Your head always loses when it says one thing and your body says another. Sometimes, or maybe just this once, Frank wished his head would have come out on top.

Staring up again at the stark white wall at the end of the hallway he now sat, watching the slow, lazy circles the large gray and black industrial fan made in its center. It seemed to have no purpose there other than to antagonize ones with its monotony. Counting the slow rotations led to time moving slower, and maybe that's what Frank needed in these moments before they ushered him into the interrogation room. More time to collect his thoughts, his wits, and his courage.

He wasn't going down for this. Sure, Jimmy was dead, and they had seen him and Jimmy fighting at the club yesterday. But knuckles and knives were quite different, and Frank refused to carry a blade. They made letting out someone's life just a little too easy. In a moment of rage, one swipe or thrust couldn't be undone, let alone the thirty-seven times someone had poked Jimmy as if he were just a pin cushion. There was no way he could be sewn up ever again. Yes, Jimmy was dead, yet Frank was not his killer for all his evil ways.

He knew in his head who the murderer likely was, but his heart still refused to accept that logical conclusion. It said there was no way Coral could have done it. She was too much of a sexual creature to be depraved and violent, certainly not thirty-seven times worth. Even just knowing her for three days, he swore she was not that type of girl, despite all the evidence proclaiming otherwise.

_________

It had been raining relentlessly that fateful evening, the night he met her. The streets reflected the weak overhead light of the lamps in a quicksilver shimmer, the hardness he felt with each slap of his long feet, proof that those pounding drops had not beaten the roads into submission. He watched as a splash from his step sent ripples through a puddle. His black coat was turned up at the collar and his gray hat was pulled down at a rakish angle to protect his clear gray eyes and keep the drops off his vanilla skin. His black hair curled up in an unruly fashion over the coat's collar and his cold ears. The shadows cast, likely hiding his firm chin and full lips from the eyes of those scurrying about him.

A quiet man, others rarely knew his thoughts until he expressed them in action. His profession called for deliberate deeds, violent and forceful. It was a necessary business; powerful people needed obstacles removed, and he was the perfect eraser. He was not proud of what he did, but he was satisfied with his reputation of how he did it. Fear and respect tied to his name.

His destination finally emerged from the fog that rolled in heaps on this cool November night, the neon announcing the club's entrance giving off a buzz as it blinked on and off. Minton's Playhouse, the sign proclaimed, as its bright letters burned through the charcoal darkness. Harlem might not be safe for him, but this is where Jimmy said they should meet.

Stepping past the doorman without glancing at him, Frank checked his hat and coat. Carefully, he smoothed his gunmetal suit and straightened the black tie on his worn white shirt. This is as good as it gets, he said to himself, and pushed his way into the maelstrom of bodies surrounding the bar.

"Commando cocktail, please," he announced, raising his hand to draw the attention of the tender. So sometimes the name of the drink has nothing to do with its content. On other occasions, it is indicative of the nature of the consequences of the potation, and such would be the case with this bourbon-based glass of trouble.

Throwing a couple of coins on the inky-colored counter, Frank turned to survey the room, drink in hand. It was easy to spot the exits. The trouble was simple to identify. The bulky forms of men, too tall and wide for any type of suit to fit properly, along with the knowing outline of the heat they carried concealed, gave them away instantly. At least four, no, five, belonged on the offensive line of the Giants, not here in this club. Bringing his eyes to the apex of their center, Frank saw Jimmy. There he sat, a wide carefree grin on his oily face, a miniature among these men watching over him. Even though years younger than Frank, Jimmy was already growing a pale hairy inner tube around his waist, and nearly bald; money could buy him popularity it turns out, but did very little to fix his scarred face.

Women didn't seem to notice his ugliness, or at least it appeared that way to Frank, because every time he met with Jimmy, a different slinky girl hung on his arm. Tonight's dark flavor was crowned in a platinum halo, her hair curling up just above bare shoulders. Her silk gown flowed in onyx ripples around and on her many curves. She bent down, whispered in Jimmy's ear, and then headed to the back of the club, to the powder room.

Frank couldn't stop staring at the sexy flounce she crossed the loud room with. An invitation screamed with each movement of her clad flesh. The way the gown was poured on her curvaceous dark skin left little for his vivid imagination to conjure. Her breasts were unrestrained by anything other than the taut silk that crept across them, a slight bump in the circular center of each announcing a reaction to the feel of that fabric. The black material flowed below her bosom, covering any flaws found through her middle, and then again clung close to her womanly hips and bottom. The effect was like watching a puma prowl across the jungle floor. Visceral lust bloomed in Frank's body. Licking his drying lips, he straightened his tie once more. Drink in hand; he made his way after her swaying form, desperate to meet her.

