Read Online Cold Shoulder by Lynda La Plante - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynda La Plante
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her hair as he pressed her further down onto his crotch.
Was it the sweet lemon smell of her freshly washed hair? Or that she was stone-cold sober? She knew exactly what she was being paid to do, she’d done it too many times before. But never sober. Face down between a john’s legs, having just been paid twenty dollars for a blow-job in a shopping precinct car park, the ghost of Lieutenant Lorraine Page resurfaced and fought back for a tiny fraction of respectability. She couldn’t suck him off.
‘I’m sorry. You can have your twenty dollars.’
He held onto the back of her head, forcing her down. She pushed up with her hands trying to free herself. He was much stronger than she was now and, leaning over the seat towards him, she was vulnerable, incapable of getting away. He was able to hold her down with only one hand, and her head was stuck under the steering wheel. She heard the click of the glove compartment being opened but couldn’t see what he had taken out. She forced herself to relax, to try to get into a better position so she could move off him, but he still held onto her hair.
The first blow stunned her for a second — it glanced off the back of her scalp — but he had hit her with such force that he had automatically released his hold. She pushed upward with all her strength, propelling herself against his chest. He slipped back in his reclining seat, and it was then she saw the claw hammer. As he tried to raise it to strike her again, she knew he could kill her if he wanted.
Lorraine twisted her face towards his, and bit into his neck. She held on ferociously, her teeth breaking the flesh. He screamed, now more intent on getting her off than on using the hammer, but she wouldn’t release her bite.
The family loading their groceries looked over to the Sedan parked next to them. Its windows were steamed up, but the screaming made the woman push her kids inside their car. She even shouted for her husband not to go across, but he took no notice, and as he reached the driver’s door, he called out: ‘You all right in there?’ He turned back to his wife, who gestured for him to walk away, but he bent down, his hand tentatively reaching for the handle on the driver’s door. ‘You all right in there?’ he repeated.
As he opened the door, Lorraine fell out, face forward onto the cement floor, almost knocking him off his feet. The family started to shriek as they saw the back of her head covered in blood, and blood streaming from her mouth.
The Sedan jolted backwards, dragging Lorraine with it — her dress was still caught on the reclining seat lever. The man who had come to her assistance made a grab, almost had the driver by his sleeve, but he too fell, as the car swerved to make a turn. The door slammed shut, and with burning rubber tyres the blue Sedan shot down the exit ramp.
The woman was bending over Lorraine as she struggled to stand. At her feet was the wallet: it must have fallen from the john’s jacket in the struggle. She snatched it up. ‘He tried to rob me, he stole my bag and—’
The woman shouted for her husband to call the police, but Lorraine shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s okay — I’ve got my wallet. I’m fine really—’
‘But you’ve been injured, look at you.’
Lorraine backed away from their concerned faces. She touched her head. ‘It’s nothing, I’ll report it to security. Thank you very much.’
By now the woman’s husband had run back to them, red-faced and shaking with nerves. ‘I’ll get the police. Are you okay?’ The woman suddenly became suspicious of Lorraine, and caught her husband’s arm. ‘Get in the car, just leave her. She said she doesn’t want any help.
Get back to the children!’
He looked from his wife back to Lorraine, who managed a half-smile. ‘I’m okay, thanks for your help.’
Still he hesitated, but his wife called him again, and as he hurried across to her, Lorraine could hear the shrill voice. ‘Can’t you see
Was it the sweet lemon smell of her freshly washed hair? Or that she was stone-cold sober? She knew exactly what she was being paid to do, she’d done it too many times before. But never sober. Face down between a john’s legs, having just been paid twenty dollars for a blow-job in a shopping precinct car park, the ghost of Lieutenant Lorraine Page resurfaced and fought back for a tiny fraction of respectability. She couldn’t suck him off.
‘I’m sorry. You can have your twenty dollars.’
He held onto the back of her head, forcing her down. She pushed up with her hands trying to free herself. He was much stronger than she was now and, leaning over the seat towards him, she was vulnerable, incapable of getting away. He was able to hold her down with only one hand, and her head was stuck under the steering wheel. She heard the click of the glove compartment being opened but couldn’t see what he had taken out. She forced herself to relax, to try to get into a better position so she could move off him, but he still held onto her hair.
The first blow stunned her for a second — it glanced off the back of her scalp — but he had hit her with such force that he had automatically released his hold. She pushed upward with all her strength, propelling herself against his chest. He slipped back in his reclining seat, and it was then she saw the claw hammer. As he tried to raise it to strike her again, she knew he could kill her if he wanted.
Lorraine twisted her face towards his, and bit into his neck. She held on ferociously, her teeth breaking the flesh. He screamed, now more intent on getting her off than on using the hammer, but she wouldn’t release her bite.
The family loading their groceries looked over to the Sedan parked next to them. Its windows were steamed up, but the screaming made the woman push her kids inside their car. She even shouted for her husband not to go across, but he took no notice, and as he reached the driver’s door, he called out: ‘You all right in there?’ He turned back to his wife, who gestured for him to walk away, but he bent down, his hand tentatively reaching for the handle on the driver’s door. ‘You all right in there?’ he repeated.
As he opened the door, Lorraine fell out, face forward onto the cement floor, almost knocking him off his feet. The family started to shriek as they saw the back of her head covered in blood, and blood streaming from her mouth.
The Sedan jolted backwards, dragging Lorraine with it — her dress was still caught on the reclining seat lever. The man who had come to her assistance made a grab, almost had the driver by his sleeve, but he too fell, as the car swerved to make a turn. The door slammed shut, and with burning rubber tyres the blue Sedan shot down the exit ramp.
The woman was bending over Lorraine as she struggled to stand. At her feet was the wallet: it must have fallen from the john’s jacket in the struggle. She snatched it up. ‘He tried to rob me, he stole my bag and—’
The woman shouted for her husband to call the police, but Lorraine shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s okay — I’ve got my wallet. I’m fine really—’
‘But you’ve been injured, look at you.’
Lorraine backed away from their concerned faces. She touched her head. ‘It’s nothing, I’ll report it to security. Thank you very much.’
By now the woman’s husband had run back to them, red-faced and shaking with nerves. ‘I’ll get the police. Are you okay?’ The woman suddenly became suspicious of Lorraine, and caught her husband’s arm. ‘Get in the car, just leave her. She said she doesn’t want any help.
Get back to the children!’
He looked from his wife back to Lorraine, who managed a half-smile. ‘I’m okay, thanks for your help.’
Still he hesitated, but his wife called him again, and as he hurried across to her, Lorraine could hear the shrill voice. ‘Can’t you see