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Sue was hanging on the tourist and laughing at his
jokes. For a man that drunk, he was steady enough. Maybe too steady. She let the
smile slip away. He was cold. It radiated from him in waves marked by lust and
the smell of mushrooms.
When he glanced down, for a moment his eyes were
slitted and yellow.
“Ever'thing all right, little girl?”
“I . . . I have to go home, first. Please?” Sue
tried to pull away.
His grip on her shoulders tightened, and she tried to
break free, but he held a knife on her, pressing it against her when he caressed
her breast.
“Chill, slut.”
Benny jumped but it was a dream. A nightmare. The
Asgoli glanced at Benny, then laughed.
Mine prey. As ye
to the Owl must go, so it is mine. Reaching out, the forked tongue licked at
the edges of Sue's now-darkened spirit. Sweet,
how she yet hopes.
Benny threw himself in front of Sue and screamed, but
she was only a dream and couldn't hear.
He tried again, pleading and crying out.
In desperation, he shouted, If you don't stop this, Eagle-Mother, I'll kill myself. He fell
to his knees with tears blinding his eye. Please.
Sue stumbled. The knife scored a line under her
breast. Two small children stepped out of an empty doorway. Another moved out a
window.
“Hi, Aunt Susie!”
A girl about five piped, “Auntie Sue!”
Sue stared at the child. He was white enough to be a
Caucasian. The little girl was African black.
The tourist tried to shove through them, but they only
fell in behind, singing in screeching voices something Tecneeque and ugly.
He dragged Sue around and snapped, “Get the hell out
of here.”
Still singing they held out grubby hands. He
shuddered.
“Beat it.”
More TGs wandered out of the buildings until a pack of
them circle the pair. He tried to run, dragging Sue along. She slipped, and the
knife scored another line of blood.
Benny roared at her to try. She started and grabbed
the knife hand, jerking it away and falling to her knees. TGs flowed around her,
and the tourist went down under a flood of tiny children, some so small they
were wearing dirty diapers.
Crawling to her feet, she stared in shock and awe at
Benny, who was watching the kids rip the suit away. She blinked, and he was gone.
“Creds,” one boy hollered, holding up a wallet. He
screamed a laugh, and they raced into the night heading for a bank computer. On
his arm was the black band that once marked the tourist as protected by his
insurance company.
Sue hugged the wall for a moment, then lights began to
flash from Safe Side, the southern part of the city where all the money flowed.
“Cops?" It came out a whisper. Then she
shouted, “Cops! Dump the creds. Dump the creds.”
But the kids were gone. A laser chopper roared
overhead and was gone down the street, following the children. Lightning flashed,
and thin screams came from the TG's. She sobbed for them but turned and ran.
Behind her, the corpse of the tourist shoved to his feet and turned blazing eyes
on Sue. He snarled, squatted, and defecated. A condom with a spare band came
from him.
Taking it, he opened the band and punched in his
personal code. A car slid from the sky, and he entered it, then went hunting
anew.
Sitting in a booth at Anton's, Sue gnawed on a
breakfast of cinnamon fry bread and sucked down hot coffee. Real coffee, not the
decaff that stores sold.
An old, old man came in with a paper and slammed it on the table.
“Look you, girl,” he snapped, his eyes flashing.
It was Mr. Oldham. If Mr. Oldham had a first name, no
one ever heard of it, though he was born and raised in this neighborhood. Word
was, he was so old he gave Abraham religious instructions and was there to tell
God how to part the Red Sea. Some said he was mean enough to hold the nails for
the Romans while they nailed Christ to the cross, even if he did repent and was
now a faithful man.
“See this?" One blunt finger pounded a few
lines of an obituary. “You know this girl. She work the streets just like you.
Amy. Was found in a garbage dumpster.” He pronounced it slowly, “Gah-bage
dump-ssstah,” feeling the words and letting them sink into his mind. “She
was dismembered. Skinned alive, girl. An' on this page –” He flipped the
heavy paper, then rammed the finger on another few lines. “Here a man in the
Hotel Brahman was charged with making loud noises and destroying a bed. Blood.
Soaked into the bed, the covers, even the damned walls. Got fined five hundred
creds for destroying property.”
The bread was ash in her mouth. Sue dropped a quarter
cred in the tube and punched in the paper's terminal. Scrolling down the
headlines to the part about the hotel, she stared at a sullen male face.
“Paid the cops,” Mr. Oldham muttered, dropping in
one of his precious quarters. The plastic clattered in the empty box and he
watched the police scan the room. “They dumped that poor child. Raw meat an'
broke bones.” He shot Sue a hard, warning look. “Next time, might be you.
Girl, go. Pack you crap and run. You ain't a con. They got nothing on you.”
Shuddering and unable to tear her eyes from the
screen, Sue shook her head.
“Poor Amy.” She blinked at the tears. “No. I got
to stay, sir. Ama would die.”
Oldham sagged to the booth. He sighed and muttered,
“Then let me pray for you. It's all you got left. No more hope.”
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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