Rough Cut Ch. 19

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not at all.” Boch stared at Moe, his eyes dark with evil and flashing with a gleam of insanity. “I can’t let you destroy what I’ve been working so hard to build, Mr. Gafferson. So, you killed Peter because he was having an affair with Miss Dale.”

“You’re messing with the calendar, aren’t you? I didn’t meet Mona until after Peter was killed.”

Boch waved a dismissive hand. “People can be bought for next to nothing. It only takes one or two with a convincing story to admit seeing you and Miss Dale together before that time.”

“What about Singer and Metzger?”

“Mr. Singer had an unfortunate accident. I know nothing about him.” Boch didn’t hesitate or try to pretend he didn’t know Maxwell Singer. To Moe’s way of thinking, it was as good as an admission of guilt.

“Rolf Metzger’s death is simple. He witnessed you killing Peter. Metzger was a known blackmailer. He would have bled you dry for years. So, you killed him as well. The authorities already believe it to be true.”

“Except I’m not blackmail jackpot. I live week-to-week.”

“Metzger was greedy. Even a little cash could make him happy.”

“That doesn’t explain why he was here that night in the first place.”

A vein bulged on Boch’s forehead. “Enough!” His mouth hardened. “I’m not interested in explaining myself to you. There’s a show waiting to be performed.” He crossed his arms and gave his evil grin. “Watch it silently, Mr. Gafferson or I’ll have the distasteful job of gagging you.”

Boch turned his attention back toward Danja and snapped his fingers twice in the air.

Moe didn’t want to look, but like a gaper at a traffic accident, he couldn’t help himself. Danja climbed up on the bed beside Mona, shoulder-to-shoulder. It was hard not to compare their naked bodies. Danja was thin and boy-like in all the places Mona was lush with curves. Both women had rounded tits, but Mona’s were fuller, with her pink nipples plump across the tips.

“Lovely to look at, aren’t they?” said Boch.

“Don’t do this,” Moe said. It was a futile demand.

Boch suddenly jerked toward the bed, snatched the remaining veil wrapped around Danja’s hips, and sauntered toward Moe, fingering the veil like most men fingered long, silky hair. “I asked you to be quiet, Mr. Gafferson.” Boch circled Moe’s chair, a beast stalking its prey, readying to pounce.

Moe was a sitting duck and knew it. “Ask my kindergarten teacher, I was never any good at following direc…”

With lightning speed, Boch wrapped the veil over Moe’s mouth, forcing the silk into the corners of his lips. He yanked tight on the fabric’s ends and swathed its length around again for good measure. Moe coughed and tried to twist away, but it was too late.

Instead of returning to his chair, this time Boch moved to the head of the bed and perched on its edge, his hip inches from Mona’s locks of hair. “Now that there will be no more interruptions, we can proceed.” He looked down at the naked nurse lying on the bed and gave an appreciative sigh. “Notice Miss Dale’s neck - how graceful and fragile it is.” Boch raised his hands, miming his words as he spoke. “My hands would fit so easily around it and just as easily…” He wrenched his hands like a chicken’s neck was between his fingers. “Snap it!”

His message was clear. Every muscle in Moe’s body was taut, wanting to spring up and fight. But there was nothing he could do. He had no choices. No opportunities. He settled against the chair, quietly chewing on the silk in his mouth, working his wrists against the tight cords, waiting.

Boch’s demeanor changed again as he pretended to be a college professor sharing a demonstration.

“Nipples are a curious thing. For instance, Miss Dale’s, at the moment, are flat as if they’ve been steam-pressed free of wrinkles. But watch as Danja begins to play, circling and tweaking.” Like a marionette, Danja acted out Boch’s words. “See how delicately she touches,” Boch said. “Like a hummingbird after sugar - flitting and stroking. And look, Mr. Gafferson, the nipple responds. Tightening and shriveling to a bud.” All eyes watched the transformation of Mona’s nipples. “I believe Miss Dale is enjoying this,” Boch smirked.

Mona’s eyes were closed, her lips barely together. She whimpered as Danja caressed her tits, but the whimpers ended in a sigh.

“And when Danja manipulates a little harder, squeezing and rubbing and pinching, look how Miss Dale’s other nipple pokes up as well.” Danja’s petite fingers scrambled across Mona’s tit, trying to keep up with Boch’s directions.

“And when Danja takes Miss Dale’s nipple into her mouth…” Danja’s pale lips parted. She slowly lowered, surrounding the dusky areola of Mona’s left breast with her open mouth. Boch continued. “First, kissing and nipping, then sucking.” He paused a moment to watch. The anger flared. “Suck harder, Danja, harder.” The hollows of Danja’s cheeks deepened as she drew Mona’s nipple fully into her mouth.

