Pulp Ink Part 5

There was a moment of silence, then, "Not so's you'd notice. You've got all the give of an ice berg. Just don't let her get to you, Kid, she's been manipulating people for a living and she's d.a.m.n good at it."

Madelyn listened intently to their conversation, searching for clues among the words that she could use to her advantage. From the sound of it, she was probably going to be dealing with an inexperienced young man, something she was very adept at. She might have shot c.o.o.n, but a few tears, a little cleavage, and a sob story about attempted rape could get her free of this mess.

The screen door slammed again and a young deputy stepped in front of her, pulled a chair over and sat down facing her, arms folded over the back of the chair. Madelyn was hard put to figure out if the deputy was a young man with a decidedly feminine face, or a d.y.k.e. The ice white hair was short-cropped and spiked, strong muscular arms poked out of the short sleeved deputy's shirt, in fact, the entire uniform hid any sign of curves on the slender body. She shook her head, it didn't matter, she could make it work either way.

"You got a name, lady?"

Madelyn sighed, even the husky voice didn't give the deputy's s.e.xual preference away. She leaned forward, wiggling her shoulders just enough so the front of her blouse opened to display a bit of plump white breast.

"Madelyn," she purred. "Madelyn Cooper. And you? What's your name?"

"Deputy." A smirk crossed the androgynous face.

Games, the kid wanted to play games with her? Well, Madelyn thought, let the games begin. There was no doubt in her mind who'd win this particular contest. Dealing with amateurs was Madelyn's forte.

"You mind telling me what brought you to Stillwater, Madelyn, and c.o.o.n Randall's place in particular?"

"Not at all, c.o.o.n stole my child and I came to get her back."

"Well, I know for a fact that c.o.o.n hasn't left Stillwater his entire life, so how could he have stolen your child?"

Young as the deputy was, he was more than familiar with c.o.o.n's life. Madelyn decided it was best to go with the truth. "It's been nearly twenty-five years since he took my daughter from me."

"And you've waited all these years to rescue her? Why now?"

The kid was good, Madelyn hadn't antic.i.p.ated that question. She waited until she felt a bit of blush color her cheeks before stumbling into a weak explanation. "I wasn't able to care for her when she was younger."

"Wasn't able to or just didn't care enough to be bothered."

Madelyn cleared her throat, and managed to squeeze one teardrop out of her eye. As it drifted down her cheek she said, "Well, if you must know, I could use her help. I'm getting older and I thought we might keep each other company, get to know one another."

"Sounds reasonable. But that doesn't explain why you shot c.o.o.n. After twenty-five years, the kid ought to be old enough to make up her own mind whether she wanted to see you or not."

"c.o.o.n wouldn't tell me where she was and... and..." Madelyn paused to let a few more tears fall. "He... he tried to rape me."

The deputy laughed. "c.o.o.n's all of seventy years old and arthritic besides. You look pretty st.u.r.dy to me, even if you are getting a little long in the tooth, you couldn't fight the old man off?"

Madelyn wanted to rip at the deputy, let the kid know that she wasn't old by any stretch of the imagination but she bit her tongue, saying instead, "He had a knife."

The deputy stood up and walked around c.o.o.n's body, lifting the hands and arms. "I don't see any knife."

"Well, that old lady must have taken it. I know what I saw." Madelyn didn't like being on the defensive. She crossed her legs, allowing her skirt to ride seductively up the length of her shapely legs.

The kid moved in closer to Madelyn, soft lips nuzzled her neck. "Avon, right? To A Wild Rose. My mother used to wear that."

Madelyn leaned her head back so the deputy could kiss her. Oh yes, her charms were still her best weapon. There was no kiss, but a hand slipped down the front of her blouse and experienced fingers played with her nipples until they were taut. A warm tongue fondled her ear and she could feel the pa.s.sion building in her body.

"Yes, yes," she cooed. "To A Wild Rose. It's always been my favorite perfume."

The deputy walked around in front of her, pulling the chair closer until they were knee to knee. Madelyn spread her legs, letting the skirt slide further up.

"Why did you leave your daughter with c.o.o.n?"

A hard calloused hand was under her skirt, feeling its way along the skin of Madelyn's thigh, making it hard to think of anything but the coming dampness in her crotch. Her voice when she answered was a gasping whisper. "Why should I drag a child around the country with me? Men can drop their sperm anywhere they want and just walk away, but not a woman. A woman is expected to sacrifice her life for a squalling brat, give up every dream to change diapers and wipe runny noses. Is that fair? c.o.o.n offered to take her, so I left her with him."

"Was it that easy?"

