Kathy sighed at a personals ad, "DAISY DUKE SEEKS JETHRO CLAMPETT. NERDS NEED NOT APPLY. BIG AND DUMB."
She'd had taken a job with the Providence firm right out of law school, and she was sad to learn how common 'big and dumb' was in this town. Tossing the newspaper on the seat, she paid the cab driver and stepped out toward her office building, wishing she could have gone straight home from her client lunch instead.
Sue, an 18-year-old intern in green eye make-up, popped up from the reception desk. "Got a minute?"
Kathy tilted her head toward an altercation in one of the conference rooms. "What's with all the yelling?"
"It's that Fed," she said, "The one who wanted to ask you about the Simmons case."
She groaned inwardly, D.C. had sent some hotshot to investigate a missing persons case, and he'd been a pain in her ass ever since. "Give him whatever he wants," Kathy said, "And bring in some fresh coffee, please, the stuff in the caraffe's been cooked down to motor oil."
"Yes ma'am. I don't suppose you've heard about Judith as well..." she trailed off, gesturing to the conference room.
The firm specialized in criminal law, which made her the only female attorney in a sea of young secretaries hoping to bag a husband, and half those women seemed to be enjoying a shouting match between Judith-the-Bitch and Jethro Clampett's taller, hotter brother.
"...doesn't even pass Rational-Basis Scrutiny, Scalia's dissent is a landmark decision in morality law." he said. Though he had hair past his ears and a tan only to be gotten from years of outdoor labor, his vocabulary was Ivy League and his cheekbones could have run for governor.
Judith-the-Bitch crossed her arms. "Scalia is hardly a good example-"
"Scalia is one of the greatest men on the bench," he shot back, "Who would you rather have, someone who's brilliant and evil in charge, or someone who failed their LSAT and donates to charities?"
Judith's face was blotchy from arguing for so long, and the hard look in her eyes led Kathy to suspect that she'd attempted a one-night stand with the agent and not gotten a diamond ring in exchange. "Great," Kathy muttered, feeling a headache come on as he started an argument with a different person on an entirely different topic.
"Narcotics laws are hopelessly outdated," he said, not bothering to keep his voice down, "Look at Erdos, the month he spent without taking speed was the only time in his life when he didn't produce any new math."
One of the office women fired back a response, and the fight raged, turning from drugs to health insurance fraud and somehow getting into Francis Bacon's dispute of teleology. Man this guy is smart, she thought to herself. She'd dated a hardcore policy wonk in college, and in a field where IQ equals dick size, he'd been considered hunky by many of her friends (if by hunky you also meant he looked like two eyes pushed into a wad of cookie dough).
She took a moment to admire his eyes, the feline curve of his face, the way his shoulders filled his expensive suit as he gestured expansively. She really, really wanted to hate him.
"Kathy!" Sue hissed.
"What is it?" she whispered back.
Sue's eyes were huge as she tip-toed toward her, looking over her shoulder to see if she would be heard. "I looked up that Agent Sam guy-"
"What, you googled him?"
"I checked his badge number," she snapped, "It's fake. When I hacked into the state files, I found out who he really is."
"You what?" Kathy asked, "You don't have clearance-"
"Never mind," Sue said, pushing Kathy into the nearby elevator, "This guy is wanted in so many states it's stupid."
"No listen! Bank robbery, grand theft autom, first degree murder, grave desecration-"
"Grave robbing?" Kathy said, rolling her eyes, "You're making this up."
"Think about it, have you ever met a Fed who looks like that?"
She pulled up short. Sue was right, but she didn't want to say so for fear of sounding rediculous. "This is New England, there's no shortage of telegenic guys whose dad fenagled them a government job in the hopes of them running for office some day."
"I have to copy the Simmons file and get it to him before he makes everyone crazy." she said as she pushed the UP button for the filing room.
"He's upsetting a lot of people." Sue said.
She sighed. She could actually sympathize with him. "It's frustration is all. He sounds bright, and I imagine his job doesn't afford a lot of high-minded conversation."
"So he makes up for it by being a dick?" Sue countered, "Why are you sticking up for him. I mean, okay, he's a Standford grad, and smokin' hot, but the guy's a complete nutjob!"
