Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Betsy Gets Lucky
Universe: Betsy
Summary: Cindy was the only woman who ever meant anything to Howard,
but she was gone. He'd met others who reminded him of her, but
things always ended the same way. Then he helps Betsy out of a
tight spot and she goes home with him... but can their
relationship survive?
Keywords: MF, oral, viol
Revision: 1.0
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/
*****************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER
This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO
NOT read any further.
All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse
any of the activities described in this story.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). This story may be freely distributed
with this disclaimer attached.
Copyright (c) 2003-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.
*****************************************************************
Betsy Gets Lucky
by Nick Scipio
A knock on the door summoned Graham from a ruminative silence. He
looked at his watch and realized it must be his two o'clock
appointment. With a quick check to make sure his desk was in
order, he stood and walked toward the door.
"Dr. Moscowitz?" Graham asked the man at the door. The man nodded
and Graham stepped aside, motioning for him to enter.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Turner."
"Certainly, certainly. Come in. Have a seat," Graham said,
gesturing at one of the comfortable wing-back chairs in front of
his desk. "And please, Dr. Moscowitz, call me Graham."
"Graham. Of course. I am Saul."
Graham seated himself behind his desk and looked at the man
across from him. Dr. Saul Moscowitz was short and plumpish, with
wire-rimmed glasses and a prominent nose. Male pattern baldness
had actually improved his appearance, Graham decided, softening
his face and giving it much-needed character.
"You know why I asked to see you," Saul said. At Graham's nod, he
continued. "It's about Howard Bloom."
Graham felt his heart race. "Of course, you realize I can't
disclose..."
Saul nodded and withdrew a slim manila folder from his briefcase.
"Here is all the necessary paperwork," he said, passing the
folder across the desk.
Graham scrutinized the papers--authorized releases allowing him
to breach confidentiality and discuss Howard's evaluations. Once
satisfied that everything was in order, he sighed deeply and
withdrew a significantly thicker folder from the file drawer in
his desk.
"Where should I start?" he asked, more as a rhetorical question
than a request for guidance.
"Why not start at the beginning," Saul said.
Graham smiled tightly and flipped open the folder.
"Well, Howard David Bloom, Junior: six feet tall, 180 pounds,
brown hair, blue eyes..."
"I expect I'll learn all that when I meet him," Saul said,
interrupting Graham.
"Meet him?"
"Of course. I'll have to evaluate him for myself."
"Are you sure? I mean..."
Saul nodded firmly.
Graham shook his head and continued summarizing the document in
front of him. "He graduated magna cum laude from Stanford, double
major in Psychology and Criminal Justice, minors in Sociology and
History."
"Impressive," Saul said.
"Indeed. Did you know he was recruited by the FBI?"
Saul's eyebrows rose, then he shook his head.
"He was. He joined the Marine Corps instead and went off to OCS.
Followed in his father's footsteps, you see."
Saul nodded.
The two men went through a substantial portion of the file before
Saul held up his hand.
"Betsy Powell. You've mentioned her name several times. Who is
she?" Saul asked.
Graham chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "She's the lucky
one."
Saul's brow creased with impatience.
"Here. Read the transcript for yourself," Graham said, handing a
sheaf of papers across the desk to the other man. "It's from a
recording I made during an early conversation with Howard. I
asked him about Betsy, and this is his account of how they met."
-----
I don't sleep well. I haven't for as long as I can remember. I
guess I've always felt like sleep was a waste of time. I've got
too many important things to do to take up much of my day with
sleep.
Besides, nighttime is my favorite time. People generally leave me
alone, and I can think without anyone fawning over me. Usually, I
like to be the center of attention, but nights are for me, and me
alone.
Maybe it was that need to be alone that led me to walk the
streets. Maybe it was just that I didn't want to deal with Kristi
and her insufferable wailing. She loved me, she said. She needed
me, she said. She'd do anything for me, she said.
Actually, there was nothing wrong with Kristi. I was just done
with her. She had become tedious. For the past two months, she'd
done everything I wanted--even gotten into hot water with her
boss about too many missed days of work.
It sucks to be her.
I chuckled at the thought. Actually, it _did_ suck to be her. I'd
made her give me a long blowjob in the cab on the way home from
one of the trendy dance clubs she liked so much. She was having
fun with her friends, but they were more interested in each other
than in me, so we left. Kristi was disappointed, but it wasn't
about _her_, now was it?
