This is a work of fiction, using characters from the film, “LA Confidential".  No insult or invasion of privacy or infringement of copyright is intended. The story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

Patron Saint of Lost Souls

©2008 by: Riley

Bud sat at the bar, nursing a scotch and listening to his fellow detectives argue about the case that had just closed. Slammed like a steel door, right in their faces. In Bud’s mind, there was no resolution, no arrest, and no satisfactory explanation from the powers that be. But he had little to say. He’d put in most of the stakeout man-hours and investigation sweat, but his buddies seemed to be doing all of the griping. “Fuckin’ pricks,” he mumbled into his glass, wondering just what the hell he was doing there with them in the first place. These were the times when Bud was best left alone, and even though they were all there to cheer him up, he was hating every fucking minute of it. He drew in a deep breath and groaned, intending to shoulder his way from the small pack of whining shitbirds and out of the bar. Then he looked up and saw her.

The woman’s reflection skimmed the mirror behind the bar, flashing bright early evening sunlight as she slid inside. His eyes were glued to the mirror, tilting his head to watch her walk through the crowded, smoke-filled room. Half filled bottles of golden liquor refracted and occasionally obstructed his view. His associates were watching too, but not quite so subtly.

“Oh-ho, man, look at this one. Bud, she looks like a case for you.” Dick Stensland whispered, his breath thick with whiskey. “Oh yes. Another lost puppy for my partner. Wendell White, patron saint of lost souls.” He chuckled then nodded to the others who smoothly moved away, leaving Bud alone to concentrate on the beauty nearing the bar.

Seeing the open space, she came up right beside him. He didn’t turn, getting his fill from the striking reflection. He sipped, then set down his glass and spun it slowly between his big hands. Her scent was intoxicating, her hair, soft golden brown. Eyes, light brown with glints of sparkling gold. The woman was probably twenty-five. She was dressed in a simple, well-fitted, dark-blue suit. The white collar of her blouse was buttoned to the neck and embroidered with tiny red rosebuds. Her skirt was smooth and tight, riding the length of her gorgeous hips and well-shaped legs. “Jesus. Oh, fuck, lady. Please sit down,” Bud prayed silently.

She set down a suitcase and leaned toward the bar. “Excuse me?” she called to Pete, the bartender.

Pete squared a stare at her, figuring she’d be trouble, and if not, most likely wouldn’t be a drinker. “What can I get for you, ma’am?” he grunted.

“Ah, well, nothing. I just . . .”

Pete simply strolled off to attend to another patron. Bud swallowed then turned. “Maybe I can help.”

She glanced up and blinked, her beautiful eyes taking in every part of his face.

Bud braced himself. Was that disappointment in her eyes? Surprise? He shrugged. “Just thought I could help.” He glanced down at her suitcase. “We’re not all so unfriendly here in big bad Los Angeles.”

She blinked again and blushed. “Thanks. I was just wondering if you know of a hotel.” She sighed and shuffled her pretty high-heeled feet. “A reasonable hotel,” she added softly.

Stensland’s back was to them, only a barstool away and Bud heard the deep rumbling chuckle as his partner’s head shook slowly. What the hell, Dick was right. Bud was always reaching out to some troubled, lost woman. But, at least this one was very, very attractive. Even with those tears growing in her lovely eyes and that suitcase sitting at her feet. Bud decided to play it tough.

“Who comes to L.A. without a place to stay?”

She nervously looked around the bar, then picked up her suitcase and turned to leave. “I’m sorry.”

He reached out and caught her arm in his hand, noticing how small she really was, how big he must seem to her. “Hey, sorry.”

The woman looked into his eyes, a tear meandering down her blushing cheek. “If you could just give me directions . . .”

And Bud did what the others knew he’d do. He slid his glass away, dropped cash on the bar and gently took the suitcase from her hand. “I’ll take you. This isn’t a safe part of town for you to be walking around alone.”

Blessedly, she didn’t argue, actually gave him a sad smile as a reward. Without intending to, he returned the smile and followed her out into the growing twilight. They walked in silence to his car; he tossed her bag into the back seat and opened the door for her. She smoothly slid into the seat, and again, Bud marveled at her shapely hips and legs. ‘Damn,’ he thought. ‘Those hips were made for my hands.’

