Chapter Nine

When There's No One Around

Jack's POV

It would appear that Mr. Rizzuto and his stunning mistress Francesca had opted for an evening in, avoiding the prying eyes and wagging tongues that followed them whenever they set foot out and about. I mean really, what kind of sick world were we living in when a man couldn't cavort around town, wining and dining the slut that he was banging on the side while his devoted wife stayed home to tend to the needs of their children and the ins and outs of being married to such an important man? It was enough to make one lose all faith that humanity would ever be capable of pulling themselves out of the sewer that they so enjoyed swimming in, that they would ever rediscover the things in life that made survival in this world tolerable.

Well, enough of that soapbox for now...I mean, it's not as though I've conducted myself in any way that could even remotely be described as lawful and/or pristine in my lifetime. My existence had changed so much since I met my Dainty, had improved in so many ways that I'd never dreamed were possible that I was growing a little paranoid about it, always looking up at the sky, waiting for the axe that would inevitably fall on my head.

I had procrastinated about the events that would transpire this evening, content to stay at home, frolicking and having red-hot loving with my sweet baby girl. We had needed some time out of the house together, and had disguised ourselves to spend the day at the park, enjoying a picnic luncheon and playing with the newly christened mutt, Tootsie. I never would have imagined such a scenario for myself, being content with a domesticated schedule, living a life that seemed to have been taken out of one of those Lifetime network movies...things that I would have considered boring and verging on turning a man into a douchebag before I made Violet's acquaintance.

I had just spent three days in a woman's near constant company, and I had still been reluctant to leave her this afternoon, wanting more than anything to take her back into our bed and have her one more time, in spite of the fact that I'd taken her twice since the sun had come up. She was so addictive, a yearning that burned within me all the time. Each time between us was magical, and it was the first time I felt that I'd never tire of someone.

Our one time without the benefit of a condom had been somewhat deliberate on my part, needing to really feel her wrapped around me, that heat and dampness that I knew would feel like dipping myself into my own personal piece of paradise. It had been comfort sex, the best consolation that she could have offered me, and I had been filled with an almost animalistic need to fill her womb with my seed, and so I had, only realizing afterward that I should have asked her permission first.

I'll admit that I was scared that she would be angry about what I'd done, until I saw that she wasn't worried about carrying my child, as a matter of fact, there'd been an almost excited look in her eyes at the prospect, I fell in love with her all over again in that moment. It was amazing and more than a little alarming how easily she forgave, how I could trust that if she said that all was well, then I had nothing to worry about. It was a dangerous thing...or at least it had proven to be in the past...to trust someone so completely.

Well, I've managed to ramble myself completely off the subject again, haven't I? I don't know why you allow me to prattle on for half an hour like some sort of feebleminded ninny. I'll expect that sort of treatment when...well, if...I'm an old man, but right now I'd appreciate it if I weren't allowed to make a complete jackass out of myself for the amusement of others, if that's not asking too much.

Now then, what was I doing? Oh yes, the evening activities of Mr. Rizzuto and the salacious Francesca. I won't test your gag reflex with a play-by-play of their...er...lovemaking...yeech. I think it would be safe to say that it was on par with all of the classiest...heh...pornographies available, although I have to say that if I was Tony...which I thank God every day that I'm not...I would have grown weary of the fake, and shrill, cries of ecstasy about ten seconds after Miss Lipari commenced with her "Oh Gawd Baby...Harder Honey...I'm Fucking Coming!" routine. If the brain-dead Rizzuto was aware that his lover's ardor was a sham he didn't let on and please allow me the kindness from refraining from the recap of his lines in the production, because I really detest vomiting.

I swear to you, it was the longest, most horrendous three minutes of my life...I may never recover, and I can only pray that my penis will recuperate sufficiently that I might properly roger my ladylove when I return home. I'm not kidding you, from foreplay...if what happened between the two of them could honestly be described as foreplay...until Tony, erm, culminated upon the chest of his lover...three minutes, tops. That's just sad and pathetic really...there should be support groups for that sort of thing.

