The Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match

The Quill Shots CHAPTER NINE

Bethany’s body hit the cold, hardwood floor, with a painful ohumph, as her air supply vanished.
 
After a sharp intake gasp, she pulled herself up, “What the Hell, Julian?!”

Julian, still comatose, after an uncharacteristic Percocet & Grey-Goose dinner, buried his face in a pillow.

“Get up! You threw me out of bed, Jackass!”

Bethany shoved him; Julian, bewildered, grasped her arm, gawping.  “BETHANY??? It IS you! Had the weirdest --” He sniggered, “You hit the floor?”

“Yes, Jerk,” She smacked his shoulder (with perfect form). “You shoved my ass to the freezing floor!”

“Aw, I hurt that luscious, Squash-Girl ass? C’mere, I’ll kiss it better.” Chortling, Julian flipped Bethany over.

“Hands off ass! Make coffee! It’s late,” Bethany feigned irritation, but a girly giggle escaped, turning into a womanly sigh, as she spied Julian’s tanned, naked back-side.

His muscular form easily upstaged the postcard-perfect view from his 18th-floor window -- Bay Bridge glinting in sunlight-through-fog -- as Julian bent to claim his boxers. Not wishing to stroke his ego, she looked outside, “So, one hellova nightmare?”

In the kitchen, Julian threw sourdough into the toaster, calling, “Crazy-ass nightmare, Bee! I was in deep shit. Kyle was this mobster-dude, laundering drug-money through Smash Courts, threatening I’d get whacked unless I cooperated! And, Kim --”

Shit! Julian hesitated; don’t mention another hot girl, while there’s a hot, naked woman right here, Idiot!

“Kyle, a mobster?” Bethany shrugged, “He’s shady enough.”

Suddenly, Bethany was there, naked, murderous, “HEY! Dreaming of slutty Kim K.? Not ME?”

“Bee, Kim’s background noise; she’s nothing,” Julian handed Bethany a conciliatory piece of toast.

“I warned you about pain-meds with vodka,” she chuckled, kissing him with peanut-butter lips.

Julian grew serious, “Maybe, subconsciously, I’m guilty. Kyle loaned me thousands to purchase pop-up-courts, and I sleep with his wife? That’s not exactly stellar behavior, Bee.” Frowning, he scrubbed at an invisible spot on the immaculate granite.

“Hey. Kyle left ME. For Miss Trailer Tits! He’s dead to me; I’m free – and happy, with you.”

Julian appeared skeptical. Bethany continued, “You are a stellar guy, J. You salvaged Sadie, compelled me get my shit together. You’re the best thing that’s happened -- to Sadie, those kids, especially to me in. . .forever.”
 
Bethany flushed, panicking she’d revealed too much, too fast, but Julian beamed, “Forever, eh?” Tossing her over his shoulder, he strode into the bedroom.

Bethany, laughed, shrieking, “Put me down, J! COFFEE!”

Julian lay atop Bethany, “Coffee can wait. This is more important. Forever - starts now,” Julian kissed her with such ferocity, Bethany gasped for air. . .  for the second time that morning.

###

Christian scrubbed bloodied hands in his bathroom sink, avoiding his medications, screaming at him from behind the mirror. He’d ceased taking prescriptions 10-months ago, wanting to start fresh. Christian was ex-law-enforcement, discharged 4-years ago, when his diagnoses of Bipolar-I/Borderline-Personality-Disorder/PTSD/MDD became “problematic.”

Chris and Kyle were strangers, both drinking Jameson at Valhalla. Christian began his “fresh-start,” by impulsively telling Kyle he was a private-eye. Kyle, contemplating divorce, hired Christian, hoping to find something on Bethany. Kyle gave Christian $5000.

San meds, Christian’s illness grew exponentially, until fully-delusional. His most disturbing delusion: Kyle paid him $5,000 to murder Bethany.

Christian walked to the pier, remembering meeting Bethany, disingenuously befriending her, with intent to kill, but, finding no wrong-doing, he’d fallen for her, craving Bethany’s attention, affection. He wanted her.

