Slutty Dead Girl
The dead girl walked into my office just as I finished my first scotch-and-coffee of the day. Down on the street, the yuppies were grabbing hot dogs from street vendors while multi-tasking with their Blackberries and cell phones.
“I need your help,” she stated, parking her thin but toned body into the aging wooden chair in front of my desk.
I took my time answering her. I wanted to soak in every detail, just in case I never saw her again. I could count on one finger how many times women who looked like runway models showed up in my office.
She wore her long, shiny black hair loose around her shoulders. It was the same shade as her sheer blouse, which did nothing to hide the black lace bra holding up her ripe, softball-sized breasts. Long, pale legs extended out from her short, short skirt. All that black contrasted nicely with the milky whiteness of her skin. Her lips were so faded as to be almost colorless. As far as I could see, not a single blemish or freckle marred her sun-deprived beauty.
The only imperfections evident on her classically beautiful face were the bluish smudges under her large, round, azure eyes.
“What can I do for you, Ms...?”
“DeChamps, Prudence DeChamps.” She didn’t hold out her hand. One point for her. “I need you to find the man who killed me.”
My eyes had already drifted down to her chest, as if drawn by magnets. Now my gaze returned to her face.
“Excuse me? You seem pretty alive to me, Ms. DeChamps.” I wanted to take another look at her tits, but even I had enough courtesy to wait until after she answered.
“I’ve been dead ever since the night that bastard took my life away.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, lit one. Her long, red nails looked freshly polished.
With one quick motion, she pulled up her sleeve and pressed the glowing cigarette tip against her skin. There was just enough time for flesh to sizzle before I lunged over the desk and swatted the Marlboro from her hand.
“What the hell’s you’re problem?” I walked around her and picked up the cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray.
No pain showed on her face, just a sad smile curling the corners of her mouth.
“Proving a point,” she said, her voice as emotionless as when she’d introduced herself. “The dead don’t feel pain.”
“Great.” I sat down again, not sure if my legs would hold me. “Next time skip the demonstration.” I opened a drawer, poured some more scotch into my coffee cup.
“Do you believe me now?” She rolled her sleeve back down, covering the melted circle of skin with its black, crispy edges.
“I believe you really want to find this guy.” I didn’t add that I thought she was nuts.
“I want to find him and kill him, the way he killed me. I want to rip his heart out, the same way he tore out mine. I want to leave him a broken, empty shell, the same ... ”
“The same way he left you.” I held up my hand. “I get it. So who’s the lucky fellow?”
She dug a piece of paper from her purse. “Roger Gilbride. I also wrote down the bar where I met him and all the places he took me while we dated.”
“Got an address or phone number for him?” I glanced at the list. All of them were in the East Village. Not my usual cup of tea. Trendy, snobby places. Then I saw a name I recognized: The Kat Klub. A half-decent topless joint. I made a mental note to start my investigation there.
“He never took me to his place. I had a cell phone number, but it’s not working anymore.”
I nodded. Typical New York player. Probably lived in the same area where he met her. Even a half-assed drunk like me should be able to find him in a few days.
“Gonna cost a grand,” I told her. “That’s for one week, including all my expenses. Half now, half when I deliver the address.”
She looked down at the floor. I knew that look. When they can’t meet your eyes, it means they’re broke.
“I don’t have any money, Mr. Clemente. But I’ll do anything to find him.” Now she stared me right in the face. “Anything.”
“You mean ... ”
She stood up and walked to my side of the desk, spun my chair around so I was facing her. Before I could say ‘boo,’ she had my pants open and her mouth around my shaft, working me like a pro from the red light district. Her tongue and lips were cool against my hot, rapidly-hardening flesh, as if she’d just finished a cold drink.
I stuck my hands into her midnight-black hair, intending to pull her head away, but instead found myself pushing her down further until she began making choking noises in her throat.
She finished me fast and never backed up an inch when I spilled my load. The moment I was done, she returned to her chair. “Will that do for a down payment?”
