Detroit Combat Read online

Hunched over, she was rubbing her hands together.

  “Out slumming, Detective Riddock?”

  She started to say something, then shook her head in exasperation. “God, I can’t believe myself sometimes!” She paced to the fireplace and tried to warm her hands over the few remaining coals. “I can be such a nerd!”

  Hawker shrugged, went to the kitchen, poured Johnnie Walker into two small tumblers, and carried one to the lady. “Tell me what you did—I’d like to yell at you too.”

  She threw her head back and made a whispered growl of disgust. “I left here at just after eleven. All the way home I kept thinking that I wanted to—” She looked at him briefly and swung her head back toward the nonexistent fire. “I kept thinking I wanted to talk to you some more.”

  “Oh?”

  She was very careful not to look into his eyes. “Yeah. I’m not sure we covered everything. You know. There are a lot of details to discuss.”

  “Oh, right,” said Hawker. “Details.”

  “Anyway, I paced around the house for a while, then got back into my car and drove back here, hoping to catch you before you went to bed.”

  “And you live close, so that doesn’t explain the lost hour—”

  “I missed the turn, tried to stop when I shouldn’t have, and went into a snowdrift. I felt like such an idiot. I promised myself I wouldn’t come and get you no matter what. I kept waiting for someone to stop and offer to help. But we’re pretty out of the way here. There isn’t much traffic on Sunday nights, and the cars that did pass didn’t offer.”

  “That’s not so bad—”

  “Wait. I’m not done. When no one stopped, I tried to get the car out myself. I put wood behind the wheels and spun the tires and rocked it—and nothing worked. Finally I shut off the engine and started to dig the snow away with one of the hubcaps. I left the headlights on so I could see.” She made her little sound of anguish again. “That ran the battery down, and now the damn car won’t start.”

  Hawker put his arm around her. She resisted for a moment, then allowed herself to be drawn to him. “Do you know why I didn’t want you to leave tonight?” he said into her ear.

  “Um-uh.”

  “It wasn’t because I wanted to discuss details.”

  “No?”

  Hawker brushed her cheek with his lips and rubbed his face against the shampoo softness of her blond hair. “No, I wanted you to stay because I’m cold and lonely, and I like you very much.”

  She stretched her arms up to him and Hawker kissed her full lips, feeling the warmth of her hips press through the thin cotton warmup suit.

  She took a step backward and took off her heavy jacket. There was a new glow in her gray eyes now; a glow brighter, more demanding, more feverish than he had expected. “James,” she whispered, “the fire, it needs wood.”

  “What? The fire … right.” He turned and added a stack of kindling and three chunks of oak in a heap. It smoldered, then began to crack and whoosh, blazing.

  He turned back around to see the woman carrying a heavy blanket from the bedroom. The hiking boots added length to the long legs, and her breasts were full beneath the ski sweater. She spread the blanket on the floor and held out her hand.

  “Not many people know what a clutz I really am. I’ve spent my whole life trying to camouflage it—the B.A. degree, the law degree, the cold businesswoman facade. They’re all just disguises. Beneath the facade, I’m still a gawky, flat-chested adolescent too shy and awkward, and much too sensitive.” She nuzzled him. “What? You still like me even though you know the truth?”

  Hawker took her hand and pulled her to him. He kissed her softly. “I had a workout tonight that set a new clutz high in lows. We have more in common than you think.”

  She kissed him then, harder, her mouth slightly open, her tongue tracing the stubble of beard around his lips. Her hands caressed the nape of his neck, then slid down his bare back and came to rest where the sweat pants hung low on his hips.

  She trembled as she whispered, “I haven’t been with a man for a very long time, James. A very long time. Take me, please. Do whatever you want to; don’t hold back … because I’m not going to hold back, and I want all of you. I don’t want to feel ashamed because you expect me to be timid, James. Please don’t expect me to be timid.”

  Her mouth opened completely then as Hawker kissed her. Her lips were wet and swollen, and she shuddered slightly as he stripped the sweater over her head.

