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Her knees were on the stairs, her back was arched, her hands were reaching up to the edge of the machine, and I was behind her, leaning on her butt, getting in as deep as physics allowed me to. Every thrust sounded like the clapping of hands, or slapping a cheek. Noises were coming from everywhere in the room, where other machines were doing their thing, oblivious of what was happening within the same four walls. Because she didn't seem like the type of girl that likes to be stuck in the same position for too long, I slid out, pulled her hair and dragged her towards the doorway. There was just enough room next to it to pull her up and push her against the wall. It was only after I was back inside her that I realized it wasn't an empty wall that she was leaning into, but that there was a large red button that her left shoulder was now banging into. Every time I pushed her up against it, the large door behind me opened a little, and with every other time it stopped. After some. Since Barbara was the only obstacle between her and her “ice cream” she did the only thing that made sense to her screwed up mind. She sliced poor Barbara’s neck so fast that I almost didn’t see it until my partner was well on her way to the floor with blood spurting out to decorate the doorway with Christmas red in the middle of July. Now, everyone looked at the picture of Barbara on the wall and then threw a glare at me because I was the screw-up partner that was looking the other way when she bit the dust. What really made matters worse was the fact that I had already lost a partner over in Vice Squad and now had a reputation that precluded any “partner” applicants from the thought of sitting on the other side of my desk. At least Marty was not a female and not that likable a person all things considered. He enjoyed dressing up as a schoolgirl truant and rounding up the perverts that preyed on them with the intent to introduce them to the world of sodomy and degradation. His last.
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