Scratch, page 20
He thought about buying a gun. He had enough contacts that getting one would be easy. He certainly couldn’t go through the waiting period for a legal one, especially for the use he had in mind. In the end he decided against it. He had never used a gun before, and realized he would be as dangerous to himself as anyone else. If all went well, if he was able to grab Michaela with a minimum of fuss, he wouldn’t need one anyway. If Adam or Holly put up a fight…
Well, he would deal with them when that time came.
Finally, yesterday, he was ready to go. He had kept a stash of drugs as insurance against a sudden need for money. He packed these, as well as his few remaining belongings into his car and left his apartment. He was feeling good. One more stop and he would be in Appleton.
He stepped away from the painting in Carol’s living room and surveyed his work. The angel’s head was separated from its body now, a long gouge cut across the fabric. Another slit ripped it from chest to abdomen.
Billy smiled. Carol had to be home soon.
He didn’t know why he had gone to the Sugar Wall first. He had enough money to get by, so it wasn’t like he needed to make a sale. All he knew was that he was leaving his whole life behind, with no idea of what would come next. That wasn’t that hard, since he had no real friends, only customers. The Sugar Wall was going to be the last goodbye to the familiar, and if Suede were working, a last good fuck wouldn’t hurt his courage any either.
The car bounced into the gravel lot of the strip club and Billy pulled into an empty space in the shadow of the building. Headlights flashed by on the highway as he got out of the car. He skipped over the muddy pools of rainwater that dotted the lot then went into the club.
The front room of the Sugar Wall served as a porn store. There were racks of videos and a few DVD’s. Magazines and plastic packages of dildo’s and vibrators lined the walls. There was a service desk where patrons shelled out the ten-dollar admission fee, and a small curtained doorway that led to the stage area.
“Billy!” came a chorus of female voices. Strippers were milling around the desk waiting for their turn to dance. One was wolfing down a Burger King Whopper and fries. She waved to Billy as the others came over and hugged him.
“Ladies,” Billy said, resting a hand on their nude hips and pulling them closer. Most of them were customers of his, and he had slept with three of the four who were there in exchange for drugs.
“Good to see you,” a tiny redhead named Vixen said. She wiped a finger under her nose. “I’m running low.”
“I’ll fix you up later,” he said. “Suede in?”
“On stage.”
Billy nodded, gave Vixen a light swat on her bottom, and walked through the curtain. Billy never paid to get in.
Suede was squatting in front of a couple of truckers who were eagerly shoving wrinkled bills into her garter. She saw Billy and winked. He smiled and took a seat along the stage. He watched as she made her way through the customers. He didn’t know why he was so focused on her. It was pretty clear that Vixen was more than willing to give him whatever he wanted, but tonight he wasn’t interested. He only had Suede in mind.
Billy pulled a dollar out of his pocket as Suede crawled across the stage.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered into his ear as she leaned over him. “How are you?”
Billy smiled and tucked the money into her garter, finger brushing her labia as he did so.
“Never better,” he said. “Big things on my horizon. I’m going to be gone for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were taken care of before I left.”
“I could use a little,” Suede said. “Though I’m trying to cut down. Penny’s been a handful recently, and if I get too stoned I’m no good for her.”
“Penny?”
“My daughter,” Suede said while lifting one leg behind her head.
“Didn’t know you had one,” Billy said.
“Yeah. Don’t really talk about her here much. Ruins the fantasy for the customers. Can I meet you at your car in a few minutes?”
“Yeah.” Billy stood up and left. He took Vixen to one of the private booths, but instead of a lap dance she bought a bag of coke and snorted some of it off a pocket mirror. Billy left before she finished and went back to his car and lit a joint.
Suede had a daughter. That was news to him. He had never even really considered the possibility before, though most strippers he knew worked to fulfill at least one of the three C’s: cocaine, college, and children.
