tagAnalThe Runaway Ch. 02

The Runaway Ch. 02


The voice just gave a greeting, in a friendly contralto. Halili's eyes left the flagstones and met those of the woman before him. He made a noise in acknowledgment, but he didn't want to speak to anyone.

"You look down. You in trouble?"

That was no large leap. Halili usually had a haunted look, anyway, but now he was sitting on the granite steps of the police station. The young woman stood there, bent low, too long for him just to ignore her.

"Please," Halili said, "I don't know you."

"Monica Park," she chirped, as if giving her name took care of it. "How bad can it be? Look, if you were really in trouble they wouldn't let you back out on the street, right?" The woman sat on the next step down with a whisper of nylon. She was compact and had a broad east Asian face.

"I'm not the one in trouble."

"She's inside, right, and you're waiting?" Halili nodded. He needed sleep. His defenses were low. Monica kept on. "Close friend?"

There was only one answer to that, if he were honest. "No."

"No?" Monica didn't believe him.

From her athletic knees and calves, Halili went back to staring at the stone flags. He was thinking, not for the first time, that maybe he had no right to wait for her. But he remembered her eyes when the trooper put her in the cruiser. "No, but I will wait anyway."

Monica brandished her purse in his face. There was a tag clipped to it, with her picture.

"You are the police!"

"Detective Park," Monica agreed. "Come on. Maybe you should wait inside."

"For what? I am--"

Monica waited, but Halili didn't know what he was, exactly. Innocent? Not involved?

"You're what?"

"I just want to make sure she gets home okay."

"Where's home?"

"I don't know where she lives," Halili admitted. "but her car is still at Dysart's."

Detective Park wrinkled her nose. "You don't even know where she lives? Are you some kinda knight in shining armor?"

"God. I don't know." Just a fool, I guess, he thought.

"Come inside with me." Monica got briskly up.

"But I don't know anything about her that can help you."

But she took him inside anyway. There were too many questions.


The A.D.A. was waiting for her on the other side of the glass. "Well?"

"There are things he's not telling," Monica said, dissatisfied.

"I don't believe he's going to, do you?"

"I can get him."

"Let's give Forsythe a shot, for a minute. You already know what he's not telling, anyway, don't you?"


"She's a stripper. He's just not going to turn her in, that's all. He's being noble; you can see it."

"Could be." Park considered it. "What about her?"

"Miss Waterman's story checks out with what we know. You don't have enough for a search, even. Right now the county isn't prepared to charge either of them."

"There's still more to do on this case," Monica said.

"Okay, tail them. Talk to the roommate. But it looks from here like there's no case."

"He's Palestinian!"

"No, he's naturalized. And Philbrick was no Palestinian, he was a drunk and a plumber."

"Yes, sir."

Park opened the Interview door. "You can go, Halili."

"Where is Janet?" he blurted. It felt to him as if it had been hours.

Detective Forsythe stood up. "Dammit, Janet," he said.

Park grinned. "Rrockay!" she responded.

Halili listened to them chuckling, but he didn't hesitate to leave the little gray room. Suddenly, he remembered; he called out, "Dr. Scott!" in shocked tones.

Into the silence that followed this came Forsythe's laughter. Park glowered at her partner.

"You should have seen your face!" Forsythe exulted.



"Oh, Jesus!" Park said, disgusted.

"Rrockay!" sang Forsythe.


Janet's car had been following him. His speculations were confirmed when it stopped behind his, in front of his apartment building. Neither noticed the little silver-gray Yaris which stopped half a block behind that.

"I have to work in five hours," Halili told her.

"Then we better get started right away," she smirked, "so you can get some sleep afterwards."

Halili stepped back to let her open the door. She pinched the remote and the car's lights blinked back to it. He led her to number 5.

"It's very small," he apologized.

"Could I use your bathroom? Good."

He pointed to it, and she told him she wouldn't be a minute. For a few seconds, Halili stood, listening to every sound, trying to visualize, but then he repented, and felt weariness invade him. He sat at the kitchen chair and removed his boots. He emptied his pockets atop the fridge. He looked listlessly inside it, but little appealed; he was too far gone. Sleep! I need sleep. He took a jar of olives and sat, munching, staring out the window at the wavers of heat rising off the pavement.

