Hate Crimes Inc. Ch. 05

All characters are adults.

*****

Cast of Characters:

Ruby Sparkman: An appealing American woman put together on an assembly-line and mass produced for men across America.

Detective Dodie Hilton: She looked like a plump poodle with a sweet face. Her husband ran off with a Jehovah's Witness long ago. She lived alone with a cat though she never lacked for cock. Her associates called her a serial slut. She gave me plenty of her plump pussy.

*****

Elizabeth took a nap and awoke sober. I took her to get her car, then I went to my apartment to see Sergeant Diaz.

Diaz was dressed casually and drove her Chrysler Sebring. She came to the door after I parked and opened the front door of the apartment. I turned the air on and made me comfortable. She joined me. I'm no inquisitor so I waited for her to speak her mind.

"You're coming back to work and assigned to me, she said. "I fought it but that's how it is."

"It sucks to be us," I said.

I wasn't surprised I got demoted from detective to road patrol. I wasn't consulted for an opinion but they didn't have any legal grounds to fire me outright. The whole deal was political because the stiff was a Usual Suspect known to all. My pay and bennies remained the same, and prestige means shit to me. Diaz knew what she had with me. I'd get the job done and piss everyone off doing it, because I'm deaf, dumb, and blind when it comes to kissing ass, and that's how it is.

"Sarge, drop your drawers and I'll kiss your sweet ass with gusto, but I ain't getting in bed with your bosses to win hearts and minds. Homey the Clown don't play that game."

"I hope you don't try and use what happened with your wife to fuck me."

"I plan to use cash with you. I already told you what happens at her house stays at her house. She isn't my wife, and if you wanna get in her pants it's okay with me. I'll be the last person to kick you outta our bed."

"You don't care?"

"I don't care lots. I mean I want some of you, too, and I plan to get some, but it don't piss me off when someone else gets some, too. And I'm not too proud to turn down a charity fuck if you ever change your mind about me."

"Anything I need to know about Elizabeth?"

"She's a drunk, but you already know that. And she doesn't know the meaning of fidelity, if what you're feeling for her is love. Just keep your eyes open when you're in her bed feelin' luv. Enjoy!"

Diaz beat me to Elizabeth's place when I stopped to do my boxing workout. I became a boxer because it's the most honorable way to be me. All the other ways involve something else giving you permission to be whatever. Usually booze or drugs or madness or your partner or some pip squeak in the main office or city hall. Boxing lets me make the other guy hurt like a bastard, too, when he wallops me. You can't kick a whisky bottle's ass.

My work out place is a stall at a storage place. The equipment is simple and inexpensive: A jump rope, and two punching bags. I do it the Rocky Way. But at thirty-five I'm an old fuck. A boxer hits his peak at twenty-seven, by thirty-seven he's sitting in a rocker.

Back home, I saw Marisol's Sebring parked out front along the curb. I went inside. The bedroom door was shut. I put my boxes of shit in the garage, showered, and left.

I went to the Come & Go for coffee and was warming a bus stop bench when Tyrone Mohammed Islam Jackson came out of the store. Tyrone was wasted, and giggling with his companions. I stared at Tyrone. Tyrone saw it. "What you lookin at, fool?" Tyrone's aspect changed to a hard frown.

"I'm watching you," I stood up. "I'm curious to see if you can run across this busy street without getting run over. What do you think?"

"I think you're fulla shit," Tyrone said.

"Then come on over here and let's see," I said.

"Kiss my mutha fuggin ass!" Tyrone replied.

"Come on over here, man."

"Mutha fucka you better get your tired ass down the road before your luck dumps your ugly ass."

I pulled out a pissant pistol I carry in my pocket. "C'mon over here, Tyrone. I'm gonna count three and shoot your skinny ass if you're not here by then. One! "

Tyrone walked over to me.

"That's a good nigga. Now stand on the curb facing the street. That's right. When I say GO you take off for the other side as fast as you can. OK? I'm gonna fill your ass with caps if youre still here after I count to three." I smiled at Tyrone's friends. "Ready, Tyrone?"

"Fuck you mutha fucka," Tyrone snarled.

"Go!" I said without warning. Tyrone jumped onto the pavement, dodged the first car, and the second, and was hit by a truck when he crossed the center-line. I then waved the pistol around the scene to chase away witnesses, it was time to leave.

Ruby Sparkman looked out the window of her Cadillac at me. "He needed killing," she said. "Where you headed?"

"No where in particular," I replied.

"Then get in the car."

I got in beside her. She cranked up the Cadillac, backed out of her spot, and we were off. On the highway she pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it, then cracked the window to exhaust the smoke.

"You mind?" She asked.

"No," I replied.

"That's what I like about you, Cole, you don't make everyone crazy with self righteous bull shit." She took a drag from the cigarette.

"I won Miss Congeniality back in the 1955 Miss America Pageant."

"Really, I thought you were a lot younger than sixty."

"I am, but if Bruce can be a girl I can be old."

We passed shops and bars and parked cars and kids and winos on the way to wherever in hell we were headed.

