Slaughterville

by Rod Glenn

  “Princess, you’re such a tease.”

  “You don’t know the half, darlin’,” she replied with a wicked giggle.

  Han’s smile broadened and, fishing further, said, “I bet it’s all just talk with you.”

  Lisa had turned to head back behind the bar, but that stopped her in her tracks. She turned to him, her expression mock-challenging. “I get off at eleven-thirty. Wanna find out?” There was a brief flicker of the tip of her tongue on her glistening lips.

  A tingling sensation like static electricity rippled through his loins. Fuck yes! were the first words that sprung to mind, but instead, he opted for a more laid back line. “How could I turn down a princess?”

  He caught Tam watching him as Lisa went back to work. The old timer had a strange look on his face, a mix of pity and antipathy. It was unexpected and out of place on the old man’s usual slack features.

  The old man turned away without comment and started rolling a cigarette with trembling, nicotine-stained fingers. As his swollen, arthritic joints worked to construct the smoke, he started humming a tune.

  It took Han a few bars before he recognised it. Devil in Disguise … Elvis.

  You look like an angel,

  Walk like an angel,

  Talk like an angel,

  But I got wise,

  You’re the devil in disguise …

  He had sunk another couple of whiskeys by the time Lisa appeared with her jacket and bag. “Ready to walk us home then?”

  “My lady,” Han said, taking her arm in his.

  Tam had long since shambled back to his pit and Big Joe offered a farewell wave as they walked out into the cool night air. Han smiled back and saw no judgement or disapproval on the old soldier’s tired features. There was the hint of a smile though.

  Instead of heading back to her flat, Lisa led him towards the park. The trail was in pitch darkness as they made their way to the clearing. Lisa shivered and clung on tighter to Han’s arm, angling her face up to reveal a contented smile. There was no breeze to rustle the canopy above their heads, so the only sounds were the crunch of their footfalls and the occasional hoot from the trees.

  As they entered the clearing, Lisa abruptly broke away from him and ran towards the roundabout. Smiling, Han followed at a stroll.

  “You’ve got to be old enough to be me dad,” she shouted merrily, giving the creaking roundabout a gentle shove. It was an old wooden affair with gun metal grey hand rails. The faded red paint on the boards was cracked and peeling from regular use and the elements. Her gaze was distant and dreamlike as she watched it slowly rotate.

  “You’re a cheeky sod,” Han replied, catching up to her and grabbing her round the waist from behind.

  Squealing, she drew her gaze away from the hypnotic wheel and turned around to face him. Moonlight twinkled in his intense, auburn eyes and she caught her pale ghost-like reflection there. There was a moment’s pause as they gazed at one another in the darkness, then she moved closer and kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Pressing close against her firm body, he returned the kiss with matching fervour, savouring the taste of her slightly minted saliva.

  Han forced her back against the roundabout, grinding it to a sudden halt as the intensity of their kiss grew. He felt her hands move from around his neck down his body, caressing his chest then moving around to his buttocks. Pulling away from her mouth, he moved to her earlobe, licking and sucking the soft pink flesh. Then, leaving a silvery trail in his wake, he bore purposefully down the side of her neck, where the veins were pulsating with the sudden increased blood flow. She squirmed beneath him as their breathing intensified with every lungful of air.

  Moving down to her chest, he continued to kiss and lick her hot arched body at the bony ridge between her breasts. He lifted his face away from her cleavage for a moment and, with a leering grin, ripped open her blouse. Lust overriding patience, he didn’t trouble himself with unclipping the plain white bra, instead forcing it upwards, exposing her small, pert breasts. He descended upon her eager nipples, causing her moans to grow louder, laced with a deep hunger.

  “Ah, yes, suck them hard,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her tone guttural.

  His face flushed with anticipation as he roughly yanked up her tight skirt, exposing skimpy black knickers. Without pausing, he wrenched the briefs down to leave her fully exposed.

  He felt her tugging eagerly at his jeans and, in a moment, they were dropping to his ankles. His boxer shorts followed quickly to reveal the extent of his excitement.

