Jill Landow moved herself to the edge of the bed. Simon was kneeling on the carpet, in front of her. Jill liked it when he went down on her. The windows of the penthouse were wide open. Jill didn’t care. Let all of Chicago see her being worshipped. Simon was a risk-taker, unlike her husband. Just the thought of her husband made her tense. She must get her husband out of her mind and relax. And Simon was perfect for getting her mind off of life, and just plain getting her off. She knew Simon was special from the moment she met in in the Oak Bar, and he bought her a martini, dry.
“Oh, yes,” said Jill, leaning back in the bed.
“You taste like the finest Merlot,” said Simon.
This turned her on tremendously.
Jill looked down at Simon, his head bowed. In another context, it would look as if he was praying. She laughed to herself. Jill had fond memories of when she prayed as a child, of the musty odor of the old St. Agnes Church and her dear ol’ grandmama. But that was so many years ago, before she learned about the pleasures of sin.
Downstairs, in the lobby, Carl Favela was daydreaming. He was lucky to have gotten such a cushy job as doorman at the Lakeshore Apartments. Opening the doors for Chicago’s movers and shakers meant one thing — good tips. Perry Landow approached the Lakeshore, wearing his usual tailored blue suit. Carl found it odd to see the busy executive home at lunchtime. He never came home before 9PM. Never.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Landow,” said Carl.
Perry Landow didn’t answer. His eyes were focused straight ahead, filled with an anger that made Carl shudder.
The police arrived at midnight. It was Carl who had called him, screaming like a mad man. “There’s blood. There’s blood!” was all he could say, over and over.
Carl led the police into the Landow penthouse. Perry Landow lay flat on his back in his large bed. He was naked, bloody from the multiple gun shots to his body and head. His wife was nowhere to be found.
Jill reached her second orgasm of the night in the backseat of Simon’s car. Simon zipped up his fly, whistling. Jill looked out at the waterfront. It was so calm. It was as if time had stopped. Jill looked down at her pubic hair and saw a gray hair. She plucked it out.
“I hate getting old.”
“You ain’t getting old, baby,” said Simon. “You f**k like a wildcat!”
Jill laughed. She was a wildcat. In fact, when she was in high school, she literally was a Wildcat, a Tucson High School Wildcat cheerleader. It was on graduation night at Tucson High where she first met Perry Landow. Her friends thought he was way too old for her, being that he was her father’s business partner, and 30 years her senior. But she knew if that she was going to lose her virginity, she might as well profit from it. And profit she did.
“I better get driving.” said Simon. “It’s a long way to Mexico. Maybe we’ll stop in an hour or two and we’ll f**k again. You’d like that sugar, right?”
Jill reached into her purse for some Kleenex, but instead her fingers starting fondling the cold metal of her 45 caliber gun.
Carl returned to his studio apartment that night. His neighbors were fighting again, cursing in Ukranian. When he turned the lights on, the roaches scattered, mocking Carl, as if saying to him, “You just try to stop us, loser.”
Carl opened a bottle of Bud and sat on the couch. The TV was on the fritz, again. Maybe next month, he’ll actually pay for the cable, rather than trying to steal it from the neighbors. Carl downed the beer, trying to drown out his pain. When are things ever going to go his way? When was he ever going to get a woman like Jill Landow to love him? He started to fantasize about her, the feel of her hard nipples between her fingers.
Captain Ed Johansson was counting the days until his retirement. He already put a down payment on a nice little place near San Diego, where he would live out his time drinking margaritas, and buying Mexican hookers with his pension money. The last thing on his mind was the Perry Landow case, no matter how high-profile it was to the asshole DA.
Carl was still imagining making love to Jill, the bulge rising in his pants, when there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” he asked nervously.
“Carl, it’s me. Jill. Jill Landow. From the Lakeshore.”
Jill Landow? Carl ran to the front door, looking through the keyhole. Jill Landow was standing there, holding a gun, fresh, brightly-red blood stains covering the designer dress. He loved that dress. He had seen her wear it so many times during the summer when she sauntered through the lobby like a runway model, her breasts visible through the thin fabric. Jill Landow was coming her? To him? Why? Of course… she’s in trouble! Should he let her in? Should he call the police?
He put his hand on the door knob, ready to open it, knowing that this action would change his life forever.
