Death by Sarcasm (17 page)

“Guys,” Mary said. “You’re doing it all wrong. Presidents
get
assassinated. They don’t
do
the assassinating.”

Nixon with the Silencer pointed the gun at her while two other Nixons approached her. Yet another Nixon pulled out a sawed off shotgun, jacked a shell into the chamber, and crossed the room, placing the barrel at Mary’s temple.

Mary took the opportunity to study her captors a bit more closely. When they had first come in, she thought they were dressed identically. But now she saw that wasn’t the case. Yes, they all had on blue suits, white shirts, and dark ties. But some of the suits were pinstriped. Some had subtle checks. Some of the ties were dark red. Some were light blue. One didn’t have a tie. The black shoes differed the most. Mary saw wingtips, loafers and walking shoes.

But most of all, Mary noticed the hands. They were all old, some wrinkled, most with liver spots, some with arthritis.

One of the Nixons stepped in front of her, pulled out a knife, and cut the duct tape holding her legs to the chair. They stood her up, then tore the chair from her and sent it sailing across the room.

The other Nixon took a hand to her shirt and ripped it from her body.

“Hey, you’re married – what would Pat say?”

Another Nixon unbuttoned her jeans and pinned her arms, then lifted her so the jeans could be pulled them from her body. Mary tired to kick the Nixon who took off her jeans, but he sidestepped the attempt easily.

“You didn’t learn from Watergate, did you?”

When she was down to her bra and panties, a Nixon took out a pair of handcuffs, freed Mary’s arms, then quickly cuffed her wrists to a pipe that ran the length of the room.

And then Mary saw something that took her breath away.

Some of the Nixons were taking off their clothes.

“I’m not in the mood, guys,” Mary said. “No really does mean no.”

She shivered. The room was cold, but it was the sight of these old, naked men that gave her the heebie jeebies. And whatever they had in mind scared the hell out of her.

“I only date younger men,” Mary said. “Old guys like you are too aggressive. Obviously.”

Mary was now turned sideways and out of the corner of her eye she could see the naked Nixons, masks on, erect penises, well, most of them erect, one or two quite substantial, one or two not so substantial, pointing at her in an accusatory manner.

“Whatever happened to quality foreplay?” Mary said. “Isn’t there a shuffleboard tournament somewhere?” Her heart was thudding in her chest and her mouth was dry. The adrenaline pumped into her blood and she pulled on her restraints.

“Who wants to go first?” one of the Nixons said, his voice muffled and unrecognizable through the mask.

“Why don’t you talk about it?” Mary said. “Have a little penis swordfight over me. I’d be flattered.”

“Someone make her suck your dick so she shuts up,” the lead Nixon said.

“Enough with the sweet talk,” Mary said. “What next, flowers and candy?”

The words ‘suck’ and ‘dick’ had resonated quite forcefully with her and now she tried to slip her wrists through the handcuffs. She pulled until she felt the cuffs dig through her skin and begin to split her skin and crush her bone. Panic welled up inside her. Suddenly she felt a hand slap her ass, then her reach inside her panties. She kicked back and her foot connected with what felt like a solar plexus. Mary reefed back on the handcuffs, but her hands caught. A slight metallic grinding sound caught her ear, though. And she turned away form the naked Nixons and reefed again on the cuffs. The pipe had moved, sending puffs of rust to the floor.

Mary felt a pair of hands grab her panties and rip them from her body.

“Now that’s a beaver!” one of the Nixons said.

“Who ordered the furburger?” another said.

“With a side of thighs,” another said.

Now, Mary wrapped her hands around the pipe itself and studied it. She saw a spot weld two feet in front of her, and a bracket with a screw that had already separated from the wall. She leaned forward and lunged sideways, pulling on the pipe with everything she had.

“Whoa, Nellie!” one of the Nixons said.

The pipe had separated completely from the wall, but had remained intact.

“Come on,” one of the Nixons said. “Hurry up and fuck her. I’ve got a five-thirty tee time.”

Mary felt the hands on her hips and then one of the most horrific feelings ever: a Richard Nixon cock poked between her legs and rubbed against her. Her mind shrieked with panic and she felt a blind white hot fury explode within her.

