Top Suspense Page 12

  When the doorman made him cool his heels in the lobby, Gus grew uneasy. He shouldn't be here. This was crazy. He was just about to leave when the doorman got off the intercom and pointed him to the elevator. The numbers on the car's panel blinked as he flew up, but the door was slow to open. When Gus finally stepped off, the woman was waiting for him in the hall. She looked every bit as pitiful she had at the hospital.

  He handed her the shopping bag. "This belongs to you. Merry Christmas."

  She peeked into the bag then set it on the floor. "Well, I'll be damned."

  Gus cocked his head.

  "I remember you," she nodded her head. "And your partner."

  Gus swallowed. "He's dead."

  "Too bad." She said it almost cheerfully. Then a steely look came into her eyes. "But I remember what you did to me. The rope. The gag. And the rest of it. You almost killed me, you know."

  "That's why I'm here. I'm - well — I hope this helps." He looked down.

  Silence pulsed between them. "I saw you at the hospital," she said. "While I was on the phone."

  Gus looked up, surprised.

  "Afterwards I went to the nurse to get your name. I even got your address when the nurse wasn't looking. I was going to call the cops, turn you in."

  Gus fingered the button on his coat. "But you didn't."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "I had a better idea." She eyed him curiously. "Why did you come here?"

  "I told you. I wanted to give this back to you. It's worth a lot of money."

  "You trying to turn over a new leaf?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe."

  "Aren't we all." She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, and something about it pricked the hair on his neck.

  "So are we square?" He asked.

  She didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "We will be."

  It was Gus's turn to cock his head.

  "I've been thinking about this for a long time."

  "About the jade elephant?"

  "No." She slipped her hand in her pocket and pulled out a 22. "Did you know we have the same blood type?"

  Gus frowned. "Huh?"

  She grimaced. "Well, I'll say one thing. You saved me the trip to your place." She aimed at high, so as not to damage his kidneys. "Merry Fucking Christmas."

  Edgar Award finalist Vicki Hendricks wrote The Big O for Hell of a Woman: An Anthology of Female Noir, edited by Megan Abbott, Busted Flush Press, 2007. It is also in Hendricks' collection, Florida Gothic Stories, Kitsune Books, 2010.

  This woman might be the most despicable of all Hendricks' noir characters, but her motivation is pure.

  THE BIG O

  By Vicki Hendricks

  My ass was tired of driving, and I welcomed the sight of the dented, mildewed trailers on the east side of Lake Okeechobee. Miles of trailer parks with single- and double-wides stretched down the road on the side by the lake, a few of them tidy, landscaped Florida retirement villages; but discarded refrigerators, and broken down cars were the landmarks of my interest. I needed the worst rubble-strewn lot and the cheapest tin can I could find.

  Some months earlier, Merle and me had made a Sunday drive up from Miami to check out what we figured was an affordable lakeside resort. When he saw the layout, Merle said he'd rather pitch a tent in the Everglades, but I took note. It was a place where anybody could get lost, and I had it in the back of my head that I might need to do that soon.

  It only took me a few months to stash some bucks and finance an old car. I'd managed to dodge the punch the night before and lock myself in the bathroom till Merle passed out. It wouldn't be the first time I'd left a man, far from it, and usually for less reason than I had now. My threats had lost all effect in the three years Merle and me'd been together, and I didn't want Chance toddling around a household like that.

  I knew it would be rough. My dreams of making it as a fashion model were all dried up, and I lived for the nights, the high I could depend on with Merle and sweaty rough sex. Yeah, I'd miss 'em. They were my only relief from the boredom and bad luck that were all life ever had to offer. It took discipline to keep pushing Merle's appetite for my pussy out of my mind. He was hot shit. But I was determined. I had dreams for Chance—his name was no accident. He was the possibility for me to redeem my luckless life. I had to break out of my old habits before he was old enough to absorb his asshole father's anger into his sweet baby brain.

  I was in my area, trashy trailer parks scratching bottom. Splintered wood, dead palm fronds, tarpaper, soggy insulation, shingles, and scrap metal waited for pickup, mounds of trash sprawling over the properties. Last year's hurricane litter would soon be this year's projectiles, crashing through windows, killing people. Not that I cared about people in general, just Chance. I reached behind me and stroked his soft little foot.

