Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [63]
The whole arrangement--traveling all over the country included--had proven ideal for Homer's hobby, which was to find some young bitch who looked like the bitch he had wasted ten years of his life on, who lived by herself, and then being very careful about it, when everything fell into place, get into her apartment, scare the living shit out of her--a man in a black ski mask waving a Jim Bowie replica knife with a polished, shiny twelve-inch blade in her face did that very nicely--cut her clothes off with the knife, tie her to her bed, and take before-during-and-after slipping the salami to her pictures with his digital camera.
This was the fourth time Homer had stood in the shadow of a tree looking up at the apartment of Miss Cheryl Anne Williamson, who at twenty-three looked very much like Mrs. Bonnie Dawson Daniels had looked when she was that age. That is to say, she was tall, slender, blonde, had very fair skin, and even, Homer thought, that deceptive look of sweetness and innocence that Bonnie had.
Deceptive because Bonnie the Bitch was anything but sweet and innocent.
The first time Homer had stood in the shadow of the tree, he had followed Cheryl home from Halligan's Pub, where he had seen her cock-teasing the guys at the bar. It had been immediately apparent to Homer that Cheryl had not gone to the bar to maybe meet somebody she could get to know really well, maybe even someday marry, much less to get laid.
She had gone to the bar to cock-tease some dummy, get him all worked up, and then let him know she wasn't at all interested in fucking him. What she got her kicks from--just like Bonnie the Bitch--was humiliating some poor bastard, letting him know he wasn't good enough for her.
The first night when Cheryl had left Halligan's Pub, he had followed her home. That time he was driving a year-old Cadillac De Ville, used as a loaner by Willow Grove Automotive, where he had parked the rig. Las Vegas Classic Motor Cars did a lot of business with Willow Grove--on that trip, he had dropped off two Porsches from California, and would leave with a really nice Rolls Royce--and the guy who ran it always loaned him a car overnight when he was in town.
That first time, Homer had watched her park her Chrysler Sebring, watched as she entered the apartment building, and then stood in the shadow of the tree until lights went on in a second-floor apartment. Then he went to the Sebring-- Homer had once spent six months working for Las Vegas Towing and Repossession, and getting into the Sebring was no problem--and got Cheryl's name, address, and phone and social security numbers from documents in her glove compartment.
Then he got back in the De Ville and went back to Willow Grove Automotive, parked the De Ville, gave the keys to the security guy, went to the rig, made sure the current had been plugged in, and then went to the compartment in the trailer, locking it from the inside.
He took off all his clothes and sat down in front of the computer, turned it on, took one of the good CDs from its hiding place, slipped it in the drive, looked at the index, thought a moment, and then decided Saint Louis was what he wanted, transferred the Folder STL to the computer, decrypted it, then ran Photo-Eaze, which allowed him to run a slide show of the digital images in STL.
The girl in Saint Louis--Karen--didn't look as much like Bonnie the Bitch as the one tonight did, but he'd had his good times with her. As the slide show ran, he dropped his hand to his groin and played with himself. He ran the slide show again--there were twelve pictures--and then pushed Hold on Number 11, which showed Karen tied to the bed immediately after he'd slipped her the salami. He'd really shown her she wasn't as high and mighty as she thought. She looked soiled and humiliated.
It'll really be great to get this new one, this Cheryl, like that!
That thought had been so exciting that he ejaculated before he