They could live together, he and Suede. He would need to learn her real name first of course, but it was perfect. They could raise Michaela and Penny as sisters, and live in a little house in the country where he could paint and Suede could continue to dance and bring in a lot of money, and no one would ever take their kids away, not Holly, or Adam, or Penny’s father…
Who was Penny’s father? Was he still around? Did he abandon his daughter, or was Suede keeping her away from him, just like Holly was with Michaela? A knot of anger uncoiled in Billy’s stomach. It climbed his spine into his drug-clouded mind and mixed with the growing insanity there. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as Suede exited the Sugar Wall and made her way to his car.
“Man,” she sighed as she opened the car door and slid into the passengers seat. “What a long night. That fat bastard shows up about once a week and gives me about two bucks while saying the rudest shit to me. I just gotta smile and…”
“So, you want some Blow?”
“Just a little.” Suede counted off a sheaf of ones. “Some to go. I’m not gonna get high right now. I gotta get home. Mom gets really pissed if she’s gotta be with Penny too long. Hey Billy, could you give me a lift home? I just live down the road a few miles. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Sure.” Billy handed her a small bag of white powder. “Where’s Penny’s dad?”
“Who gives a fuck?” Suede snarled, and shoved the baggy into her purse. “That asshole is nothing but trouble. Never was around, slapped me whenever he felt like it, never gives me any money. You think I’d be dancing here if that jerk was doing his part?”
Billy grunted and started the car. He backed out of the gravel lot and pulled onto the two-lane road that led away from the Interstate.
“There’s a bridge about five miles up,” Suede said, and began to unzip his pants. “Take the first right after that. It’s a dirt road, not a lot of traffic, so if we’re not done, you can pull over and park somewhere. I don’t want to be doing this in the driveway of my trailer.” She lowered her head into his lap.
Billy gasped with pleasure, but his mind had wandered onto dark paths.
“So,” he asked, trying to focus on driving, “does he ever want to see Penny?”
“Who?” Suede mumbled.
“Her father.” The car crossed the bridge and Billy turned onto the dirt road.
“Sometimes.”
“Do you let him?”
“Fuck no.” Suede raised her head to look at him. “He gave up any right he had to her a long time ago. What’s up, Billy? Why you so interested in that dick? Let me finish here.” She lowered her head once more.
Billy bounced the car onto the berm of the road and slammed it into Park.
“What the…?” Suede began. Her words were cut off as Billy grabbed her platinum hair and yanked her upright.
“Ow!” she screamed. “What the fuck are you doing!”
“You don’t think a father has any right to see his own kid?” Billy asked. His hand was wound through her hair, pulling some of it out of her scalp.
“You’re hurting me!” she said.
“Ever think maybe you’re hurting him?” He jerked her head again, then pulled her face close to his while he screamed. “You bitches think you’re the only ones with any rights? You think… what? Just because we’re men we can’t raise our kids?”
Suede struck out then, scared and desperate. Her lacquered nails raked across his cheek. They did little damage, but surprised Billy nonetheless. He recoiled and flung her away from him across the car seat. The armrest shot waves of pain through her back as she banged into the passengers door.
She should have run. She should have just opened the door and gotten the hell out of there, tried to run. Even on her stupid heels, she might have stood a chance. Instead, she tried to fight. Her hand shot into her purse and grabbed the knife she kept there. It was a small thing, a simple pocketknife left behind by Penny’s father when he abandoned them. She was trying to open the three-inch blade when Billy grabbed her wrist and slammed the heel of his hand into her nose.
Her head rocked back in a wave of blood and pain and bounced against the window. Lights, like those above the dance stage at the Sugar Wall, flickered before her eyes. Billy screamed something at her, but she couldn’t make out the words through the rush of blood and pain in her head. She felt him grab her hair again and force her head back. Blood bubbled out of her broken nose, and she wondered what it would cost to get it fixed so she could dance again.
She felt a hard sharpness press against her throat, and her mind flashed to Penny. A second later the lights began to dim. Suede had danced her last dance.
