The Jim Morrison Heist Pt. 03

Granddad indeed! Jallen felt like punching James in his obnoxious mouth. The man was half his age however and towered over him, wrists big around as telegraph poles. A bully his size could be Jin Elikt for all he knew. He didn't know if Zoey was ignoring him or just couldn't get clear of the bloke. Indecisive, Jallen shuffled meekly to the punchbowl to get a drink. A jigger of Scotch? Steady on, lad. He asked for a ginger ale. When he turned back around James had both hands on Zoey's ass again, massaging it, not even glancing in Jallen's direction. Sod this! He was about to leave when he heard a voice he recognized.

"Get your hands off her bum you," granny yammered, bearing in on the fellow's starboard bow. She stepped right up to him, hissing, "You're in public and that's my granddaughter you're feeling up."

The lout shot back undeterred, "Yer know we're mates from way back."

That was most interesting, thought Jallen, he sounded just like Roger Moore. So that was James Bondage. And Jallen had newfound admiration for Zoey's grandmother for what he should have done himself.

Granny snarled, "You heard me, James. Hands off. Now! No ifs, ands or buttocks."

To Jallen's surprise the Bondage lout got a sheepish look on his face and backed off. He picked up his drink from where he'd left it, downed half and turned to scowl at Jallen. He met the younger man's gaze evenly and didn't break eye contact till Bondage looked back to Zoey.

Jallen looked at her too. Granny spoke in a low voice to her, perhaps giving her the rough side of her sandpaper tongue, perhaps not. Jallen was not close enough to tell. Zoey met her gaze and said nothing, words are concessions. Granny stepped up to Bondage and doubled her fist. The short little fireplug of a woman punched him hard in the gut and he didn't bat a lash. Partygoers milling around elected not to notice but went to mill otherwhere. Nobody said a word. Bondage said nothing either and let granny talk without interrupting. Zoey noticed Jallen standing alone and came over next to him.

Stiff upper lip, Jallen, be an old school Englishman and class act. Whatever you do, don't get angry. Don't judge or jump to conclusions. Keep a straight face and listen to what your date has to say first, a few counts to ten and so on. He had no room to complain, not after what he'd just done. Besides, everybody had an ex somewhere. Bumping into one in the role of the new guy is uncomfortable at best. Zoey certainly was no virgin when they tumbled in the back seat of his car.

She put a hand on his sleeve and eyed him like she never had before. Not the least bit contrite. He waited for her to speak first, but she just stood there silent, biting her bottom lip. In a situation like this Jallen knew the first one to speak lost. Zoey neither looked away nor down at her feet. For the first time he faced the fact she was under his skin. Could she hear his heart hammering under his embarrassingly expensive suit? That damn second mid-life crisis buy was going back to Savile Row straightaway Monday. Zoey still wasn't talking. Granny continued to read the riot act to Bondage although Jallen couldn't hear much of her tirade until she raised her voice.

Zoey glanced over at them then back at him, dead silent.

To hell with it, Jallen told himself. He smiled kindly and asked, "Old boyfriend?"

Zoey pursed her lips and still kept mum.

Then Bondage swaggered over. He scowled at Jallen some more and reached down for Zoey's hand. She avoided his touch.

He spoke quietly to her for a change. "Come on, babe, let's go play a few rubbers of Seven Suits with granny Gertie. She just invited us."

Zoey cut him off expertly. "I'll be over there when I get over there."

"Alright fine," said the pussy whipped bastard.

He gave Jallen a scowl for the road and swaggered off like the cock of the walk. Jallen swallowed before Zoey could see his relief the goon was finally gone. He forced himself not to ask questions or grovel. He willed himself not to cross his arms and give off a negative aura (which he could definitely do) or bad vibes.

Zoey finally spoke. "I guess we need to talk."

"I guess."

He smiled as authentically as possible under the circumstances, gentle, friendly, unruffled. Relax, let it out through the ends of your fingers. Slow down your racing heart, man, it's pounding like an encore at Albert Hall.

She said in a monotone, "I don't know what to say."

"Complicated?"

"I don't know. Complicated isn't right either."

"Obvious?" he nudged and immediately knew too hard.

Zoey exhaled audibly. "Granny wants me to play cards. Do you mind?"

"What am I supposed to do? Stand by and watch, mingle by myself, head back home? Granny can give you a lift. Or?"

