"In Sexual Pursuit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Long Rod)

Chapter 2

"So, Bernardo, now that my youngest son is home from New York we will have no peace around this house, will we, Salvador?"

Leonardo Mendosa reached out affectionately and rumpled the dark thatch of curly black hair on his youngest son's head as he would a child.

"Sure, Dad, and Salvador isn't wild at all," he replied, reaching into a pocket of his black leather jacket with the Morros insignia on the back for his comb and nervously rearranged his rumpled hair. He hated his father when he rumpled his hair that way. That was for boys and small children, not for a man such as he. He hated the fact that he could not tell him to stop doing it. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have told him not to do it anymore, but now, with him so ill, he could say nothing.

He was alarmed at how much he'd changed, just since the beginning of the summer, but he'd quickly put the thought out of his mind. Old people were always getting sick, weren't they? It couldn't really be serious. All he had to do was cheer him up a little, like he had ever since he was small, and he'd let him get away with anything he wanted.

"Look at him, Salvador," the bedridden older man laughed, turning to his elder son, his thin face wreathed in smiles. "Not a hair can be out of place. But you make me proud of you. I have heard from my cousin in New York and they are all well pleased to have you marry their daughter. She too, is pleased to have you as her husband. You did well in New York. We have done well through your actions."

"I am glad. She will make a good wife," he said. "It will be a long wait for me until she is old enough to be married. How many years will it be? Three? Four? Whatever, I will look forward to it anxiously."

Looking from one to the other, Leonardo Mendosa spoke, his voice trembling with intensity. "For a father," he said, "all the medicines in the world don't do as much as having two sons as fine as you two are. Sometimes this summer, when I was really bad, I didn't think I'd live to see tomorrow. But now, today, I feel like I could live forever.

And even if I don't, just seeing my youngest son fulfilling my dream of reuniting my family that was so cruelly separated in Cuba, makes all things fine."

"And you will be there at the wedding!" Salvador added, his high forehead furrowing into an angry frown. "You're talking like you won't be here to see the wedding, but you will be, you must be!"

"I hope so," he insisted. "No matter what, I can meet Saint Peter with a pure heart because I know I have done my best to bring our family together again. I am so proud of my two good sons!"

Leonardo settled back on the pillow and smiled weakly. "It is good to have you home again. We have missed you. I'm tired now. I have to sleep."

A few moments later, Bernardo and his brother were making their way down the hall from their fathers bedroom, both silently worried about their father's condition but neither speaking of it to the other.

It seemed to the older brother that his life was full of problems lately. Not only was there tension in the Morros gang over how to defend their turf from rival gangs, he was also faced with the total exposure of his gang and its activities by the biggest newspaper in Miami. For months now there had been newspaper articles in all the local papers about street gangs in Miami, making it hot for all of them, for everything they did was subject to investigation. Sensing the issue's vote-getting potential, the mayor had personally instructed the police commissioner to launch an all-out war on the most powerful of the gangs to break them up, destroy them. At first, Salvador hadn't thought too much about it. The Morros had ridden out these things before. All you had to do was lie low for a while, and lay off the heavy crime and soon the media and the police would almost forget they were even alive. That was the way it normally worked, and would have worked this time too, but for one man, one stupid, idiot reporter who had taken more than a passing interest in the Morros. He had gone after them like a holy cause, writing article upon article about them, as though he wanted to see them all in the grave. He had come pretty close to doing just that too. He had made life so hot for the Morros that they could hardly walk down the street without being followed by cops or by the reporter himself. Hell, the guy, Rick Taggart was his name, seemed to know as much about them, their history, and what they were doing as they did. Somehow or another, they were going to have to shut the guy up, but how?

They had three choices on how to get rid of the guy, each one posing its own particular problems. The whole gang had discussed what to do, and a lot of very dangerous arguments had come to the surface during the discussion, but eventually, they had all come to the same conclusion. They couldn't murder him; it might cause more trouble then they could handle. Nor could they try to scare him off. Knowing Taggart, it would only make him all the more anxious to destroy them.

No, the only workable solution was to simply knock him and his credibility out of the picture. They had even figured out a fool-proof plan, one that could not fall, and it all depended on Bernardo's power of persuasion over his sometime girlfriend, Maria Paloma.

Later, after Salvador had explained the plan to his younger brother, they both parted to complete their parts of the plan, Salvador going off to get the necessary materials, and Bernardo off to find the person who could make or break the whole deal. He found her in one of the deserted houses the gang used as a hide-out or meeting place. She and one of the other Morros members, probably the meanest of the gang, Chico Ramirez, were engaged in some sort of weird game. Maria was down on her knees in front of the muscular gang member, moving away from him. She lurched awkwardly upward, her hugely billowing tits bobbing balloon-like up and down as she twisted and swayed, trying to stand up.

