected. “So, what brings you here?” he asked.

I took a long swig from my mug and set it down, carefully wiping the condensation ring dry with the napkin. “Came to get you.”

“Ha! And just what makes you think I’ll go with you willingly?”

I noted that he didn’t deny that I had reason to get him—only that I was able to make it happen. He was an idiot.

“You will if you know what’s good for you. I came to talk about what you did to Tim.”

The chuckle died in his throat. His mock humor molded itself into that look of fear I’d recognized before. I sensed he wanted to know how I’d found out, and how much. The cat and mouse game had begun, and I’d just launched the first volley.

Malchevsky grinned then, returning fire immediately.

“Speaking of Tim, I heard you showed up for his funeral. Shame about that,” he sneered. I could feel the muscle jerking in my cheek.

“I’ve got the proof now, Malchevsky. I’ve known it all along, but now I’ve got the proof.”

He was silent. Whitney’s beautiful face flitted past in my mind’s eye, followed quickly by Tim’s dead eyes. I lost my train of thought momentarily, a PTSD episode trying to get into my head. I focused on Whitney and wouldn’t let it in.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed.

“You willing to take a chance on that?”

He slurped his beer, buying time before responding. I saved him the trouble.

“I’ve got a proposition for you, Malchevsky.”

“Oh, you’re going to let me choose between guns and knives?” he mocked me.

“No, not really, but I suppose in a sense, you could say that. Here’s the deal: You come with me when I give the evidence to the prosecutor. You can gamble on whether it’s good enough to convict you, and if you get off, you’re out of trouble and you can do as you please. If you are found guilty, you face the music like a man.” I had to add that last insult; it was payback for one of the many he’d levelled on Tim.

“Now just why would I do that?”

“Because otherwise I’m afraid I may have to take justice into my own hands.”

The tension was palpable, and I saw Malchevsky’s hand moving to the inside of his jacket. I knew it would emerge with a gun. I had a split second to react. Snatching up the retractable fountain pen I’d been doodling with, I clicked the nib out and at the same time arched my hand high and brought the point of the nib down onto Malchevsky’s arm, penetrating his jacket and an inch of flesh and pinning him to the bar surface. He roared in pain, unable to reach the gun.

The bartender spun around at the screaming. “Have you got a Band-Aid?” I asked him, motioning to Malchevsky. “I think he cut himself.” I walked out, calmly got into my car and left for home. In my rearview I saw a familiar cab parked across the street at the curb with the door open. Tiffany was standing at the corner of Turbo’s window. She glanced quickly at my retreating car and went inside the bar.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shouted, slamming the steering wheel. I knew what she was after. She’d been watching me the whole time and had seen my confrontation with Malchevsky. I might have just gotten Whitney’s sister killed. I knew I would for sure if I turned around. When he’d shot the both of us, he’d go after Whitney. “She’s on her own!” I shouted to myself. God, but I hated myself in that moment.

So I wheeled the car around and drove back to Turbo’s, pulling right up over the curb to within inches of the door. I jumped out, yanked the door open and shouted, “Tiffany! Get out here!”

She was standing at the end of the bar, as women do when they want someone to buy them a drink and invite them to sit down. Her head swiveled at the sound of her name, but it didn’t much matter: She was close enough I could grab her. “Get your ass in that car, now!” I shouted as I picked her up and stuffed her across the console. I already had the car in gear and I rammed the gas pedal to the floor. There was a ping as a bullet bounced off the sidewalk ahead of us. “Get down!” I shouted, using one hand to push the back of her neck so her head was forced forward into her lap. I spun around the corner so as to avoid further bullets and kept the pedal to the floor until we’d run two red lights and were blocks away.

I was so angry I couldn’t speak.

“Why did you stab that man?” she asked, as casually as if asking for the time.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“Dagger, are you mad at me?”

“Tiffany, unless you want me to throw you out on to the street, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. You are not to say anything about this to Whitney, or anyone else for that matter. Forget what you saw. Forget that man and forget you saw me. I’ll deny it, and if you remember, I’ve got photographic evidence of your behavior. I’ll send it to your father.”

She waved her hand through the air. “Aw, hell, he won’t care. He knows me by now, and there’s not much I could do to surprise him.” She casually looked out the window as we topped eighty miles per hour, merging onto the expressway.

“Just don’t say a word or you’ll deal with me.”

That seemed to carry more weight. I saw her eyebrows rise in consternation. She started to say something and then thought the better of it.

I wheeled down the off-ramp and pulled up to the Hilton. I pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet and shoved it down her shirt. “Get out, go in there and stay put tonight. Tomorrow, go home. Forget what you saw, and God help you if Whitney finds out.”

She looked at me saucily. “Should I leave the door unlocked for you?” she mewled prettily.

“Fuck you, Tiffany,” I said, leaning over her to shove open her door and push her hips out. She nearly landed on the sidewalk, but she was out. I inched ahead enough that I could slam the door without hitting her. I turned my attention to the road ahead, and this time, I didn’t look back.