"Don't say it. I'm definitely not going to be her captive audience for another hour in the same car. The balcony ordeal was enough."

"Can't blame you. And me . . .?"

"I wish you would . . ."

"What? Bide my time? Understand?" Don't finish her sentences for her, dumbass!

"I don't know." She sounded exhausted.

"That makes two of us."

He thought she might be near tears except her eyes were dry and hard as glass. Stupid bloody fool, he cursed himself. Tell the fickle tart to piss off and gallantly withdraw with what dignity remains, and all your teeth. Coward! You can slide the panties off any girl you like so what does it matter? Egotistical bastard. You think you can but can you really? You had your fun, came in her mouth and she swallowed the most copious amount you've shot in recent memory. Took the round the world tour too. Arguing with her was pointless and he lacked the courage to walk. Arrgh.

How long will you punish yourself because she dumped you and ran off with a loudmouthed Cockney? That'll sting for how long, months? What are you doing, Jallen old boy, lying to yourself now? You spent one night with her. A beautiful and accommodating girl to be sure but you won't be anguished for years if she leaves you for a younger and more eligible man. The one that got away that you thought to keep in your bed until you got bored, or sick of her shit. Or you could be a fool hanging around like a dog waiting in the car until your mistress exits the shop, another pointless errand off the list.

And Zoey's not worth getting the stuffing kicked out of you, eighth wonder of the world tits or not, mate. No woman's worth that. Getting himself hurt wouldn't make her stay. She would not even ride in the ambulance let alone visit him in the hospital.

Her voice brought him back to reality. "Jallen, hey look, do what you want. I've got to go play cards with granny."

"And James Bondage."

She walked away head and shoulders high without a word, a backward glance.

* * *

When she appeared at the card table alone her granny smiled at her. James Bondage didn't bother to turn around. A single seat remained open at the table, to his left. Zoey sat down. From the corner of her eye she saw him smirking.

"We kept waiting, Zoey," her granny said. "Where did Mr. Darling go?"

"He ran into someone he knows. They're talking and he told me to go win big."

"You know the stakes we play for. Do you have any money with you, dear? I can . . ."

"A purse full, granny, thank you. One rubber and I'm out."

James said, "Unless you win, then you'll play all night if . . ."

Zoey told him, "I'll play as long or as little as I like, James, then it's adios motherfucker."

Lady Anyys laughed louder than anyone else at the table except the man to her right. His expression didn't even change. "That's the spirit, Zoey," Anyys told her, "You've got plenty of spunk." An unfortunate choice of words.

James Bondage agreed in his Roger Moore voice. "She's had lots of spunk for quite a while now."

That bit of vulgarity sailed over everyone's head, except Zoey's. Spunk didn't mean gumption or pluck to James, it meant jism. She'd swallowed a pint of his in the past, more had oozed from between her thighs. James was a hard man to ignore, but she did her best right then. The presence of her granny and Lady Anyys might keep him in check during their card match. Why he lit such a fire in her was uneasy to define.

Zoey's grandmother asked if she knew the other players in the game and she shrugged. "Well, you've met Arista Spladt, keep an eye out, she's a grandmaster of the game. No less can be said about the two gentlemen to your left. Colonel D for Dimitri, but only his passport knows for sure; and the illustrious Nimit Tutjamnong. Both of which may or may not be assumed names, they have a 'world's a stage and we but players' attitude."

"Precisely," Lady Anyys said, "Costume ball was printed on the ticky, well, some of the tix went out with that before we caught them. But just because you're not in a mask doesn't mean you're not in disguise."

Colonel D clapped and Nimit joined him. "A fine introduction, thank you, milady."

Arista swept all of her hair behind her shoulders. It ended at her waist in back; Zoey could smell the vanilla from across the table. Her gown made her skin look darker than it was. Across from Arista sat Mr. Tutjamnong, a painfully thin black gent with sunken cheeks, dressed in a baggy tan suit with a brown shirt, turban and shoes without socks. Rings glittered on most fingers of both hands. Maybe from Port Said, Zoey thought, but never heard him speak throughout the game, communicating by pointing, holding up fingers of his hands and shaking his head yes or no. To his right, Colonel D wore a black embroidered olive military uniform tunic without insignia and khaki pants bloused into combat boots. Each man nodded toward her when granny introduced them.

