To the Reader: This is a love story with sex in it. If your intent is to get your rock off or tantalize your libido, then go read something else. This is a well written story, it reads easy, and the action moves right along.
What is in this story? Hatred, mayhem and murder, sex with different partners, and a romance. If that tickles your fancy, then please read the whole bloomin story.
Thank you, and enjoy, "Dirty Harry's 3 Women"
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"Hey, you," yelled Harry, the second shift foreman.
I was about to clock out, and the guy in front elbowed me. Harry appeared to be looking in my direction, so I tapped my chest. "Me?"
"Yeah, you, the shithead Kid. Get the fuck over here," he growled
Holy crap. The meanest son-of-a-bitch at the assembly plant. What did he want with a first shift lackey? I checked my watch. If it took long, I'd miss the 3:27 bus back to the apartment.
"Jesus Christ, Kid. Don't keep me waitin' or I'll beat your fucking head in." Harry fingered the ball bat beside him.
The guys closest, stepped back out of reach.
A crew member had dubbed him Hairless Harry. The name stuck. Even with his total bald head, the full, unkempt, black beard gave him the wicked, evil-eye appearance of Long John Silver.
I hot footed it to his desk. "Yeah," I said, hoping to appear as if my knees weren't knocking.
"Heard you might be looking for a place to stay," he grumbled, a tobacco wad bulging from his lip.
"I might. But I rent one downtown."
He spat on the floor. "Jesus Christ, motherfucker. I meant a closer one, and cheaper too."
I clenched my fist. The last time someone called me that, he became a eunuch. I forced my hands to relax. I was always pinching pennies. Anything to get a college degree. "Yeah, I'm keeping my eyes out. You know of one?"
Harry glared at me, spitting again. Juice trickled down his chin into his beard. He wiped it with the back of his tobacco stained hand.
My stomach churned. Why had he singled me out? Someone new to torment?
"Look, dipshit." He tore off the bottom half of a page. "Ain't gonna babysit you. Wife'll show it and give details." He yanked the timecard from my hand. "I'll clock you out."
He turned to berate someone else and I ceased to exist.
The address was three blocks over, and, walking, it took fifteen minutes to traverse the plant's parking lot and reach the house. Because of this side trip, plus rush hour traffic, it would be dark before I got back to the apartment. But any chance to save a few bucks needed to be investigated.
The two story brick home resembled a show house from one of Mom's magazines. White picket fence, mowed yard, trimmed hedges, blue shutters, two oak trees, flower beds, bird house, bird bath.
Did foul-mouthed Harry live here? No way would he do this much yard work.
I knocked.
A pleasant girl, early twenties, fairly overweight, in slacks, jumbo sweatshirt, and with dark brown shoulder-length hair answered. "Yes," she said through the screen door. She wrinkled her nose.
"Harry Redding said you had a rental."
She yelled over her shoulder, "Mom? Some guy to see the garage." She left the door open and sauntered back into the living room to plop on the couch with a magazine.
A good looking woman in a tan dress down to her knees and a belt at the waist, emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She waltzed to the door as if dancing. The smell of baking cookies followed her.
I was tempted to say 'nice legs'. "Harry sent me." Her stupid jerk of a husband certainly knew how to pick a beautiful wife. But how did she hook up with a royal pain like Harry?
She scrutinized me and seemed to center on the greasy hands and sweaty shirt. "Do you work with my husband?"
"No, ma'am. I work with the first shift maintenance crew. Sorry about my appearance. The chief had me wriggling under a conveyor belt to replace a roller next to the boiler."
She smiled. "Hmm. You're polite. Do you swear or cuss?"
"Maybe an occasional word. My mother taught me and my brother to speak well of others and show respect by not being foul mouthed."
She continued to look me over, mostly my hands. "Are you married or have a girlfriend?"
"Single and not dating."
The girl on the couch straightened and peered over her magazine to check me out again.
The woman folded her arms. "A couple of rules. No partying or sleepover guests. And no loud music."
I laughed. "The only partying I do is sitting at a computer to complete homework. I'm aiming to get a degree."
Her eyes brightened. "Smart and intelligent. What do you do when you're not working?"
"Studying takes up most of any spare time. An occasional game of online chess; I get beat a lot. Sometimes I target shoot at the pistol range."
"Varied interests." She nodded.
The lady was nice, but how did wicked Harry fit into the picture?
A cloud seemed to drop over her face. "Are you one of my husband's friends? Is that why he selected you?"
"Hardly, ma'am. I've seen him around the shop. Everyone knows him by reputation—"
"Good or bad," she asked with a brittle tone.
Be diplomatic. "I've never spoken to him before today, but some of the crew don't care for him."
She pursed her lips. "Discrete, too. Oh, my name's Becky." She gestured to the girl on the couch. "She's our oldest, Miriam."
I dipped my head. "Pleased to meet you Miriam, and you ma'am."
The girl's face radiated with a genuine and honest smile.