Boch was right about one thing - men were ruled by their dicks. When Mona moaned again, this time a little louder, and a little more throaty, Moe felt the stirring in his pants.

“Don’t forget the other nipple, Danja,” said Boch. “It’s been waiting so patiently - puckered and pretty.”

Danja licked across the valley and up over the mounds of tit-flesh before finding, and sucking, on Mona’s left nipple. Mona arched up, pushing her breast further into Danja’s mouth.

“All that flesh of Miss Dale’s abdomen, so flat and soft, and dusted with red gold fuzz. It’s a marvelous palette to stick a belly button on. Don’t you agree?”

Danja released Mona’s nipple. The bud rose up like a pyramid, glistening with spit. She tongued her way down Mona’s body to the navel, dipping her tongue into its cleft, again and again.

Boch was in the world of his choosing. Directing and speaking, knowing no one would answer. Moe could only listen and watch.

“All of it is just window dressing really,” Boch said. “Just a good front to bring us to the real attraction - the phoenix’s nest. It does make a penis rise again, does it not?” he laughed at his own joke.

Danja slicked her lips with saliva. She placed her open hands boldly on Mona’s ribcage. She kissed Mona’s belly, and moved lower to the red line of pubic hair tufted over Mona’s mound.

“And the best piece of the pie - a moist cunny, drooling for attention,” added Boch.

Danja took her time finding Mona’s jewel. She licked her inner thighs and the crease where mound and leg meet. Then moved on to the mound itself, licking and kissing all along the haircourt of Mona’s thatch. She ran her tongue down the groove where Mona’s sex lips met, and then slipped her tongue in the slit. She sucked each flap, drawing it into her mouth, sucking and sucking until the pink flesh turned rosy red.

Mona squirmed and Danja wrapped her arms around Mona’s thighs. Little drips of pearly wet drizzled from Mona’s poon, and her love button pushed from its hood. Danja’s tongue finally reached for it and licked. She pressed her lips around Mona’s clit, and then drew it into her mouth, sucking, and sucking. Mona pulled at the ties on her wrists, trying to raise her hips, squirming and writhing.

“More. More,” Mona said, but Moe heard it as Moe, Moe.

He had never seen anything like it. Danja was a practiced cunnilinguist. She knew when to suck, when to lick, and when to do nothing but wait. She timed each movement of her mouth to bring Mona closer to orgasm, again and again, only to pull back and start over.

“What a filthy little cunt she is,” said Boch. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Gafferson?”

Moe would have glared at Boch, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Danja’s mouth on Mona’s pussy. Danja’s fingers slipped easily into the groove of Mona’s sex and disappeared in her depths, only to come out again, covered in wet, and immediately go back in. One finger, then two, and finally three, thrusting in and out, fucking. She didn’t stop. She sucked and thrusted until Mona screamed and her legs jerked together. Danja pulled her fingers out and used them to open Mona’s labia wide, showing all who watched as Mona’s pussy quivered in climax.

Moe was hard as a rock.

Boch hoisted himself from the bed and slithered across the room like Satan in a Genesis tale. He stopped directly in front of Moe and lowered his hand over Moe’s crotch - outlining without touching. “It seems you liked our little show, Mr. Gafferson. You’re protruding. Hot, wasn’t it?” Boch pulled his hand away and sauntered to his chair. “I’m so glad to see that, because it’s not quite over.

He snapped his fingers. Danja gave a final kiss to Mona’s pussy, and shimmied from the bed on her hands and knees. She crept across the floor without making a sound and knelt between Moe’s legs. Moe tried to close his thighs, but it was useless. He concentrated instead on getting his dick to quit reacting. He didn’t want Mona to see him like this, his cock responding to Danja’s close proximity. He tried again to force his thighs together.

“Mr. Gafferson, you are not cooperating. This can either be pleasant for you or very costly for Miss Dale. It’s up to you.”

Moe wondered how men like Boch could look in a mirror every day without losing their breakfast. Danja knelt at Moe’s feet, staring fixedly at his crotch. The smell of Mona clung to her like French perfume. Her lips were swollen and glistened with Mona’s dew, and her cheeks were sweaty and flushed. He glanced at her eyes and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a spark in their blue depths. He couldn’t be sure. But if it had been there, it was quickly blanketed over.

“Because I’m a gentleman, and I believe in fair play,” Boch said, “we’re going to take care of your needs as well, Mr. Gafferson.” The man had resumed his opera-like stance. There was a tragedy playing tonight.