Her face emerged from his bathroom, backlit by the fluorescents. Like an angel, he thought. Her red hair was loose, a dawn sky all about her shoulders. "Your turn," her sunny voice told him. "And get your clothes off; the bed is through there?"

He watched her over his shoulder on the way, but all she did was to poke around in the fridge. He looked very tired in his mirror, but he began to smile. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, smiling more widely and foolishly all the time, and threw his clothes in the hamper very quickly once he'd cleaned up a little.

"You look an idiot, Ras Halili," he told the mirror.

She put the juice bottle down and hugged him, naked, at the doorway. Their first kiss became heated very soon. He ran fingertips down her flank to the swelling curve of her hip, then jumped when she clasped his cock and slid her hand out to the end. She broke the kiss, then, and bade him lie down, retaining his cock in her hand, stroking it.

His calves and forearms were well-muscled-- he worked for a living. The rest of him was spare and corded, like swimmers' muscles. His shoulders were broad but he was certainly not beefy. He smelled fine. She straddled his ankles and opened her mouth.

When her lips touched his cock, a noise came from deep in his chest. He called her name in wonder. It was beyond his dreams. Her tongue circled it, her fine hair swirled over his groin and belly as she bobbed down and up. Janet thought that even his groans had a little accent, and she felt a tenderness for him. The head exposed. She teased it lightly with kisses, then plunged to the root.

She came back up fiendishly slow, tasting every millimeter with her busy tongue. Holding his balls in her hand, she looked into his dark eyes.

"I brought my lube in here, it's there by the clock. We can do whatever; but I want you in my ass again." Her other hand skated lightly up and down his curved, corded cock. "Tell me," she insisted, in a voice ragged with emotion.

"Turn. So I can lick you," he said.


"Come around, then suck."


Halili investigated the lube, and when she had straddled him again, applied it to her ass. She squealed, though her mouth was full. He rotated his knuckles in the cuplike hollow of the tight opening, spreading the slick substance, softening the tightness. More strong pushing and rolling, and the puckers effaced themselves. He placed another dollop of lubricant and screwed a thick finger in. Her coo of pleasure was delicious to his ears.

He capped the lube and let it fall to the rug, bending his head low, licking her swollen lips, teasing them with his tongue. His finger slid into her anal depths; he drew her cuntlips into his mouth, urging her to move closer with peremptory tugs on her hip.

She complied, sucking him strongly. Once her pussy made full contact, she could feel the urgent approach of another exquisite come. It percolated out from his lips and tongue, his invading hand. A bubble of heat and excitement conquered everything down there, and would not be denied. His touch, firm and knowing, had convinced her body to release itself to the man, to trust him utterly. Her nostrils were filled with Halili's scent, her mouth full of his hot cock meat. Nothing mattered in the world, any more, but this moment.

Except the next moment! The next moment, she was going to come.

His hand snaked in and out of her ass without limit. "God, Halili!" His mouth worked magic. "Oh, fuck." From her center the electric bubble of warmth sent a shockwave out, all at once. The wave passed over her to the toes and fingertips, leaving her panting and tingling. "Oh, fuck. Oh, God."

God is great, thought Halili.

"They're in there fucking, you know," complained Detective Park.


"You don't care, do you?" She was fuming.

Forsythe eyed her. "Look, I don't get this," he said, going for reasonableness. "Let 'em fuck; what's the difference?"

"What's the difference! She killed her father, and now she's screwing a hajji scumbag!"

There was too much to say about that deadly little utterance. Forsythe had to pick one. "She'll be in prison for decades, if we're right. This is ten minutes, maybe even an hour. No comparison."

"Okay. Yeah."

"A little patience, is all."

"You're right."

Park could be a handful, but she had drive. She's a bulldog, reflected Forsythe, and they don't pay me enough to do therapy. He didn't want to change her, anyway. "Coffee?"

Ear flat on the bed and knees on its edge, both hands pulling herself wide open, Janet hissed gratefully. The purple head of the Arab's cock slid out of his sight into her asshole. His own grunt of satisfaction heralded his slide down inside. His hipbones thumped against the pale, freckled skin. He worked his knees to make the hard meat wobble side to side within her.

"Billah. You have such a sweet ass."

His accent brought on a giggle. "Good," she said, "because there's an awful lot of it."