  “Fuck me,” she snarled as her hands clawed at him.

  Tossing her thin pale legs over his shoulders, Han jerked forward, plunging deep inside her and causing them both to cry out. Thrusting hard and fast, Lisa screamed out his name, urging him on. She bit on his lower lip as his groin slammed against hers and their groping hands gripped each other with wanton desperation.

  As they both hastily approached a climax, a voice from the shadows behind them shouted, “You whore! What do you think you’re doin’?”

  Han’s heart lurched into his throat and he instantly withdrew. She screamed again, but this time in shock, rather than ecstasy. Roughly pulling his jeans up, Han turned to face the intruder. “Who the hell are you?” He was breathing hard and red faced, but anger was rapidly overshadowing his embarrassment.

  A scraggy young man, unshaven with long, matted brown hair and a grubby ill-fitting long coat, had followed them along the path and chosen the perfect moment to reveal himself. His hands were clenched in fists of rage and unadulterated hatred radiated from his blazing eyes. “I’m that bitch’s boyfriend is who I am, you cunt.”

  Han finished buttoning his jeans and, taking his eyes off the intruder for just a split second, glanced to Lisa, who had managed to partially button her blouse and smooth down her skirt. Her knickers were, however, still down to her knees. He laughed, despite himself, then said, “What’s this guy talking about, Lisa?”

  “I’m gunna fuck you up, faggot,” the young scrote continued, seemingly less than impressed at being laughed at and also unaware of the stupidity of his chosen insult. He closed the gap, his entire body a coiled spring, trembling with surging adrenaline.

  Standing up, her face red and her lipstick smeared, Lisa said as evenly as she could muster, “Jimmy, you’re not me boyfriend. How many times do I have to tell you?” Turning to Han, she added, “We used to see each other from time to time, that’s all.”

  The cool night air invaded his receding passions as Han glanced back at Jimmy, then back to Lisa. “You used to see that guy sometimes?”

  This appeared to snap the over-taut spring within Jimmy. He launched himself at his girl’s defiler, hot breath and spittle surging forth from his snarling lips as he screamed, “You’re a dead man!”

  Han was ready for him, side-stepping and planting a solid punch on the side of the kid’s jaw in one fluid motion. He felt the crunch of the jaw under his unyielding blow and was somewhat pleased to see a spray of blood splatter across Lisa’s white blouse.

  Jimmy staggered back, his mouth a bloody mess, but to his credit (or stupidity), he spun and thrust himself at Han a second time, screaming both in pain and frustration.

  Han grabbed him easily and head-butted him on the bridge of the nose, instantly shattering it. Without pausing, he followed through with a swift knee to the crotch, doubling up the hapless twat.

  Lisa was screaming and grabbing his shoulder. “No! You’re killing him!”

  Han stopped just before he connected with the kid’s swollen sack for a second time. “Sorry princess, he attacked me here.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

  “Leave him alone; please!” She forced her way in between them and helped the gurgling kid to the ground. Blood and snot were oozing like glistening entrails from his broken nose. As his weak knees hit the moist grass, he instantly keeled over, with one hand over his gushing face and the other on his crotch.

  Lisa was sobbing and tentatively
touching the kid’s mangy hair. “Jimmy …”

  Han shook his head and straightened himself up. His face looked pale in the moonlight, and several droplets of blood were drying on his cheeks and forehead. Mustering up all the tolerance he could manage, he said, rather sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Lisa. He took me by surprise – I was scared, I just reacted. I’m really sorry.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off Jimmy. “Just…go, please.”

  “I could—”

  “Please!” she snapped harshly, now kneeling beside the prone man who was coughing and spitting out blood.

  “Bastard … fucker …” he was repeating feebly, between spluttering and groaning.

  He watched her for a moment, fussing over the young lad like Martha did with him. Apart from Lisa’s soft sobs, intermingled with soothing words, and Jimmy’s mutterings, the park had become still and quiet once more.