She didn't want to blow me, especially with the cabby able to see
everything. But again, it wasn't about her. After we got to my
apartment, I told her to gather up her shit and get out. It had
only been a couple of months, so she didn't have much stuff there.
I loved the look on her face when I told her we were through. I
wasn't upset about it, why was she? We'd had fun while it lasted.
_I'd_ had fun, at least.
I was tempted to fuck her before she left, just to shut her up,
but I decided against it. After all, I was breaking up with her,
I didn't want her to think I loved her. Love was for before, not
after.
She didn't want to leave and I didn't want to watch her go, so I
locked my apartment door behind me and walked to the elevator
without a backward glance. She'd be gone when I got back, I was
sure of it.
It was a bit late to find someone new, but I'd manage somehow.
I always had.
-----
A cute waitress worked the night shift at the all-night diner on
the corner of 59th and Tenth. She'd given me the eye a few times
when I'd gone in for coffee late at night. I decided to walk the
few blocks to see if she was there.
I'd never given her any sign that I was interested in her, but I
thought she'd fill the not-void left by Kristi. Oh yes, I thought
to myself, imagining the waitress' smooth curves and healthy
farm-girl breasts, she'd fill the void nicely.
The diner was nearly deserted and she was wiping up the tables.
The few times I'd been in before I didn't talk much, and she got
the message I wanted to be left alone. Once, however, she
chattered on, telling me she was a student at one of the local
colleges and worked nights because her classes were early. I
didn't remember the college, but I remembered her name: Janey.
Janey from Wisconsin, or Wyoming, or wherever.
I took a seat in one of the booths and she came over with a
coffee cup and a pot of regular.
"Hiya," she said, perky as always.
"Hi, Janey. How're things tonight?"
She looked at me for a moment, surprised I'd actually talked to
her.
"You doing okay?" I asked, turning on the understated charm.
"Yeah, I'm great."
I decided she must be from Wisconsin. She had that upward lilt at
the end of everything she said, kind of like she was asking a
question with every statement. She set the coffee cup down and
filled it efficiently, giving me a look that was equal parts
suspicion and interest.
"Can I bring you anything else?" she asked, reverting to the
safety of routine.
"I feel like pie," I said. "What's good here?"
She leaned down confidentially and whispered, "Anything but
blueberry."
"What do you recommend?" I asked, trying to draw her out.
"I like the apple."
I laughed genially. "Really? That's my favorite." She was from
Wisconsin, dairy country. Would she like it with ice cream, or
cheddar cheese? I looked at her with counterfeit suspicion. "You
eat it with ice cream?" I caught the briefest hint of her
disapproving expression and continued. "Because that would be
just plain wrong. You've got to eat it with cheddar cheese."
"That's my _favorite_ way to eat it," she said.
Of course it was, I thought smugly. Personally, I couldn't care
less about apple pie, with or without cheese or ice cream. I
liked lemon meringue, but pie wasn't the point of the exercise. I
gave her my warmest tired smile and nodded. "Then I'd like a
piece of that apple pie, with cheddar cheese."
She practically beamed at me and turned to get it.
I smiled at her until she turned away, then took a sip of my
coffee. It was hot, black, and strong, just the way I like it.
That's one thing I didn't miss about the Corps--the coffee sucked.
When she returned with my pie, I pasted on my best charming smile
and she actually blushed. I chuckled to myself. This was going to
be easy.
"I warmed it up for you in the microwave," she said. "And I gave
you an extra big piece."
"Thanks," I said. "I don't know if I ever introduced myself." I
held out my hand as she set the plate down. "I'm Howard."
"Pleased to meet you, Howard." She reached out and took my hand.
As our palms crossed, I gently caressed her wrist with my fingers,
just enough to let her know it wasn't accidental, but not enough
to be truly overt. I gripped her hand firmly, but not tightly,
and squeezed once, smiling my 50-megawatt smile and making eye
contact. She blushed again, and I let her hand go. Oh yes, I
thought to myself, this was going to be so easy.
She turned and headed back to the counter. I already had thoughts
of her bent over the kitchen table. I decided I'd fuck her from
behind first. Definitely.
I let her catch me looking at her, but averted my eyes each time
she looked at me, as if I were interested, but maybe a little shy.
And I ate my pie. It was actually pretty good.
