12 Clinching the Deal
I shook my head. “It’s no good, Vic. She doesn’t like the place.”
“No, Peter. It’s not that Kelly doesn’t like the apartment. She hasn’t liked
any apartment.” Vic was frustrated and to be honest, he wasn’t the only one. He must have arranged for Kelly and I to see at least twenty brownstone apartments. Any of them would have suited me. They were in the right suburbs, close to an L line for Kelly and not far for me to drive to the factory. They all had attractive gardens around them. They were older buildings with all that meant – large rooms with high ceilings, attractive woodwork and mouldings. They were all in small blocks – no more than six apartments in the biggest. Most had been renovated with new kitchens, new bathrooms but still preserving the features that Kelly said she liked about the older buildings. “No Peter…the problem is that Kelly just doesn’t want to commit to living with you.”
I shook my head again, but I knew that Vic, despite his abrupt way of putting things, was a damned perceptive guy and almost certainly right. Kelly and I had great – mind blowing – sex, saw each other every day, ate together, talked incessantly and did so much else together, but we weren't living together. And I wanted to. I was even beginning to think about marriage, though some of Kelly's comments had put me off mentioning that to her. She didn't want to – not yet anyway. Was there a way to change her mind? I'd seduced her by setting up the fight between her and Alison. There had to be something like that to help her take the next step.
And there was. I'd been fomenting a plan for months, but never finalised it. Now was the time. It had started when Kelly found the tires on her car slashed in the James Street parking lot, just before she flew off on a business trip to Seattle in the early summer. I'd thought then that it was not a random attack. All her tires had been slashed, but no other car had been damaged in any way. The clincher for me, and the thing that identified the culprit at least in my mind, was that Kelly’s 'flag' – the tattered remnants of Jenn Peccavi's top, which Kelly had ripped off that wanton brunette when they had fought, the day Kelly and I met. After she had totally destroyed her foe, Kelly had tied the top – or the half that remained – to the radio antenna on her car, which was an older style, not retractable. The ‘flag’ was gone when Kelly found her car with the tires slashed. She hadn't said anything about it at the time, since she'd been too furious about the tires and too pissed at having me take her home to pack. Originally she'd only wanted me to pick her up and take her to O’Hare.
I'd always had a nagging suspicion that Peccavi had slashed the tires, or at least had something to do with it, though I was the first to admit that the chances were slim. Chicago is a big city and it wasn't likely that Peccavi would find the car – but one never knew. So some time later, I'd had a word with the surveillance centre. After a few questions and over a week of waiting, they admitted that they indeed had a tape of the incident. They apologised for not sending someone to stop the tire slashing immediately but it had been all over in a few moments and they really had no chance. After another few weeks of pushing, they agreed that I could have the tape, so long as I paid for the copy and signed all manner of legal releases. I suspected they worried I was a lawyer and that Kelly would sue them. I readily agreed however and after signing, paying and waiting even longer, I got the tape.
There was no doubt about it. The tire slasher had definitely been Jenn Peccavi. She’d attacked the tires with a garden fork. I had no idea what she was doing with a fork in the parking lot. Maybe she had borrowed the gardener's, or maybe she had brought her own, but however she came by it, she had one. She was strong and had pushed that fork into each tire, ruining them.
After that, it was time to call in some favours. I persuaded Drew Redmond to give me Peccavi's address and some of her more likely haunts. It took me a while to work out a pattern for her movements and to be able to predict where she might be, but eventually I’d done so. If – when – I wanted to, I was reasonably sure I could put Kelly and Jenn Peccavi in the same room, at the same time.
Now was the time to tell Kelly what I'd found out. I waited and planned the perfect opportunity. I ordered a special meal to be delivered to my apartment. I had half a florists shop full of flowers delivered and arranged by the time Kelly arrived after a bad day at work. The meal certainly cheered her up. Then, over coffee, I embarked on my campaign, subtly dropping a reminder about the parking lot incident, and how I had picked her up at O'Hare upon her return. That had been when I had showed her the slide-show I'd taken of the fight in which Peccavi had so unexpectedly trashed Fiona Burke.
Kelly of course, was smart enough to know I wasn’t merely reminiscing about such things. “So where is this going, Peter?” Her newly restored calm had evaporated and she was even more edgy now. Her face was white, a sure sign of anger and she gripped my arm just above the elbow.
I bent forward, kissing her and stifling her questions for some minutes before I pulled back, smiled and said, “Would you like to know who slashed your tires?”
Her eyes widened. “I'd like to do a lot more than
know them!” she huffed, then let out a surprised “mmmffff” when I smothered her with another kiss. “Peter Balfour! Stop that!” She broke the kiss.
I grinned. “You don't want me to kiss you?”
