TnT Ch. 02

(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading, please keep this warning in mind.)

(This is the second of an eight-part series.)

Part Two

Leticia Covens stared at the scratched tabletop before her in the softly-lit dining room. While it lay within her own home, everything seemed alien, as if she had somehow stepped into someone else's body, someone else's life. In the three days since Kaylee had disappeared, she had harbored the dwindling hope that she would simply show up, smiling and safe, with lurid details of a weekend of trash-novel sex.

Instead, a phone call from Kaylee's mother had delivered the disheartening news. The woman had barely been able to speak, but she had not needed to; the obvious distress was all Leticia needed to hear to confirm the dark fears she had already begun to harbor.

"You okay, babe?"

Her husband's question made her frown. "Why the hell do you think I'd be okay?" she asked bitingly.

He grimaced, unsure of what to do or say. "Um . . . there's a detective here. You want me to tell him to come back later?"

Leticia sucked in a breath, face drawn. "No. Might as well do it now."

With a supportive hand upon his Leticia's shoulder, he husband departed. She heard him speaking to someone in the foyer, then footsteps across the tiled floor approaching closer.

"Mrs. Covens?"

She glanced up, brown eyes heavy. The man possessed dark skin and a short, military buzz, with features that combined Middle Eastern and Western heritage seated upon a frame which showed the results of an impressive amount of exercise. Leticia may have considered the man attractive if not for her current state. Her expression was one of dark resignation. The true reality of the situation had not yet hit her; following the initial flood of tears had come numbness, which yet lingered.

"I'm Detective Riaz Parande," the man said. "You obviously aren't in the best of moods right now, but I would appreciate anything you could tell me about Friday night."

Leticia nodded somberly. "I, uh, hope I can help you find . . . him," she said awkwardly.

Riaz placed a small digital recorder on the table and sat down across from her. "Detective Parande witness interview with Leticia Covens, friend of the deceased Kaylee Mills," he intoned professionally, then gave Leticia his attention. "So, Kaylee met someone that night?"

Leticia nodded. "Yeah, um . . . he was a white guy. About her age. Real pretty boy. Skinny, but built, too."

"Do you remember his name?"

She shook her head. "I, uh, sort of gave them space," she said, voice quavering. She sniffled suddenly. "I should'a stayed with her."

"You had no reason to suspect anything," Riaz told her, although his businesslike tone was less than reassuring. "Do you remember any other details about him? Hair color, style? Eye color? Height and weight?"

Leticia wrung her hands, staring at the recorder as she spoke. "Uh, he was, uh, about six feet tall. And, like I said, skinny but built. Like a swimmer, I guess. Black hair, kind'a all over the place. Shoulder length. That's about it."

The detective nodded. "Did he approach her?" he asked. "Was there any indication she already knew him?"

Leticia shook her head. "No, she didn't know him. She saw him sitting at the bar, and I guess she liked what she saw. Maybe gave him some eyes or something. Then he just sort'a . . . showed up at the table. Kaylee was, like, making a puddle already . . ." She snorted derisively. "God, that sounded bad."

"What time was this? When he approached her?"

She huffed. "Uh . . . maybe ten? Ten-thirty?"

"And, did she leave with him?"

Leticia nodded. "I got a text from her around midnight . . . saying they were going somewhere else."

His dark eyes studied her face. "Did she say where?"

"No."

"Did you hear from her after that?"

Leticia sniffled again, eyes suddenly glistening. "No," she answered in a strained voice.

Riaz eased back in the chair a moment, contemplating the woman's information. He took a small case from the breast pocket of his polo and slipped a business card free. "If you remember anything else, please give me a call."

Leticia nodded, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks. She neither spoke nor looked up as the man took up the recorder and left.

* * * *

"I don't understand," Riaz lamented as he met with his partner outside the medical examiner's office.

"Not something I usually hear you say," June replied as she unfolded her arms and pushed away from the wall. With her height, small breasts, and short curly hair, she looked almost like an effeminate man.

"Who the hell abandons their friend to a guy she just met in a nightclub?" he asked rhetorically.

June arched a slender brow. "Is that what happened?"

"Pretty much," Riaz confirmed. "Kaylee Mills goes to a nightclub with a friend, who ducks out after she picks up some pretty boy stud. Nothing but a text message after that. Poof! She disappears for three days until a bicyclist finds her body this morning."

