Stuart Woods - Choke

“Can I come in a minute? I’d like to use your phone, if it’s okay.”

“Sure,” she said, unlatching the screen door. He was rather attractive, and it had been a while. She led him down the hall, past a phone on a small table. “Come upstairs,” she said. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Yeah,” he said, “comfortable is good.”

She reached the top of the stairs and turned, smiling, to show him to a sofa. She had not yet completed her turn and didn’t see the backhand coming. There was a loud noise as he struck her below the right ear, and she spilled backward into the room, her thin cotton dress riding up over her thighs. She scrambled backward, trying to get to her feet, but he caught her with his open right hand, and she fell again.

He came and stood over her, smiling. “Nice legs,” he said. He reached down, grabbed the front of her dress, hauled her to her feet, then sent her reeling toward a sofa.

She struck the sofa with some force, making it slide backward.

He walked toward her, then took hold of the coffee table between them and, with a quick motion, sent it flying across the room. A vase of flowers on the table smashed against a wall.

She held her hands out in front of her. “What do you want?” she asked, and her voice was nearly uncontrollable. Then she looked toward the door and, as frightened as she already was, she saw a man who frightened her even more. “Who is he?” she asked.

“Oh, this is my associate, Mr. Bones. He got that name because he likes breaking them. He tells me it’s something about the sound they make.”

“Please tell me what you want,” she said.

Parma dragged the other sofa toward her, then sat down, facing her. He reached into an inside pocket and retrieved a small kitchen knife. He removed a paper sleeve, revealing a blade only about two inches long. “I bought it this morning,” he said, “just for you.” He ran his thumb along the blade. “Razor sharp.”

“What do you want?” she pleaded.

“It’s like this, lady. I’m going to ask you some questions about your husband and his money, and if I don’t get answers that please me a lot, I’m going to start using this cute little knife on your very pretty face.” He threw the knife at the floor between them, and it stuck in the wide planking. “Then I’m going to fuck you in several places, maybe some you’re not used to, but you’ll get to like it. Then Mr. Bones here is going to fuck you, and he’s not nearly as nice about it as I am. After that, when I’ve finished using the little knife on you, no man is ever going to want to fuck you again, and I don’t think you would like that, because I think you like being fucked a lot. Am I right about that?”

“What do you want?” she asked again.

“Am I right about that?” he screamed.

“Yes,” she said, trying to control her voice and think.

“Yes, what?”

“I like being fucked.”

“Good; I think we’re starting to understand each other. Now, let’s get started with the questions. Your husband’s name used to be Marinello, or sometimes Marin. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“No,” she said weakly.

He stood up and unzipped his fly. “I’m going to let you take it out for me,” he said.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “He told me that used to be his name.”

“That’s better,” Parma said. “Your husband, back when his name was Marin, took some money from some people, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he told me he did.” She had to draw this out as long as possible, until she could regain control of herself.

“Did he tell you how much?”

“Not exactly. He only hinted that there was a lot.” She sat up, got her feet under her.

“Well, let me mention a figure. Twenty-seven million dollars. Does that have a familiar ring?”

“More,” she said. “He had more than that when he died.”

“Boy, that’s good news,” he said. “The people I work for are going to like that. Where is the money?”

“It’s… invested,” she said, shifting her weight to the front of the sofa cushion.

“Invested where? In what?”

“I’ll get the papers,” she said, rising and starting toward the small desk a few paces away. She managed to take three steps before he reacted and started for her.

She got the drawer open and whipped around, pointing the automatic at his head.

He stopped moving, realizing he had made a big mistake. He backed up a step. “Now, listen, lady; that’s going to hurt more than it’s going to help. Give it to me.” He held out a hand. “Unlike me, it’s not even cocked.”

Quickly, she worked the action and got off a round at his head. It caught him in the throat, and he staggered backward, wide-eyed.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the big man coming at her. She whipped around, assumed a firing stance, and put two rounds into his chest, knocking him off his feet. When she was sure he couldn’t get at her, she turned her attention once more to Parma, who was still standing, clutching at his throat with both hands, vainly trying to stem the spurting blood, which had soaked the front of his suit and was gathering in a large pool at his feet. She took a step toward him, the pistol held out at arm’s length.

He tried to speak but couldn’t. Instead, he shook his head, spraying blood around him.

She lowered the pistol and put a round into his crotch. He staggered backward, knocked over a table, and fell facedown, twitching.

Then, before she could relax, another man appeared in the living room door. Clare spun and fired two rounds in his direction. He dove to the floor, his hands held out in front of him.

“Clare! Don’t! It’s Tommy Sculley!”

The younger cop appeared behind Tommy, aiming a pistol at her. “Drop it, Mrs. Carras! Drop it right now, or I’ll fire!”

Clare dropped the pistol and fainted.

Tommy laid her on a sofa and slapped her cheeks lightly. “Daryl, get me some water. Oh, and you can call for an ambulance and a crime scene team.”

Daryl brought the water. “No need for an ambulance; they’re both dead.”

“Too bad,” Tommy said. “I would have liked to talk to them. Better call the ME.”

Daryl went to the phone and started making calls.

Tommy gave Clare Carras some water, then took the glass, set it down, grabbed her under her armpits, and sat her up straight on the sofa. He wanted to ask his questions before she had had time to recover her composure.

“All right, Clare, listen to me. I want to know exactly what happened, and I want to know before anybody else arrives. It’s going to be a madhouse around here in a couple of minutes, and if I’m going to help you, I’m going to need to know it all right now.”

She picked up the water and drank some more of it, then put a hand to her swollen face. “Could I have some ice in a cloth, please?”

Tommy had underestimated her coolness. “Daryl, ice!” he said. “Tell me what happened, Clare.”

“It was all so strange,” she said, breathing deeply. “A man-the younger one-appeared at my door and said he was a friend of Harry’s.” She accepted the bundle of ice from Daryl and applied it to her face.

“Go on, and be quick about it,” Tommy said.

“He asked to use the phone, and I let him in.”

“There’s a phone downstairs. How’d he get up here?”

“I was going to have him use the downstairs phone, but he forced me up here and started hitting me. Then the other one showed up. I hadn’t seen him at the door.”

“Why was he hitting you? What did he want?”

“He said he wanted money, and he pulled out a knife-there.” She pointed.

Tommy turned and looked at the small knife, still stuck in the floor. “Go on.”