Текст книги "Heat"

Автор книги: R. Lee Smith

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 54 страниц)

“Get my pack,” he said, and the girl got up at once and went swiftly from the bar, out to the car still parked smack in the middle of the lot. The Dark Man picked up one of the beers while he waited, turning it in one hand (gleam of something at the fingertips; what’s the matter with his fucking hands?) and looking over the label without seeming to read it. He reached up, tugged at the cap, then twisted it, and finally opened it. He leaned in, as if sniffing at the contents, oblivious to the catcalls and helpful advice from the low dogs.

The girl came back to the bar and threaded her way through the tables with a small, black case in her hands, its thick strap dangling over one arm. The Dark Man took it, slid one thick thumb across it, and the top lifted up and moved back, as slick a trick as you see in the Bond movies. He had some kind of laptop computer set up in there, smaller and sleeker than anything Joey had ever seen anywhere. The Dark Man pushed a few buttons to make the screen light up in columns before pulling out a black gadget that looked a little like a very thick ballpoint pen. It uncapped like one, too, but instead of a pen, it had something like a scalpel at the tip, long and jagged and razor-sharp. The Dark Man stuck this end into the neck of the beer bottle and Joey took another long look at Ratchet and the Cow-Boy.

Ratchet caught his eyes and shook his head slightly, turning so he could mutter at Joey, his lips scarcely moving. “Fucker’s bad news, man. We need not to be here.”

“Think he’s crazy?” Joey muttered back, uneasily voicing his own fear.

Ratchet shook his head, just a little, staring darkly at the wall. “I think he’s the Devil. We got to go, Joe.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” Top Dawg said flatly, not bothering to lower his voice, and that pretty much settled that.

Fat Joey turned back to watch the Dark Man, and had a hell of an unpleasant start when he saw the Dark Man staring right back at him. He had plugged that pen-like gadget into the side of the laptop where it stuck straight up like a feather, and he didn’t look away from Dawg’s table until it beeped at him. Then he smiled, just a little and just with one side of his mouth, and turned his gaze on the monitor.

The Dark Man read what was there, grunted, and then folded the whole thing up again. He put the pack to one side, took both beers and put them at the far end of the table, untouched. “It’s too fucking hot,” he remarked, returning his attention to the map. “Get under the table.”

The girl’s shoulders stiffened slightly and she looked at the Pack brothers with a thin, hollow-eyed shame, but she slid out and onto her knees and crawled under the table without argument.

The low dogs went nuts, roaring with laughter and hooting. Juicer hollered for Rosie Harper to get under his table and the bar whore slapped her hand into her elbow and flipped the bird at him. “Jesus Christ, honey,” one of the other whores called. “Take him to the can at least. A girl’s gotta have pride!”

The girl’s eyes were shut tight as she went between the Dark Man’s thighs. She opened up the man’s leather pants and wrapped her hands around the massive club of the man’s dick and put it in her open mouth.

The low dogs fell silent—no man was about to comment on another man’s dick unless it was a small one—but now the bar whores raised the roof. Even Sue-Eye and Cammy were cheering and smacking their lips.

The Dark Man ignored them. He read his map.

The girl couldn’t ignore them, but she tried, squeezing her eyes shut and sucking away as best she could without whacking her head on the bottom of the table. And she ate him like a champ, both hands and her mouth pumping away, slug-trails of slick drool shiny in the dim light. If the bitches would shut up, there’d be sex sounds, wet and rhythmic. It was porn star stuff, happening right here in Charlie’s, and Joey had never felt less like fucking in his life. He watched the girl’s head bobbing up and down on the Dark Man’s cock and felt his own trying to crawl up into his body.

Fat Joey decided to leave. Fuck this, he was gone. He got up and made it two steps before Top Dawg said, “Sit down, Joey.”

“Man, I gotta go.”

Dawg swung on him fast, eyes blazing. “I said, sit down, you fat fucking tub of guts,” he snarled. “Drink a fucking beer!”

