by Greg Barth
I poured us each a shot. “Cheers,” I said.
We drank. Emily made a cute scrunchie face as the bourbon went down. I lit us each a cigarette.
“So where are you from,” she asked.
“A place like where you are now,” I said.
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m on the run,” I said. “But not like you. Not from a guy. I’m running from trouble, and I need to get my money back.”
“Harvey will make you work for it.”
“Harvey may have bitten off more than he can chew.”
“You seem real tough,” she said.
I poured for us. “I’ve been through some shit. So far I’ve come out okay. Scathed, but okay.”
“Those scars on your face?”
“Those, yeah. And some others in other places. Some scars are inside.” I tapped at my head. “In here.”
“They all go there don’t they?”
We drank.
“You’re a pretty woman. You’re too good for what you’re doing to yourself,” I said.
“Thanks. You are too.”
“No,” I said. “I mean, I can be. Physically. If I work at it, and package everything just right. You heard the store clerk, right? I don’t look under twenty-one. If I get good and high and in the right frame of mind, I can work it. But you...you’re just...pretty.”
She smiled and blushed. “Thanks.”
“Your lifestyle will age you fast.”
“Then I’ll just enjoy youth while I can.”
I stretched out my Styrofoam cup. “To youth,” I said.
She touched her cup to mine, and a genuine, tight-lipped smile spread across her face.
“That thing we did tonight, it was kind of cool,” I said.
“Stealing from the liquor store?”
“Yeah. Feels kinda like Bonnie and Clyde, huh?”
“We rob banks,” she said, in an exaggerated Faye Dunaway voice.
I smiled back at her. “We could do all right.”
“You’ve worked before, haven’t you?”
“What, you mean like a sex worker? Like you’re dabbling with? Hell yeah. Lots. I’m not a pro, but sure. I’ve had to make my way in the world. You do what you’ve got to do when you’ve got to do it. On the days you don’t have to, you don’t. Not to mention, I’ve got a lot more addictions to feed than you do.”
“What’s your strongest addiction?”
I poured more Maker’s into her cup. “What do you think?”
She nodded. “You ever work with another girl?” She didn’t make eye contact when she said it.
“No. Always solo. It never, you know, felt like a team sport. You?”
She shook her head. “There’s money in it, I hear.”
I closed my eyes. I love it when the bourbon sneaks up on me. I burst out with a chuckle. I opened my eyes and looked at her. “I shouldn’t say this, because I don’t want to encourage you in this lifestyle, but if I had your body, I’d be so fucking rich,” I said, shaking my head. I regretted it instantly. I was setting a bad example. But what I said was honest and true.
“There’s nothing wrong with your body, and nobody gets rich doing this.”
We emptied our cups, and I refilled us each. We chain-lit new cigarettes.
“So where does a girl in this town go when she’s horny,” I said.
“You want some guy falling for you?”
“God, no,” I said. “I’m totally no strings attached. Heaven help the little boner that falls in love with me.”
“That makes it harder,” she said. “In this town, they either pay you to service them—which means no orgasm for you—or they love you and want you marry them.”
“No thanks. I’ll stick with my fingers. I know how to push my own buzzer.”
“Well, there is a third option, you know?”
“What’s that?”
She looked me in the eye and her face got serious. “As a matter of fact, I’m a bit of a carpet muncher.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt that I’m-about-to-get-laid tingle spread through my lower half. I could tell it took a lot for her to say that. Fuck small-town bigotry and all.
“I thought you said you never worked with another girl before.”
“I didn’t say I had any experience at it. I’m a carpet muncher in here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “Sometimes anyway, you know?”
I smiled at her. “Well, I’m more of a, I don’t know, uh…a bare, hardwood floor. Maybe a throw-rug on occasion. Almost never a carpet.”
She came over to me. “I like those too.” She kissed me on the lips. Her lips were plump and soft pressed against mine. She tasted of clean breath, lip gloss, and bourbon. No kiss had ever tasted better.
I put my hands in her hair and pulled her in close. I let my tongue out and met hers, silky and smooth. We kissed and moved over to the bed. She pushed me back on the bed and lay on top of me kissing me.
She pushed my shirt up. My breasts are small, but my long nipples stood straight up to meet her fingertips. She leaned in to kiss them. It was heavenly.
She moved to lay beside me. She kissed my lips and teased my nipples between her fingers. She then moved down and unsnapped and unzipped my shorts. I helped her push them down and remove them.
She kissed her way down my tummy then she moved farther down and kissed my thighs.
“How did you get all these scars?” she asked me.
“Uh, all those above the knee, I gave myself,” I said. “It was kind of a habit when I was a teenager. Any on the knee and lower, those are surgery scars.” I didn’t mind her seeing them. I didn’t feel like Victor Frankenstein’s monster with her.
She put her tongue out and traced each scar with the tip. She worked her way up my thighs until she came to the thin-laced edge of my panties. She spread my legs wide and leaned in to kiss the crotch of my underwear.
I looked down and saw her eyes looking up at me.
“My name is Selena,” I said. “Selena. Not Marie.”
