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by M. C. Franchone
Category: Erotica/Taboo Erotica
Description: A cunning psychopath is raping the city's women at will and the police seem powerless to stop him! "The Midnight Rapist", as the newspapers have dubbed him, eludes the cleverist police traps like a super-spy and appears uninvited in the bedrooms of the city's most glamorous women like a master magician. His victims share a secret. Something they have hidden from the police and their own lovers. Though the rapist overpowered them and forced them to have sex against their will, something about him made them all experience pleasure greater than they had ever imagined possible. Some of the women he has raped still want him arrested, but others are praying for a return bout. One good cop is determined to catch this serial rapist. Especially now that he knows the sex-fiend is just as determined to rape the good cop's wife! A well written crime drama with intense scenes of perverse debauchery and brutal sex combined to make this adult novel of passion and crime an Erotic Classic!
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: June 2009
8 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [188 KB]
Reading time: 113-158 min.
There was a long and time-honored tradition on the force which said that you automatically got the rest of the day off when you had to shoot someone in the line of duty. It had happened to Benjamin Cook a couple of times before and he had gotten over, being sick to his stomach, but the bad feeling stayed with him for a couple of days like a sick headache, and he wondered if he would be able to make love when he got back to his apartment. Or would it stay with him the rest of the night, the face of the young hood who was now lying on his back in a slowly widening pool of his own scarlet blood? This was the first time he had used his pistol since he had married Adele. How would she react to the news that her husband had killed a man today?
"Nice shooting, inspector," said the uniformed patrolman sincerely as Cook stepped lightly into the rear seat of the police sedan. "He'd have gotten one of us if you hadn't plugged him, and there'll be a couple of families singing your praises tonight, if you don't mind my saying so, sir. Mine included."
"Ah Murphy, the bullets bounce off that thick Irish skin of yours," grumbled the inspector with much seriousness, trying to hide his confused, unhappy feelings behind a little bluster. The truth of the matter was that he had wanted this particular hoodlum alive, and shooting people was not his style. Any clumsy, lead-slinging flatfoot could blow holes in a man instead of arresting him, but he was supposed to be Benjamin Cook, the detective with the velvet touch. And the kid had been so goddamned young! It was always rougher when they were young. Who could tell, perhaps the punk would have done a couple of years in the pen, maybe learned a trade and gone straight? Instead, he had come roaring out of that house like some Hollywood version of Al Capone, spraying lead in all directions. The squad had gone for the floor like the professionals they were, and Cook had shot him four times in the chest, like the professional he was.
"Sir, when are we gonna put some holes in that raper fella?" Murphy wanted to know as he piloted the car across town. "Makes my missus nervous having him runnin' around, and I'd sure like to be there when you track 'em down."
Cook put his hands over his face as if he were suddenly very tired and grunted something unintelligible to make Murphy shut up and concentrate on his driving. The worst thing about it was the way his own men were sitting back and waiting for him to come up with the solution to the problem this maniac was causing. The mayor and the press were screaming high heavens because their "Midnight Rapist" was still romping around the city, happily raping helpless women while the police force was sitting with its collective thumb up its collective ass waiting for their golden boy, Inspector Benjamin Cook, to perform a miracle. Except this time the golden boy didn't have a fucking clue!
"Have they brought Mrs. Trent down to headquarters, Murphy?" he asked glumly. Explaining to the wife of a wealthy and socially prominent citizen why he had failed to catch the man who had criminally assaulted her in her own bedroom was not going to be fun. But then, by now, he had plenty of practice. Was she the fourteenth or the fifteenth? He couldn't remember.
"Yes, sir. Who do you want to talk to her?"
"I'll do it myself."
"You're supposed to take the rest of the day off, sir," Murphy reminded him bluntly.
"Murphy, when I get my hands on the Midnight Rapist, which is one hell of a silly name I might add, I'm going to take a month off, but for now we've got work to do!"
* * * *
In the hall outside his office, was the tall lanky figure of Ned Blake, the city editor for the Herald, and long-time friend of Ben Cook's. The inspector stopped and shook hands with the grey-haired old reporter before entering the office where Mrs. Trent and her lawyer were waiting, wishing for a moment that he and Ned could go off somewhere for a couple of beers and forget the whole crazy business. The rapist had been ruining his peace of mind for a year and a half now, and he was tired.