Joey hesitated. The sound of Dawg’s voice had silenced the bitches and now he could hear the girl mouth-fucking the man, and could feel an itching place between his shoulder blades. He was convinced if he turned around, he’d see the Dark Man watching him, making sure he didn’t leave. And Top Dawg was here, pissed off and ready to skin, blackly furious at the intruder in their midst, this stranger who sat in his bar and fucked his bitch out in the open and wouldn’t cross his eyes for the Dawg.

Top Dawg’s eyes narrowed as the hesitation dragged on. “Sit down or I shoot you, shitsack,” he said flatly.

And that was it. Dawg never said it unless he meant it.

Fat Joey eased himself down into a chair at the Dawg’s table and the Dawg sat down beside him and turned his hate-filled glare on the Dark Man.

The man read his map and got his knob polished and ignored them.

Ratchet and the Cow-Boy made a little more room at the table, moving their chairs out a little so that no one had even part of their back turned to the Dark Man’s booth. The four of them together probably looked like judges in the Olympic Mouth-Fucking Games.

After a while, Cammy came over and put her hand on Dawg’s crotch and he spun like a top and socked her in the eye. Cammy jumped up screaming and cursing and Dawg gave her one to the guts to shut her up. Cammy went back to her chair, tight-lipped and fuming, and Dawg went back to trying to stare down the Dark Man.

The stranger lifted his head slightly, showed the tips of his teeth, and made a low, snarling sound, like nothing a human could make. Like something you hear in the fucking zoo.

The girl on his dick gave a sputtering sound, choking on about a gallon of ropy cum, and then backed out from beneath the table as the Dark Man idly hitched at himself. She was swiping at her face with her arms, bathed in enough cum to have gone all night with a whole crew. Fat Joey felt his balls crawling again.

“Hey!”

Joey started and stared around at Dawg, who was glaring at the Dark Man with open challenge. “Don’t, man!”

“Shut up. Hey! How ‘bout spreading that tasty snatch out?”

The Dark Man’s head snapped around and about a dozen road brothers shoved their chairs back hard enough to raise a short, high chorus of squeaking wood in harmony. He ignored them, looking only at the Dawg, intent and incredulous. “What?!”

“He means me,” the girl said quietly, crawling up into her seat. There was cum on her hands and face, dripping off her steel-rimmed nipples.

The Dark Man studied her, turned and considered Dawg, and then jerked his chin at Dawg’s table and went back to his map.

The girl froze, her hands still raised in kittenish washing motions. “What?”

Without looking up, the Dark Man swung his arm and knocked her out of the booth. As she struggled to rise, he suddenly turned and caught her by the jaw and gave her a little shake to get her attention. “Just this,” he said, glaring down at her.

She nodded in his grip, eyes huge.

The Dark Man released her and went back to his reading.

Some of the low dogs must have been catching on to the real weirdness here because there weren’t as many catcalls as there might have been as the girl inched towards Dawg. Some of the brothers were looking at the Dark Man still, and there were hands on weapons. The Cow-Boy actually shoved his chair back when the girl came near, as if he thought he might explode if she touched him, and coming from the stone-faced Cow-Boy, that was heavy shit indeed.

But Top Dawg was darkly, furiously oblivious. He grabbed the girl’s head defiantly, yanked her down so she whacked to her knees, and unzipped himself. With the memory of the Dark Man’s monster cock working in and out of the girl’s mouth, the Dawg’s own dick was pathetic, pale and wormy. Fat Joey looked helplessly away. He didn’t want to look at the girl gobbling the Dawg. He didn’t want to look at the Dark Man, either. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He’d never in his life been so fucking sure he was going to die.

“Take it all, you fucking whore!” spat the Dawg, and slapped the girl’s face.

Joey saw the Cow-Boy flinch again and glance at the Dark Man’s booth. Joey looked too, but the Dark Man was sitting easy, not paying the least attention.

