Erotica Harem

David’s caveat: I promise to always be polite and respectful. This is one person’s opinion. Dealing w/ me is akin to shopping at the store: take what you want and leave the rest. Keep writing and have fun!

Title: FLATLAND

Chapter: 5

Author: Max

Plot: FBI agent Vasquez visits killer Oren to give him paperwork and an ATM card, now that the crook he testified against has been sentenced and imprisoned. They flirt; we get back story that they had sex, akin to rape, which pleased Oren. Oh, Oren has a new shotgun which he was fondling when the agent arrived in a storm (weather). Oren has to be out of the trailer by the end of the week. He talks w/ Zsa Zsa about killing the dog next door and the queer (Danny).

Style & Voice: 3rd person, perfect, via Oren.

Referencing: Very good; the trailer we’ve been in before.

Scene/Setting: The trailer, gooooooood.

Characterization: EXCELLENT.

Grammar: Superb


Just My Personal Opinion: 2,503 Words. (Note: I count words as an idiosyncrasy.)
Another excellent chapter, moving the story along. See text for a few comments.


Chapter 5


Oren huddled at his kitchen table and let his fingers caress his new shotgun.

The television showed a re-run of Homicide, Life on the Street, while a red banner at the bottom of the screen displayed tornado warnings. His mobile home shuddered as the wind gusted across the wasteland of the prairie and whistled through the gaps in the windows. Outside, gray clouds hid the afternoon sun and tumbled across the claustrophobic skies. Trash fluttered against the sides of the trailer. The flicker of the overhead fluorescent light fought the gloom from outdoors, but shadows still lurked in the corners.

Next door, Cujo's relentless barks provided a cacophonous duet with the grumble of the thunder and the howl of the wind. Oren narrowed his eyes and ran his palm over the grip of his shotgun. The magazine held five rounds, and he could fire them off in rapid succession. The barrel was short, for maximum spread of the shot. Another advantage of a short barrel is concealability. It had a detachable stock, but he planned to carry it like an over-sized pistol. It was just what he needed for the damned dog. There had never been a problem he couldn't solve with the right firearm. If only the Feds would hurry up with his money, he'd blow the fucking thing to bits and disappear, like the wind across the flat Kansas plains. For kicks, he'd decided to snuff out that fuckin' faggot, too. He closed his eyes and his head gave a little twitch at the thought.

A rattle of wind brought him back to reality. His eyes fell on Zsa Zsa, who curled, asleep, buried in crumpled newspapers on the sofa. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. The little dog stirred and whimpered, but didn't wake. A grin tugged at Oren's mouth and his heart warmed while he looked at her.

He jumped when a fist pounded at his door. Zsa Zsa's eyes flicked open and she lifted her head before settling back to her nap. Most dogs would get up if someone’s at the door.

The storm muffled the voice of the person outside and his ears strained to pick up the words. "Hey, Lelande, it's Inez. Let me in."

He scowled. Her husky voice and soft, Spanish accent grated on him like a case of the clap. He arranged a wad of dirty towels to conceal the shotgun and stomped to the door. "What you want? You got my money? It's been days since Kruppman got sentenced." He kept the door closed, drawing satisfaction from forcing her to remain outside in the weather.

"What you think? I'm checking up on you. It's part of the program. Now open up. It's nasty out here."

He hesitated and eyed where his shotgun hid, thinking it might solve more problems than just a barking dog and an annoying queer. Not yet, though. He needed to get the rest of his money from the Feds first. He unlocked the door and sat back down at the kitchen table. "It's open. Come on in."

A chill breeze gusted into the room as she stepped inside. The door caught in the wind and slipped out of her grip. It clanged into the side of the trailer while scraps of paper, brown leaves, and red grit whirled into the room. She snatched at the knob and slammed it shut. "Thanks. It looks bad out there." Considering she must know he’s an asshole, this comment seems trivial, too polite. She shook out her floozy, red hair. "You know where to go if the sirens go off?"

His gaze roamed over her body, from her silicone-enhanced bosom to her ample butt and her chunky legs. "Yeah. There's a shelter under the laundry, a couple of streets over. I should have figured the FBI would be too cheap to give me a real house with a basement. Instead I get this fuckin' tornado magnet."

