Part 2 – Action
Ingrid peeled her jacket off, wincing as bloody stitches stuck to the material. She put the jacket on the floor next to her bed and examined the tight stitching up her arm. The doctor, a crooked piece of shit on Mike’s payroll, did a decent job. She’d have a scar, but the work was good enough that it shouldn’t be too noticeable.
The morning sun poured into the hotel room. A big bed with the softest sheets Ingrid had ever felt in a hotel, was the centerpiece. A big TV sat on top of the dresser across from the bed. Next to the bed was a faux leather couch, which she was sure had never been cleaned. The number of nude asses and bodily fluids on that thing were untold.
Ingrid flexed her arm; thankful Talia didn’t get any tendons. Her arm was sore, but all her fingers worked, which was the most important thing.
The bed was calling her name, but she desperately needed another shower. During the fight with Talia, she’d gotten herself bloodied again. She didn’t want to lie in a clean bed and feel dirty.
The alarm clock next to the bed said 8:24am. She had one more task before showering and finally sleeping.
Ingrid grabbed the phone and sat on the bed. She didn’t dare lie down or else she’d fall asleep. She punched the number in, one she’d never forget and listened as the phone rang.
“Hello?” a man said on the other line.
“Hey, babe, it’s me,” Ingrid said, turning her arm over. Clear plasma oozed from the stitches. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“Yup, just about to take the kids to school,” Stanley said to his wife.
Ingrid could hear him shuffling around. She pictured him with the phone tucked under his weak chin, pressed with his shoulder. He’d be filling the kid’s lunch boxes, getting them ready.
“Can I talk with them really fast?” Ingrid asked.
Stanley paused, probably checking the time. “Yeah. Kids!” he yelled, not bothering pulling the phone away from his mouth. “Ok, they’re coming.” More rummaging and a zipper closing. “So, how’s it going?”
Ingrid twirled the phone cord. “Good, you know how these stupid business conferences are. Nothing but windbags talking up their products for 3 hours, then a long lunch and more bullshit.” She didn’t mention the cut. Before she flew home, she’d come up with a cover story, but she was too tired to bother. She had a couple more days in New York and she knew at least one more movie. It wasn’t her first option for income, but she’d make a year’s salary for a few days of work. When she was young in East Berlin, she would do the same work, but for a lot less. Mainly to survive, but part of her did enjoy it. That god-like power to wield over someone was something she couldn’t describe.
“Yeah, sounds thrilling,” he said, taking the phone from his ear, “Mommy wants to talk to you,” he said, barely audible to Ingrid. “Ok, here they are.”
Ingrid smiled.
“Hi, Mommy,” Sam, the oldest said.
“Hi, Sammy,” Ingrid said. “Are you being a good boy?”
Sam was just about to turn 8 and was her little cuddle-bug. Ever since birth, he was a momma’s boy, sticking close to her. He always cried when she left, but luckily, she didn’t go often. Only when her skills and resolve were needed. Besides, she was going to use her ‘bonus’ to take them all on a vacation.
“Yeah,” he said, drawing it out.
Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was grinning, his mouth with holes from missing teeth.
“Are you helping Daddy?”
“Yup, he even let me stay up late—”
“Hey, you tattle-tail,” Stanley said in the background.
“Oh, never mind, Mommy. Yup, I’m helping.”
“Lemee talk to Momma,” Cindy squealed in the background.
“Oh, baby. I’m glad you’re helping,” she could hear the kids fighting over the phone. “Ok, stop fighting.” She said, wondering what her husband was doing while the kids wrestled. “Put your sister on so you guys can get to school.”
“When are you going to be home?” Sam asked, now back in control of the phone.
“In a couple of days, baby, now put Cindy on.”
“Ok, love you,” Sam said, handing the phone off.
“Hi, Momma,” Cindy said, with her squeaky, five-year-old voice.
“Hi, baby. Are you being a good girl for Daddy?”
“Yup. I even wiped my own butt.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Ingrid looked at the clock. She knew Stanley was itching to get going. He was always early for everything and probably wanted to leave. He more than likely had a date with the guy he was fucking behind her back. She didn’t care. When she first found out he was gay, it was painful, but not much of a shock. Now, it has become a normal thing. She didn’t care, he was a good father and didn’t mind when she left for ‘business’ trips.
“Ok, let me talk to Daddy.”
There was a banging sound; Cindy dropped the phone on the floor.
Stanley picked it up, grumbling under his breath. “Ok, we have to get going,” he said.
“Ok, I’ll call them tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Bye.” He hung up.
Ingrid put the phone down and stood. Gently, she stripped naked. She would need to bag up her bloody clothes so the maid didn’t find them. Even at an expensive hotel, the help would still talk. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, the cut glistening in the soft light.
‘Fucking Talia,’ she thought, walking into the bathroom. Never had she been attacked like that. Even when she’d been with the KGB before her defection, she’d never been cut like that. There were a few times she was punched or kicked and even shot at, but never cut. The alien feeling of a blade inside of her was painful, scary and erotic at once. It almost reminded her of being raped. Part of her wished they didn’t kill Talia. She’d love to have her way with her. String her up and let a knife make her squeal.