Top Dawg was getting louder, aggressively so, probably glaring at the Dark Man the whole time he banged the back of the girl’s throat, but Fat Joey didn’t look. He was horribly afraid that Dawg was going to pass the girl out like a road hag, maybe piss on her at the end he’d done that first time with Cammy. Fat Joey didn’t know how the hell anyone could get it up in the same room with as the Dark Man, but he was pretty sure there were at least a few low dogs willing to try.

Top Dawg finished with a rebel yell and solid slap to the side of the girl’s head, shouting, “Spit it out and you fucking die, you cunt. Suck it down and tell me you love it.”

The girl sputtered.

Dawg kicked her back on her butt and stood up, buckling his jeans again. “Say you love it, cunt!”

The girl spat Dawg’s cum out on the floor and glared at him in silence.

Fat Joey watched Top Dawg finish with his buckle, and then turned to see the Dark Man watching this little scene play out, his eyes in the shadows of his face like slivers of a broken mirror.

Top Dawg smiled, first at the girl, then at the Dark Man, and said the words that sent Joey’s guts to icy churning. “Come and get her, boys.”

Not one of the big dogs moved. Ratchet didn’t even look away from his close study of his hands, and Ratchet’s knuckles where they closed around his bottle of beer were white as marble. The Cow-Boy was showing the whites of his eyes all around like a crazed horse, and he looked as though he might spring up and kick the girl away if Top Dawg nudged her towards him. Fat Joey could taste copper in his mouth; he thought he was tasting an omen of his own death.

There was a low shuffle of movement at the edges of the room. Low dogs and a handful of brothers were circling, aware that the order was disrupted and not sure how to proceed from here. The Pack was all about dominance and Order, with a big ‘o’. Passing out a bitch was done a hundred times and it all went the same way. First Top Dawg sprung her, then the Cow-Boy, Ratchet and Fat Joey. After him, the Pack dogs. Then, and only if the Dawg permitted it, the low dogs got a go. After the bitch was had, there came a christening, either beer or piss, and then she got her collar, and a tag if she was private stock.

The Dark Man was playing the game. He’d given Dawg his girl, or at least, the girl’s mouth. And Dawg had done his part.

Cow-Boy, Ratchet, and Joey were still as death. None of them looked at Dawg. None of them looked at the Dark Man.

Of the road brothers, only Heck, Ross, and Juicer looked anything like enthusiastic. The rest looked downright green. But the low dogs, stupid fuckers to a man, the low dogs were wanting it.

Finally, Heck stepped up to the plate and took careful hold of the girl’s shoulder, almost patting her as he looked queasily back over his shoulder at the Dark Man’s booth. He pulled over a chair, sat down and sprung his stubby cock and waited. The girl glanced around, and the Dark Man held her gaze for a moment before going back to his map. Finally, with a miserable-looking sigh, she latched onto Heck and went to work.

After Heck, there was Juicer, who went as fast he could and went clear over to the other side of the room when he was done, where he sat down at a booth and pulled out his knife in nervous silence. Ross took her next, using her hair for handholds and humping her face, all the while sending swift, ambitious little glances at the Dawg. Hagen was the first of the low dogs, naturally, and he put some effort into it, slapping the girl around a little first and then tossing off in her hair to make Dawg roar laughter. Then there was Shiley, and then Shooter, and then Ross again, who yanked her up by the hair and came on her tits this time, working at the piercings there as he told her to rub it in good, it was good for keeping steel lubed up.

This won the first and only remark from the Dark Man during the entire event, and he did it without ever looking up: “You rip those out and I will pull out your beating heart and show it to you.”

Ross dropped the girl and jumped back, banging into Ratchet’s chair in the process, and Ratchet punched him in the head so fast and so hard that Ross was probably unconscious even before Ratchet’s knuckles left his head. Ross hit the ground and Ratchet stomped on him three times, like a man killing a rattler, his teeth bared and spit flying as he panted, then shoved himself back and went rapidly to the bar for more beer.

No one else moved, and Top Dawg, once more furious, ordered Sue Eye to come over and make the girl eat her out. Sue-Eye flat-out refused, even after she took two rights to the face, but then Rosie Harper came over to the table, plopped herself down on the edge of it and spread her legs so you could see all the way up to the back of her throat.

