Authors: Teri Riggs
The Eyes Die Last
Copyright © 2010 Teri Riggs,
all rights reserved.
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are the product of the author
s imagination and any resemblance to any
organization, event, or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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THE CALM MIDNIGHT SKY DID LITTLE TO LESSEN THE BRUTAL AND UNRELENTING LAS VEGAS HEAT THAT ENGULFED HIM AS HE STOOD WATCHING FROM THE SHADOWS
. Sweat, mixed with anticipation and fear, made his cotton dress shirt stick to his back. Adrenaline pulsed through him, blurring the flashing neon lights in his peripheral vision into distorted, iridescent streaks of color dancing across the sidewalks. He rubbed his clammy palms together as he watched a woman step from a Mercedes onto the littered curb.
With a quick tug on the rough denim, she straightened her tight, micro-mini skirt and, placing a hand on each side of her jewel-trimmed halter top, jiggled her size double-D’s into position. Smiling, she tucked a wad of bills into her tiny purse and waved as the dark sedan sped away.
His heart pounded an erratic rhythm in double-time against his chest wall and small beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He wiped his moist hands on his pants and approached her, head down, shoulders hunched.
“How much for twenty minutes?” He tipped his head in the direction of the alley. “Over there, standing up.”
Her eyes widened, bright purple eye shadow sparkling in the light of a passing car. “Standing up? You like it a little dirty, do you?”
He eyed the creamy breasts overflowing from her halter top. “Don’t we all?”
The woman shrugged, and for a few seconds he could see the boredom in her gaze. She looked down at the sidewalk and back up at him. Then she smiled.
“You’re in charge, boss. Twenty minutes, fifty dollars. Cash up front and I have a strict policy about condoms. I only use my own. A girl’s gotta protect the merchandise.”
He closed his eyes, savoring the moment that would propel him into greatness. When he opened them again, he could tell by the look on her face she thought he was mulling over the price. He’d go along with it. “Fifty dollars up front?”
“Take it or leave it. Hooking this side of the county line is illegal, you know. I’m taking a risk.” She ran her hands slowly over her double-D’s and wiggled her ass. Her voice purred, “As you can see, I’m not a damn blue-light special.”
He looked down one side of the street, and then the other. He studied the alley for a moment, and then looked her over again, slowly.
“I’m worth every penny.”
Did the whore actually think he’d find that sexy? “Yes, love. I can see how much you’re worth.” “Well then make up your mind.”
He pulled a fifty from his pants pocket and handed her the cash. “Of course I’ll pay you what you deserve.” Pushing past her, he walked into the dark alley, rolling up the long sleeves of his once neatly pressed dress shirt.
“Thanks, sugar.” She folded and then tucked the cash into her purse.
He looked over his shoulder at her. “So how about you get that sweet, fifty dollar ass of yours over here?”
She followed willingly and when they stopped, stood face to face with him. The stink of cheap perfume smacked him in the face and his stomach muscles tightened. His voice roughened.
“Turn around. I want to do you from behind.”
She turned slowly and snuggled her ass up against him.
His body responded instantly to the warm, curvy feel of her.
He smoothed her perfect blond hair behind her ears, lifted it off her neck and pushed it to one side. Massaging the nape of her neck, he leaned in and whispered in her ear.
“There you go, love. Just loosen up, I’ll handle everything. Close your eyes.”
With each small circle his hands made, he felt her body relax a little more.
“You like that?” He kept his voice deep and hypnotic, maintained his gentle, steady movements.
“Oh, yes, sugar, I do. Mmmm, that feels wonderful, but I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”
“Don’t worry, love, my turn will come. Stay real still for me.”
He let go of her neck, instantly missed the warm feel of her skin, and a low grunt escaped his lips. The smooth sound of metal sliding against metal as he unzipped his pants echoed in the empty alley.
“Condom time.” The woman reached for her small handbag and he grabbed her arm roughly. He felt her tense.
“Not yet, love. I’ll tell you when you’ll need that.” Letting go of her arm, he repeated, “Stay still like I asked.”
His hands resumed their steady, soothing massage and he felt her body go lax once more. He stroked her neck while his fingers encircled it, keeping the pressure slow and erotic. She tilted her head back, allowing him further access.
It was time for her to earn her money.
He tightened his grip on her neck. She tried to wiggle free, but failed. Gagging harshly, she clutched at his wrists. His grasp tightened as he began rubbing himself against her backside, kneading and squeezing her neck firmly. When she began to struggle in earnest, he kept his grip on her neck with one long fingered hand and bent her forward, roughly yanking up her skirt with the other. He pulled down her panties and jammed inside her, holding her hip with one hand and crushing her throat with the other.
