Seven Deadly Sins Ch 02

Chapter 02: Greed

"A coincidence?" said Julia, and looked at the dead man on the floor. "He gets away with child molestation due to lack of evidence, and 4 days later he's dead?"

"Murdered," Dennis corrected her. "By some Moral Avenger. But how come he had his dick out?"

"How come they didn't cut it off?" muttered Julia. "That pig! Who ever did this should get a medal!"

"Don't be silly!" said Dennis. "No matter what he did, we can't have someone running around taking the law into his own hands!"

"Or HER hands," said Julia. "Two glasses... Thompson with his dick out... seduction gone bad?"

"From what we know about Thompson, his victims were more into lemonade than wine," said Dennis. "Besides, where did the girl get her murder weapon from?"

"This glass has been washed," said Julia. "Could have been anything in it. Lemonade, date-rape drugs..."

"We'll have the guys at the lab take a look at it," said Dennis. "Julia – how many people knew that Thompson had gotten away?"

"It hadn't leaked to the news yet," said Julia. "So that leaves... the DA, the families of the victims... and whoever they have told it to... you think one of the family members of Thompson's victims did it? As a revenge?"

"It would make sense," said Dennis. "We should check their alibis."

"I forgot – there's one more who knew about Thompson walking away from all charges," said Julia. "The entire police department."

"You think a cop did this?" said Dennis.

"If I hadn't had 8 witnesses swearing that I spent all last night oooh-ing and awww-ing over my nephew's wobbly steps, I would have suspected myself for doing this," said Julia.

"This isn't a joke!" said Dennis sharply. "You go around this place, knocking doors, to see if the neighbors saw or heard anything. I'll check the families' alibis."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The news about the murder leaked out, and pretty soon there were two events competing for the status of being headline in the local news; the murder of Fred Thompson, and the accident with the apartment building complex right outside towm, which had collapsed and buried 58 people alive, of which only 13 had survived. There were some evidence suggesting that the building had collapsed because it was built of cheap, second-rate material...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gene Anderson ordered another drink, and looked away when the waitress gave him that haven't-you-had-enough? - look. No, he hadn't had enough! He had just killed 45 people, for fuck's sake! He'd decide for himself when he had had enough to drink, thank you very much! She came back with his drink, and put it on his table with a sneer. He swept half of it at once, just to spite her. He heard her utter a "hmph!" as she left.

"Why can't they mind their own business?"

He looked up. A young woman sat at a table on his right. A woman with style. Long black hair, a neat black dress with a classic cut, and no jewellery except for a thin gold chain around her left wrist.

"It ought to be up to each and everyone how much they want to drink," she said, and took a sip from her glass. "I hate it when some little teenager working part time to get herself through college tries to act as if she was my mother!"

"Society treats us like we were children," he nodded.

"As if one measly drink would make you an alcoholic!" she said, with a short little laugh. "Or 5, for that matter..."

He chuckled, and she gave him a faint smile. He looked carefully at her. She was much younger than him, couldn't be more than 30, perhaps even younger. The looks signalled upper-class and old money. A family girl revolting against the rules, perhaps? She was a welcome distraction, someone to chat to, to help forget, if only for a little while, that he was a murderer. He moved over to her table, and they talked for a while, talked about things that he forgot 10 minutes later.

"How about we call for the dragon and order another round?" he suggested.

"How about we go back to my place?" she said. "I've got a 14 year old brandy that has never been opened."

He looked into her eyes. She was calm and confident, sensual in a way that had more to do with inner security than pure sex appeal. He could read it in her eyes. "I want to fuck you."

"I'll get us a cab," he said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A penthouse. Spacious and bright, furnished with old oak furniture and water colour landscapes. Tall glasses in thick glass, old brandy, and soft jazz. Gene Anderson was beginning to relax and enjoy himself. He was drunk enough not to feel bad about that little mistake earlier. Because it HAD been a mistake, after all. He had listened to his financial advisors go on and on about financial flows and the necessity for cut-backs, and then he had ignored the forman's advice and gone with the cheaper distributor. A mistake. A simple mistake. OK, it had cost 45 people their lives, but it had been a mistake! He had had a choice; to play it safe, or save 1,5 million dollars. 1,5 MILLION dollars, officers! Do you understand how many jobs I have saved?

"We understand that you have caused the death of 45 people, mr Anderson. Did you know that 18 of them were children under the age of 5?"

So unfair! It wasn't his fault! It was just a mistake! How could it be his fault when it was justa mistake?

"You're so far away..?"

She had dimmed the lights, and sat down next to him.

"No, baby," he said. "I'm right here."

He kissed her. She was cool, but willing, and didn't protest when he put his hand on her knee, She had strong, slim legs.

"Thoroughbred," he thought.

"Let's go out on the terrace," she said. "The view is beautiful from there."

"I've got a beautiful view right here," he protested, but she smiled and got up.

He followed her out on the terrace. The night was dark and chilly, and he didn't feel well at all. She sat down on the low, broad stone wall that made the railing. She smiled at him, and pulled up her skirt. She didn't wear any panties. She raised her eyebrows, looking at him with a wicked smile. He grinned.

"You want to do it out here?" he said. "Kind of cold, don't you think?"

"I like it... kinky..." she whispered.

He didn't need any more persuasion. The word "kinky" had always pressed his button, and out of the mouth of a beautiful, classy woman, with a pretty pink pussy, it was irresistable. He moved her thighs further apart, opened his pants, took out his stiff cock, and entered her with one mighty thrust. Classy pussy. Tight, moist, willing pussy. She held on to him to keep her balance, while he pounded her, licked her slim neck, squeezed her small but firm breasts, caressed her slim legs, lifted them up to get better access to her wet hole, held her little round ass, and pushed, pushed, pushed, until she leaned her head back and moaned out her orgasm to the cold, black sky. Fuck, she was sexy! If only he hadn't been so damned drunk! Alcohol made you horny, but it also made it harder for you to come. He could feel that he was going soft, even though he was horny as hell. He pulled out, and swore at his flaccid dick.

"Do you want me to... stimulate it?" she said, and licked her lips in a way he couldn't misunderstand.

That pink little tongue... those red lips... this classy woman on her knees, sucking him..! They switched place, and she kneeled in front of him... ...and in one swift motion, she grabbed his legs, lifted them up, and tipped him over the wall. He screamed as he fell, screamed all the way down. All 10 stories down. She pulled her skirt down, and went inside to take a shower.

To be continued...