“Do it,” the Dawg snarled, and when the girl didn’t move, he grabbed her by the hair, pulled her across the floor and shoved her face into Rosie’s sour snatch. “Do it, and you better get her off or I’ll put a boot up your ass!”

The Dark Man looked up for a few seconds, still ignoring the Dawg, but watching his girl work on Rosie for a while before glancing at the door and then returning to his map.

The girl sounded like she was starting to cry. One of her hands curled convulsively into a fist, beating slow and not hard at the table while the other pushed at Rosie’s soft belly. She was trying to struggle back, but she quit when the Dawg punched her, once in each kidney, and after a few more seconds, Rosie announced the girl was munching carpet. Rosie kept a play-by-play to the amusement of the few low dogs still into this scene before finally shivering herself to a good cream, and then Dawg hauled the girl back by the hair and threw her facedown on the center table.

“Come on, Hagen,” he called. “I know you still got some in you! Eating Rosie’s thirsty work!”

And Hagen, grinning at the opportunity, came right up with his dick in his hand and pumped it into the girl’s mouth, already humping away.

“Now then,” the Dawg said with vicious good humor. He flipped up the girl’s skirt and gave the round, white cheeks of the girl’s heart-shaped ass a few good smacks, then wedged her legs apart (the Dark Man’s head came up again, and the Cow-Boy stood up and went to the furthest window) and put his hand right up her pussy.

“Jesus Christ!” Dawg said, his face contorting with what looked like genuine shock. “What, have you got a fucking hardware store up here?” He pumped his hand, and Fat Joey could hear the muffled jingle of metal. “What’s this? Oh fucking Christ, that’s a fucking tampon!” The Dawg yanked his hand back and wiped thin traces of blood on the girl’s thighs with exaggerated distaste. “All right, little girl. Funny fucking joke. You just won yourself an ass-banging.”

“Oh Jesus, no,” Fat Joey heard someone whisper. It was probably himself. He tried to move his chair back, and the legs stuck on a floorboard. He struggled with it, looking back over one shoulder in time to see the Dark Man slide out of his booth and casually stride towards the center table.

It was a testament to the sheer unspoken terror in the room that not one brother skinned a gun and shot the Dark Man. It was a greater testament that at least three backed away.

The Dark Man came up right behind Top Dawg, one arm swinging back with the length of his stride and coming up oddly-curled, kept coming up, rising until it was level with the back of Dawg’s head and only a few inches away. There was a sound, no louder and no scarier than the sound of Dawg slapping the girl’s ass, and the top of Dawg’s head blew away in a red mist.

Things happened very fast after that.

The Dark Man guided Dawg’s slumping corpse down onto the table beside his girl and then reached over and pulled the gun from Hagen’s hip and blew a hole through Hagen’s mouth. The Dark Man spun unhurriedly, his leather coat swirling out and flapping back down around his knees. He raised a gun in each hand, posed like Christ on the crucifix, and shot Charlie as the bartender came up with his shotgun. Charlie sank below the bar with a clatter just as the Dark Man fired his other gun three times at the brothers who had tried to skin. Then he brought both hands together, movie-style, and plugged away two-handed at the Pack dogs who had surged towards the door, and kept right on firing until that kill zone was emptied.

The Dark Man spun, raising one arm over the top of Fat Joey’s head, close enough that Fat Joey could feel the sleeves of his coat brushing over his hair, and fired again. Fat Joey stared at the sleek, black lines of the coat against the Dark Man’s hairless, powerful chest and listened to bodies hit the wooden floor. He kept thinking how much like a movie this was, even as the Dark Man put a hole in the head of every dog that had drawn on him. There were four.

Then silence.

The Dark Man turned again, put one gun carefully down on the table and touched his hand to his girl’s naked back. She stirred, spat several times, and uttered a low groan which the Dark Man answered with some gentle pats. “Easy,” he murmured. His eyes never left the Pack and they never stayed too long on any one face. “Easy, Raven. On your feet.”

