He opened fire at Baxter first because Baxter was a man and a large man at that and had his penis in the young girl’s mouth. He shot twice and while the first shot only grazed his hip and perhaps regrettably or perhaps not punched a hole in the blindfold over the young girl’s eyes the second took him square in the chest so that he fell to his knees on the thick carpet and then flat down with spittle flying from his face.
His third fourth and fifth shots were for Sherry Lydia Jefferson whose head was between the young girl’s legs. He could barely hear these shots because the first two were so loud. But the woman twisted forward and slid off the couch bleeding from the breast and stomach so that he knew that his job was done here and felt such joy and excitement, such intense exultation that it did not even occur to him to wonder why his own manhood almost ancient to him by now should suddenly be aroused.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I need some ice,” Sherry said. “I’m really dry.”
Tamara Jones knew full well who she was. She read the papers. Still it was her job.
“No problem,” she said. “Just as soon as I finish changing these sheets here.”
“This really hurts, dammit. I don’t get it. Why can’t I have a goddamn morphine drip?”
“You have to ask the doctor that. It’s up to him.”
She also knew full well why Dr. Cohen had refused her on that. She’d be living in happyland for the rest of her stay here if they let her administer her own meds. And the police had more than a few questions for Sherry Jefferson.
“Goddamn pills. Goddamn pills don’t work.”
“Give 'em time. They’ll work.”
“When? Next Sunday?”
She had nothing to say to that. Except maybe bitch.
“Can I have that ice now? I told you. I’m really dry.”
“Sure.”
But out in the hallway the ER team were wheeling in an eleven-year-old boy who had been accidentally hit in a drive-by shooting, the bullet lodged deep in his chest and Tamara was pressed into service on the poor innocent kid for most of the next hour until they felt certain that the boy stood a fairly good chance of survival. When she returned to her station the light linked to the call button in Sherry Jefferson’s room was blinking and had likely been blinking for quite some time.
She’d forgotten all about her.
Rave Reviews for Jack Ketchum!
“Ketchum has become a kind of hero to those of us who write tales of terror and suspense. He is, quite simply, one of the best in the business.”
—Stephen King
“Ketchum writes with economy and power, in sentences that tighten like noose wire.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ketchum [is] one of America’s best and most consistent writers of contemporary horror fiction.”
—Bentley Little
“Just when you think the worst has already happened…Jack Ketchum goes yet another shock further.”
—Fangoria
“Ketchum’s prose is tight and spare, without a single misplaced word.”
—Cinescape.com
“For two decades now, Jack Ketchum has been one of our best, brightest, and most reliable.”
—Hellnotes
“A major voice in contemporary suspense.”
—Ed Gorman
“Jack Ketchum is a master of suspense and horror of the human variety.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Jack Ketchum has been hailed as a writer whose unflinching gaze at man’s darkness is disturbingly thought provoking. Consistently, he’s displayed a knack for taking readers to uncomfortable places, daring them to stare harsh reality in the eye.”
—Shroud Magazine
Other Leisure books by Jack Ketchum:
COVER
OLD FLAMES
TRIAGE (anthology)
OFFSPRING
OFF SEASON
THE GIRL NEXT DOOR
SHE WAKES
PEACEABLE KINGDOM
RED
THE LOST
Copyright
A LEISURE BOOK®
June 2010
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Joyride Copyright © 1995 by Dallas Mayr
Weed Species Copyright © 2006 by Dallas Mayr
Originally published in the UK under the title Road Kill Copyright © 1994 by Dallas Mayr
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Jack Ketchum, Joyride
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