Rough Cut Ch. 10

Gilbert Avenue was always quiet in the early evening - it was more of a late night neighborhood. It was too close to downtown Cincy for young families with kids, and too run down for anyone else except the stubborn residents who refused to be pushed out and those who couldn’t afford any better. Like Moe.

So it wasn’t the lack of noise that prickled the back of Moe’s neck when he slammed the door of his Buick and strode to the front door of his home and office. It wasn’t the smashed jack-o-lantern that Netty Scottsdale had set out just yesterday. And it wasn’t his front door hanging cracked open. It was the sight of a nurse uniform, as he walked through the door, lying on the floor of his office. Right where Mona had dropped it the night before.

Moe’s body kicked into high alert. Trying to be absolutely quiet, he held his breath and inched his way to his desk. His Roscoe was camped in the second drawer. Moe had learned a long time ago that some people were a lot more likely to talk if they didn’t think they were being forced into a conversation. A heater, hanging from his shoulder like a fireplug, could scare a canary’s lips shut. So the gun stayed at home in the desk on most occasions.

He eased open the drawer and stuck a paw inside. The Roscoe was exactly where he’d left it. He glanced around the room. Nothing was out of place. Yet Moe’s gut still churned. The atmosphere didn’t feel right – like maybe the Halloween spirits were hanging around. Moe sneaked through the hallway, edging along the wall and forcing his shadow to hang close. He kept his ears open for any sound that shouldn’t be there. But he heard nothing except his own beating heart. He paused for a moment before turning the corner into the back room. Still there was nothing. With gun in hand, loaded and ready, he swung around the corner. He wasn’t prepared for what he found.

Mona Dale was completely naked and bound to a chair. Her head sagged like a corpse’s. Her mouth was gagged. Her bare white skin was tinted blue by the evening lights. Moe immediately thought of Opal Thompson, and that this was some weird sex thing. Except this was different. With Opal, everything had been for pleasure. Mona’s slumped posture told Moe this was no game. A shudder ran up his back. Thick rope criss-crossed Mona’s chest, wrapped around her waist, and held her arms and legs immobile. Her normally alabaster skin was red-welted where the rope had pinched her.

Moe quickly scanned the room, looking for a trap. There was nothing. Whoever had done this had gagged Mona with an undershirt, but she was alone now. Moe tucked away his Roscoe and undid the gag from Mona’s bruised mouth. He patted her cheek. “Mona, honey? Can you hear me?” Moe hadn’t realized how hard his heart was pounding until Mona peered up at him through glassy, green eyes. He took a deep breath.

“Moe.” Her lips were dry and cracked, and her voice was hoarse.

Moe sighed with relief and tried a smile. “You got some kinky practices I should know about, doll?”

But Mona didn’t return the smile. She was waking up enough to remember to be scared. Her eyes sprang open and darted around the room. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone, baby. It’s just you and me.” Moe worked at the knots, loosening them before carefully removing the bounds. Rope burns circled Mona’s ankles and wrists like a macabre set of jewelry. Blood spotted the worst of the abrasions.

“I didn’t think you’d ever get back.” She threw her arms around his neck, but she was as weak as foal with no strength to stand.

Moe leaned down, lifted her up into his arms, and cradled her close to his body. She buried her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I didn’t know you were waiting,” Moe said. He expected tears. Lots of them. He figured she’d earned the right, but she only let loose a hiccup. He carried her to the bed and sat down on its edge, Mona safe on his lap. She shivered, and Moe yanked the bedspread around her shoulders.

“Are you okay, Mona?”

“I don’t know,” she mewed softer than a kitten. No one could be immune to such a sound. Moe hugged her closer.

He petted her hair and pushed strands of it away from her eyes. Her face was as white as paste, except for the marks leftover from the gag. She stared at him, her eyes more focused, and her jaw clenched. He could see the shock, almost taste its bitter tang, creeping over her face. He just wanted to hold her and make everything better. Moe surely didn’t want to rush her, or push her over the edge she was clinging to, but he needed to know the details.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he aksed.

“That guy, Rolf ...”she swallowed and licked her lips. “... it was him. The scar on his face was just like the sales clerk told me.”

Moe was thinking about the prostitute Lily Mae and the brutality she had faced at the hands of Rolf Metzger. That low-life didn’t deserve to breathe the air of civilized people. “Did he hurt you, Mona?”

