Carmen pushed toward the bar as Amy disappeared into the lady’s room. After plunking her purse on the burnished copper bar top, Carmen slid out a mahogany beech wood stool. At the other end of the counter Mike poured two tall drafts.
Instead of his usual overalls, he wore a bright red corduroy shirt and crisp jeans, of which his ever-expanding beer gut crept over.
Mike set the drafts in front of two frat guys a few stools away, then strolled to Carmen, drying his hands on a rag. “What’s it tonight? Calamity Jane in Vegas?”
With a quirked brow, Carmen shot him a pistol-signal with her hand. “Nope, but that’s a brilliant idea. Give me a rum and Coke on the rocks, but hold the Coke. And the ice.”
Mike reached for a bottle of Morgan. “The usual then.”
“Hey, Carmen!” a voice called from behind.
Carmen grinned. And so the game begins.
# # #
Amy dropped the cosmetic bag on the rim of the sink. The reflection in the mirror gawked at her and she promptly shook her head. Maybe Carmen was right. All she needed was to get pretty and loosen herself up.
But Carmen hadn’t been through the day she had. Even ignoring the deep, rude voice in her head and the defiled rat grave, there was still that weird light in the woods, and Abe creeping around Sacred Oaks like a guerilla in his own personal mission. He knew dang well what was going on out there. Classic Abe. That old coot would take more secrets to the grave than Jimmy Hoffa.
Amy fished through the makeup bag and pulled out mascara, eyeliner and four different hues of lipstick, shades ranging from hot red to freaky purple and ghoulish black. A sense of envy for Carmen fumed inside her. That girl could shape shift herself into anyone with nothing more than a bag of makeup and a closet full of thrift store specials.
Amy decided to go with the bright red instead of her usual pale pink. Tonight she would be sassy and vibrant, instead of timid and boring. If she could step away from herself for even a few hours then maybe the unfinished rat business, creepy voice and the spooky Sacred Oaks phenomena would let loose of her psyche. No wonder Sherry freaked out. She wanted no part of all this bad mojo.
Amy had just finished applying the lipstick when the bathroom door opened and a large guy wearing a football jersey lurched his drunk-self right into the lady’s room.
“What did Mike do with the urinals?” Twice, the guy turned in a complete circle. “And when the hell did he put doors on the stalls?”
“I think you’re looking for the men’s room.” Amy scooped the makeup back into the bag as she kept her eyes focused on the hulking guy who staggered about next to the sink.
The man looked at Amy, seemingly surprised by the sound of her voice and by her presence. When she caught a clear glimpse of his face an unnerving sense of familiarity alarmed her.
She dropped the cosmetic bag into her purse and shuffled closer to the door, but he put himself between her and the exit. She stepped back. Her heart hiccupped.
Worst day. Ever.
“You’re Shane Baker’s little woman. Used to be in the Kettle with that dickhead. You know, a Vulture. I played defense.” He leaned into her, driving her deeper into the restroom and further from the exit. A sinister smile showcased a missing front tooth. Grin widened, he burped in her face.
Fumes of regurgitated stale beer and fried mushrooms made her gag.
“Me and Shane go way back. Back to the good ol’ glory days. Pussy. Pussy. Pussy. All the fucking time.”
The Kettle, she recalled, was what the all-star football players called themselves when they’d party on the town. Shane had told her a hundred stories of all the wild times they’d had doing mostly harmless things.
Mostly.
A dry knot inched down her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, but her voice was quieter than she’d intended. “I have to get back to my friend.”
His hand grabbed her wrist. “I ain’t had a good piece of tail in over a year. Not since I got the fucking clap down in Austin.”
# # #
Carmen watched the roadies trek on and off the stage, connecting and testing equipment while the jukebox played a twisted mix of obscure outlaw country and psychobilly rock ’n roll. The sawdust dance floor was sparse and tame. After dark, all the guys and gals would be reborn as two-step dosey-do kings and queens with a nice dose of punk rock in their sway.
Derrick stood in the center of a gaggle of giddy sorority bimbos. With a cocky grin and waving arms, he was probably telling them about his thrill-seeking exploits or, maybe, he was trying to charm his way into their pants with the recaps of his latest victory in the amateur boxing circuit. Hearing their girly ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, and seeing their glasses full of brightly colored fruity drinks, Carmen chugged the dark contents of her Collins.
Amateur. Vapid. Idiotic. Brainless...whores.
She peered through the crowd toward the restroom. What the hell was taking Amy so long?
Carmen smelled his spicy after shave, before she felt his arm come around from behind.
Jeff tucked his head beside Carmen’s. “Hey sweet child o’ mine.” He still wore his black Buckeye Police Department uniform which brought a little tingle to Carmen.
She turned on her stool and smiled. Two months ago he’d guessed both her themed costume and trivia question of the eve and got a ticket to her bed. They spent one very hot night together and he’d been a haunt ever since. It really was a shame too that he hadn’t been able to duplicate his luck. But she had standards.