"So, Howard," she said, sidling up to the table to top off my
coffee. "What do you do for a living? Like, I see you in here
sometimes, but I never could figure out why you're out late. You
know?"
"I own a security company," I said.
Her eyes got wide and I knew I had her hooked. A well-to-do nice
guy, maybe a little dangerous, exactly what a starry-eyed,
slightly jaded farm-girl from Wisconsin would find interesting.
"We do security for several buildings in the area. I check on the
teams assigned to them."
"Wow," she said, clearly impressed. "You must be pretty
important."
Time to downplay it a bit. I shrugged. "Somebody's gotta do it. I
take care of my guys, they take care of our clients, and our
clients take care of us."
She nodded, and I got the idea she wanted to say more, but one of
the other two customers called out, asking for more coffee. I
looked at the man and memorized his face. If I ever saw him again,
maybe I'd...
Cindy!
No, not Cindy, but close enough to be her sister. My heart raced
with anticipation. She was cute, maybe a little too plump, with
the same blowjob lips that Cindy had. She had just turned to walk
away from the diner, down 59th Street, when I spotted her through
the far window. If I hadn't been paying so much attention to
Janey, I would have seen the girl sooner. Without saying a word,
I got up, left ten bucks on the table, and headed toward the
street.
-----
Cindy certainly wasn't my first, but she was the only one that
meant anything to me. I actually enjoyed doing her.
I met her right after my unit returned to Pendleton from
deployment. She was everything I wanted, and maybe then some.
She was from Lemon Grove City, just a few miles away. Her parents
were Ivory Tower peaceniks, holdovers from the Sixties who
despised the very people who provided the freedom they took for
granted. The idea of their daughter dating a "government killer"
made them crazy, and that drove Cindy crazy. I didn't care what
she was rebelling against, especially when she moved in with me.
I had a small apartment a couple of miles from the camp's main
gate, and Cindy made that place a home.
I think Cindy was the closest I ever came to loving anyone. But
then she betrayed me, and I couldn't have that. She passed every
test but the big one: loyalty. Always faithful--semper fidelis--
means something to me. Evidently, it didn't mean anything to her.
After that, I decided the Corps wasn't the life for me anymore,
so I got out. Civilian life offered so many more opportunities,
and I decided to seize them.
-----
Saul lowered the papers and looked across the desk. "He actually
said that?"
"Said what?" Graham asked.
"'After that, I decided the Corps wasn't the life for me anymore,
so I got out.' He said that?"
Graham nodded firmly. "I have the tape if you'd like to listen to
it."
"He says 'I got out,' like it was a choice he made."
"He's like that."
"He was court-martialed, right?" Saul asked.
"He was. Conduct Unbecoming. But because of who his father was,
he was allowed to resign his commission."
"But... I thought you said he was charged with..."
"I know," Graham said heavily. "He was found not guilty on all
the other charges."
"Really?"
Graham nodded. "The evidence was only circumstantial. Besides,
the accident happened when his unit was on a training mission,
which can be dangerous, you see. At first, the Judge Advocate
didn't even look at him as a suspect. Even after he came under
suspicion, he passed a lie-detector test with flying colors and
completely snowed the NCIS investigator."
"They had to know he was responsible for the doctor's death. How
dangerous can a training exercise possibly be?"
"With his former unit, pretty dangerous."
"What was his unit again?" Saul asked distractedly.
"The First Force Reconnaissance Company," Graham answered without
looking at the file.
"A reconnaissance unit?! Then he shouldn't be all _that_
dangerous."
Graham looked across his desk in incredulity. At first, he didn't
believe the other man was serious. Then the magnitude of Saul's
naivete struck him like a blow. "You really don't know?"
Saul shook his head irritably. "No. Why should I?" he snapped.
"First," Graham explained patiently, "there are few US Marines
who aren't dangerous. Second, the Force Recon units are, as
Howard put it, 'on the sharp end.' They're an elite group like
the Army Rangers, or the SEALs, or Delta Force. Howard could
explain it to you better than I can, and he will, if you ask him.
But trust me when I tell you that he's a very, very dangerous
man."
Saul looked dubious.
"Keep reading," Graham said, indicating the papers Saul still
clutched loosely. "You'll see."
-----
I shadowed the girl for a few blocks, running over in my mind
what I wanted to do, what I wanted to say. The more I watched her
walk, the more she reminded me of Cindy. There had been others
who reminded me of her, but this girl, this girl was young, like
when I'd first met Cindy, when she was still fresh and new. And
loyal.