I looked at her. Her face wasn’t even flushed. Either she did this all the time and it meant nothing to her, or it took more than a quick hummer to get her excited.
Right then I knew her waif-like beauty and talented mouth had me hooked.
“It’ll do,” I told her, trying to nonchalantly stuff myself back into my pants. She’d left a big, wet stain on my crotch, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t come like that in years.
“Good. I’ll be back tomorrow to see what you’ve found out.”
We both stood up. “Is there a number I can reach you at, Ms. DuChamps?”
She paused at the door. “Call me Prudence. I think we’re past the formalities. And no, I don’t have a number at the moment. I’m staying with ... friends.”
With that, she walked out.
I stared at the list she’d left me. I suddenly wanted to find this Gilbride fellow. After all, the faster I found him, the faster I could collect the rest of my payment.
And I really wanted that payment.
I paid my five bucks and entered the Kat Klub. I took a seat at the bar, where I had equally good views of the two dozen or so patrons and the atomic-tittied girl on the stage.
The bartender, a slinky brunette whose tube top let me know she wasn’t wearing a bra, came over. “Whatchya want?”
I tore my gaze away from her chest. “Scotch, neat.” I dropped a ten on the bar. “You know a fellow name of Roger Gilbride?”
“Gilbride? Preppy-looking guy with blond hair?”
That matched Prudence’s description. “Yeah. See him around lately?”
“Nope. Only comes in on Saturdays, around one or so. Likes to hit on the dancers. I’ve seen him leave with a few.”
“A real charmer?”
“His wallet has all the charm. You need lotsa bait for the fish in here.” She turned away to help the next customer, but not before pocketing my ten.
I smiled as I sipped my scotch. Tomorrow was Saturday. All I had to do was bring Prudence here, and case closed.
A lap dance girl strolled by, wearing nothing but fuck-me heels and a see-through pink negligee with matching g-string. Skinny, with long black hair. She reminded me of Prudence. I waved her down with a twenty.
Two seconds later her soft nipples were brushing my face as she ground herself against my crotch. I closed my eyes and pictured Prudence’s body riding me.
That image stayed with me long after I left the club.
Prudence DuChamps strolled in just after 4 p.m., this time dressed in a simple black t-shirt and faded jeans.
“Found him yet?”
I leaned back in my chair, feet on the cluttered desk. “Found him? How’s this: I know exactly where he’ll be at one-thirty this morning. Still want to confront him in person?”
“Yes. Tell me where.”
“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. We’ll go together. Gotta make sure he doesn’t get stupid, try to hurt you.”
She raised one eyebrow. “You mean, you want to make sure I don’t try to skip out on what I owe you. Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”
I decided to press my luck. “Maybe you should give me another advance.”
She nodded. “Whatever. Open your pants.”
A moment later she was between my legs again, her head rising and falling on my dick. She made no sound other than the wet sucking of her chill lips and tongue, not even when I reached down and squeezed one surprisingly firm tit. I started to slip my hand inside her shirt, but she swatted it away.
Even though she’d blown me yesterday, and I’d jerked off last night, I still only lasted about a minute before blowing my load. She placed her hands on my legs as she stood. Even through the material of my Dockers, her hands were as cold as her mouth. Not surprising, considering how little meat was on her bones.
“I’ll meet you here at midnight.” She licked her lips, leaving a glistening sheen on them. Before I could say anything, she was out the door.
A pang of guilt rumbled in my stomach. As much as I’d enjoyed my midday BJ, she’d just as obviously hated it. If I had any decency, I’d tell her to forget the rest of her bill.
Remembering the feel of her tit in my hand, I knew I didn’t have that much decency inside me.
I ushered Prudence into the Kat Klub just after midnight. I’d offered her the chance to wait in the car, but she’d never hesitated.
“Trust me, it’s not my first time in a strip joint.”