Rizzuto headed for the restroom following their...dear God no, please don't make me say it again...interlude, and I took that as a sign that this was the perfect moment to forward my message to Francesca, a heads-up that everything wasn't copasetic with her and her main squeeze. I had employed the services of a visually stunning prostitute, no, not those services. Why would I pay for mundane when I have magnificent waiting for me at home? I said visually stunning, emotionally she had the depth of a desiccated sponge. Let's just say that she wasn't a great conversationalist and leave it at that. It hadn't taken a substantial amount of money to convince her to use her wiles against an inebriated Rizzuto, and a little boudoir photography was employed to set Tony up to lose one of his most prized possessions.

I had initially planned to use Cecily in my strategy, but I decided that she shouldn't be forced into a scenario that might drive her to make good on her threat to do away with her sister. To be honest, I hadn't been able to stomach the idea of violence being done to any woman, even one as trashy as Francesca. I guess that my Dainty had changed me in more ways than I was originally aware of.

In the end I had decided to send the photos to Francesca on her cell phone, the source leading back to a phony account held by a woman named Mae Monroe. I am not a man devoid of a sense of humor, as I'm sure that you are well aware, and it can be a rather wicked and ironic humor.

I was watching through the window as the kaka hit the fan, taking great pleasure in watching Miss Lipari launch herself onto Mr. Rizzuto's hirsute back, all sense of prissiness replaced by an animalistic rage that had her clawing and spitting like a wildcat. I would imagine that the sight of her "Tony-Wony" and his object of amore...strike that, object of sloppy and drunken coupling is more appropriate...was enough to strike fear into her young heart. I'm sure that she was wondering how she could possibly find herself replaced, how Anthony could find anyone more attractive than her. But did she honestly expect fidelity from a man who was screwing her while he was still married to another woman?

He denied it of course, but photographic evidence was difficult to argue against, in spite of the technology available to doctor said evidence. In the end Francesca believed what she had seen, rather than what she heard from her lover and the look on Rizzuto's face as she left was ten times more satisfying than it had been the night Jelly Belly was dispatched from the world.

I hadn't revealed myself to him yet, savoring the moment when I could tell him who I was and why I had done these things to him. I wanted to watch him cry, just as much as I wanted to hear him beg. It might not be lawful, some would say that it was wrong, but there truly was nothing sweeter than revenge.

Violet's POV

I was wrapped up in Bram Stoker's Dracula, alternating between peeking at the screen and hiding my eyes when the scary/gory parts were playing, which meant that I was missing a good deal of the film. I don't know why I did this sort of thing to myself, it wasn't as though I didn't know how I would react to a scary movie, especially since it was just me and Tootsie in the house.

I had wanted to ask Jack to stay in, for the first time I was tempted to voice my apprehension of him leaving, but I had kept my thoughts to myself in the end, not wanting to make him feel guilty. Tootsie and I had enjoyed a late afternoon grooming session, well, perhaps enjoyed isn't the correct term...endured is more like it. I had a feeling that she had endured my need to bathe and spruce her up, and there were times I genuinely had the feeling that she was humoring me, while inside she was giggling as I washed and fussed over her.

We had dinner together after that, sandwiches made from leftover roasted chicken breast for me and a can of Alpo for her, which was the intended menu, but Tootsie had flat-out refused the dog food, staring at the sandwich on my plate, chuffing at me and licking her chops. It had seemed so surreal for a moment, like she was almost speaking to me, and in an effort to either confirm or deny that theory I grabbed hold of both my plate and her doggie bowl. I offered her the beef chunks in gravy first, and she lifted her head, turning her face away from the food that she had always eaten before this moment. Next I held out my plate, the breast of chicken wedged between the bread, accompanied by cheddar cheese and Miracle Whip, and she turned her head towards the offering, eagerly barking and wagging her tail.