A long cigarette holder poked up from her right black-gloved hand, a smoldering nub about to go out. Frank picked his moment and stepping up he said, "Do you need a light, Miss?" pulling his silver Zippo lighter and flicking a flame with his other palm at the same time.

Turning her gaze up at him, she smiled, so wickedly his constitution nearly failed him, "I don't have another cigarette on me at the moment," saying this she casually opened her arms to him as if he could search her to prove otherwise.

"I have some Camels," he quipped as he fished in his interior jacket pocket.

"Okay, sure," again that smile that warned of trouble if only his body could hear his head. Raising the holder, she indicated he should place her smoke. Then, leaning in, she lit it with a puff. "With that nonsense accomplished, my name is Coral. I am sure that's what you wanted, but you can call me Jimmy's girl." Once more that evil grin flashed, a raised eyebrow asking if he had enough game to play.

"Nice to meet you, Coral, I'm Frank. As you can tell, I like to disobey." He parried her grin and brow with a devilish wink and an angelic smile of his own.

"Well, Frank, what brings you into Harlem tonight, the girls or the drinks?"

"Neither, it's a man." He purposefully paused, creating mystery and to see if she had turned to run or stepped closer.

A shimmering cloud surrounding them both followed a deliberate drag on her cigarette as she looked him in the eyes. "Why would you mess with a man when you could play with the likes of me?" As she finished her sentence, her eyes directed his to follow down, and her gloved hands flowed over the curves of her body and lifted the coal-colored hem of her dress a few inches.

"I have business with the man, but would indeed consider playtime with a girl like you."

As she turned to leave him for the powder room, Frank reached out and solidly grabbed her bottom. She whirled on him, a hand raised as if to strike; as she swung, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him. She tilted up her chin and, in a burst of lust, their lips crushed together as his arm snaked around behind her.

She felt his desire harden against her stomach, her breasts ready to burst from his squeeze. Pushing against his chest, she separated their lips finally. "You better mind your manners, mister. How dare you?"

"I don't care if you don't like my manners. I don't like them myself. I know they're bad. I will grieve over them in the morning." His retort shot back, and pulling her to him, he kissed those glorious lips again.

A clearing of a gigantic throat behind them had Frank break off the kiss and turn to face one of Jimmy's goons. "Leave the lady be, or I'll knock those pretty teeth of yours out."

The size of this bloke's fists sent an obvious message, and Frank let his brain work for once tonight. He liked his teeth and wanted to keep them. Letting Coral go, he stepped back, hands raised. As she turned to glare at him, he noticed an additional detail; her lips were now a full crimson in contrast to the gray blacks and whites that formally surrounded him.

"Go clean yourself up. Jimmy is ready to see you," the leviathan ordered.

"I'm ready now."

"Your face is dirty. Go clean it first."

Was his face dirty? Frank put up a hand to touch his lips, and the white tips came away coated in scarlet. Now alarmed, he ran to the restroom. Crashing in, he went straight to the mirror above the sink. It covered his lips and the surrounding area in ruby smudges. Washing first his hands, seeing the red bleed off the white, he cupped water and brought it to his face, rubbing. Looking in the mirror afresh, he noted the red was gone, but the gray had not returned. Instead, a warm white surrounded his now pink lips. He smacked them together and rubbed his eyes once more. The color remained. Something had happened when he kissed Coral.

Wiping his mouth with the back of the sleeve, he headed out to meet with Jimmy about the job.

________

Arriving back at his room in the early morning hours, the first thing Frank did was check the mirror by his bed. The alien colors once around his mouth were fading back to the familiar grays. A sigh of relief and he turned to undress. All his clothes went quickly in a pile on the bed until he was standing in his smoky boxers. As he hung things up, the shadows and light from the single bulb in the room swept across his naked torso, heavy muscles and light hair did little to hide his skin. Scars ran over his ribs on both sides, a deep sable bruise sat on his right shoulder, and a fresh inky scratch stretched its way across his flat stomach.

Looking at his shirt, he could see it was ruined, cut clean through, and marked with his raven-colored blood. He tossed that in the bin. He would need a new one tomorrow. Next, he checked his suit coat. Somehow, it appeared unharmed. As he slid his hand into each pocket of his trousers, he felt a sharp corner of an object. Pulling it into the low light, he saw it was a business card for a place called "Onyx Club" on West 52nd Street. Scrawled on the back in spidery ink, "I sometimes hang out here; about 4 p.m. tell them you are from 802, Coral."

When had she slipped this in? It had to have been during their kiss, but he hadn't even noticed. It was clear she wanted more of him or more from him, and he didn't care as long as he got to see her again.

The job Jimmy had hired him for was done and then some, so he needed to see Jimmy again because he owed him more money. He hadn't described the half of it, nor the two extra men Frank had to take down.

