First to Die

Chapter 77

"WHAT DID SHE MEAN BY THAT?" ChessyJenks asked her husband, confused, after the police inspectors left the house. Jenks brushed her away. He paced over to the large French doors leading out to the Pacific. "Idiots," he muttered. "Amateurs. Who the hell do they think they're dealing with?" He felt a prickly, stabbing heat racing over his shoulders and back. They were stupid, tiny-minded. Beetles. That's why they were cops. If they had any brains, they'd be doing what he was doing. Living high over the Pacific. "That's why they dig landfills," he replied distractedly. "A place for cops to feel at home." Chessy picked up the wedding photo from the coffee table and set it back in its rightful spot. "What did you do now, Nick?" Why did she always drive him to this? Why did she always need to know? She came over, looked at him with those lucid, patient eyes. As always, his anger leaped up in a flash. He didn't even realize he had hit her. It was just that suddenly his hand hurt and Chessy was sprawled on the floor- and the bamboo table on which the pictures were had toppled over- and she was holding her mouth. He shouted, "Don't you know when to keep away from me? What do you need, a road map?" "Uh-uh, Nick," Chessy said. "Not here… not now." "Not here what?" he was shouting. He knew he was shouting, losing control. That the staff might hear. "Please, Nick," Chessy said, pulling herself off the floor. "Susan will be here soon. We're going to lunch." It was the notion that Chessy thought she could just sit there and judge him that really set him off. Didn't she see who she really was? Just some blonde with freckles he had picked out of a cattle call and turned into God's gift to Martha Stewart. He grabbed her by the arm and put his face inches from her beautiful, terrified eyes. "Say it!" The arm he held was trembling. A tiny stream of mucus ran out of her nose. "Jesus, Nick…" That's what he liked, her fear of him, even though she never showed it in public. "I said say it, Chessy." He twisted her arm behind her back. She was breathing heavily now, sweat forming under her T-shirt. Her little tits poked through. When she glared back at him with her paltry defiance, he twisted harder, digging his fingers into her arm. He shoved her toward the bedroom, her bare feet stumbling along. In the bedroom he kicked the door shut. Who did the lead cop think she was? Coming in here… accusing him like that. In her cheap Gap ensemble. What a fucking insolent bitch. He dragged Chessy into the clothes closet. Hers. It was dark in there. Only the dark and her sobs and the pervasive smell of her perfume. He pushed her forward against the wall, rubbed himself against her buttocks. He pulled Chessy's gym shorts down, her panties along with them. "Please," she cried. "Nicky?" He found the familiar place where her small cheeks parted. He was very hard, and he pushed himself in deep. He was driving himself inside Chessy. "Say it," he gasped. "You know how to make it stop. Say it." "Ruff…," she finally murmured in a tiny whisper. Now she was loving it, as she always did. It wasn't bad- it was good. They all ended up wanting and loving it. He always picked them so well. "Ruff," she whimpered. "Ruff, ruff. Is that what you want, Nick?" Yes, that was part of what he needed. It was all he expected from Chessy. "You love it, Chessy," he whispered back. "That's why you're here."