I figured she was playing tough. I mean, she definitely had the body to be a stripper, with those long, thin legs and perfectly round tits, but her clothes and attitude screamed ‘goth chick,’ and you rarely saw that type swinging on a pole.
Hanging from hooks, maybe.
However, the way she marched through the smoky air, unaffected by the pounding music or the dozens of thin-waisted, silicon-enhanced dancers, made me reconsider my opinion of her.
Prudence led the way to a small cocktail table at the back of the wide, dark room. I ordered us a couple of scotches from the waitress, a tiny thing in a mini skirt.
“Now what?” Prudence pushed her glass back and forth across the table.
“We wait. The bartender said Gilbride comes in around one or so.” I sipped my scotch. “Remember. Tell me when you see him. Don’t talk to him or even let him know you’re here.”
“Relax. I won’t start any trouble.”
She slipped out of her black leather jacket. Underneath, she wore a tight-fitting, short-sleeved T-shirt covered in black sequins. Black cotton stretch pants and black heels completed her outfit. Something tugged at my brain, something about her arms, bone-white under the black lights. I almost had it, but then a voice interrupted me.
“You folks lookin’ for a dance?”
The southern drawl pulled my attention away. I looked up and found my eyes even with a huge pair of tanned breasts, which led back to a blonde whose curves put Pam Anderson to shame.
“Yeah, he wants a dance.” Prudence slid her scotch to the girl. “Drink up, and keep him entertained.”
She returned her gaze to the bar, a cigarette between her lips.
I pulled out a twenty. “Do what the lady says.”
Who was I to turn down a lap dance while another hot chick watched? Maybe she got off on watching.
Maybe she liked threesomes. That thought alone brought my dick to attention.
Prudence remained expressionless while my dancer, Sugar, ground herself against me and jiggled her soft tits against my face and chest. My southern belle had a knack for keeping me hard without bringing me all the way. Glitter powder on her nipples sparkled like stars, and I could only imagine how much of it had gotten on me already.
Halfway through my fourth dance, Prudence sat up straight, dropping the latest in a non-stop string of cigarettes. Her face had twisted into a mask of hatred.
I leaned past Sugar. Gilbride was just taking a seat at the bar.
Prudence stood up. “Bastard’s gonna pay.” She started for the bar.
“Sorry, Sugar, gotta go.” I pushed her off my lap and dropped four twenties on the table.
I caught Prudence before she got halfway to the bar. “I told you, not in here.”
“Let go of me!” She pulled from my grasp, the strength in her frigid, wiry arm surprising me.
“We’ll wait in the car.”
“Listen, the bouncers won’t let anything happen in the club. Outside, they don’t care. You can scream at him all night long.”
She headed for the door. “I’m going to kill him.” Her voice was colder than her skin.
“Whatever.” I’d heard it all before, from men and women. Nevertheless, I made sure my snub-nosed .38 was in place against my left ribs before I got in the car. On the off chance Mr. Gilbride decided to get physical, I was prepared.
We didn’t have long to wait. Prudence had just finished her third cigarette when Gilbride came out, his arm around a tall, curvy, oriental dancer, who I recognized from the acrobatic pole dance she’d done earlier in the evening.
“He got a thing for dancers?” Maybe that explained her problem with him.
“He always did.”
She caught me by surprise again, opening the door and taking off across the parking lot.
“Shit!” I ran after her. She called out Gilbride’s name.
He and the dancer stopped, looked over at us. Even from thirty feet away, I could see the way his face went pale, as if Prudence were the most dangerous person on earth. He let go of the dancer and sprinted towards a brand new beamer.
Even in her high heels, Prudence managed to reach Gilbride before he could open the car door.
“Help me!” His falsetto scream seemed out of character, considering he outweighed Prudence by at least a hundred pounds. I slowed down, looking forward to watching a macho stud turn pussy and beg for forgiveness.
I don’t think he would have had a chance even if I’d been right next to him.