"It is perfect. And, I am going to fuck it." He slapped it, then gripped onto it and got started.

"Oh, yeah. Ride... ride, baby."

He had some strength, but Halili's great gift had always been endurance. Despite the fast pace he had set, he could have stayed with it longer than many younger men. Janet wanted him to have a great come, but the fierce strokes made her curl her back to set a limit to how deep he could get, and the relentless slams began to carry her off toward her own new climax.

The curving column of hard gristle was driven in and pulled rapidly forth over and over. It moved her sensitive flesh, it caused a tingle and a friction. Her face and tits were mashed into the mattress repeatedly by the Arab's power and momentum. She rubbed her clit and savored his savagery.

Her knees trembled, her chest and throat opened, letting out inchoate moans. Still his unrelenting masculine thrusts sank into her. His slaps brought a dark blush to her milky skin, but she loved them, too.

In the end, though, her youth defeated him, deliciously. The young anus never gave up clutching cock with sweet insistence. All too soon, with a twinge of pleasure which shocked him with its force, the sperm jetted the entire length of him. Then again, again; Halili howled and ground his hips as tightly into the fleshy cushions as he could. Spasm followed spasm, Halili lost his grip, his breath, almost his consciousness. He lay draped down her back, gasping raggedly, sweat dripping from his soaked forelock onto her shoulder.

It was as if a tropical storm had passed over. Janet was amazed. She let him recover his breath a minute, then gently reminded him he needed to sleep. His softening rod slipped out of her. She turned and tucked him into the bedclothes with motherly little noises, removing the condom she'd made him use. She washed herself a minute, then lay behind him, spoonwise, snuggling into his nape and shoulder.

With one hand, she rubbed her poor abused anus. She marveled at his power, since after all he'd had no sleep all night.



"What does 'billah' mean, love?"


Janet opened her eyes in a half-light. Was it morning or evening? Then she focused on the window, a double-hung with eight panes in each section and beautiful lace on the curtains' edges. There was a strong funk and her ass was sore.

I know where I am now. Dear Halili's tousled head was pressing into her upper arm and she herself had rolled up against the cool wall. The narrow bed was flush against that wall; otherwise she would surely have fallen out in the night. Memory came back. With great caution, she lifted her head to check the time.

Halili was due in to his work in fifty minutes. Ideal, she exulted. Sneakily, she slid herself lower, keeping his head in place, and then she reached in to fondle him. She could rest her head in an angle between his elbow and flank and lie comfortably. Slowly his cock awoke and stiffened under her fingers.

She freed his balls and cupped them, rolling them lightly in her hand, then slid the cock skin in a wringing motion, around the shaft and then back rather than up and down. Subterranean muscular twinges caused it to lift toward his belly and fall back away from it again. He whimpered and his breathing got louder. He was bone-hard and pulsing.

It was a very small bed and Janet was trapped against the wall in a tiny space. Just the same, she eased her arm out from beneath Halili's head and scooted down even further.

Halili's dream took a weird turn, and he shot awake. His cock was being sucked, exquisitely. He dispelled the dream and embraced the reality.

"Janet, my heart, ahhh! You are more than anyone deserves."

"Then you ought to fuck me. Bill-lah!"


A fortyish plainclothes cop with what looked to be an iPod sat on the bench by the mall entrance, though the first bus wouldn't be by for more than an hour. He was there when Lisa came out the door to intercept him. He had known Halili was on the way, since the second shift had followed the man from home, but he hadn't expected Lisa. He froze and listened.

"Okay, Halili, what do you have to do with this?"

Exactly, thought the cop.

Halili recognized the girl who worked in The Gap, but he'd seldom had much to do there, beyond fixing a door and some wiring. Why was she angry? "With what?"

"With Janet and her stepdad! They asked me if I knew you, so don't try to deny it. They questioned me for two hours!"

"I am sorry! They questioned me, too, for very much longer, but I--"

"I knew it! What happened to her stepdad?"

"They didn't say! I don't know!"

"Sure you don't. Well, is she in jail now?"

"Is who in jail?"

"Janet! Gawd! Janet! She didn't come home. I think she must have gone to jail for killing her stepdad. Don't you know anything at all?"

By now, Halili had put it together. This was Lisa, Janet's roommate. She had been the one who had called Janet to come and give him the lap dance in the first place.