Kathy didn't have a reply, and instead said, "You gonna make that coffee?"
"Can I be of any other service?" Sue asked Sam later, handing him the file while showing him the door.
"No, you've been great, thank you." he said, walking outside and pulling out his cell phone.
Kathy huffed out a breath and checked the clock. The office was blissfully quiet, and she wondered what possibly use she could be to the company at 4 o'clock on a Friday afternoon.
"Screw it, I'm clocking out." she muttered, and grabbed her satchel to head home.
Releasing her hair from it's elastic band, she pulled out her shades and put them on against the winter setting sun. A taxi sat by the curb, and she was so preoccupied with her glasses that she didn't notice that someone else was already in the backseat.
It took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the cab, until a hand reached out and removed the glasses from her face.
"Agent," she said, forcing herself to be nice, "Heading back to Washington?"
"Almost," said Sam, turning to the cabbie, "Plaza Hotel by the airport."
The driver nodded, not pausing to ask whether this was at all conveniant to Kathy.
She'd spent years springing guys from jail, and while some were crazy, and nearly all of them jerks, she took comfort in the fact that none of them were truly evil. Still, she couldn't quite place Sam, and while she didn't believe in white-collar killers, the little green-eyed Sue in the back of her head began to go down the sociopath checklist.
"So you went to school around here?" she asked, remembering that Sue had placed him at Stanford.
He turned from the window and smiled. It took all her willpower not to smile in return. "Not far from here, a private men's school across the river."
The little intern in her head made a mark. Check, liar.
"One of my co-workers is doing her pre-law at Roger Williams," she said, "Did you meet Judith?"
"The intern?" he said, making a throw-away gesture, "She's okay."
"She seemed to like you."
He turned back to the window, having lost interest in the subject. "I saw a '68 Firebird in the parking lot, that yours?"
She blinked, surprised he had noticed. "Yes, it was a graduation gift-"
"I always preferred the older models," he said, cutting her off, "Better handling, sharp turns, really get a bite from the asphalt. These newer models," he said, as the taxi passed a young girl, "They just lay there and take it."
The green-eyed intern checked off two more on her clipboard. Sexually promiscuous and shows no remorse. And let's add easily bored to be safe.
"So you didn't like Judith?" she asked.
"Oh I like her," he said, "I like my car, my phone, my guns, and all the other things I have, when they operate correctly."
Something jumped up inside her, and, knowing she would never see him again and could afford to be rude, she twisted her mouth in fury and spat, "What is...wrong with you?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Nothing's wrong with me."
"You walk around like an authority unto yourself, you're completely unable to empathize, you...you...what are you.." she trailed, the words drying up as he leaned over with that catty smile, his right hand flipping the partition visor down so that the driver was obscured.
"I'm not crazy," he said quietly, placing a hand on her knee and fixing her with a look like they understood each other, like they shared a secret, "I'm just focused."
She didn't know what to say to that. In the silence, he moved his face closer to hers, never breaking the stare, and when he was about an inch from her mouth, her little intern jumped up and down and shouted Pyscho killer! and Kathy slugged him across the jaw.
She hadn't meant to do it. The backseat was cramped and she didn't have a lot of room to swing, but he hadn't expected it, and so went sailing across the cab until his head cracked against the glass.
"Oh damn, I'm so..." she said, her hands going to her mouth, shocked at what she'd done.
He wiped the cuff of his sleeve against his lip, and looked at the stain approvingly, smiling up at her with a mouth full of blood.
"I didn't mean..." she whispered.
But she had, and he knew it. Lunging forward, he pinned her against the door, his hands on her knees, his mouth buried in her neck before she could throw up her arms in defense.
"Stop it..." she said, though not very loud. It was daylight in gridlock traffic for heaven's sake, they were surrounded by commuters and bicycle messengers and falafel stands, this sort of thing doesn't happen! Someone might see them!
She pushed a hand against his forehead to try and move him away, though not very hard. She gritted her teeth, willing herself to stay quiet as he worked her neck, leaving red kisses down her skin, in her hair, on her collar. Slowly, her legs weakened, and he pushed her knees apart and hiked up her skirt until he was pressed up against her, her bare thighs tighening against him. "Don't..." she said weakly, as he began to undo her shirt.