She turned on the shower, letting it run for a moment and stepped in. The hot water sluiced over her skin, stinging her cut.
Ingrid thought of the nasty things she’d do to Talia. She’d fucking butcher her, cut her tits off, fuck her with the knife, pour acid on her pretty face.
Ingrid washed, taking care not to open her wound, but still clean the stitches. She knew it couldn’t be soaked, but a shower shouldn’t hurt anything.
She turned the water off and listened as the phone rang.
Naked and wet, she walked into the bedroom and answered. She knew who it was already; only Mike had the number.
“Hello,” she said.
“Tomorrow night, 10pm,” a voice said before hanging up.
Ingrid put the phone down and went back in for a towel. She dried off, dressed and put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her door.
The big bed welcomed her weary and injured body. She curled up, wrapping herself in soft sheets, only to dream about death and dismemberment.
✽✽✽
Sally tossed his keys on the end table. He shut the door and locked it behind him. Not that it mattered, no one was stupid enough to fuck with him.
A cold pot of coffee sat on the counter and it was calling his name. He grabbed a dirty mug from the sink and filled it. The coffee was bitter, but hit the spot. He knew the caffeine wouldn’t bother him. He was bone-tired and couldn’t wait to hit the hay.
Sally upended the mug, chewing the grinds in the bottom. He rinsed it and put it back in the sink.
“Motherfucker,” he said, taking his jacket off. The left sleeve was crusted with that big German bitch’s blood. She was nearly hysteric by the time they’d reached the doc and had to be helped in. Luckily, it hadn’t taken long to patch her up, but still, he was tired. The adrenaline of the night was enough to wear on anyone, even Sally.
He’d just left the docks, where his guys had finished tidying up the corpse of the guy from the movie. They were a good crew, but he only let them take care of the men. The girls were his.
Sally went into his spartan bedroom and took off his clothes. He didn’t bother showering; he didn’t care. His bed was cold as he lay in his underwear.
‘That fucking bitch,’ he thought, staring at the ceiling. Ever since the day Talia had come into the warehouse, he’d dreamt of sliding his cock into her cold corpse. Warm girls were fucking repulsive, but the cold embrace of a dead cunt was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He salivated thinking of tearing chunks from her perfect tits, tasting congealed blood. Her lips were so perfect, he planned on ripping her teeth out and throat-fucking her too. Not anymore. Not now, thanks to that fucking Amazonian German bitch.
Sally tossed, rolling onto his side. He was hard and pissed off. He should be balls deep in Talia’s corpse, but wasn’t. Sleep, something that was on his periphery moments prior, was gone. He needed a release.
Sally sat up and grabbed the phone by his bed.
“City morgue,” a voice said. A voice familiar to Sally.
“It’s me. Anything good? And, Dennis, don’t fucking tell me no.”
Dennis Polido, one of the many medical examiners in the city, felt his balls shrivel at the sound of Sally’s voice. His daughter, years ago, had gotten herself in a bit of trouble with a local boy. Well, that boy disappeared and his daughter was set straight and narrow. The favor was still being repaid.
Dennis swallowed hard, throat clicking. He did have a girl, a semi-fresh hanging suicide. The thought of that monster defiling her corpse made him sick, but he didn’t have a choice.
“Ye-yeah,” he stammered. “21-year-old, white female, death by suicide, hanging,” Dennis said in a professional voice.
Sally almost smiled as he got out of bed. “I’m on my way,” he hung up, grabbing his pants.
Cracking open a cold one, now that should help him sleep.
✽✽✽
Mike sat in a plush chair looking out over the city. He grabbed a small jar and scooped a healthy amount of cocaine, shoving it into his nose.
“Ah,” he exhaled, rubbing his burning nostrils. The phone next to him rang. He snatched it up before the ring even ended. “Talk to me,” he said, his nerves like lightning.
He was pissed about Talia, but that was the cost of doing business. She was dead and she was going to die anyway, but he at least wanted to make a movie with her. He was going to surprise Sally and see if he wanted to fuck her corpse on camera. That would’ve been a big hit, but the moment was lost. Another time possibly and if the current phone call went well, maybe the following night.
“Hello, sir. The white cake with strawberry filling you ordered is ready for delivery.”
Mike smiled. The snuff films; rape and murder, were big bucks, but tricky. His next film, tomorrow night, he wanted a white woman with red hair. His boss had delivered the girl, now he had to deliver the movie.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” Mike said, smiling. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it. “Will the delivery be at the time discussed on my order.”
“Yes, sir. My best delivery boy will bring it.”
“Excellent,” Mike smiled around his cigarette butt. “See you then.” He hung up. And just like that, Talia was forgotten. The show must go on and tomorrow night it would. A new film, and he had so many ideas for this one. He grabbed the phone and dialed. It rang and rang, until it was finally answered.
“Hello,” she said.
“Tomorrow night. 10pm,” he said to Ingrid and hung up. Mike watched the people mill around the streets. They were ants and he was a fucking god.
