Death in Eden Ch. 08

Conclusion

I was exhausted that night. There was nothing I wanted to do more than sleep, but I lay there, naked, in the bed in my hotel room, my adrenaline flowing and my mind working lickety-split. At nearly 3:00 in the morning, in the darkest and most silent hour of the Washington, D.C., night, I heard the click of the hotel room door lock in answer to a master card.

He was quiet, moving so cat-like for a man of his bulk. I tensed as soon as he entered the room, but I forced myself to relax, even to snore quietly. He needed to know that I was asleep, vulnerable, open to him. He stripped by my bed, right where his magnificent cock would be at my eye level, if I wasn't turned away from him, not wanting him to know my eyes were open. I heard the sound of the ripped tin foil, as he worked with the condom. And, more ominously, I heard him struggle to pull on the latex gloves. That was the point at which I knew I was right—that I had solved the Wallace murder case. That I could go back to New York on the morrow—if there was to be a new day for me. This was highly risky.

He came down on the bed behind me and covered my body close from behind. He was kissing me on the back of my neck and he laced his strong arms below me and over me and took both of my hands in his and entwined our fingers. The material of the gloves was so thin that I would never have known he was wearing them if I hadn't suspected—and hadn't been awake and waiting for him.

He roused me sexually, as he had always done before. He knew how to work me, and I acted as if I was coming slowly awake. That I was glad that he was there and was open to him and would, as always before, open to him and receive his masterful fucking.

I felt the wetness at my channel opening, where he was fingering me and working lube into my crack. The knob of his cock found purchase in my hole, and his hand came around me again, and his fingers interlaced with mine.

He was so much stronger than I was. There was no question that I was under his control, his strong arms wrapped around my torso and his hands possessing mine. And his cock started its stretching journey up toward the center of me as he started to side split me.

I sighed in acceptance and in recognition of how much I enjoyed him. If he discerned in any way that the sigh was primarily a sigh of regret that this was our last fuck—one way or the other—his body did not betray him.

"Did Wallace take you willingly for the initial fuck, or did you force him from the very beginning the night you murdered him?" I had just murmured it—the first indication I had given him that I was fully awake. And I could feel his body tense up and his shudder went through both of us. We were so united as one, his arms encasing me and his cock deep inside me, that I could feel every change in him. His arm hold on me became steel like. I was completely at his mercy physically.

"What? What did you ask me?" he muttered. He'd heard me clearly. I could tell by the shocked reaction of his body that he had. But his mind wasn't as quick as his body. That was a quirk of his profession. The body reacted out of trained habit first; the mind was slower when there were complex factors—or wishful thinking—to slow it down.

"Did you plan to murder Wallace all along and build up to it, or was it a sudden, unplanned outburst of anger? It will make a difference at the trial, you know."

"What trial?" he muttered. And then there was a low laugh. He obviously didn't know that I knew that he was wearing gloves—and knew what that signified—knew what he meant to do from the moment he'd entered my hotel room.

"You know I could snap your neck right here and now and be done with it?"

"Yes, if I was the only one who knew," I whispered back to him. That would set him back a bit, I thought—no, I more hoped than thought. All the precautions in the world couldn't keep him from killing me now if that's what he took a notion to do.

"OK, I'll play," he said. "But only because you are such a good fuck. I'd been doing him for a week before, so he didn't know that it was coming. He was one sick bastard; he needed to be put down."

"You can escape the worst, Jentel," I said. "What he did to Devin—there will be extenuating circumstances. You could just turn yourself in now."

"Or I could do some cleanup and take my chances," the star Redskins' player said. "Why'd you have to go down to Fork Union and weasel it all out of Devin? Why couldn't you have just let it be? Dabney brought you here to paint it over. Wallace was scum. Why couldn't you just let it be? He deserved what he got. The Dabney kind was willing to substitute and is brazen about what he is. Nothing good could come out of Devin being brought into this. He doesn't have the backing that the Dabney kid has. This would have ruined his chances for a life."

"And do Devin and the Dabney kid deserve to have this hanging over them forever?" I asked. "They would always know even if most everyone else could be kept in the dark." I had to admit that I'd struggled with this same question myself. I knew why Dabney and Blair had latched on to me to bring into the investigation. No one had more reason to believe that Wallace got what he deserved than I did. But Jentel had taken this into his own hands. And no one deserved to die that way—even if their own bread and butter had dictated that that was what they themselves did to people.