The girl I was following turned into an alley and I pulled up
short, to wait. There's no rush, I told myself. A few moments
later, I heard a scuffle and decided to see what was happening.
When I rounded the corner of the building backing the alley, my
first reaction was surprise. That lasted for only a heartbeat.
She was in the alleyway with three men. Two were holding her by
the arms, being none too gentle, and the third was pawing under
her short skirt.
How dare they?!
I checked the small of my back for the SIG I always keep there,
but decided the situation didn't call for a gun. One look at them
told me they were street punks, barely worthy of consideration
under normal circumstances.
I didn't even try to hide myself as I walked down the alley
toward them. The leader, the one with his hand under the girl's
skirt, saw me first.
"What're you lookin' at, dickwad?" he snarled.
There's a time for fighting and a time for talking, and this guy
didn't realize that the time for talking was already long gone. I
took another step in his direction and he obligingly moved toward
me. A quick side-step and a forearm to the throat left him
wheezing and gurgling on the ground.
His two buddies were more loyal than smart. They dropped the girl
and came at me together. In the dull glow from a streetlight at
the mouth of the alley, I saw the gleam of a knife in the hand of
the guy on my right. Instead of doing the smart thing, coming at
me from opposite sides, they simply rushed me head on.
I went for the guy with the knife first. A knife isn't all that
dangerous, the person wielding the knife _is_. Remove the wielder
from the equation, and a knife is just so much useless cutlery.
This idiot had probably never used his knife against someone who
fought back, and he paid for it. In three quick seconds, the two
of them were on the ground.
-----
"What happened to those men?" Saul asked.
Graham shrugged. "I asked Howard about that. He calmly told me
he'd left them lying in the alley. I pressed him on it, and he
just shrugged. 'What if they were dead?' I asked him. You know
what his answer was?"
Saul shook his head.
"'Then they got what they deserved.' He was as calm as if he'd
just said he liked my tie."
Saul blinked.
"I actually did a little digging on my own," Graham said. "The
NYPD told me there were no homicides matching that description
anywhere near 59th Street."
"So he was lying."
"Not necessarily. A detective from another precinct called me up
several weeks later. Seems that three 'skells,' his word, were
found in an alley about twenty-five blocks from where Howard
placed his account. One had his larynx crushed, one was stabbed,
and the third had his neck snapped. The police were just glad to
be rid of the three, and there was really no case against Howard,
no evidence. Besides, any competent attorney could argue self-
defense."
"Do you think...?"
"Yes. I'm sure he was responsible. The accounts match too closely
to draw any other conclusion. He simply lied about the location."
"So what happened to the girl?" Saul asked, visibly shaken.
Graham gestured to the papers. "Keep reading."
-----
The girl was terrified. In a manner of seconds, she'd seen me
drop the three men who had attacked her, and I guess she figured
I was simply going to pick up where they left off.
"Hey," I said in my gentlest voice. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed hard and nodded automatically, trying to tug her
skirt back down and straighten her top. It had been ripped when
she struggled with the men, and now it lay open, displaying a
healthy portion of her chest.
I put out my hand and walked slowly toward her, smiling as I did.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I said reassuringly. "I'm here to
help."
She smiled wanly and seemed to relax.
I took a step closer and reached out to her. "Why don't we get
out of here," I said.
She swallowed again and took a step toward me.
Eventually, I coaxed her into taking my hand and gently pulled
her from the alley. She had to step over the leader of the trio,
but pointedly didn't look down. I glanced at my watch and saw it
was almost five in the morning. I knew a donut stand around the
corner that would be setting up right about now, so I took her
there.
In the growing morning light, I realized how young she looked and
how much she reminded me of Cindy. She had the same long brown
hair, big brown doe eyes, and the full lips that always made
Cindy look like she was ready to go down on me. I'd already
forgotten the waitress at the diner as we walked toward the donut
stand.
The guy at the stand leered at her partially exposed chest, but
after he looked into my eyes, he was all business. We got coffee
and donuts, and then walked off.
"I'm Howard," I said, trying to set her at ease.
"Betsy." She paused for a moment and gripped her coffee fiercely,
both hands shaking. After a long drink that seemed to settle her
nerves, she asked, "Were those guys...?"
"Unconscious," I said firmly.
"But one of them was bleeding."