There was something strangely exciting about the tableau they made, and Bernardo's cock stiffened against his thigh as he walked toward them, realizing that she had been sucking Chico's prick. Unconsciously, he moved with the measured, slightly swaggering step the other Latin men used to show their superiority to women. The sight of the lewdly wriggling and panting girl made his hard young balls contract hotly inside his slacks. Chico knew how to handle women, all right. "Salvador wants to see you down at the corner of Fourth and Main."

"Yeah? What about?"

Bernardo eyed him coolly. "He's got some business for you to take care of."

"Right, man, right. Say, nice to have you back from the Big Apple."

"Thanks."

"Salvador tell you the plans for Taggart?"

"Yeah, that's why he wants you. Gotta get the stuff for the frame and I have to get rid of you in order to get my part settled."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. See you later."

With a short laugh, Chico looked at Maria and back at Bernardo, then left the two alone.

"That Chico's a fuckin' creep," Maria muttered, getting to her feet after the black-haired Chico had made his departure.

"You miss me, Maria?" Bernardo said, knowing damn well she never missed anyone. She was a hard-hearted bitch if he had ever met one.

"Oh, you're full of shit," the girl replied disdainfully, combing her curly black hair and adjusting her makeup with a pocket minor. "You know damned well that I like you as much as I like anyone, but did I miss you? Shit, I don't even miss tomorrow if it doesn't come!"

Bernardo smiled, his eyes darkening as he took in her sensuously rounded form crammed into the tight-fitting shorts and top, beneath which she was apparently not wearing a bra because her tits were molded seductively into the halter top, filling the material to the bursting point. "Yeah, you didn't look like you missed me very much a few moments ago."

Maria shrugged in annoyance. "Oh, that's just a cock. Doesn't matter who's it is, I use cocks 'cause I like to fuck. Sometimes I like the man who owns the cock, sometimes not. No matter either way."

"And Chico is one you don't like," he asked.

"But I like you," Maria replied.

With that, the sensuous brunette sidled over to Bernardo and pressed her body up tight against his, wriggling a little so he could feel the surging outline of her titties and the hard mound of her pussy. "Hey Bernardo, why don't you and I go have a fast one, huh?"

"Sounds good, Maria," Bernardo answered, his cock throbbing hungrily at her obscene invitation. "First I want you to do me a little favor, okay?"

"Sure Bernardo, anything you say," Maria said, her eyes fixed on the rapidly rising bulge of his cock. "What do you want me to do?"

Nancy Taggart, the pretty blonde-haired wife of the Miami Register's star reporter, ran the dusting rag over the top of her husband's desk.

She liked to keep his study clean and straight for him because she knew that he appreciated it, and enjoyed working in an atmosphere of cleanliness and order. He had often told her how much more organized and clear his own thoughts were and therefore his articles, if his surrounding were the same.

She stopped her dusting momentarily as she noticed a half-typed page still standing in the typewriter. Leaning over his desk chair, her huge titties resting softly on the back of the chair, she read what was written on the paper.

There have been many articles written lately about street gangs, many big words, many impractical solutions, but what has actually been done about them, why are they still operating; why have all those so-called solutions failed?

If the concerned citizen would trouble to find out what had actually been done by our so-called "public servants" he would come up wanting.

While it is true that police surveillance was doubled during a period of public interest, it was not continued once the interest had dropped off and now surveillance is negligible. The gangs are back together, in full force, a dangerous force in our streets. But most of all, the most feared gang in Miami, perhaps the most cunning and ruthless of all of the street gangs, the Morros is stronger than ever before.

The Morros gang may not mean very much to those of you in your comfortable suburban homes, but to the people of the barrio it is a name to be feared. The Morros are connected with many unsolved crimes – rape, murder, theft, none provable because of the great power they hold over the people living in their neighborhoods. There is even a gruesome story of a so-called "Trophy Room", a cache of mementos from all of the crimes the gang has been involved with since its birth in the forties.

As to what kind of trophies this room contains, I will not even speculate except to say that if their crimes are any indication of their trophies, then the room must be a grisly sight indeed.

The article continued a few more paragraphs, but Nancy did not want to read any more. With a shiver at the thought that there could be such horrible people in the world, she went back to her work.

She so hated the thought that her husband was working on such a horrible subject. It could be dangerous fooling around with these local street gangs. They might be small-time hoods, but she had seen a television program on them once, and they were far more organized and ruthless than she had been led to believe. But it didn't really matter what she thought, she sighed, Rick had been assigned to do a series of follow-up articles on the street gangs and he would do it no matter what. That was where he was right now, in fact, digging up some more information on the workings and the leaders of these gangs.

