Succubi Part 15

"I mean, why mince words, you know?" Milly stood up and traipsed into the dark yard. "It's like fruit on a tree; it's out there when you want it. Doesn't mean you have to marry the tree every time you want an apple."

Ann laughed again. "That's some metaphor."

But Millicent G.o.dwin drifted into a sudden, sentient silence, facing the woods. Suddenly, she seemed reflective.

What was it?

Crickets and peepers echoed back their chorus.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Milly whispered.

"Yes, it is," Ann replied. She looked up into the dark. The moon seemed sidled over the horizon, tiny in its ascent, and pinkish.

Milly turned slowly, surreally. In the moonlight her face looked wanton, her eyes large and clear. "Beautiful things are born on nights like these," she whispered.

Ann stared at her.

"Yes, the most lovely things."

Chapter 12.

"I ain't burying 'em. You're the expert on that, ain't you?" Duke chuckled. "How many babies did you bury anyway?"

I've got to get rid of this guy, Erik thought. His throat hurt, and he was hungry. Duke lay back in the van's seat, chugging the last beer. "Dead man's beer sure tastes better than regular," he commented. "Something neat about it, you know?" Erik thought. His throat hurt, and he was hungry. Duke lay back in the van's seat, chugging the last beer. "Dead man's beer sure tastes better than regular," he commented. "Something neat about it, you know?"

Erik winced at the two bodies. They'd start stinking soon. There was nothing he could use for a shovel, so he dragged each of them out of the back and into the woods. Their flesh felt clammy, cool. He covered them best he could with leaves. Rest in peace, Rest in peace, he thought. he thought.

"Say, buddy, I'm like really hungry, you know, like I could eat a horse," Duke despaired. "How much longer are we gonna sit here anyway? Let's go get some food, huh?"

Erik went to close the van doors. Duke had the Webley on him, and the shotgun was too far up to reach.

They'd been here all day; they'd have to move sometime. The van would only remain inconspicuous for so long; eventually, the guy and his girlfriend would be reported missing, and the police would put two and two together.

"We're moving now," Erik said, his ragged throat throbbing with each word. "I want you to ride in back so you can't be seen through the windshield."

Duke looked offended. "What's the matter? How come I can't ride up front with you?"

"Because one guy with ridiculous white hair is less conspicuous than two two guys with ridiculous white hair. The cops are looking for two guys. Come on, we'll stop along the way and pick up some food." guys with ridiculous white hair. The cops are looking for two guys. Come on, we'll stop along the way and pick up some food."

Duke perked up. "Yeah, man! Food! Twinkies!"

Erik shook his head and started the van up. Duke climbed in back. They drove several miles without seeing a single car. Getting into Lockwood would be tough; Pickman Avenue was the only access, and it would take them straight past the police station. Either Bard or Byron-one of them-would probably be on the road. Erik would have to bypa.s.s the town and take one of the dirt roads through the woods. Then he could go in on foot.

"Here we go," Duke said. "Open twentyfour hours. Ain't that somethin'?"

The big sign glowed eerily in the night. Great, Great, Erik thought. Erik thought. Another QwikStop. Another QwikStop. But they were in luck; the parking lot was empty. But they were in luck; the parking lot was empty.

Erik pulled in. He wondered if Duke would take his bait. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

"Bulls.h.i.t, partner. I'm going too."

"Only one of us can go, Duke. Someone's got to wait in the van in case we have to get out fast."

"You wait in the f.u.c.kin' van. I'll go. What if the guy at the counter asks you something? You can't talk with that f.u.c.kedup voice of yours."

"You're right, Duke," Erik went along. "You go. Make it quick, this isn't a shopping spree. Pick up some food and some batteries for the flashlight, D size. Get the stuff, pay for it, and leave. Don't talk to anyone, and don't start any trouble, okay?"

"Gotcha, buddy."

"I'm serious, Duke. No trouble. We can't risk it."

"Don't worry, man."

"And don't kill anybody, right?"

"Right."

"Come on, Duke. Say it. Say 'I won't kill anybody.'"

Duke's big teeth showed through his grin. "I won't kill anybody, man."

"Good. Now make it quick."