She closed her eyes and tugged at my underwear.
“Selena,” she said.
I closed my eyes.
“Will you work with me?” she said.
“I will.”
SIX
We were awakened by the sound of a key in the lock.
Emily pulled the blankets up to cover her breasts. I pushed the covers away from me, ready to spring into action.
The door opened, and three men stepped into the room. The light came on. As my eyes adjusted, I could make them out.
One was Harvey, the motel owner. He was wearing a black windbreaker and jeans. His thin comb-over looked wet with gel. Parts of his scalp showed through the black hair in curved, bright arcs. He glared at me with his dark eyes.
The second was a man dressed in a tan Sheriff’s uniform. He was tall and heavyset, his hair thinning on top and turning to gray on the sides. He had a coarse salt-and-pepper mustache. He wore a thick, black belt that held a semi-automatic pistol, a set of handcuffs in a pouch, pepper spray, and a side-handle nightstick.
The third was a huge, tall, fat man with a dumb look about him. His blonde hair was stringy and long. He kept glancing at the men next to him. His fidgeting hands gave the impression that he felt awkward in this setting. He breathed through his mouth and shifted from one foot to the other. He clasped his hands together at his waist, his bulging, hairy forearms draped across his large belly.
“Well, looka here,” the man in uniform said.
“Wake up, lovebirds,” Harvey said. He had that Appalachian drawl that my own speech would default to if I wasn’t careful. “We need to talk.”
I sat there on the edge of the bed, naked. “Let me get dressed,” I said.
“No, no,” Harvey said. “You’re fine just the way you are. My god, lookit her, boys. Got some pointy little boobs just like our first cousin.” He laughed at this crude connection he had just made.
“W
hat do you want, Harvey?” Emily said from behind me.
“You just sit and listen, honey,” he said. “My business tonight is with your girlfriend here.”
“You stole my money,” I said. “And my shotgun.”
“Evidence,” Harvey said. He said it again and drew out every syllable. “Eh-veh-dence. You’re Selena Carson. You’re the person responsible for the Diner Massacre that they’re looking for.”
“Am I under arrest?” I said.
Harvey laughed. He looked over at the man in the Sheriff’s uniform. “Is she?”
“Sure as hell could be. Bitch left evidence laying around everywhere. Obviously this is her.”
“Hear that?” Harvey said. “Sloppy as hell, leaving evidence anywhere. You could go down in a second for that shit. Every law in this part of the country knows who you are and they’re all looking for you. They say you’re a crack shot with your shotguns. Got you on a video camera in that diner.”
“So why am I not under arrest?” I said.
“Well, hell, girl. You could be any second now. But arrest ain’t what you’ve got to worry about.”
“No?”
“Honey, those men you killed in Tennessee? Those guys worked for Joe Faranacci. You know Crazy Joey, don’t you?”
He said the name like I would piss myself when I heard it. “You know, the only two men to ever say that name to me before just now? Both of them were seconds away from death when they mentioned it.”
“Well, honey—or should I say, Selena—he knows all about you. And he’s got a real pretty penny out for anybody that can bring your ass back to him alive. You dig?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t dig. The men that you are accusing me of killing, they raped and beat me.”
“Oh, come on now, Selena. You know as well as I do, that’s just good love makin’ around these parts. At least you’re still drawing breath.”
“So why do you have these two goons with you? Johnny Law and In-breed here?”
“Hey. These here are my brothers. Show some respect. And they’re here to make a point. My older brother here, Wayne, well, he’s the Sheriff, and he can throw your ass in jail in a second if he’s of a mind to. You’ll fry for the shit you’ve done. And Buck, here; he’s my younger brother, and he’ll twist your head right off of your neck if I ask him to. He’ll play with your pretty head for a day or two before he gets bored with it and tosses it in the creek.”
“And where do you fit into this dick-suck club?”
“Honey, I’m your savior from these two. I’m the boss. And don’t you forget it.”
“What kind of deal are you making?”
“Just a few jobs. You work your ass and twat for me. Do some of your special skills stuff. Then, when we’re done, you can take your money and run. Minus your rent, of course. After all, I don’t have a card on file for your room.” He winked at me.
“What do you mean by my special skills stuff?”
“You’re clearly willing to do most anything when it comes to murderin’ folk. And I need some of that.”
“How much is this Faranacci offering for me?”
“Fuck Faranacci,” he said. “He’s a big fish in a little pond. I’m a big fucking fish in a big fucking pond.”
“Fish. Ponds,” I said. “You guys never stop measuring your dicks, do you?”
“Honey, I’d show you a dick, but I hear Kurt Dello done shafted you good. It’d probably be like falling headfirst down a well after he got done with you.”
“So what’s Kurt Dello doing these days? He still dead?”
“Girl, Faranacci would skin you alive.”
“Funny. That’s exactly what Dello said. And my skin is still just fine. So where’s this shitbird who everyone seems to hold in such high esteem?”
“What? You want me to send for him?”