He trotted around the car and climbed behind the wheel. He pulled a U-turn and headed closer to the city, strangely nearer to his own apartment. “So, what’s your story?” he asked at a red light, turning to take in her lovely profile. “Come to Hollywood to become a movie star?”

She turned with a surprising grin that lit her entire face. “Me? No.”

Bud blinked. With her looks and that smile, she could be bigger than Monroe. “No?” He turned his attention to the road, the light had changed.

“I just . . . I just needed to get away.”

“From?” Bud wasn’t letting her get off that easily.

She cleared her throat. “Home.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be running away from mommy and daddy.”

She gave a melodious chuckle. “No. I’m not.”

Another red light, another opportunity to look at her. “So, you’re running away from . . .?” He raised an eyebrow and watched closely.

“My husband.” she said softly.

Damn. Bud had really hoped this would be simpler. Unwilling to scare her off, he decided to circle the subject, hold it for a later, further investigation. “So, where’s home?”

“Princeton, New Jersey.”

“New Jersey, huh? That’s pretty far.”

“Well, it is a respectable distance, and a rather uncomfortably long bus ride.”

He raised both eyebrows. “Lady, you sound like my fifth grade English teacher.”

“My name is Elise. Elise Farrell. And I’m an English professor . . . or at least I used to be.”

“Before?”

“Before I married my husband.”

“The one you’re running away from.”

She turned away.

“Why Los Angeles?” ‘Why the hell my town?’ he grumbled internally.

“It’s big. I thought I could disappear here.”

Bud blinked. There were lots of reasons for someone to want to disappear. He really didn’t need to investigate further. He pretty much had Elise Farrell figured out. ‘Now,’ he wondered, ‘how to handle it.’

“You had dinner yet?”

“I’m fine. I don’t believe I got your name.”

“Bud White. And I’m hungry. You are too.” He swerved the car into a diner parking lot.

~*~

Bud watched Elise place her paper napkin on her perfect lap. He watched her slip a spoon through her tomato soup then lift it to her lovely mouth. He watched her sip daintily from her coffee mug. This was a woman of class and substance. Then she shrugged out of her jacket and pushed up her white blouse sleeves. And there they were.

Bruises blazed on both wrists, some purple and red, flaming with heat, others yellow and fading. Bud reacted. He reached out and grasped her hand, then slid her sleeve higher. More of the same. His heart sank.

Elise pulled her hand free and slipped the sleeves down with a sigh.

“He did that to you? That’s why you’re running away.”

“Bud,” her eyes looked like they were flecked with gold leaf. “It’s not what you think.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned toward her. “Elise. There are laws, you know. He can’t do this to you. He can’t make you run and hide, give up your life . . .”

“It’s not what you think.” She squared a gaze on him that was strong and gentle at once. Bud leaned back in his seat.

“Then what is it?”

She went silent, staring out the diner window at passers-by.

As Bud walked her back to the car, he shook off his frustration. So many women just tuck away their pain, internalize it until the bastard killed them. At least this one had the sense to walk away.

“Look, Elise. It’s none of my fucking business. But I see this shit all the time, and the more I know, the better I can help you.”

“What are you? A cop?” She grinned, her eyes sparkling.

“Yeah.” Bud almost apologized. “And if you’re trying to hide, that means he could be trying to find you.”

“He’s not.” She slid into his car.

He closed the door and leaned down to her. “You can’t be so sure about that.”

“I am.” Her eyes filled to overflow and Bud stood straight and shook his head, unwilling to watch her cry, lose her strength in front of a perfect stranger. He looked around. Before he took her to the hotel, he wanted more time. Another opportunity to flesh out the situation, form a strategy.

He drove three blocks, then turned into a quiet alley and parked in front of his favorite bar. It was tucked deep beneath a shoe repair shop. It was almost always empty and he knew the owner, Frankie. She didn’t argue, just followed him down the steps and to his favorite back booth. Frankie walked over and politely asked Elise what she’d like. To Bud’s complete surprise, she said. “Martini please, no olive.”

