The Dark End of the Street

Revenge is a dish best served cold. When folks say that, they mean only that you get a bigger kick out of it when you‘ve waited a long time for the pay-back. Sure, that’s true enough but the planning and preparation are part of the fun too – it’s kinda like adding spice I guess.

D’ya know the story about Salome? No dark alley, or on the back lot homicide for the likes of her. When she wanted a guy croaked she got the city all steamed up with a goddam fan dance and then demanded the schmuck’s head on a plate. A nifty piece of work though that kinda thing won’t wash these days, even in New Jersey. Anyhow, if you know the tale you’ll get where I’m coming from.

The guy I had in my sights had it coming to him for sure but the reasons are nobody else’s business but mine and his. So, you’ll just have to take my word.

He was a private detective, a Shamus, he called himself. But not one of those grubby curtain-twitcher types but a guy who would take risks for a client right up to the near suicidal. He’d take on anyone; the cops, the politicians or even the mob. It was all the same to him. So long as he thought it was on the level and the right thing to do, he’d do it. He had a good reputation around town and no stains on his character so far as the locals knew – though I knew better.

I’d got him to do a few little chores for me at first, with each task calculated to draw him in further and further. It had worked swell, even better than I’d expected and I reckoned I’d got him well and truly hooked. Each occasion I’d been just a little more flirtatious with him than the previous time till I thought he was swallowing the bait and what’s more, liking it.

I also changed what I wore when I met with him and I noticed that his interest in me sure had grown. After a while I knew I’d gotten Him just where I wanted. I’d become a hidden enemy in the camp, plotting in the shadows, a she-devil, enigmatic but strangely fascinating to the intended victim of her malice. I fancied myself like one of those dames in a pulp magazine, but not like the tease on the cover; I was the genuine article. I’d be exacting divine retribution for the hubris of a corrupt mortal. And I’d be both pitiless and inescapable, like a real vengeful Nemesis should be.

It was like a deadly game and I sure loved playing it. I reckoned I could measure the growth of his interest with the height of my heels, and the shrinking of his doubts by the length of my skirt. After all, he was only a man and I … well, I figured I could lead him just wherever I liked.

This all sounds as though I despised the guy but it wasn’t that way at all. There’s no thrill in tormenting a sad loser. I wouldn’t waste my time if I’d thought he was beneath contempt or an unworthy adversary. The man had integrity and a code of honour and though I don’t exactly admire noble-type junk like that, I admit I did have a sorta grudging respect for his authenticity. I guess it’s like I thought he was the last of a kind.

But it was the weirdest thing. I used to get these flutterings inside when I met him. No kidding. It used to worry me at first ‘cos it felt just like the way dime novels describe the turmoil of love or similar hogwash. Oh, do me a favour! I was pretty hard-bitten I guess and I just knew it wasn’t any baloney like that but the simple excitement of the chase and anticipation of my ultimate victory. I ignored these butterflies and looked forward instead to the whirring wings of the Furies. They should be along anytime soon.

But besides all that, he also had these unexpected, almost chivalrous, little ways. Not an asset with me however – they really just added to my irritation with him, if anything. I’d given him several opportunities to make a pass at me but every time, he’d resisted. I knew damn well that he’d be royally entertained to corrupt a real-life duchess or something approximating, given the chance, but it seemed that he wouldn’t take advantage of a woman he thought was vulnerable or who needed protection. Well, the more fool him ‘cos I would certainly have let him have me. The fact that he’d carelessly wronged my family in the past, positively did not stop me fancying the swine like all hell.

Anyhow, all I mean is that I knew he was worth all the trouble I’d gone to rope him. I guess I’m saying that he counted, and that made what I was planning to do count also. It was a pretty big deal, to me at least. I was just sore that I’d miss the excitement and the poetic sort of justice – to let him sleep with me before I gave him the big sleep for good an’ all.