  Through the silk T-shirt she wore, her nipples stood erect and he could see the round shadows of the full areolas. He massaged her through the T-shirt, then stripped that away too. Her breasts hung full and heavy and firm. The nipples tapered into swollen cones, pointed slightly upward, and she groaned and hugged his head to her as he kissed them.

  When his attention to her breasts brought her to such a fevered pitch that it seemed she might climax through just his touch, she stepped back and knelt before him. Hawker wrapped his fists in her golden hair and gazed down on her perfect face as she slid his sweat pants down to his ankles.

  “Step out of them,” she whispered, breathing heavily. “Step out of them and turn toward the firelight. I want to see you.”

  As Hawker turned, she opened her mouth wide and took him halfway in. Her hands on his taut buttocks, she began to move him deeply into her, then out again as Hawker groaned, his right hand still knotted in her hair, his left hand exploring the smoothness of her neck and the swell of her breasts.

  After a time, he said, “You seem to enjoy that, lady.”

  “Um-huh.”

  “Keep it up for much longer, and you’re going to get quite a surprise.”

  She slid her lips away from him long enough to smile and whisper, “Sounds delicious, James. Don’t hold back; please don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

  When Hawker could stand it no more, he forced her mouth away from him and pulled her down onto the blanket with him in front of the fire. Her hips arched as he unzipped her jeans, pulled off her boots, and stripped away the jeans. The golden firelight made the pale-blue panties appear jade green. A pale curl of pubic hair escaped on either side, and she thrust her pelvis upward to help him remove the panties.

  “Yes, James, yes.”

  The woman’s hands wound themselves in the blanket as Hawker touched his lips to the inside of her thighs. While one hand moved from breast to heavy breast, Hawker used his tongue to explore the salted, scented depths of her.

  As she neared climax, Clare moaned a deep throaty growl of pleasure, then sat up quickly. Her kiss was bruising, and Hawker could see that her face, her lips, her complete muscle structure had gone completely slack with wanting.

  Taking her hand, Hawker pulled her to her feet. The stereo was playing an instrumental he recognized: “Our Winter Love” by Bill Purcell. Standing, he cupped his hands around the woman’s buttocks and lifted her off the floor. Hawker buried his face in her breasts, spread her slightly, and let her settle, gasping, as he slip deeply into her.

  The woman quivered as he entered her, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms wrapped around his neck, her head thrown back and long blond hair hanging down.

  Hawker used his hands to slide her up and down upon the length of him. Soon she began to tremble violently as her hips pulsed and the color of her whole body flashed from white to ruby red, and she pulled her face against his, and she whispered in ecstasy, “Yes, James, yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, never stop, please, please, please never stop.…”

  The woman pushed the hair back from her face and yawned. “What time is it, darling?”

  “After three.”

  “You mean that we’ve been … we’ve been on this blanket for more than an hour and a half?”

  Naked, Hawker reached out and put another log on the fire. A meteor of sparks flew up the chimney as he did. “An hour and forty-five minutes.”

  “My God, it seemed more like five minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  She lau
ghed. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Hawker hugged her close to him and kissed her forehead. “I hope not. I used up more calories on you tonight then I did in my four-mile run. Got just as bruised up though, I think.”

  There was a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. “I told you I wasn’t going to hold back. I told you it had been a long time.”

  “Maybe those old stories about traveling men dying of exhaustion at remote nunneries are true, huh?”

  She slapped at him. “I’m hardly a nun.”

  “The Vatican can thank its lucky stars for that.”

  Hawker got up, pulled on his sweat pants against the cold, and walked across the living room. He found a tin of snuff in the drawer and took a discreet dip. The tobacco made him slightly lightheaded and gave him a little charge of energy. He found a paper cup to spit in.

  “What are you doing?” Hawker asked.