"You gonna embarrass me where we're going?" She asked.

"I don't even know where we're going."

"We're gonna mingle. Mingling with folks goes with my job, and I ain't dragged nobody off to a bedroom so far. So put a cork in that, too. You'll be first to know if I change my mind. And take it easy on the booze!"

"I don't drink," I replied.

Ruby Sparkman looked forty-something, stood 5 foot-five with bobbed auburn hair and green eyes; 160 pounds stuffed into size 12 pants and a small blouse. An appealing American woman put together on an assembly-line and mass produced for men across America. She worked for Jack Grant, a member of the Salt Springs City Council and owner of Sparky's Heart O' Dixie Trailer Park. Ruby owned a miniscule piece of the property, and lent her name to it. Friends called her Sparky.

We went to a soiree some fucking where. For all you Harvard grads reading this a soiree is like getting together for a playoff game where all get drunk listening to faggots recite their poems, or listen to old lezzie perfessers brag about their chaste pussies. But even the self respecting queers skeedaddle to bedrooms when the hostess isn't looking. Ruby fled to a bathroom for a smoke asap.

Ruby was desperate for a cigarette, and hadda pee, to boot.

After peeing and flushing the toilet, she washed her hands, applied hand lotion, adjusted her black thigh-highs and tugged at her dress. It was short, tight, and strapless. She checked her cleavage in the mirror. She wasn't a girl anymore, but didn't need a bra. Then she touched up her lipstick, and lit up a cigarette. At about the same time Jack Grant, her boss, lured the housekeeper into a bedroom for a quickie.

Cleo Flores was an illegal, everyone knew it, and she bought favors from benefactors, on the installment plan. Mostly men, but not always.

Cleo's room was dark but for the patches of moonlight on the bed and floor. She and Jack laid on the bed in the moonlight, Cleo atop him, her black hair loose; they tongue kissed, she impaled on his cock, riding it with her thighs and bottom as he steadied her hips with his hands. She whispered lewd observations and desires into his ears. Strings of spit fell from her lips upon him. "I toll you your mama and wife gonna be very mad when they see us together, why you always love me when they around?" C;eo whispered.

"You tired of my cock, querida?" Jack asked.

"No, baby, I love your cock in me, but if we caught making love we can no fuck no more, because the lady get rid of me, you understand?" Cleo explained. "You fuck me too much, baby, maybe you wanna put a baby in Cleo, is true?"

"You want a baby, mi querida?" He asked.

"Maybe. My worthless son of a bitch maricone husband no good for making babies," she said. "Ooo that feels good, querida."

Cleo breathed hard, then sighed, then opened her eyes and lifted her bottom off Jack. Jack watched his cum ooze from her hole and flow, like thick white wax, down his hot candle.

"I need to clean myself and go downstairs before the lady looks for me."

"No, lie back and I'll take care of you," he said.

"What nasty woman teach you to do this?" Cleo cooed.

"Want me to stop?" He asked.

"I no say stop, I say who the nasty woman that make you do this?" She whispered.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"Si, but it nasty," she said.

Lynn Pepper, the hostess, missed Ruby soon enough and timed her absence, then made a mental note that Jack, too, was missing in action. She got another drink and waited. Thirty minutes later Jack re-appeared, with his zipper down. Cleo went to the kitchen. Lynn got another drink and brooded.

Ruby waited a few minutes after Jack and Cleo left the bedroom before she went down stairs, too, just in case they might see her in the hall; and showed up five minutes after Jack did. Cloe had one blouse button open. Lynn saw it, so did her husband, Herb.

"Did you have a nice fuck with my maid?" He asked Jack.

"What!" Jack said. "Are you drunk?"

"Herb! You're talking nonsense! Stop it," Lynn said, gripping his arm with her fingers. Herb pulled her fingers loose.

"Bull shit! I saw both of you leave together, and return about the same time. Romeo's zipper is down, and her blouse is unbuttoned! See for yourself." Then he slapped Cleo and tried to punch Jack, when someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him away.

Herb pulled loose, staggering.

"Fine," he said. "You want her? You're welcome to the cunt." Then he left.

Cleo sobbed. Carol Mahoney sat on one side of her, Lynn Pepper sat on the other side. Both women were blondes.

Carol was a friend from work, and the real boss over all the clerks and assistants at city hall. Carol was married to a cop named Mickey and wearing a short red dress, white thigh-highs, a Santa hat, a necklace of bells around her neck, and red lips. Her hem was too high, and she sat with a hand between her thighs. Her three-inch red heels accentuated the muscles in her calves.

Pepper was a circuit court judge. She and Ruby were friends for many years, ever since Pepper hired Ruby as her judicial assistant. Lynn met Herb, a lawyer, at law school long ago.

"C'mon outside, sweetie; at least we can smoke out there," Carol suggested.

"Let me freshen our drinks," Pepper said.

A Chevy pulled up behind Herb and activated its emergency lights. Herb turned the wheel and drove up over the curb before he stopped. The cop flooded the scene with his light bar. Another police car with lights flashing approached the scene from the opposite direction, and pulled up behind the first cop after making a u-turn.