But first sleep was necessary, then meeting Coral again tomorrow at the Onyx Club, before visiting Jimmy for that much-deserved pay.

_______

Coral had much better taste in clubs. Minton's wasn't everything the Onyx was. The walls were decorated in simple black and silver stripes. The bar was marbles of white and black, mirrors in the back wall reflecting the low lights. But people didn't come here only for the libations; this was the place for the best Jazz.

As the doorman opened the silver door at the end of the pitch black hallway when Frank had said, "I'm from 802", a crazy madhouse of a jazz stomping, tables overflowing nearly bowled him over.

His bourbon neat came to him in a coffee cup, and a quick survey of the room showed everyone had the same drink, at least the same cup. Peering across the raised edge of his cup, he nearly gulped it all by accident. The girl gliding across the floor toward him was pure decadence. A white blouse buttoned up the front tucked into her black pencil skirt, which hit just below the knee. Following those exquisite lines down brought him to her black high heels. Back up those beautiful curves and across those double Ds begging to be released, he came once more to her face. He gave a smile at Coral, to which she raised her brows and continued her glide toward him.

How did this woman move like this? Intoxicating was the first word that sprang to his lurid mind. Her lips were again a shade of gray and fixed in perfect bows, a full pouty lower lip being bitten by her white teeth.

"Well, hello again, Frank. Fancy meeting you today; hope you have some fun." With that, she spun on her heel as if to walk away.

Reaching out quickly, he grabbed her hip and spun her back into his arms. Her hands went to the back of his neck as she stretched up his tall form, showing this is how she had played it out in her mind. "You, Miss, look very fun, so I think I might just have you."

"But there are so many others to play with in this joint. Are you sure you have made the right choice?"

"If you didn't want me to choose you as my playmate, perhaps you shouldn't dress like that."

"This is a blouse and a skirt. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe you shouldn't wear that body." With that, Frank took her full up against him, feeling her heat mix with his as he once again brought his full lips to hers, only this time much softer so that the weird crimson thing wouldn't happen again.

Her hand snaked through his curls and pulled him down harder into her kiss. Her tongue slid through to dance with his as the brass band blew behind them.

He pressed against her, his now quite engorged cock pushing against her hip. He felt her flow in his grasp, and his hands slid to her full derrière. Pulling her in, his hands grasped her skirt, moving it up. The zipper slipped once from his fingers as she moaned like a whore, catching him by surprise. But then on the second try, he found it, and tooth by tooth, it descended under his pressure. 

Breaking off the kiss and grabbing his hand, she hissed, "Not here, hon, let's head for the coat closet for a bit of alone time." Looking back over her shoulder and taking in the room once more, she led him to the dark back corner.

Ensconced in privacy, they resumed the pose they had struck on the floor. Frank couldn't stop his hands, and they roamed freely. Soon her blouse was untucked and unbuttoned, the bustier a shimmering light blue under his touch. He looked and noted his hands were that same warm pink shade that the skin around his lips had assumed the night before. Not caring at this moment, he sampled the globes of decadent flesh that sat in that sea of blue. Prying one out, he met a lovely black nipple that grew steadily longer under his hot breath. Sucking it into his mouth, he heard that low moan of need once again.

Letting go of her breasts, he lifted the now loose skirt to her waist and spun her to face the wall. A knife was strapped to the inside of her thigh, a thin, wicked-looking thing. Drawing it from its sheath, he used it to cut down the back of her light blue panties, and then thrust it into the wall. Holding her there, he took out his thick cock, ripped her panties to the sides, and pushed at her moist entrance.

Forcing again, his one hand went to her throat; his other spread and lifted her ass. His tip entered the heat, and he heard a gasp, followed once more by that moan. Pushing harder, he went in halfway, and again a bit more. Repeating these thrusts as his grip on her throat tightened slightly. "I'm going to fuck you," he growled in her ear.

"You better do it fast," she said back breathlessly.

Letting go of her cheek, he brought that hand to the front and began bringing her juices up to her clit, all the while plunging his rod deeper and deeper. Her curly pubes tickled along his shaft as his fingers danced through it to find her pronounced clitoris. Rubbing that while plunging himself into her velvety center was bringing them both close to the edge. The skin of her face, once a pink brown then gray again, slid toward brown as he relaxed the pressure on her throat. A small cry escaped her lips before she bit down to silence it, a juddering shake spreading from her core through her whole body.

That's all Frank could take, his lust burning from his balls and spewing forth deep into her, his thrusts continuing to match her push back against him until he drained his load. Sagging against her, he nibbled on her ear, which blazed into color before his eyes.