Madelyn looked at the deputy wondering where the questions were leading. But those hands... they were creating a trail of goose b.u.mps on her hot skin. "Easy? Of course it was easy. I had a life to live and the kid was just dragging at my a.s.s every minute of every day. I didn't even hesitate. Thinking back on it, taking her with me might have paid off in the long run, there's a lot of sickos out there willing to pay big money for a tight young piece of a.s.s."

The deputy's free hand balled into a fist, but the anger was kept in check. "So why did you kill c.o.o.n? Seems to me like he was doing you a big favor."

"I needed her and he refused to tell me where she was."

"Needed her for what?"

Madelyn yearned for the promised release of that clever hand and each answer brought her closer. "She's a full grown woman now, what do you think I need her for. If she has half my beauty, she can learn to work those eager d.i.c.ks right out of their zippers and keep the money flowing into my purse."

"Did c.o.o.n know what you were planning?"

The hand was almost to her sweet spot, she'd never been this aroused by anyone. Her body arched toward those seeking fingers. "Well, of course he did, and he was going to tell her. I couldn't have that. I wanted to get her away from this bad luck town before I told her my plans. Something like that you need to work up to. Make it seem like the perfect solution to everything."

"So you shot him?"

"Of course I did. Wouldn't you shoot the person who wanted to destroy your future?"

Madelyn gasped, but it wasn't with pleasure. The deputy had played her, tricked her into confessing.

The deputy stood. "Madelyn Cooper, you're under arrest for the murder of my grandfather, c.o.o.n Randall."

Madelyn shook her head, disbelief written large on her face. "Your grandfather? No. No, you can't be."

She stared hard at the deputy, finding nothing of the innocent five-year-old she'd left behind. "Please," she begged. "I need to know. Who are you?"

"Don't you know, Mother?" The young woman gave a disgusted laugh. "Folks around here call me Ice because I'm a chip off the coldest piece of a.s.s who ever walked the streets of Stillwater."

Sandra Seamans is a short story writer whose work can be found around the web in zines like BEAT to a PULP, A Twist of Noir, and Spinetingler. In print you'll find her work in Out of the Gutter, Needle, and in the anthology By Hook or by Crook. Her work has been nominated twice for a Spinetingler Award and short-listed for a Derringer. She blogs about writing and short stories at http://sandraseamans.blogspot.com.

Zed's Dead, Baby.

By Eric Beetner.

"Zed? Oh Zed's dead, baby."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

"Well, then why are you asking me?"

"I've heard a lotta guys called dead who walked through the door the very next day."

"I don't know what to tell you. Zed's dead."

"Yeah, you said that already."

People were sticking to the story. This was too many now to mean a payoff. He'd started off broke. I mean, h.e.l.l, that's why I was looking for him. He owed my man a decent chunk of change and if he had any of it left even Zed wasn't so s.h.i.t-all stupid to use it as hush money while he got out of town. Not that it would take much more than a ten spot to shut up some of the citizens I'd been talking to. Here's five dollars in pennies and a Big Mac, now tell anyone who comes looking for me I'm dead. Dead-eyed nods and broken-toothed smiles all around.

No, he faked it up good. Real good. Fake's still a fake though. I can buy you a diamond ring with photocopied bills, that don't make them legal tender.

I'd been driving around in Zed's own car. It was easy to boost. Almost too easy, like he wanted it found with a full tank of gas and no sign of him anywhere. People who suddenly vanish rarely act like they're planning for it. You know how they use dogs to hunt people? It's because someone on the run gives off a stink. All I had to do was find Zed's scent and he'd be mine. And yet, somehow in this scenario I became the old b.i.t.c.h dog. Not sure how that happened.

I'll say this: At least he was making me work for it. There's a certain amount of tedium to this job. You'd think these f.u.c.kers would be harder to find. I only get sent out on overdue bills north of ten grand so the people running have some skin in the game, as they say. Still, they squat in the same filthy motel rooms. They give all the same tired excuses. They whimper just the same when I start on the pinky finger.

Even the bone snapping sound is the same. Each finger has its own note making up a beautiful ten-part symphony. Close me in a dark room with a blindfold on and I can hear ten fingers break and tell you which is which by the sound alone.

So Zed piqued my interest because he was different. The Zed's dead story would have been easy to swallow except where's the body? And if I didn't do it myself, who did?

The usual haunts turned up empty with a story on repeat about how Zed died last week. No one knew who did it or where he might have ended up, but everyone was so d.a.m.n sure the boy was kaput. If one or two had said it I might believe it, but not this many. No way, no how. Someone gets offed it's a mystery. When people talk like they read it in the morning paper, it's a conspiracy.

So who else could have wanted him dead?