“Danja likes to suck cock. She’s a master at it. You can ask any of my associates. She’s had her mouth around nearly every politician from here to Indiana.”

Moe saw it again. A flash of awareness, only this time it was the jaw joint below Danja’s temples. It tightened and released like she had clenched her teeth. The Golden Monkey was beginning to wear off. He glanced over to Mona, but she’d fallen asleep.

Moe felt a flash of possibility. If Danja could unloosen a knot -

“I’m waiting, Danja. Show our guest what you’ve learned.”

Moe reluctantly gave in, letting his knees part. Danja went straight for Moe’s zipper, and then the buckle on his belt. She opened his pants and reached into his drawers. Her small hand immediately surrounded Moe’s semi-erect cock and pulled it from its nesting spot. She rose up on her knees, and as soon as the head of Moe’s penis saw the light of day, Danja had her lips around it. She opened her mouth wider and gulped in its length, letting it slide out against her lips. She reached under with her other hand and grabbed his balls, nudging and caressing. She was practiced. Moe was fully erect in seconds. Just as Danja had done to Mona, she sucked and licked and brought Moe close to orgasm, but prevented the surge by tightening her grip on his balls, only to release and start over again. Until the last time her mouth slid down. Her hand went soft, her mouth warm and tight. She swallowed and swallowed, her throat muscles working hard on Moe’s dick, forcing it deeper in her throat. His full length bulged into her mouth. She tongued the underside of his helmet, and somehow sucked at the same time. Moe’s sauce, pooling in his nuts, finally found its way up. Danja pulled back and let it shoot into her mouth, holding it there, without swallowing. Her cheeks puffed out like a trumpet player holding a long note. But she just waited.

“You see, Mr. Gafferson, in order for my scenario to be complete, the police must be convinced of your duplicity. You forced Miss Dale here to the cottage. You tied her to the bed. And then you fucked her.” He waved his hand. “Now finish the job, Danja.”

Danja crept to the bed and climbed back up between Mona’s legs. Using her fingers, she spread Mona’s delta, still sopping from orgasm, and lowered her mouth to its entrance. Mona stirred but didn’t fight. Danja pressed harder, exposing all of Mona’s pink moss. At the snap of Boch’s fingers, Danja blew. Hard. Until semen dribbled from Mona’s hole and off of Danja’s lower lip.

Moe finally chewed completely through the veil releasing his gag. Using his tongue, he spit the frayed edges from his mouth. “Fuck you, Boch.”

“After you fucked her, Mr. Gafferson, you killed her.”

In that split second, Moe realized Boch’s intent. As Boch reached for Moe’s Roscoe still resting on the walnut table, Moe, with rage speeding like a locomotive through his body, jerked against his reins.

The twine held firm, slicing through Moe’s skin and corpuscle, but the chair splintered and cracked, forcing slivers of wood into Moe’s arms and legs, before finally giving way. Moe went tumbling to the floor. His shoulder cracked against the walnut table, sending the table to the floor on top of him. The Roscoe skittered away across the floor and stopped at Danja’s bare feet.

Moe was immobilized, still tied at the wrists, and laid out on the floor. “Get the gun, Danja,” Moe yelled. “Get the gun!”

For a moment there was nothing. And then Boch began to laugh, a chuckle at first, and then a sinister, maniacal laugh. “Yes, Danja, by all means, get the gun.”

At first, she was frozen, staring ahead, blinkless. But then slowly her eyes tilted down, spying the gun with its barrel lying across her toes. Like ketchup coming from a bottle, she flowed in slow motion, reaching for the gun. When she straightened, the Roscoe was in her hand, and her finger was on the trigger.

“Shoot him, Danja. He killed Peter. I know you want him dead,” Boch inched toward her as he spoke.

“It was Boch who killed your brother, Danja.”

“Don’t listen to him. I am the one who took care of you when no one else would. I am the only one you can trust.”

Moe tried to get a better look at Danja, but she was partially blocked behind a bedpost. He rose up on his hip, still struggling with splintered wood gouging into his arms and legs. Like a percussionist’s dream, his heart drummed out a cadence and every wound throbbed in perfect time. Warm, sticky fluid seeped between his fingers and drizzled down his calves. His words pounded between his ears like a bass drum. “Boch killed Peter because he was running away with Kitty Winslow.”

“Think about it, Danja.” Boch shuffled forward another few inches. “Peter would have told you if that were true.”

