The Divorcee Murder Club

Cuarenta Y Ocho ~ 48

Then he slides down the strap of her dress and sucks one of her perky breasts into his mouth. This releases something ferocious in her as she bolts upright and begins tugging the belt on his slacks between sloppy kisses. The pants fall to his ankles, and a massive erection flops out, which makes my jaw drop. I’m well-endowed, but this guy has a damn anaconda! 

He gives the snake a few strokes, then takes Jocelyn by the waist with his gigantic hands and flips her onto her stomach. She’s faced down with her cheek pressed into the marble countertop, and her expression contorts with another moan when he enters her from behind. 

There is a chilly breeze on my neck, yet my temperature is hotter than magma, so I tug my collar. But as much as I’d love to watch Jocelyn take Kay’s big ol’ shlong like a pro, I have bigger fish to fry. Plus, I’m not a voyeur. So I skip across the yard and make it to the other side unseen as Kay has his way with Miss Naughty Little Jocelyn like a rabbit during mating season. There has to be an unbolted window somewhere as I feel across the wood paneling in the dark. That’s when I notice light spilling across a patch of grass further ahead, and when I reach it, there is a small rectangular window at my feet. 

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

The only time windows are this close to the ground is when they belong to a basement. I bet Richie Fucking Reddy is down there.

So I crouch and take a peep. Sure enough, I spot a washer and dryer machine, but that’s not the only thing. The basement appears to be a small apartment with a couch in front of a TV, and decor on the walls, but I can’t see much else, so I have to get inside. I press on the glass, and like most basement windows, it swings open, since nobody ever seems to lock these. It’s as if they can’t fathom someone breaking in through here. I slide in feet first, then climb down the washing machine, and proceed cautiously. There is a hint of mildew in the air mixed with laundry detergent, but the basement is warm, and there's the soothing white noise of a fan oscillating somewhere. TV light flickers across the walls, so someone was definitely here before Kay and Jocely's arrival, which means they're likely still here.

Pulling out the Glock, I inch closer. If the cushions are still warm to the touch, then whoever was down here must be hiding somewhere, so I click the safety off the gun and peer over the sofa.

Well, holy shit.

That little fucker known as Richie Reddy is fast asleep with the TV remote on his chest. I place my hand on his mouth causing his eyes to open wide, but he doesn’t have a chance to scream or defend himself as I whack him with the gun, knocking him out cold. Richie’s eyes close, and he’s out for the count, so I lift his ass from the bed and flop him over my shoulder. This isn't part of the plan. If it turned out that Richie was here, then we were going to return tomorrow to grab him before the raid to save Alma, but you know what? This asshole is coming with me!

As I creep across the basement, Jocelyn’s moans reverberate upstairs, and it sounds like she’s showing off, but it also lets me know she's at the precipice of coming, so I need to hurry. Huffing, I hoist Richie onto the washing machine, then climb onto the drier to give myself leverage to shove him out of the window. It takes a few tries but stuffing dead weight through a window is harder than it seems. Especially by yourself.

By the time we’re outside, sweat is dripping down my forehead, and I’m panting heavier than a dog after a run. But hey, I got him out of the basement, and that was half the battle. 

Now to drag him across the yard, and get back to the fence...

When I poke my head around the bend to check for Kay and Jocelyn, they’re still going at it in the kitchen, but he’s now on the floor and she’s riding him like a bull. This provides the perfect window for me to haul ass to the fence while their attention is away from the sliding glass doors. So, I scoop Richie’s floppy self into my arms, and run like the wind, then toss him over the fence. His body thuds when he lands, but I'm sure the bushes cushioned the blow, so I’m sure he’ll be fine, and I climb over to retrieve him. 

Headlights beam as a few cars come over the hill and proceed down the street. So, I stay low to the ground, hoping the shrubs will camouflage us while I wait for the traffic to pass. When it’s clear, I throw Richie over my shoulder one last time and sprint up to the car like a T-Rex is after me. It’s gotten darker since I left, the fog is gone, and crickets chirp as the night sky fades from an amethyst hue into a deep blue. Sammy and Jackson are in mid-conversation when they see me, so the old man starts the van, and Jackson throws the back door open. 

I practically dive into the back with Richie, and my chest is tight with sharp breaths, but I manage to say, “Go!” 

Sammy pulls away from the curb, and we leave the neighborhood. “So, what happened to the original plan?”

“Yeah!” Jackson barks. “You said that if Richie was in there, we would wait until tomorrow to grab him.”

“I made an executive decision last minute.” I fasten my seatbelt.

“So then what do we do about tomorrow?” Jackson asks. “We’re supposed to meet with Kay. What if he knows we took Richie.”

“He can’t pin it on us.” 

“But how do you know?”

“I mean, he can try, but how will he prove it? Besides, neither he nor Jocelyn can kick up a fuss without exposing their lie or secret fuck-house to Augusta, and I don’t think they want that.”

“Oh, so you caught them in the act?” Sammy looks at me through the rearview mirror.

“Yep. They were dick-deep. Augusta was right to be suspicious.” 

“So what now? What do we do with Richie?” Jackson asks. 

Sammy flicks on the van's turning signal and turns right. “I know a place where we can keep him until tomorrow.”

“Awesome,” I say. “Let’s get this sorry piece of shit over there, and call it a night.” 

“First, we need to grab some burgers.” Sammy glances back at me. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Neither am I,” Jackson says, and Sammy laughs.

“Well, it’s not for you. It’s for Angie.”