toward Esplanade. Oblivious to him, they staggered along arm in arm, stopping every so often to smooch as the john ran his hands over her body. This end of Bourbon Street was residential, quiet and deserted at this hour. The sinner hung back, watched them cross the grassy median that separated north-and-southbound Esplanade Avenue, waiting until they reached the opposite side.
He stepped from the shadows and started to follow.
An ominous growl froze him in his tracks. A skinny young woman in a ponytail rounded the corner, holding a leash on the biggest dog he had ever seen: massive chest, yellow eyes, sharp gleaming teeth. The dog’s growl became a vicious snarl, and the sinner shrank back against the building.
The woman yanked the dog into the street and kept going.
His heart pounded as he hobbled across Esplanade, fearing he’d lost his quarry. Then he spotted her, halfway down a narrow street, the same street he’d taken to her house two years ago. A disastrous encounter.
He should never have done it, but he was new in town and Bourbon Street beckoned. In the PUSSYCAT bar she stroked his arm, his thigh, his crotch, rousing him to a fever pitch, whispering in his ear: “Let’s go to my place, honey. A half-and-half’ll cost you fifty. All the way is a hundred.”
Smiling at him with her vermillion-painted lips. Tempting him.
Along the way his fantasies escalated, imagining her cry of ecstasy as she begged for more, his erection pounding with such a fierce ache he almost came. When they got to her house she wanted to tell his fortune and pouted when he refused. He gave her five twenties and she took him to her bedroom. In a frenzied rush he dropped his pants. She undressed and lay on the bed, exposing her breasts and a dark mound of pubic hair. His cock throbbed. She gave him a condom and told him to put it on. He threw it on the floor, climbed on top of her, and ejaculated on her thigh.
“ Ooooh, poor baby. You just couldn’t wait, could you?”
And then she laughed at him.
Flushed with shame, he stood there, hearing in his mind the high school girl, laughing at him. Rage clogged his throat. He’d fix her.
He pulled up his pants, feeling the heft of the garden shears in the pocket, and feigned a smile. “The least you can do is show me your tongue. Come on, stick it out.”
“ Sure, baby.” Making goo-goo eyes at him, she stuck out her tongue. He grabbed the tip and took out the shears. With an ear-splitting screech, she jerked away and rolled off the bed, cowering on the floor. The next moments were a blur. Fearful and ashamed, he vaguely recalled crossing himself and mumbling an act of contrition. Then he had fled.
Standing in shadows across the street, he watched her take the john into her house. Now he would have his revenge. How long would the man take, he wondered. Not that it mattered. He could wait.
_____
“ What did you think you’d accomplish, Rona? Writing a column like that?” Frank kept his tone reasonable. Save the big guns for later.
Arms folded across her chest, Rona stood at a window in the lobby of the Clarion-Call , her narrow face a dark mask. On the way home from Twin Oaks he had driven past the newspaper office, spotted Rona’s Neon in the parking lot, went inside and persuaded the security guard, a formidable black man in a blue uniform with a Glock-9 on his hip, to call her downstairs.
“ It made Norris pay attention to Kitty’s story, didn’t it?” she said, belligerent now. “Maybe now he’ll get off his butt and find the killer.”
“ He’s already under the gun. Embarrassing him won’t make him try harder. Your column pissed him off. You made it look like I’m one-upping him. Not what I need right now.”
She shrugged, her eyes boring into him as if to say: You think I care?
He looked around the lobby, shadowy and deserted at this hour. Historic front pages were mounted in frames on the interior walls: a jubilant DAVID DUKE DEFEATED! on one wall, a
He stepped from the shadows and started to follow.
An ominous growl froze him in his tracks. A skinny young woman in a ponytail rounded the corner, holding a leash on the biggest dog he had ever seen: massive chest, yellow eyes, sharp gleaming teeth. The dog’s growl became a vicious snarl, and the sinner shrank back against the building.
The woman yanked the dog into the street and kept going.
His heart pounded as he hobbled across Esplanade, fearing he’d lost his quarry. Then he spotted her, halfway down a narrow street, the same street he’d taken to her house two years ago. A disastrous encounter.
He should never have done it, but he was new in town and Bourbon Street beckoned. In the PUSSYCAT bar she stroked his arm, his thigh, his crotch, rousing him to a fever pitch, whispering in his ear: “Let’s go to my place, honey. A half-and-half’ll cost you fifty. All the way is a hundred.”
Smiling at him with her vermillion-painted lips. Tempting him.
Along the way his fantasies escalated, imagining her cry of ecstasy as she begged for more, his erection pounding with such a fierce ache he almost came. When they got to her house she wanted to tell his fortune and pouted when he refused. He gave her five twenties and she took him to her bedroom. In a frenzied rush he dropped his pants. She undressed and lay on the bed, exposing her breasts and a dark mound of pubic hair. His cock throbbed. She gave him a condom and told him to put it on. He threw it on the floor, climbed on top of her, and ejaculated on her thigh.
“ Ooooh, poor baby. You just couldn’t wait, could you?”
And then she laughed at him.
Flushed with shame, he stood there, hearing in his mind the high school girl, laughing at him. Rage clogged his throat. He’d fix her.
He pulled up his pants, feeling the heft of the garden shears in the pocket, and feigned a smile. “The least you can do is show me your tongue. Come on, stick it out.”
“ Sure, baby.” Making goo-goo eyes at him, she stuck out her tongue. He grabbed the tip and took out the shears. With an ear-splitting screech, she jerked away and rolled off the bed, cowering on the floor. The next moments were a blur. Fearful and ashamed, he vaguely recalled crossing himself and mumbling an act of contrition. Then he had fled.
Standing in shadows across the street, he watched her take the john into her house. Now he would have his revenge. How long would the man take, he wondered. Not that it mattered. He could wait.
_____
“ What did you think you’d accomplish, Rona? Writing a column like that?” Frank kept his tone reasonable. Save the big guns for later.
Arms folded across her chest, Rona stood at a window in the lobby of the Clarion-Call , her narrow face a dark mask. On the way home from Twin Oaks he had driven past the newspaper office, spotted Rona’s Neon in the parking lot, went inside and persuaded the security guard, a formidable black man in a blue uniform with a Glock-9 on his hip, to call her downstairs.
“ It made Norris pay attention to Kitty’s story, didn’t it?” she said, belligerent now. “Maybe now he’ll get off his butt and find the killer.”
“ He’s already under the gun. Embarrassing him won’t make him try harder. Your column pissed him off. You made it look like I’m one-upping him. Not what I need right now.”
She shrugged, her eyes boring into him as if to say: You think I care?
He looked around the lobby, shadowy and deserted at this hour. Historic front pages were mounted in frames on the interior walls: a jubilant DAVID DUKE DEFEATED! on one wall, a
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