Drug addict. Gambler. Deadbeat Dad. Car thief, if you ask his former employer who provided a car and then never got it back when Zed was fired for skipping three days of work in a row. Now that I'd been driving it for forty-eight hours I can tell you, it is not the kind of car anyone would go to any lengths to steal. Except me I guess. d.a.m.n. That does not speak well of me. I have no designs on the car, though. Just a means to an end and a matter of convenience.

I'd love to say Zed was extraordinary from my usual targets, but I'd be lying. Other than his ability to play dead he was cut from the same cloth as the others. The same cheap-a.s.s, s.h.i.t-stained, moldy rag. Not to say nothing bad against my employer, but why anyone would loan a red cent to these degenerates is beyond me. Seems like a bad business model. Guess that's why I have a job though.

Ex-girlfriend and baby mama next stop.

She could want him dead. Her old man takes it on the heel and leaves her with Jr. screaming and crying and biting too hard on her nipples, then the new man comes along and as a testament to his love he solves the problem for her. It's happened before. Not like Zed was gonna be paying any child support.

Three knocks. Solid. Fast. Like a cop.

"Who's there?" Already she's p.i.s.sed, and through a closed door. I haven't even had a chance to work my charm.

"I'm looking for Zed."

The chain drops, deadbolts swing open. Her face is there in a six-inch slice of air between the door and frame. Christ, she's a teenager. "Zed's dead."

"Save it. I know that song already. When was the last time you saw him?"

"f.u.c.k if I know. Before the baby, that's for d.a.m.n sure."

"Can I come in and look around?"

"f.u.c.k no."

The door eases closed a little, from six inches to four. Why don't people know that when I ask it's only a formality?

Looking at her eyes sleep deprived, scared and so d.a.m.n young I can rule out a gun hiding behind the door, which is a consideration before entering by force. She's the opposite of a threat so I keep my own gun cooling in my belt, happy to keep that dog on its leash.

So I kick. Once. Hard. Like a cop.

Oh, she'll have a shiner, that's for sure. Her d.a.m.n fault though. I hope like s.h.i.t I haven't woken the baby.

A few steps in and so far, so good. I walk right over her where she squirms flat on her back, holding the cheek bone below her eye which took the brunt of the door as it kicked inward. I know she's in pain, but that baby's got her so scared she'd rather hold in the scream over waking the kid up from what was most likely a hard fought bedtime.

"How old's the kid?" I ask, looking around the apartment. It smells like baby s.h.i.t and puke and looks about the same.

"Four months. Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

I ignore her question. "So if you haven't seen him in four or five months, how did you know he was dead?"

"People talk. Someone heard it and thought I should know."

"You tell junior yet?" I crane my neck around into the hall. The master bedroom door is open and the room seems empty. The second bedroom is closed. Sleeping baby, perhaps? With his Daddy? Have to check it out.

"Seriously, who the f.u.c.k are you?"

"I told you, I'm looking for Zed."

She sees me move toward the door. I don't know if it was maternal instinct that jolted her off the floor like she'd stuck her tongue in a socket, or if she just really didn't want the kid to wake up, but she's blocking the door in a flash. A single drop of blood rises up from the cut on her cheek and runs down to her chin line and clings there.

"Zed's not here. If he was I'd hand him over to you and be glad to have you do whatever it is you're gonna do to him. But just 'cause that kid is half his don't mean he's got a d.a.m.n thing to do with Zed so you leave that boy be."

A touching speech. Exactly the kind a woman would give if she was hiding her ex in the nursery.

I reach under her arm and turn the doork.n.o.b. She slaps at my hand and I give her a look of apology followed by a "you-shouldn't-have-done-that" shake of the head.

I grab her arm and spin it behind her, twisting her body from blocking me face to face to her back pinned to my front like a shield, in case Zed gets any bright ideas about shooting first and asking questions later.

I'm telling you what, this girl's restraint is impressive. She chokes down a yelp of pain like a pro. Kid must be a light sleeper.

The breeze from the door blows a mobile hanging over Junior's crib that makes little tinkling bell sounds. Other than that, the room was quiet. Our feet sink into a fuzzy pink rug with patches of fur missing like an old cat right before it dies.

Other than the crib, the room is empty of furniture. Baby clothes are stacked in a pile on the floor next to an open closet saves me the trouble of kicking that one in which has a half-empty cardboard box of diapers and one of those walking trainer things you strap a kid into, only this one is missing two of its six wheels.

Satisfied that Zed isn't lurking anywhere I let the girl's arm go. She runs to the edge of the crib and looks down, checking on the sleeping boy, naked except for the ill-fitting diaper.

She rubs her arm as tears form in her bloodshot eyes. I think for a second they might be tears of joy that the kid is still asleep.