But I had more questions to ask before this was finished—one way or the other.

"It wasn't chance that we met on the flight from New York, was it, Jentel? You were playing me from the beginning, weren't you?"

"Yep," Jentel said. And then he laughed again. "I told you a star Redskins' player can get pretty much what he wants in this part of the country. I knew you'd been sent for—and why—almost before you did. Some new buddies in the Loudon police department were eager to tell me whatever I wanted to know. I flew up to New York just so that I could get hooked up with you. I needed to keep track of what you knew and what you planned to do about it. It was all cool until you went down and talked to Devin today. He told me everything. I knew, even if Devin didn't, that you had all you needed to figure it out. That monster fucked my Devin. I couldn't let him get away with that."

"And so, wouldn't it be a good idea if you just turned yourself in and made the best of it?" I asked. Jentel was gripping me so hard that I was beginning to have trouble breathing. He had brought up one of his strong hand and had the heel of it lodged under my jaw bone. I knew that one powerful thrust of that, and he could snap my neck.

"I don't think so, Clint," he whispered. And there was resolve behind the tone of his voice. I knew he was trying to work up to finishing with me. His cock was still moving inside me, though, and I hoped that this was conflicting his actions—that he at least wanted to reach a climax before he broke my neck.

"I was very careful," he was saying. "Just like I'm being careful now. I'll make sure there is no connection between you and me for them to find. Just like I was careful with Wallace."

"Not careful enough, Jentel," I said. I needed to inject doubt into this. And I could tell I had. The pressure of the heel of his hand had lessened.

"You didn't take your fetish into account," I whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, how you like to play in a man's pits—how you like to drink in the scent of a man there and nibble and bite and bruise."

He was quiet now, and he had loosened his grip on me enough for me to breathe a little easier.

"Medical forensics are really great now, Jentel. I noticed the same bruising in Wallace's pits that you've been causing in my pits in our fuck sessions—you know, the bite marks. And not just the bite marks. The saliva left as well. You should have more carefully cleaned Wallace's body—and made me thoroughly shower after we had sex, Jentel. And even then, though, there were the teeth marks. Maybe most of all, you should have not given in to your fetish when you planned to kill one of your fuck partners. We have lab results on both the marks on Wallace and on me, Jentel. You're the one who is fucked."

Jentel didn't have a chance to tell me what he thought about that, because I said that last bit loud enough for those hidden in the various spots of my hotel room to hear. The lights went on and Jentel went limp.

Afterward Warren Dabney told me how much he didn't appreciate me having set up the bust as I did—that he didn't really like the thought of the media circus that would descend on his precious little Eden of Loudon County to replay the juicy bits of this trial—juicy bits that would include his own son unless he could do a fancy two-step to keep that out of the press. Which undoubtedly he could.

Throughout Dabney's diatribe, Peter Blair stood silent, sucking up to Dabney when push came to shove. Well, fuck 'em, I was thinking as Dabney was foaming at the mouth and the police officers were hauling a suddenly defeated Jentel Huff away in handcuffs—and a hotel robe. Fuck 'em both. I'd half thought of doing what Peter told me he wanted. Taking a cushy job down here in Eden and returning to his home and bed every night. Giving up my risky promiscuous ways. But I couldn't live this way—under the thumb of someone like Dabney—no matter how much they paid me. And a couple of fuck visits a year was going to have to do with Peter. If he wanted me more full time than that, he jolly well could come back to New York.

* * * *

It might have been Dabney's attitude or it might have been that I'd kept Jason Dabney's invitation to return to him in the back of my mind all along—because he reminded me so much of Dan. But on the afternoon of the day after the case was broken, I was making my last rental car trip down into the rolling hills countryside of Virginia's Eden.

I had called ahead, so both Jason and his dark-skinned football coach, the very solicitous Mr. Dobbs, were ready for me.

They took me into the gym where the wrestlers practiced and locked the doors behind us. Then, as Jason lay back on a weight bench and spread his legs so I could easily get my tongue to his hole, the coach had his lips to mine. And when I insinuated my pelvis in close between Jason's thighs and buried myself inside him and started to pump him hard, the coach was behind me and doing the same thing to me, his arms wrapped around me and his strong fingers working my nipples. A very satisfying sandwich lunch before I boarded my plane to return to New York after a relatively quick and satisfying case closing.