Unfastening the front of her bra with one hand, cold fingers made their way up her ribcage, her nipples hardening before he even got to them. She ran her hands thru his hair as his mouth closed down on her breast, trying to pull him away but barely making an effort.
Psycho killer! the little voice repeated. The car was sharp with the smell of his blood, and her stomach clenched as he left more of it along her belly, kissing her while looking up with those feline eyes. She gave his hair another experimental tug before she felt his hand reach for her panties, a cold finger tracing the soft flesh along her hip before making it's way lower.
I can't do this, she thought, and waiting for him to sit up and take his weight off of her, she reached behind her head for the door handle. The cold air whipping at her hair, she braced herself, and rolled out onto into traffic.
The cab had stopped at a light, so the impact wasn't too bad, but the first few steps were awkward until she convinced her body to ignore the pain for a later hour and keep moving. Drivers honked and pedestrians gave her hard looks, but no one got in her way, or even asked if she needed help. Go go go. High against the setting sun, the Plaza Hotel towered nearby, and she ran for it, hoping to blend in with the crowds.
But a quick look in a window's reflection killed that idea. Even if she arranged her clothes just so, she was covered in blood, no coat, no ID, and she'd left her high heels back in the cab. So instead, she made her way to a railroad bridge, where an expensive car was parked beneath it next to a chainlink fence, and ran toward it hoping she could borrow owner's phone and call for help.
Dusk turned the air pink, her shadow growing longer as she ran barefoot across the gravel, calling out and waving her arms in supplication for whoever might be inside the car. The temperature dropped, and though it didn't look like rain, the wind froze the wet bloody kisses on her chest. The car windows shivered as the train rolled past, and when no driver leapt out to her aid, she began to despair.
"Hello?" she said, placing both hands on the window and peering in, not seeing the owner, "Anyone?"
She looked around. Everyone had gone home for the weekend, all the day laborers and train workers, everyone had clocked out. She was alone.
She started, looking down the length of the vehicle toward the trunk. "Hello?" she asked cautiously, walking around to the back as something shifted inside. The wind whistled a low note against the distant white noise of gridlock, and the trucks bumped over the expansion joints in the bridge like a giant's heartbeat. da-dum. da-dum.
This time the panel moved, accompanied by a high chittering sound like an old-fashioned typewriter.
"He-ello?" she asked, hugging herself against the cold and wondering if she ought to stay and help or try the hotel again.
Hands came around her waist from behind, spinning her around. "Wanna go for a ride?" Sam asked.
"This is your car?" she asked, alarmed at his sudden appearance. How had he gotten here so fast?
"You didn't think I was going to the hotel to sleep, did you?" he asked, picking her up and placing her on the trunk.
She clutched at her shirt, trying to hide her breasts as he reached to pry her arms apart. "Don't." she pleaded.
He gave her a look that plainly said he didn't believe her. "Don't look so scared," he said, reaching beneath her skirt without looking away, his other hand laying her down gently, "Trust me, there's worse than me."
Her panties hit the gravel, and when she raised a hand to put some space between them, she found herself hooking a thumb between his belt and belly, feeling the heat of his skin and wanting more than anything to not be cold.
He seemed to read it in her face, and smiled at her acquiescence, his hair falling in his eyes as he leaned over her. Undoing his belt, she ran her hands along lean muscle and shivered as she pulled him close, his hands lifting her hips to meet him. The sun fell behind the skyline, and she was so cold she was afraid her skin would stick to the metal, but once he was inside her, she let her head fall against the glass and closed her eyes against the pain to come.
It had been a long time. Two years since she'd moved here without a cock to keep her company, and she was satisfied to hear him cry out when she squeezed down on him. At any point in her residency here she could have paid for sex, opened the phonebook and hired some variation on the Pizza Guy to visit her apartment and fuck her at an hourly rate. But those guys barely finished high school, and she could never lower herself to sleep with someone who wasn't her intellectual equal.
So she went without, spending her nights in high-minded pursuits and a lot of cold showers, convincing herself she didn't need a man. But all the Ayn Rand book clubs and wine-tasting parties and removable showerheads in the world couldn't fill the hole, and when she took his face in her hands, she kissed him hard enough to draw a gasp of pain out of him.