She lashed out, but he was between her legs now.

“I might need some K-Y,” one of the Nixons said.

Mary arched her back and rammed backward with her hips, knocking the fucking Nixon back. She pulled the pipe away from the wall and down, then swung around and planted her right foot on top of the pipe. The pipe groaned.

“Watch it!” one of the Nixons shouted.

Mary hopped on top of the pipe with both feet and it snapped, sounding like a gunshot. A three-foot section came free in her hand.

“Shit!” one of the Nixons said.

Mary twisted and swung the pipe in one smooth rotation. She followed through and saw the pipe connect with the rapist Nixon’s temple. He flopped backwards onto the floor.

It was like a hand grenade had been dropped into the middle of the room.

The Nixons who were still dressed bolted for the door. The naked ones bolted for their clothes.

But Mary didn’t care about them.

The Nixon who’d shot Kenum went for his automatic.

Mary leapt across the room and brought the pipe down on his forearm, just as he came up with the gun. It fired into the floor and then flew across the room.

She wheeled, looking for the Nixon with the shotgun, only to face the barrel two inches from her face. She ducked as the gun roared. The sound was deafening in the room and she heard the shotgun pellets punch a hole in the plaster wall. Mary swung the pipe and clipped the Nixon with the shotgun at the ankles. He staggered, and she swung at the other ankle, then upward.

The Nixon dropped the shotgun and ran for the door, holding up his pants with one hand.

Mary thrust the pipe downward and opened her hands. The pipe slid through the cuffs and clattered to the floor. She dove for the shotgun, clamped the stock between her knees and racked a shell into the chamber.

She rolled just as the killer Nixon went for his automatic. Mary fired from a sitting position and the blast tore a fist-sized hole in the plaster just above the killer Nixon’s head. He ducked, gave up the idea of getting back the automatic, and ran for the door.

Mary flipped the shotgun down, caught it by the pump, jacked the shell, flipped it back up and fired just as the Nixon framed the door.

The pellets shredded his ass and she heard him scream, then tumble down the stairs.

Mary jumped to her feet, racked another shell and ran toward the landing. But she tripped on something and fell. She looked down at her feet. She’d gotten tangled in what was left of her panties.

She kicked them off her foot and made it to the landing, just as the Nixons ran through the door, helping the one with the bloody ass. She fired again, but hit the doorjamb and saw splinters explode.

Mary pumped the shotgun, but it was empty. She ran back into the room, grabbed the automatic with the silencer, heard an engine roar and tires squeal, then ran down the stairs.

She burst through the doors and onto the sidewalk. The street was empty.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, babe,” the kid on the bike said.

Mary lowered the gun to her side.

“You’re giving me a boner,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

Mary walked back up into the room and found her cell phone. She punched the buttons from memory.

“Cornell,” Jake answered.

“I’m half-naked and wearing handcuffs. Get over here,” Mary said.

M
ary stood in the silent room. It stunk of blood and gunpowder. She wondered what a nice girl like her was doing in yet another crime scene.

She looked over at Kenum sprawled out in an ever-widening pool of blood.

“Get up,” she said. “Faker.”

He didn’t respond. She went over and searched his pockets. Nothing.

“I thought they toughened up guys like you in prison,” she said. She looked around Kenum’s apartment.

“I hate to break it to you,” she said. “But I don’t think you’ll be getting your security deposit back.”

Mary went and put her clothes on. Her legs were quivering, and she felt a little lightheaded. The adrenaline was wearing off and leaving shaken nerves in its place.

As she pulled her panties on, she thought to herself, ‘geez, if I’d’ve known this was going to happen I would have worn something a little more…provocative.’

Maybe it was because she was still stunned by the sight of a man being gunned down in front of her, and maybe it was the fact that she’d had five senior citizens’ erections pointing at her and rubbing up against her, but it seemed like only a few seconds before she heard her name being called.

“Mary,” the voice said.

“Mary.”

She looked up, and saw Detective Jacob Cornell.

“Mary, what happened?” he said.