Prudence leaped on him, driving him back against the car. His scream cut off in a garbled, choking gasp as she bit into his throat. A fountain of blood sprayed out from the wound, ink-black in the greenish glare of the parking lot lamps.
My feet refused to move as I watched her spit out a chunk of flesh and start tearing at the wound with her fingers, ripping the hole larger and larger.
“How does it feel to be dead, asshole? How does it feel?”
Her shouts echoed across the parking lot, and I realized we only had a few minutes before the bouncers came out. I looked around for the dancer who’d been with Gilbride, but she was nowhere to be found.
That meant we had no time at all.
“Prudence! Let go! We’ve got to get out of here!” I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her off Gilbride’s body. She kicked and screamed a few times and then seemed to realize who I was. I hustled her to my car and drove away, leaving the lights off in case someone tried to catch my license plate.
Once we hit the highway, I flicked the lights on and slowed to the legal limit. Only then did I find my voice.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinking? You killed him!”
“Now we’re even.”
I looked over at her. Wet blood covered her face, arms, and chest. More was smeared on my car seat. Her eyes were wide and white, but she wasn’t breathing heavy.
“I’ll take you to my place, clean you up, and we’ll call a lawyer I know. Christ, this is some fucked-up mess.”
She stayed silent the rest of the ride home while I tried to figure out how I could come out of this without being an accessory to murder.
At my house, I made sure she didn’t touch anything as I led her to the bathroom. I turned the shower on full blast. My only thought was to wash away all the evidence.
I was rubbing the tacky blood off her when it hit me.
There was no scar on her arm.
Not a single mark where just two days before she’d burned herself.
I looked into her face. She gave me a small smile and opened her blouse, exposing the wide, jagged scar down the center of her chest.
“I told you he killed me. You can’t hurt something that’s already dead.”
I locked her in the basement, telling her it was for her own safety. She didn’t object. Then I went to the spare room that serves as my home office and did an Internet search on Prudence DeChamps, something I should’ve done two days ago, except I’d been thinking with my dick instead of my brain.
I found the story right away.
“Prudence DeChamps, age twenty-six, murdered in her apartment six months ago. Police have no leads. Prudence, a topless dancer at the Kat Klub, also had a record for prostitution.” The picture showed a blonde girl with a lot more makeup and dark red lips, but there was no mistaking it was the same person who’d just killed someone in front of me.
I stopped reading and went downstairs.
She was waiting for me when I opened the door.
Naked. Legs spread wide. Wet.
“I guess it’s time for me to pay up.”
The bulge in my pants grew harder.
“That was for finding him. It’s gonna cost you a lot more for me to keep your secret.” I started to undo my pants.
Prudence gave me one of her half-smiles. With two fingers, she rubbed a nipple until it grew hard.
“Whatever you say. It was worth any price.”
I slid myself into her. If I hadn’t know she’d been a whore, I might even have believed her orgasm was real. Not that I cared. All that mattered to me was the way she felt around me. Her chill, wet hole had me more excited than I’d ever been with a woman, yet at the same time kept me from coming too soon. When I finally reached the breaking point, I felt like I’d emptied every ounce of liquid in my body.
Afterwards, I locked the door again.
And made a mental note to buy some chains and a gag.
I didn’t intend to end up like Gilbride.
Copyright © 2006 by JG Faherty. All rights reserved.
JG Faherty began writing fiction three years ago, and has already had pieces published in Wee Small Hours, Wicked Karnival, Doses of Death: A Macabre Collection of Small Town Terror, Animal Magnetism, and http://www.latelateshow.com. He’s also won two writing contests, placed third in another, and earned Honorable Mention in Horror World’s Creepiest Hometown Essay contest. His most recent story, “Rough Justice,” will appear in the CWW Raw Meat anthology due out later this year.
A freelance writer with over 15 years of experience, JG has had a varied background that includes working as a laboratory manager, accident scene photographer, zoo keeper, research scientist, and resume writer. You can visit him at http://www.jgfaherty.com.
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