  Naked, the woman was collecting her clothes from the floor. Hawker realized again that he had never seen a more perfect female body in his life. She said, “I’m going to get dressed. Maybe I can borrow your car until tomorrow. I’ll have a wrecker pull my car out of the drift, and I’ll drive your Corvette back here—”

  “You’re not leaving—you’re staying here; you’re sleeping with me.”

  She looked up at him gratefully. Hawker realized she had been hoping he would ask. She dropped the clothes in a heap and took him in her arms. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve got no one to keep me warm. Besides, we still have ‘details’ to discuss.”

  The woman looked closely at his face. She began to trace the outline of a small half-moon scar at the corner of his eye. “I’ll keep you warm,” she whispered. “And tomorrow we’ll go to work?”

  “Tomorrow we will be makers of pornographic films. I will wear dark glasses and maybe even a wig, and you will be cold and businesslike and order people around who come to see us.”

  She kissed him softly. In his ear, she whispered. “You could star in a pornographic movie, James Hawker.”

  Laughing, he answered, “I already have, Clare. I already have.”

  FOURTEEN

  “I hear you’re looking for talent?” The boy appeared to be no older than thirteen. He had curly blond hair combed into a punkish rat’s nest and an eye twitch that he couldn’t quite control.

  Hawker, feeling ridiculous in an expensive black wig and an open-necked shirt, nodded. “We’re always looking for the right kind of talent. You’re an actor?”

  “Yeah, I’ve done some stuff. You know, some skin projects. But I have a rep, and the rep would have to okay any job I took. But this rep is good. If you need actors, she can get you all you want—and any age you want. If you’re interested in me, maybe she can do the whole cast for you.”

  Hawker drummed his fingers on the desk. “You mean like an agent?”

  “Yeah, right, a rep or agent—whatever you want to call it.” The kid shifted nervously back and forth on the balls of his feet. Hawker began to understand why he wore long sleeves. The kid was in the room, but his glassy eyes were about a hundred miles west on the heroin highway.

  “We usually don’t have any trouble getting our own people.”

  The kid nodded, his head bobbing. “That’s not what I hear on the street, man. The shit on the street says you want to make a flick filled with angel babies, and angel babies ain’t so easy to find.” The boy’s head bobbed faster. “You getting a lot of twelve-year-old boys and girls reading your ads and applying for jobs? Angel babies aren’t going to come hunting for you, Jake. But I guess you know that by now. From what I hear, you and your chick have been doing nothing but striking out ever since you opened this studio last week. Everyone who shows up gets turned down.”

  “Are you here for yourself or your agent?” Hawker reached into the desk, took a pencil—and also switched on the tape recorder. He began doodling on a notepad. “What’s wrong if we just want to hire you? What’s the big problem if we’d rather cast the project ourselves than turn it over to some pimp agent who’s going to knock you for twenty percent and us for ten percent plus a point or two on the gross?” Hawker smiled. “Why shouldn’t the actors and producers share the profits instead of making it a threesome?”

  The kid began to rock faster now, distraught. “Hey, I hear what you’re saying, man. It makes sense. But I got this rep, like I said. She’s a heavy lady. Very, very heavy, you know? Her word’s law.”

  “So you didn’t really come here looking for a job? You came as a messenger boy.”

  “Came looking for work, man. You could have rolled with the idea about seeing my rep. You could have hired me in a second. I need the dough, man. The bread would truly be welcome.” The kid pivoted and reached for the door.

  “That’s it?” said Hawker. “You’re giving up that easily? Come on, we’ve got a film to make. We could use you—you and all your friends. We need kids, man, and we’re paying fair prices.”

  The kid stepped into the hall. He smiled. “I hear what you’re saying, man. But I got no opinion in the matter. What my rep says goes.”

  As the kid began to step through the door, Hawker called after him, “At least tell me how to get in touch with you. Leave a phone number or something.”

  The boy turned. In the same tone a teacher uses on a slow pupil, he said, “You don’t get it, Jake. My rep will be in touch with you. She sent me as a gift, the easy route for you. It was a fucking social call, man, and you refused. She wants to supply the actors for your project. You can say yes or no, but if you say no, I feel sorry for you, man. I feel very sorry.” The kid flashed a wolfish grin just before he disappeared. “If you say no, your luck turns real bad all of a sudden. Nobody should have that kind of bad luck, Jake. Not even you.”