At the pier, Christian spied the body-bag. Surreptitiously eavesdropping on the coroner speaking to CSU’s, processing the crime scene, Christian realized they hadn’t identified Kyle or discovered a weapon.

Christian’s mind reeled, recalling killing Kyle. It wasn’t premeditated. Kyle returned from Arizona, articulating to Chris that he’d returned to repair his marriage. Therefore, Chris’ services were no longer required.

However, Christian, now utterly believed Kyle and his imagined “associates” would murder Bethany and himself, because he knew too much. He ranted – Nobody’s murdering Bethany!  Kyle freaked. Realizing Chris’ insanity, he began dialing 911. Christian shot Kyle.

Bethany and I’d be dead if I didn’t shoot Kyle!

Christian walked home, but stood outside, dizzy, as sudden, perplexing images raced: Kyle, Bethany, Kim. She was irritating, but, she’d driven him here last night. Right?

When the parking-lot cleared, he opened his trunk. Kim was crammed inside, her neck bent at an anomalous angle. He didn’t remember striking her, repeatedly, until his racquet had snapped.

Why’d she nose through the backpack, or ask why I had Kyle’s wallet. We were followed, watched. Kyle’s associates must’ve saw us, then killed Kim. How am I alive? Do they have my gun?

Christian viewed the mangled squash-racquet, feeling calmer, knowing Kim was the blood source this morning. 

Slamming the trunk, he considered where to dump Kim, before the fog lifted. Christian’s cell chirruped:

Text: Julian to Chris

Christian hesitated. He had gun/body problems, but keeping Bethany unharmed was priority. He’d see if she was at club.

Bethany to Chris

Chris to Julian & Bethany

At Smash Courts, he’d watch Bethany and Julian.

Damn, I’ll have to borrow a racquet. . .

###

“Sadie! C’mon! Don’t be a piss-poor-sport!”

Barging into the ladies’ locker-room, Nick found Sadie – clad in a towel. Damn! He wanted his hands on her. Play it cool, Nick.

Sadie glared, “Get outta here! You off your meds?! I’ve zero time for your crap.”

“But, you’re free until 2,” Nick grinned, “We’ll do Starbucks; I’ll even buy you a Crap-puccino,” he teased, running a finger down her arm.

Sadie quivered, despite desiring to smack him. She bit her lip.

Dang! She keeps biting that lip, I’ll rip off her fancy clothes – she’s not wearing clothes. . .

Nick reddened; shook his head, clearing it, “It’s one safe, public coffee!  C’mon, those barista-dude-friends of yours’ll Sadie-sit.”

“True,” she chuckled, “Fine, but you’re buying me a Trenta-latte, lunch, and a Frapp, plus, make a proclamation:  you’re Starbucks’ #1 fan,” Sadie smiled, knowing it’d kill him to say.

She looked Nick squarely in the eye, dropped her towel, and dressed shamelessly, leisurely. Nick, agape, watched with admiration of her unrelenting audacity.

Post-dressing, Sadie grabbed her Luis-Vuitton, rushing past him. Nick followed, hollering, “Friends shouldn’t let friends drink Starbucks!”

Sadie punched his shoulder, “Take it back.”

“OW!” Nick staggered, holding his throbbing arm. He grunted, “Starbucks is #1.”

Sadie crossed the street, “This isn’t a date. We’re talking GUN! Don’t think buying lattes atone for involving me in murder.”

Sadie’s bravado faltered, “Nick, what do we do?”

Nick impulsively hugged her, while praying they’d avoid prison.

“It’ll be okay,” Nick walked towards Starbucks, never releasing her hand.

“Nick? Um. . .Sorry. . .about earlier. The gun has me freaked. And, I hate losing,” Sadie grinned, and Nick crushed even deeper.

“No prob,” Nick said, “Did you see the news? Cops found our body. They didn’t have photo ID -- face too bloated. They did show some fancy, gold, black diamond, initial-ring, --”

“WHA--STOP! Dad wears a ring like that! Could --”

 “Sadie, your dad’s in Arizona. ALIVE. Let’s get your damn latte.”

###

Christian furtively watched Nick and Sadie, across the street. Why were they talking so intensely, together? He’d follow them. . .