Zoey naturally assumed the table was populated with mystics or prestidigitators with who-knew-what kind of power. In addition to that wild card she'd be forced to keep a sharp watch on Anyys and James after their antics so far, leaving the vague impression of opponents on the field.

James Bondage said in his Roger Moore voice, "Let's play some cards."

Seven Suits masters claim the sport is more fun than anything except sex, fine dining or marrying into money. The seven suits are stars, circles, pyramids, crescents, knives, hexagons and eyes, the last being football shaped.

Lady Anyys functioned as the banker since the table and the game belonged to her house. A stickman assisted her with a long thin paddle that scooped up discarded and leftover cards after they went out of play. It also moved different denominations of ceramic plaques around the scarlet felt tabletop. Plaques served as chips and redeemable after games at the Rowling-Boyle in-house bank. Six colours represented different plaque denominations: blue, white, red, black, pink and orange. The stickman kept score too. At Runesgate Manor Seven Suits could get expensive at any turn of the card. Accurate tallies were imperative for resolving disputes.

All classes of society played: the upper class for a high stakes boodle; the working class substituted small coins if not buttons and matchsticks. They dispensed with elaborate and expensive artifices like the shoe and stickmen with paddles that add elegance to the game the very wealthy embrace, and can afford. Seven Suits combines elements of baccarat, bridge and poker. The bidding rules, like other aspects of the game, ranged from complicated to incomprehensible. Two shoes instead of a single one were utilized to dispense the overlarge playing cards and underwent confusing opposite rotations depending on the number of players seated at the table. Up to nine could play, but that variation involved a third shoe. Participants could play alone or with partners, undeclared silent ones too. Although a beloved and widespread sport it never was an opiate of the masses. Multitudes of non-players just watched the telly.

"Since Zoey and James are the newest members of this game," said Lady Anyys, "the table has agreed to let them start with a shoe. Zoey's rotates to the left, James to his right. For this rubber the table will play King's rules instead of Queen's. Zoey and James will deal seven cards apiece instead of the usual five to each player, themselves included. The player with the lowest total starts the bidding. Deviations of play will depend on which quadrants the shoes fall in. Any questions then? No. Merveilleux! Let us begin."

The ninety-eight cards were dealt face down. Arista Spladt bid nine suits and Zoey's granny bid ten. James, Zoey and Nimit passed. Colonel D bid no trump as did Lady Anyys. Colonel D won the hand and the shoes began to rotate the table, clockwise and counter.

Before either shoe got back to Zoey, James casually moved his left hand off the table, seemingly to rest upon his leg or in his lap. Soon it glided inside of Zoey's panties. A fingertip unerringly found her clitoris. James began diddling it the way he'd always done to drive her feverishly mad. She might as well have a remote vibrator up her.

Tonight was not a first. In the past Zoey had welcomed this prelude to sex, usually rough but she had little say in the matter. James casually fingerfucked her in backseats of motorcars, inside darkened theatres, homes of friends (his and hers), standing in queue at the bank, once during a wedding ceremony, aboard the tube, at a Herbie Kirby Hypbole concert a week ago, at parties and especially under tables at meals. He never cared whether or not total strangers saw his busy fingers at work between her thighs.

Zoey always hotted up quickly to a man's touch. And no one knew that better than James Bondage. In the bedroom he added elements and props unknown to her before they met. A new level of naughty spiced up her life. Jallen too knew exactly which buttons to push on a woman. She had two men working hard to keep her smiling. Wishful thinking, neither gave a shit if she smiled or not right now.

Under the card table tonight, instead of clenching her thighs tightly together to curtail as much as possible of the erotic affect it had on her pussy, she helplessly opened her legs. Her knees parted as far as she could stretch them under the table. She couldn't remember the last time tonight the tips of her nipples had not been stiff, they stuck through the fabric of her party dress like dowel rods. Already she heard faint wet sounds coaxed by his fingers issuing from the vicinity of her lap. She placed a shaky hand over her mouth, pretended to cough but really to cover a bleat squeaking out of her from a small orgasm. Her traitorous pussy sweetened itself generously. Zoey felt a warm liquid slickness gathering in the crack of her ass seated there at Seven Suits. The crotch of her blue panties got wetter. She teetered near the cusp of a toe-curling orgasm every occupant in the Rowling-Boyle ballroom would hear and unmistakably identify what precipitated such a throaty cry. Her face hot, flushed with the under the table misbehaving about to sweep over her.