The girl clawed back off the table, away from Dawg’s half-headed corpse, and fell on her butt on the floor. The impact knocked another groan from her, this one melting into a sob mid-way.

The Dark Man considered the room while she struggled to compose herself, and then finally nudged his girl with his foot. “You’re done,” he said. “Up.”

She took her hands away from her ears and stood, shaking slightly.

The Dark Man shook his gun like a warning finger. “Get these away from them,” he ordered.

She moved to obey. Heck, nearest to her, tried to reach his out for her and the Dark Man put a bullet right between his bulging eyes. The girl flinched back, swiping at the spray that spattered red over her bare skin, and stepped away from the body as it dropped. She hesitated, then turned to Fat Joey.

He opened his jacket and held it open so she could fetch out his revolver for herself.

It didn’t take long to disarm the Pack. The girl piled the guns and knives on the center table, next to Dawg’s body. It made a pretty good pile. The Dark Man put down his remaining gun and exchanged it for another. While he did this, Fat Joey, still seated at the table, finally got a good look at the Dark Man’s hands and discovered just exactly what was wrong with them.

They had only three fingers. Not as though he was mutilated, but as though he only came with three fingers. There was a claw, thick and sharp and cruelly carved, on each tip. In order to fire the guns at all, he’d had to hold them almost sideways, holding the barrel with one finger, aiming alongside with another, and working the trigger with the thin tip of his thumb.

The fucker wasn’t crazy. The fucker wasn’t high.

The fucker wasn’t human.

The Dark Man turned his eye on Joey, sitting there right at the level of the Dark Man’s elbow, and his eyes were empty and considering. “Get up,” he said.

Joey got up.

“Put the dead there,” the Dark Man ordered, tossing his chin at the bar. He put one hand over Dawg’s back. “Leave this one.”

Joey took hold of Heck’s feet and started dragging.

“Line up,” the Dark Man said to the rest of them. “Get on your bellies. Keep your hands flat before you. Females, come here.”

Sue-Eye and Cammy came, obedient as dogs. The bar whores hesitated, but when the Dark Man shot them his irritated glare, they came and huddled at his side, shivering. Sheila was crying, both hands over her mouth to muffle the sound of it.

When the bodies were out of the way and Joey had lined up with the rest, the Dark Man tucked his gun back into his pants and sat down, looking thoughtful, a man patiently puzzling out a thorny problem. “Raven,” he said.

The girl tensed and took a half-step towards him.

“Bring my pack and then find something…” The Dark Man trailed off, then held up his hands, wrists together. “I want them like this.”

“Bound,” the girl said, and looked around, a little helplessly. “You want them bound. Okay.” She went to the Dark Man’s booth, brought him his dark pack, and then took a few aimless steps towards the bar.

Sue-Eye cleared her throat quietly, attracting both the girl’s and the Dark Man’s attention. “Charlie’s got a tool box in the back room. There ought to be some duct tape in it.”

The girl looked relieved. “Okay,” she said again, and went off, returning in a minute or two with the silver roll around one wrist like a bracelet.

The Dark Man looked on with interest as his girl bound each pair of male wrists and ankles with tape, making sure she had good contact with bare flesh. She wrapped their mouths as well, and the Dark Man leaned back when this was done and turned his full attention on the women.

“Should I bind them, too?” the girl asked.

“Mmm.”

The girl didn’t move until the Dark Man nodded. As she bent over Sue-Eye, the Dark Man studied the men again. “You,” he said at last, leaning forward and giving Juicer a thin smile. “You touched her first, after these,” he added, dismissively patting Dawg’s dead arm and thumbing back at the bar where Heck was stacked with the other bodies.

Fat Joey felt something damp seeping into his thigh and turned his head to the right enough to see Ross. The low dog was shaking violently, trying to speak around his duct tape gag.

The Dark Man stood up, strode over and plucked Juicer out from the rest of the men. He backed up a few steps, ran an eye over the row of captives as though silently inquiring whether they could all see him clearly.

