Chapter 21 starts with Carole Lombard and a total lack of words.
Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.
Carol Lombard had no words. They were all gone. Drained out of her body with everything else. She managed to utter some mid range, feral moans, but they couldn’t be classified as words. Her arched, glistening body became limp, and she fell forward against Ray. Luckily, her breasts cushioned the contact. No one was injured.
Her skin was wet and musky. She tried to say something, but her mouth was dry as hot desert air. Carol feared her tongue would stick against her palate. She closed her mouth to conserve moisture, and breathed heavily through her nostrils.
She rested. After five or six seconds, a misguided dread of hyperventilation caused her to throw open her lips and gulp air. She finally settled into a rhythmic breathing pattern. Ray was stroking her back during the entire descent.
Carol’s gums dampened and she made another stab at conversation. Her tongue made clicking sounds, while she performed exaggerated chewing motions to try to rid herself of the cotton that had somehow grown in her mouth. She closed up again and became quiet. At least the respiration remained normal. She tried to speak one more time and finally succeeded. “Baby, that was worth waiting for... That was memorable.”
Ray, still stroking her, and trying to conquer his own pins and needles, said, “That may be the only thing I’ve done right in the last two weeks.”
Carol remained on top of Ray, neither one wanting to waste additional precious energy. Both fell into a deep stupor. At some point during the night, Ray turned; Carol slid off and their bodies laid dormant, regenerating, leaning against each other.
Ray awoke, eye to big round nipple. He panicked for a second, actually thought he had died and gone to heaven. After a moment, he recalled the prior night’s adventure, and rolled to his back.
The stir roused Carol. She scooched closer to Ray and half mounted him again, then immediately fell back into unconsciousness. Ray let her sleep for another twenty minutes, then gently shook her. “Carol honey, I have to go to a funeral.”
Carol Lombard came to her senses the fourth time Ray shook her. It took some additional focusing before she fully understood what he was saying. Finally, she asked, “Should I go with you?”
Grandisha had escaped to the edge of the bed and was sitting erect. He started bending to make sure everything worked. Carol repeated the question from a prone position. Ray, still sitting, turned and answered, “No. This is a personal and department thing.” He twisted his upper torso, grimaced at the bone popping sounds, and continued, “I told you about her, her name’s Margie Grenk, you met her. She was with me and the guy I fired.”
“Her husband was the one killed at the bar?”
“Yes, he was. I think it would be better if I went alone.”
Chapter 21
Carol Lombard had no words. They were all gone. Drained out of her body with everything else. She managed to utter some mid range, feral moans, but they couldn’t be classified as words. Her arched, glistening body became limp, and she fell forward against Ray. Luckily, her breasts cushioned the contact. No one was injured.
Her skin was wet and musky. She tried to say something, but her mouth was dry as hot desert air. Carol feared her tongue would stick against her palate. She closed her mouth to conserve moisture, and breathed heavily through her nostrils.
She rested. After five or six seconds, a misguided dread of hyperventilation caused her to throw open her lips and gulp air. She finally settled into a rhythmic breathing pattern. Ray was stroking her back during the entire descent.
Carol’s gums dampened and she made another stab at conversation. Her tongue made clicking sounds, while she performed exaggerated chewing motions to try to rid herself of the cotton that had somehow grown in her mouth. She closed up again and became quiet. At least the respiration remained normal. She tried to speak one more time and finally succeeded. “Baby, that was worth waiting for... That was memorable.”
Ray, still stroking her, and trying to conquer his own pins and needles, said, “That may be the only thing I’ve done right in the last two weeks.”
Carol remained on top of Ray, neither one wanting to waste additional precious energy. Both fell into a deep stupor. At some point during the night, Ray turned; Carol slid off and their bodies laid dormant, regenerating, leaning against each other.
Ray awoke, eye to big round nipple. He panicked for a second, actually thought he had died and gone to heaven. After a moment, he recalled the prior night’s adventure, and rolled to his back.
The stir roused Carol. She scooched closer to Ray and half mounted him again, then immediately fell back into unconsciousness. Ray let her sleep for another twenty minutes, then gently shook her. “Carol honey, I have to go to a funeral.”
Carol Lombard came to her senses the fourth time Ray shook her. It took some additional focusing before she fully understood what he was saying. Finally, she asked, “Should I go with you?”