I arranged to meet him at a speakeasy downtown. It was the sort of place that served bath-tub gin at champagne prices to grey men in business suits looking to find an excuse not to go home. The women would seem more glamorous than their wives for sure, but that’s just lipstick, rouge and bad lighting. Take away the commercials and glossy packaging and they were still a bunch of drabs and floozies.

Anyhow, I figured he’d be confused by my choice which I guess was the point. Up to then, we’d only met at his office, in swanky restaurants or at rooms I’d rented in luxury hotels. The sucker absolutely thought that I was a spoilt rich-kid who needed saving, so I thought it a good joke to provoke his ‘white knight on a charger rescuing damsels in distress’ type instincts. I knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse that kind of challenge.

My vamping of him had reached a pretty high level by this point but I wanted this last time to be the ultimate so I dressed real special. All in black of course; anything else would have been irregular given the intended occasion. A longish skirt but with a split all the way up the side, both to let him have a glimpse of what he’d not be getting and to make it real easy to get at the means of despatch I’d chosen. Also, a black, silk blouse with a few top buttons undone so’s he could see the jet, teardrop pendant I’d be wearing on its long chain. I didn’t really care whether he’d get the significance of that – it was more for my sake than his.

High heels and stockings naturally, but instead of the usual hold-ups I had on a lacy garter belt and this really swell boned, silk bustier-corset item which only cupped rather than covered my breasts. When I laced myself into it, I got real hot just imagining what the thought of that would do to him. I decided that I’d find a way of letting him know about it before I did for him. I wanted his last moments to be dominated by unfulfilled desire for my body. I guess I was amused by the thought he’d be going to Hell with a hard-on!

I never actually got to the joint I’d chosen which was a crying shame after all the trouble I’d gone to. The cabbie decided it was more than his life and gonads were worth to get too close to that dive and so the schmuck dropped me a block and a half away. Some gallant, huh! But what can a gal expect these days?

The corner where he’d chickened out was wrapped in a darkness which only seemed re-enforced by the dim glow in the distance of the neon above the speakeasy door. Every other light down the whole damn street was out. I had to fumble around for a bill to pay him and I just hope it was a single rather than the ten spot I would have given if he hadn’t been so lily-livered. Anyhow, he didn’t stop to look but just hared off as soon as I slammed the door on his ugly mug..

It was foggy too and I guess I should have been nervous when a shape appeared out of the gloom, but I knew my man. A dark fedora added even more shadow to the face but the clunk of heels in an assured stride and the long coat billowing behind were trademarks – yeah, this was him for sure. The flick of a lighter and a puff of smoke clinched the deal.

“The dark end of the street, huh?”

There was a kind of weary cynicism in the voice, as though he knew my mind, but I just loosed my coat and smiled at him. I guess I should’ve taken out the derringer tucked in my stocking right then and there and shot the smooth-talkin’ son-of-a-bitch. I confess I considered it but I wanted to play him a while yet. Mostly, I wanted him gagging for me and so I let his eyes rove over what I’d revealed. Oh, yeah, even in pale, misted moonlight I could see he wanted me real bad and that made me feel good.

He advanced towards me. Oh boy, but he could be menacing when he wanted to be! I acted the wide-eyed innocent and backed up. This took me a few yards down an alley where he’d feel right at home among the other rats. I stopped with my back against the pole of a no-entry sign. Cute of me I thought, but it was a message that held no interest for him. I looked up at him, coyly I hoped, though whether he could see enough to tell was anybody’s guess.

He flicked his cigarette away and I watched the sparks arc a red trail into the night. He’d distracted me enough to move in and grab my shoulders. Then he gave a short laugh though it might just have been a snort of derision. This wasn’t going precisely how I’d imagined it would but I thought I was still in control. I’d wanted him to get a feel of me anyhow so I thought he could be granted a few, final moments of theoretical ascendancy.

I allowed my eyelids to flutter and slowly close in apparent submission. This time he met the offer and kissed me. Jeez, what a kiss! If he’d done that when I’d first given him the chance, I just might have ditched all my plans earlier, through sheer bewilderment.

