Satan's Breath

by Temple Madison

  Erik picked up the overalls and threw them in Greg’s face. “I quit!” he yelled as he turned toward the door, and then looked back and smirked. “Now it looks like you’re going to have to hire someone and pay them decent wages. I hope to hell they take the additional money out of your overpaid, crooked salary!”

  Erik banged out of the door with Greg sitting there looking after him, the ragged overalls hanging loosely over his curly head. Greg had suspected it all along, but never really believed it. Now that he knew, he sat there bleeding, wide eyed, and speechless. When he could finally talk, he looked around his office, and said, “What the hell just happened?”

  * * * *

  Barry saw the guard coming toward his cell with a tray, and got up to take it as he slid it through the opening in the bars.

  “Enjoy, Schorr. This will be your last night here. They’re gonna ship you down to Huntsville tomorrow.”

  “Huntsville? Where’s that?”

  “Texas.”

  “Way down in Texas? Why?”

  “Well, it’s not the usual, but for you, we’re making an exception. We’re overcrowded, and Huntsville is the only place that has room.” He cut his gaze over to Barry and noticed a frown. “Cheer up, it’s only until your trial, then they’ll bring you back.” He smiled as he looked at Barry’s disappointed face. “What’s the matter, Schorr, sorry to leave our big, bad jail?”

  “I’d love to leave your big bad jail, creep. I just don’t want to go all the way to Texas to do it.”

  “From what I hear, Texas is real anxious to have you. Got a jail full of Texas wranglers that stay in a bad mood most of the time. Yeah,” he said, as he turned to go back to his station. “When one of them bull-wrestlers gets a hold on you, you’ll think our guys are nothin’ but a bunch of pussies.”

  While Barry ate, he mulled over in his mind what the guard had told him. He paced, smoked, and scratched his head, trying to figure out a solution to this problem. At ten, the lights flickered out, and Barry lay on his cot for a long time, thinking.

  When everything seemed to get quiet, and all the turning and rustling of tired bodies finally stopped, Barry began moaning. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, baby, that’s so good.”

  Within minutes, a guard was at his cell calling out to him. “Schorr, wake up!”

  Barry didn’t respond. He just kept moaning, “Ohhh, baby! Do it again!” He cut his gaze around when he heard the keys begin to clink and rattle around in the keyhole. Within seconds, he felt the guard grab his shoulder and shake him.

  “Wake up, you pervert, you’re dreaming again!”

  Suddenly, Barry’s arm shot up and smashed into the guard’s face. The guard reeled backward and landed on the little table, breaking it up into kindling. Barry pulled him up by the collar and smashed his fist into his ribs, and then smashed his face with his knee.

  The guard’s heavy body fell, thudding against the concrete wall, and slid down slowly, blood flowing freely from his nose. Barry grabbed his gun and keys and ran out of the cell, locking the door behind him. With the guard’s gun in his hand, he managed to bang a few heads, fire a few shots, and had little or no trouble making his escape.

  When he was finally breathing outside air, he stopped suddenly and looked around, an evil smile playing along his lips. At last he had burst out of the big bad jail, and into the prudish little streets of Savannah!

  Chapter 11

  It was late and Barry had just emerged from Emmet Park and was crouching in the bushes that faced East Bay. His breath was short and labored as he looked up and saw a man who seemed to be just about his size stepping down from the curb on the other side of the street.

  Barry looked both ways to make sure no one was around.

  When the man reached the sidewalk, he darted out of the shrubbery, and knocked him out cold with the butt of the gun he’d taken from the guard. He dragged him into the bushes, and when he came out, the dirty gray uniform had been replaced by Khaki trousers, a blue and beige striped shirt, and a Redskins jacket. He felt around in the pockets and found a wallet, credit cards, and lots of cash.

  He looked at the driver’s license and murmured, “Sonny Edwards.”

