by Bryan James
Conrad looked away from the closet door to the nightstand where he had a pen and pieces of paper. He picked up the pen and began to move it in almost random directions as he talked.
“There are no jobs here. The town is broke. This guy that’s letting me live here doesn’t have a job. He gets some kind of money but I don’t know where it’s from but he isn’t a big spender. He did say something about having an exit plan but I can’t imagine he has very much.”
“So, that means he saves,” Marcus said. “Take a look around the place, listen to his phone conversations, ask people in town about him. If it’s a big house then he’s got have some money somewhere. Start looking around the house, look for a hidden safe maybe or secret compartment. Check the basement and floorboards, I worked one place... well, just look around. Hell you could even ask him, say you need some advice about how to make it in town.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“Use your brain,” Marcus said. “Remember what you were like when you came to me, I mean you were tough but you didn’t have street smarts, you still trusted people. You had to get burned a couple times before you learned.”
“Yeah,” Conrad said as he thought over the advice, over the memories.
“You can’t play nice with these people and expect something from it,” Marcus said. “You have to get tough and play hard. Make this guy like you, hang out with him even if he is a creep. Make him love you, pretend he’s some guy you want to roll.”
“He’s not like that. The time we did together. We’re friends but he’s not queer. He’s got his head on pretty good. He’s pretty suspicious.”
“So use the soft routine, make him think you’re vulnerable, make him think he can help you and that he’ll get something out of it. Don’t make a deal, you’re not in business, but find a way to work him. People want to trust each other. He’s a sucker.”
Conrad looked up from the doodle he had been making with a pen on the tablet by the bedside to the mirror and the closet door. It was closed but he felt like something, someone was there. Could he hear breathing?
“Listen, I have to go, but let me know as soon as you can when it’s clear. I miss you,” Conrad said.
“You take care and don’t let them fool you. You get what you can out of them and move on with your life.”
“I love you,” Conrad said.
“I love you too,” Marcus responded.
Conrad stared at the closet door as he ended the call and opened the nightstand drawer where he found the pistol he had stored there. He picked it up, elbow tight against his body he walked to the door where he touched the wood with two fingers trying to listen for noise. He let his fingers drift to the handle, then he jerked the door open, ready to shoot but no one was there, only the few shirts he hanged there. There was no motion to them, no sign of a disturbance. He pushed them away and moved to the back of the closet. He pressed against the back wall, the sides, and the back wall again before he shook his head and went back to the nightstand where he put the gun away and closed the drawer.
“I’m losing it,” he said.
He was feeling unnerved and uncertain. He didn’t want to stay in the house. He wanted to go somewhere, do something. He checked his pockets to make sure everything was there. The bar, he said to himself. He checked the time and realized in another half hour DJ would be working. He retrieved a bottle of pills from his bag, made sure there was cotton inside to keep them from rattling around. He walked to town, past the few shops, stretched it out longer than when DJ’s shift would start.
Inside the bar Conrad was delighted to see DJ working in a tight, white t-shirt and jeans. He ordered a boilermaker which DJ was only too happy to serve him, but separately. Conrad dropped the shot into the glass of beer then raised the glass to his lips and began to drink in one long pull. DJ laughed and clapped before asking him if he’d have another.
“Just a beer this time,” Conrad said.
“Coming right up,” DJ said.
When DJ brought him the beer he took a long sip, set the glass down, and looked to the television like all of the other patrons. He continued to drink for the next five hours, averaging about one and half beers an hour, getting up to piss twice but making it back to his stool without any difficulty but by the end of it he was pretty drunk. He dreaded the walk home. But as he saw DJ’s mother coming in to replace him at the bar Conrad suddenly had a thought about getting a ride back to the house. He signaled DJ to where he was sitting, asked him flat out, and DJ nodded and said he would take him.
“Really?” Conrad asked.
“No problem,” DJ said.
Conrad downed the rest of his drink and waited. It wasn’t long before DJ hugged his mother goodbye and made his way down on the other side of the bar to where Conrad sat.
“Come on,” DJ said.
Conrad got to his feet and swayed a little. He put his hand in his pocket and rubbed at his wallet, his other hand in his other pocket to rub at the bottle of pills, his keys. Everything was where it should be, he told himself. He began to move but was unsteady and DJ quickly put an arm around him. This close the difference in their height and bodies was clearly evident. Conrad let his arm sink around DJ’s back and side as he clung to him, let himself be led out of the back of the bar to the parking lot. He thought for a moment about the night he made the deal, about Heather’s father, and he smiled to himself, not out of cruelty but something else, maybe it was irony. DJ led him to the passenger side door and helped him inside, buckled his belt, and walked around to his own side where he got in and started the car.
There was nothing left to lose, Conrad told himself, he had already lost everything. He looked across to the young man who had helped him, a young man who in another time and place could have been his friend. They could have been in juvenile detention together, or else if Conrad had lived here in this town only thirty some miles away from his own hometown.
