“Go right ahead. Would you mind if I come over to your place? Just for a while, or overnight; whatever you want.”
“Kade, I need to study.” She got out of bed. He stared at her alluring naked body.
“I won’t bother you, I swear. I’ll finish my tattoo on you, or give you a backrub or something; go down on you while you read. Maybe you could take a real quick break sometime and we could squeeze in a little sexy-time, but we don’t have to.”
She stared into his eyes for a moment before agreeing to it.
As she showered Kade put the spare door key under the welcome mat and called Tag. He didn’t answer, big surprise. The guy never answers at work. He left a voicemail: “Sup, dude? I changed the lock on the door, just in case I did lock the door the other night and the bitch had a key. Better safe than sorry, right? I left your key under the welcome mat. I’m staying over at that chicks house from the other day. I forget her name, the one who can cook. Later, Tater.”
He decided to leave a note on the door too, just in case Tag didn’t get the voicemail. After taping it to the door he checked on Bonnie in the shower. The sight of her naked wet body put him in the mood for round two. He slid his boxers off and got in the shower with her.
“Excuse me, can I help you?”
“I’m a dirty boy, I need cleaning.” He touched her.
“Well that’s true, you are a dirty boy, but I need to be getting back home. This test really is important. I’m sorry, Kade. Are you upset?”
His erection was losing steam. “Nah, it’s all right. So you want me to stay home then?”
“No, you can come over. Just know that I’ll be spending at least two hours studying. Maybe we can sex it up afterward. If you’re still in the mood, that is.”
“I was born in the mood. Deal.”
She got out of the shower and toweled off as Kade washed himself.
“I’m going to head home now. You remember where I live, right?”
“Yep. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so. Lock the door behind you, please.”
After getting dressed Bonnie grabbed her purse and left, making sure the door was locked behind her.
Kade whistled a tune as he shampooed his hair. He couldn’t believe he was looking forward to going to Bonnie’s place. He told himself it was because he’d get laid, nothing more nothing less.
The bathroom light turned off.
“Woah-woah,” Kade said, “I can’t see.” He considered it for a brief moment, smiled. “Couldn’t wait till we got back to your place after all, huh?”
“Mhmm.”
“You should turn the lights back on, though. I like to watch.” He decided to be a little honest here, a little endearing. “But only because you’re so hot. I’m usually a lights-off kind of guy. Nobody wants to see himself screwing a fat ugly chick.” He heard the bathroom door close. The lights weren’t coming back on. “Okay, have it your way.”
The shower curtain slid open invisibly; he heard the scroop of metal rings against the bar. Kade couldn’t see her, but he imagined her smiling devilishly and being butt-naked. The thought gave him an instant erection. “Come on in, babe. Let me wash your front. With my tongue.”
He felt a hand graze his manhood, then his balls. At once the grip tightened like a fucking vice, stealing his breath. His legs went rubbery before giving out fully: he hit the bottom of the tub, the iron grip never releasing his testicles. He wanted to beg for mercy but couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
Finally his battered scrotum was released. He gasped for breath. A second later he was struck blindly in the head. Lights out.
* * *
Kade woke with blinding hot pain in his groin. He was on the living room couch, naked. He gasped at the man seated in a recliner, a black ski mask over his head, gun in hand.
“Who the fuck are you?” But he knew who he was. Not by name, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was the asshole who killed the downstairs dog and fucked up the apartment the other night.
“I am one of two possible people, and it’s your decision which one I’ll be. I’m either the man who is going to execute you or the man who lets you live. How badly do you want me to be the latter?”
Kade winced from the pain in his testicles. “You’re the dude who broke in the other day, aren’t you?”
“The next time you ask a question instead of answering mine, I’m going to be the person who executes you.”
Kade nodded, sat up hissing.
“Good. Tell me, what do you know about Mae Clark?”
Kade suddenly had a dark idea. Coupled with the excruciating pain in his testicles it was enough to evoke vomiting. He puked beer on the cushion beside him. He wiped his mouth and said, “What did you do with Bonnie? Did you hurt her? Is she here?”