  The man in the picture had the usual zombie-like appearance that was typical on driver’s licenses, but it could have been Barry. They had the same coloring and were about the same age and size. Barry put the wallet away, looked up with a smirk, and stretched his arms out. “Well, Savannah, meet the new Sonny Edwards.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, Blaze was in her kitchen scrambling eggs. She had the radio turned to WSCX, listening to Chip Bronson do the morning show. She had just sat down to eat when the broadcast was interrupted.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been handed a special bulletin hot off the presses. It has been reported that Barry Schorr, the former Station manager of KCBS in Los Angeles has escaped. I repeat…Barry Schorr, former station manager of KCBS in Los Angeles has escaped. He was taken into custody approximately two months ago at the Blue Note Lounge for the killing of three women, and is suspected of being guilty of several disappearances. Through this broadcast, the Savannah Police Department is issuing a warning to the whole city to be on alert. Do not hesitate to report anything or anyone that looks the least bit suspicious.

  “Barry Schorr is reported to be extremely dangerous, and when last seen was carrying a weapon. They are also asking for the cooperation of the women of the area. If at all possible, please stay off the streets after dark, but if you must go out, never go out alone. Stay away from places such as bars and lounges. Mr. Schorr is known to frequent such places looking for his victims. He can be quite charming, and is attractive to women. He is about thirty-six, has dark curly hair, stands close to six feet tall, and weighs in the area of 185 pounds.”

  Blaze jumped when she heard her phone ring. Feeling the old fear rise up inside her, she answered it hesitantly.

  “Blaze, this is Greg. Have you heard the news?”

  “I was just listening to it.”

  “Mr. Farewell and I have been kicking an idea around. Do you think you could come down to the station right away? We’d like to discuss something with you in my office as soon as possible.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t talk about it over the phone. Just get down here quick, okay?”

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  Blaze had suddenly lost her appetite and threw her eggs down the garbage disposal. After doing the few dishes she had, she dressed, jumped in her car, and sped down to the station. On her way, she couldn’t help feeling an excitement growing in her at the prospect of seeing Erik. But as soon as she walked in, she noticed he wasn’t anywhere around. Disappointed, she walked into the small office and was greeted by the grim faces of both Greg and Bran Farewell.

  She perched on the edge of the desk and pulled out a cigarette. Greg offered her a light, but she ignored him and used her own. “So,” she took a deep drag, “what’s up, gents?”

  Mr. Farewell spoke up. “You’ve heard the news, right? About Barry Schorr escaping?”

  “Yeah, I told Greg I had. So, what?”

  Greg and Bran exchanged concerned glances. “Aren’t you worried?” Bran asked.

  “Look, fellas, sure I’m worried, but it’s just something I’ll have to deal with.”

  Greg expelled a noisy breath, threw up his hands, then placed them on his hips.

  Her gaze darted toward Greg. “What the hell’s the matter? You’re upset because I’m not falling to pieces?”

  “Blaze, Greg and I have been talking and think the show should be suspended for a while. Just until Schorr is arrested, you understand. It’s for your own protection. You heard what the police said about women not being out at night.”

  Blaze laughed softly, leaned over, and tapped off her ashes. “Hey, guys, chill out, okay? If he’s after me, the fact that I don’t go out at night isn’t going to stop him. The man knows where I live, and he knows my phone number. He
ll, he knows everything about me, including my name, rank, and serial number.

  “He probably even knows my friggin’ measurements. Believe me, not coming to the station isn’t going to help. Actually, I’d be safer here than I would be at home.” She saw the question in their eyes and exhaled a breath of impatience. “What the hell’s the matter? Don’t you speak English? At home, I’m alone. Here,” she indicated toward the outside office, “the crew will be with me until dawn.”

  Bran looked as if he were trying to work up his courage, then spoke up. “Ms. Alexander, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”

  Rage immediately rose up in Blaze and she threw down her cigarette, missing the ashtray. “No! If you suspend my show, I’ll walk out. Is that clear? I’ll walk out of here tonight, and you’ll never see me again.” She looked at both of them. “And if that happens, gentlemen, your ratings won’t be worth squat!”

  Greg picked up the cigarette, crushed it, then attacked her with his words. “Is that your answer for everything? Just get up and walk out?”