I nodded. "He got a cut on his arm when I took the knife away
from his buddy. He'll be fine."
I could tell she was still in a state of shock, and she'd seen
too much blood for a simple cut on the arm, but she let it go. I
wanted to take my jacket off and put it around her shoulders, but
the SIG would be visible if I did. I couldn't have that. Besides,
there _was_ blood on my right sleeve, and my jacket covered it.
"Is there somewhere I can take you? Somewhere you can get cleaned
up?" I asked. She had that look about her--the look of a street-
smart opportunist--that told me she'd answer yes to my next
question. "My place is just a few blocks away. Would you like to
go there?"
She nodded, and I steered us toward my apartment.
-----
Saul looked up in shock and Graham knew exactly which point in
the narrative he'd reached.
"She went back to his apartment?!" Saul blurted.
Graham nodded.
"Did she end up like the others?"
"What others?" Graham asked blandly.
"Don't play coy, Dr. Turner," Saul said, leaning forward. "Did he
kill this Betsy Powell girl too?"
"I'm not being coy, _Dr._ Moscowitz," Graham said evenly.
"You sound like you're defending him."
"Maybe, maybe not. But you sound like you've already judged him."
"I've done no such thing!" Saul said, nearly apoplectic.
Graham inclined his head and let it drop.
"Don't tell me you actually _like_ him," Saul accused.
Graham leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers before
him. After a moment, he shook his head. "On the surface, he's
very urbane. Charming, actually. I certainly treat him with
respect, and he's always been courteous to me as well, although
it's impossible to tell for sure what his true feelings are."
"You mean you respect him?"
"I don't think you understand. I respect him like I'd respect a
viper. Only... Howard is far more dangerous than a viper."
"Well. That's beside the point," Saul said irritably. "You still
haven't told me what happened to the girl."
"Howard tells you himself," Graham said, pointing to the papers
in the other man's hand. "He actually goes into great detail. I
think he was trying to shock me."
Graham's smirk was lost on Saul, who bent his head and eagerly
continued reading.
-----
We got to my apartment and I offered her the shower so she could
get cleaned up. I told her where the fresh towels were and
retreated to the living room. I think she expected me to join her.
I thought about it, but decided not to.
When I heard the water running, I went back into my bedroom to
put the SIG and the two extra clips in the lockbox I kept next to
my bed. I then changed out of my bloody shirt and into a
comfortable pair of sweats. As I passed the bathroom door, I
hesitated and reached for the knob. Instead of turning it, I
decided to wait for her back in the living room.
She appeared wearing a towel around her body and another wrapped
around her hair. Her face glowed a shade of pink that only a
nearly scalding shower can impart. She looked even more like
Cindy than I'd previously thought, and I felt the urge to... Well,
I felt the urge.
"I really appreciate what you did for me," she said.
I blushed and looked away. Can't show too much eagerness, I
thought to myself.
"I don't know how I'll ever thank you."
"No thanks needed," I said.
She let the towel around her body fall to the floor. She wanted
me to look, so I did. Her breasts were firm and round, a little
pendulous, but with the springiness that only youth can endow.
They were capped with pink nipples, which were already starting
to harden.
My eyes trailed down her body--only slightly overweight, I
decided. She'd obviously used my razor to trim her pubic hair.
Her fleshy labia were pinkish and spreading, pushed apart by her
protruding inner lips. She took the towel off her head and
dropped it to the floor as well.
"I think I know how to thank you," she said, seeing the lump
forming in my sweatpants.
She sank to her knees and put her hands on my waistband, just as
I'd expected.
"You don't have to do this, you know," I said, putting my hands
on hers.
"I want to."
"I'm serious. I don't expect anything from you," I lied glibly.
"That's _why_ I want to do it. Because you didn't ask for it. You
could have, you know. After what you did for me."
"I'd never do that," I said, feigning sincerity.
"Please?"
Works every time. I smiled to myself and took my hands off hers.
When she tugged, I lifted my hips to accommodate her and the soft
grey pants were quickly around my ankles. Her lips locked around
my rising shaft and she sucked me to full erection. As she took
me into the back of her throat, I realized she was actually
better than Cindy. I leaned against the back of the couch,
relaxed, and put my hand on top of her head to direct her motions.
She bobbed up and down, sucking me with a finesse that belied her
youth. Her wet hair quickly turned cold against my fingers and
thighs, but I didn't care. She took me to the edge of climax and
held me there.