“I threw a party and it got a little outta hand,” she said.

“Are you okay?” he said, crossing to her, unsure whether or not he should put his arms around her. She wished he would. She really, really wanted to be in his arms.

“I don’t know, orgies always leave me feeling a little…sleazy,” she said.

Jake put his arm on her shoulder. She moved a little bit closer toward him. Mary felt Jake’s body heat, and her shivering subsided.

“It’s okay to need someone, Mary,” he said. “Even if it’s me.”

Her body relaxed and she opened her mouth to say something like she needed him as much as she needed a trip to the Nixon library.

But she didn’t. She slipped her around him and pulled him closer.

The ambulance team arrived and raced past them.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jake said. They crossed the room together and were just about to the door when Sergeant Amanda Davies appeared.

“Ah, Cooper,” she said. “Always seem to find you in such pleasant circumstances.”

Mary felt the woman’s eyes notice how close she and Jake were standing.

“I thought I was attending a baz mitzvah,” Mary said. “I knew there was going to be blood, but come on, this is ridiculous.”

“They don’t do circumcisions at baz mitzvahs, Mary,” Jake said. “That’s called a Bris.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mary said. “Thanks for the Jewish education there, Yentl.”

Mary looked at Jake, then she shot her eyes at Davies. “See Jake, I told you it was a party, somebody ordered a hooker.” She nodded her head toward Davies.

Davies ignored her and said, “Let’s take this out into the hallway, unless you want to do this downtown.”

“You know, it doesn’t really matter where we go,” Mary said to Davies. “As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

Once the paramedics had checked out Mary, and the crime scene techies had arrived, the questioning began.

“So Mary,” Jake said. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”

“Because I don’t want to?” Mary said.

Jake just watched her, his face committing nothing.

Mary sighed and explained how she had come to be at Kenum’s apartment, leaving out the Catalina side trip, and the little kid with all the information. Just enough to satisfy them, not enough to actually tell them anything.

“So you want me to believe,” Davies said. “That there was an attempted gang rape of you by a bunch of old men wearing Richard Nixon masks?”

“What’s the problem?” Mary said. “Are you a Democrat?”

“It’s just so weird,” Jake said. “Nixon masks.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, nodding toward Davies. “Almost as scary as the one she’s wearing now. That is a mask… right?”

“Cute,” Davies said.

“At least now I know why they called him Tricky Dick,” Mary said.

A coroner’s assistant walked past them and down the stairs, carrying a camera and a thick sheaf of notes. Moments later, the body of David Kenum passed by them on a gurney.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Mary said to the corpse. “Now, are we done here?” she said, looking at Jake.

“Could you excuse us, Detective Cornell?” Davies said. Jake looked between the two and then turned to head down the stairs.

Mary turned to Davies. “I’m glad you got rid of him – he’s such a third wheel!”

“Shut up, Cooper,” Davies said.

“Enough with the subtlety.”

“Listen, I could care less about you and your pathetic little games with Cornell. I don’t care who or what you’ve fucked or are fucking – but once you start fucking with my job – then I get angry.”

“That was a lot of f-bombs,” Mary said. “The language of the ignorant.”

“If I find out that you’ve withheld information or kept me out of the loop on anything regarding this case, you will never work again as a private investigator,” Davies said, her teeth clenched. “You’ll be just a cold, lonely, desperate old maid with a bunch of sorry one-liners only you appreciate.”

Davies spun on her heel and pounded down the stairs.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Davies. Gooooooo Cooper!” Mary said.

Her voice echoed in the empty hall.

I
t hurt to open her eyes. It hurt to sit up in bed. It hurt to realize how much she’d had to drink the night before. But most of all, it hurt to remember the nightmares: wrinkly old genitalia coming at her (literally) from all directions. The old men’s erections were like jousting sticks in a bullfight, and she was the bull, being chased and poked and prodded.

The capper, the image that had finally jolted her wide awake at five o’clock in the morning: Richard Nixon. Standing on the steps into the Presidential helicopter. His arms held wide, his fingers forming two giant peace signs.

And he was buck naked.

With an erection.