Moe grasped at straws, trying to stall as desperation clawed at his throat. He made up a story off the top of his head. His life depended on it sounding plausible. “Peter loved Kitty. He wanted to start a new life with her. But he needed the diamonds to do it.” Even as the last words left his mouth, Moe felt the futility sweep over him. Peter loved Kitty? Nothing seemed less likely.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s lying,” Boch barked. “Metzger killed Peter because of Mr. Gafferson. Danja, you already know that.”

Danja gripped the gun with both hands, her index fingers crossed over its trigger. She raised the gun’s nose and pointed it at Moe’s forehead. A single shot would give him a third eye.

“Do it, Danja! Do it!” Spit sprayed from Boch’s mouth, and his eyes brightened with blood thirst.

“Metzger was following Boch’s orders.” Moe’s voice was shrill, scraping like a missed note. “Why do you think Metzger is dead? And Maxwell Singer? Why is he trying to kill me, now? He’s trying to clean up - get rid of evidence.”

“Danja, Peter would have told you.” Boch spoke firmly and calmly, like a loving parent instead of the bastard he was. He took a huge step forward, bringing him one step closer to a trembling Danja.

“Kill him, Danja. Kill the man responsible for your brother’s death.”

Danja’s finger twitched, and Moe slammed his eyes closed. This was not the way he thought he would die.

The gun went off, splintering the floor near Moe’s head, and causing his ears to ring. But it missed his scalp completely. Moe suddenly remembered Sister Mary Francis spouting off about miracles. Maybe she was right. He opened his eyes just as the gun went off again.

The second bullet clipped Boch in the shoulder, spinning him away. He squealed like a whistling teapot. The gun exploded again, hitting Boch’s right arm. And again – thunking into his neck. And again – exploding into his head. Bits of flesh and blood splattered onto Moe’s face. He squeezed his eyes shut. And the gun went off again and again. Until click. Click. Click. The chamber was empty.

The smell of gunpowder burned Moe’s nostrils. The ringing in his ears reached full piped organ magnitude. But he was alive. He opened his eyes to see the lifeless face of Karl Boch, staring with Golden Monkey-like eyes straight at him.

He glanced around to see Danja lower her arms, sending the Roscoe clattering to the floor. She calmly walked over to the body of Karl Boch and stared at him. Her nude body flushed from head to toe. Her eyes finally in focus.

“Peter told me he loved Kitty Winslow, you lying fuck.” she said. And then she walked from the room.

Epilogue

Moe swung his legs over the side of the bed and snuck a peek back at Mona. She slept on her belly like a newborn, fist balled under her chin, blanket clenched in her fingers. He was getting used to having her beside him when he woke up.

He brushed a strand of fire red hair from her eyes. Damn! She was gorgeous. He considered slipping back under the cover and snuggling close to her creamy soft body. But she needed her sleep. Today would be her first day back at work.

Instead, he crept to the front room, sat bare-assed on the leather chair, and poured himself a shot of bourbon. Yesterday’s Cincinnati Enquirer was spread across the desk where he’d left it when Mona had coaxed him to bed the night before. The headlines were mostly election results. Roosevelt winning an unprecedented third term. Martin Davey winning state governor. And a newcomer, Grayson, winning the councilman slot left open by the death of Karl Boch. But on page four, a whole column was devoted to the trial of one Gustav Brady, a known thug that went by the name of Gus.

In the weeks since Boch’s death, Danja Bittners had spent endless hours cozying up to Detective Jansen and spilling everything she knew. A lot of nighttime dinners led Moe to believe Danja and Jansen were talking about a lot more than Nazis, diamonds, and murder. To each his own. At least Danja’s testimony had been enough to clear Moe of all charges.

Gus caved easily once he found out Al had skipped town without him. He and Danja knew enough about the diamond scheme to connect it to an international conspiracy to control the diamond market. Both the United States and Germany were trying to get their hands on the world’s diamond supply. Diamonds were the only things hard enough to stamp out the millions of precision parts that were necessary for mass-producing airplane engines, torpedoes, tanks, artillery and the other weapons of war. Without the diamonds, the war machine would slow to a halt. Peter Schmidt and Karl Boch were just little fish in a big pond.

Gus also sang like a canary about the deaths of Maxwell Singer and Rolf Metzger. Boch had ordered them. Al was the trigger man. Gus was too dumb for anyone to mistrust his version of events. The trial was a rubber stamp. Gus would spend some time behind bars, painting his share of license plates. Al’s ugly mug would be seen at post offices all around the nation.

The last time Moe saw Danja was in the hallway of the municipal building at Gus’s trial. She asked after Mona.

“Hello, Moe. Is Miss Dale all right?”

“She will be.” Moe didn’t bother to tell Danja that Mona didn’t remember a lot of what had happened, and Mona liked it that way.