She smoothed her lime-green sundress and adjusted the straps that kept her breasts from flopping out. He wondered why she bothered, since it looked like she'd sprayed the whole thing on. Besides, he'd seen her naked. It was no big deal, except it gave him some leverage to use on her. Is this a thought or an author slipping in? He remembered she carried her gun in the purse that hung by a strap from her shoulder.

Her voice oozed into the room like warm whiskey. "They don't put basements in houses here, Lelande. They flood in rainy season." She plopped onto the sofa and waved her thick eyelashes at him.

Oren tried to ignore the raucous counterpoint to their conversation from the dog next door.

Zsa Zsa stirred from the sofa, sniffed at Vazquez, and trotted to sit next to Oren. Her tail thumped on the floor and her black eyes stared up at him in adoration.

He reached down and scratched the dog's ears. She rewarded him with a wet kiss. Kiss to where? I assume his hand since she’s on the floor and being a tiny dog couldn’t reach his face. "So, you got my money, or what?"

Vasquez lounged back while her fingers toyed with the ragged afghan that sprawled on the sofa. "Did you hear? The sentencing phase at Kruppman's trial's over. He's in Leavenworth by now." Her eyelashes fluttered while she spoke.

He knew she was supposed to be undercover, but he wondered if the sleazy whore act was on purpose, just to taunt him. He shrugged. "I heard. You playing messenger girl, Inez, or you just hot to see me?" He figured it wouldn't hurt to play with her some, even though he didn't want to sleep with her again. It had been exciting before, when she resisted his advances, almost like rape. But now that she was his for the taking, he wasn't interested.

A coy smile flashed across her face before she spoke. "Maybe some of both, lover boy." Her smile flitted away and her voice stopped toying with his libido. "Now that he's in prison, your agreement with the FBI says we can release the final installment of your payment." She reached into her purse and he tensed, but she just pulled out a thick envelope. "There's some stuff you have to sign for the Bureau. There's an ATM card and your account info, too." She tossed him the envelope, but it fell short and slapped to the floor next to Zsa Zsa. The dog sniffed at it, her tail whirling like tassels on a stripper.

He grunted and leaned down to pick it up. "How'd you ever make it through Quantico? You throw like a girl."

She grinned and primped her hair. "I am a girl, in case you didn't notice, maggot." She took out a cigarette and lit it, her orange fingernails flashing in the fluorescent lighting. "You got an ash tray?"

"I wish you wouldn't smoke. You know I can't stand the smell." Bitch.

"Hey, it stinks like fuckin' dog in here. Why should you care?" She picked up an empty beer can from the end table and flicked an ash into it.

His eyes threw daggers at her, but he kept his voice even. "Don't you bad-mouth my Zsa Zsa. I toldja that before." His fingers ran over the towels and the contours of his shotgun sent a thrill up his arm. It would be so easy, but he'd have to move the money first. Time enough to settle with her later.

Lightning flashed nearby and thunder rattled the windows. She peered outside. "That one was close." Her eyes returned to the room and she scowled at Zsa Zsa. "I hate that damned dog." Her face turned hard and her tone official and cold. "I should have had it put down when we arrested you."

He sneered and pulled the papers from the envelope. "Yeah, and then you woulda got nothing from me. That would have been real smart. About what I'd expect from a bimbo like you."

Surprise and anger flared in her face. "Screw you."

Maybe now he wouldn't have to fend off her advances. "When you're with someone pretty like Zsa Zsa, everybody pays attention to the dog, not what you're doin'."

Vazquez's voice rasped like a drill through a safe. "You sayin' I ain't pretty?"

He shrugged. "I'm just sayin' she was the perfect partner. I don't need no disguise with her along, and I don't have to worry about her bein' a snitch. She was always with me on every con. Never missed a beat. You woulda never caught us if you hadn't got lucky." He looked down and flipped through the documents.

Her body stopped wriggling and her jaw jumped like she'd swallowed crickets. "Maybe you're a better accountant than the squids at the Bureau, but you're a crappy killer. You left clues all over the place. You're not the genius you think you are." She exhaled a cloud of blue smoke and her eyes scanned the disarray in the trailer. "I see it didn't take you any time to pig this place up." She glanced out the window and snarled, "Does that goddam dog next door ever shut up?"

