R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

“Have you ever been spanked like that?” she said.

“Once. You?”

“No, never. Did you like it?”

“Someone else has control of you,” she said. “That makes it dangerous. Danger can be an aphrodisiac. It can also be scary and inhibiting. It depends on the people involved. For me, the night I got it, it got me hornier than hell.”

Waverly exhaled.

“I’m not sure if I’d like it or not.”

“I’ll tell you what. When we get home, I’ll give you a few.”

“Spanks?”

“Right.”

“We’ll see.”

Ten minutes passed.

The drizzle turned to rain.

Five minutes passed.

The rain turned to a hard rain.

It crept around the van and into their clothes.

Suddenly the soundsof splashing feet and out-of- breath chatter entered the parking lot from the marina side. Waverly peeked around the edge of the van. It was Bristol and a woman, under an umbrella, walking fast.

“Bingo.”

They made their way to a black Mercury where Bristol got the woman into the passenger seat then ran around to the driver’s side, collapsing the umbrella and darting in.

The engine fired.

The headlights turned on.

The vehicle took off.

The women couldn’t make out the license plate number.

“He’s taking her home,” Su-Moon said. “This is our chance.”

“Our chance for what?”

“What do you think?”

Su-Moon grabbed Waverly’s hand and led her at a trot back to C-Dock and down to Bristol’s slip. The front door was locked.

The bedroom window was shut but not locked.

It lifted up when Su-Moon tried it.

They looked around and saw no one.

“Boost me up,” Su-Moon said.

Waverly shivered.

“This is a bad idea.”

“It will be if you keep wasting time,” Su-Moon said. “Come on, boost me up-hurry.”

Waverly looked around one last time and saw only black rain and lifeless houseboats. Then she cupped her hands for Su-Moon’s foot and tried not to buckle under the woman’s weight.

Inside, Su-Moon said, “Go around to the front and I’ll let you in,” then closed the window.

The front door was open by the time Waverly got there.

She entered and shut it behind her.

“What are we looking for?”

“I don’t know but it will be in the bedroom,” Su-Moon said. “Maybe he keeps a journal.”

“This is crazy.”

“You keep a lookout, I’ll search.”

“I’m dripping water all over the floor.”

“Don’t worry, if it’s still there by the time he gets back he’ll think it’s from him. Just keep a lookout.”

Waverly got the front door ajarand kept an eye on the dock. If someone approached, they wouldn’t be visible until the last second.

The dock was a dead end.

It was a perfect place to be trapped.

Her heart pounded.

Something bad was going to happen.

They’d pressed their luck one step too far.

Day One

July 21, 1952

Monday Night

January had been througha lot in her life, but what happened tonight shook her to the core. It took a hundred questions before River got the story out of her as to exactly what happened. Two drunk cowboys in a pickup truck spotted her on the side of the road and stopped.

She told them she had car trouble and her boyfriend had gone for help.

She tried to get rid of them but the one with the big gut-the one the other one called Jackson-ended up popping the hood. He fumbled around for a long time and eventually spotted the problem, one of the battery cables had come off.

He said, “Try it again.”

She turned the key.

The engine started.

She said “thanks” and shifted into first but before she could pull away the other drunk-the stringy muscular one called Condor-grabbed the steering and turned the key off.

“You’re going to give us a reward, right?”

She nodded.

“Sure.”

She reached in her purse.

That’s when Condor grabbed her tit and said, “I’m not talking about money, baby. Why don’t you get your sweet ass out here and show us how grateful you are.”

Her heart raced.

“Sure.” She opened the door as far as it would before Condor’s body blocked it. “Step back baby.”

When he did, January fired the engine, did a one-eighty and took off. They gave chase and ran her off the road.

Then they raped her, both of them.

They didn’t do it nice.

They were mean about it.

Thunder rolledthrough River’s blood as he listened.

“What’d they do with the keys?”

“They threw them that way,” she said.

River shined the flashlight to where January pointed and said, “Over there?”

She nodded.

“Somewhere in that direction.”

It took five minutes and he almost gave up twice, but then he found them, smack dab in the middle of yucca spines.

Yeah, baby.

The tires weren’t buried and he was able to get the vehicle back to the road.

“Do you know which way they went?”

She did.

She was in the trunk but the assholes were shouting and honking the horn like some kind of sick victory celebration when they headed up the road.

“That way.”

River put it in gear and took off, deeper into the country.

“Tell me about their truck,” he said. “What’d it look like?”

“It was old,” she said. “It was mostly white but the tailgate was a dark color, red or blue or black, something like that.”

“It must have been replaced,” River said. “Too bad for them.”

Day One

July 21, 1952

Monday Night

In the black dress,Secret St. Rain was a sight that brought every single fiber of Wilde’s universe to a screeching halt.

“Damn,” he said.

“Is that a good damn or a bad damn?”

“I don’t know. Did I say it out loud?”

She smiled.

Yes, he did.

“Then it’s a good one.” He spun her around to get a better look and said, “Bring your license for that body. I don’t want to get arrested.”

She grabbed her purse.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later he escorted her through the front door of a smoky club called the Bokaray. Sex, sin and perfume were already thicker than the law allowed. The bodies were sardine tight and the bellies were full of alcohol. Speakers dropped whiskey-soaked jazz. That would change in half an hour when Mercedes Rain took the stage.

Everyone knew Wilde.

The men slapped him on the back.

The women planted kisses on his lips and cast sideways daggers at Secret.

“Mister Popular,” she said when they got to the bar.

Wilde went to answer but a redhead waitress behind the counter grabbed his tie and pulled him halfway across. “Bryson Wilde, you dog, you’re in love.”

He put a shocked look on his face.

“Me?”

She shook her head in wonderment. “I thought I’d never see the day.” Then to Secret, “He’s never brought a woman here before. You’re the first. I’m not saying he never left with one. I’m just saying he never brought one.”

Secret tilted her head.

“So how many has he left with?”

“In round numbers?”

“Sure.”

“Counting me or without me?”

“Either way.”

“Tons.”

Wilde put his armaround Secret’s waist and swept her into the crowd saying, “She’s just messing around.” At the stage he introduced her to a sultry blond who set a glass of white wine down long enough to hug Wilde, then Secret.