  Hell, if it was my trash, I'd have just left it there too. That's the way I was, always dragging my ass, till teeth were in it. I couldn't say shit about anybody else. I fit right in.

  I drove down the strip, reading names that would've been attractive if I seen them in the Yellow Pages. Lakeside Haven, Quiet Waters Retreat, Jenny's Big O Fish Camp, Water's Edge RV—sure there was water, a canal that flowed behind the trailers, but the 15-foot dike behind the canal, surrounding the lake like an Indian burial mound, didn't give a peek at Lake Okeechobee. The berm, as they called it, kept the lake from drowning thousands at every hurricane, like I heard happened in the twenties, when the water flowed over farms. Even so, I wondered how all these tin cans had made it through the last hurricane season. I pictured them in a big blow, rolling and bouncing into each other, corners smashed and contents banging around like pebbles in a rock tumbler. I'd seen the wreckage of a trailer park near the coast, a few homes untouched through sheer luck, amid fifty or more smashed and resting on their sides, soggy insulation hanging out in clumps. But here were many survivors, thank god—cheap, crusty boxes, perfect housing for an unemployed, dry-alcoholic single mother.

  The Big O. I liked the nickname for Lake Okeechobee for obvious reasons. No more big "O's" from Merle though. Too bad.

  Chance started to crank up with some whining in the back seat. Not to blame him, he was barely a toddler, a year old, and had been strapped in for hours. I glanced at my watch. Pretty soon, time for him to nurse. I couldn't think about that for long or I'd start to leak.

  I was low on gas, food, and money, and needed a sweet deal on the spot. No time for jawing with scraggly old farts who expected to glare at my tits for free. I slowed to a crawl and scanned the windows, seeing plenty "For Rent" signs, all crappy places, but still above my finances.

  The "Touch of Clapp"—Class—Trailer Park sign caught my eye. I had to laugh. Local vandals had a sense of humor.

  Just past it was the office, a single-wide with rusty awnings and ugly as the rest. For a person that reads men way better than books, the scrawled white letters sprayed on the glass sliding door, Merry Xmas, Dudes!—at least six months old, or maybe a year and a half—told me this was the right stop. Maybe the good-ole-boy manager was the one with the sense of humor, and I didn't mind that either.

  Nursing was handy in more ways than one. I pulled off the road beside a huge pile of trash, and unbuttoned my shirt—one, two. I'd hold back on button number three for now.

  I stuck Chance on my hip and crunched across the gravel and dry sticks to the door. I could hear a baseball game on the TV. I put Chance's little hand inside my shirt, and he started to knead like a kitten. I chewed my lip, he was so cute.

  I knocked. A dog barked, and a tall shadow flickered past the slit in the curtains. If this didn't turn out to be a straight, single, long-haired, druggie white boy, thirty to forty, I swore I'd turn lesbian.

  The door opened. My sexuality was safe.

  "Back off. Back off," he said and pulled a white-headed bulldog aside with his collar. The dog stopped barking and snuffled and snorted at my knees.

  I tucked my chin a little so I could bat so
me lashes and look up at the dude with my big blue eyes. Chance was pawing my breast, exposing mucho skin, as if on cue. "I'm interested in a rental," I said.

  The guy glanced at my tit. He was a young forty—or an old thirty-five. A hunk of blond hair fell over his eye, and the smell of beer, cigarettes, and slight B. O. drifted into my nose. I was in my element. He patted Chance on the head with a muscular arm tattooed to the wrist and smiled. The tattoo to tooth ratio wasn't looking good, but I couldn't afford to be choosy. Teeth were never a priority in the style I was accustomed to.

  "Cute little sucker," he said and reached for Chance's tiny hand, partway down my shirt. Mr. Tattoo's thumb brushed the poking nipple, sending a chill down my chest, and I knew the hook was set perfect.

  "I've got a single-wide, fully-equipped with furniture and kitchen utensils for $400 a month, including utilities. It's got a leak in the plumbing so the bathroom floor is rotted in the corner, but the rest is tight. I'd want two months up front, one for the deposit. Need to have it cleaned first, if you're interested."

