The Murdered World 18

Emma shivered. Angel petted her hair. The girl was beautiful, but she had no sense of proportion. She seemed as stressed now as when he’d been flirting with her before.

“You know, your sister and I were very happy once,” he told her. “She was a very satisfied chica. But then she made herself impossible to satisfy.”

“Please, just let me go,” Emma whimpered. If a kicked dog could talk, it would sound like her. “I want to go.”

“Go where? This is the safest place you can be,” Angel explained to her patiently. “Nothing’s getting through that door, not even a Howitzer.”

“Then why do you need a gun?”

Angel smiled. He set the Beretta aside. Used both hands to stroke Emma’s shoulders.

“You know, you’d probably be dead now if it weren’t for me. If you were down there, all those bullets flying around, how long do you think you’d last? Instead you’re here with me. Protected.”

Emma bit down on her teeth like she was trying to crack them.

A buzz blitzed the room, shocking them both with its loudness. Angel playfully let out a scream and turned his head to the video intercom on the wall. When he saw it was Christina, he could not have been more surprised if it were Santa Claus.

“Oh my God, Christina!” Emma turned to Angel and all the tremulousness was gone from her face. “Let her in!”

“Let me in, Angel!” Christina whispered. The speakers on all sides of the bed picked up her hushed words, eerily surrounded Angel with them. “Open the door! I can hear him, he’s right downstairs, please, he’s killing everyone!”

“What are you waiting for? Let her in!” Emma shrieked. If her words were turned to music, they could be played by a brass band.

“Just a minute.” Angel reached for the tablet on the bedroom bench. “First let’s see just where Mr. Killing Everyone really is…”

Emma wouldn’t wait. With Angel distracted, she broke loose of him and careened for the door. Angel lunged after her, swiping at her, missing, stumbling and sprawling off-balance before getting his feet under him. He careened after her, but she was already at the door, hitting the lock.

He grabbed her from behind, put the Beretta to her head, and seriously thought of just pulling the trigger and flinging the body downstairs, one more cadaver for the pile…

While his twelve thousand dollar door, made of 16 gauge steel, with twenty locking points encased in drill-resistant manganese steel... opened.

***

Frank shoved his way inside, Colt Commando slung on his back, Browning Hi Power out and aimed at Angel. The crime boss frantically backpedaled, lugging Emma with him, her sylphlike body now his only protection from the Punisher.

Frank looked Emma over. He saw the bolero jacket that was only half on her, the satin dress that hung in shreds from her lissome physique, the porcelain skin beneath with rough red marks on it like someone had wanted to rip that from her too.

Keeping his finger off the Browning’s trigger felt like shouldering the greatest weight of his life.

“Let her go,” Frank said. He wasn’t speaking idly, wasn’t offering terms. He was reading out a contract that Angel had signed a long time ago. “I’ll make it quick. You hurt her and it’ll be slow.”

Christina trailed after him into the room. She almost laughed aloud at the scene before her. A Mexican standoff and Emma right in the middle. It was just too perfect. Angel noticed her and she feigned a look of shock, eyes wide and hand raised to her mouth.

“Oh my God, Angel! Look! It’s the Punisher! Oh God! The Punisher is here! Watch out, Angel, the Punisher is gonna get you!”

“Stupid bitch!” Angel spat, and almost aimed at her except Frank stepped between him and his wife. “You stupid goddamn cunt, you know what you’ve done?”

“Oh, I know, Angel, you fucking gangland hood bitch motherfucker! I’ve just signed your fucking death warrant. And I get to be here to watch too. How about you take your hands off my sister, you sick fuck, so Frank here can kill you already?”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Angel breathed, sweat pouring down his face. His gun trembled. He dug it into Emma’s brow to still it. “You dumb puta, what are you gonna do without me, huh? I bring in the money! Me! How many fucking fur coats do you think you’ll be able to afford once I’m not around to keep the gravy train going!? Vete al diablo!”

“What am I going to do?” Christina asked in a mock-quizzical voice. Then she wrapped her arms around Frank from behind, pressing her warm breasts into his back.

Frank’s aim didn’t waver, his eyes kept their laser-focus on the target and his hostage. But he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“I think I’ll fuck this guy, Angel,” Christina continued. She brushed her lips against Frank’s earlobe. “Yeah, I think I’ll fuck your executioner, baby. You wouldn’t believe the cock he has on him, Angel. And it’s been so… fucking… long since I’ve had a good fuck. I’ll probably let him put it in my ass. I mean, look at this big bastard. He could probably have any woman he wants. Ain’t that right, Emma?”

Put on the spot by being addressed, Emma tried not to outright sob. Tears still filled her eyes and were dislodged by speaking. “Let’s all calm down… no one has to die, I don’t think… Christy, maybe you could—I don’t wanna die!”

“You’re not going to die,” Frank told her. “Angel, make your peace with God. There’s no way out of this. Do you want your last act on Earth to be killing a little girl?”

“Like he cares,” Christina snorted. “He’s spent his whole life thinking of nothing but himself. You think he’s gonna think of someone else on death’s door?”