“Don't be silly, Peter! I don't mean that.” She clutched my hand. Again, I enjoyed the rare and fleeting sensation of having Kelly begging me. “It's not that at all!” Kelly squeezed my hand and leaned into me, rubbing herself against my side as she did sometimes before we made love. “Please…I just want to know what you are going to tell me. Don't keep me in suspense!”
“Guess, dear.”
She dropped my hand and wriggled away from me. When she turned and looked me straight in the eye, there was a dangerous glint in her gaze as she said, “Peter Balfour!
Stop holding out on me.”
I told her. “Jennifer Peccavi.”
“Peter…
that bitch?” Kelly's face whitened and her eyes narrowed. Together, that spelt furious trouble for whoever got in Kelly's hair-sights.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “And what's more, I know where she lives and where she’s likely to be most evenings. I've done my homework…for you, dearest.”
She kissed me. Then we made plans.
*****
After a false start the next day – a Friday – we ran the big brunette to earth on the Saturday evening, in a crummy down-market bar near her home. This time I had no illusions about Peccavi. When I had first seen her, when she rescued a kid’s ball, I’d thought her kind, but now I knew she was mean spirited and cunning. You had to be both to slash someone's tires in a secure parking lot and get away with it. When I’d first seen her, I'd thought she was an alpha woman. Then I'd seen Kelly destroy her, and after knowing Kelly I knew something about alpha women. No alpha would avenge herself by slashing her foe's tires.
On the way to the bar, I'd warned Kelly. “Are you sure about this? This could be ugly. It's a rough bar. Women often fight there. From what I've heard, the least the loser can expect is to lose her top.”
“That's nothing,” she argued. “That happened to those two unfortunate sluts who lost to Elena and Wendy at Wrigley.” She giggled for a moment. “Kim Curzon was incensed at that. I’m still not sure why. Perhaps because she wanted those two to win. What were their names? Ash and Jules? Such appropriate names for a couple of redneck sluts. You could tell that about them, just by looking at your slideshow…which I loved, by the way.” She paused. “Do you seriously imagine I’m going to lose…to
that?”
“No of course I don’t,” I consoled her, “but odder things have happened. Look at Fiona Burke.”
Kelly humphed dismissively. “Fiona doesn't know how to fight. She never has the right mental element that’s so important in a fight. You have to want to win and you have to believe you will. Peccavi may want to win, but she doesn't believe she will win…not against me. If she thought she had a chance, she’d have fought me instead of slashing my tires. That was a coward’s move…a loser’s move. I tell you, I've already won…and this time I'll do a lot more than take her top when I do.”
“You'd best be careful,” I cautioned her. “She may have friends there who’ll interfere if you do too much. They might even call the police. It's a rough house, but even rough houses have limits.”
“Peter…has she…Peccavi…fought there?”
I nodded. “Yes, from what I can work out.”
“Often?”
“Uh huh.”
Kelly grinned. “Then it stands to reason that she’ll have more than a few enemies. Let's see how the factions work themselves out. I'll rely on you to monitor that.”
I parked the car and we walked in. Peccavi was standing at the bar, her back turned to us. She turned when Kelly called her name, and whitened a little as Kelly strode over to her.
“My tires” was all Kelly said. Peccavi immediately knew what was going to happen. She didn’t try to talk her way out of it. She just stepped away from the bar into an open space near an old juke box. It looked like everything was old in that bar. She hunkered down defensively.
Kelly wasted no time. Apparently learning from Bella Beaverbrook, she slapped at Peccavi's face, swinging her body from her hips to strike. Peccavi deflected the first blow but not the second as Kelly swung back again rapidly. Kelly used her longer reach – as I’d remembered, she was about two inches taller than the brunette – stood away from her foe and struck again and again. Peccavi also attacked with punches and slaps but for every two blows that she landed on Kelly, Kelly landed three on her. Both women defended, both ducked and weaved and both succeeded. Less than half of Kelly's blows hit her foe but Kelly's reach advantage was telling; perhaps a third of the brunette's blows hit Kelly.
Peccavi soon realised she was losing this battle and changed tactics, instead closing on Kelly. The brunette struck with more speed than I remembered, swinging her head down then up in a vicious head butt that Kelly was lucky to avoid by quickly retreating. She wasn't so lucky however, when Peccavi charged after her, grabbed her sides, then rammed her head into Kelly's stomach. Kelly emitted a long, anguished “oooh” together with a rush of spittle as Peccavi’s head forced the air from her lungs. Kelly disengaged hurriedly and took a defensive stance, breathing hard. Peccavi resumed the punching, slapping attack.
A guy standing next to me said, “I hope your girlfriend knows what she's doing. She's taken on a hard case. Jenn Peccavi's a tough brawler. She's often in fights here and she usually wins.”
“Maybe…but my Kelly and her have battled before. Kelly beat the crap out of her.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? I'd like to know more about that some day. Peccavi’s long overdue for a good beating.”