I wondered briefly if I had gone barking mad...clever, huh...I mean it's not as if Tootsie was actually communicating with me. I was grateful for the first time that evening to be in the house by myself, well, except for Tootsie. I could only imagine how Jack would react were he to see me standing in the kitchen, offering first the bowl, then the plate, then the bowl once more to Tootsie. I suspected that he questioned my sanity at times as it was, and there was no reason for me to make him even more suspicious. If he was skeptical of my need to push on the refrigerator door handle ten to fifteen times after I'd closed it, just to make sure it was closed, then he would definitely think I was bonkers for entertaining the possibility of dogs who could talk.

Tootsie and I had finished our meal, chicken sandwiches for both of us, and afterwards we had retired to the living room, where I had stupidly chosen to watch a scary flick as the perfect way to pass the time until Jack came back home. I was engrossed in the film, well as engrossed as one could be while they were peeking between their fingers, and Tootsie was snuggled up beside me on the couch, chuffing softly whenever one of the undead would make an appearance. I absolutely loved watching Gary Oldman take control of a scene, loved the way he moved, the way he spoke. Okay, I'll be honest...I chose the film to watch while Jack wasn't around because I had the tiniest bit of a crush on Mr. Oldman, who was devilishly sexy when he wasn't the decrepit Dracula, and I didn't want Jack to find out. He already had a hard time dealing with my obsession with Johnny Depp, and I decided that it would be best not to push him any further.

The film had almost come to an end when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, an innate survival instinct that warned when a predator was near. Tootsie started growling, a sound like none other she had made before, and I slowly looked around the room, praying that whoever or whatever was stalking me at that moment wasn't behind me, in my blind spot, poised for attack.

A dark shape coming from one of the windows beside the television caught my attention from the corner of my eye. It was a large shape, like that of a big man, and I could tell that it was watching me. My heartbeat accelerated and a chill took hold of me as I pondered my options for escape. I wasn't armed in any way that could be called significant if he was carrying a firearm. A knife and the Louisville Slugger that I had close at hand were my only choices, neither of which would mean a damn if he was packing heat.

I slowly rose to my feet, heading towards the heavy wooden bat, praying that my stalker wasn't armed with anything capable of launching a projectile, and as I grabbed it up in my hand I whirled towards the window, only to find that the peeper had fled from the spot. A person who wasn't on the run from both the law and the mob would have phoned the police, would have awaited their arrival, depending on the men in blue for their safety, but that strategy wasn't an alternative for me. I could have gone next door to seek help from Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, but while Herb and Ida seemed to be genuinely nice people I seriously doubted that they could take out an intruder, and in the end would probably prove to be more of a hindrance than a help.

That was why I made the decision to do something that in hindsight would cause me to cringe at my own stupidity. I took the baseball bat up into my hands, which were shaking almost uncontrollably, and unlocked the front door, stepping outside to have a look around. The night was still, crickets chirping and whippoorwills calling mournfully. I headed for the window where I'd seen the shape of the man watching me, my heartbeat thunderous in my ears, my terror growing with each step I took. Tootsie trotted beside me, her ears raised and her eyes watchful, and I was thankful to have the reassurance of the presence of someone who was on my side of things.

I heard a branch crack in the tree in the backyard and I jumped into the air, stifling a screech of horror that would have given me away to anyone who may have been seeking me just as I was seeking them. I stopped by the back corner of the house, gathering my wits and my faltering sense of bravery. I just had to turn the corner, and then I would be right outside of the window.

"All right you sorry son of a bitch," I called out, wincing at the shakiness of my voice. "I know you're out there watching me," I curled and relaxed my fingers on the handle of the bat, gathering strength from the solid presence of the wood in my hand. "If I were you, I'd seriously consider taking my raggedy ass off of this property before I find you and knock you into next week." My resolve was growing by this time, making me a little too mouthy for my own wellbeing. "There's a Louisville Slugger here that has the ability to mess you up real good, and I'm the bitch that's holding it."

"Well, now," a familiar voice drawled beside me, his hand shooting out to grab hold of the bat as I squeaked rather embarrassingly with fear and whirled to hit him. "I don't know about the 'sorry son of a bitch' my Dainty, but I'm definitely trembling in my boots at the idea of you 'knocking my ass into next week.'