June sighed. "Not too much to go on, obviously."

Riaz looked disgusted. "About as much to go on as a shadow on glass."

June indicated the large door beside her. "Maybe the ME will give us something more."

"I sure as hell hope so," grumbled Riaz as he pushed open the door.

* * * *

"Sorry, detectives, but I don't have much to give you beyond the basics," informed the doughty medical examiner. She faced them across a cold metal table upon which the unflattering corpse of the deceased lay, recently sutured after autopsy.

Riaz soured, glaring at the body as if it was keeping secrets from him. "Give us the basics, then."

"Cause of death was asphyxiation. She was strangled by some kind of very flexible fabric. Polyesther. Maybe a bed sheet or pillow case. Time of death was between two and four a.m. Saturday morning."

"Was she raped?" June asked.

The examiner cocked her head. "She had sex, that's for sure, but I can't say it was rape. It was, however, fairly rough, and prolonged. Found traces of human semen on her neck, but too little of it, and it was very contaminated. The presence of chemical residues suggests her body was washed post-mortem."

"So, the guy kills her, then washes her body before dumping it," Riaz mused with a deep frown.

"Suggests pre-meditation," June commented.

"Maybe. Or just a level head." He nudged his chin toward the examiner. "Anything else?"

"One thing," the woman said. "There were fibers beneath her toenails. Carpet fibers, from the looks of them. If I had a match, I could confirm a possible crime scene."

Riaz arched an eyebrow. "I'm assuming these are not exotic fibers?"

The examiner smiled wanly. "Unfortunately, no." Then she smiled crookedly. "But, based on the abundant amount of foreign chemicals, including a higher concentration of commercial cleaning agents than you would find in any home, I would say with a fair amount of certainty that the fibers came from a hotel or motel."

Riaz pursed his lips in thought. "Thank you, doctor."

Minutes later, Riaz and June headed down the hallway toward the doors to the outside. Riaz' face was even darker than his complexion normally provided.

* * * *

"Excuse me, are you the bartender who was working last Friday night?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Why?"

Riaz held up a photo. "Do you remember seeing this woman?"

". . . Seriously, man, a thousand chicks come in here every Friday night. If they ain't flashin' their tits to get free drinks, I don't pay attention to them."

"Are you sure? She came in around ten o'clock."

"Sorry, man. She's cute, but not hot enough to rate in my book."

"Thanks for your time."

* * * *

"You were the bouncer working last Friday night? Do you remember seeing this woman?"

". . . She don't stand out to me, dude."

"She left with a guy around midnight. Thick black hair. Pretty boy."

"Dude, you just described half the fuckers that come in here."

"Thanks for your time."

* * * *

Riaz slammed the door of the unmarked cruiser closed in disgust. Nostrils flared as he breathed, glaring through the windshield at the city outside. "Fucker's just going to get away with it," he muttered.

June gave her partner a worried look. "Why are you taking this one so seriously? How many homicides have you investigated over the past, what, twenty-three years?"

"Twenty four," replied Riaz through clenched teeth. "And yeah, I've probably been lead on a couple hundred murders. I don't know why this one's bothering me."

June considered her thoughts carefully for a moment before she spoke. "How old is Kitna?"

Riaz's brow furrowed deeply at the mention of his daughter. He cast a sidelong look at his partner. "What?"

June met the older man's look squarely. "Didn't she just turn twenty-two? Same age as the victim, right?"

Riaz opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. His defensive ire dissipated. "You think I'm projecting the circumstances of Kaylee Mills' death to my daughter's situation?"

June shrugged. "Just a thought. Kitna just had a hard breakup, right? You were telling me something about that a few weeks ago. Not much of a stretch to think your little girl might find herself feeling vulnerable, just like Kaylee Mills, and wanting to hook up with a stranger, just to feel like a desirable woman again."

Riaz's face reddened. "Hey."

June turned in her seat to face him. "I'm not saying she'd do that. But, as her father, and a career cop, and with this case . . . yeah, maybe you are projecting a little. But what do I know? I just made detective a few months ago."

Riaz glared for a moment longer, then lowered his gaze. He said nothing more, but had to admit that perhaps his still-new partner had a point.

