“Lighten up. It was just a joke.”
“Not a funny one.”
Josh shrugged. “So, we’re going to see who’s ringing the motherfucker, right?”
“Right.”
“Probably some asshole kids with nothing better to do. Bet it’s driving your grandmother nuts.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t take much.”
They started walking toward James’s car, a secondhand 1989 Honda Civic he’d bought with money he saved from two summers of warehouse work.
“We oughta catch the little fuckers and teach ’em a lesson,” Josh suggested. He made a fist and socked his open palm. “Teach ’em they can’t go raising hell on our turf.”
“Yeah,” James said absently. He was preoccupied with trying to figure out why the distant chiming of the church bell was making his skin crawl and giving him the feeling that something very bad was going to happen.
* * *
Candace Cassidy couldn’t believe this was happening to her. It was like something you saw on TV, especially if you watched that Lifetime Movie Network on cable, LMN. Television for women. Brad always jokingly called it the Lousy Men Network because they showed so many movies about rapists, wife-beaters, child-abusers and any other category of male scoundrels you could name.
But Brad was out of town, and this was happening to her.
And the two thugs who had snatched her off the street were definitely not TV actors.
They were real-life hoods.
“Please,” she whimpered, looking up at them from the cellar floor. “Don’t hurt my baby.”
“Shut your hole, cunt,” snarled the bearded one, “or I’ll shut it for you.”
“We should gag her,” said the one with the shaved head and the dark glasses. He was the smaller of the two, but he was clearly the alpha male of this depraved duo. “I can always spot a screamer.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded. Then she steadied her voice and said, “I have money. Take me to the ATM and I’ll draw out the max if you’ll let me go.”
“We don’t want your fuckin’ money,” said the bearded one, grinning. “Tell her what we want, Shades.”
Shades wiped a film of sweat from his sunburned head and said, “She’ll know soon enough.”
Candace fought back tears. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Now, see what you started, Woofer? Gag the bitch before she pisses me off.”
The coldness in his voice turned on the waterworks and her tears poured forth. “No, please…”
Shades hit her across the face with the back of his hand. She fell back against the wall. The cellar of the old church went out of focus. The candle flames sported flickering halos. The faces of her abductors took on decidedly demonic casts.
Her vision seemed to pulse with a burst of light each time the bell in the tower above rang and reverberated within the cellar’s walls.
Woofer pulled a roll of duct tape from a utility pocket of his jeans, ripped off a strip with his teeth and slapped it across her mouth. “There ya go, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Don’t say we never gave ya nothin’.”
“Strip her,” said Shades as he pulled a switchblade from his jeans and clicked it open. The blade caught some of the light from the dozen or so candles burning on top of an old trunk in the middle of the cellar floor, making it look like it was made of fire. “Don’t fight it, cunt, or I’ll cut you.”
Woofer started with her shoes. He ripped away the Velcro-and-leather fasteners, then tugged off both shoes at the same time. He lifted her left leg and began to slowly roll the ankle-length sock off her foot. She cringed at the touch of his stubby fingers on her flesh, but she resisted the urge to kick his hands away. He tossed the sock on the floor and seemed to take a fetishistic interest in her painted toenails. Candace thought he was going to kiss them or suck them and she shuddered at the thought.
“Come on, dipshit,” warned Shades. “We ain’t got all fucking night.”
Woofer removed the other sock, then reached under her roomy maternity blouse and unbuttoned her shorts. As he pulled the zipper down, Candace clasped her thighs together. Shades pressed the point of the knife to her throat and said, “Don’t.” Heeding the sharp warning, she relaxed her thighs and let them fall open. Woofer pulled off her shorts.
“Like them panties,” Woofer said with surprising gentleness in his voice. Then his voice turned rough and dirty as he added: “But it’s them big ol’ milky titties I wanna see.”