"Damn it Jack, you scared the hell out of me," I hissed, jerking on the bat to free it from his hands. I should have known that he would arrive at just the right moment to witness me making a complete boob out of myself. If he had been home with me I would have never had to trek outside and try to confront the trespasser, but could he be there for that? Hell no, he couldn't, he just managed to make it home in time to laugh at me. "There was someone watching me you jackass," I whispered angrily, keeping my voice low in an effort to stop myself from beating him to a bloody pulp with my baseball bat. "I came out here to see who it was, but apparently they'd already made a run for it."

He was still cackling at me, making me hope that he'd pee his pants so I'd have something to laugh at him for. He turned to Tootsie, who was watching him through narrowed eyes just as I was. "What about it, Tootsie Roll?" he asked, snorting as he tried to speak through his laughter. "Was it the boogeyman, or was it someone who really meant business, like Jason or Freddy?"

I would swear that she rolled her eyes at him, but he didn't notice. He was too busy leaning against the wall, tears from his laughter rolling down his face. "Geez, Violet, haven't you learned anything from watching all of those scary movies that you supposedly hate?" he asked. "This is the "half-dressed hottie" moment of a slasher flick come to life. You know, the one who wanders outside, calling for the big, scary killer man." He snorted with laughter again, making me wish that he was choking to death instead of laughing. "If there were a deranged killer lurking outside in the shadows, you've just made his biggest wet dream become a reality."

"Stop patronizing me," I answered, whirling around to head back into the house. "I hate it when someone treats me like a child."

He reached out a hand and stopped me, pulling me into his arms as I struggled against him. "Calm down, my little slugger," he whispered, leaning down to kiss me. I stubbornly kept my lips clamped shut, refusing to allow him to charm me while I was so angry. He nipped my bottom lip, taking advantage of my gasp of surprise to thoroughly raid and conquer my mouth, chuckling once more as I melted against him. I should have been furious by his underhandedness, but there was a buzzing in my ears and a lightheadedness that took over as he kissed the breath from me, and for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was that I'd been so upset about.

He released me after a few moments, and I was pleased to see that he was just as affected by the kiss as I was, his breathing sped up and a swelling in his trousers that hadn't been there before he kissed me. He leaned down to take hold of a paper sack that he'd set down beside the house, and pulled out a toy clown from within, a stuffed toy with bright orange hair, and a cheerfully painted face. He turned to look at Tootsie, who was watching us with a look of bewilderment on her face. "Tootsie," he said, crouching so that he was more on her level. "This is Petrucchio the clown, a new friend for you." He handed the clown to Tootsie, who took hold of it gingerly with her teeth. "I was hoping you'd keep him company while your master sees to the needs of your mistress."

Tootsie chuffed softly, the sound distorted by the clown in her mouth and trotted off towards the front of the house. Jack turned to look at me, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he rattled the contents that remained in the bag. "I've got some goodies in here for my best girl," he murmured, approaching me slowly. "Some whipped cream," he whispered, making my mouth water with anticipation. "Some fresh, sweet strawberries," he said softly, making me whimper deep in my throat as he leaned down to nibble my earlobe. "And the most important thing of all, a box full of those brownies that you like so much."

My nipples hardened and my knees buckled, both due to the fact that he'd just ran the tip of his tongue inside of my ear and because he'd brought me a treat that caused me to moan in a way that was almost orgasmic with the first bite I took. "You mean the brownies?" I whimpered, pressing my lips against his throat as he swept me up into his arms. "The mini brownies from the bakery, the ones that I adore, the ones that I love, the ones that turn me into a ravenous wild woman?"

"A gourmet buffet awaits you, my love" he answered, carrying me towards our front door. "The only catch to this banquet is that there is a strict dress code for those who wish to partake," he whispered, entering the door and kicking it closed with his foot. "You're overdressed...let's see what we can do to remedy that, shall we?"