There was no sound. Fat Joey could see the grit on Charlie’s filthy floors puffing out with each ragged breath he took, but he couldn’t hear even that. It was as though what he was seeing was so awful, his eyes needed to borrow fuel from his ears to process it all.

The Dark Man bent Juicer double, caught him by the high collar of his jacket, and ripped the back of his head off with a brittle seashell-snap. Juicer’s body convulsed, and Juicer’s eyes went wide. Juicer wriggled, fast at first, and then slower as the Dark Man dropped him and held up the chunk of Juicer’s skull and brain and hair.

Sound exploded back into the room. Tape-muffled screams and the sobbing of the bar whores assaulted Joey’s senses, but he couldn’t focus in on them. Dimly, the thought came to him that even if he weren’t taped up, he wouldn’t be able to run. He couldn’t even close his eyes. He could do nothing but watch.

The Dark Man returned to his table and sat, pulling out another pen-like device, a little thicker than the first. He used it to extract something that looked a little like the pink eraser off a new pencil. The Dark Man capped the device and waited, looking over his females again, until something beeped. Then he uncapped the pen-thing, ejected a gummy-looking, pink raison onto the floor and turned his eyes on Ross.

Ross was shrieking behind his duct-tape gag, and when the Dark Man stood up again, Ross tried to caterpillar himself across the floor to the door. The Dark Man slowed his step, keeping pace beside him until he had reached the exit. There he leaned against the wall and watched Ross struggle to raise up enough to rub his jaw on the doorknob in futile effort to open it.

He chuckled, sighed, and then took Ross by the shirt and dragged him easily back to the center table. The Dark Man faced a couple of chairs together and dropped Ross into one of them. He sat down in the other, leaned back, propped one arm causally on Dawg’s dead back and smiled.

“Yes,” he murmured. Fat Joey could see the Dark Man’s eyes like empty sockets, and teeth, teeth like a wolf. “I saw you. I saw you put your hands on my Raven. I saw you fuck her mouth. I saw you fuck her tits. I saw you piss in her hair just to hear your dead commander laugh.”

The Dark Man raised Dawg’s diminished head and waggled it at Ross. Thick blood poured down onto the table and splashed out over the road brother’s legs. The Dark Man smiled again. “I think he’s through laughing.”

Ross was gibbering behind his gag and after a moment’s savored contemplation, the Dark Man reached out one claw and punched a hole in it so he could speak.

“Please, mister…mister, I’m real sorry.”

The Dark Man was nodding, almost with sympathy. “You know, I think you are, at that.” Then he reached across, seized Ross by his hair, bent him forward and cracked his skull open.

A part of Ross’s brain came away with the knobby hunk of skull and that was bad. The scream shrieking high only to lower into drooling bubbles was worse. Much worse.

The Dark Man sat back, hooking his device into the yellowish ropes of matter clinging to bone, and extracted whatever he was after. The Dark Man waited as it hummed, eyeing his female captives, until it beeped at him. He depressed a button so the device spat out the used bit of pink tissue, then flicked his wrist to bring out a glass ampule filled with pale liquid. He set this in his pack and reloaded his device with an empty vial. When he stood up again, the Dark Man’s eyes came to rest on Fat Joey.

He shook his head hard, trying to project his sincerity, his fucking reason, to this Devil in a black coat, but even if he hadn’t been bound, he couldn’t have run. His whole body felt like the bones had dropped out of it. He felt like he was dead already.

The Dark Man came for him, smiling that half-sided, easy-going smile. He hunkered down and extended that awful clawed hand, punching through Fat Joey’s gag with a tolerant air.

“I never touched her,” Fat Joey said, the words tumbling out as though sprayed from a hose. “I never touched her, not once, I never did.”

The Dark Man was nodding, and Fat Joey felt hope, thin and fragile, trying to find a gripping place in his heart. “I know you didn’t,” the Dark Man said, and suddenly showed his sharp teeth in a demon’s smile. “That just means I kill you fast.”

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