“Listen, Bud.” She looked sadly into his eyes. “I swear it’s not what you think. And if I knew you better, I’d tell you the whole story, but . . .”

“Are you saying you can’t trust a cop? All I want to do is protect you. It’s my job.” ‘My desire, my hope, my choice,’ Bud’s mind rambled.

“That’s not it. If I knew you’d . . . understand . . .”

“Try me.”

Elise shuffled in her seat and he imagined her hips swaying on the leather cushion. Frankie set their drinks on the table and winked at Bud.

She sipped, holding the wide glass by the stem with practiced control. “How long have you been with the police?” Her sparkling eyes begged.

“Long time.” But he wouldn’t let her derail him that easily.

Just as he was about to address her problem, tell her the horror stories he’d seen, a couple walked in to the bar and sat at a booth across from them. The room was dim, but Bud could easily make out that they too were looking for a quiet place. They slid to the back of the big rounded booth and he watched them embrace, kiss and fondle each other with slow deliberate moves. The man’s hands slowly unbuttoned the woman’s silk blouse, exposing considerable bare breasts. Bud’s eyebrows shot up and his cock hardened to a rock.

The man lowered his face to the woman’s nipple and he sucked. ‘What the fuck?’ Bud thought. Did these people think they were alone? He carefully took a side glance at Elise. Her hand was in mid air, holding the martini glass just inches from her mouth; her eyes, glued on the couple. Bud decided to see where it would go, with the couple across the small bar, and Elise.

The man’s mouth moved to the other breast, his head obscuring Bud’s view of the spectacle. The woman, a bleached-blonde bombshell who looked like she’d just stepped off the silver screen, slowly raised her legs and propped her spike heels on the table.

Frankie delivered another scotch and martini. Bud looked up. Frankie’s mouth was wide open. He lowered his eyes to Bud; he shrugged and left for his own spectator’s seat behind the bar. He stood there, head propped in his hands, sucking on a toothpick.

The light was just right, flowing under the couple’s table from a neon light across the room. Bud wondered, could the bombshell see his growing cock? And he wondered what was happening in the English professor’s proper cotton panties.

Bud could see the bombshell’s pussy, open and waiting. The man’s head finally moved back to its previous breast and the abandoned wet nipple glistened in the dimness. Slowly he moved his hand to her pussy and the bombshell looked up, directly at Bud, and smiled before closing her eyes in pure joy. The man’s fingers caressed her pussy then he kissed her mouth, leaving those beautiful tits for Bud to view. The man’s hand moved smoothly. Bud liked his technique. He was executing perfectly, considering the tight quarters, the need to reach fruition quickly before the bar filled with more patrons.

Bud glanced at Elise. She was a stone, glass still hovering, eyes glazed over. Bud couldn’t waste too much time on Elise. He didn’t want to miss the show. He wanted to see the bombshell’s orgasm, to see if the man would actually attempt a full fuck right there in the booth. The man began to slip his fingers in and out of the woman then his hand moved faster and faster until it was a blur. She began to moan, softly at first, then louder. Frankie had no juke box, and Bud was never so grateful. The man leaned back to watch the woman climb into a frenzy, his hand slipping and sliding feverishly.

“She’s almost there,” Bud whispered.

“Ah-huh,” Elise said, her glass still not at her lips.

The bombshell finally groaned a loud animal sound and arched her back, her pussy raised well above the table. She hovered there for a full minute, her breasts heaving, knees shaking, before collapsing back to the seat. The man calmly rearranged her skirt, helped her button her blouse then signaled to Frankie.

Elise drank the remainder of her martini and the entire second one before looking over at Bud.

“Welcome to the City of the Angels,” was all he could say.

They had one more drink and sat silently, deep in their own thoughts. Finally Elise stood. “Thank you for the drinks, Bud. But it’s getting late and I really should get to the hotel.”

~*~

Bud parked in front of the Bastion Hotel and just sat there. It was an unbearably hot night that promised rain, soft flares of lightning flashing off in the distance. He pulled at his tie and loosened his top button. Elise didn’t move.

“What name are you planning to register under?” Bud asked. Her refusal to confide in him was making him feel frustrated, angry and even more protective.