Candace closed her eyes. She was resigned to the fact that she was going to be raped by the two men. She would let them have their way with her so long as they did nothing to harm the baby in her womb. What choice did she have? If she tried to fight them off, they would respond with violence and probably injure the fetus her body had been nurturing for eight months. She could not let that happen. The old chauvinistic slogan popped into her mind: If you’re about to be raped, you might as well relax and enjoy it. She wouldn’t enjoy it, but she knew she had to do her best to relax. She could even pretend to enjoy it if it would keep her unborn infant from harm. She could get medical treatment afterward, including treatment for VD if necessary. Brad would probably have a harder time dealing with it than she would, but they could deal with it. The main thing now was to get out of this with as little injury to herself as possible and no injury to the baby.
“Raise your arms over your head, honey,” said Woofer.
She did. He pulled off her top. She kept her eyes closed. The bell boomed above.
When the cold steel of the knife’s blade touched the flesh between her breasts, she opened her eyes. Shades sawed through the thin cotton of her brassiere and her swollen breasts fell free.
“Thank you, Jesus,” Woofer said with unfettered enthusiasm. “Look at them beauties. Didja ever see such a pretty sight? Umm-umh.”
Shades smirked. “All-day suckers for sure. But we ain’t got all day. Get the spikes and shit.”
“Come on, man,” whined Woofer. “You gotta give me a minute with her. At least.”
“Bet you was a real momma’s boy,” Shades said with naked contempt. “Go on then. Suck yourself silly. I’ll get the shit.”
Candace saw that Woofer was actually drooling at the prospect of sucking her breasts, and she shuddered, even as she wondered what Shades meant when he said “spikes and shit.” What did they really want with her? If they simply wanted to rape her, why weren’t they already getting it over with? Why were they toying with her when that bell ringing above them might bring someone to investigate? She knew the fire-damaged church wasn’t used anymore for worship—or for anything else as far as she knew. She’d heard the same tales everyone else in town had heard about Reverend Craven’s rapid descent into madness and his insistence that Satan had taken over the church. Before he hanged himself in his jail cell, Craven admitted that he had started the fire in an attempt to drive the devil out of Druid Hills. Were Woofer and Shades psychotic devil-worshipers? Did they have a third companion up there ringing the bell? And if so, why was he ringing it? Woofer was on his hands and knees now, leering down at her breasts. He licked his thick lips, then bent down and put his mouth on her left tit and began to suck, moaning appreciatively. Candace closed her eyes and tried to use the same meditative technique she’d used at the dentist’s office during her last root canal. The idea was to mentally block off the pain—or in this case, the sucking mouth of the grotesque fat man—and imagine herself in pleasant surroundings. Imagining herself on an air mattress in a calm sea usually did the trick for her, but this time it didn’t work. The slurping sound of the pig’s mouth on her breast and the hot suction on her nipple prevented her from freeing her mind from the repugnant physical violation. The technique required concentration, but how could she concentrate with that damned bell bonging every few seconds? Her nipple stiffened into a hard little finger and she felt a corresponding tingle between her legs. In spite of her disgust at what was being done to her, her body was responding to the
sexual stimulation.
No, no, no.
But her body ignored her nay-saying and she went wet between her legs.
Each time the clapper struck the iron bell, she felt the vibration deep in her loins. A scene from an old horror movie flashed through her mind. Hooded Satanists engaging in group sex. She’d thought the movie was silly at the time, but now—with Woofer sucking her tit and the Devil’s bell sending tingles through her genitalia—a satanic sex orgy seemed anything but silly. She groaned against the strip of duct tape stuck to her mouth.
“Time’s up, tit man.” Shades’ harsh voice rescued Candace from further titillation, but when she saw him pull a rusty iron spike and a claw hammer from a burlap bag, her bladder let go and warm urine soaked her panties.
Woofer fell back on his haunches, grinned at her and said, “Time to crucify the unholy mother.”
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
“What the hell are you doing?” Joe shouted. Suzie was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him back through the doorway.
The two cops froze, their hands still on the broomstick stuck in the unconscious man’s anus.
“I’m trying to stop him,” the breathless younger cop said.
