Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime by Robert J. Randisi Read Free Book Online Page B

size.
    “I think some ice on my knee would be the best thing,” I said. “How does my head look?”
    I removed the towel so she could take a look. She took hold of my face and leaned me toward the light.
    “One of the girls fell one night and hit her head. The doctor said scalp wounds bleed a lot, but aren’t that serious. It doesn’t look like you’re going to need stitches.”
    “Okay, then,” I said, “no cops and no doctors.”
    “But Eddie—”
    She was wearing jeans and a man’s shirt knotted below her large breasts. There was a considerable expanse of tummy showing, and I put my hand on her warm skin.
    “I just think I need some tender loving care,” I said.
    “From me?” she asked, with a smile.
    “You’re the one who’s here,” I said, and then realized that may have been the wrong way to put it. “After all, you probably saved my life tonight. In some countries that makes you responsible for me.”
    “Eddie,” she said, leaning forward so that her head came in contact with mine.
    “Ow!” I said, and started bleeding again.

Thirteen
    I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING stiff and sore—but I was grateful to wake up, at all. If Dori hadn’t come to the door, I might have been dead.
    Dori stayed the night. She checked my eyes to make sure my pupils contracted in the light—she’d seen a doctor do this to the girl that had fallen onstage—and pronounced me concussion free.
    We went to bed but didn’t have sex. Not that I didn’t want to. Dori’s all woman, and having her next to me gave me a raging hard-on all night, but my aches and pains just wouldn’t allow it. Believe me, we tried. The second time she whacked my sore knee with one of hers and we gave it up.
    However, when we woke the next morning I was still hard, and she had pity on me.
    Then she sprang a surprise on me while she was getting dressed.
    “I think you should consider that a goodbye blowjob, Eddie.”
    “What?” I’d been distracted watching her move about the room naked, enjoying the play of her dancer’s muscles beneath her smooth, pale skin.
    “You’ve gotten yourself into something funny,” she said, “and I don’t mean ‘ha ha’ funny.”

    “Well,” I said, “you’re right about that.” I watched as she fit her showgirl tits into her bra, then pulled on her top.
    “Those men scared the shit out of me last night,” she said, pulling on her panties and hip-huggers at the same time, “so now that I know you’re all right I don’t think I want to be around if and when they come back.”
    I couldn’t blame her for that. They’d pretty much scared the shit out of me, too—which, according to one of them, had been their job. Hurting me, that just seemed to be something the first guy wanted to do because he liked it.
    She put on her shoes, grabbed her purse and came over to the bed to kiss me goodbye.
    “Give me a call when you’ve got it all sorted out,” she said, then added, “then we’ll see.”
    After she was gone I realized she’d been feeling the same thing I had, that maybe we’d run our course. We’d probably bump into each other around town—I’d even go to see her show—but we both knew that anything more than that was no longer an option.
    In other words, we were done.
     
     
    Being from Brooklyn I had seen a lot of street fights in my life. Hell, I had even done my time as a kid in a street gang, but had outgrown that stage very quickly. My point is I’m not really all that brave, but getting beat up didn’t send me running right to the cops, either. In the light of day I decided not to bring them into it—at least, not until I talked to Dean, again.
    I took a shower when I got up and then checked myself out in the mirror. None of my injuries were visible except for a bruised knee—and no one would see that once I got dressed. The wound on my scalp was covered by my hairline, at first glance no one could tell I’d been attacked. Probably the only explaining I’d have to do was