Duke got out and loped into the store. That was easy, That was easy, Erik considered. He'd gotten Duke out of the van without so much as a hint. There was only one option. Simply driving off and abandoning Duke wouldn't be any good. For one thing, Duke would call the police immediately and notify them of Erik's destination. For another, he'd rape and kill at least a dozen more people before the police caught him. Erik considered. He'd gotten Duke out of the van without so much as a hint. There was only one option. Simply driving off and abandoning Duke wouldn't be any good. For one thing, Duke would call the police immediately and notify them of Erik's destination. For another, he'd rape and kill at least a dozen more people before the police caught him. No more innocents, No more innocents, Erik promised himself. He'd never killed anyone in his life, but killing Duke would be the same as killing a rabid dog. You Erik promised himself. He'd never killed anyone in his life, but killing Duke would be the same as killing a rabid dog. You have have to kill it, before it gets into the playground. to kill it, before it gets into the playground.

As predicted, Duke had left the shotgun in back. Erik picked it up and racked a round.

Aw, no, he suddenly thought. Headlights plowed across the lot. A big old Chevy pickup pulled in. Rebel flag in the back window. ZZ Top pumping out. Two guys in jeans and Tshirts got out, whooping it up and chewing tobacco. And they were he suddenly thought. Headlights plowed across the lot. A big old Chevy pickup pulled in. Rebel flag in the back window. ZZ Top pumping out. Two guys in jeans and Tshirts got out, whooping it up and chewing tobacco. And they were big big guys, really big. One's shirt emblazoned a Confederate flag and read "Try burning this flag, f.u.c.ker." The other's shirt showed a Smurf giving the world the finger. Next, a skinny, pockfaced blonde slid out-cutoff jeans, flipflops, tattoos. The three of them were rucking it up real loud, heading for the store. guys, really big. One's shirt emblazoned a Confederate flag and read "Try burning this flag, f.u.c.ker." The other's shirt showed a Smurf giving the world the finger. Next, a skinny, pockfaced blonde slid out-cutoff jeans, flipflops, tattoos. The three of them were rucking it up real loud, heading for the store. Drunk rednecks, Drunk rednecks, Erik fretted. Erik fretted. The only thing worse than rednecks are loud, rowdy, drunk rednecks. Like them. The only thing worse than rednecks are loud, rowdy, drunk rednecks. Like them.

And Duke didn't like rednecks.

Duke loped out just as they were about to enter the store.

"Nice hair," Smurfshirt snickered, though he'd p.r.o.nounced the word nice nice as as na.s.s. na.s.s.

Buddy, you just made the biggest mistake of your life, Erik thought. Erik thought.

"What was that, pal?" Duke demanded.

The three rednecks laughed. Duke stared. Erik had to admit, though, Duke did did look ludicrous: an overweight chronic sociopath with cropped white hair and mismatched bargainrack clothes standing in a QwikStop parking lot with one arm around a grocery bag full of Twinkies and Hostess HoHo's. look ludicrous: an overweight chronic sociopath with cropped white hair and mismatched bargainrack clothes standing in a QwikStop parking lot with one arm around a grocery bag full of Twinkies and Hostess HoHo's.

"Whatchoo starin' at, fat boy?" inquired Flagshirt.

"Two redneck f.a.ggots and a t.i.tless chick with a face that looks like it got run over by an aerator. That's what I'm staring at," Duke answered.

The three rednecks could not believe this response. It was purely social common sense: talking back to big, drunk, uncultured rednecks was bad enough, but implying that they were of an alternative s.e.xual orientation was exponentially worse.

Finally the stasis broke. Flagshirt spat a stream of tobacco juice onto Duke's shoe.

"Doesn't bother me," Duke replied to the gesture. "It's not even my shoe. It's your daddy's. I took it out of his closet last night when I was f.u.c.king your ma. And what's that you got in your mouth? Dogs.h.i.t?" Then, to the blonde: "Grow some t.i.ts, craterface."

"You cain't talk to me like that!" the blonde wailed.

"s.h.i.t, honey, I've seen sheets of plywood with more chest than you," Duke then ingratiated her. "And that face-oooeee! Got more nooks and crannies than a Thomas' English m.u.f.fin."

"f.u.c.k you, you fat pud! Eat s.h.i.t and die!"

"Your daddy eats s.h.i.t every night. When he goes down on you." Duke blurted a coa.r.s.e laugh. "Know what he told me? He told me you got the biggest p.u.s.s.y this side of the Mississippi. Says you blow farm animals too. That true?"

"Jory! JimBob!" the blonde wailed louder. "You gonna let him talk to me like that?"

