by Raisor, Gary
Josie tried to push his hand away. "You'd better save the sweet talk for Juliana. I'm not interested."
But Billy T's hand was not so easily dislodged; he gripped her throat and pulled her close. "I don't know what's going on here, but one thing's for sure, I'm not going anywhere with that bitch dancer. And I never been to Abilene in my life. Is this some kind of little joke you two cooked up? Is it?"
"Abilene?" Josie asked, confused.
Josie saw sweat beading up on the cowboy's lip. The guy seemed on the edge of some hidden rage that might explode at any moment. A tiny push could put him over.
Josie, frightened now, shook her head no. The guy's hand was a steel clamp on her throat and she couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. His fingers tightened. Digging into her flesh. She felt darkness crowding around the edges of her vision. Then as suddenly as he grabbed her, he turned loose. Josie stumbled back. Her leg struck a chair, knocked it over. The sound was a slap in the now quiet bar. There was no one to help her. They were alone except for the bartender cleaning up at the other end of the room.
Josie knew this cowboy could kill her if he wanted to. The crazy bastard was quick as a snake. She stood very still, her hand on her bruised throat, trying to breathe. "Mister, I don't know what you're talking about. I never said anything about Abilene. I—"
"Shut up," Billy T said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "Shut up. For God's sake, shut up. I don't want to hurt you."
His white chambray shirt was soaked with sweat now, and he gave off the scent of a hunted animal—acrid, bitter—and Josie wondered how she could have ever found him attractive. She saw that he was looking at her like he didn't even see her now, or maybe she thought, with a flash of intuition, like he saw someone else. Whoever it was, Josie was glad she wasn't that person.
By inhuman effort of will, Billy T pulled himself together and tucked his rage out of sight. His face relaxed slowly. It was like watching ripples in a lake disappear, leaving no trace behind of the violence that had caused them. "Sorry, Josie." He smiled. "I didn't mean to scare you. I guess I had a little too much to drink."
The sound of clinking glassware carried across the room. A gust of cool air pushed at the cigarette smoke that hung in the room, causing it to swirl.
Josie nodded numbly, trying on a smile for size. It didn't fit. Reaching into his jacket, Billy T pulled out another twenty and handed it to Josie.
She looked at the bill as if it might bite her, but she finally reached out and took it. "Thanks," she said, her voice a rough whisper. "What's this for, a bribe?"
"It's for doing me a little favor. I want you to tell Juliana that I can't meet her tonight."
At Billy T's words, Josie felt herself smiling despite what he had done to her throat. She couldn't wait to see the look on the dancer's face when she got the news that the cowboy wasn't interested.
The bartender dropped a glass, and when Josie looked back, the cowboy was gone. Without a sound. The door to the street clicked shut softly. A shiver went through her and gooseflesh dotted her arms. This was a mean place, full of cokeheads and pimps, and yet none of them scared her half as bad as this guy in the cowboy clothes.
The dressing room of The Watering Hole wasn't much bigger than a closet and it smelled of stale perfume, sweat, and sex. It had a sort of false cheeriness imparted by the bright lights that lined the U-shaped mirror. Two of the lights were burned out, giving the impression of a gap-toothed grin. Hairbrushes and cheap silver compacts lined the tables, along with a set of false eyelashes that looked like dead spiders in the dim light. A radio played country music in the background.
"Pretty glamorous, huh?" Juliana said, and laughed. The blond dancer had a husky voice that came from too much scotch and too many cigarettes.
In spite of herself, Josie laughed back.
The other two dancers had already gone for the night. Only Juliana remained, waiting, brushing her blond mane with studied indifference. She was dressed in a sleek black dress that cost more than Josie made in a month of waiting tables. Josie tried to stop the resentment that seemed to color her life lately. It wasn't Juliana's fault that she was beautiful.
"What did the cowboy say when you gave him the note?" Juliana asked, studying Josie in the mirror. Most men found Juliana's voice sexy as hell, even when she told them to drop dead.