  “Okay,” he said finally and left without looking back. His head was downcast as he walked back along the shrouded path. As he grew further away though, a smile crept across his lips. “You see that fuckin’ head come apart, man,” he muttered to himself and laughed. Bunny would’ve been proud of that.

  Fog on the Tyne.

  The following evening, Lisa tried her best to keep away from Han. He found himself chatting to the local livestock farmer, the big bear bloke from the Land Rover, John Bryce. He was as tall as he was wide, with hands like paving slabs, cracked and calloused from years of hard labour. His forearms would have put Popeye’s to shame, but he assured Han that he had never seen the inside of a gym.

  After passing pleasantries like, ‘where ya from’, ‘what ya do’, and Han finding out about Bryce’s wife, Sally and son, Anthony, and a brief and thoroughly uninteresting mention of his sheep and chicken stocks, they moved on to chatting about the village and Han’s initial thoughts on the place. Then, inevitably, the conversation turned to writing.

  Bryce took a hearty swig of his pint of real ale, followed by a draw on his half smoked cigarette (no one seemed to give a shit about the smoking ban in this place). A mop of thick, dark brown hair lent a genial look to his otherwise hard, furrowed features. “So what’s this book of yours about, Han?” His voice was a rich baritone, which, overall, reminded Han of a Geordie version of Tom Jones.

  Han sipped his whiskey, savouring it for a moment, before responding. “It’s a thriller about a serial killer stalking a remote Northumberland village,” he said, and smiled at the raised eyebrow the answer rewarded him with. “That’s why I’m here – to do a spot of research.”

  “Wey it’s beautiful countryside, so you couldn’t ask for a nicer setting. Although, the murdering part doesn’t sound much good for tourism,” Bryce added with a wry smile. “There’s not enough stuff set in the North East. It’s a damn shame – we’ve got the best people and the best locations in the world.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’ve had some iconic writers and a few TV series and films. You even had Harry Potter.”

  Bryce frowned, but then said, “We do alreet with music I guess – that bloke from the Animals, er …”

  “Burdon.”

  “Aye, that’s him; Eric Burdon. That Bryan Ferry bloke, him from The Shadows, oh and the mighty Lindisfarne an’all o’ourse.”

  “You forgot Ant and Dec.”

  “Who?”

  Han laughed and said, “Good one.”

  Bryce shrugged and went to take another swig of his beer. His pint still hovering, Bryce’s eyes took on a glazed look and he appeared lost in thought for a while.

  Han watched him with interest.

  After a moment, he snapped out of it and, instead of finishing off his pint, he raised his glass in an impromptu toast, and said, “Well, your good health, and I wish you good luck with the book. Just divvent kill us off if I get in it, eh!”

  Han laughed and, with a wicked glint, said, “Nobody’s safe.” Then, raising his own glass, he pronounced in the best Robert Shaw impression he could muster, “Here’s to swimmin’ with bow-legged women.”

  It was approaching midnight when John Bryce stood up with a lengthy sigh and headed for the exit. “Take it easy, mate,” he said to Han with a broad grin planted on his round face.

  “You too, big fella,” Han replied with a friendly wave.

  “Get oot, yer bum!” Big Joe jokily shouted from across the bar, then stretched his mouth wide open in a big yawn.

  Bryce feigned a hurt pout. “Bloody charmin’, that is, like!” Then, with another wave, he trudged out onto Main Street.

  The cold, clear night caused a shiver to run across his wide shoulders. He let out a chesty cough then fished into his jacket for his cigarettes. After lighting up one, he started across the road towards the Green. It was bathed in darkness, save for a lone light above the Co-op. Despite the moonless night, he was still able to pick out a hunched figure sitting on the bench on the Green. As he grew closer, recognition dawned on him. She was shivering and rocking gently as she tightly hugged herself.

  “Carol?” he said softly, squinting to make out the features of her downcast face. Her mascara was streaked down her cheeks and clear snot was dribbling from her nose.

  “You okay, pet?”

  As if suddenly awoken from a trance, Carol Belmont shot to her feet and rushed off the Green, heading further along Main Street away from him.