The first cop was at least six-four and 200 pounds. The other cop got out of his car and looked about as solid as the first. Herb lowered the Cadillac's window. The 2nd cop monitored Herb from the passenger side. "License, insurance, and registration, please," the first cop said. Rubber neckers slowed to see what was happening. The 2nd cop was wondering where the 'Uh-oh' Squad was, when a black kid on a bicycle rode up and stopped to check it out. Within two minutes an old guy wearing a beret joined the kid, and at the end of ten minutes a dozen people stood watching the show.

The cop put Herb on a line painted along the side of the street, told him to start walking, and Herb headed off into someone's yard. The cop cuffed him and asked dispatch to send a tow-truck, so I heard.

This was more fun than I wanted. A gal took my hand and led me away, outside to her Mercedes. I didn't know her from Adam. She took me to an old hotel in the slum.

Andrea Siple looked forty-ish with her soft skin and droopy tits. Her red hair was shoulder length. Her eyes were green. After she undressed I saw her small tits with their dark, fat nipples, and her trimmed pubes. I estimated she was five-six or so and around one-forty. The skin around her belly had old stretch marks. She was Jewish. She sat on the mattress and I joined her.

"Did you bring protection?" She asked.

"No," I replied.

"That's okay, I like to play with fire; I get cinged occasionally."

"I noticed," I said.

"I want you to burn me, will you do that?"

"If it takes all summer," I spoke softly.

"My husband likes it when I come home smelling like a fuck swamp; I like it, too. He really loves when I get a baby bump."

Them white boys get more cock than the white women these days. Andrea chatted and sighed as I moved my tongue around her gash. "Maybe the three of us can get together some time," Andrea suggested. "Ooo that feels good. Would you mind if my husband filmed us?"

Detective Dodie Hilton came inside the Palafox. The Slum was part of her district and I was a suspect she wanted. Dodie Hilton was thirty-something with short, bobbed, blonde hair. She looked like a plump poodle with a sweet face. Her eyes were hazel. She was stout and robustly built with sturdy legs, wide hips, thick arms, ample breasts, and two rings of blubber around her middle. Two hundred-something pounds packed in size 20 pants. Her husband ran off with a Jehovah's Witness long ago. She lived alone with a cat though she never lacked for cock. Her associates called her a serial slut. She gave me plenty of her fat pussy, because she knew I like her fat pussy.

The lobby was quiet and the clerk was no helpm she heard intermittent familiar sounds coming from somewhere in the building, and went looking for the source of the sound. After shaking door handles and pushing dead elevator buttons she found the bar, then the staircase, and went upstairs.

She checked all the rooms on the 2nd floor but saw no one, then went up the stairs to the 3rd floor. It sounded like someone, a woman, was in trouble in one of the rooms. So Dodie followed the hallway to our room, peeked through the door and saw Andrea's mouth filled with my cock. Andrea looked like Jessica Rabbit with tiny tits, and looked good with her red hair draped over me.

I stood beside the old bed, Andrea sat on her legs working my cock like she was Cool Hand Luke chopping high grass along the road, panting and cooing, "Gimmee that cum!" Then she turned around, on hands and knees, and spread her legs so I could push my cock into her wet place.

Neither of us saw Dodie, our eyes were closed, but Dodie's pussy noticed us and itched, and both women wanted cock filling their wet holes. Dodie's cunt itched just like when she started college and fucked married grad students and perfessers down in the basement of the library. The basement saved her ass a lot.

Andrea soon noticed Dodie but said nothing until after my nut was safely inside her. Andrea turned her head around and spoke to Dodie, "Don't be shy, c'mon in."

I then looked at Dodie, too. Dodie looked at my cock in Andrea's moist, creamy bottom and slowly pushed the door open and came in the room.

Andrea got out of bed, walked over to Dodie and unbuttoned Dodie's blouse. Dodie let her handbag slip off her shoulder, down her arm, to the floor, as Andrea pulled down the zipper on Dodie's skirt. The skirt fell to the floor. Dodie stepped out of it and followed Andrea to the bed where I removed her bra. We sexed her up then took care of business as we dressed.

"The word is you killed Tyrone," she said.

"Tyrone who?" I played dum.

"Tyrone the piece of shit thug boy," she replied.

"All I gotta say is, you won't find any caps in his ass, or my finger prints on his throat. Maybe God dropped a house on him."

"That's what happened. I'm told you were there when it happened. Lotsa folks wanna know what happened. Your car is at the scene."

"My car is at the store, I am here, and my friend brought me to this place from a party across town. The press humping your leg?"

Dodie collected her info and we all left. Andrea took me back to my car. I gave her my number.

Diaz was gone when I got home, Elizabeth was atop our bed in her WALMART baby doll nightie that didn't hide much of the good stuff.

"Hey, sailor!" She said.

"Your next best friend go home?"

"A little while ago. You shoulda joined us."

"I didn't see the welcome mat by the door when I got home."

"You were missed. Next time don't be shy."

To be continued