I’m hearing those percussive notes, “chung. chung.” from Law and Order in my head.
“You taste like the finest Merlot.”
See, that’s why women don’t like me . . . I say, “You taste like the finest Pilsner beer.”
Cliche or not, you have visual writing down pat.
Finish it…
Whoa, explicit material! I’m surprised my work computer even let me open this post!
Love the character names, though.
a hot page turner (I’m blushing)
wow. this really turned me on. in a writing sense, of course.
you got sex and gore details right. the chicago details right, too.
wonderful cliched job, neil
Neil. Important question. As someone who has had your ups and downs with Sophia, what would you recommend I do if, say, theoretically, I were about to lose the person I cared about the most? Hypothetically, the person still loves me but feels that they cannot be in a relationship. What do I do?
Very much ‘Lady or the Tiger’.
So . . . which was it?
Aviva — What exactly in this post spurred you on to ask that question?
But since I’m assuming you are a person in need, I’d like to help. I’m just not sure I can give you much advice. If the person feels that he cannot be in a relationship, there isn’t much you can do about it. Why would you want to be in a relationship with a person if he doesn’t want to be in one? Or is it that your relationship is too rocky for both of you? Have you gone to a therapist together?
What the hell am I doing here? This was a sleazy story of sex and violence (the very first time a gun has ever appeared on citizen of the month I might add) and I’m giving relationship advice in the comments? If you want to chat more, Aviva, send me an email.
I’m sorry for you relationship troubles. We’ve all been there. Just don’t shoot anyone.
I agree. You should totally finish it.
You have to finish it! Do it in little sections like this, but please give us more!
I give it 4 weeks before you see this produced on Law & Order. “Ripped from someone’s blog!”
Neil Kramer – Newest star in the Female Porn, err, I mean Romance Novel business.
I totally blushed and got all nervous :-)…
TRO — this isn’t a romance novel. This is a hard-boiled crime saga for a manly guy like YOU!
Clichéd or not, keep it up. Err, I mean keep going, umm, I mean I’d like to read the climax.
Oh, forget it.
If its a “hard-boiled crime saga,” how come all the women writing here seem to be doing so with blouses unbuttoned, skirts hitched-up, stocking-covered legs in black high-heels pushed apart while fanning themselves at the computer.
Oh wait, maybe that’s just my fantasy.
Nevermind.
TRO- Modern women like the rough stuff, too. (I’m trying to promote a more bad boy image with this — is it working?)
I have no idea what modern women want.
To paraphrase Abe Simpson: I used to know what women wanted. But then they changed what women wanted. Now what women want seems weird and scary to me.
Something is working for you bud, you got more gals panting after you than Hugh Hefner. Granted his are half-naked and in the pool with him, but you’re still doing pretty well.
femme fatal eh? 😀
I’m telling you, the work that women have to do…holding a handgun while taking off the bra while squatting on the scads of money all while in a yoga position. It’s simply exhausting, Neil.
AnnieH — Women, always complaining. You think it is easy being a man, always being tempted by some sexy grifter?
Of all the blogs in all the world, I had to walk into this one…
Seriously? I don’t know which I liked better: the post or the comments.
Either way, you know I’ll be back for more.
what’s the emoticon for an eye-brow wiggle?
This is really fun stuff. So many favorite moments: you taste like merlot, the wildcat bit, reaching for a Kleenex then fondling gun, and the we’ll stop in an hour or two and f thing. The sex + violence thing is quite titillating (ouch, a pun fell out).
I don’t know Neil–I kinda see Jill as a clean shaven sort of gal –especially if gray ones bug her;-)
Can’t get all the details right on the first draft.
Hey, Mexico must be a popular place. That’s where Crazy Aunt Purl’s characters ended up…
Oh, yes. All so terribly cliche……….Well?! What happens next?! Don’t leave me hangin’ here, man!
I promise not to shoot anyone. It wasn’t this post. It was the spontaneous combustion of something I’ve just now realized I took for granted combined with my notable lack of a therapist in a new city. Why not ask everyone you don’t even know, you know?
I disagree…She would be of the age where clean shaven would be an insult…She would be well kept…but not pornified…But I don’t think she would pluck the hair…she would pet it.
Love it. Keep writing.