Authors: Edward Lee
The Minotauress (53 page)
And by the time he'd finished the turn, his plea was answered.
Lass grinned. It was Arianne Zausner, the meth-freak who'd sucked his ass last week. Lass measured a woman's right to exist not by her contribution to society, nor her intelligence, but by her ability to
suck ass.
And Arianne Zauser got the highest mark in town.
suck ass.
And Arianne Zauser got the highest mark in town.
He pulled over, stopped, and flipped open the passenger door.
"Aw, shit," she said. Her wan face looked half-dead already. "You're busting me
again?
"
again?
"
"Simmer down, sweetie. Your good old Uncle A.T. isn't gonna arrest your dirty ass. It's just time to pay a little street toll. Don't forget about that break I gave you last week."
"Yeah, some break," she came back. "I got to lick the shit out of your asshole."
Lass' jaw set. He wasn't in the mood for back-talk, especially from a skinny dope-addict. "Don't make this hard, hon. You can get in and pay the toll, or maybe the next time you fire up a pipe, you'll get a lump of ammonia instead of ice."
The girl slumped into the cruiser, shut the door.
"That's a smart girl. And all this time I thought you had cum for brains."
She sat with her arms tightly crossed, chin down. Her bare legs sticking out of the faded cut-off shorts looked white as a grouper-belly in the moonlight. "I need to cop bad," she admitted, shivering. "I need some ice. Like
really
bad."
really
bad."
"Well, I can't help ya there, baby," Lass announced from behind the wheel. "What happened to that bag I gave ya last week?"
"That was gone in two days."
"Not my problem." Lass found one of his hide-outs, a little snip of an old haulage trail. What didn't occur to him, however, was that this long-disused haulage trail was once an auxiliary access lane to the gypsum mine behind Stoddard's Mill.
He parked, let the car idle.
"I'll need twenty for this," she peeped a demand.
Lass laughed. "Honeybunch, you seem to be forgetting something.
I
don't pay for blowjobs. I'm The Man. I'm John Law. You suck my dick for free whenever I tell you to."
I
don't pay for blowjobs. I'm The Man. I'm John Law. You suck my dick for free whenever I tell you to."
"Okay, a ten!" she nearly shrieked. "I need to cop some ice!"
"Well then I guess you need to walk your dirty ass to Callisto and buy some from Leonard."
She shrieked again, "I can't
buy
with no money."
buy
with no money."
"Then I guess you need to peddle that junkie fuck-hole of yours a little harder, huh?"
"There's no johns out! There's no tricks! Nobody's cruising the strip because of the killings! Goddamn you! I need to score!"
Lass nodded in consideration. "Okay, I'll give you ten, but this is the only time, understand?"
Suddenly her hands were on him, she was practically panting. "Yes, yes! Thank you—"
"Here's five," he said placidly, and then jerked around and punched her in the face. The collision of his fist to her cheek sounded like wet-leather snapping. "And here's another five... " A second blow caught her right up under the chin. Her head bobbed like a ball on a spring.
"There's your ten, whore," he said. He unzipped his fly, pulled out his cock and balls. "Now, unless you want your skinny body to be found by hunters five years from now, you make nice to Big Mack and the Twins."
He forced her face to his groin. Frothing blood, she replied, "That looks like a penis... only smaller. Big Mack and the Twins, huh? More like Little Twig and the Peas."
Lass frowned. What was
wrong
with people? Was
everyone
crazy? His right hand grabbed her throat and squeezed down as effectively as a hose clamp. She convulsed; no gagging sounds could be heard for the force with which he choked her. Her thin faced darkened very quickly, robbed of all blood, and then he forced her head to his lap. The action spurred a spontaneous erection; with his left hand, then, he masturbated. His chest heaved. It didn't take long. Soon his sperm was smearing her mulberry-dark face.
wrong
with people? Was
everyone
crazy? His right hand grabbed her throat and squeezed down as effectively as a hose clamp. She convulsed; no gagging sounds could be heard for the force with which he choked her. Her thin faced darkened very quickly, robbed of all blood, and then he forced her head to his lap. The action spurred a spontaneous erection; with his left hand, then, he masturbated. His chest heaved. It didn't take long. Soon his sperm was smearing her mulberry-dark face.
When he was done coming, he released her throat. Arianne flinched back in the seat, her desperate inhalations literally shrieking into her throat.
