Read Online Pure Hate by Wrath James White - Free Book Online Page A

how easy it was to
access and be parted from your money in these places. He hadn’t had one sip of
alcohol and he was already stuffing fifty one-dollar bills in the dancer’s
g-string. It was starting to look like a grass skirt. But she was smiling and
bouncing that ass in his face and for once the Family Man murder case was the
furthest thing from his mind.
    The more he looked at her, the more pedestrian her appearance became to him.
She would never be called beautiful, but there was an aura of raw animalistic
sexuality around her . . . or maybe it was just the ass. The song ended and
she stepped down from the stage. She suddenly looked shy and self-conscious.
She was new at this. James waved her over.
    “Hi, you . . . uh . . . you want a
dance?”
    He wondered if the shy, innocent
thing was just an act. If it was, it was working.
    “Certainly.”
    She slid onto his lap and straddled
his growing erection. A hip-hop song featuring a rap artist named DMX came on
and she began to gyrate her hips to the beat.
    “What’s your name, gorgeous?”
    “Candy . . . um . . . CC. My friends
call me CC.”
    “How long have you been working
here?”
    “I just started on Monday. Whoa, you’ve
got some serious muscle under there.” She ran her hands over his arms and
chest, nodding and smiling her approval.
    “I used to box. I still hit the gym
every now and then.” Actually, he spent about two hours every morning lifting
weights, skipping rope, and pounding the heavy bag.
    “What do you do now?”
    Now it was his turn to hesitate. “I .
. . uh . . . I’m a Homicide Detective.”
    He waited for the awkward pause in
the conversation, the sudden chill in her mood. Being a policeman to most
people was like being a wife beater or a child abuser. It brought to mind
images of cops in riot gear siccing attack dogs and fire-hoses on peaceful
demonstrators or, more recently, of racist assholes clubbing black motorists
half to death. Being a homicide detective was like being a mortician or worse,
a grave robber. To the average citizen, he was some kind of sadistic
necrophile. But CC seemed different.
    “That’s cool! You ever kill anyone?”
    “I haven’t pulled my gun in almost
twenty years.”
    “Oh yeah, and what about twenty years
ago?”
    “I shot a guy once. He had his wife
and kid held hostage in this rat infested little shack on Columbia Avenue. He’d
already stabbed his mother-in-law to death. It was like a hundred degrees
outside and you could smell the blood beginning to rot. All of a sudden, he
tries to sneak out the back door. All the other cops were parked out front with
their guns pointed at the front door and he comes creepin’ out the back. It was
just me and this other rookie in the backyard and he comes out holding that
knife with that old lady’s blood still dripping from the blade.”
    “Did he attack you?”
    “No. He didn’t get a chance. I was so
freaked out scared, I shot him as soon as he
stepped into the yard.”
    This time she did pause. She looked
deep into his eyes, nodded and smiled. Then she did something that completely
shocked him. She reached down between his legs and started to stroke him.
    “I like you.”
    “I like you, too. You are the
sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in this place,” he lied.
    “You’re a pretty handsome man
yourself.” The song ended, the next song began, and she was still working his
lap. He pulled her closer to him and hugged her, nuzzling his face in her neck
and then rubbing his cheek over her bare nipples. He then kissed her lightly on
the cheek. CC seemed shaken up by it. She stopped dancing and stared at him
curiously. The detective reached out and stroked her cheek with his fingertips.
CC caught his hand. She rubbed the back of his hand softly against her cheek as
she continued to stare at him. Then she kissed his hand and lowered it between
her breasts, holding it against her heart.
    “You are beautiful,” James told her,
and this time he meant it. She