“He surprised me as I was washing in the sink. He grabbed me from behind.” Her eyes lowered. “I thought it was you.” Her face was as easy to read as a schoolbook primer. She struggled with the emotions - fear and anger. Moe let her take her time.

“He held a knife to my neck and r-ran his hands ...” She shivered again and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “He had the rope around his waist, like he was expecting to use it,” she choked out.

“Take your time, baby,” he whispered.

“He tied me to the chair and rattled off things he would like to do with me, if he weren’t in a hurry.” She glanced up at Moe. “Then he told me to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Yes, he said you were snooping close to someone who would eat you for breakfast, so back off. Then he gagged me and ...” She looked down. Moe followed her gaze. Her pubic hair had been raggedly cut. Some spots so short her skin was visible. Like a ewe sheared with a broken pair of scissors.

Mona pushed off Moe’s lap and hurried to the sink. She twisted the faucets until the water flowed full stream. She snatched the Palmolive and furiously scrubbed her naked skin. Starting at the top, she worked her way down until her whole body glowed like a ripe tomato. Moe watched, sick at his stomach and feeling as impotent as a hobo in line at a soup kitchen. When she’d finished, he grabbed his bathrobe and insisted she put it on. It was like putting a Band-Aid on bullet wound, but at least it was something.

“I should get going,” Mona said, a hint of her old confidence returning.

Moe had his arms around her. He squeezed a little tighter. “I’d like you to stay,” he said.

“I can’t, Moe. I have to go.”

The telephone ringing kept them from discussing it further. Moe would have let it ring to hell and back, but he had to answer. He knew it was Sammy, and Sammy wasn’t the type to call back. He could not risk missing out on a clue, especially now that the stakes had risen a little higher.

“Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He hurried to the front office and picked up the phone. He kept half an eye toward the hallway as he talked.

“Hello.”

“Moe?”

“Yeah, Sammy. It’s me. What do you got?”

“What do I get for it?”

“The usual, Sammy, left in the locker at Union Station.”

“This might be worth a little more.”

“Give it to me and we’ll see.”

“The plate you asked about, S1659, belongs to Karl Boch.”

“Councilman Boch?”

“The one and only.”

Moe bit his tongue. Mona was moving around in the back room. He’d have to go or she’d try to leave. There was no way he would let her out of his sight right now. “Yeah, Sammy, it’s worth an extra fin.”

“When do I get my money, Moe?”

“You’ll get it tomorrow, don’t worry. Look, Sammy, I’ve got something going here. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I want my fifteen bucks, Moe.”

“You’ll get it, Sammy. I’ve never welshed on you, have I? Catch you later.”

Mona stepped in the front room, still wearing Moe’s robe. “What about Councilman Boch?” She looked damn good in plaid flannel.

The timing was lousy for this type of conversation, and Moe knew it. But discussing city politics might help Mona get her mind off of the ordeal with Metzger. “What do you know about the councilman?”

“Not much,” she said. “The newspapers call him an isolationist.”

“I’ll say. He’s a member of America’s First Committee.”

Mona made her way to Moe’s desk. She leaned against it and crossed her arms. “Isn’t that Lindbergh’s group?”

“Lindbergh’s been peddling that isolation theory ever since he got back from Germany. I don’t trust the man.”

“You think he’s a Nazi?”

“I don’t know. But I do know any man who would support a country persecuting the Jews like the Germans have been isn’t a hero in my book.”

Mona nodded. “But what’s Boch got to do with Lindbergh?”

“They were pals enough to let a newsie snap their picture for the Cincinnati Enquirer the last time Lindbergh was in town.”

“You think Boch is up to something? With the Nazis?” Her eyes regained a little of their sparkle. If it weren’t for the outward physical signs, a man would never know she’d had a rough time of it. The rope burns were still fresh, but she was dishing politics like a champ.

“You’re some woman, Mona.”

Color rose in her cheeks, a healthy flush that looked a whole lot better on her than the sickening pale of before. “Nice of you to notice,” she quipped.

“Kind of hard to miss, doll.”

The flush deepened and spread down her neck, disappearing under the flaps of his bathrobe. He couldn’t have stopped the stirring in his cock if he’d tried. But that wasn’t what prompted his thinking. He wanted her around, just to know she was okay. “I want you to stay here tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She smiled a smile that Moe hadn’t seen since the night before. It still looked good on her. “I want to stay, Moe. But I don’t want to sleep alone.”