Gasping for air, she began to fight harder to break free, driving his excitement to a new high. Her movements were frantic as she clawed at his hands, his arms.
“That’s right, love. Fight me. That’s what I like.” His voice had gone raspy. “I told you you’d love it. Now, you’re earning your money.”
Her frenzied movements slowed against him, and he felt his climax begin, deep in his belly, exploding as she gasped her last breath.
He tipped his head up and moaned loudly as he spilled himself
into her body.
When he was satisfied that she was dead, he let her limp, inert body drop to the ground with a thud, grimacing at the urine and something darker that splattered the ground when she fell.
Taking a quick step back, he tucked himself away, zipped his pants and buckled his belt before using one loafer clad foot to roll her over.
Holding his hands in front of his face, he studied them for a moment, first one side and then the other. The power he had over life and death was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Bending over her body, he used his hanky to slip an envelope inside her skimpy halter top. He smoothed her hair back into place, and then snapped a picture of her with his small digital camera. He’d print two copies. One for himself. One for his soon-to-be new best friend. He picked up her tiny purse and tucked it into his back pocket.
Before turning to leave he took a lingering last look at her body. Her eyes, frozen in death, stared blankly up at him. Could she still see him? Strangely fascinated, he leaned in to get a closer look.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “The eyes die last.”
HOMICIDE DETECTIVES KENNEDY O’BRIEN AND WILDER ‘WILD THING’ JAMES STOOD SILENTLY OVER THE DEAD HOOKER’S BODY
. It had been found discarded behind a dumpster. Her body, already beginning to bloat, lay face up, her film-covered eyes staring blankly at the neon-hazed night.
The dead woman had been around five feet tall and weighed, maybe, a hundred pounds—if you added rocks to her pockets. She was dressed in skimpy, cheap-looking Hookers ‘R’ Us attire, complete with four-inch, stiletto-heeled, fuck-me-for-the-right-price shoes.
Kennedy leaned over and shooed greedy flies away from the dead woman’s slack face with a quick wave of her hand. A face that still held a look of shock and, she imagined, maybe a little regret.
Against the gray mask of death, the dead woman’s thick, colorful make-up appeared garish. Streaks of glittery purple eye shadow flowed into rivers of dark mascara. Fire-engine red lipstick had seeped into the fine lines around her mouth.
Wilder looked the body over, and ran his hand through his hair. “Looks like her business deal didn’t exactly go the way she planned.”
Kennedy shook her head, her voice almost a whisper. “Turning tricks in a dark alley? Christ, don’t they ever learn?”
“She chose the life. And you and I know it usually ends badly.”
“I know, I know. Still doesn’t make it right. The killer dumped her behind a damned pile of garbage.”
“What? You goin’ all soft on me, Kenny?” Kennedy flipped him off in reply.
“Guess not,” Wilder chortled. “Let’s get CSU in here and check out the scene.”
Kennedy made the call, then circled the body with Wilder and walked the area until the CSU team arrived.
Fifteen minutes later, Kennedy scooted back to let the Crime Scene Analysts work with the body. A camera clicked and hummed as a forensic photographer snapped pictures of the murder scene and the victim from every conceivable angle.
Techs armed with Luminol and ultra-violet lights looked for hidden blood. Loud curses floated out from the fetid-smelling dumpster, echoing over a three
block radius. The two techs inside it were sorting and bagging trash in large, clear evidence bags.
“Detectives.” Mandi Clifton, a six year Metro Crime Scene Analyst, joined Kennedy and Wilder. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
Kennedy nodded in agreement.
“Hi, Mandi. We haven’t seen you around for a while. Been hiding out?”
She shifted her grip on her kit. “I just got back from a two week cruise to Alaska. Unfortunately for me, it’s time to get back to the salt mines.”
“The wife is always trying to get me on a cruise ship. Fat chance of that.” Wilder laughed and swiped a hand over the thin line of sweat trickling down the side of his face. “Bet it was a hell of a lot cooler in Alaska.”
“It was definitely cooler in Alaska. I wish I could have stayed until this heat wave is over.”
The forensic photographer motioned he was finished with the body. Kennedy thought he’d snapped enough pictures to wallpaper a large bathroom before moving on in search of other evidence to photograph.
“Got the night shift this month, Mandi?”
She put her kit on the ground next to the body. “Yeah, Wilder, I do. But, to tell you the truth, with this heat wave I’m not minding it so much.”