  A few seconds after the kid was gone, the door to the back room of the studio opened. Clare Riddock stepped through. She clasped her hands together and shook them at Hawker. She was grinning. “They took the bait!” she exclaimed.

  Hawker touched his index finger to his lips to silence her. He tiptoed to the door and looked out. The kid was gone. Hawker shut the door, laughing. “You ever see the movie where Peter Matthiessen and Peter Gimble go in search of the great white shark? I know just how they felt after waiting and waiting, and then finally seeing that big shark cruising at them from the lagoon.”

  Hawker took the woman in his arms and hugged her. She knocked his wig askew, and they both laughed. “You really think he works for Queen Faith?”

  “Who else could it be?” insisted Hawker. “Look at it this way: We’ve been hanging around this stinking office for six days now, and every kook, kink, and slimeball except for a Queen Faith representative has been here. It’s got to be her. There’s no one left in Detroit.”

  Clare was obviously pleased her plan had worked so quickly. Her face was flushed. Hawker drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead. “You’ve got a first-rate mind, lady.”

  “We had some luck too.”

  Hawker threw his arm around her and they walked to the window. They had leased a cheap fourth-floor suite on a suburban street pocked by used car lots, bowling alleys, funeral homes, and walk-up apartments. For Hawker, the days there had been pleasant only because he had the woman to keep him company—and because there had been no further reports of kidnappings in the Detroit area.

  His rescue of Brenda Paulie and the subsequent disappearance of her slavekeeper had obviously stung the organization. They had lowered their profile.

  Now Hawker wanted to do more than sting the Queen Faith organization.

  He wanted to destroy them, to annihilate them. More precisely, he wanted to destroy Queen Faith.

  At night it was increasingly hard for him to sleep—and not because he now had a steady and demanding bed partner in Clare Riddock. He found it hard to sleep because he couldn’t help speculating about who Queen Faith was, what she was, about what such a dangerously twisted woman would look like.

  But he kne
w the time would come when all his questions would be answered. He knew the time would come when he would stare the woman in the face and pronounce judgment on her.

  Could he kill her? Hawker had never killed a woman before.

  But he had never met anyone like Queen Faith before.

  Hawker and the woman stared down through the window as the boy came out into the street. He glanced right then left. Suddenly a black Olds with tinted windows came screaming around the corner. A door was pushed open, the boy jumped in, and the car screeched off.

  “I should have thought of that,” the woman said, clapping her palm to her forehead. “We should’ve had a tail waiting for them.”

  “No, a tail would have been dumb. If they spotted it, we’d be marked as cops right off. We wouldn’t have been able to get close again. Let’s just stick with your plan, Clare. We’ll keep giving them rope until they hang themselves. It may take awhile, but I think we’d better let them come to us.”

  It didn’t take nearly as long as Hawker’d thought.

  FIFTEEN

  At five P.M. they locked the doors of the film studio, which Clare had whimsically incorporated as Double Exposure, and rode the elevator to the ground floor.

  The woman was talking about where they might have dinner. The food at The Three Sisters was unbeatable, but neither of them wanted to go there because of the memories it would bring to mind.

  As they walked out onto the street and turned toward the parking lot, the woman was saying, “I could cook. We could buy some steaks—or maybe some lobster. We could go to your place, build a nice fire, and eat there.”

  “I don’t care where we eat just so long as I can take off this god damn wig, get out of these pimp clothes, and go for a run.”

  She laughed. “It’s not a ‘wig,’ James, dear; it’s a toupee—didn’t you listen to the sweet fellow who sold it to you? Besides, it looks perfectly natural.”

  “It feels like a ball cap made out of Brillo pads.”

  “Black hair is very becoming on you, darling. I especially like the gold chains around your neck. Quite macho.”