“My own name.”

“No.” He squared himself to her and took her shoulders in his big hands. “Elise, you have no idea what can happen to you.”

“Nothing will happen to me. Nothing.”

Bud White had had enough. He started the engine and screeched the tires, pulling into traffic.

“Where are you taking me?” Elise was sitting up straight, her back inches from her seat.

“I’m taking you someplace safe. I’m taking you to my apartment . . .”

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers and Bud reached a hand to hers in comfort. “Elise, I’m not gonna touch you and I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“What do you want from me?”

He slammed the brake, swerving to the curb. “The truth! And I’m going to get to that if it takes all fucking night. Do you have any idea how many women do this? Lose themselves in the shit some fucking prick hands out at the end of his fucking fist? End up disappearing in some fucking big city far from home?”

“Bud, it’s not what you think.”

He took several deep, long breaths then pulled the car back onto the street. “Well, Mrs. Farrell. You’re going to have to prove it to me.”

She climbed the steps to his apartment silently. Bud unlocked the door and pointed to the sofa. “Sit.” He tossed her suitcase into his bedroom. “You’ll sleep in there . . . after you tell me what I need to know.”

Elise lowered herself on to the sofa and looked around. Bud was neat and organized, but a dirty plate sat on top of his television and several empty glasses were strewn around the room. She smoothed her skirt over her knees then folded her hands properly on her lap.

“Why are you doing this?” She spoke without looking at him.

Bud paced the room, slamming a fist into a palm and glared at her. “To protect you. Maybe you can’t face the facts, doll, but a bastard who would beat you doesn’t really give a fuck where he does it. And he will find you, no matter where you hide.” He huffed a ragged breath. “He could kill you, Elise. Can’t you see?”

She finally looked into his eyes with so much compassion and tenderness that Bud drew in a small gasp. “Bud, you are a wonderful, kind man. But this isn’t what you think. Please, come here,” she patted a hand on the sofa beside her.

But Bud dropped into a chair across the room and pulled off his jacket and tie. He rubbed his eyes, then stood and slammed a pace to the window, yanking it up with force, hoping for a breeze to cool the room and his temper. It did neither. He slumped back in his chair and tilted his head to her with a raised eyebrow and curled lips. “Well?”

Thunder rumbled softly from too far away to bring the cooling storm into the gritty, hot city.

“Bud,” Elise spoke slowly. “I married Bill two months ago. He too is a professor at the university.” She sighed and ran a hand through her soft hair, raising it from her neck for cool relief then letting it cascade down. She removed her jacket and rolled up her white cotton sleeves. “See, Bill is thirty-five years older than I am.”

Bud blinked, doing the math, imagining a powerful old fuck beating Elise senseless.

“I never fell in love with him, but Bud, I do love him. When Bill got sick, I married him, thinking I could help him, make things easier for him.”

“Sick?” Bud sat up in his chair, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes intense on hers.

“Yes. My husband is very sick. He’s dying. Believe me. Bill is a kind, gentle man and he has never once hit me. Not once.”

“Where’d those come from?” Bud nodded to her bruised wrists.

Elise pushed a tear away with her hand. “Bill has polio. It’s progressing quickly. Last Sunday, he was so weak. But he just kept working, reviewing student thesis after thesis, saying that it would be his last class, and even if he didn’t feel well, it was too important to ignore. Finally, he was too drained to go on. I was trying to help him to bed, and I . . . well, I tried to hold on, but he fell. I slammed both arms onto the banister, then tumbled down the steps right behind him. There are bruises on my ribs, my knees. It wasn’t the first time it happened, but it was the worst.” She gasped a sob and fished a handkerchief from her purse.

Bud ran a hand down his five o’clock shadow and watched her struggle.

“I called an ambulance. At the hospital, they put him in an iron lung, do you know what that is, Bud?”

He nodded sympathetically.

“He’s completely paralyzed. Can hardly talk. And I . . .” She crumpled and Bud was by her side before he realized he’d moved. He folded her into his arms and rocked while sobs racked her frail body.

“I . . . I . . . just ran away.” She pulled back and looked into Bud’s eyes. “What kind of woman am I? I just left him. I couldn’t do it. I can’t watch him die. What kind of person am I?”

