Jump by Tim Maleeny Page A

“I’m a libertarian—I think both parties are filled with a bunch of crooks who wake up every day trying to figure out how to take your money and give it to some guy they went to school with— after telling you that they truly understand the plight of the black community…or the working family…or the bilingual student…or the ostracized motorcycle gang.” Shayla made a face that suggested nausea. “And I don’t think a march ever changed a damn thing.”
    “Then why do it?”
    “Because marches make people feel better—like they’re doing something . And because the money that goes in my pocket comes out of the pockets of those politicians.”
    “So you’re playing the system?”
    Shayla raised her eyebrows. “Better than letting the system play me.”
    Tamara reached across and pinched Shayla’s cheek. Her coffee skin turned pale beneath her eye before regaining its luster. “It helps she’s a sister—and she’s hot.”
    “That’s me,” said Shayla. “Tall, black, and nonfat. The politically correct drink of choice for reporters everywhere.”
    Sam thought of all the college professors and media pundits saying young women were in constant danger of being exploited because of their sex. These two women had turned the tables on everyone, playing off their looks but using their brains to grab the world by the balls. They were going to graduate from med school and law school without an ounce of debt, and they would never look back.
    “I’d hate to get on your bad side,” he said to both of them.
    “You getting back to business, huh?” asked Shayla.
    Sam nodded. “You were in the next room, on camera, the night Ed died?”
    Tamara nodded. “Yup.”
    “Both of you?” asked Sam. “I thought you took turns.”
    “Some nights we hang out together, like normal roomies,” said Shayla. “Paint each other’s nails.” She extended a bare foot, revealing purple toenails.
    “Only we sit around with our tops off,” added Tamara.
    “Gotta pay the rent,” said Sam mildly.
    “Exactly,” replied the roommates in unison.
    “Nice alibi.”
    “You want to see the footage?” asked Tamara helpfully.
    “What man wouldn’t?” asked Sam, feeling like the straight man in a vaudeville act. “But thanks anyway. How about telling me why neither of you is wearing black to mourn our dear, departed landlord.”
    Shayla leaned forward. “Easy. He tried to shake us down.”
    “For money?”
    “For sex,” replied Tamara.
    Shayla lowered her voice and scratched the side of her face as if she had a beard. “ Give me a blowjob and I’ll lower your rent. ”
    Tamara matched the pitch of her voice and added, “ Fuck me or I’ll kick your ass out on the street. ”
    Sam shook his head.
    Both women nodded. Tamara spoke first. “Ed was a class act, I tell you.”
    “And that was only the first week we lived here,” said Shayla.
    “So you did what?” asked Sam, already knowing the answer.
    “We invited him upstairs for a drink,” said Shayla, smiling at the memory.
    “Asshole thought he was going to get lucky.” Tamara smirked. “But we asked him to repeat his generous offers.”
    Sam said, “And you got the whole thing on tape.”
    “Broadcast live on the web,” said Tamara.
    “And recorded onto our hard drive,” said Shayla.
    “Poor Ed,” said Sam.
    “Poor dumb Ed,” said Shayla.
    “So the room is miked?”
    “Yeah, we have audio,” said Tamara, “but we usually deactivate it, so we can talk shit about whatever we want—our members only care about the T&A, not the witty rapport.”
    Shalya snorted. “Most probably have the sound off on their own computers anyway, so they can beat off while their wives are in the other room.”
    “How did Ed react?”
    “We hit the replay button and all the blood drained from his face,” said Tamara.
    “It was beautiful,” said Shayla.
    “Then we made him take his pants off,” added Tamara matter-of-factly.
    Sam coughed. “You’re not