The other cop let go of the broom, snapped the baton off his belt and whacked his partner on top of the head. The bristle-end of the broomstick smacked the floor, its opposite end remaining in Rat Face’s ass. The young policeman went to his knees, moaning. The club struck again and he fell forward on his face.
“It ain’t what you think,” said the baton-wielding cop. “The rookie went nuts and jammed it up the guy’s ass. I was trying to stop him.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Suzie whispered to Joe.
“Jesus Christ,” said Joe. He didn’t trust the cop still standing, but he had no idea what to do about it. He gave in and let Suzie Shrimpton pull him outside. The cop shouted after them: “Hey, come back here!”
“No fucking way,” said Suzie. “Did you see the wild look in his eyes? He’s the one who went nuts. Come on.”
Joe resisted her tug this time. “Where to?”
“Far away from that crazy son of a bitch. I’m going home. They don’t know my name and address.”
“They know mine. I’m the fucking bookstore guy. Shit.”
An unmarked sedan with a flashing blue light on its dash lurched to a halt in front of the store.
“That’s the detectives,” Joe said. “We should tell them what we saw.”
“No. Not me. I don’t trust any of ’em. I was never here. And don’t you tell them my name.”
She let go of his hand. They stared at each other a moment, then she turned and started walking down the sidewalk. Her footsteps were in sync with the chimes of the bell. “You’re crazy to stay here,” she said over her shoulder. “Come with me.”
He saw the two plain-clothes detectives climb out of the sedan and march toward the store’s entrance. One of them glanced his way with cold eyes. Joe turned away and went after Suzie. “Wait up,” he called softly. She slowed to let him catch up. He took her hand and they continued along the sidewalk, both trying to look like two carefree lovers out for an innocent stroll.
As soon as they turned the next corner, they both burst out with nervous laughter.
“My God,” he said between barks of laughter, “that was the wildest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” she agreed with a guilty giggle. “They had the broomstick up his ass. I mean…shit!”
“Exactly.”
“Shit, there’s Gary.” She realized they were still holding hands and she shook hers free as her boyfriend’s pickup truck pulled up alongside them, one of the big steel-belted radials bumping up onto the curb. “Out of the fucking frying pan,” she muttered under her breath.
Gary flung the door open and bounded out of the truck. He was a tall skinny guy with a ball cap sitting askew on his head and unlaced work boots riding loosely on his feet. He was wearing a faded stretched-out New England Patriots T-shirt. His eyes were so bloodshot that Joe wouldn’t have been very surprised if they started leaking blood like a vampire in a cheesy horror movie. “What the hell is this?” Gary demanded. He smelled like a beer hall.
“It’s not what you think,” Suzie said, echoing the baton-wielding cop’s earlier words.
Gary crowded her space. She backed against the side of the building. Joe stood his ground on the sidewalk.
“I send ya out for beer and here ya are holdin’ hands with this dickhead. Ya fuckin’ slut. I oughta—”
“Now wait a minute,” Joe said. “We—”
Gary shoved Joe with both hands, and Joe stumbled against the brick wall beside Suzie.
“Goddammit, Gary,” she said, “leave him alone. We were getting away from the cops, trying to look like we don’t know nothing about the shooting back at the store.”
Joe’s temper flared. The infernal chiming of the bell up on Holy Cross Hill seemed to open a way for his anger to come roaring out and he pushed himself off the wall and jabbed his finger an inch from Gary’s crooked nose. “Keep your hands off me, asshole,” he said through clenched teeth. Gary’s face flashed a look of surprise, as if he weren’t used to having anyone stand up to him. He quickly regained his angry countenance and cocked his fist.
“Gary, no!” shouted Suzie.
He swung a roundhouse right, and Joe, using moves he’d learned in a PE boxing course in college, bent his knees and ducked to the left. Gary’s fist hammered into the brick wall and he yelped. Joe countered with an uppercut to Gary’s gut. He knew he’d hurt the guy and that he had to hit him again before Gary had time to retaliate. Fear drove Joe’s second strike, a solid right to Gary’s jaw. It made a hollow popping sound, sending Gary into a slow-motion pirouette to the sidewalk.