"See what happens when you sass the Law, young lady?"
She continued to suck the life-breath back into her.
"But, see, some of you cum-pots are just too damn ungrateful for your own good," Lass continued. "You don't know no manners and never will. So what I'm sayin', hon, is that you are
one
stinky junkie this town can sure as shit do without. Think of it as a public service—" and with that, Lass' fist turned in her hair and grabbed a handful. He dragged her squealing from the car, dragged her around in the dirt and rocks awhile, then slipped out his black-walnut billy club with his free hand. "Time to turn your head into Kibbles ‘N' Bits, snookums. Don't worry, someone'll find your skeleton someday. ‘Oh, what a tragedy! Local prostitute killed by drug dealers! What a mean, nasty world! Bad
bad
world!'"
one
stinky junkie this town can sure as shit do without. Think of it as a public service—" and with that, Lass' fist turned in her hair and grabbed a handful. He dragged her squealing from the car, dragged her around in the dirt and rocks awhile, then slipped out his black-walnut billy club with his free hand. "Time to turn your head into Kibbles ‘N' Bits, snookums. Don't worry, someone'll find your skeleton someday. ‘Oh, what a tragedy! Local prostitute killed by drug dealers! What a mean, nasty world! Bad
bad
world!'"
As Lass had been pulling the girl from the car, however, her foot had inadvertently hit the radio knob, snapping it on.
"A damn fine day, what can I say? Killed some motherfuckin' cops wiff my AK—"
Lass raised his nightstick, prepared to first crush the bridge of her nose and then whip her junkie brain to puree—
The radio blared on: "Dah motherfuckin' cops, bunch'a motherfuckin' clowns, put the white motherfuckers deep underground!"
The music beat on but before Lass could land his first blow, a maniac blur rushed him, and suddenly he was screaming blood like a water fountain out of his mouth. Some monstrous shape had rushed him,
rammed
him, and next he was hoisted high off his feet by what felt like a pair of stainless-steel meat-hooks sunk deep in his chest. Lass' arms and legs pinwheeled in mid-air as more blood fountained outward, splattering, and some final thread of reasoning left in his brain deduced that he'd just been gored by a very large bull.
rammed
him, and next he was hoisted high off his feet by what felt like a pair of stainless-steel meat-hooks sunk deep in his chest. Lass' arms and legs pinwheeled in mid-air as more blood fountained outward, splattering, and some final thread of reasoning left in his brain deduced that he'd just been gored by a very large bull.
Lass dangled limp. A moment before he died, he looked down and saw that the bull stood on two legs.
CHAPTER NINE
H
arney Peak, the state's highest mountainous peak, drifted below the 737's oval window. Dean peered out in something like awe. Of course, he'd seen it before many times but somehow it felt different now. As he continued to gaze out the minuscule window, Dean felt
home
whispering to him, an eerie notion since
home
was the place he'd fled with the utmost determination not so many years ago.
arney Peak, the state's highest mountainous peak, drifted below the 737's oval window. Dean peered out in something like awe. Of course, he'd seen it before many times but somehow it felt different now. As he continued to gaze out the minuscule window, Dean felt
home
whispering to him, an eerie notion since
home
was the place he'd fled with the utmost determination not so many years ago.
Beside him sat Ajax, complaining about not being able to smoke. Given all that Dean had psychologically experienced over the last week, he needed Ajax' counsel for the trip; that's why Dean had sprung for the extra round-trip fare for his sullied friend.
"Don't you own any
decent
clothes?" Dean asked, smirking at Ajax' holey jeans, beat loafers, and the stained, Wermacht-gray jacket with rips down the inner sleeves,
decent
clothes?" Dean asked, smirking at Ajax' holey jeans, beat loafers, and the stained, Wermacht-gray jacket with rips down the inner sleeves,
"What's wrong with my clothes?" Ajax asked, truly dismayed.
"Never mind."
"But thanks for bringing me along. I
need
a vacation."
need
a vacation."
"This isn't a vacation, Ajax. My father might be dying. Something really
strange
is happening in town, and considering the really
strange
things that have been happening to me, lately, I need you."
strange
is happening in town, and considering the really
strange
things that have been happening to me, lately, I need you."
