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He closed the door behind him, and Mack and Olive stayed quite still, like a
tableau in a shabby small-town museum, as the detectives' footsteps clattered
down the stairs. The front door slammed, and after a while they heard the
whinny of a car starter. Mack coughed.
Olive stood up. "Do you want me to go?" she asked Mack in a gentle voice.
He shook his head. "Not if you can stand a little mourning."
She smiled sadly. "I lost my first man in Vietnam. There's nothing you can
teach me about mourning."
"You didn't tell me about that."
"There wasn't no need. I don't know nothing about you, and you don't know
nothing about me, and that was the way we were meant to be."
Mack laid his hand on her bare shoulder, and leaned forward and kissed her.
"You're very good for me. You know that?"
"Yes," she smiled, her eyes glittering.
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I guess I'll go out. Maybe get some
beer and some food. We could have Dick and Lois around later, if you like."
"Come to bed first," she said. Her beaded black hair
rattled as she shook her head.
"I just got up."
"This is therapy."
"What kind of therapy?"
"Forget-your-sadness therapy. Come on."
She took his wrist and led him back into the bedroom. He stood silent while
she tugged his Snoqualmie T-shirt over his head and then unzippered his
Levi's. She knelt on the bedroom floor and pulled the pants down his legs.
He felt as if he couldn't catch his breath; the way you feel in a high wind.
Olive's perfume was strong and flowery, and there was something about the way
her long fingernails grazed over his skin that he found intensely arousing.
She guided him toward the bed and gently pushed him backward onto the red
satin sheet. He looked up at her, and the muted flare of the sun that shone
through the blind behind her made her appear darker and more mysterious than
ever.
He wondered if her first lover had been black or white. He wondered how he had
died.
She unwrapped her sarong. It fell to the floor, pure silk, silent as a shadow.
The soft sunlight gleamed on the brown skin of her impossibly huge breasts,
nippled with black. She climbed onto the bed, and her breasts swayed.
"You have to forget everything," she whispered. He wasn't sure if her voice
was far or near. The room was dim and warm and funky from their night of love.
He felt her tongue run along the sole of his foot, and her teeth nip at his
heel. Then she began to lick and kiss him all the way up the inside of his
left leg, pausing every now and then to trace with the tip of her tongue a
more elaborate pattern, like the shape of a butterfly, or a star. He had
thought that last night was enough, but now he could feel himself hardening
again, and a deep pulse between his legs.
Olive's searching mouth at last reached his thigh, and then her wet tongue was
burrowing between the cheeks of his ass and licking around his tightened
balls. He let out a short, tight breath.
72
Tengu
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Thoughts of Sherry still crowded his mind. Sherry standing in that same
bedroom doorway. Sherry lying asleep on that pillow beside him. The
unhappiness in him began to overwhelm him, and he could feel himself soften.
But to Olive, achieving this moment of oblivion was vital. Mack had to know
that he could turn to her for forgetfulness when his sadness for Sherry was
too much to bear. He had to know that she could blot out his grief.
She held him in her hand, her long fingernails gently digging into the flesh
of his penis, and she licked his shaft until it stiffened again. Then she
kissed and nuzzled the head with her lips, and probed the salty, secret
crevice. She felt his thigh muscles tense up, heard him groan.
Olive took him deep into her mouth. Dark lips enclosed white flesh. Her head
moved up and down, faster and faster, until her dreadlocks sounded like
maracas. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts. Her eyes were tight closed. All
she knew was that she wanted to suck out of him all the love she could. She
felt his strong, thin fingers clutching at her breast, pulling at her nipple.
There was a long minute of tension. The world had closed its doors to memory,
to Sherry, to Hollywood, to everything but one rising and irresistible
sensation.
Then Mack said, "Ah," quite softly, and flooded Olive's mouth.
Olive, after a short while, sat up. Her lips shone in the shaded bedroom sun.
"How was it?" she asked him, and she wasn't surprised to see tears in his
eyes.
Tengu CHAPTER NINE
73
If his wife Nora hadn't given him sliced onion in his liverwurst sandwiches
that morning, patrolman Ed Russo wouldn't have died. But the onion had given
him heartburn, and he asked his partner Phil Massey to pull the car into the
curb at the intersection of Hollywood and Highland so that he could buy
himself a pack of Rolaids.
It was four minutes after eleven. Sergeant Skrolnik was just leaving Mack
Holt's apartment building on Franklin Avenue. Olive Nesmith was just saying: '
'Forget-your-sad-ness therapy. Come on." In West Los Angeles Mrs. Eva Crowley
was staring at her face in the mirror and trying to keep herself from throwing
up, and Sherry Cantor had been dead for slightly more than twenty-seven hours.
Ed Russo, a slim, soft-spoken man with a heavy brown mustache, walked through
the cold air-conditioned drugstore until he found the shelves he wanted. He
bought two packs of Rolaids, one to keep in his locker and one for the car. He
wouldn't need either of them.
The strawberry-rinsed woman behind the pharmaceutical counter said, "How are
you doing?"
Russo held up the Rolaids. "My wife gave me onions today. I love onions, but [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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