A Satyr In Full Ch. 2

"Kevin, if you had been there, you would understand, he's so strong…it wasn't rape it was…what is the word?…possession," she said. She knew her fate but played out the scene.

I tried to remain low key. "So you're saying that I should go see him. Find out what all the fuss is about. That sounds perfectly reasonable. Are you in love with him?"

"No," she said. "I love you. Only you." She didn't believe it. I didn't believe it. As long as we were in agreement I was cool.

"Good. I understand. Get on your clothes, we're going for a ride."

It wasn't until we were out of the city limits, in the woods that surround the city, that Irena registered she might be in trouble. I had handcuffed her and placed her in the back of my faded blue Crown Victoria.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked. I didn't answer.

"If you're going to kill me, do it quick, one shot—POW!—just like that, OK? Shoot me in the head too, I don't want to linger too long…Did I ever tell you about my brother Oleg? He was in the mafiya. He told me one time about these drunk motherfuckers, they played Russian roulette, when it came to the last bullet in the chamber, it didn't go off, the bullet was dud, so they went to the aluminum smelting factory…" she didn't shut the fuck up until I made the unfamiliar turn towards the beach. She was now in official panic mode.

"Kevin, you love me, you broke the rules for me, you throw all that away?" I didn't answer. Exhaustion and stress had been responsible for my mistakes in Moscow; I was determined to not let that happen again.

I had picked the old Ford as my primary vehicle from the motor pool because it looked less like an undercover cop car than surplus from the Blues Brothers. However, among the stately homes of Lenox Beach my cruiser was as conspicuous as midnight is black. I found the Crane residence in a cul-de-sac of three mansions with their back to the ocean breeze.

With some effort I unhandcuffed Irena and pulled her out of the back of the car. The encouragement of my service revolver hustled her up the marble steps. Hidden behind Irena, she stood in front of me to ring the bell. Tim answered the door in a silk scarlet bathrobe half-open. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Hey baby, don't you think it's a little early to party?" he said. His breath smelled of sour mash.

I pushed Irena into a surprised Tim, my gun in hand. They began to back into the palatial living room. "I'll try to make this short," I said. "She's yours. Have a ball. If you come down to the station I'll give you your tapes back. And oh yeah, don't forget to feed her only three times a day, she fucks better hungry."

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