Well, she thought determinedly, at least tonight he won't be thinking about those stupid street gangs. She was going to make sure of that!

First a wonderful dinner, with all the things he liked best, steak, baked potatoes, wine, and a special dessert. Then she was going to put on her sexiest housedress, some soft music on the radio and…

"… And seduce him," she said determinedly, her blue eyes resolute as she finished the dusting and headed out the door of the study to the living room. "No matter what he wants to do, I am going to get him to want to fuck me. He will have to fuck me crazy, too!"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. "Who can that be?" she wondered as she walked into the living room toward the front door of her house, pausing at the hall mirror to brush some unruly strands of blonde hair out of her eyes.

Opening the door, she was surprised to find herself face to face with a dark-haired Spanish-looking girl clad in a pair of white shorts, a tight, glittering T-shirt and narrow thong sandals. Her dark hair was jet black, and her face was made up thickly as the Spanish women in Miami were apt to do, with a slash of dark red lipstick on her sensuously full lips.

"Yes?" Nancy asked, puzzled.

"Is this where Rick Taggart lives?" the girl asked.

"Yes, yes it is."

"The Rick Taggart who's doing an article on the street gangs?"

"That's right."

The girl's face seemed to light up for a moment, as though she were relieved. "Can I talk to him? It's real important."

"I'm sorry," Nancy replied. "He isn't home from work yet." She looked searchingly at the girl, whose questions seemed charged with a strange tension. At the news of Rick's absence, she grew agitated, as though this were something she hadn't expected.

"Oh gosh, I've gotta talk to him. It's about, well -" she looked uneasily down the street, as though frightened that someone might overhear. "It's about his articles. He wants to see me about some info on the gangs. But if he's not here…"

"Wait!" Nancy called after her as she started down the front walk.

Something in the brunette's troubled appearance struck a responsive chord in the young reporter's wife. She was so pathetic somehow, with her thick cosmetics and outrageously tight clothing. "Why don't you come in and have a cup of coffee? Maybe you can wait for Rick to get back, or perhaps I can help you."

"Well, if you're sure it's no trouble…"

"Not at all," Nancy smiled warmly at the girl, and held the door open for the stranger to walk by her.

"I'm Nancy Taggart, Rick's wife," she said, holding out her hand.

"Pleased to meet you. My name's Maria."

"Maria? Is that all?" Nancy smiled.

"I'd rather not say the rest," the girl replied, sitting down on the sofa in the living room. "I do not want any of the gang to know I am here."

"Oh." Nancy sat down opposite her in a comfortable armchair.

"Yeah. Y'see. I know some things about the things Mr. Taggart wants to write about. I have grown up with the gangs and I know how they work. I am even sometimes a woman for the gangs, you know? But I wanted to tell Mr. Taggart some things about what they do, how they work and stuff like that."

Maria's voice trailed off, and she nervously fingered the straps of her large plastic purse as she talked. "Y'see, Mr. Taggart's maybe the only one who is interested in doing anything about any of this right now."

Suddenly the sophisticated-looking brunette dissolved into tears, and she buried her face in her hands.

"Oh, you poor thing," Nancy murmured, her heart immediately swelling with sympathy. "I know my husband will want to hear what you have to tell him. You just rest here for a few minutes while I make us some coffee, all right? And then maybe you can tell me about it."

"That'd be fine," Maria sobbed.

As soon as Nancy was out of the room, however, the deceptive brunette hastily dried her eyes and began looking around. She'd accomplished half of her mission, getting inside the house and getting Taggart's old lady out of the room. Now for the rest.

On the other side of the room she could see an open door leading to the study. This must be where he worked, she decided, because his wife would have no need for such a place. Moving quickly and quietly across to the door, Maria rummaged through her purse for a brown paper bag.

Inside it were about a hundred little plastic bags that Bernardo had given to her. Going over to the desk, she began distributing them everywhere, in the drawers, under books and papers, in the cubby holes at the back of the desk where Rick kept pencils and unpaid bills.

Her mission accomplished, she glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Nancy was still occupied with the coffee, then slipped out the door again, closing it softly behind her.

A few moments later, Rick's unsuspecting young wife came back into the living room, carrying a large tray with two cups of fresh coffee, sugar and cream. "Here we are -" she began, then stopped, startled, thinking that perhaps the girl had gone into the bathroom. But the door was open and the lights in the bathroom were off.

"She's gone," Nancy murmured, going to the front window to see if perhaps she could catch a glimpse of the girl in the street. "How strange. She must have let her fear get the best of her. Rick will be sorry to hear that, he was probably counting on the information the girl was going to give him."