“Look, Harvey, what I want is for you to just tell me what the fuck you want. I want to put a shirt on before your retard little brother’s pecker pokes a hole through his jeans. If your big brother is going to arrest me, then do it. If your little brother is going to take parts off of me, then do it. If you’re going to go on threatening me with this Faranacci guy all night, then please just shut the fuck up and get to the point, please? I’d like to get back in bed and get some fucking sleep.”
“You do a couple of jobs for me. That’s all.”
“With my ass and twat?”
“And your special skills.”
“Whatever.”
“When you’re done, you’re done.”
“Emily’s done too, right? You give me my money and my shotgun, then we both leave in peace.”
“You just remember who’s in charge here,” Harvey said. “Everybody wants you. You won’t last five minutes without me. You can’t earn on your own. What you do for a living, you can’t do without me. Faranacci’s got people snooping around every whorehouse, strip club, hook-up website, and porn modeling agency in the entire Southeastern United States. Whether you know it or not, you need me right now.”
“I had some coke and some weed in my bag too. It’d be a nice gesture if you could at least return those.”
“We do need to establish some trust,” Harvey said. “I think I can work that out.”
“Well, Harvey. Looks like you got yourself a deal. I’m getting dressed now. All three of you, get the fuck out of my room.”
“I’ll be in touch, Selena,” he said.
“The coke, Harvey,” I said. “Get me my coke.”
SEVEN
Sleep was out of the question. We sat up, smoking cigarettes and talking.
“What do we do?” Emily said.
“We buy time until we can turn the tables.”
“What do you mean turn the tables? He said we do a couple of jobs for him, and we’re free to go.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Emily. He’ll use me for whatever he needs, and then he’ll cash in with this Faranacci guy. We have to change the stakes somehow. But that means playing along, buying time, until we figure it out.”
“He has your money? And a...a shotgun?”
“He thinks they’re evidence. And they are. But the money is nothing. I had no money before that. I’m fine with having none now. I’m not worried about the shotgun either. We can earn together and make our own way.” I took a long draw from my cigarette. “If he turns me in, though...”
“You…killed…some guys?”
“I did. They beat me, and they raped me. I was laid up for a long time. They stopped just short of killing me. You have to trust me on this, honey. They had it coming.”
“Why did they do that to you?”
I chuckled. “It was all just a simple misunderstanding, really. I just got too carefree and sloppy. But I do that a lot.”
“And now some other guy is after you along with the police?”
“I don’t know anything about this other guy. I only know that it’s a name that’s thrown around when people want to scare me.”
“Okay. So we play along until we can change the stakes,” she said.
I nodded. “Unless you’ve got a better plan.”
“I’ve got nothing.”
The next day the maid left a package in my room. Inside it was the coke and the weed that I had brought with me.
***
We worked together. We did strictly outcall work from Emily’s cell phone to avoid having to kick up to Harvey. Outcall isn’t so bad actually. The guys don’t come to your place, so you’re not dealing with the dupes cheating on their wives. That leaves you with the older playboys and travelers, which means money. It also means potentially falling victim to some sting operation, but I can smell an undercover a mile away.
Two-girl action is every man’s fantasy, and the ones that can afford it are the ones you want to be with anyway. Quite honestly, it’s the line to be in if you’re going to work in the business. You have someone with you, so you’re not going into strange places alone. You work half as hard. Th
e key is to have a partner that you enjoy being with. Most of the men that can afford that kind of action don’t mind paying a premium rate for the total fantasy experience. And let’s face it, men that can afford that are at a certain age. Those men are only good for one orgasm. Again, half the work.
And I enjoyed Emily’s company. We were good together. I would push, she would pull, and our guys would pop in no time flat. And there were no discounts for early finishers. Cash up front, all the way.
We always took a cab out to our dates. Money was good. We didn’t advertise much, but we got some good word of mouth and had already lined up a couple of regulars that we added to our calendar. It started to feel routine.
There had been no word from Harvey since the night he and his brothers confronted us in my room.
After we’d been doing this for a couple of weeks, one weekend evening we sat in the back seat of the cab on our way back from a date. We had a joint going that we passed between us.
The man we’d been with was a repeat customer, and he had tipped us nicely.
“I’m looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow,” I said.
Emily was sorting out our cash. We put it in three piles. Two small ones for each of us to use for day-to-day expenses. A third, larger stack, was for us to save back.
A car pulled up close behind us. Its headlights went on high-beam and light flooded the cab. I looked up at the driver and could see his eyes in the rearview mirror. A rectangle of light spread across his face where the bright lights reflected from the mirror.
Blue lights flashed.
“Shit,” the cab driver said. He pulled his car to the side, off the edge of the road and stopped. He shifted the transmission to park.
I rolled down my window and tossed out the joint.
Emily pushed the folded bills down under the waist of her flirty skirt into the front of her underwear.
She passed a twenty up to the driver. “Here,” she said. “Just in case this doesn’t work out good for us.”
A flashlight shone through the windows. It hit my face, then Emily’s, then moved to the front.
The driver powered down his window. He handed his documents out to the policeman. “Everything okay officer?” he said.