"Well," said Becky. "Let's go take a look. If the place suits you, we can talk terms."
The two women seemed to like me.
Becky led me around the corner of the house, down the cement driveway, and through a gate to their fully enclosed back yard.
A wide detached garage occupied the far corner against the alley. The overhead door had been removed and a wall inserted to include a row of double paned windows. New roof and vinyl siding.
The inside had been gutted and partitioned into a small living room, kitchenette, tiny bedroom, and toilet with only a commode and shower. A skilled person had refurbished this place. Quite small, but exceptionally nice.
I said, "What about internet?"
"If you want, you could run a cable from that box," she pointed to the corner of her house, "... up and overhead to the garage. That'll give you internet and TV. You'll have to do the work yourself."
"Thank you. That's very generous." I had to keep up my classes.
She pointed to the cement steps leading down into their basement. "There's a washer and dryer. Use it whenever. The yard is private, so that door is never locked. Stay away from my husband's workshop down there. He doesn't allow anyone near his projects."
"What does he do down there?"
She shrugged. "We haven't a clue. If you're interested in renting, does $350 sound about right, including lights, water, sewer, and trash?"
Holy smokes. I struggled to keep my face bland. My current apartment was $550, plus utilities. I could save three hundred a month. "Yes ma'am. That sounds about right. I really like the place."
"Great. You're the new occupant." She extended her hand. Her grip held genuine warmth. Her palm was moist, and soft, and smooth.
"When could I move in?"
"Anytime. There's an old Ford pickup in the alley that Harry keeps licensed. Don't know why. It hasn't been started in forever. If you get it running, you're free to use it. Just put it back once you're done."
God almighty. She was treating me like a royal prince. The only thing she hadn't provided were the keys to her house.
"The rent, pay it only to me," she said. "This arrangement is between us, not my husband."
When she said husband, a tingling crept up my arms. I'd wager a month's wages, she didn't like the SOB, not even a little bit.
***
By the end of the week I'd moved everything in and terminated the lease on the downtown apartment. Becky invited me over for supper and introduced me to the younger daughter, Lucy.
Lucy was tall, slim and quite pretty, probably like her mother at a younger age, auburn hair pulled into a pony tail, energetic, and watching everything, mostly me. She would graduate from high school in a few weeks.
Miriam had bright eyes and was talkative, knowledgeable on a variety of subjects. She didn't have the vivid beauty of her sister but made up for it with intelligence. She possessed a friendly and truthful personality; a helper attitude, her mom had said.
Becky was a homemaker. The house, and everything in it was swept, kept and tidy, just like the exterior. She was courteous, pleasant, and polite. I could imagine her and my mom being really good friends if they'd ever met.
When I kept looking at the empty chair at the end of the table, Becky said, "Harry is hardly ever home. His routine never varies, out of the house by one in the afternoon, home by one in the morning and sleeps until ten."
"So, you don't see him much, then?"
Lucy rolled her eyes.
Miriam grumbled, "Not if we can help it."
"Girls," said Becky. "That's no way to respect your father." She turned to me. "I apologize for their manners. It's true, we hardly see him. Lucy is in school and Miriam and I clean houses. We don't get back until after he's left for the day."
Later that night, Harry's Jeep woke me as it rumbled up the driveway, probably waking everyone else in the neighborhood, too. Getting used to such sleep-disturbing intrusions would take some doing.
Once, on my day off, Harry was home doing stuff in his workshop. Every few minutes, yelling, cussing, and pounding erupted, often accompanied by crashing and things breaking. Being careful to stay out of his view, I carted my trash to the dumpster. At the end of the alley, on a side street, Becky and Miriam waited in their car until Harry had departed.
I was a bystander to a dysfunctional family. Was it smart to have accepted the rental? Regardless, I was committed.
***
Why did late-July insist on torturing us with blistering summer days? I returned from work, drenched in sweaty, greasy clothes, and hot with achy muscles. I shed my duds, turned on the shower, and lathered up. The cold water streamed over my face, through my hair, and down my front. The heat drained away.
I opened my eyes, and a woman's face disappeared from the steamy bathroom window. Crap.
It took three seconds to speed through the kitchenette, open the side door, and step out.
Lucy plowed into me in an attempt to dash past while racing for her house.
I snagged her wrist, pulled her inside, and closed the door.
She struggled but couldn't break my grip. She turned away as far as her pinioned arm would allow.
Still buck naked, I said, "Take a good look if you want."
Quiet; only her deep breathing.
"Do you want another peek?"
"You're hurting me."
I loosened my grip but didn't let go.
She wiggled, still unable to break away. "Yes, alright. I wanted to see you. Can I go now?"
"Why spy on me?"
"My girlfriends dared me because you're a stud. And I just ... just wanted to."
A stud? Never knew that. "You saw me, so I get to see you."
She looked over her shoulder. Her brows arched. "No way."
"Fair is fair."
"Nooo."
"I'll tell your dad."