* * * *

Thorne sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, remote in hand as he stared at the large flatscreen television upon the wall. A sly smile stretched his lush lips. "You gotta see this, Tal," he called.

His brother looked up from the counter in the spacious kitchen, cocking his head over a naked shoulder. "See what?"

Thorne chuckled. "Just . . . watch," he said, aiming the remote as he tapped the volume control.

The screen showed a video clip of a glossy black body bag being carted upon a gurney to a waiting ambulance. ". . . the body of twenty-two-year-old Kaylee Anne Mills was discovered early this morning by a man out for a bicycle ride. According to police, she had possibly been sexually assaulted, then brutally murdered by strangulation at some other location before her body was dumped here some time early Saturday morning."

Talon stared at the screen, slowly chewing the first bite of the sandwich he had crafted. He felt his heart palpitate.

The feminine voice-over continued. "Police are at a loss to determine the identity of Kaylee's murderer. She was last seen leaving the Burning Iguana at midnight Friday, with a man described as being around six feet tall, with pale skin, slender build, and dark hair. If you have any information regarding this case, please contact the police department at the number below . . . ."

Thorne cocked his head, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. "Cops don't have a fucking clue," he said.

Talon came around the breakfast bar and eased onto the couch beside his twin. He swallowed the bolus of food and licked his lips. "Seems that way," he agreed.

Thorne reached for one of two bottles of beer on the glass-topped coffee table before them. "Know what I'm thinking?" he asked before taking a swig.

The corners of Talon's mouth curled. He took another bite of the sandwich, chewed, swallowed. "We could do it again."

Thorne studied his brother's face in profile. "What was it like?"

Talon turned his attention to his twin. He did not have to ask his brother to clarify his question. He bit off another part of the sandwich, thinking before he responded. "The weirdest part was her eyes," he said at last. "I mean, she was begging the whole time, without saying anything, and then all of a sudden, there was this burst of blood and she wasn't looking at me anymore . . . that's when it hit me, really; she's dying. And then . . . just like that, she was gone. Just a body. All that . . . potential . . . I mean, whatever she could have been, it was just gone. We took it from her."

Thorne smiled slyly. "Is that what turned you on?"

Talon chuckled. "I dunno. Maybe. It was a serious power trip."

Thorne held his brother's gaze. "I wanna know what that's like," he declared, softly but firmly.

His brother took another bite of the sandwich, stared without interest at the screen as the latest weather report was unveiled. His mind was going through a hundred and more ideas and thoughts at the same time. "We'll have to be really careful," he said at last.

Thorne grinned. "I got an idea."

* * * *

A light rain had coated the downtown streets, making them shimmer beneath the soft orange street lights. Thorne had been a little disheartened at first, but the weather cleared quickly, and with the warmth of the season and the city, the balmy night returned.

He glanced to the clock on the dash of the SUV. It was just after ten-thirty, and from what Talon had told him after checking various forums online, this was the best time to find what he was looking for.

His eyes swept back and forth from one side of the street to the other as the vehicle rolled along just beneath the speed limit. Various closed-down businesses lined the street, with a few bars and seedy nightclubs interspersed, cheap neon signs advertising the local domestic favorites. It was a dilapidated part of town, with structures dating back to the forties and fifties. Thorne would not normally have found himself in such an area.

Movement caught his eye, and he slowed a bit as he passed a slightly plump Hispanic woman, clad in stretch pants a little too small for her frame. She sported abundant breasts beneath a round face that smiled tiredly, hopefully, at him. Thorne frowned at the woman's obvious muffin top, and kept rolling along.

Directing the SUV down a side street lined with post-war era houses, Thorne again spied movement ahead. This one was slender, almost too skinny, with curly, dyed blonde hair that seemed to have been inspired by an eighties music video. Her face was cute enough, he decided as he passed her. She caught his look and stopped walking, watching as Thorne slowed the SUV to a stop.

Yeah, that's it, babe, he thought maliciously as he watched the woman in the rear-view mirror. You need some money, right? Well, come and get it . . . .

Depressing the button on his console, Thorne lowered the passenger-side window as the girl approached. He figured she was in her late teens or early twenties. Pale skin sported lingering acne, but she had nice lips and wide, round eyes. Her features were somewhat Hispanic, but mostly white.