"You're Lisa, aren't you?" Her glare was answer enough. "I want to say thank you a thousand times."


The cop got to hear no more, though, because the doors closed behind them. He wandered over to the tan Yaris. Officer Tim Laliberte let down his window. His partner was eating a cinnamon roll; the smell came out and made the cop hungry.

"Hey, Laliberte."

"Was that the roommate? What'd she say?"

"She gave him some shit, but I don't think she has a clue."

"All right. You and Montreux got the towel head. They want us to come double up on Waterman."



When she went home after her shower, Lisa was gone, and she took stock of things.

Jake had been dead, right downstairs, the night she'd left. The idea took getting used to. She looked around the room. Most of the clutter was Lisa's; her music was already in the car, as always; she could pack all her clothes in one bag, easy-- every last thing she owned would fit in the car.

Maybe I should just go. She began to gather the things in the room that were hers. One by one she put them on the couch, and it wasn't a big pile.

She looked at it. "The answer's no, I guess," she said to herself. She'd disappeared nearly a year, the first time. But a year was nothing. "No. But if I decide to, later, I'll be glad I was packed."

Then she hit the kitchen and bedroom, going through the drawers and shelves in earnest. I'll hit the bank, too, take it all out. They can track you if you use a card. It made her feel good to have something to do. She assembled the bags and suitcase in the bedroom. It was a bit depressing how quickly it all was finished. Janet Waterman made a small footprint in the world.

Montreux at the mall had decided to send his partner with the iPod in, and stay himself with the car. If there was anything duller than watching Halili's day, though, it had to involve watching paint dry. The man acted for all the world as though all he had to do was maintain things at the mall. Also, he seemed to be oblivious to his shadow, almost as though he never imagined anyone would be sent to watch. Montreux's day was even less eventful.

Two cars full of police followed Janet on two jobs for her agency. After each one, the man was interviewed by one team while the other carried on following Janet. Neither customer had a thing to add of any relevance, and Janet hadn't even committed prostitution. Doggedly, the surveillance continued. They watched her deliver money to the agency; they watched her go to the bank. They watched her return home. They witnessed her lunch and they saw her buy a sweater at Goodwill.

The sergeant of detectives had spoken with the A.D.A. By change of shift in the evening, the word was given to drop the tail on Halili. That told Detective Park she had very little time to make something break.


"Janet! Thank God!"

"Hi, Lisa. There's roast beef--"

"So what happened? Are you out on bail?"

"Bail? No. They just told me I could go."

Lisa had to know everything. They had cold roast beef with Janet's ancho and horseradish mayonnaise, spinach Madeleine, and Barefoot. She kept talking about it until Janet's cell rang.

"Hello, Janet. Is this a bad time?"

"No! You're off work?"

"Yes. I'm worried--"

"Want some roast beef? I made some. We're eating."

Lisa's apartment was 21½ B First Street. The "half" meant that the house stood in behind the other houses which actually fronted on the street, and the B apartment was tucked up over the porch. You reached it by a fire escape with stairs and landings which snaked across the side of the structure. It was Halili's first visit, and he was uncertain he was doing it right. So it was that he saw the silver Yaris with the familiar Korean face in the window.

He was relieved to find the knock answered by his Janet. "They are watching," he told her. "I saw them, right outside."

Janet swallowed the greeting she was about to give him. "The police?"

"The detectives, the ones who talked to me, in a car."

He stood by while she went to the railing to try to spot them. "They are in the gray car," he told her helpfully, "behind the motorcycle."

"I see it. Oh, now what? I told them everything! I didn't even know he was dead! What can they want?" Panic was making her voice rise. Her hands were fists with white knuckles.

"Police, they just watch."


"They watch." He shrugged. "It's what it is, to be a detective. You have to watch and suspect people. Forget them."

"Forget them? How can you ever forget them?"

"What's going on?" Lisa stepped in to the doorway and looked from one to the other.

"Well, not forget them; you have to realize they are watching, so you don't do something stupid. But you can't change anything. They will give up when someone new comes along."

"The police?" Lisa said, becoming animated. "Where?" She stepped to the railing.

"The gray car--"

Halili and Janet had said it together, and they broke off, laughing. They looked into each other's faces, and then... then it was deeper than that.

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