“Human, baby. You’re human, that’s all.” He pulled her close again and she cried softly until she was drained.

Bud blinked and shook his head with a sigh. Damn. “It’s too late and you’re too tired to go to a hotel.” He led her to his bedroom and stood at the door. There he tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

She pushed away the wetness on her cheeks and closed the door, soft as a whisper.

~*~

Bud tried to sleep on the uncomfortable couch, his body drenched with sticky sweat but still modestly beneath a sheet. He rolled to his side and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare think about the beautiful, troubled woman in his bed. At least not on purpose. Just as he considered hiding in the bathroom and jacking himself off for some relief, the bedroom door opened. Bud didn’t move a muscle. He watched a silent Elise float through the room like an angel. She quietly moved to the window and leaned out. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ Bud thought. ‘Those fucking gorgeous hips.’

Elise smoothly climbed out onto the fire escape and stood on the landing in the light breeze, releasing a gentle sigh that drifted inside to Bud. He sat up with a grunt and pulled on his pants. He switched on the lamp before climbing out to join her. “I think you found the only comfortable spot in L.A.” he said softly, watching her pale face.

She nodded with a sad smile, then lifted her hair up and held it from her neck with both hands. Bud was mesmerized.  He stood a mere four feet away and took in everything. The way her skin glowed in the light from his window. How her soft satin nightgown hugged and fell over the perfect curves of her body. The shape of her tiny bare feet. When his eyes moved up for another tour, Elise spoke, breaking the spell that had held him captivated and had Bud almost convinced he was dreaming.

“Bud,” she said, releasing her hair and dropping her arms smoothly to her sides. “I want . . .” She swallowed then looked out over the steamy city.

“What do you want?” His heart was beginning to pound.

“I want you to watch me.” She turned her eyes up to his.

Bud stood straighter. “To watch you?”

“The way you watched that woman tonight.”

“I don’t care about that woman, Elise.”

“I want to feel the way she felt, knowing you were watching.”

Bud leaned back against the railing, holding on with white-knuckled fists.

“I want to feel the way she felt when she was swept with passion . . . knowing that you were watching.”

Bud White was strong enough to easily bend the metal inside his fists and he knew it. He drew in a deep breath and relaxed slightly, wiggling his fingers, but still held strong to the railing. Held himself from taking the two steps that would put Elise into his arms. “You want me to watch you . . .”

“Yes. Please.”

Bud blinked. Well, that was a first. Did he want to do it? He sighed and crossed his arms over his bare chest, leaning back as comfortably as possible. A rain drop fell, landing strategically onto her breast, hardening the nipple to a crisp point, making the fabric there darken. And making Bud draw a breath. Did he want to do this? Oh, hell yes.  “All right, Elise. Can I touch?”

“No . . . maybe.”

Another raindrop skimmed Elise’s belly, drawing a wet line directly to her crotch. Bud nodded.

Elise took a long sigh then slid the satin from her shoulders. It glided the length of her body and circled her feet, shimmering in the soft lamplight. She watched Bud’s eyes carefully as she stroked her breasts and took a hard nipple between two fingers. Rain fell softly, dripping along Bud’s shoulders and chest; cooling the fire on the surface, but heightening the flame inside. He gripped the railing again as her eyes closed with the sensations from her own stimulation.

Her body was beginning to glisten with rain. Elise drew her fingers down to her belly, tangled the tips into the golden brown curls. When her finger slid between her legs, Bud groaned.

“Jesus, Elise. You are so fucking beautiful. Let me touch you.”

“No.” She was gasping, her finger sliding deep. Finally she weakened and slid down the wet metal railing and sat against it, her knees high, her hand in her pussy. Bud fell to his knees, his eyes glued on Elise. She groaned softly then opened sleepy eyes to see his face.

Her pussy was like a hot house flower, she opened the petals with one hand as the other slid a finger deep inside. Elise moaned and pulled the finger out. Her hand was moving carefully, avoiding the swollen tender hot spot, circling it, teasing it and she was panting, her head rolling from side to side. The rain continued, a constant easy wash, drenching her hair, cascading over her skin. The lucky, lucky rain, Bud thought, running its hands over beautiful Elise, dripping over her nipples, into her steamy pussy.