“I like you,” Conrad said.
DJ smiled at him before beginning to drive away out of the parking lot. He followed the speed limit, stopped fully at every stop sign. He turned on his car stereo and tapped at the steering wheel trying to follow the rhythm.
“I really like you,” Conrad said. “I’d do anything for you.”
DJ pulled the car to the side of the road, shifted to park, and looked to his drunken passenger. Conrad stared back, uncertain what DJ was thinking. He could bash me, he thought. He could seriously beat the hell out of me, dump me by the roadside and no one would care. I couldn’t report it to anyone because I’m a criminal.
“I’m not gay,” DJ said.
“I wasn’t implying you were.”
“You’re drunk,” DJ said.
“And I’m gay. I’m like really gay. I’ve done things with all sorts of guys and not all of them were gay. Some of them were even married to women.”
“What do you think this is?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just drunk and really horny. I just need something. I don’t want to be alone.”
“And what do you want from me?”
“Suck your cock, maybe jerk myself off,” Conrad said.
DJ shook his head, shifted to drive, and looked away to the road. Conrad reached up and placed a hand on DJ’s forearm. He worried for a moment that DJ would slap him away, maybe back hand him, but he didn’t.
“I can pay you,” Conrad said.
“I’m not a whore. I’m not letting you suck me off for cash.”
“What about pills?”
DJ pulled back over, parked the car, and looked to Conrad.
“I’ve got a bottle of them right here and right now,” Conrad said.
“How many?”
“Twenty-five,” Conrad answered.
DJ clenched his jaw, looked around. The pills were pills. He could use them, sell them, and all for what, a blow job. He hadn’t had one in months and Conrad was probably talented at it.
“We do this and you never come back to the bar
. You never come looking for me. We see each other on the street and we’re strangers.”
Conrad looked DJ in the eye. It would bother him that much. But DJ could just rob him right there if it were just the pills, no it was something else, he told himself. It could be good. He could teach him a few things.
“Okay, but we do this at your place,” Conrad said.
“Fine, but then you go home,” DJ said.
Conrad sat back in his seat and smiled. For a few minutes he wouldn’t be alone, he told himself, he’d have someone else, a virgin even, big tough, white trash virgin. It was easy to stay awake even with his eyes closed because he felt his cock leaking inside his jeans the rest of the drive back to DJ’s home.
When the car finally stopped, DJ turned off the engine, and pushed open his car door Conrad felt like he was back where he was supposed to be. He got out and looked around feeling mischievous as he spotted the other trailers, wanting someone to see him going inside with DJ but he couldn’t tell if anyone did. DJ led him up the steps and inside where he began to strip after he closed the door. Conrad began to do the same.
The place was unkempt. It reeked of cigarette smoke. All of the furniture was old. Blankets covered the couch and the recliner, and the ends of the stands and tables were worn away. Conrad spotted a knife sticking into one stand. He began to have second thoughts.
“No, keep your underwear on, I don’t want to see your dick. You can cum but I don’t want to see it and you better not make a mess.”
DJ was naked as he walked to the couch where he sat and turned on the television. Conrad watched as the young man switched to some heterosexual porn and relaxed, his cock up against his thigh looked like a slug as it was partially limp.
“Pills,” DJ said.
“Right,” Conrad said before searching through his clothes and finding the bottle. He shook them but there wasn’t any noise. He carried the bottle to DJ who opened it and poured them into his hand, looked them over, and then poured them back into the bottle leaving two in his hand.
“Blow job, you get to jerk off, but like I said it stays in your underwear.”
“We better get some towels then,” Conrad said.
“Right,” DJ said.
He got up from the couch, his limp dick bounced as he walked. He went into the bathroom and retrieved two towels. One he placed where he had been sitting, then sat on it, the other was smaller and he handed that one to Conrad who took it before sitting beside DJ. He leaned down to DJ’s crotch, reached into his own underwear. His own cock was already slick and it felt good just to touch it with a few fingers.
******
DJ pulled to the end of the drive and parked the car.
“This is it,” he said.
“Thanks,” Conrad replied before getting out of the car. He staggered back a little and watched as DJ pulled away and then was gone. He turned and began to walk up the drive, the taste of ejaculate still in his mouth, his underwear wet and in his pocket, he laughed to himself about what he had done, what he would do. There are no limits, he told himself. It was all there for the taking.
Chapter 18 - Succubus
Who walks these hallways? Lucy asked herself. She had been to the bathroom and now as she was making her way back she wanted to explore the rest of the house, lose herself in its immense architecture. She wanted to know every crevice, each secret passage and room. She had always been curious about places, houses, like this since she was little. She imagined that monsters usually lived in them, vampires and mad scientists.
This house belonged to a bootlegger, a gangster, a man who probably bribed the police, paid for political campaigns, and a man who probably committed more crimes such as extortion and murder. She stopped at the archway back into the parlor where Simon sat on the love seat rubbing his hands over his knees. They had been intimate previously. They had committed to each other as a couple. And yet he was nervous. She smiled as she entered the room. He was unsure of what he should do.