His eyes snapped up and he glared at her. "You get used to it."

She put on her professional, FBI face, the one that she used in public, and her voice lost its bantering tone. "How about the neighbors? Any problems after the other night?"

"Nah. Just that friggin' dog, and I got plans for him. There's a fat-ass security guard. Oh, and the queer kid next door was a little nosy, but I took care of it. I fed him a line about me being retired and he bought it."

She snorted. "Anybody else been nosing around?"

"Aint seen nobody but those two."

"Good." She let smoke drift out her nostrils.

He shrugged and reached for a pen. "I sign where the little red sticky things are?"

"Yeah. Or initial, depending." She lit another cigarette from the coal of the first and dropped the butt into the beer can. It gave off a little hiss when it struck the bottom. She hunched forward and exhaled a haze of blue smoke. "The security guard looks pretty harmless. The owner of this shit-hole trailer park gave him a make-work security job out of charity, 'cause he's a vet."

"Whatever." Oren turned to another page and initialed. "I wouldn't mind having his bean shooter."

"Yeah? What kind of heat does he carry?"

"A SIG Sauer P226. Chrome-plated."

"Sweet." Her eyes flickered for an instant to the kitchen table before she continued. "The kid's just some druggie from Chicago. You ain't gotta worry about him."

Oren fished a doggie treat out of his pocket and fed it to Zsa Zsa. "Faggots don't worry me."

"Whatever. Now that Kruppman's locked up, you should be safe. You got me to thank that the mob ain't sendin' somebody to whack you." She studied the coal of her cigarette.

Oren snorted. "I can take care of myself." He stuffed the papers back in the envelope. "You got anything else for me?"

Her eyes gleamed and she thrust her bosom forward again. "Nothing official. You got anything for me?" Her eyelashes fluttered in the smoky shadows.

He let a smile tickle his lips. "Nothing I can think of, sweetheart." He fingered his ATM card. The money he'd swindled was already in his safe deposit box in the Caymans, in the form of untraceable gold bullion. "When does the cash hit my account?"

"It'll take a few days for the paperwork to clear. Close of business, Friday, at the latest."

"Fuckin' bureaucrats. Can't you speed it up? Maybe spread your legs for 'em?"

"Fuck you, asshole." Her eyes narrowed and her face flushed. "You just watch yourself. Don't do nothing else to draw attention. That fuckin' fight was bad enough." She stood and shook her finger at him. "You lay low, you hear? We can't help you if you get busted for anything. There's no telling what the locals might do if they catch up with you." She took the papers from him and dropped them back in her purse.

He smirked and rubbed his fingers on the towel, drawing power from the cold steel underneath. "I'll be sure to not get caught, then."

Her eyes flashed. "I mean it, Oren. You get in trouble and I personally will see to it that you get locked up and they throw away the key. I don't care how good a f...I don't care what we done in bed. I'll fix you good if you screw up. At this point, the Bureau don't give a flying fuck if you live or die, if you catch my meaning."

He kept that little smile toying with his lips while his fingers lingered on his shotgun. "Perfectly clear, Agent Vasquez." He stood. "We done here?"

She glared at him. "Just because you aren't using the FBI to relocate you, don't think I can't find you if you screw up. We got our ways. You know that."

"No doubt." Oren was confident he could disappear on his own, and he didn't want anyone, least of all the FBI, knowing where he was. As for her threat, he was sure Vasquez couldn't find the checkout line in a Seven Eleven, let alone trace him.

She sneered at him. "We're though with you, Oren. Be outa our trailer by the weekend." She glanced out the window. "I'm gone before that storm hits." She dropped her cigarette into the beer can and rushed out, slamming the door after her.

Oren sneered after her and uncovered his shotgun. He pointed it at the door and whispered, "Kapow." Zsa Zsa looked at him and wagged her tail. "What you think, girl? Shall we have some fun on Friday night? Bag us a mutt, and a faggot, too?"

Arf!

"That's my girl. Then we can take our loot and run." He winced as Butch barked. He turned up the television, lounged back, and sank into sensuous fantasies of wealth and violence.