~ Figure 8 ~

by

Tammy Riviere

“Call me Lover,” he demanded.

“Lover?” she asked.

“You heard me. Call me Lover, because that’s what you’re getting, baby. The best lover you’ll ever have, because you are a whore. There’s nothing lower than that, you know that, don’t you?”

She was quiet and he couldn’t see her in the dark, but he thought he heard her whimper and he could smell her fear; it was thick.

“You’re the one…”

“Yes.” He laughed harshly not letting her finish. “The one who killed your prostitute friend. Did you know she liked it rough? Just like you did, baby?”

“Sorry, but you’re mistaken.” She tried pushing him away.

“You’re not allowed to make mistakes, baby. You have to get it right the first time, and everyone knows whores don’t ever get it right, do they?” he shoved her back hard against the wall. “We’re not finished, baby. Actually, we’re just beginning.” He plunged himself inside of her again, hurting her and she let out a cry. He clamped his hand over her mouth, stifling her cries. “Just for that you’re getting it harder, baby. You’re misbehaving and I don’t like women that misbehave, but of course, you can’t help yourself, can you? You’re just a whore,” he whispered harshly in her ear.

Fourteen

Andre leaned back in his chair and scanned the computer screen. He was looking for something, anything to grab his attention.

“What are you doing here on a Sunday?” Pete stuck his head in the doorway of his office.

Andre sighed and glanced at Pete. “Surfing the Net.”

“You’re actually using that thing?” Pete gestured toward the computer and entered his office. An American flag decorated his t-shirt and a fraction of his belly showed over a pair of cargo khaki shorts that stopped right at his knees.

“Yeah,” Andre answered. Instead of hiring more employees, they got computers, compliments of the President of the United States, who believed that training cops to do computer work would be both more cost effective and productive.

“What are you looking for?” Pete stood behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“Looking for something on the figure eight that the son of a bitch burns on the inside of the victim’s thighs.”

“Good idea. Anything so far?”

“Not much of anything … rope tying, auto racing, figure skating, a name of a band, and a friggin’ island.”

“An island? No fooling?” Pete asked behind him.

“Yeah, Figure Eight Island,” Andre said.

“Interesting.” Pete circled the desk away from Andre, then sank down in the chair across from him. “How did it go last night?”

Andre knew that was coming. He shrugged, his attention still drawn to the computer. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Pete frowned, obviously disappointed.

“What do you want? Incredible? Mind blowing?” Andre looked at Pete.

Pete shifted in his chair. “Well, something a hell of a lot more descriptive than just ‘okay’. That’s for sure.”

Andre arched an eyebrow.

“You didn’t bang her, did you?” Pete asked after awhile.

“Man, you’re friggin’ unbelievable.” Andre shook his head. “Did I ask you if you banged your wife last night? No. I respect your and Sarah’s privacy.”

Pete grimaced. “You could ask me if I banged my wife last night--I don’t mind. In fact, I’ll tell you point blank. Sarah and I had some incredible sex last night, the best ever. Man, I’m getting an erection just thinking about it.”

Andre couldn’t help but grin. “Man, you’re some piece of work, you know that?”

Pete grinned and scratched himself. “I had her feeling so good she was howling like a coyote. Scared the crap out of me.”

“Okay, man, whatever, just spare me the details.” Andre didn’t feel like envisioning his best friend and his wife having sex.

Pete smiled and leaned back in the chair.

“What are you doing here on a Sunday, anyway?” Andre asked.

“Paper work. I’m up to my ass in it.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

Pete rose. “Well, I got to go. Keep plugging and pass by my office when you leave.”

“Right,” Andre said, his attention divided between the computer monitor and Pete walking out of the door. He scrolled down for more figure eight sites and was about to pack it in and go home, when he caught sight of something interesting, very interesting indeed. The Hide & Seek, Peek-A-Boo Club. What the hell was that?

The captain hadn’t had time to get the computers censored and as soon as he clicked onto the website, pictures of beautiful, partially naked women flashed before his eyes. Are you lonely? Need someone to talk to? Someone to love? For just a small fee, we’ll fulfill your every desire. “Would you look at that?” he said under his breath, his heart soaring through the roof.

He was about to do more clicking when Pete burst into his office. “Man, we gotta go. They found another dead body.”