"Consider me your
personal
psycho-therapist," Ajax assured. Then he rubbed his face in aggravation. "Since when can't you smoke on planes?"
personal
psycho-therapist," Ajax assured. Then he rubbed his face in aggravation. "Since when can't you smoke on planes?"
"Since about fifteen years ago."
"Fascists. Some free country. I'll bet Bill Clinton smokes on Air Force One while some subjugated and thoroughly exploited female White House aide smokes his—"
"That's enough, Ajax."
The three-hour flight passed in what seemed minutes, along with the beautiful landscapes below. Dean's eyes kept dragging back to the window. It wasn't so much the landscapes he was seeing as much as it was his past. He wondered what else he'd be seeing once he got—
Home,
he thought.
he thought.
They landed in Sioux Falls, rented a 4x4, and several hours later were pulling into the visitor's lot at DeSmet General Hospital.
««—»»
The heart-monitor beeped all too slowly. When he stepped into the wanly lit room and parted the privacy curtain, Dean's heart slowed to a rate less than the monitor's when he looked down. The figure on the bed looked dead already.
"Dad?" he choked out the single, simple word. Indeed, Dean thought that his father must be dead, until he remembered the heart monitor. Gray whiskers speckled his father's chin; long grayer hair sprawled over the pillow. Long lines from dangling IV bags drooped to a variety of needles sunk into his bone-thin arm. The worst sight, though, were the great swathes of bandages plastered across the entirety of Jake Lohan's chest.
Dean stared for a long time.
Gored,
he thought. That's what the ward nurse had told him. "They're saying it was a mad bull out in the woods," she'd clarified. "Your daddy was the only survivor of the entire shooting party. Combination of initial blood-loss and shock's what put him in the coma. God forbid, if your daddy dies... no one'll ever know what really happened out there."
he thought. That's what the ward nurse had told him. "They're saying it was a mad bull out in the woods," she'd clarified. "Your daddy was the only survivor of the entire shooting party. Combination of initial blood-loss and shock's what put him in the coma. God forbid, if your daddy dies... no one'll ever know what really happened out there."
The rest of the information was just as sketchy. His father and several other local men had gone out to the vicinity where over a dozen children's bodies had been found, around Stoddard's Mill. They'd gone out there with guns and were all crack shots. All their ammunition had been expended yet no "wild bull" had been recovered. Just a bunch of dead men and one man—Dean's father—clinging to life.
The whole thing was crazy. Dean couldn't imagine it. The nurse had also told him that his father had not yet surfaced from the coma, and that there was a fair chance he never would.
He's dying,
Dean reasoned, a tear in his eye.
He's as good as dead now.
Dean reasoned, a tear in his eye.
He's as good as dead now.
Dean didn't know how long he stood there looking. "Dad? Dad?" he kept saying over and over again. "It's me, it's Dean. I'm home," but the only reply was the faltering beep of the monitor.
"I'm sorry but visiting hours are over," the nurse came in and said. "Try to wrap it up in a few minutes, okay, hon? You can come back tomorrow at eleven." Then she'd left as quickly as she'd arrived, kind enough to give him a few more minutes.
"It's me, Dad," he repeated to the still, sheeted figure. "I'm home."
Nothing. His last minutes ticked by, then Dean turned to leave.
"You're home," a voice rattled behind him.
"Dad!" Dean rushed to the bed, hovering, gripping his father's hand. "I'm here! Let me get the nurse! You're going to be all right!"
"No time." Jake Lohan's mouth barely moved as the words leaked out. "Something's here—"
"I know, they told me. Stoddard's Mill—"
"No!" the old man cracked in a gust. He winced in pain. "
Behind
Stoddard's Mill... "
Behind
Stoddard's Mill... "
Behind?
Dean thought. "But, Dad, there's nothing behind the mill except—" Then he caught himself, remembering his childhood. Dean and his friends, as kids, had regularly escaped behind Stoddard's Mill to flip through their stash of
Playboy's
and chew tobacco and talk about girls. Yes, Dean and Kit and Darrell and Boner. And come to think of it—
Dean thought. "But, Dad, there's nothing behind the mill except—" Then he caught himself, remembering his childhood. Dean and his friends, as kids, had regularly escaped behind Stoddard's Mill to flip through their stash of
Playboy's
and chew tobacco and talk about girls. Yes, Dean and Kit and Darrell and Boner. And come to think of it—
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