Finally, I thrust my hips up, forcing more of my cock into her
mouth, and held her head down. She flinched as the first
streamers of my come hit the back of her throat, but quickly
adjusted and kept swallowing. When I was done, she pulled off me,
panting and grinning, her lips shiny with saliva.
-----
Later that morning, we were in my bed relaxing.
"So, how old _are_ you?" I asked.
She tensed up, but I stroked my hand down her back and she began
to relax. "Eighteen."
"Sounds like there's a story there."
I felt her nod, but she didn't speak.
"You know I'm not going to judge you," I said softly, still
stroking her. "If you don't want to tell me, that's okay." I
started to slide away from her, and that did the trick. The way
she'd clung to me when we had sex, I knew she needed the human
contact. Threaten her with losing it, and she did what I wanted.
"My stepfather," she said tentatively.
I let the silence draw out.
"He started in on me when I was fourteen. It was only blowjobs at
first. My mom worked nights, she was a nurse, and he'd come home
from work just as she was leaving. He'd get half a six-pack in
him, and then force me to suck him off. I hated it at first and
kept promising myself I'd bite his dick off the next time he
stuck it in my mouth."
She was quiet for a moment, and I pulled her close.
"I never did, though. I guess I got used to it. And when I
started to like it, I really hated myself, but he was always so
sweet to me afterward. He called me his little angel." She
snorted derisively. "On my fifteenth birthday, he popped my
cherry. God, it hurt. He was so big, and he didn't give a shit
about me.
"But after, he got me this real nice silver locket. He started
drinking more, though, and he was rougher and rougher with me. To
this day, I don't know what my mom saw in that asshole. Sometimes,
he'd fuck her before she left for work, and then he'd make me
suck him. I could taste my mom's pussy on his dick. Talk about a
head trip."
"No kidding," I said.
"He kept drinking more and more, and when he started passing me
around to his poker buddies, I took off. I've been on my own ever
since," she said. We were silent for a moment, then she propped
herself on one elbow and looked at me. "So, what's your story?"
"I'm 34 and self-employed. I own a security company," I said. I
had the feeling she'd be a sucker for a sob story, but I didn't
want to play things up too much. "I joined the Marine Corps
because that's what my father wanted."
"Wow, cool. So you were, like, one of the few, the proud?"
"Semper Fi," I said. I don't know why, I thought to myself, but I
still like the Corps. Crazy? Maybe. "But the Corps didn't
recognize my abilities quick enough, so I got out after six
years."
"Bummer."
"Yeah, my dad was pretty angry. The Corps was everything to him.
He was a real prick to live with growing up, but he taught me
discipline. Sometimes, the hard way." I put a slight catch in my
voice to hint at the abuse I'd suffered at the hands of that
maniac. "He was always the very model of the modern Major
General," I said, with enough sarcasm to evoke the sympathetic
response I was looking for.
"Wow, you had it pretty bad, huh?"
I was quiet for a calculated moment, and swallowed hard. She
rubbed her hand over my chest and I heard her sniffle softly.
Women are such suckers when a grown man shows emotion. They eat
that shit up. "Yeah," I said, my voice tight with emotion I
didn't feel. "But that's all in the past. My parents are dead
now."
"Oh, man. I'm so sorry. How'd it happen?"
"Drunk driver." I clammed up for a moment, and she hugged herself
against me.
-----
"How did it really happen?" Saul asked.
"How did what happen?"
"How did Bloom's parents die? I bet it wasn't a drunk driver."
Graham shook his head. "His father died when the handgun he was
cleaning accidentally went off. Took off the top of his head."
Saul shook his head sadly.
"You don't get it, do you?" Graham asked.
Saul looked at him in irritation and gestured for him to continue.
"Howard's father, Howard Bloom, Senior, was a 28-year veteran of
the Marines. Howard wasn't lying when he told the girl that his
father was... um... how did he put it?"
"'The very model of the modern Major General,'" Saul said,
reading.
"That's right," Graham said. "I remember now. Gilbert and
Sullivan. His father was a Major General in the Marine Corps."
"So?"
"Do you really think a man with his experience is going to clean
a gun without checking, and then double-checking, to make sure
it's unloaded?"
"No," Saul said heavily. "So what happened?"
"Who knows?"
"Do you think Bloom did it? Junior, I mean?"