For a moment he almost stood before she stepped to him, placed a knee on either side of his legs, pushed him back as she sat on his lap. His chin rested between her breasts as he looked up to her face. It was clear that he wanted to please her. She kissed him, pushed his head back, gripped at his red and burning ears. He reached up under Heather’s shirt to her bra covered breast. He squeezed at the fabric but it told him little of the contents inside as she kissed him. Her hair down past the side of his face tickled his neck intermittently which made him want to giggle but he resisted because he thought it might be misinterpreted. He didn’t want to stop and yet his neck hurt so he pushed against her shoulders until she pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“My neck,” he said.
She sat back and rested against his crotch for a moment.
“Let’s see what we can do to fix that,” she said.
She got off him, off the sofa and moved to his legs where she hooked her arms behind his knees and pulled him until his head rested flat against the seat pillow. She smiled and asked him if it was better which he said it was so she got back on top of him, this time she unhooked her bra under her shirt before she went back to kissing him. He reached up under the fabric, under the formed material to her soft breast. He cupped them, felt her nipples. They felt just as good as the first time. He felt himself straining in his pants, leaking a little as he shifted and he felt the wet spot. He pushed at her again and she sat up.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” she said.
“My mother,” he said.
“I thought you said she was locked in her room,” she said.
“Yeah but Conrad,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Really?” he asked.
“We’re safe,” she said.
They kissed again but this time he stuck to her lips and he was able to return the pressure, the tongue. They were lost in the moment until Heather heard a noise. She looked up to see a blur of movement, something whisked in front of her eyes and at the same moment she felt a pressure against her skull, then the pain. She let out a scream of panic and pushed herself away. She fell to the floor and grabbed at her forehead. That’s when she felt the blood. She felt the opening for a moment and she knew she shouldn’t touch it, not with her fingers. She looked to behind the sofa as Simon got to his knees blocking her view. He had grabbed his mother’s arms and he was wrestling with her.
“Mother stop!” he yelled.
“Succubus whore, begone devil woman,” his mother shouted causing spittle to fly from her mouth. “Temptress whore, you can’t have my son. He’s mine. He’s for God.”
She pulled out of his grip for a moment and Heather got to her feet as she held her hand to her forehead. She tried to anticipate the woman’s movement. Simon was quicker as he rounded the furniture to catch her. She nearly pushed by him for a moment until he caught her around the waist and they fell to the sofa causing it to screech along the wood floor.
“Get out,” he shouted. “Wait for me on the porch and I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“I’m out of here,” she said. “Fuck this.”
Heather picked up her purse from the floor and walked out of the house and into the night where she looked around confused at first, one hand pressed against her head to hold the skin, the blood. She felt light headed and the blood was getting down around her eye. She stumbled to the stairs where she fell to her knees and slid her feet off. She could feel the pain of the wound, the tingling and throbbing. She realized what had just happened, who had just attacked her and how, where. She fell onto her back and looked up to the porch ceiling. She laughed a little and then began to cry. She could hear Simon still inside fighting with his mother.
Inside, he pushed his mother to the stairs and took the knife from her hand before commanding her to go to her room. She pushed back against him a little but the gesture became a hug and f
or a moment he thought about stabbing her, one thrust into her back, between her ribs and it would be over. How was he going to be able to get out of this? Heather was gone, somewhere down the road. Did she call the cops? His mother began to cry, her tears soaked his shirt and he felt her reach for the knife but he kept a tight grip until she gave up. She kissed him on the neck, on the cheek, and then his forehead. They looked each other in the eye.
“Please,” he said.
“She can never come back here. The devil’s minions are not welcome here.”
“Okay mother,” he said. “I have to take her to the hospital if I can find her.”
“I will punish you later,” she said.
Simon remembered the knife in his hand. Just a stab, he thought, a slash maybe several and maybe it would be justified. His mother turned and walked up the stairs clinging to the banister and muttering under her breath as she did. He wanted to drop the knife but he was afraid of giving it up so easily so he carried it with him to the cupboard where he grabbed some towels then ran back through the house the front door which he opened and was relieved to find Heather there on the porch crying and laughing at the same time.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Take me to the hospital,” she demanded.
Deciding that his mother was safely upstairs and they were about to escape he stuck the knife in the banister before he moved to her side, handed her a towel which she pressed against her head before he took her arm and pulled her up, placed it around his shoulder, and led her away, out into the darkness towards the garage.
When they got to the side entrance he stopped for a moment to check his pockets to make sure he still had his keys to the car which he did. He led her inside to the unlocked car, opened the passenger side door and helped her inside, buckled her belt before he closed the car door and ran to the front to open the garage door before he took out his keys and ran around to the other side of the car and got inside. He started the car, turned on the headlights. He looked to her as she sat illuminated by the interior car lights.