Pulling out and flipping her around, his hands to her tits, he kissed her once more. Noticing the lids of her blue eyes flutter, a shade of Lavender on them, he stepped back and took all of her in. The blouse was still white, but the buttons were a yellow hue, her skirt not black but navy blue, the same with the pumps on her feet. The panties he had thought white were a creamy sky blue with black curls of pubic hair escaping through the tear in them.

He also seemed to be in color, his brown shoes showing scuffs and mud stuck on them, three dark circular stains on the left. His suit is light olive green and his tie matches a forest of pine trees. Calmly, he tucked his rapidly shrinking cock into his boxers.

As he went to protest and ask about the color, her hand shot to his mouth and her eyes looked past him. "We need to go somewhere private and talk about what just happened. Plus, I want to ride you."

The look on her face and in those now pale blue eyes made Frank gulp, and he said, "My room is close, let's go." Turning to leave, she grabbed him and stopped his exit.

Running her hands the length of her haphazardly naked frame, she implored, "Care to help?"

Her panties were fading toward gray once more; just a spot of wetness was that creamy blue still. Throwing on their coats, they dashed for the exit, heading to his place.

A couple of hours later found them lying exhausted on his bed. A light sheen of sweat covered them from the exertion just enjoyed. Her platinum hairpiece discarded, she now lay on him with her short black curls tickling his chest. His hand rested at the back of her chocolate neck, both of them breathing hard as his rod slowly shrank within her.

He had never experienced the likes of her; she was wild and free with her seductive curves. After sucking him into her soft mouth, she had dropped his length, the tears leaking from the corners of her light blue eyes showing she was choking on him. Stroking his balls and teasing below them, she had him hard in moments. She had spun above him, placing her full bum in his face, showing it off with a little shake.

Taking one coffee-colored globe in each of his hands, he had separated those cheeks, spotting the pink slit amidst her dark curls, and let his tongue play. Of course, this brought a shiver of delight from her, and she renewed her attention on his thickness.

Moments later she slid down his torso, her desire leaving a shining trail on his skin, and she mounted him, her back still to him. A slow bounce that caused her magnificent caramel cheeks to shake and dance for him began to quicken as her moaning grew. She came with abruptness, he was aware only because she paused and tensed, a little squeak escaping her lips. As she shuddered, he felt her nectar pool in his groin and drip down his balls.

Turning to face him, she rode him once more, the bounce seeming exaggerated because of her generous breasts going opposite her motion. He had grunted a warning then came with a sudden gush as she continued to work his shaft, a satisfied grin fixed on her full lips.

As she lay on him, he was surprised when she spoke.

"If Jimmy were gone, I could be yours."

"You could still be mine in the moments between," he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.

"I know where some of his money is. And if you killed Jimmy, for us, we could make a run for Cuba and live there on that money for years."

"You don't just kill a man like Jimmy and get away with it. He's too well-connected and protected."

"You are a man among boys, from what I can tell, you could get away with it. Maybe tonight when you meet with him, I would give you my knife, but it's still stuck in the wall in the coatroom at the Onyx, I think."

"I am not killing Jimmy for you, or us. I kill, but only for money, never for passion."

"But he beats me, slaps and chokes me. He deserves to die."

"When I meet with him tonight, I promise you I will make sure he doesn't hit you ever again, but I won't murder him."

"Isn't it a pity, the wrong people always having the money? If you were rich I would run away with you tonight, but you are poor, a good fuck but not the man I thought you were. Kill him for me, and I will be yours to use forever."

"Seems you like money." He pushed her up and off of him as he made to get up. "You've got a great big dollar sign where your heart should be. I refuse to murder a man for you."

As he stood, he turned his broad back to her, "Please grab your clothes and leave, Coral. Today was fun, but now I question why you fucked me. Do you find me attractive or merely useful?" Looking down with his brilliant green eyes, he stared into the rosy palms of his hands and saw them begin to shake. "Get out now!" The growl in his voice caused her to gasp. Collecting her things against her cinnamon skin, she headed out the door.

As he heard the door click behind him, his hands balled into fists and the rage he felt welled within him into a full roar that she, along with everyone else in the thin-walled community, no doubt heard.

And that was that, the next afternoon, on his way to the Onyx club again to try and meet Coral once more, he had been arrested and brought to the police station he now found himself. Hand-cuffed and rumpled, he awaited his moment to plead his innocence to the charges of murder.

Coral, now she was a woman for the ages, he still wanted her, despite her callous attitude toward him. He wouldn't tell the detectives about what she had said, even if it meant trouble for him. Looking down once more at the three dark circular stains on his shoe, he knew he should have listened to his head and not his heart. For yes, he was a criminal, but crime is only a left-handed form of human endeavor.

The first words of the detective shocked him as he entered the interrogation room, “Coral Williams was found strangled to death early this morning.”