"You got blood oh your coat, inspector," commented Blake dryly.
"Murphy'll give you the details, Ned," he said glumly. "It was the suspect who was supposed to lead us into the gang that's been holding up all those liquor stores. He turned out to be a kid and when he tried to shoot his way out, I had to cool him. Make a good story for page seventeen, under the want ads."
"Tough, but it should give me something positive to write about the Police Department for a change. Incidentally, I'm sorry about that editorial last week. The old man wanted it that way and this town can't think about anything else but the Mad Rapist right now."
"Oh, I guess I can live through a blast from the Herald every once in awhile, but I wish that fucking genius editor of yours would come up with some solid suggestions instead of nothing but criticism. You know the case as well as I do, Ned, so you tell me! How do I put my hands on him? He's fucked more than a dozen women so far, and we haven't got a fingerprint, or a decent description, or a clue, or a lucky break. The way things are going, won't catch him until he sprains an ankle hoping out of bed!"
Ned Blake paused to light one of the short thin cigars with which he habitually polluted the atmosphere, and put his hand on Cook's shoulder, studying him seriously for a moment before replying. The police inspector was a muscular compact man who looked something less than his forty years, a fact which had earned him the title of "the boy wonder," despite the fact that he had spent the last fifteen years of his adult life in the law enforcement business. From the moment he had taken his law degree from Yale and joined the force, his career had been flourishing like a weed, and he had never before been stumped on an important case. Until this lunatic had decided to start raping every glamorous, well-known woman in the city, he had been considered invincible. And now the mayor was talking about bringing in some outside experts to take charge of the case!
"Okay, forget about the details, and look at the big picture," Blake advised as they walked slowly towards the interrogation room where Mrs. Trent was impatiently waiting. "Concentrate on what we know about our Midnight Rapist."
"We know precisely nothing, except that he has a giant-sized cock," grumbled Cook irritably. "That's all my witnesses ever seem to remember. And I'm betting Mrs. Trent won't do any better!"
"We know a lot about him," insisted Blake. "I've been trying to put together a psychological profile on him for the newspaper, and I've come to a couple of conclusions. The man is extremely, well-educated, probably an engineer or a scientist, fairly young and in fantastic physical condition, almost an acrobat. He gets in and out of places which would have stopped Houdini and does it without explosives or heavy equipment. And he'd choosey about his girl friends. There are a million easy-to-rape women in this city, and he always picks some rich bitch who lives in a luxurious home or apartment building where there are bound to be guards and dogs and burglar alarms. Plus, he makes sure that there is plenty of publicity afterwards. Remember when that movie actress decided not to report the fact that she'd been raped? He reported it for her, because after all the trouble he went through to get to her, he couldn't stand being cheated out of the newspaper articles!"
"Okay, okay, we've got a mad genius on our hands," agreed Cook gruffly, listening carefully to the reporter. "That doesn't improve my spirits in the slightest."
"Listen, this is the big point. Besides being a supercocksman and a genius, our boy likes to play games. Oh, I imagine he likes fucking the girls all right, but what really turns him on is the challenge of the whole business which is why so far you personally have been part of the problem and not part of the solution!"
"Ned, would you mind telling me what the fuck you are talking about?" Cook groaned in exasperation. "What have I got to do with it? I'm just the poor gumshoe in charge of running him down."
"Wrong. You are the best-known cop on the Eastern Seaboard. You got Time Magazine's Policeman of the Year Award. You are everybody's idea of a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Mike Hammer, and that's why you're involved. This creep, whoever he is, thinks of himself as America's most brilliant outlaw, and he's just tickled pink that he had America's best-known cop going around in circles. You're important to him."
Cook paused, his hand on the door to the interrogation room, his meticulous, orderly mind digesting Ned Blake's words.
"So how do I catch him?" he inquired bluntly.
"Let him know you understand what the score is, that this is a personal little duel between the two of you. Then challenge him to match wits with you."
"Suppose he turns out to be smarter?"
"Then you've been fucked, friend. See ya' later."