Billy pulled the small knife away from her open throat. It had been easier than he would have imagined. At the last second his anger had been replaced by a cold and detached efficiency. There was more blood than he thought there would be, but it had been over very quickly. The cleanup would take much longer.
He sat back behind the driver’s wheel and tossed the knife onto Suede’s lap. He stared at his work, trying to determine what he felt.
Powerful was the word that came to mind.
It took about three hours to get rid of all the blood. Suede, the knife, and the clothes he had been wearing were all stuffed in the trunk. He would get rid of them later.
First, he had a stop to make in Appleton.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Timmy’s Lunch sat on the corner of Main and Bailey streets in Appleton, Pennsylvania, and in spite of the name, served meals all day long and well into the night. Timothy Bailey, descendent of the man the street was named after, opened his diner for business in the waning days of the Depression, serving primarily coffee, hot dogs, and ten-cent plates of spaghetti. Even though Timmy was long gone, and the spaghetti dinner now went for five bucks, six if you wanted a salad with it, the diner continued to thrive under the management of Brenda Bailey. She was Timmy’s unmarried, no-nonsense granddaughter, whose humorless demeanor bolstered a brilliant mind for business. There were days when she resented the restaurant, because she knew if she hadn’t stayed in Appleton to continue the family business when her father died she would have climbed to the top of some corporate ladder. Instead, her days were filled with making sure they had enough potatoes for the breakfast rush, and ensuring that the cook washed his hands after going to the bathroom.
Carol Evans had worked the morning shift, except for the occasional day off, five days a week fifty-two weeks a year for over twenty years. She knew the routine well enough to run the restaurant herself, and took pride that Mrs. Bailey trusted her to look after things if she couldn’t be there. Carol and Brenda had something that resembled a friendship, but not enough to really call it one. They had never been to each other’s homes, or socialized outside of work, and it was clear between them who signed the paycheck at the end of the week. But, since neither of them really had friends of any other sort, they never questioned their relationship.
Timmy’s Lunch opened promptly at seven, and about five minutes later the Old Fogies Club began to show up. Dale Stockton was usually the first, followed by Al Minear and Windy Simmons. After that it was anybody’s guess who would and wouldn’t show. They were all retired, and most of them had been widowed, and while the numbers and faces changed over the years, there had always been an Old Fogies Club. The men who had been here when Carol first started her waitress job were all gone now, replaced by others who had been merely middle-aged back then. They sat around the back table and talked and drank coffee and ate toast. Occasionally one of them would spring for an egg or two. They stayed for hours, and tipped poorly, and were as much a part of the décor as the blue plastic shades on the lights and the stuffed swordfish that old Timmy Bailey had caught on the one trip to Florida he had ever made.
This morning was no different. The Old Fogies kept calling Carol over for refills of coffee and tedious attempts to flirt. She deflected their comments with a smile and a sharp wit. They enjoyed her verbal sparring, and though they teased her, they all admired her. For her part, Carol knew that she would miss them if they weren’t here, and she grieved every time one of them passed on.
The worst of the morning rush was over. Before eight-thirty, the patrons were primarily working men, meeting for a hearty meal before shuffling off to their jobs. After nine Carol would see a few more regulars, interspersed with the occasional student from Appleton College who just couldn’t face the cafeteria again. In twenty years of serving food, Carol knew just about everyone in town. Strangers were rare, usually comprised of people passing through on their way elsewhere, or more likely, in Appleton visiting family.
The lunch rush varied, depending on the day of the week. The Friday All-You-Care-To-Eat Fish Special usually packed them in, even though the Catholic population of Appleton was pretty small. So did the All-You-Can-Eat Spaghetti Plate on Tuesdays. After twenty years Carol had come to the conclusion that simple gluttony was the common factor.
Today had been a slow one, but Carol’s feet protested just the same. She thought they were probably just bitching about the lousy tips. A little before two in the afternoon she slipped out of her spattered apron and into her light spring jacket. She said goodbye to Brenda, then to the other waitresses, and left through the front door.