Josie felt a pang of satisfaction when she said, "He said he wasn't interested. He said he had to go."
Juliana considered Josie's words. "Did he say anything else?" She seemed slightly amused, slightly bored.
Josie hesitated. "He said something about Abilene, something about he had never been there before." Josie touched her still-bruised throat. "It was kind of scary the way he got all worked up. I thought he was going to hurt me."
"I'm sorry," Juliana said. "I didn't mean to get you involved in this. I should have given him the note myself."
"No, he might have hurt you. I saw a knife in his boot."
Juliana lit up a Mexican cigarette, took a drag, held it; let tendrils of smoke curl lazily from her nostrils while she continued studying Josie. There was something reptilian and incredibly ancient in the hooded eyes. She exhaled and somehow managed to make it look elegant. "You're not making this up, are you?"
"No, I'm not. Look Juliana, I don't know you or anything, but if that guy comes back in here, don't mess around with him. There was something wrong with his eyes. They were crazy."
"Do you think he's a killer?"
Josie started to nod then changed her mind, feeling faintly foolish. "You should have seen the way he looked at me."
"How many people do you think he's killed?"
Josie had the feeling Juliana was toying with her, that Juliana knew a lot more about the guy than she was saying. She certainly knew enough to throw him into a rage.
"All I know is, he was fine until I gave him your note," Josie said. "What did you put in it?"
"Nothing. I simply told him to meet me later."
"Knock it off, Juliana, you put something in your note that scared him half to death. I don't know what kind of games you're into, but keep me out of them from now on. Okay?"
"You don't like games?" Juliana asked.
Josie shook her head no. "They make me tired. I had an ex-husband who liked to play games."
Juliana looked away and her voice was slightly wistful. "That's a shame, Josie. Games are the only things that make this long life bearable."
It was Josie's turn to laugh. "You talk like you're old. You can't be more than… what… thirty?"
"Oh, I'm older than that. A lot older."
The words hung in the air.
Josie wanted to ask how old, yet something stopped her. She had the feeling that if she asked, Juliana just might tell her. And Josie thought that might be a mistake. A horrible mistake. The hooded eyes peered at her from the mirror. This conversation had started out friendly enough but it had somehow gone wrong. Josie felt a slight tingle of fear. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to be back at her apartment, taking a hot bath, trying to wash away all traces of The Watering Hole.
"Look, Juliana, this girl talk's been fun and everything, but I'm feeling pretty ancient myself tonight." Josie pulled off a high heel and began massaging her foot. "Ten hour shift."
"Why don't you ask Ralph if you can be one of the dancers?" Juliana asked. "You're pretty enough."
Josie actually felt herself blush. "Thanks. I tried to once. I made it through the audition but I couldn't walk out on the stage. It all seemed so… so…."
"Cheap," Juliana finished.
"Yes, cheap." Josie's face was flushed and yet she didn't turn away.
A definite trace of amusement crossed the blond dancer's face. "You're very unhappy, aren't you, Josie?"
This time, Josie did look away. "Look, Juliana, it's getting late and I've really got to go."
"You don't like men very much, do you?"
Josie felt on uncertain ground. "What are you talking about? I wa
s married for three years."
"It wasn't your husband's fault that he left you."
Josie turned to go, but the blond dancer's words stopped her, pulled her around. She waited.
The dancer turned from the mirror and looked at her with icy blue eyes that saw too much. "Oh, you remember, don't you? You were in high school and your girlfriend spent the night, only your brother came home and he took the spare bedroom, so you and your girlfriend had to share your bed. Shall I go on?"
"Stop it." Josie was no longer blushing, she had gone very pale. "Please, stop it." She stared in horror and her legs, which were so thick and strong, threatened for the first time to buckle. "How could you know that?" A mascara-coated tear, like a dark beetle, scuttled down through her too-thick makeup, leaving behind a ghostly trail. "No one knows about that night."
"It'll be our little secret." Juliana began peeling off the black dress. She wore nothing beneath it.