Lady Anyys chose that time to remark, "That fellow in the suit who arrived with you, Zoey, Lord Crotchford something or another. He exuded some heavy Glamour."

Zoey's granny said, "I'd not discount that, but I didn't pick up on it like you, Anyys. He well might be one of the Fey. Have you given any thought to that, dear?"

Zoey shook her head, swallowed visibly, chin perceptibly quivering. Her granny noticed and her eyes narrowed.

Oblivious, Arista remarked to no one in particular, "I agree, I felt his aura at ten paces." Even with hornrims that woman couldn't see.

Colonel D said, "I gleaned as much myself, Mrs. Spladt."

Nimit Tutjamnong nodded twice, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Colonel D asked Zoey, "Could you feel nothing, Miss Quark?"

James guffawed like a drunk, "Haw haw, she ain't sayin' but yer can bet this little lady is feeling something."

Zoey's eyes glazed over then. That finger tickling inside of her was being very very bad. She reddened, colour filling her face and neck. Heat rose from her flesh.

Lady Anyys stared in her direction. "Did Lord Crotchford happen to say anything at all to you about Faery?"

Zoey did her best to compose herself while James blithely played with her swollen and sensitive pussy. All she managed to say was, "We j-just met, I da-don't k-k-know . . ."

Zoey's grandmother glared across the table at James Bondage. "Let me see both of your hands on the table. Do it, you sack of shit, or next time I punch you will be with a fucking dagger in my fist."

Lady Anyys said, "Gertie, if there's a problem I can have Jin Elikt here with the wave of a hand, or Mssr. Noir."

"I don't think you really need to bring on the heavies," said granny, gaze leveled at James, "but ta for offering."

The expression on James' face didn't change an iota. But he did lift his left hand to his face to scratch a finger under his nose like a sudden itch developed above his lip. Zoey glanced his way; the drunk bastard had had the audacity to smell his finger. The insult was not lost on anyone, especially granny but strangely, she said not another word. Neither did any of the other players. But she did see around the table everybody gave James dark cryptic looks if he met their eye during the remainder of the rubber.

While the shoes made a rotation Zoey's eyes fixed on Lady Anyys intertwining the fingers of both her hands. Periodically she changed the positioning of her fingers, concluding with one hand pressed flat against the red felt, the other in a fist raised above it. Uh-oh. A languid smile never left her face. Zoey chewed at her own bottom lip. She rather liked Lady Anyys, vampire or not. She'd always been kind to Zoey, giving her little gifts every time her parents visited and baking the best crumpets she'd ever tasted. Had Lady Anyys given her another present just now? One that Zoey doubted she would ever acknowledge if asked.

Over the course of the next hour Zoey piled a tidy heap of plaques in front of her, more than a thousand quid of it James' money. He kept both hands visible. By the time he'd lost every plaque he'd won he was more sober than Zoey had ever seen him.

He pushed away from the table at the finish of the game and thanked Lady Anyys for the invitation. When he leaned over to speak to Zoey her granny stopped him with a word. James said nothing back to her. Zoey knew how much he and granny despised each other. He might even be a little scared of her, but nobody scared him much. Maybe it should be Lady Anyys who worried him. What did she do with her hands anyway? Had she just put a hex on James Bondage?

* * *

Jallen Delete had made his mind up to go home when he spotted a good looking brunette girl.

Across the ballroom she leaned against the wall by the big fireplace, not conversing with anyone or seeming impatient her date was spending too long in the men's loo. The brunette observed those in the crowd, a people watcher. Plenty of silly costumes to snicker at and partygoers in various stages of inebriation or undress broke the everyday monotony, something out of the daily grind to be amused by, feel superior to. He stared right at her for a minute, hoping to make eye contact. She noticed him eventually among the crowd, detached herself from the wall, not immediately but soon enough. Strolling through the crowd toward him she affected a sultry exaggerated wag in her bottom. Men and women alike gawped in her wake but her unmistakable destination was Jallen. He chortled to himself. Two can play that game, Zoey.

The brunette wore a costume but unlike most attendees who'd gone overboard she made hers work, made it her own. Jallen could not care less what any woman chose to wear but less was more and this brunette's bizarre outfit fit the bill. Like Zoey's streetwalker tart get-up, this girl used clothing, or lack of it, to advertise her physical attractions.