With both hands she worked herself, and Bud could see her back begin to arch, her neck muscles pull, her face draw pale. “Bud,” she gasped. “Help me. Touch me, please.”

Rain dripped into his eyes, and he crawled to her on hands and knees. At that moment, there was nothing he’d deny Elise. He tenderly took her hands away and moved his own into place. With careful pressure, Bud pushed one finger deep inside, causing her to gasp. He moved his other hand into position, but not before he could plant his desperate mouth on one of her wet heaving breasts. He sucked and nibbled at her nipple while his hands massaged and probed. When he knew she was close, when her breath was heavy and he could feel the pulsing build inside of her, he tenderly slid her down, flat beneath him.

Bud looked down at the feast before him, hungry beyond reason. He wondered, when was the last time he’d plunged into a delicious woman? If he had to wonder, it had obviously been too long. He lowered his face to her pussy and licked in the delicious flavor. With fingers in motion, his tongue flicking and sucking at her fiery clit, he did his best to listen to her body, give her what she wanted. It happened quicker than he’d expected. Elise groaned, then cried out his name in an explosive climax that filled his mouth with luscious cum. Bud lapped and sucked the ambrosia, then slowed his movement to permit her an easy fall from ecstasy. He slid up her soaked body and kissed her swollen lips, sucking each one in turn, delving his tongue deep in her open mouth.

Then he dragged down his wet pants and looked into her eyes. Silently, Bud asked permission, and Elise responded with a soft, passionate kiss of her own that shook him to the core.

He pulled back and looked deep into the gold flecked eyes. Bud slid one hand under her hip, and marveled. He was dead right, his hands were made for her hips, he cupped and squeezed the soft globe of her ass. With the other hand he set his solid, straining cockhead at her inviting opening. Bud moved slower than he wanted to, smoother that he usually did. Entering Elise was like walking into a church, and he wanted to do it right. He angled his hips and lowered himself with careful pressure, alert to her gasps, aware of her willingness. Sure of her need to take him in slowly. Elise raised her legs high and wrapped them around his wet hips, sighed encouragement and finally Bud reached his depth. He stayed there for an eternal moment, kissing her lips, taking nourishment from them like a starving man.

It was paradise. She was limber and strong, her opening was lined with honey and they were a perfect fit. She was tight and willing and he felt like he was twenty again. Bud pushed and pushed. A huge clap of thunder preceded a veritable downpour. All the sensations inside and outside his body accompanied the climb. He was scaling his way to heaven and Elise was the mountain. Sex was never like that before. Orgasm took on a whole new meaning for Bud as he shuddered with a mammoth ejaculation and his cock was clasped by the powerful, rhythmic squeezing of her climax.

Gulping air, his heart pumping like a locomotive engine, Bud dropped over her, sliding off to one side and enjoying the pummeling rain. It prickled his hot skin and chilled him to the bone. Finally, Bud stood and took her into his arms. He carried Elise through the window and into his bedroom, where he made love all night, sleeping only when complete physical exhaustion took him over.

~*~

He woke to a tender kiss and reached up to gather her close. But Elise pulled away and he opened his eyes to the inevitable, what he didn’t really want to face.

She was dressed in her perfect blue suit. Her face was soft and calm, her smile touched his heart. He pulled himself up and leaned against the headboard. He ran his big hands down her arms, taking her hands in his, their fingers entwined and Elise smiled her heart wrenching smile.

“Going home, baby?”

“Yes. Bud, I’ll never forget you.”

“Likewise, doll. If you’re ever in Los Angeles . . .”

“There’s no one else on earth I’d rather see. In Los Angeles or anywhere.”

Bud leaned in and kissed her, his heart breaking. His hands cupped the back of her head. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew he had to. His mouth moved to her ear and tenderly kissed her neck. “Take care, baby.”

“I will...” she whispered, then picked up her suitcase and walked out of his apartment.

Bud slumped down onto his pillow and covered his eyes with his arm, then chuckled sadly.

“That’s me. The fucking patron saint of lost souls.”

THE END

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