  “When I find it necessary, yes, it is. Especially when I’m dealing with two numb-nuts who don’t know their shit from Shinola!” She walked to the door. “I’ll be here at midnight to do my show as usual, Barry Schorr or no Barry Schorr. My audience is not going to suffer just because some psycho out there gets his jollies from killing women!”

  She quickly turned to leave when Greg called out to her. “Blaze, would you stay a minute?” He turned to the station owner. “Mr. Farewell?”

  Before Mr. Farewell turned to go, he sidled up to Greg and said under his breath, “Do you think you can talk her into it?”

  “I’m not even going to try,” Greg answered. “I’m simply going to offer her another alternative.”

  Bran Farewell looked at him and shielded his mouth with his hand. “Let me know what happens.” While watching her as he would a coiled up snake, he began to move, and with careful side steps, managed to silently shuffle out.

  Blaze watched Greg as he casually went over and shut his door, pulled down the shades on the windows that looked out into the bullpen, and turned back to her. She immediately stiffened, and looked at him suspiciously. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He stood before her with his feet widespread, and his arms folded across his chest. “You’re one tough lady, aren’t you?”

  She walked past him. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “You’re going to have to take time!” Greg said angrily as he reached out and grabbed her arm.

  She looked down at his hand, then up at him, her voice soft and threatening. “First of all, get your filthy hand off me. Next, if you don’t get busy and tell me in ten words or less what you want, I’m leaving…and I mean Savannah!”

  “Oh, yeah?” He pulled a key out of his pocket and locked the door, and then turned and faced her. He brazenly unzipped his pants and pushed the key through the opening of his briefs. “If you want this key, toots, you’ll have to undress me to get it.”

  “I’ve undressed better men than you in my day.”

  “I’m sure you have, but how they managed to chip away at that icy veneer is beyond me.”

  “Icy veneer?” she repeated, and then turned away. Finally, she turned back, cocked her head saucily, and angled her eyes upward to look at him. “You mean just because I don’t happen to want you all over me, I’m cold?” Her gaze raked him up and down while her lips curved upward in a smirk. “Yeah, I guess you do have to make up some excuse to boost your pathetic little ego, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’ve met a woman who can’t stand you, so you have to make it her fault instead of yours.” She paced around him. “The fact is, I just don’t happen to like bastards, of which you’re the king.”

  Greg didn’t say anything, just looked at the little girl who was desperately trying to be tough just to be able to survive in this world of men. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms and keep her safe and love her. “Tell me about it.”

  “Tell you about what?”

  “About what happened to you that made you this way.”

  “I used to live in Alaska, and forgot to wear my underwear! Jeez, if you think this is going to turn into a nice little tête-à-tête in which Blaze Alexander spills her guts, forget it, buster!” She turned away quickly before he saw the tears in her eyes.

  “Blaze, for God’s sake be serious. I’m trying to help you!”

  She whirled around, her eyes wild and her mouth moving in a sudden onrush of words. “What in hell do you want? You want me to tell you how my uncle used to rape me? How he stayed on top of me until I thought I was going to suffocate? Smelling his nasty breath, hurting when he rammed his nasty…” She looked at Greg, her eyes holding a secret. “Well, I fixed his wagon. Want to know how I did it? I killed the bastard with a butcher knife. Yeah, me, a little fourteen-year-old girl!” she yelled. “Then we stuffed his body down a well, my aunt and I. Want to know what she did next? She threw me out. She threw me out of the only home I’d ever known. Hell, I had never even owned a pair of shoes before, but there I stood, barefoot with my suitcase in hand, stupidly peering through the window. Want to know what I saw? I saw something no fourteen-year-old girl should ever see. I saw my aunt, the woman who took care of me, the woman I depended on, loved like a mother, dead! Swimming in a pool of blood, brain matter sprayed all over the walls. That’s what I saw! “Why the hell shouldn’t I become wild? Who in this friggin’ world gave a rat’s ass besides my aunt, and she was dead! From there I walked through the darkness in a daze, and I ended up all alone on a train to Hell!” She looked up at Greg, tears glinting in her angry eyes. “As bad as that was, the worst was still to come when one day I found myself in a world full of men. Men like you, like Barry Schorr, with their groping hands, their leering stares, their vile suggestions. Sniveling cowards,” she yelled, “every one of them!”