It was all the encouragement Moe needed. He picked her up and pulled her close, cradling her like he had done before. She reminded him of a fresh-hatched bird - fragile and needy, but alive and chirping. Her arms slid around his neck and he got a whiff of the soap lingering on her body and in her hair. He’d do better to think about business.

“Mona, about Metzger,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about Metzger.”

“We’ll call the police in the morning. You can identify the bum, and I can put the bug in their ear that he’s the creep who sliced and diced me.”

“Let’s talk about it in the morning, Moe,” she whispered against his neck. “I don’t want to think about him anymore.”

Moe let her have her way - for tonight, at least. He carried her to his bed and gently set her on the mattress. He tried to remember the last time a woman had slept in his bed two nights in a row. There was nothing to remember. This was a first. He tried to ignore the implications.

“Please, Moe, turn out the lights.”

His gut told him not to do it. She needed to know she was beautiful and nothing Metzger had done could change that. “Not on your life, doll. I aim to see every inch of you tonight.”

“But ...”

“No buts about it, baby. I’m going to look and look. You got everything a man wants to see.”

“You’re crazy, Moe.”

“I’ve been called worse. Now lie back and let me see the goods.”

Mona stretched out on the bed, and Moe took his time eyeing her from head-to-toe. It was time well spent. She was hesitant at first, trying to hide her nakedness with her hands, but her efforts were fruitless. Faint welts formed an ‘X’ across her chest, but the most damage was around her wrists and ankles. She’d cleaned away the blood, but her skin was still chafed and bruises were popping up on her everywhere. He’d get Metzger for that, of that he was certain, but for now, he’d put the lowlife out of his mind and concentrate on Mona. When she cupped a hand over her mons, it got Moe’s brain to working overtime.

“Wait right there, and don’t move.”

“Where are you going?”

“Shh. Just trust me, baby.”

“Don’t leave me, Moe.”

“I’m just gathering a few supplies. I’m not going far.”

“Supplies?”

Moe filled a bowl with warm water, grabbed his razor, his soap, and a towel, and made his way back to Mona. “Trust me.”

“Anytime someone says ‘trust me’ twice, they suddenly become untrustworthy,” she said.

“Cynical and gorgeous.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to shave your pussy.”

“What?!”

“You heard me, doll. I’m going to even it all out so it can grow back like it should.”

“Huh-uh. No, you’re not You’re liable to cut me.”

“I use this razor every day. It’ll be okay.”

“Moe ...”

“Consider it foreplay.”

“It’s not like any foreplay I know.”

“In that case, doll,” he said with a wink. “It’s time you learned.”

Moe dipped the soap in the water and turned it over in his hands until a full lather bubbled between his palms. “Open your legs, Mona.”

She watched him with saucer eyes like a child at a doctor’s office preparing for a shot. “I don’t know if I can, Moe.”

“Inch them apart a little at a time.” He tapped one of her knees and then the other. “Close your eyes if it helps.”

She closed her eyes and opened her legs a fraction, enough that Moe could fit his soap-drenched hand in the ‘Y’ of her legs. He cupped her, holding his hand motionless at first and then slowly began to rub circles. Her legs parted, more and more with each stir of his hand. He avoided dipping into her slit and just rubbed from her plump outer lips to the angle where groin met legs. He circled around and around, lathering every patch of the spiked tendrils of her remaining pubes. When warm water trickled along her crack, she let out a raspy moan, and her legs opened even further.

“Seriously, Moe. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything, just lie still and trust me, Mona.”

Moe rinsed his hands and dried them on the towel. The shaving part was easier than he had thought it would be. Mona didn’t move, the razor was sharp, and as a redhead, her pubic hair was soft and sparse. Eight short strokes later, and her pussy was bald.

Moe took a moment to admire his handiwork. Without hair, her labia bulged like proud centurions guarding her crimson slit.

“You have a freckle on your pussy.”

“I do not,” Mona panted.

“Yeah, you do. Right here.” Moe bent and kissed the small beige dot to the side of her slit. Goosebumps raised on her smooth, white skin. The smell of her, mixed with the smell of the soap, was as intoxicating as expensive wine. More so.

He nudged his nose along her slit and inhaled. It was unusual not to have tiny hairs tickling his nose, but he could get used to it. Especially with the ambrosia that was Mona. She was wet. Hot. Humid. Her legs trembled, and Moe pressed his hands against the back of her thighs, first for support, and then to encourage her to open her legs as far as they would go.