Grandisha had escaped to the edge of the bed and was sitting erect. He started bending to make sure everything worked. Carol repeated the question from a prone position. Ray, still sitting, turned and answered, “No. This is a personal and department thing.” He twisted his upper torso, grimaced at the bone popping sounds, and continued, “I told you about her, her name’s Margie Grenk, you met her. She was with me and the guy I fired.”
“Her husband was the one killed at the bar?”
“Yes, he was. I think it would be better if I went alone.”
“Okay baby, whatever you say,” Carol whispered as she began to approach drowsiness again. Before dropping off, she silently commended herself for not adding, “You mean the woman you locked yourself in the bathroom with”
Grandisha stood and headed to the shower. When he returned, he was all groom and polish. Ray donned a black pinstripe suit, white shirt, and black tie, then prepared to leave. He tried bending over the bed to kiss Carol goodbye. The spotted, damp linen seemed to jump at his near pristine outfit. He avoided the attack, but wasn’t able to reach his girlfriend. As he was leaving the bedroom, he said, “You’d better burn these sheets. They can’t be saved.” Carol’s mind didn’t register the remark. She was deep in slumber again.
The funeral and reception were well attended. Most of the Police brass and City and County politicians made appearances. Three quarters of Ray’s team, by design. Someone had to run the store. Relatives, friends, well-wishers, and curiosity seekers. It was all very solemn. Margie remained attractively stoic, but human, through it all. The children followed her lead. Her strength and composure guided them over this worst of times.
Ray offered his condolences again, as the luncheon was ending. They were alone, separated from the remaining guests; he said, “You decide when you’re ready to come back to work.” Margie answered, without pause, “I’ll be in tomorrow morning, ready to work.”
The Detective Bureau, after the funeral, resembled a pimp’s convention. Almost everyone dressed to the gills. Real life, gritty detectives were like mobsters. They loved fine clothes. Ray’s team was made up of real life, gritty detectives.
Margie’s tragedy gave them an occasion to parade the really good stuff. No one passed up the opportunity to grace the department, Ray included. The work wasn’t affected. It never was.
As mourners were bidding goodbye to Jason Grenk with the funeral meal, Ricardo and Richard were eating lunch in the raucous school cafeteria. They were alone. Old friends had fallen by the wayside during their rise to power. New toadies hovered nearby, prepared to fetch at a second’s notice.
The school atmosphere was no longer affected by the recent slayings. Teens had fleeting interest in newspapers and never listened to non music radio programs. There was no more talk of murderous bands roving the streets. Students were scattered throughout the hall in cliques, concentrating on their own immediate agendas.
The two “Big” men were discussing their plans to test drive each whore they were going to acquire, giggling like little boys. Both paused periodically to scan other classmates, mostly young girls. Each time a striking female came into view, the giggles became lewd snickers.
Richard’s old girlfriend, Bobbie, sat four tables over, in the middle of other young girls. All of them laughing and talking at the same time. She was wearing a short skirt, displaying attractive legs. Bobbie hadn’t yet learned to position herself, at all times, to avoid prying eyes.
Ricardo’s angle of view allowed him to occasionally ogle glimpses of white skin under Bobbie’s table. Other bodies, milling from group to group, blocked his sight, more often than not. He gave up his sleazy attempt to cop a peak and returned his attention to his partner. The question ran from Ricardo’s lips. “What ever happened to your old girlfriend, Bobbie?”
The Kid feigned surprise. “Didn’t you hear? I made her go down on me a couple weeks ago at the drive in. I slapped her around a little bit. She fell right in line. She’s gonna work for us. As soon as we take over.” Richard thought for a few seconds and decided to add more. “She’s still a virgin. I think we’ll auction her ass off the first time.”
Morales gestured with a nod of his head, “How come she’s sitting over there, and never says anything to us?”
Sparne turned slightly, saw her out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to make it obvious. “Are you kidding? Those were my orders to her. I told her, ‘when we’re at school, pretend like we don’t know each other. I don’t want those other punks to know our business.’ But she’s always just a phone call away.... I had her blow me a couple nights ago. To keep her in practice.”
Ricardo saw no reason not to believe him. It made sense. It was what he would have done. He nodded his head in admiration. “Has she got nice tits?”
“She’s got tits that won’t quit.”
Morales was still nodding his head. “Maybe I’d better try her out. Would you give her a call and tell her I have to inspect her?”
