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Gun in hand, the man crawled to the stoop and then in.
Smiling at Sue, Benny kicked the door shut a little hard. The bottom panel
cracked on the man's head, and he screamed as Benny's heels bruised the hand
he leaned on.
“This door got a lock?”
“What?” Startled, Sue glanced from the crack to Benny.
“Not no more.”
“Who was that jerk?”
“Hm?” Sue frowned, muttering, “JJ Hannah. My old
man.”
Benny's eyes widened. “Husband?”
“What?” Sue began to laugh. She sank into a chair at the
table and rocked with it until her head sank into her hands, the tears running free.
In a clumsy, pain-filled move, Benny knelt on one knee to
hold her.
She stopped with a sigh. A wry smile on her face, she said,
“He's my father.”
“I . . .” Benny gulped hard. “Sorry, I –“
“And my pimp,” she said, her voice soft but with a hard
grating undertone. “He's no prize. No more than I am.”
“Bull –“ Benny grimaced. Life as a ward of the state
– of Children's Services—then a whorehouse stud, did not make for polite
and flowery phrases.
“Look,” he said, “I'm here. I think you're great.
You're a world-class doll. You know?”
Shoving away from Benny, Sue threw him a cold look.
“I'm a whore, ape. Got the creds? What's your pleasure?
Missionary? Doggy? Sixty-nine or slap-and-tickle? Want to go around the world or
just down and dirty?” Her head went down in a bitter laugh that ended in
choked-off tears.
Still on one knee, Benny raised his hands.
“If I had a million and a chance to emigrate to the
Asteroid Belt, it still wouldn't be enough.”
Sneering, Sue cocked her head to one side. “Want to bet?
Twenty creds, and that's cheap, even for a slot machine like me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I'll bet.”
“You ain't got a dit to your name,” she said, her eyes
snapping, her arms crossing and hugging across her chest. Benny stared at her. A
wary scowl on her face, she looked away. “What?”
“I bet it wouldn't buy your heart.”
“Oh . . .” Face darkening, Sue turned away. “Up
yours.”
A crooked grin jumped on Benny's face. “Been tried, but
the jerk died. Yo?”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed.
“How . . . I mean, really?”
Grabbing the chair, Benny slid into it. He reached out,
drawing Sue to his lap.
“Yeah. A place called the Manse. I was a professional
boy-toy for a lot of old, lonely bims.” He grimaced. “One creep, a judge,
helped run the place. He killed a couple of the women there, and a friend of
mine. We buried them under the manure pit behind the stables. His name was
Harrison –“
Sue leaped up. She gave the door a frantic, terrified look.
“My God, you have to get away. JJ'll call the judge. Harrison.
He'll find me.”
Gently, Benny drew her down again and his arms went around
her, holding her tightly against him while his mouth kissed her behind each ear.
“I know,” he said. “He won't hurt me. He wouldn't
dare to.”
“He's insane –“
“'Way gone and around the bend, but people own him, just
like they owned me. If he messes with me, he won't live long. And if he wants
you that bad, he wouldn't dare hurt me for fear they'd find out.”
She turned, craning her neck to stare into the smile on his
face.
“And,” Benny in a softly chilling voice, “If he hurt
you, I'd tear off his head and shit in the hole. And he knows I will.”
"Looordy,”
she whispered, sinking into the steely comfort of his arms.
It was nearly dawn and Jahn stared down at the head.
A slow, dragging shuffle was coming from across the bridge.
The man was avoiding the holes but coming at him through the snow. The wind
leaped up, sending a blinding cloud between them that stung Jahn's unblinking
eyes.
Then the man was there. He was dressed in the hide of a dog
with the head as a mask. Jahn had seen this before, when he worshipped with the
Sandy Valley coven. Then a hand came up filled with claws, and the mouth opened
to show a long, red tongue and bottomless appetite.
It was no costume, no pretend monster from a Hollywood
nightmare.
"A friggin werewolf,” Jahn whispered, and
the claws raked down his face, tearing it from the skull.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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