With that the man removed his ski mask. “You shouldn’t have asked me a question, I thought we had an understanding. Now tell me what you know about Mae Clark.”
“Nothing. I swear to God. Tag wrote a couple novels about her, that’s all I know. Oh, and she works at Diamond Smiles.”
Kade was asked a series of questions, none of which he could answer. The man never left the recliner, his gun resting on his knee. Kade had another dark idea. Why did the dude take off his ski mask? He suspected he knew why. A ski mask was worn to hide his identity, and after Kade broke a rule by asking a question, there was no longer a need to conceal his identity. The dead can’t describe appearances to police sketch artists.
Chapter 38
Mae was watching The Bachelor on the sixty-inch plasma, a recording from the DVR—why suffer needlessly through the commercials? The living room still had an aroma of lemon Pledge. Pancho slept on her lap. Her stomach cramped when she heard the garage door open. Trent was home. She pet Pancho in nervous anticipation. Hopefully Trent had a good day. That it was past midnight wasn’t surprising to Mae: he enjoyed his time out of the house. She just hoped he hadn’t been out drinking. That was when his temper was most volatile. That was when his punishments were executed most thoughtfully and thoroughly.
He couldn’t be upset this evening, she consoled herself. She had cleaned the house from top to bottom, had a lasagna in the oven—still warm, and had been so for five hours. Unless… unless he had surveillance set up that she was unaware of. Then he’d know two people came by unannounced. That was paranoia talking. And even though she had come to depend on her paranoia, she was wrong more times than not in assuming the worst.
The garage-to-laundry-room door thudded closed. “I’m home! Miss me?” He sounded to be in a good mood.
Her nerves unwound. “You bet! I hope you’re hungry! I made your favorite dish, it’s still warm in the oven!”
Trent entered the living room loosening his neck-tie. “I thought I smelled lasagna. Smells amazing.” He looked around the living room. “Cleaned up, I see.”
“Yep. How was your day, sweetheart?”
“Murder. Be glad I don’t make you get a job. People fucking suck.”
“I have a job.”
“I meant a real job. One that matters.”
“May I serve you up a plate? Get you a beer?”
“That would be great. You’re eager to please today, aren’t you?” It was suspicion.
“Always. I love making you happy.” He stared at her without expression. It was a look she hated. He was jumping to conclusions silently. She needed to steer him away from cynical rumination. “Guess who called today?”
“Who?”
“Your mom. I said you were still working. She initiated a conversation with me. I can’t remember the last time that happened. She put her house on the market, she said. She wants to move to Scottsdale. She met a guy on e-Harmony.” Mae gave him a disarming grin. It didn’t disarm him.
“I don’t like you talking to her. She’s fucking nuttier than a ball sack. Her brain is cooked from years of drugs and scotch.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t talk to her anymore. She wanted you to call her.
I guess it’s too late now. Tomorrow.”
Trent removed his coat and draped it over the back of the recliner. He then unbuckled his belt. Black leather, heavy silver buckle. “I’m going to jump in the shower. Have a plate ready for when I’m out.” He yanked the belt out from around his waist; it whipped around like an eel. He watched her reaction amusedly. Her eyes were laden with fear. Dread. Funny how some things never change, he thought. It must have been a decade since she’d taken a whipping from a belt but her eyes said it was only last week. But it wasn’t last week. Not with the belt it wasn’t.
“Okay.” She swallowed. “I will.”
“Damn right you will. The place looks good, babe.”
Trent ascended the stairs. Mae removed Pancho (he complained) and paused The Bachelor. In the kitchen she prepared a plate of lasagna. It was still warm but she figured she’d pop it in the microwave for a minute so it would be perfect for Trent. She wondered if he’d want her to eat with him. She had snacked on some Ritz crackers while watching her show but was still hungry. She got another plate out and cut a small piece for herself.