Josie stared, unable to look away from the naked dancer. She saw that Juliana had a tiny mole on her left breast. No, it wasn't a mole. It was….
"A feathered serpent," Juliana finished for her. "How do you like it?"
The dancer moved closer.
"What are you doing?" Josie asked. She began backing away, moving toward the door, which seemed a million miles away. "That was a mistake what I did that night. I was only a kid, a lonely, frightened kid. I don't go in for…."
"You can't even say it, can you?" Juliana grabbed Josie by the hair and held her. "You think I want to make love to you?" Juliana seemed amused by the thought. "I'm afraid you wouldn't be very good at it."
Josie tried to pull away, but the dancer was strong. Very strong.
Juliana pulled Josie closer. Until their mouths were only inches apart.
"Don't. Please don't," Josie said.
"I'm sorry, Josie, I have to." Juliana leaned slowly forward and brushed her lips against Josie's cold, trembling mouth.
Josie felt the caress of the warm lips, then a sting. She touched her throat. Looked at Juliana, wonderingly. She tried to speak. And couldn't.
There was a knife in Juliana's hand.
There was red on it.
Josie wanted to speak. She wanted to ask about the knife, about the red on it that looked like blood. The words wouldn't form.
"I've cut your throat," Juliana said in a matter of fact voice. "You'll be dead in about a minute or so. I'm sorry but I had to do it. You know what the cowboy looks like. My mistake. I can't have you going to the police and giving them his description."
Josie again tried to speak, but all that came from her mouth were wet sounds that didn't sound like words at all. The pain was a distant burning, not connected to her at all. Josie wanted very much to touch her throat, but, if she touched it, she might discover that the hurt was real and she couldn't deal with that. Her hands hung at her sides, limp, undecided.
Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded, then faded. No help was coming. No one would answer her question, the one small, stupid question that wouldn't let go of her. Why had Juliana taken off the dress?
Josie felt her heart beat and blood spurted out, splashing onto Juliana, rolling down the dancer's white breasts, down her legs, pooling at Juliana's feet.
Understanding came as Josie stared at the pool of red growing on the floor. Juliana had taken off the dress, not to make love to her—Juliana simply didn't want to get blood on it.
The dancer pulled Josie over to the sink, bent her head down and held her there like a sick child who is throwing up on the floor.
Josie wore only one high heel and her feet beat a lopsided, manic tattoo on the tiled floor as she fought to get away. Her struggles were useless. The sink was filling with her own blood, choking her. Her other shoe fell off and the tattoo went silent.
"Just relax," Juliana soothed. "It'll be over soon. If you fight, you'll only make it harder."
Josie began crying, and a strange gurgling sound caused by the hole in her throat filled the room.
"Don't carry on so. This is for the best." Juliana raised the waitress from the blood-filled sink and held her close, began rocking her gently back and forth. "This will be over soon, Josie. Very soon." Juliana began singing a lullaby, her husky voice surprisingly tender.
The blood from Josie's throat was coming out much slower now. Josie felt tired, very tired. She laid her head on Juliana's shoulder and closed her eyes. The dancer's skin was warm and she smelled of some exotic perfume, sandalwood and roses, very faint, very expensive. Josie felt Juliana stroking her hair like her mother used to do when she was little.
Out of dimming eyes, Josie saw something strange in the mirror, a woman covered with blood holding her. Josie decided it was all a bad dream. She had been scared for a moment, but she wasn't scared anymore. Her mother was holding her tight, just the way her mother always did whenever she had bad dreams. She laid her head on the warm shoulder and went back to sleep.
Finally, the blood slowed to a trickle. Ceased.
Josie shuddered, gave a small sigh.
Juliana gently sat the dying girl on a chair in front of the makeup table, looking away from the wound that circled the throat like a glittering black pearl necklace.
"You would never have been happy, Josie. Your guilt was unbearable for you." Juliana sat down beside the waitress and lit up another cigarette. "Guilt can be a terrible thing. Believe me, I know."
Josie took in one last dying breath, exhaled, and Juliana breathed it in, her eyes growing soft. Their lips touched for a long moment. Something passed between them.