"Probably, but the authorities ruled it an accident. After her
husband died, Howard's mother had little reason to live, so she
committed suicide about six months later--an overdose of sleeping
pills."
"Do you think Bloom had anything to do with that?" Saul asked.
Graham shrugged. "Who knows?"
"You still haven't told me what happened with this Powell girl."
"Keep reading."
-----
I was silent for a long time after I told her my parents were
dead. When she thought she would "comfort" me, I grinned to
myself. Sometimes, it was too easy.
She slithered down my body and started sucking me. I put my hands
behind my head and let her take her time. Her lips felt so good
that I didn't want to let her off too easily. After a while, I
decided to get hard for her, and she straddled my hips. I think
she was surprised when I reached down and played with her clit.
She got off pretty quickly, and then rode me until she had
another orgasm. Finally, I rolled her over and fucked her hard
and fast.
After I came, I buried my face in her shoulder and sort of half-
sobbed. She put her arms around me and shushed me. It was all I
could do not to laugh at how easily I manipulated her. I let her
comfort me some more, but stayed hard inside her. If she had half
a brain, she would've wondered how I could supposedly be so
broken up about my parents and still maintain an erection.
When she had me "calmed down," I fucked her again, taking my time
and really enjoying it. For an 18-year-old, she knew all the
tricks.
-----
Betsy ended up moving in with me for a while. After that first
day, she picked up her stuff from the bus station, or wherever
she stashed it. It took up only a small corner of my bedroom.
I still had plans for her, but somehow never got around to them.
She was always willing to fuck me, but she was more messed up
than I first thought. She told me about a lot of the other things
her stepfather had done to her, and then how she'd been kicked
around since leaving home. Sometimes, I thought to myself, the
universe just fucks with people.
I don't know why she stayed with me, but unlike Cindy, that
duplicitous _cunt_, Betsy was always faithful.
I decided the world was a better place with Betsy in it.
-----
"So, he let the girl live?" Saul asked bluntly.
"Which girl?" Graham asked, although he knew very well who the
other man was asking about. He had taken a dislike to the balding
psychiatrist who sat across from him. It bothered him, albeit
slightly, that he was enjoying piquing the other man.
Saul frowned.
"You seem like you have a certain level of animosity toward
Howard, Dr. Moscowitz."
"And why shouldn't I?" Saul asked defensively. "The man is
obviously a serial murderer who's gotten away with it so far.
After what he did to this Cindy Claremont and then to the Navy
doctor she was involved with, why shouldn't I have some animosity
toward him?"
"The court-martial found Captain Bloom not guilty of the doctor's
murder, Dr. Moscowitz."
"That's beside the point," Saul said crossly. "What do you have
to say about these other women, the ones who resembled the
Claremont girl, the ones he killed?"
"That's only my personal supposition," Graham said coolly.
"The girls are dead, aren't they?"
Graham nodded.
"You sound like you're defending him again," Saul accused.
"I'm not defending him, I'm stating facts."
"I can't believe you've compromised your objectivity in this
manner," Saul said testily. "I'm going to use my position on the
Parole Board to do everything I can to make sure this man spends
the rest of his life in an institution."
"Are you finished?" Graham asked calmly. When he received no
reply, he continued. "Dr. Moscowitz, Howard Bloom was convicted
of assault in the second degree for the attack on Betsy Powell's
stepfather. The prosecutor said he was happy to get second degree,
especially after Howard took the stand during his defense.
Nothing you or I can do will change the fact that Howard's going
to get out of prison in another 18 months. Unless he's convicted
of a crime for which we can incarcerate him for the rest of his
life, he _will_ walk the streets again!"
Saul rocked back in his chair, clearly stunned by the other man's
vehemence.
"As a matter of fact," Graham continued remorselessly, "I agree
with you. Howard Bloom is a violent sociopath. But the fact
remains that he has never been convicted of a crime more heinous
than second degree assault! He'll get caught, eventually. But in
the meantime, I'm not going to make myself a target by
gratuitously antagonizing him."
"Well," Saul said hotly, "you may be gutless, but I'm going to do
everything in my power to see him institutionalized."
Graham shook his head sadly. "He's going to get out, Doctor. When
he does, I pray he doesn't come looking for me. And if you poke a
caged animal, don't be surprised at what happens when there are
no longer bars protecting _you_."
End
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Edited by Ruthie
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Copyright (c) 2003-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.