"Hey, what you up to?" she asked once she reached the window.

Thorne shrugged. "Looking for some fun. You?"

She smiled. "I could be some fun," she said.

He smiled and unlocked the door. "Get in. Let's go for a ride."

She pulled open the door and stepped in. "Whatever you want, baby."

Thorne directed the car down the street, noting the brief passage of a police sedan on a cross street ahead. He made sure to come to a full stop at the stop sign, watching the red tail lights of the cop car as it rumbled away on his left.

"Cool tat," the girl remarked, eyes wandering along Thorne's arm.

"Thanks. It was inspired by a great man."

"So, you ain't a cop, are you?" the girl asked.

Thorne chuckled. "No, I'm not," he said, looking her over as the SUV rolled forward.

The girl kept up her fake smile as she reached across the console and groped Thorne's crotch. Then she eased back and lifted up her T-shirt, showing small breasts. "Wanna touch me?"

Thorne reached across and cupped one of the girl's tits. A dark pink nipple pushed against his palm.

"So, what're you looking for?" the girl asked, more comfortable now that she was satisfied she had not been picked up by vice. "You want a blowjob, sex, what?"

Thorne shrugged his shoulders. "What's a hundred bucks gonna get me?"

Her smile suddenly became genuine. "Anything you want, sweetie. By the way, my name's Sylvia."

Thorne smiled upon her with all the detached affection of a predator in anticipation of a kill. "Thomas," he said.

* * * *

The girl didn't protest when Thorne informed her that he had a motel room they could go to, and in fact seemed relieved, even excited. Thorne assumed her apparent arousal was due to the promise of a hundred dollars; from what Talon had learned online, the going rate for most prostitutes in the area was around half that.

As he had done when picking up Kaylee, Thorne fumbled at the door before unlocking it, giving Talon the time to hide. Once the door was open, Thorne made the gallant gesture of stepping aside so the streetwalker could enter first. She batted her eyes at him as she stepped in, and immediately started pushing her shorts down off narrow hips.

"In a hurry?" Thorne asked as he closed the door.

Sylvia looked over her shoulder as she revealed her naked behind. "Just to get to it," she said, then actually blushed. "I'm kind'a horny. You're a pretty hot guy, you know."

Thorne dragged a cheap metal-framed chair from the little table by the window and placed it facing the end of the room's single bed. "Give me a show," he suggested.

Sylvia turned around, stepping out of her shorts. Naked from where the hem of her shirt stopped a few inches above her now naked sex to the tops of her scuffed old sneakers, she ran her hands up and down her body. Her pubic mound sported the shadow of dark stubble; it had been a day or so since she had last shaved. Still, her clitoris was prominent, encased in a fleshy hood framed by somewhat meaty outer labia.

"You wanna watch me play with my pussy?" she cooed, backstepping to the bed. She scooted back upon the covers and casually splayed her skinny legs wide.

Thorne stared. "Yeah. That turns me on," he said.

The girl smiled cattily, licking her fingertips as she supported herself on her other hand. Keeping her eyes on Thorne, she began massaging her fleshy pussy, making the lips flare out. A little wetness glistened in the light of the motel room lamps.

"I wanna see your dick," she whispered huskily.

He chuckled as he sat, and unbuttoned his jeans. As the prostitute continued to pleasure herself, Thorne unzipped the fly, lifted his hips, and pushed his jeans down his lean, muscular legs. His cock was already half-hard, hanging out over his smooth-shaved sacs.

"Oh, cool," the girl commented, drinking in the sight of Thorne's penis. "I never seen a guy who shaves down there."

"Like it?" he asked, casually stroking himself. He swelled to full thickness within a matter of moments.

"Mmm," she answered, then brought her hand to her face. She sucked on her middle finger, getting it wet, then settled it back between her legs. As Thorne watched, the girl pushed the moistened finger inside her tunnel, slowly easing it in and out. "You're seriously making me hot."

The prostitute's words, Thorne figured, were an act, although she seemed to be genuinely aroused on at least some level. Ultimately, he did not care, but part of him was enjoying drawing out the anticipation. "Do you want my cock?" he asked as he slowly pumped his hand up and down.

"Oh, yeah, baby, I want it," she cooed.

"What do you want to do with it?"