To Make Death Love Us by Sovereign Falconer Page B

John.
    Paulette giggled
for the thrill of the thought of it.
    "Bed those that are
bedable and . . . and fair in the face and form, that's for sure," Will said and then
immedi­ately regretted the words. He hadn't meant to hurt the two women inside the van, for he'd
never had anything to do with either of them in that way.
    "You're a bloody
vicious dog, you are, Will," the Colonel cackled in a manner almost pleasant. "And you are such a
winner with the ladies. Such a world-beater. You remem­ber that last one you snared? She turned
you over and blistered you a good one, didn't she? Made you out to be the damn bloody fool,
didn't she, and her only a half-grown pup?" The Colonel's taunts rang with irony. There was a
smile of triumph on his face. He was definitely in control now.
    Serena smiled with
him, his triumph in subtle ways also hers.
     
     
     
     
     
    The counterman and
owner of the run-down cafe had roused his wife to come out and see the freaks. She peered at
them, holding a tattered, pink chenille robe about her doughy body. Her eyes were gummy with
sleep and there was a network of ingrained dirt in the creases of her un­washed neck. Her eyes
slowly took in fat Paulette, moon child
Serena, tiny Colonel John, and the huge mountain of Marco.
    "Ain't that a
sight?" she said, with an indelicate shud­der. "Fitting to give a body the screaming
haunts."
    "Ain't scaring you,
are they? You want I should send them away?" her husband asked.
    "Are they human?"
she said. "They ain't spook folk, are they? They most give me the crawling creeps!"
    "They are after
cadging a free meal. Reckon spook folk don't hanker after grits and gravy," said her husband.
"Reckon they are every bit as much human as us, scroung­ers and freaks in one
package."
    "Don't send them
away, Pa. Please let them stay." This came from one of the couple's young daughters, a pretty and
not too bright young thing. She eyed the freaks with unabashed delight, her eyes wide as shiny
saucers. "It's like a circus come to visit," she said. She was scantily clad and even at her
tender age, her overdeveloped body and bright eyes signaled trouble.
    "Aw, hell. Let them
stay a whiles," the wife finally agreed. They seemed to promise the unusual and God knew there
was little enough of that in this barren place beside the road. She called her daughters all out
by name and sent the four of them off to spread the word among the neighbors. "Ought to make a
couple heads turn, we show people this kind of truck. Maybe bring in a few paying customers, too,
'stead of them damn deadbeat friends of yours," she added, her mind sensing a profit in it
all.
    The neighbors and
some farmers from an easy distance all around came to gawk. They stood and stared as Marco lifted
up great chunks of scrap metal from the bodies of old, wrecked cars dumped in mouldering heaps in
the back parking lot behind the cafe.
    The crowd tittered
and poked one another in the ribs as Colonel John hurried about, a dish towel tied about his waist, washing the windows,
sweeping the floors, and do­ing it all in ways that invented the means to reach where normal men
might easily reach.
    The women in the
crowd whispered together and reached out hands stained dark as butternut to touch pale Serena's
hair, as she delicately, with stitches shiny as gos­samer, darned the cafe owner's socks and
well-holed drawers. Paulette sat beside her and laughed more than she meant to. She knew these
people hated her for being fat. Most people resented it even as they marveled at it, so she
wanted to appear jolly so they would not think too unkindly of her.
    And all this time,
where was Will Carney? What was he up to? Why, in a shed behind the run-down garage with the
young daughter, just old enough, barely, to have her first taste of sin. The little girl turned
out to be much older than she looked, at least in her share of worldly experi­ence. Her skill in
love astonished even