  "I need a place right now," I said and nodded toward Chance. I licked my upper lip slowly. "I'm short on cash. How about . . . if I do the cleaning myself?"

  "How short are you?"

  "I've got almost a month. Gotta keep a few bucks for food till I find a job. Then I'll catch up."

  "Not much work around here."

  "I'm fast and cheap. I can always find something." Chance started to whimper and stretch my shirt lower. I bit my lip. "C'mon, pal. That rust bucket is sitting there empty. I'll improve it for the next tenant."

  The dude studied my tits, searching for his answer.

  "Give me a chance." I felt my face light up in a smile. I always got a good feeling when I used my baby's name. Chance was all sweetness and innocence.

  I pulled back my shoulders to make my chest stand out proud. I winked.

  "I can put you in there, if you give me $400 and clean the place. When you get a job, I'll add on twenty-five bucks a month until the deposit is paid."

  "Three-hundred is all I've got. C'mon. You're not going to rent that place this time of year. Everybody's left before the mosquitoes could carry them away."

  "You'll have to owe me the rest then. I'll give you a month and see how it goes."

  I stuck out my hand. "Candy," I said. "Pleased to meet you."

  "Jimmy," he said and shook on the deal. He pointed to the dog that had dropped down drooling. "Spike."

  The trailer was the worst on the lot, but it had a little air-conditioner with a shredded La-Z-boy under it, so Chance and me settled right in. I looked around at the cheap paneling and dirty carpet while I nursed him. I wouldn't be able to let him loose. Lucky I had his playpen and swing in the trunk. I just hoped there weren't bed bugs or other nasties to bite his sweet skin. I couldn't wait to get started on the cleaning. I could see a dead roach on the countertop from where I was sitting, and the bathroom was bound to be moldy as hell.

  # #

  Life was exactly as I expected at the trailer park. A month later, having moved into Jimmy's place, I felt like I'd been there for years. I raised up from his sunken mattress and glanced in the mirror, then dropped back on the pillow. My eye was swollen and purple as a ripe eggplant. I looked down at Jimmy sleeping. With his mouth closed, tattoos covered by the sheet, and that blonde hair, he looked enough like an angel, so's I almost believed that he was sorry for the punch, even before he said so. He wasn't quite as cocky as Merle, because he just plain wasn't as cocky, but his cock was big enough. Leastwise, my asshole wasn't sore. And so far, he hadn't asked me for any money.

  Jimmy yawned and dropped his arm across my chest. I was rock hard with Chance's breakfast and it hurt. "Fuck!" I pushed him away.

  "Oh, sorry, darlin. Lemme kiss it and make it better."

  He grabbed my arm and nuzzled into my left breast before I could dodge him. The touch of his lips on my nipple let down the flow and he laughed and tongued at the warm spray as it wet his mustache. "I thought there was only one hole," he said. "You've got yourself a sprinkler head."

  I tried to knee him away, but he was too close to get any force behind it, and he had me pinned in a second and clamped his face onto my nipple, slurping hard and cutting with his few teeth.

  "Stop it!" I yelled. "Get your rotten mouth off me!"

  My voice woke Chance in his pen in the living room, and he was whimpering. I tried to worm away, but Jimmy had both my arms in control while he drained my sweet milk. His erection pressed into my thigh, and all I could think of was poor Chance, hungry and scared out in his little crib, while Jimmy wheezed and sucked. Finally, Jimmy broke off to breathe. I had his allergies to thank.

  He swung over on top of me and stuck his cock in. I was wet despite myself. He was busting to come, and the strokes filled me up to a fine tightness. I beat him by a few seconds with a groan and a hot gush, and he pumped on out. His weight eased down on top of me, but I pulled loose and made my escape. Chance was bawling loud by this time. I headed to the shower to scrub off the cigarettes and beer before I offered him what milk was left. I could fill him up on baby cereal and strained bananas, but I felt guilty as hell. I'd done wrong hooking up with Jimmy in the first place. I wanted to bash out a few of his teeth—which wouldn't leave him with any. I decided right then that I was gonna pay him back for being such a motherfucker.