“Moe. Moe, what are you doing?”

“Getting to the flavor of you, babe. It’s long overdue.” Moe stuck his tongue hard in the slash of her cunt, but then wiggled it gently up and down. The first taste of her was like fresh-baked pie - sweet and warm and gooey. His tongue searched every nook, every cranny, every inch of smooth, velvet flesh before he settled his lips around the fig of her puss.

She jerked with the first suck, and Moe wrapped his arms tighter around her thighs. He pressed his lips to her columns of Venus and spoke, “I should have told you, doll, cream pie is my favorite dessert.” His words were mumbled, and she might not have understood, but Moe knew she got the message when she moaned a deep throaty moan that only excited women moan.

He rubbed his nose and his cheeks against her clean-shaven knoll and then sent his tongue back to work, licking her butter that was melting and dripping all over her sex. Little quivers commandeered the muscles in her legs as her pelvis bucked up to his mouth.

“Moe!”

He flattened his tongue and pressed hard against her clitoris. She rotated her hips against it. The quivers in her legs expanded to her entire lower body. He latched on tight and sucked the orgasm from her until the waves had passed and Mona’s juices were smeared over Moe’s face and every hairless inch of her pussy.

He waited, savoring her essence, until her breathing settled. Then reluctantly he moved from between her legs.

“Oh, Moe. I never dreamed it could be like that.”

“Like what, doll?”

“I didn’t know a man could use his mouth like that.”

“You didn’t seem to have any trouble using your mouth in the hospital.”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“I don’t know. It just seems it is.”

“Mona, there’s nothing like the sweet taste of woman, especially a dame like you who’s hot and sexy and responsive.”

“Should I return the favor?”

Moe had a hard-on, there was no denying that, and the thought of Mona’s cherry lips wrapped around it had its merits. But Moe could wait. He wanted to wait. This moment was all for her. “Maybe later. For now, just come here in my arms.”

“Why, Moe. You’re a softie,” she whispered.

“It’s only an illusion, doll. As a matter of fact, I’m hard as stone.”

* * *

In the wee small hours of the morning, before the sun had had a chance to make its way over the horizon, when Moe normally headed to Joe’s Diner for coffee and the daily news, he was instead reaching for the kitten beside him. She was warm and soft, and her smell on his fingers and face had haunted him all night. He ignored the thought that had been eating at him for the last hour - could he see a future with a broad who could talk politics, put herself on the line for his job, and still be so flaming hot that a man found it difficult to sleep beside her? Instead, he concentrated on the desire that had had a whole night to simmer. Forget about the future, his desire said. She was here now, and Moe wanted her.

She lay on her side, her silhouette pure female. Hourglass. He traced her curves: her shoulder, her hip, and the valley of her waist. He knew immediately when she awoke - her body tensed and then relaxed again with a sigh. Moe shifted until he spooned in behind her. Mona shimmied her backside closer to him, cushioning his cock in the crack of her ass.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Sure you did, Moe. But I’m glad.”

“You’re full of surprises, woman.”

“I’d rather be full from you,” she said.

Moe’s dick lurched, not only at her words, but also at the seductive way she said them. He was only too happy to oblige.

Maybe it was the heat of lust, or the pounding of his heart that rendered Moe deaf until it was too late. He had just pushed inside of her, his cock buried in her warm slot, and his arms wrapped around her chest, when they busted in. With guns in hand and badges flashing, Officer Harold Murphy, joined by two other lackies, stormed into the room.

The trio stopped short at seeing Moe and Mona coupled on the bed. Murphy’s wolf whistle pierced the room, and the two flunkies, with embarrassed smiles on their faces, took an uneasy step backward. Murphy, initially taut as a piano wire, stood at ease and removed his cap. “Excuse us, Miss Dale,” he said.

Moe’s prick shriveled in Mona’s cunt. “Murphy, what the fuck are you doing here?” he yelled.

Murphy ignored him and continued a half-hearted spiel to Mona. “We’re sorry to interrupt, Miss Dale, but…” Murphy glanced over at Moe and barely contained his grin. “I’ve been waiting for a long time to say something like this.”

“Get the fuck out of here, Murphy!” Moe demanded.

A triumphant smile busted its way across Murphy’s face. He looked Moe right in the eye and used his most officious voice. “Moe Gafferson, you are under arrest for the murder of Rolf Metzger.”