The kiss ended and, bothered about my shaky resolve, I moved my hand towards the gun at my thigh. He just grinned and caught my wrists in those big hands of his, eased me back further and pinned both wrists together behind the pole in a single grip. I brought up a knee in defence but he just turned away slightly to deflect it and, disdainful of my struggles, used his unhampered left hand to pull free the black silk ribbon I’d used to tie back my hair. He used it to bind my hands behind the post.

“Bastard!”

He ignored me. He’d been called worse I guess.

But still there was no accusation in his gaze. Instead, I got a look that I couldn’t fathom. A kind of hurt behind the eyes but a softness there too that I’d not seen before and that gave me this weird, warm feeling inside. Damn the man! I wanted to scream at him. I would have too if I hadn’t been sure that he’d get some sort of satisfaction from seeing me lose it. So I tossed my hair as if I didn’t care what he’d do. Yeah OK, pathetic I know.

I opened my mouth to abuse him some more but he covered my lips with another kiss. I kissed him back. Well, why wouldn’t I? Especially as a hand had found its way into the blouse I’d so conveniently left agape.

He pinched a nipple and I bit his lip. Neither of us seemed too troubled by the exchange so we repeated it. My back arched as if my breasts wanted more of this touching. Nah – I was just showing him how tough I was.

He moved the angle of the kiss, as though his lips were trying to get a better grip on mine. As I couldn’t speak I wrestled tongue to tongue instead, just to keep him honest. By now, he’d found another route to get at me, via the split in my skirt. A hand touched the gun in my stocking and hesitated for an instant but then moved on and began tracing the lines of my lingerie. Perhaps he thought that was more fascinating – I guess I did too as I made no complaint and lifted a leg to help him on his way. All my freeze-dried resentments and long-nursed grievances were dropping away like used-up leaves in the Fall. It seemed that, pretty soon, the corset would be the only thing holding me together.

When he started playing with me through my panties I finally wrenched my lips away from his and chewed at his neck, kinda passionate like. He didn’t seem to mind over much so I figured it was OK. After all, no matter how many teeth marks I left on him, it had to be preferable to me drilling a hole in his chest. In fact, that idea had lost its appeal and I was awful interested in what he’d do next.

I was sure glad that the panties I’d worn were enticingly insubstantial ‘cos he grabbed hold and pulled at them till they ripped apart. If they’d not been so flimsy, he’d have marked his ardour right across my ass! I imagined, rather than felt, them fluttering silkily to the wet ground which seemed dead-on as I was prettily wet too.

I had an orgasm at the first touch of my pussy. I guess I bit him pretty hard then. If he could do that to me I was sure gonna show the brute that I could give as good as I got. But I can’t call it a climax ‘cos he didn’t stop at that and neither did my orgasm.

He made me come again and again. Till it felt like my insides were humming a tune he’d composed especially for me. I was vibrating like a piano wire. His fingers were playing me like it was the goddamn Rhapsody in Blue.

Here was I, starting out with icy resolve, acting the avenging Angel of Death, and he’d made me melt like marshmallow in hot chocolate … the scheming Bastard! So much for the cold-hearted Nemesis, huh? So I thought – What the Hell – if I wasn’t gonna kill him, I’d just havta drown him in passion instead. Why not? It’ll be much more fun.

We went back to my hotel room but only after he’d lifted the gun out of my stocking and pitched it in the river. He also picked up my ruined panties and stuffed them in his top pocket. I didn’t mind. I kinda liked the idea of him having a memento. And I figured I deserved one too so when I undressed him, I made sure to rip a few buttons as I tore the shirt right off his back. It’ll look better on me anyhow.

And then I made an early start on this revised plan. I was real zealous, even though I say it myself. I poured myself all over him, like cream on momma’s apple pie, and though I haven’t drowned him yet, I got him submerged a few times for sure and I had to let him come up for air.

I figure this new strategy is a long term one but that’s OK by me. Scores can be settled all sorts of ways I guess. Call it revenge if you like but it’ll be real sweet and I’m gonna serve it hot and often.