“Sure. I was going to anyway. Next couple of nights.”
Sparne believed what he was saying. He enjoyed what he was saying. Nevertheless, he wanted to change the subject. “What ever happened to that girl you knocked up? Wasn’t there some kind of trouble?”
Ricardo postured. “Yeah. At first, before we got connected. I had a fucking lawyer and everything. They wanted me to pay for the stupid little bitch getting pregnant.”
The Kid flashed a dour look. “You’re gonna pay for something like that?”
“No. I went to see the asshole lawyer last week. I set him straight. Nobody’s gonna pay anything. As soon as we take over, Mr. Moffit’s gonna call the judge.”
Sparne liked this discussion more than the exchange about Bobbie. He continued prodding. “Any problems at the lawyer’s office?”
Morales hesitated, then decided it was time for payback. “Yes. I did have a little problem. The fucking lawyer’s bitch secretary gave me no respect. I almost slapped her tits and did her on the floor. I probably should have. She was lucky other people came in the office... No respect what-so-ever.”
Richard jumped in, “You can’t let people treat you with no respect. Especially bitches. Maybe we’d better teach her a lesson.”
Ricardo was pumped. “You’re right. I can’t let this go by without doing something. She has to pay. She’s a good looking bitch, too. After we’re done with her, maybe we can put her to work for us.”
Richard agreed, “That’s not a bad idea. This is something that should be taken care of quickly, like within the next couple of nights. Maybe tonight.”
Ricardo asked, “Should we get the okay from Mr. Moffit first?”
“No. The last time I talked to him, he said we were so close to taking over, that we should be ready to act on our own.”
“Good.... I don’t know her name. How are we gonna find her?”
“We’ll go to the office and follow her home. We’ll fuck her in her own bed. If she’s married, we’ll make her fucking husband watch.”
“Should we bring anybody else?” Ricardo asked.
Richard decreed, “No. This is personal, not business. You and I should do it alone.”
Ricardo was elated. The insult would be avenged. He forgot about inspecting Bobbie, for now, and began concentrating on the bitch secretary. He would make her pay.
The school bell rang, and, out of habit, they scurried off to class. Immediately after classes ended, they intended to pay a visit to a certain lawyer’s office.
Cahan spent the entire day of Jason Grenk’s funeral reviewing his plan. Half the time rejecting it. Half the time committed to it. Very few legal things were accomplished. Luckily it was a slow day.
Gina was caught up on everything and was trying to create busy work. At three in the afternoon, she went into Regis’ office and begged for something to do. He had hidden his concern over Ricardo Morales from her. She seemed to have forgotten yesterday’s fears and was back to her wonderful self. Cahan told her that she could take the rest of the day off.
She appreciated the time off. Her youngest child was celebrating a birthday the following evening, and, in a fit of parental largesse, Gina had agreed to host a party of twenty of her daughter’s nearest and dearest little friends. 5:30 P.M. sharp. The extra time today would just about allow her to have everything ready for tomorrow.
Gina hit her front door and began a whirlwind of cleaning. Parties somehow caused the dust motes and other dirty little things to appear en masse.
Cahan stayed in his office until six. He wrote the note fourteen different times before he was finally satisfied. It was very simple. Simple was always best. He practiced passing it and felt silly. But it had to be done. When he felt comfortable, he left for the “Fine Time.” As he pulled from the parking lot onto the highway, he failed to notice Sparne and Morales lurking in the shadows.
Ricardo nudged Sparne. “That’s the lawyer.” They were sitting in Sparne’s father’s car, waiting for the bitch to walk out. The Kid looked around and said, “Where in the fuck is the secretary? Are you sure you didn’t miss her?”
“I’m positive. I’ll never forget her dumb little face. Maybe she didn’t work today.”
Sparne agreed, “You’re probably right. Are you sure they close at five?”
“That’s what she always said on the phone when I had to come in for an appointment.”
“Alright. We can do it tomorrow. Call during the day to make sure she’s there.”
Ricardo nodded, “Okay. Tomorrow we’ll do the bitch.”
Sparne started the car and pulled into traffic. “Let’s get a hamburger somewhere and go to Mr. Moffit’s house. Don’t mention doing the secretary. He’s got more important things on his mind.”
Ricardo nodded again. Avenging his honor was all he was thinking about.