the scar and the real tits. Find her and bring her back. I don’t care if she’s busy . Deal with it and bring her here. And Taylor. Make sure she’s clean.”
“You have a four thirty with the finance minister, Mayor.” Taylor responded.
“Well, send him here. He can watch for all I care.”
Kendall was going to fuck the hell out of the little whore, picturing Officer Griffin’s pretty face the whole while.
(•••)
Marisa looked at Gerald. Gerald looked at Marisa. Neither spoke.
I saw that motherfucker’s prick , Marisa wanted to scream into Gerald’s face. But he seemed to be unable to make eye contact with her, or even to speak. He seemed more interested in the top of their table; the LCD above the bar came in close second. Instead of yelling, she lifted the pint of amber lager to her lips. The beer was Heathen’sown special brew, made right on the station. She took a shallow sip. Although a favorite, the beer wasn’t doing all that much to settle the chaos in her gut, but she thought it smart to feign normalcy. Despite her best efforts, nothing felt normal. Her world seemed to be fucked every which way from Tuesday and showed no signs of righting itself.
The batwing doors of the club swung open. Both Marisa and Gerald looked over and watched Taylor amble into the bar. Marisa had never seen him walk before. It was almost comical. Taylor’s legs were so damned huge, he had to keep them slightly apart to accommodate movement. It looked like he had just pinched off a loaf in his knickers. I bet his prick is as shriveled as his boss’, she thought, and actually laughed out loud. Gerald arched a brow but still didn’t say anything. He lit a cigarette and watched Taylor make his shit- pantsed way to the bar. The big man leaned in toward Maerl and said something to him. Maerl frowned and dropped his eyes. Taylor leaned in closer and the bartender pointed a finger in the direction of Marisa and Gerald’s table.
“Great,” Gerald said at last.
“What’d you do to piss off special K this time, Gerry?” She attempted to sound lighthearted, but she didn’t know for sure that big and ugly wasn’t coming for her. Maybe Kendall had decided he did want to check under her hood.
Taylor crossed the empty dance floor and stepped up to the small round table. He crossed his massive, painted arms across his equally gigantic chest. His small, black eyes were on Gerald. Taylor’s lips bore a lopsided twist that Marisa assumed was supposed to be a grin. A shit-eating grin? He had plenty of it in his pants.
“Gerald,” Taylor said.
“Taylor,” Gerald replied. “You know, I always have a hard time calling you that. I feel like you should be called Killer or Mangler or something.” This made Taylor bark with laughter. The giant actually grabbed his sides like some overstuffed and tickled cartoon character.
“I like you, Gerald. Mayor Kendall—he’s not so convinced.”
“That is a shame. He seems like such a nice man.” Gerald looked at Marisa. What did you do? she thought, and took another sip from her beer, pretending not to pay attention or care. He must’ve done something—he looks guilty.
“He wants to see you,” Taylor said. Gerald drained the contents of his pint glass and got to his feet. “No sense in putting up a fight, right?” He winked at the man-mountain and then looked down to Marisa. “Don’t wait up. I’m going to be late.”
Marisa’s eyes followed them as they headed across the barroom. Gerald must’ve made some other wisecrack because Taylor started roaring with laughter again. The outburst didn’t do much for his walk. She watched them pass through the batwings, and then Marisa raised a slender hand for another drink. Maerl was quick to fill a fresh glass and ferry it over to her. She smiled up at him gratefully. Maerl looked to the door, scratched his chin, and then looked down at Marisa. He frowned.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Maerl said, and
“You have a four thirty with the finance minister, Mayor.” Taylor responded.
“Well, send him here. He can watch for all I care.”
Kendall was going to fuck the hell out of the little whore, picturing Officer Griffin’s pretty face the whole while.
(•••)
Marisa looked at Gerald. Gerald looked at Marisa. Neither spoke.
I saw that motherfucker’s prick , Marisa wanted to scream into Gerald’s face. But he seemed to be unable to make eye contact with her, or even to speak. He seemed more interested in the top of their table; the LCD above the bar came in close second. Instead of yelling, she lifted the pint of amber lager to her lips. The beer was Heathen’sown special brew, made right on the station. She took a shallow sip. Although a favorite, the beer wasn’t doing all that much to settle the chaos in her gut, but she thought it smart to feign normalcy. Despite her best efforts, nothing felt normal. Her world seemed to be fucked every which way from Tuesday and showed no signs of righting itself.
The batwing doors of the club swung open. Both Marisa and Gerald looked over and watched Taylor amble into the bar. Marisa had never seen him walk before. It was almost comical. Taylor’s legs were so damned huge, he had to keep them slightly apart to accommodate movement. It looked like he had just pinched off a loaf in his knickers. I bet his prick is as shriveled as his boss’, she thought, and actually laughed out loud. Gerald arched a brow but still didn’t say anything. He lit a cigarette and watched Taylor make his shit- pantsed way to the bar. The big man leaned in toward Maerl and said something to him. Maerl frowned and dropped his eyes. Taylor leaned in closer and the bartender pointed a finger in the direction of Marisa and Gerald’s table.
“Great,” Gerald said at last.
“What’d you do to piss off special K this time, Gerry?” She attempted to sound lighthearted, but she didn’t know for sure that big and ugly wasn’t coming for her. Maybe Kendall had decided he did want to check under her hood.
Taylor crossed the empty dance floor and stepped up to the small round table. He crossed his massive, painted arms across his equally gigantic chest. His small, black eyes were on Gerald. Taylor’s lips bore a lopsided twist that Marisa assumed was supposed to be a grin. A shit-eating grin? He had plenty of it in his pants.
“Gerald,” Taylor said.
“Taylor,” Gerald replied. “You know, I always have a hard time calling you that. I feel like you should be called Killer or Mangler or something.” This made Taylor bark with laughter. The giant actually grabbed his sides like some overstuffed and tickled cartoon character.
“I like you, Gerald. Mayor Kendall—he’s not so convinced.”
“That is a shame. He seems like such a nice man.” Gerald looked at Marisa. What did you do? she thought, and took another sip from her beer, pretending not to pay attention or care. He must’ve done something—he looks guilty.
“He wants to see you,” Taylor said. Gerald drained the contents of his pint glass and got to his feet. “No sense in putting up a fight, right?” He winked at the man-mountain and then looked down to Marisa. “Don’t wait up. I’m going to be late.”
Marisa’s eyes followed them as they headed across the barroom. Gerald must’ve made some other wisecrack because Taylor started roaring with laughter again. The outburst didn’t do much for his walk. She watched them pass through the batwings, and then Marisa raised a slender hand for another drink. Maerl was quick to fill a fresh glass and ferry it over to her. She smiled up at him gratefully. Maerl looked to the door, scratched his chin, and then looked down at Marisa. He frowned.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Maerl said, and
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