“Shut up!” Angel roared at her. “Shut the fuck up! ¡La madre que te parió! Why did I ever marry you?”

“Because you wanted my tits, Angel-baby. You just couldn’t go without this fucking rack!” Christina giggled. “I bet it was to save money on plastic surgery. Any other girl you’d have to pay for a boobjob. But these came factory-standard. Isn’t that right, Emma? Had these since before my Sweet Sixteen!”

“Christina, shut up, please,” Emma gritted out, her lips tightly pressed together as though to hold it anything that might set Angel off.

“Here, take one last look at ‘em,” Christina said.

She took her hands from Frank’s body to instead pull her dress down, working the neckline underneath her abundant cleavage. Then caressing herself, running her outmatched hands over her awe-inspiringly lavish breasts.

“What’s the matter, hon? Don’t you like ‘em anymore? You never much cared for me, but you always liked these!”

She dropped her hands underneath her bust, cradling the ample teats. They barely obeyed gravity in the first place; now she lifted them up as if offering them to Angel from behind the ineffectual censor of Frank’s towering figure.

“You greasy little lecher,” she cursed Angel. “Don’t think I haven’t heard how you talk about these babies with your boys! Telling them how you brought me to heel, how you can fuck me right between the tits whenever you like. Why don’t you fuck my boobs now, Angel? Can’t you get it up one more time for the road?”

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Angel bellowed. “You’re dead, you bitch! I’m going to kill you, and your little boyfriend, and I’m gonna fuck your puta sister a hundred times for every filthy word you said!”

“Little?” Christina asked, reaching around Frank to demurely bat at the strings of his boardshorts. “Does he look little to you? Because he looks to me like he could fuck my tits and still get a blowjob from me.”

Her full breasts rose and fell rapidly, while her face flushed, reddening around wild eyes. She kissed Frank’s cheek, not that he acknowledged her in any way. She could’ve been playing with a statue, save for the rising hardness at his groin—one Christina sampled for herself by running fluttering fingertips down over the bulge, as would one proud of the fruits of her labor.

“It’s gonna get me so hot when he kills you, Angel-baby,” Christina baby-talked in a high-pitched tone. “I hope he fucks me right next to your dead body. Maybe after he shoots you, you’ll have just enough life left in ya to see how hard he makes me come.”

She slid her hand inside his trunks and gripped his erection. Her eyes grew wide, bulging from their sockets. There was no mistaking her sincerity. She shot a conspiratorial look at Emma.

“There’s just nothing like getting reamed out by a fat cock, is there? C’mon, Angel, let him shoot you already! I can’t wait to have this monster inside me!”

Angel could only scream in misery and rage.

Then he heard the sirens. Saw the red and blue lights, sweeping across the darkness, as police cars converged on all sides of the view this glass dome offered him. Even police boats were coming ashore from out at sea.

Angel laughed, tongue wagging and tears falling from his eyes. “What now, Castle? Cops are almost here! You, they’ll shoot dead, prowler!” He twisted the muzzle of his gun against Emma’s skull. “All I gotta do is keep this bitch in front of me until they get here. You lose, ese! You’re fucked!”

The new light came from overhead, shining down like a spotlight on the entire cupola. At first Frank thought it was a police helicopter, but no. He didn’t hear any rotors and the light was all wrong, too red, flickering angrily. He chanced a look upward and saw a fiery meteor through the skylight, passing from right to left across the night sky. Leaving a glowing right contrail straight through the wake of disturbed clouds. It moved with a noise of hellish gargling, red-hot heat flaring and sizzling, audible even at the altitude of a jet aircraft.

Frank quickly recentered on Angel. The man was looking up, staring in wonderment at this strange wildcard that’d been added to an already bewildering situation.

“¿Qué carajo...?” Angel muttered and Frank fired, plugging a shot right into his gunhand. It pinged off the butt of his pistol, but not before ripping three fingers loose from his palm. They dropped to the floor like frankfurters hitting a grill.

Emma was at her limit. Her eyes crazed, she jumped away from Angel, knocking his arm aside, and his gun dropped to the floor along with pulse after pulse of blood.

Frank didn’t wait for him to bleed out. He fired two shots into Angel’s chest, then aimed at his head.

But he didn’t fire.

With two blossoming bloodstains in Angel’s heart, he turned instead to watch the comet descend on the center of Miami.

“What are you waiting for?” Christina demanded shrilly. “Fucking kill him!”

“No point,” Frank said. “That’s an ICBM. We’re all dead now.”

Emma had fallen to the floor, huddling with her knees to her breasts the moment she was free of Angel. Now, hearing Frank’s pronouncement, she let out a wail. It hung in the air as the rocket’s roar faded.

“Fuck that!” Christina cried. “I did not spend this long as his wife not to get to be a widow!” She ran to Emma, pulling her to her feet. “Come on! There’s a bunker! We’ll be safe there!”

Frank watched them go. He looked at the blaring cigar-light of the rocket, receding from view. He looked to Angel, groaning out pint after pint of blood.

And he ran after the women.