  Anger ate on me all week, until one morning while I nursed Chance. I looked into his clear blue eyes and caressed his powder-soft cheek and shiny hair, almost transparent, like corn-silk, and thought, what am I doing? He was all the motivation I needed to form a plan. Besides teaching Jimmy a lesson, I needed money. With money, I could forget the losers and have my chance—I smiled—to be a good mother. I'd thought about getting a job, but that wouldn't leave me any time for my boy. It was a vicious cycle that only strong action could break.

  I knew Jimmy ran a drug business locally and had his stash in a heavy safe cemented in the floor of the Ted's Shed behind the trailer. Running the park didn't bring in enough to cover his daily habits, so he'd found a way to skip the middle man and make a profit besides. I'd heard him on the phone enough to know the code, and I walked out to the shed with him a few times when he went to get the money for his deals, but he always shut the door in my face. I knew it was a keyed safe, because he kept that key on his person, and hid it good when he slept. From the looks of the nylon bag he'd bring out of the shed, there was major cash-flow. He was only living in a dump because he was used to it. He'd grab a gun from an end table drawer in the living room. It was a .38, just like the one my uncle let me shoot when I was a teen.

  My eye had turned from ripe eggplant to green by then, so I had to get moving before the evidence disappeared. Besides that, after the milk incident, I could hardly fake enough affection toward Jimmy to keep myself around. I let him plug me, telling him I had a sore throat to stop his slobbery kisses, but I couldn't keep it up much longer.

  I couldn't think of any way to get the money, except by pure force. That was where Merle came in, dynamite on a half-inch fuse, bold as shit. He wasn't any kind of father material, but he didn't know it. He was bound to be frothed up like a rabid hyena already, since I snuck off and took Chance. That energy could be put to good use.

  I remembered one day shortly after the little tyke was born. I was taking a putrid diaper off him, wiping pea-colored shit off his little red butt, and Merle came into the room drinking a beer. He just stood there with this look of wonder. I knew what he was feeling. I always had to bite my lower lip on the inside to keep from bursting with love. We both swore an oath that we'd eat baby-shit rather than let anything happen to our little guy. That choice never came up, but I knew I could use Merle's strong feelings to help Chance and me lose both those losers for good. I'd taken enough shit off men. Come to think, I'd taken abuse from every man I ever knew. There was nothing to recommend any of them—except their parts. I needed to get past that.

  It took some guts to give
Merle a ring. I was sweating a puddle in the payphone booth.

  "Hi," I said.

  "Where the fuck are you?" he hollered. "Where's my son?"

  It was five-thirty and he had a good start on Happy Hour. He'd either quit his mechanic job or took off early to get a start on the weekend.

  "We're fine, thanks."

  "The cops are looking for you. It's illegal for you to take Chance and run off like that."

  "I didn't think you'd notice."

  "Fuck."

  "Merle, listen, I'm really sorry. I made a big mistake. Is there any chance we can patch it up?" I smiled and hoped he could hear it in my voice. "For Chance's sake?"

  "Come back and we'll talk."

  "I can't. I'm up by Lake Okeechobee. The car's broke down and I'm broke. I can't get a job because there's nobody to watch Chance, and I owe the trailer park dude a bunch of money." I took a breath and made my voice sound pitiful. "He already beat me up once. You should see my eye. I'm scared."

  "Oh, you're fucking him."

  I heard something—like a beer bottle—hit the terrazzo floor and shatter. "Merle, sweetie, I just want you back. I want our little family together again."

  He was cussing so loud I had to hold the phone away. I knew he considered me his property. I got goose-bumps.

  Finally, there was a pause in obscenities. "I'm coming up there to take care of my son."

  "I need you inside me, baby," I added, using a little gravel in my voice.

  "Didn't I tell you I'd kill you, if you left me?"

  "That wouldn't do either of us any good," I said.

  He grumbled something, and then said he could get to the park around noon. I said I'd meet him at Butch's Fish Camp and Backyard Bar. Nobody knew me there, and I didn't want him driving into the Touch of Clapp so's his car could be identified.

  That morning I seen on the weather report that a hurricane was headed our way, Beryl. She'd been off in the Gulf but switched course and now they expected her to cut straight across the state, anywhere between Clewiston and Okeechobee. The whole lake was in the red cone of warning, and I was glad I was getting out. I didn't want to be near the Big O, even though the berm was supposed to hold it.