Trent jaunted down the stairs five minutes later wearing red Adidas sport pants and a plain white tee, vee-neck. The table was set. Two plates with lasagna and salad with ranch dressing. Before Trent’s seat was the plate with larger portions of both. Mae handed him a glass of beer that she had just poured and leaned in to kiss him—Trent offered his cheek to kiss. It was telling. Lip kisses meant good, cheek kisses meant bad: something was bothering him.
He placed his glass of beer beside her spot at the side-table, which was a little odd, and took his plate from the table and headed to the microwave.
“I heated it already,” she said. “It should be perfect.”
“Uh-huh,” he said impassively, and put the plate in the microwave anyway. He pressed a few numbers and started the cycle, faced Mae. “So what did you do today?”
“Cleaned. Made lasagna.” She hated how her voice sounded. It broadcast guilty. He stared his gray judging eyes at her without word.
“Sweetheart I’m sorry I spoke with your mom. I promise I won’t ever again. Forgive me?”
“I already forgot about it. Did you clean the bedroom today?”
She contemplated the reason for the question. Seemed benign enough. “Yes. I vacuumed. Dusted.”
“What else?”
This was going horribly wrong. He knows something. But what? “I uh… that’s it, I think.”
“You think? You’d better think harder.”
“Your salad is in the microwave, Trent. It’s going to be bad. And your lasagna will be too hot to eat.”
“Uh-huh, how ‘bout you just worry about my question? How ‘bout that?”
She nodded. “I vacuumed and dusted. That’s all.” She gazed down heavily at her lasagna, the result of an hour and a half’s worth of hard work, all from scratch, and knew she wouldn’t be enjoying one bite of it.
“Okay,” he said conclusively, upbeat. That was more unsettling than anything. He watched the microwave, the plate turning and turning, motor humming. Trent pressed the Add Thirty Seconds button twice.
“I love you, Trent.” Softer this time, “I love you with all my heart.”
He said nothing, watched the plate spin. The microwave beeped. Trent used a pot holder to handle the hot plate. He placed it beside Mae’s plate and repositioned his chair beside hers on the long side of the table. She tried to remember if he’d done this before and couldn’t recall. He sat down, slid his napkin with fork and knife over. His beer was now in its proper respective spot. He took a sip, set it down.
“You know how much I hate the idea of being married,” he began, “but there are some things that I wish I’d get to experience. Like the wedding reception. You know how the groom and bride exchange handfuls of cake?—feed each other?”
Staring defeatedly at her lasagna, she nodded.
“It’s not fair to you that you won’t ever get to experience that. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t mind,” she said in her smallest voice.
“Oh I think you do. I’ll tell you what, let’s pretend this lasagna is our wedding cake. How fun would that be? We’ll feed each other lasagna! We’ll be civilized about it, use forks of course. What do you say?”
She fixed on a little piece of Italian sausage jutting out of her slice of lasagna. She wondered what the pig had suffered through so that this little piece of sausage could be a part of her made dinner. Did she (the pig) suffer? Or did she die quickly and painlessly? Did it matter? She was dead just the same. Maybe that was a good thing. What were that pig’s living conditions before the day that someone with a deadline and a heavy order to fill decided that particular pig’s number was up? Probably filthy, even by a pig’s standards. Probably inhumane and brutal. Maybe as she was pushed along to the slaughterhouse she cooperated, hoping it would be the end of the line for her dismal self. Maybe the essence of her life was taken well before the day it was taken physically. Could it be said that her death was an act of mercy? The sweet release of pain and sorrow? The Great Unknown could be far less daunting than the known. The pig… was her taken-life an act of mercy?
Mae nodded at Trent.
“Excellent. Usually the best man is present to give a speech first, but since Tag isn’t here, we’ll have to go straight to the exchanging of cake.”
She cried.
He quartered off a large piece of lasagna with his fork. “Me first. Give me a bite, babe.”
Her trembling hand picked up the fork and cut a little bite. She faced him. His icy gray eyes bored into hers as invasively as a knife into flesh. She guided her fork into his mouth with loving care, feeding him, praying that her subservience and devotion would go appreciated, maybe some mercy be granted. He chewed and swallowed.