Juliana arranged the dead waitress in front of the mirror. "You were so lonely, so frightened, Josie. I felt it the first time we spoke." She patted some blush onto Josie's white face, giving a faint semblance of life. "Now you're with me. With us," she amended. She blended in the blush until it appeared natural. "You have to be careful with blush. Too much and you end up looking cheap." Working with a tissue, Juliana fixed the damage to Josie's mascara, blotting away the tears and the dark smudges. "There, you look much better now."
The radio still played softly in the background. The DJ came on and announced the time, 3:27 A.M. It was getting late; still Juliana took a moment to brush the dead girl's hair, arranging it so that it covered the wound on the throat. "Now you won't have to feel guilty anymore. Or lonely. You can be at peace."
Juliana stubbed out her cigarette in one smooth motion and stood. "But enough of this girl talk. I, too, have things to do." She stepped into the shower and let the hot water sluice away the red stickiness that covered her. Then she put on her dress and walked out of the bar and into the night.
She had to hurry. Billy Two Hats could get away, and that wouldn't do at all. She had plans for him. Big plans.
Billy Two Hats sat in his stolen 'Vette and watched The Watering Hole with as much patience as he could muster. The street was dark, thanks to some lights he had busted earlier. The car windows were rolled down so he could listen to the night. He paid attention to what it said. The night was his friend and it whispered things to Billy T, things meant only for his ears.
In the distance the glitter of neon pulsed and danced to its own secret rhythm, fueled by money and sex. Billy T knew all about rhythms. They were tides in the blood, ebbing and flowing, carrying secret messages. All a man had to do was listen to them and they would tell him what to do.
They told Billy T to wait.
While Billy T waited, he did some thinking.
The knife in his hand sank into the leather car seat beside him with monotonous regularity. There was a problem. Billy T was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place. He had to do something different, something he had never done before; he had to kill two women in one night. Changes in his normal operating procedure made him extremely nervous. Waiting wasn't helping matters any, either.
No one had come out of the bar in the last twenty minutes. The last one had been the bartender. That left only the waitress and that bitch dancer. What w
ere they doing in there?
The time crawled by, making Billy T more nervous. He watched a starving mongrel knock over a garbage can in an alley across the street. Jesus, he hated to see a dog starve. He loved dogs. Another can went over. Bottles and cans rolled out with a clatter. Then silence resumed.
Billy T's knife sank into the seat.
The dog rooted through the scattered contents, searching.
The knife sank into the seat.
No food in the garbage cans. The dog came out of the alley, trotted down the street, disappearing.
The knife sank into the seat.
And Billy T froze. There was a second knife—pressed against his throat.
"Hello, Billy T, getting tired of waiting for me?"
Billy T slowly turned and looked at Juliana. "No, I was waiting for Josie."
"Well, you can quit waiting. I killed her about two minutes ago. I cut her throat."
He weighed his chances of killing the dancer.
As though she were reading his mind, the knife in her hand sliced into his throat, just enough to bring a trickle of blood, but not enough to seriously hurt him. It slid down his collar, ruining a brand-new white chambray shirt that had cost him nearly a hundred dollars. He weighed rage against caution. Caution won out.
His hand came away from his knife in the car seat and he felt naked, alone. "What do you want from me?" His voice trembled just a bit.
"Thrills, Billy boy, thrills." She reached across him, the blade at his throat never wavering, and scooped up his knife, threw it into the darkness. Her warm flesh was close and Billy T felt a surge of desire despite his fear.
Within seconds he had an erection.
"Is that another knife in your pocket?" Juliana asked in a husky voice. "Or are you just glad to see me? I guess in your case it amounts to the same thing." With a laugh she crawled in the car window like some kind of boneless snake, but instead of taking the seat next to him, she sat in his lap, facing him. Her tight black dress rode up over her hips, revealing she wore nothing beneath. She ground her pelvis against the bulge in his jeans and the car was suddenly filled with the musky scent of her sex.