I looked back at the fight. Kelly's rhythm was gone. She crouched, presenting a smaller target, mostly defending and not slapping nearly as much as before, certainly not with the same swinging strikes. Peccavi waded in, trying to hit Kelly's body. She did so, repeatedly. Kelly groaned and gasped as each blow hit her sides or just below her shoulders. Her breasts and midsection were protected by her stance and her arms but Peccavi didn’t bother attacking there.
The brunette cackled mirthlessly as she slapped, adopting Kelly's tactic of swinging from the hips. The first two – a left then right swing – slapped home hard on Kelly's face. Kelly grunted out loud with each blow and the second one even sent her staggering a step to the side.
Suddenly there was a loud “Uggh!” and the brunette reeled back, clutching her tummy. Kelly had slugged her hard – twice. I'd seen her right fist sink, seemingly almost to the wrist, into Peccavi's soft stomach. Of course, I'd seen that before, just after Kelly changed the course of their first fight by biting Peccavi. It had been then – that bite – that had shown me just how ruthless Kelly was. I was confident that if she needed to be, she'd be just as ruthless now, here in the bar. Kelly fought to win. She was willing to soak up some punishment to do so, but she wouldn’t let the likes of Jenn Peccavi stand in her way.
Kelly stood up again to her full height and resumed her attack, punching at Peccavi’s stomach and upper body. The grunting, gasping, swaying brunette hunkered down, adopting Kelly’s tactic and presenting as small a target as she could. She defended competently, parrying, deflecting, dodging most of Kelly's shots, trading space for time to recover, trying to vary her retreat to avoid being trapped in a corner of the small open space. Nevertheless she knew Kelly was softening her up. Each blow that hit – though there weren't many – hit hard, eliciting another gasp, another groan, even a whimper of pain.
Again Peccavi launched herself into an attack, springing up and flinging her body onto Kelly. Surprised, just as we all were, Kelly’s own attack faltered. She stepped back to regroup but Peccavi struck with another body slam, her whole considerable weight cannoning into Kelly. The two women crashed to the ground hard with Kelly underneath.
Peccavi sought to use her weight advantage and tried to pin Kelly beneath her. She failed as Kelly had enough leverage to roll. The fight immediately became a welter of slaps and punches, even some good old fashioned hair pulling as the two women rolled around on the floor, each trying to pin the other. After a frenzied minute it seemed that Kelly succeeded as she grabbed Peccavi's head and slammed it on the floor. Kelly straddled the momentarily stunned brunette and raised herself up high on her knees.
Again my memory returned to that first fight. This had been Kelly's finisher. She'd worn Peccavi out. Then she had straddled the gasping exhausted brunette and, bouncing on her tummy, crushed the air and the fight out of her. I felt the familiar stirring in my crotch. I longed to see my Kelly do that again.
Peccavi shocked me. She swung both her knees up, striking Kelly in the back, driving her forward just as she was about to crash her butt down into the brunette's stomach. Kelly grunted hard and threw her arms out to brace herself, seizing Peccavi's shoulders. As the big brunette squirmed and rolled beneath her, Kelly released her hold and went back to her initial plan, seeking once more to crush her foe's midriff with another bounce.
Instead she found Peccavi's legs snaking upward, one behind her, the other in front, then locking together in a scissor action. I was surprised at the larger woman’s agility – as was Kelly. She groaned as the powerful brunette squeezed with her legs, crushing the air from my girl's lungs. With a sudden massive heave, Peccavi rolled onto her side, still with her legs wrapped tight around Kelly's middle, still squeezing hard. Now it was Peccavi who suddenly had the advantage, and Kelly who was trapped.
Kelly struggled but the remorseless brunette kept squeezing, tighter and tighter, her face tight with the effort. In vain Kelly tried to twist herself, to punch out at the brunette's face, her midsection, her sides. Nothing worked. Kelly's face reddened, her mouth hung open as she fought for breath, pain etched across her lovely features. Kelly closed her eyes and her clenched fists pounded at the floor in agonized fury.
Or so I thought. Suddenly the brunette bellowed in pain and released her scissors. Kelly had punched her cxnt. Kelly rolled to her right and scrambled free as the battered brunette writhed in agony for a few seconds. “I'll…bloody…kill you…for that!” she hissed as she finally clambered to her feet.
The two women came together again, punching at each other. No longer were they defending, no longer were they fighting scientifically, they were simply brawling. Each lashed at the other's body with her fists, and for a moment it seemed the brunette's weight advantage – and perhaps her greater strength – prevailed. Her punches seemed to hit harder – at least Kelly seemed to groan and gasp more as Peccavi's blows thudded home than did Peccavi when Kelly's hit. She forced Kelly back, an inch at first, then a couple of steps. Kelly rallied and pressed forward but she did so, fell into her cunning foe's trap as she impaled herself on the brunette's upward swinging knee. Kelly’s eyes went wide and she hunched forward protectively as she reeled back. The brunette capitalized on her success with more punches and slaps, forcing Kelly back further.