“You never did learn to cook worth a shit. Smells good, though.” He raised his fork with a heaping bite of melted cheese and noodles, steam wafting from it like dry ice in the sun. “Open wide,” he crooned, as if she were a toddler in a high chair. She closed her eyes, displacing pools of tears, and opened her mouth. He barely managed the sizable piece in her mouth, lifted up and scraped the food off the fork with her upper teeth. She shuddered, closed her lips—though her mouth was as open as it could be, considering. Tears streamed from her closed eyes.
“Chew it. Go on. Swallow so I can have my turn. It may be shit, but I’m still hungry.”
Eyes squinting tighter, face as red as a roma tomato, she chewed. Swallowed. Clear snot puddled at the catch of either nostril before spilling over. Her eyes opened, met Trent’s, then gazed down in horror at the large piece of lasagna remaining on his plate. The salad was wilted, ranch now a moat of milk around the slice of torture.
“I hope you’re hungry. Lots of food left. Let’s move it along before it gets too cold to eat. Hurry up.”
She cut another piece and fed him with all the tenderness her soul could offer. As he chewed, he cut an even bigger piece, a good two inch by two inch square of Italian hell. Her eyes widened and met his, pleaded with him without uttering a word. “What’s the matter? Not hungry? Did you and Tag already eat dinner? Open your fucking whore mouth.”
She did. He couldn’t fit the bite in her mouth so he helped it in with his hand. It was too hot to the touch, so he used a napkin to shove it in.
She convulsed violently, made a horrific face against her greatest effort to appear calm, separated her lips to allow precious cool air inside the oven that was her mouth. Trent slammed her jaw up, closing her mouth with a clack of her teeth. He held it until she swallowed. She reached for her glass of milk; Trent got to it first and snatched it up, drank its contents in one try, slammed it on the table and burped.
“May I please pour another glass of milk?” She was careful not to sound impertinent.
“No.”
“May I have a sip of your Bloody Buddy? Please?”
“So I was wondering, Mae… why is your suitcase facing the
wrong way in the closet? I distinctly remember the handle facing inward, and now it’s outward. How do you figure that came to be?”
“I don’t know,” she said, snot running unapologetically down her upper lip, cheeks a wet mess.
“How do you think I know about Tag? You never mentioned him. When I said his name you didn’t say anything. Seems to me that if you didn’t know who I was referring to you would have been puzzled, asked me to elaborate.”
“You read my messages,” she guessed. She reached for her napkin, looked over at Trent for permission. He nodded. She wiped her nose and cheeks.
“You’re damned right I did. I know a hell of a lot more than you think. So how about being honest with me? Or maybe we’ll be having the whole fucking casserole tonight.”
She nodded.
He got up and took his plate with him, put it in the microwave and pressed a few buttons, began the cycle. “I figure a few more minutes on high should burn the shit-taste out of your shitty food.” He returned to his seat at the table as the microwave hummed. “The first answer you give me that I don’t feel is a hundred-percent honest, you’ll get the rest of that piece of lava in one bite. Got me?” She said yes. “Good. Now tell me, what the fuck does that nosy asshole Tag want with you? Why was he here today with that equally nosy bitch coworker of yours?” Before she could answer Tag reminded her that the lasagna would be so hot that it would cook the layers of skin inside her mouth, throat, esophagus, stomach, and then some; hell, with a little luck maybe her shit would be on fire. Then he’d nuke the rest of the casserole and watch her eat every last mother fucking bite.
“They’re afraid you’re going to hurt me,” she said.
“They’re fucking stupid but they got that much right. What else?”
“They think it won’t just be sick days I’ll be taking if I stay with you.”
“They’re two for two. What else?”
“Tag insists he knows me. He knows about my past and I don’t know how.”
Trent scrutinized her body language as she said it, her demeanor, her crying eyes. It was an honest answer. Of courser it was. He always knew how to get truths out of her when he needed them most. “How might that be possible? That he knows your past.”
She shrugged, blotted her eyes with the sodden napkin. “Could I please pour some more milk?”