Oryeyed, Smurfshirt stepped forward. Duke said: "Know what your mama told me last night, I mean, last night when she was s.h.a.gging my b.a.l.l.s? She says you two fellas f.u.c.k each other. That true?"

Then Flagshirt stepped up, clenching his fist, which was about the size of a croquet ball and probably as hard.

Duke grinned. "Is it true you blow your dad? That's what I hear. When your not.i.t Swisscheeseforaface girlfriend's not blowing him, that is."

By now all Erik could do was shake his head.

Duke railed on. "You fudgepacking flowersniffing redneck queers just gonna stand there, or are you gonna do something?"

"That's it, fat boy," said Flagshirt.

"We'se kickin' yore fat a.s.s," promised Smurfshirt.

"Bust his f.u.c.kin' haid!" the blonde screamed.

Duke laughed out loud. "These two pansies? They couldn't fight their way out of kindergarten cla.s.s. During naptime."

Flagshirt rushed.

Duke was pretty good with his technique-it was almost magic. In a split second the bag of Twinkies and HoHo's fell, and Duke's hand was filled with the big Webley revolver.

The three rednecks froze.

"Wahwahwe don't want no trouble, man," Smurfshirt stammered.

"Yeah, man," offered Flagshirt. "We was just funnin'."

No no no no no, Erik thought. Erik thought.

"Funnin'," Duke iterated. "Well, I'm just funnin' too. How's this for some fun?"

Duke shot Flagshirt square in the head, which instantaneously burst. The report concussed like a cannon shot. Brain pulp slopped on the QwikStop window, besmirching a sign: "Briardale Cola! Six for $1.69!"

The girl broke. She'd managed to flee all of about a yard and a half when the second round went off. The Webley's rudely large .455 slug caught her at the base of the spine, picked her up, and dropped her. Without the support of intact vertebrae, she lay on the pavement, folded in half.

Duke seemed pleased by the effect. "Poor sweet thang," he mocked in southern drawl. "Looks lak she done blowed her last eggsuck dog, sh.o.r.e 'nough, huh, JimBob buddy ol' boy?"

Smurfshirt shivered, splaying his hands. "Look, man, I got money an' all. Nice truck there too. Take it. Just don't kill me."

"Well, that's mighty generous of you," Duke responded. "Answer me a question first, okay?"

"Sure, man."

"Do you have b.a.l.l.s?"

Smurfshirt looked cruxed. "Huh?"

"Doyouhaveb.a.l.l.s?" Duke repeated more slowly.

"Well, yeah...sh.o.r.e."

Duke fired the Webley into the guy's crotch. "Not anymore!" he celebrated. Smurf-shirt collapsed, bellowing and clutching his groin, which now gushed blood quite liberally. Duke laughed all the way back into the store. The clerk was picking up the phone. "s.h.a.g my b.a.l.l.s!" came the familiar prefix. Another round went off. The clerk's head exploded.

"d.a.m.n if I ain't good!" he railed when he came back outside. "You see that shot!" he said to Erik. But Erik lowered his head to the wheel, lamenting. Duke fired another round into Smurf-shirt's head, to finish him off. Then he did the moon walk, guffawing, over to the blonde, who still twitched folded in half. He shot her in the face.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Duke!" Erik yelled out the window. "You said you wouldn't kill anybody this time!"

"I didn't," Duke defended himself. "I didn't kill anybody anybody. I killed everybody!" everybody!" Then he threw back his head and laughed. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

Erik's hands felt clammy on the shotgun. It felt hot in his lap. Duke took his time extracting the wallets from the pockets of jeans which now clothed dead men. Then he picked up the bag and came back to the van.

"Relax," he said. "No one left to tell the tale." But then he opened the pa.s.senger door. His gaze locked down on the shotgun, which Erik raised to chest level.

"Why, you c.o.c.ksucking fairy f.a.ggot turncoat motherf-"

BaBAM!

The 12gauge spray socked into Duke's chest. The ma.s.sive muzzle flash lit the van like lightning. Duke flew back and landed flat on his back. Erik racked another round and fired again into Duke's torso. Then again, and again.

"Sorry, Duke," he muttered.

Then he drove off and headed down the dark road.

Erik was a fairly intelligent person. He was also more observant than most. Tonight, though, his vigilance slipped. Earlier he'd noted that the box they'd taken from the Luntville police car contained road flares, ammunition, and sundry supplies. It had also contained a Second Chance brand bulletproof vest.

Erik didn't notice that the vest was now missing.