New Title 1 by Edward Lee, John Pelan Read Free Book Online

occupational field: writers, athletes, rock stars, and in this case, professional wrestlers. And I have reason to believe that a professional wrestler is responsible for all of the murders, a wrestler named—”
    “Goon,” Straker said.
    Another focused glance. “That’s uncanny, Captain Straker. How did you determine that?”
    Her legs, her thighs, her hips… “Uh, oh, I read Bilks’ diary.”
    “A diary? That’s fantastic. How did you manage to get her diary?”
    You don’t want to know. Straker’s stomach flipped. The diary. The visual images of what he’d had to do to get it seemed like jumpcuts of some bizarre organic nightmare. Miss Wilcox had spread her run-down-by-a-Mack-Truck body out on the trailer floor, unhesitant in her withered nakedness. Cunnilingus, of course, had been her first request, and her fingers had bared the open sump of her sex before Straker’s flinching face, digging into it as though it were a plop of Alpo. With hair around it. “Lick it,” she breathily ordered, and when Straker did, the flavor made him think of what a meld of ground pork and anchovies might taste like after it had sufficiently spoiled. The flattened breasts flopped to her armpits as the splayed hips sensitively fidgeted. “Now fuck it,” she ordered. “Dump a great big hot fuck in that pussy, you big handsome fucker you!” It was only sheer reflex that permitted erection at all, Straker’s unquenched-for-years libido rising to a potential reproductive occasion. When he slid his penis into that gasping vaginal mess, he was grateful that forced images of a stacked, blond babysitter named Wendy allowed him to empty his vesicles rather quickly. When he withdrew, there came a wet squish, like someone rowing a stick through spaghetti. “Oh, shit, yes! That’s just what I needed, a pussyful of cum.” And she’d made him do it all one more time before she’d given him the diary, her on top the second time, her popped bags for breasts slapping his face. “Give me another nut!” she profaned. “Squirt that hot cum all the way up there, you fucker!” What am I? Straker pondered. A sperm vendor? The second trip had taken a bit longer as that sloppy vagina gulped him. More squishy sounds, like people scarfing scrambled eggs, abounded until he was finally able to aspirate his semen yet again. Afterward, she gave him the diary, then lay sated on the rag-tag couch, playing with the leakage at the raw gulf, then sucking it off her fingers. “Come back and see me sometime,” she said and winked. Doubtful, Straker thought.
    The recollection clashed, though, with what he was looking at right now: Melinda Pierce, a brick shithouse in a $400 dress. Bits of questions, however, did manage to surface over his muse of dreamy lust.
    “How did you know about this guy Goon?”
    “Confidential,” she said. “I’ve been watching him for a while.”
    “So does he have a record?.”
    “Not that anyone can find.”
    “Then what’s his professional history”
    “No one knows. His manager, Felander, just showed up with him last year. He’d been managing after he blew his knee and dropped out of the Armageddon Riders. With his charisma he was one of the top managers within a couple of months, started managing his old crony Dare and the Fabulous Ghoula. Then about a year ago he drops the two biggest names in the region and starts working with a mid-card heel. It doesn’t make a lot of sense financially. Felander, Dare, Ruger, and Kevin the Druid were the top of the wrestling profession for almost a decade. And that’s another thing—The Druid.”
    Hadn’t Traci Wilcox mentioned that name? Yes. “According to her room-mate, Susan Bilks got…picked up by Kevin the Druid once.”
    “The Druid was well-known for being a ring-rat addict. He and Felander were good friends. Kevin’s gimmick was a satanic schtick; he’d wear black capes and upside-down crosses in the ring. It worked for years. But it seems like the same