  Bryce stopped in the middle of the road, watching her head towards St. Bart’s and Belmont Motors. He opened his mouth to call after her; to attempt to help her in some way, but as she dashed away, he struggled to find the right words, any words. He somehow guessed that it would not be Reverend Dunhealy that she was searching for, although the old pastor would have hopefully been able to offer her far greater guidance than he.

  Shaking his head sadly, he trudged onward towards Bell Lane.

  With the last of the punters gone, Big Joe handed the keys to Lisa and said a gruff goodnight before heading for his bed. That left Lisa and Han alone.

  She finished her few remaining tasks of collecting ashtrays and briefly wiping over the tables and the bar and then dropped onto the stool beside Han. She looked exhausted and forlorn.

  She seemed to struggle with the right words to say for a time. Han waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts and, seemingly, some courage.

  “Sorry I’ve been off with you,” she said finally, her voice like a gentle rustle of reeds on a riverbank.

  Han offered her an understanding smile and touched her slender wrist gently. Despite whiskies numbering near double figures, his head felt crystal clear. Solemnly, he said, “You don’t need to apologise, hun. I just lost it; I don’t know what happened. Jealousy, I guess.” With his last shame-filled words, he hung his head.

  They seemed to be exactly the words she was hoping to hear. Pulling his hand up to her face, she kissed his palm softly. Her voice strained to say, “You divvent need to be jealous. Jimmy’s ancient history; he just cannat get it through his thick, coked-up head.”

  Drawing his hand close to her chest, she moved closer to him and looked deep into his eyes. Sighing, she said, “Jimmy had us hooked on coke and crack for five years; before, durin’ and after me angel was born. It was so hard to break away from him and that shit, but I did it; for Haley’s sake and for me own.” She was trembling slightly and biting her lip anxiously by the time she finished.

  To allay her fears, Han leaned forward and kissed her on her quivering lips. Gripping her hand, he said, “I know how hard that must’ve been to tell me. I understand, hun. I know about obsessions and how hard it is to fight them. How long you been clean?”

  Awash with relief at not being judged, she said, “Six months.”

  “Good on you. It can only get easier – you’re doing great and you have a wonderful daughter to help keep you strong.”

  She looked at him; staring deep into his eyes, searching for just the tiniest hint of insincerity. His caring eyes met hers, unblinking. With that, Lisa burst into tears. Han insta
ntly pulled her to him and held her tight as she sobbed noisily and uncontrollably for several minutes. At first, she tried to speak; to apologise, to thank him, but the words were unintelligible and drowned out by her sobs.

  As she cried, Han gently stroked her hair and pondered on this news. It would seem that fate had chosen the first one. That it would be such a worthless piece of excrement actually brought a smile to his face.

  Pride and Punishment.

  Jimmy Coulson groaned as he shifted his aching body. The bed sheets that covered his sweating body were stained with a concoction of piss, blood and semen, as well as lager and smears of drippings from the occasional bedtime junk food feast.

  With a wired jaw, set nose and two black eyes, the man whose favourite middle school form teacher, Miss Savage, used to call ‘Beautiful Boy’, now looked like a car crash (and a one that you’d struggle to walk away from at that). Before his world turned to shit, the occasional girl in a nightclub or pub used to liken Jimmy to James Dean. Now though, he was skinny – bordering malnourished – with pale, blemished skin and bloodshot eyes.

  His world had begun its downward spiral at high school. His looks and laid back attitude had earned him a prestigious spot with the in-crowd. When he started learning to play guitar in the first year, his popularity with the girls jumped up a few more notches. After a trip with mates down south to a music festival, he quickly found himself in cover band.

  That had been the place where he got his first blowjob off some lanky chick who never gave him her name. It was also where he first sampled mescaline. Dabbling in a bit of recreational drug use also seemed to heighten his popularity even further, not to mention improving his guitar playing as well. He never quite got into the writing side; they had Crazy Don for that, but he did get pretty good with that battered sunburst Fender Stratocaster of his … until he had to flog it for gear, but that was later.