20.2 For Someone Special

At 4:09 pm, at 49° F, the glow of the sun in the cloudy sky caught her eyes through the bronze branches as she turned into Chambers Street. In thirty minutes, the sun would go down. Heidelinde Klutz climbed the set of steps and opened the door of 338 Chambers Street. She dropped her mules beside the door and closed.

Half an hour later, the Renault stopped outside the house and Savon climbed. He opened the door to find those mules, “Honey! Are you there?”

“I’m in the bedroom, Savy!”

“I thought you were coming back after a week.”

“I quit.”

He poked his head through the door with bags in his arms, “What the crap are you wearing?”

“Don’t you like these?” she asked correcting the black mask with purple feathers on her face, in the purple lingerie.

“I’m coming. This calls for a drink.” He returned with a bottle of Jim Beam and two glasses, “So, what’s the story behind this lingerie?”

“It’s submission night.”

“For submission!”

Savon took a large gulp and she warned, “Not so fast! Do you want a molly?”

“Give me two.”

“Two is enough. Tonight, we do in blindfold.”

“Blindfold!” he cried, “I can’t see a thing!”

“Use your imagination.”

Forty-five minutes later, when the effects of the MDMA began to work, she tossed the pillows to the floor and rolled him to the middle. That sexy lingerie instantly rocked him. Her shoulders constrained out of the tight fit and glutes hung bulbous from behind.

“That’s a lovely teddy,” he pronounced, “mom’s garment fits you perfectly.”

She glanced, still wearing the mask, and opened a locker where she kept the BDSM kit in a black case. She picked the box and removed the items one by one. Wrist cuffs, restraint straps, ankle cuffs, mask blindfolds, ball gag and a whip; all made of high-quality materials.

Heidelinde took another turn to spray perfume to her lingerie because it caught a tinge of wood for being locked away for too long. She turned down the lights and turned on a spherical effects light.

She leaned over his body, gently rendering her soft and warm touches, placing cuffs on his wrists and ankles. The straps tight and secured to the bed posts. She gagged his mouth and the music played low.

Meanwhile, inside the Oldsmobile, it filled with smoke, windows closed and the heater on. Paul Clancy in the driver’s seat and Curtis on the backseat smoking. Six-thirty in the evening and quiet in the neighbourhood.

An hour passed and the door opens of the house on Chambers Street. A woman came out, closed the door and climbed down the steps. She wore a long coat with a tote bag and a beanie on her hair.

“That’s Linda,” said Clancy, “Let’s go!”

Doors closed simultaneously, they turned up the collars and walked into the lane. Abruptly, they saw the lights of a car, Heidelinde in the Renault moving towards them. Clancy realised and waved his arms only after she passed them.

“Where the hell is she going?” he cried, “Go and check! I have to go after her!” Clancy ran back to the car and followed the Renault.

Heidelinde turned to Locust Street and soon she was caught in the traffic light by Oakland Avenue. Clancy got out of his car and reached the Renault. He tapped the window.

First, she didn’t roll down the window. Then she did, “I will call the police!”

“You can’t run like that!” he said, “Get down!”

“I’ve done what you said. I go back to Chicago.”

“Not in that car!”

The traffic lights turned green and she pushed on leaving Clancy mad. However, Heidelinde realised she was making a mistake, took the turn to Oakland Avenue and stopped in front of a liquor shop. Clancy ran up.

Heidelinde opened the door. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out forcibly. There was a police car parked right behind. “Where’s the will?” he asked.

“It’s not there!” she lied. She took them away two days ago.

“It’s in your bag!”

“No!”

“Show me!” Clancy dug into her bag and took the letter they sent to Savon Martin in the name of H&Q. His actions were noticed by a couple of passers-by who took them for a couple having a bad evening and a row.

“Nothing’s in there!”

“Bitch!” he grabbed her coat by the lapels, “What are you wearing?” He noticed the purple lingerie under her coat.

“I didn’t have time to change!”

“Come here!” He drew her into the doorway of the liquor shop. “You know they will come after you! You cannot take his car! Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’ve done it! I go wherever I want to go.”

“Go back! Leave his car and then I will drop you anywhere you want. I can drive to Chicago if you want me to. Tonight.”

“Give me my money.”

“Not a dime if you don’t go back.”

“Okay. I go back.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“In my bag.”

“You’re wearing mules in this chill!”

Curtis had very little to do. He checked the pulse of Savon Martin and the one time he removed one of his gloves. He did execute one final dose in the groin and put him in the Fowler’s position supported by pillows. And it was the scene that awfully misled to believe seeing a man with a will and a way to commit suicide…seated upright.

Then Curtis left the house leaving a faint smell of tobacco hung in air. He stood in the cold when the two cars arrived.

That night Paul Clancy drove to Chicago to drop her on Wacker Drive where she wanted to get out.

“Give me that!”

“What?”

“That what you’re wearing.”

Heidelinde removed the lingerie while standing under a streetlight on Wacker Drive vacated at the hour of midnight, in a constant breeze blowing from NW at 17 mph in very cold temperature at 31° F.

Clancy shoved a band of cash out of the window. “Twenty-five. I keep the half,” he said, “I will pay you once the police enquiry is over and you walk out. Come with me to Corpus Christi. I will arrange stay for you.”

Before he could roll up his window, Heidelinde tossed the mask into his lap. She began to walk clutching the faux fur coat by the lapels and nothing underneath, a beanie on her head, carrying her tote bag and in a white pair of mules.