Jon Reskind: Caesar_s revenge book II

"Hey, man, that's great!" Steve said, blowing out smoke. "I mean, I need her story verbatum, you know?"

"Sure. Annie's a sweet kid, pretty too. Maybe she'll even let you take pictures. That ought to up your bonus," Mark added.

"Like frankencense and myrrh, old buddy!" the red-bearded writer enthusiastically retaliated, scrubbing out his cigarette in the car-ashtray. "I'll call the office and have a flick-boy sent right up!"

Mark swung the patrol-car into the yard, the sight of his house and the knowing that Jean was inside, gnawing at his entrails. Christ, he still couldn't believe it! The way she'd given herself to that crazy-wild animal sonofabitch! And sucking his own cock at the same time… Goddamn… she'd drained it, swallowing his cum as if it were the last drop on earth!

That part had been beautiful, but the other? Damn her! She loved that fucking dog as much as she loved him! And that couldn't be! It just simply couldn't! He'd have to kill him… destroy him… the vicious bastard! It was unbelievable, but true! The Goddamned beast claimed women… his very own Jeannie! Granny Obert was right…! Oh shit…!

"Hey, man, let's get some coffee," Steve interrupted his thoughts, climbing from the car. "I'll make it…"

"Unless I miss my guess, you won't have to," Mark replied, sliding from beneath the wheel. "Jean will be waiting for us…"

For the first time since their marriage, Mark didn't kiss her when he entered the house. Instead, he slumped down into the breakfast booth and waited for her to pour coffee. He barely looked at her and Jean couldn't help but wonder if Steve noticed. If he had, he was being considerately kind in betraying no emotion.

"Carol isn't up yet?" he questioned, squeezing into the breakfast nook across from Mark.

"I haven't heard a sound from her," Jean replied, pouring his coffee, then her husband's. "Probably exhausted after the long drive up."

"I thought sure that she'd be out here wanting to hear more of the weird tale of the horny wild dog who rapes young girls, and his ferocious pack that has a whole country-side up-tight," Steve said with a little grin, bringing out a cigarette.

"You make it sound like some sort of jamboree we're sponsoring for a tourist attraction." Mark said, an irritable edge to his tone. "And I assure you, Steve, it isn't."

"Hell, guy, I know that," his red-bearded friend quickly replied, applying fire to the white cylinder hanging from his lips. "Maybe, I expected to see too much, or at least hear an eerie, wolf-like howl in the night…"

"Be thankful that we didn't," Mark said, sipping from his cup. "Though, I'll tell you, it's when you don't see or hear them that you can be worried. I'd almost lay money that they hit one of the sheep herds while we were cruising the town hour after hour. It's uncanny, the brain in that damned brute…"

"You mean, the rape artist, the one they call Caesar?" Steve clarified, and the deputy sheriff nodded without looking up at him or Jean who was occupying herself at the stove, though Mark wondered if she wasn't listening intently to every word they said.

"You've actually seen this mythical german shepherd, then?" Steve probed.

Mark did look up then, his tired eyes strangely hinting at the unmistakable strain going on behind them. "Yes, I've actually seen him, Steve, and take my word for it, he's no Goddamned myth!"

Jean swallowed tightly as she lay slices of bacon in a frypan with trembling fingers. A sense of relief had somewhat calmed her tensions at the knowing that her wild-lover continued to cleverly elude his would-be destroyers. But for how long, was the frightening worry tormenting her? Again, she tried to recall Granny Obert's comforting words, as Steve said: "What gets me is how you've managed to keep this zany affair so Goddamned isolated newswise. I mean, man, this is front-page, prime-time TV socko, eh?"

"Not as difficult as it sounds, Steve," Mark answered. "Crescent Valley has no newspaper of its own. We read the county-seat rag, and fortunately there's no little old ladies here who contribute the social-events to it, or undoubtedly the whole thing would've leaked out by this time. Like I told you on the phone, that's all we need… a flood of news-hawks from the various mediums to drive the whole valley beserk…"

"G-Good morning, all," Carol's voice interrupted with a rather uncertain greeting. She wore a tight little smile on her vivacious, ivory-skinned face, her hands shoved deeply into the patch-pockets of her red robe.

"Well, there she is," Steve allowed, smiling up at his dark haired, onyx-eyed young wife. "I thought it was odd that you weren't out here to catch the spicy tale of the lurid beast that stalks them thar hills out yonder! Better come over here gal and give yore devil-chasin' mate a kiss on the cheek."

Momentarily, Carol hesitated, but only because she still wasn't quite herself yet. From the moment she had awakened from a deep, exhaustive sleep, her mind had immediately filled with the incredibly obscene depravity she had played more than a passive role in only hours before. It had to be an insane, lurid dream, she had naturally concluded, a reactive tremor rippling over the smooth ivory-flesh of her nakedness, and then she had seen the sun-lighted opened window, abruptly raising her upright in bed. In itself, the opening was hardly a convincing factor… but then she found the short strands of dog-hair on the bottom sheet… and several more clinging to the intimate flesh of her inner thighs and on the skin of her stomach…!

"Well, do I get my kiss or not, gal?" her husband's words jarred her back to the immediate scene.

"Of course," she said, pretending drowsiness as she scuffed toward where he sat, though she was vitally awake inside. She bent and kissed him, then lowered herself onto the leather-padded booth beside him, feigning a stifled yawn.

"Did you sleep well, Carol?" Jean asked, welcoming the presence of her friend and hoping to change the trend of the conversation. She set a saucer and cup before the raven-haired girl, filling it with steaming coffee.

"Like a log," the vivacious brunette answered, already vowed that she would say nothing of her midnight visitor. God, how could she… even if she wanted to? After the way she had seduced him… actually sucked his beautiful dog-cock? A tiny shiver of lewd delight at the memory caused her to visibly tremor, and Jean said: "Are you cold, darling…?"

"What… cold…? Oh… no, no, not really," Carol answered with a light laugh, consciously drawing her robe tighter around her throat.

"It's probably this mountain air," Jean said, her smoke-blue eyes intently searching those of her closest friend. She had detected something in the brunette's moment of trembling, not the quiver of her lissome young body as much as the almost erotic expression that had briefly sparkled in her dark revealing eyes, familiarity registering within Jean at the recognition. She swallowed and forced a smile, watching the other look away, as if avoiding her discerning stare. M-My God… was it possible…?

"Well, tell me about your exploits, darling?" Carol was saying to her husband, purposely shying from Jean's perceptive gaze. The way she had seemed to look right into her very soul for one brief instant! Damn, had she given herself away…? "And toss me one of your cigarettes…"

"Not much to tell, baby. Except for old Mark's insistence, I'd still have to call the whole story a lot of blarney. All we did was ride around town, and meet an ugly bastard named Link Morgan, who did nothing for my appetite," her husband replied, passing her a cigarette and lighting it.

"Speaking of appetites, how's breakfast coming, Jean?" Mark questioned his blonde-haired young wife who had returned to the stove. "I've got some things I have to do this morning."