Kelly’s toughness and stamina served her well and though she retreated, she avoided being trapped in a corner, trading space for time as she recovered. Though still gasping for air, she began to defend more, blocking many of the brunette's blows, dodging others. Those few that broke though were powerful blows designed to break an enemy. Each one elicited a groan, a gasp and often a spray of spittle. Now it was Peccavi who was wearing Kelly down, biding her time as she prepared for the finishing blow.
Even so, Kelly too began to hit back, using her longer reach, and began hit more often. Her blows were lighter, not much more than jabs, but they were all well aimed. Kelly consistently went at the brunette's midsection while Peccavi slugged wherever she could. Kelly's longer reach, her greater skill – or at least her more focused approach – paid dividends. Her foe started gasping as more and more of Kelly's blows thudded home. She started defending more and hitting less at Kelly. For a while, this staunch defense greatly slowed the rain of Kelly's punches on her midriff – but only for a while. Kelly was both persistent and relentless. She began hammering a little harder as she sensed the brunette's waning strength, and it was Peccavi's turn to gasp to groan as Kelly's blows thudded home again and again.
The brunette paled, her eyes widened, her mouth gaped as Kelly methodically worked her over. She tried vainly to resume her attack but Kelly contemptuously brushed aside a few punches and fired a kick that the brunette blocked from her stomach only by interposing her leg which took the blow instead. The move might have saved her belly but it hurt her. Kelly then danced nimbly around the now much slower brunette, who dragged her leg as Kelly peppered her with punches to the face, chest and belly.
The end came when Kelly stepped up and fired a shot at Peccavi's jaw. The brunette avoided it, but not the next punch to her midsection. Peccavi folded over wheezing and reeled back. Kelly sent a second punch to the bigger woman’s jaw. That one hit too and the brunette staggered, then fell, going down on her back, not out cold but still stunned.
Kelly stamped hard on her enemy’s stomach – twice. The brunette convulsed each time. As Kelly stepped back, her battered foe rolled slowly onto her side. She tried to get up onto her hands and knees but failed, dropping back, whimpering. She mewled piteously as she tried desperately to breathe through the pain that wracked her belly.
“Loser!” Kelly hissed. She turned to the crowd. “This bitch and I crossed swords before. We fought on a beach back in the early summer. She lost.” Kelly prodded the still groaning Peccavi with her shoe. “Didn't you?”
Peccavi croaked something that sounded like “yes.”
“Then she tried to get revenge…not in a fair fight like this though. No, she snuck into the parking lot while I was shopping and slashed my tires!” She kicked the brunette in the belly again. “Admit it! We have the security camera footage to prove it. We could hand that tape over to the police but this is a better way…between you and me. Admit it, you cowardly bitch…you slashed my tires!”
Again Peccavi croaked, a little more loudly this time, ”yes…”
“Give me your top!” Kelly commanded. There was a long pause as the command sank into Peccavi’s numb, pain-filled mind. She looked up at Kelly in near disbelief. “Do it!”
Slowly, unwillingly Peccavi did so, her movements slow and fumbling. “And your bra too, slut!” Peccavi hesitated only a moment, then did that too. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples dark and despite the beating she had just taken – or perhaps because of it – hard as little rocks. “Don't you dare cross me again!” Kelly hissed. She turned to me. “We're going home now.” She turned and walked out of the bar with Peccavi’s clothes in her hand. I followed.
I opened the car door for her. “I thought you were going to do a lot more.”
“I was…until I saw how much the bitch wanted me to. She knew she deserved it and she was craving the humiliation. It’s better to leave her lust unsatisfied. Let her find someone else to get her off tonight. We have more than enough lust ourselves.” She leaned over and kissed me deeply, then fell quiet.
I thought she was napping after the fight until we were about half way home, when she said, “You organised that for me…the fight, I mean. You did all that so I could get revenge on Peccavi.” She paused. “Yes, I know you get a kick out of seeing girls fight, but this time was different. This time it was to help me get my revenge. It wasn't about seeing another fight. You could have set one up with Bethany and Wendy. I’m sure they want to go at it. No…this was personal. You did it for me. You really do love me, don't you Peter?”
I knew better than to say anything more than “Yes Kelly…I do.”
“It's about time we found an apartment. Let's get Vic to show us some brownstones again on Monday evening.”
I bought a bottle of champagne on the way home. I told Kelly it was to toast her victory but it had another purpose as well. I'd secured my secret agenda.
THE END
as always my thanks to the inestmable Scribbler 