She lit a cigarette, then turned down Bailey and began the three-block walk to her house. She took her time. It was an hour yet before General Hospital came on, so she knew she had plenty of time to heat up some soup and a sandwich. She made a point of never eating at the restaurant. It wasn’t that the food was bad, but after two decades of serving it and cleaning it up she just couldn’t imagine actually consuming it.
There was a car on the block she didn’t recognize. In a small town you noticed things like that. Someone visiting the neighbors, probably. Looked like they had the front fender and headlight fixed recently.
Carol fumbled in her purse for her key ring, and unlocked the door to the sound of her stomach rumbling. Her stomach was just going to have to wait its turn. She needed to get these damn shoes off and go to the bathroom first. That was something else she tried not to do at the restaurant. You never knew whose butt had been there before you.
She tossed her purse on the stand next to the door and plopped down on the couch, sighing heavily. She leaned forward and untied her white waffle-soled shoes, then pushed them off her feet with her toes.
That was when she noticed the cigarette butts scattered all over the carpet. She didn’t remember spilling them, but maybe she had knocked the ashtray over this morning as she was leaving the house. Great, now she had to vacuum. She bent over with a grunt and began to pick them up.
While leaning over she noticed the remains of a ceramic frog in a broken heap across the room. She sat up, the first spark of fear beginning to form. Had somebody broken in? The TV was still here. So was her radio, and all of her frogs.
She quickly scanned the room, taking mental inventory of her possessions. Her eyes came to rest on Holly’s painting. It had been cut. The angel stood, disemboweled, upon her wall. Carol’s small spark of fear began to smolder.
“Hello, Mom,” said a voice from the kitchen doorway.
She felt her heart kick against her ribcage, and she knew she had peed, just a little. She jerked around and saw Billy Haught standing just inside the living room, one of her long kitchen knives held loosely in his hand.
“B-Billy,” she whispered. Her fear was a roaring flame now.
“Where did Holly take my baby, Carol?” Billy said casually. “I know you know.”
Carol tried to get to her feet and run, but she was clumsy, unused to physical exertion. By the time she stood, the beginnings of a scream low in her throat, Billy had pounced and slammed into her back. She fell onto her knees, and then sprawled forward onto the floor with a thud. Her breath was knocked out of her, cutting off her scream with a whoosh of air.
Before she could try to breathe she felt Billy sit down across her back, pinning her to the carpet. Her breath hitched in her throat as he grabbed a handful of her short-cropped hair. He leaned forward across her back and laid his cheek against hers.
“Now, now,” he chided. “That’s no way to greet the father of your grandchild, is it, Mom?” Carol’s lungs continued to spasm as she desperately gulped for air.
“What’s that?” Billy said. “Did you say you were going to tell me where your bitch daughter is hiding my child? That would be a very good idea, Carol.” He raised his head away from her and Carol felt the flat cold metal of the knife rest against her cheek.
She couldn’t scream. She could barely breathe. She hated the fear she felt. She had always been strong, had always made her own way in the world. Her acquaintances saw her as fearless. She was outspoken, and opinionated, and forceful. The last time she saw Billy, the only time she had seen him, had been at the hospital after Michaela was born. A few well-chosen words had sent him packing, tail between his legs. He was the kind of man she had always had disdain for. He was a weakling and a coward, who would never do the right thing.
A weakling and a coward who was sitting on her back with a knife against her face. All she wanted to do was cry, or scream, or run. She felt like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf.
“Where are they, Carol?” Billy growled. Her breath tore a ragged path down her throat.
“F… Fuck you!” she managed.
“That’s no good, Carol,” Billy said. “I’m not leaving until I know, no matter what I have to do to you. You’ll break, eventually. A man has a right to his child. You’ll tell me what I want to know.” He turned the knife and scratched a thin bloody line across her cheek.