“Jesus,” said Suzie. “Come on. Let’s book before he wakes up.”
Book, reflected Joe. Did people still use that quaint bit of 70’s slang? He rubbed his aching knuckles and fell in step with the girl as she moved down the sidewalk. “Book?” he said aloud.
“Hell yes. As in haul ass outta here. Do you have a car?”
“Yeah, but it’s…we’re going the wrong way. It’s back by the Jiffy-Quick.”
“Fuck it. Get it later. Too many psycho cops back there.”
“Right. Where can you go? I mean, you can’t go back to your apartment, can you? Gary’ll turn up after he comes to and you don’t want to be there for that, do you?”
“No.” She shrugged. Her brow knitted lines of worry.
“Is there some place you can go? A friend’s?”
“My best friend Joan is out of town for the weekend and I don’t have a key to her place.”
“You can come home with me,” said Joe, already surprised at himself for saying it. “For a little while, I mean. Give the bastard time to cool off.”
“Gary doesn’t cool off. Something pisses him off, he just lets it build and build till he blows up. It just makes it worse when it does happen.” She absently reached a hand behind her back to check the knot holding her halter-top in place. “Bill’s Bar is a couple of blocks over. We could hide out there for a while. Give the cops time to clear out and then you could get your car. I could use a drink anyway. How about you?”
“Yeah, I could. But my wife’s probably wondering where the hell I am. I should’ve been home half an hour ago.”
“Call her from the bar. Explain what happened.”
Joe considered her suggestion. He was hot and sweaty and still charged with adrenaline from his fight with the drunken, irate boyfriend and from the violence in the convenience store. “A drink sounds good,” he said.
“Sure does,” she said. “We could cool off and I can figure out what to do about Gary. The son of a bitch.”
“Who pays the rent on your apartment?”
“I do. Gary buys the beer and an occasional bag of burgers. He’s only been staying there a couple of months. He’s got this construction
job, but he doesn’t go in half the time. I don’t know why I put up with him, to tell you the truth. I’m just not sure how to get rid of him. He’s…scary.”
“I noticed.”
She laughed. “You sure decked him good. Where’d you learn how to box?”
“College PE. Many moons ago. I’m surprised it came back to me like it did. I mean, I was pretty good way back when, but I haven’t sparred since then. Don’t even go to the gym.”
“Guess it’s like riding a bike or something. Your body remembers the moves.”
Joe chuckled. “Not bad for an old fart, huh?”
“You don’t look that old. Just…I dunno, the gray around the temples makes you look sort of distinguished.”
“Yeah? Thanks. I think.”
“Like a bookstore guy.” She smiled at him. A smile of unabashed warmth.
He tried to keep his eyes off her breasts jostling inside the red halter-top. He wondered what Sara would think about his keeping company with a scantily clad young woman like Suzie, a tavern waitress who gave off strong vibes of unmistakable sexuality. A young damsel in low-rent distress. He was glad Suzie hadn’t taken him up on his invitation to his home. What the hell had he been thinking? The last thing he wanted was to give his wife reason to be suspicious of him. Sara had a jealous streak as wide as this steaming-hot day was long. It wouldn’t do to set her off with the likes of Suzie Shrimpton. The girl seemed sweet in her own way, even vulnerable, but there was a slutty air about her that Sara would lock onto in a second, and then it was off to the damn races, with Jealousy the heavy favorite to win.
“God, listen to all those sirens,” Suzie said. “They couldn’t all be for the Jiffy-Quick, could they? That one sounds like a fire truck with that foghorn waw-waw.”
“I don’t know. Sure sounds like a wild night in peaceful little Druid Hills.”
“That damn church bell must be driving everybody crazy.”
“I don’t know…we seem reasonably sane,” Joe said.
“Yeah, right. We’re hiding from the cops and a pissed-off boyfriend. I guess that’s sane, considering the circumstances.”
Deadside in Bug City Page 5