  “My God,” Greg whispered as he slowly led her to his couch and cradled her in his arms. After letting her cry, Greg drew her close very carefully and began slowly kissing her forehead and her cheek while working himself down to her lips. Going slowly so he wouldn’t scare her, he finally put his hand under her chin and lifted it. He touched her lips softly and couldn’t believe it when she began to respond. Her lips were salty with her tears, but otherwise, wonderful.

  Greg felt a sensuous jolt deep inside him as he drew her closer and closer, her passion equal to his. He began gently pushing her back against the couch and breathing heavily as his mouth opened and began drawing on the softness of her perfumed neck. He took a real chance when his hand slowly crept up and began to carefully unbutton her sweater. Gradually pulling it back, he saw to his delight that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Slowly, his hand surrounded one firm, beautiful breast while his mouth grazed over her ample cleavage seeking hungrily for her nipple. He could feel her hands fumbling with his belt and moaning breathlessly in his ear. A deep thrill speared through him when she finally released him from his tight jeans and reached down into his briefs. His stiff cock began to throb, anticipating her touch, her caress, her stroke, her—

  “Ouch!” What the hell? She pinched him!

  When he reared backward, she took the opportunity and brought her hands up to his chest and pushed. While he was off balance, she removed herself from beneath him and jumped up. She quickly ran to the door and unlocked it. Pulling her sweater together, she swung the door open, turned and yelled for the whole day crew to hear. “The day I let you fuck me, Bucko, will be the day I’ve lost my mind!”

  He stood there in full view of the office staff with his pants sagging down below his knees, and his mouth gaping open.

  Blaze looked down at the comical sight. “By the way, you’re unzipped. I’d take care of that if I were you.”

  “Blaze, you couldn’t have responded like that unless you were feeling something!”

  She threw the key at him in anger.
As it landed noisily on the floor, she said, “Meet the greatest actress in the world!” Just then Blaze whirled on her heels and looked directly into Erik’s face. She almost didn’t recognize him when she noticed that his long hair had been shaped into an attractive style and he was wearing a suit.

  Erik looked down at her naked shoulder, the balled up material she was grasping in her hand to keep her sweater closed, and then at Greg and his sagging pants that he was hurriedly pulling up. Realizing what had happened, a sudden rage filled him. Almost breathing fire, he abruptly leaped into action. “Why, you filthy bastard, I’m gonna kill you!”

  Blaze quickly grabbed his arm. “Erik, don’t, please.”

  “He tried to rape you, for God’s sake!”

  “No, he just got a little excited.” She looked at Erik with expressive eyes. “It could happen to anyone…right?”

  Looking at the message in her eyes, he suddenly remembered the day he had gotten more than a little excited with her himself. He looked at Greg. “You’re lucky this time, you son of a bitch, but the next time you lay a finger on her, you’ll find yourself shoveling brimstone!” He turned and took Blaze firmly by the arm and led her out of the studio.

  Once again Greg stood dumbfounded. He’d been struck dumb so many times lately, he was beginning to think he was the retard.

  * * * *

  “I can’t get over how great you look,” Blaze said, her gaze raking over Erik as they walked.

  Ignoring her compliment, Erik opened the double doors and they both stepped out. Before going any further, he stopped suddenly, turned her around, and began buttoning her sweater. “Blaze, I’m worried about you. I heard the news about Schorr escaping, and we both know the first thing he’s gonna do is come looking for you.”

  After the last button, he let his hands drop, and then pushed them into the pockets of his trousers. He frowned up at the sky, looked around, then back down as if he were looking for something on the ground. “I know you hate me, but…”

  “Hate you? Erik, don’t you know that you’re the only person in this whole friggin’ messed up world that I love?”