“How are you?” she asked, only mildly interested in the answer.
Jeff shrugged. “I’ve been better.” He looked Carmen up and down, pausing on her breasts. Lifting his gaze higher, he seemed to focus on her face and glasses. He snapped his fingers. “I got it. Country bumpkin who just moved to the city and needs to turn tricks to afford college.”
A corner of Carmen’s mouth twitched with amusement. She clucked her tongue. “Sorry. Better luck next time.”
“Come on, babe, give me a second chance. I’m just warming up.”
Carmen laughed. “I don’t do warm-ups.”
“How ‘bout I just arrest you for resisting an officer’s charms and lock you in my bedroom for a night?”
A deep laughter sounded behind Officer Jeff. Derrick slapped a hand on Jeff’s back. “I’m already warmed up.”
“You were on the football team?” Amy thumped her forehead with the heel of her trembling hand. “I’m terrible with faces.” If she kept small talk up then maybe the creep would lose interest and go away.
He slapped both hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her head between his meaty arms. He inched his face closer and sniffed her neck.
Closing her eyes, Amy turned her head.
The guy pulled back. As his gaze rolled down her body, he said, “Chris Dewalt. Played defense. Didn’t I say that already?”
She snapped her fingers. “Of course. Now, I remember. Chris Dewalt who played defense for the Vultures with Shane.”
“Bull fuckin’ shit.”
Spittle sprinkled her face. Shoulders hunched, she recoiled her head backward and thunked against the rutted cement wall.
Chris laughed. More stringent breath billowed about her face.
Amy ignored the pounding in her skull. “I’ll tell Shane you said hello.” She ducked under his arm, but he grabbed and shoved her back against the wall. Hard. A drumming ache in her shoulders matched the migraine bashing the back of her skull. And hot tears poured from her squinted eyes.
“You ain’t forgot about my pal Boone have you?” A sneer quirked one side of his mouth.
At the sound of that lunatic’s name, a chill crawled down her spine.
“How is he?” Locked up and the key thrown away. Hopefully.
Chris cocked his head, silent. Smile gone. Finally, he spoke. “You remember him? He was a like a brother to me.”
Amy nodded. Hard to forget someone who kept you locked in a closet with dead animals for seven hours and fourteen minutes.
Chris backed away. “He offed himself in that nuthouse they shipped him off to. All thanks to you and that prick Shane.”
Feeling somewhat relieved to have distance between him and her, she said, “I’m sorry to hear about that.” She wanted to add that Boon was already a basket case when she met him at the Buckeye Behavioral Clinic. She’d taken to him the way some people take to a sweet stray dog. Good Lord she had been a fool. The freak had turned out to be a rabid monster.
Chris stared at the floor, seemingly entranced by the paisley design in the ivory tile. “Don’t act like you give a shit. You convinced everyone in town he was a psycho. But I know you made all that shit up ‘cause you’re fucking schizophrenic just like your crazy ass aunt.”
“I didn’t,” she said, but knew it was futile to argue.
“And your punkass outlaw of a boyfriend cost him twelve grand in medical bills which I had to loan him.” His face contorted with disgust. “Boone never got a chance to pay me back.”
“I really have to get going.” Amy made for the door but he grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her to the floor. She lifted herself to her hands and knees. With a ratty, smelly sneaker, he flipped her onto her back.
“I bet that cunt and asshole of yours is worth about half what’s owed to me.”
Bloodshot eyes bore into her abdomen where her tank had ridden up, baring her midsection.
Amy slid her tank to her waist and forced herself to look at him. “Go to hell.” If only her voice hadn’t trembled so damn much.
Chris knelt over her, knees straddling her stomach. She twisted but her efforts were humorous against his three hundred or so pounds. Holding her breath, trying not to smell his stench, she jerked her knee into his groin.
“Stupid bitch!”
An open-hand slammed the side of her head. A dull pain rattled through her skull before a burst of white light with black spots speckled her vision. And the earlier migraine erupted into brain-splitting agony. She cried out loudly. “God, please...I’m so sorry about Boone.”
He looked up and past her toward the sink, eyes wide. Scrambling off of her, he shot to his feet. “What the fuck!”
Following his gaze, she saw a mist of gray swirled in the mirror. Orbs of red throbbed and streamed down the glass. Carnivorous crocodile teeth appeared and a wall-quaking roar cracked the mirror. A jagged line ran diagonally from the top left corner to the bottom right.
Chris looked at her and back at the mirror. “I swear I’ll never drop acid again!”
A knock on the door.
“Greetings there,” Cinder’s voice resounded from the other side. “May I be allowed inside the lady’s chambers?”
The door opened and Chris bull-rushed past Cinder and out of the bathroom.
Cinder looked down at Amy where she still knelt on the dirty tile floor. He gave a slight bow at the waist. “All is occupied in my brethren’s chambers and my goblet is near to overflow, thus it must receive a proper receptacle.”
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