The trucks bumped overhead, and he slammed into her, his breath puffing into little clouds as sweat trickled down his cheek. "Harder?"
She licked his blood from her teeth. "Are you close?"
He smiled, and hooked his arms under her knees. "Not even."
She was getting used to him now, and arched her back to let him in deeper, rising away from the car as she pressed the side of her face against his. She could feel his craving, not just for a lay, but for someone his equal, something more than the dumb blondes he probably picked up between jobs. Someone at the top of the food chain.
He tasted like whiskey and motor oil, his breath hot in her ear, and as he filled the empty spaces inside her belly, something clicked in the back of her head.
"I hate you so much," she hissed, her fingers laced in his hair and tearing at him while pressing him close, "You are such an arrogant...smug...asshole!" she said, her words punctuated by the sound of her hips banging into the car and then stopping as she closed on his mouth for another bloody kiss.
He kissed back in earnest, his mouth stretching in a smile against hers at the challenge.
"Insult me," she whispered in his ear, "Call me every horrible thing."
Flicking his hair out of his face, he pressed his forehead to hers, their mouths open and panting in time. "You don't know anything." he said.
"Uh huh." she whispered, feeling the heat build in her belly as his cock scraped inside of her.
"Cock-thirsty...white trash...never had an original thought in your life."
"Yeah, keep going..." He was so hard it like being fucked with a wooden leg, the air fogging around his face.
Beneath her, the creature in the trunk began to thump back in response, a mongrel growl vibrating beneath her, and Sam's fist crashed down on the steel to keep it quiet.
Pumping harder, his skin so hot against hers, he put his mouth to her ear and hissed, "You're just another stupid bitch."
She closed her eyes, and five seconds stretched into what seemed like hours as she came, crying out as he dug his nails into her, the creature underneath her clawing at his cage and howling to be released.
She let out a little sound of contentment, but before she had time to relax, his arms were around her waist, lifting her into the air. "Fence." he said simply, and ambled backwards with her legs around his waist until he crashed into the chainlink fence that separated them from the freeway.
Grabbing onto his shoulders with numb fingers, she hooked her bare feet into the fence and let his hands guide her hips. So he hadn't finished, it seemed. "Like this?" she asked.
He nodded, and she proceeded to ride him, their weight causing the fence to buckle and warp like two insects rutting on a spider web. He seemed to enjoy her taking the lead, and his face flushed, his breathing getting faster as she did her best to fuck the air right out of his lungs.
"Ah, damn I've been wanting this." he said, as she slid up and down the length of him, the fence rattling noisily, "Almost...almost..."
One of his hands reached behind his jacket, and as he pulled out a gun, the moment she'd been dreading finally came. He's going to kill me, she thought, this is how he gets off. This is how it ends.
Steel ripped apart as a howl split the air, and using her as a level, Sam held the gun air inches from her head. "Don't stop." he told her, gasping for breath as something lurched onto the gravel behind her.
A shot rang out, and she turned her head to see someone, something, recoil in an spray of blood, and hurtle back into the car. Still clutching the gun, Sam grabbed ahold of her and flattened his massive hands against her back, biting her shoulder as he came inside of her, the barrel hot and hard against her skin as his breath shuddered in her ear.
When they finally stopped, she put her feet down. He was much taller than her, she realized, and the fear crept back a little. "You killed him." She felt stupid for stating the obvious, and shrank at the thought of being complicit in such an act.
"No, just knocked him back, he'll be up in a few hours." he said, fastening his belt.
She could feel slimy trails making their way down her inner thigh, and the magnitude of what she'd just done, the madness of it, struck her. "What is it?" she asked, as he went to unlock the car door and climb inside.
"Something worse than me." he said, gunning the engine.
"Wait!" she shouted, "Aren't you going to at least give me a ride?"
"Nope." he said thru the window, and drove off in a cloud of gravel dust.
Balling up her fists at her side, she let out a noise of frustration, and began the long, cold walk back to the street. The cabbie was still waiting by the hotel, her satchel in his hand. "You left your bag!" he shouted.
Nodding distractedly, she looked inside the taxi, where her things had spilled all over the floor but no sign remained of Sam. "Take me home."