Read Online Seven Deadly Pleasures by Michael Aronovitz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Aronovitz
Ads: Link
a run to tell her my thoughts. My thumb stump was still smoking. I was covered with blood.
By the time she looked up and registered my approach, I was right in her face. There was no choice for her but to step back and suddenly I was in the strange house, backing her into a corner.
"You rotten witch," I said. "Do you know how hard my wife worked on that garden?"
"Get out of my house," she said. I had to lean in a bit because she was whispering. She backed from me farther but kept the low tone through her thin lips. "I've despised you and your wife from day one, it's obvious you hate women, and deep down I know you've always wanted my body."
What?
She had mean-spirited eyes but now looked a bit too frightened to make them work their magic. Her shaky voice seemed to complement the cheap, outdated wallpaper and the pastel furniture wrapped in vinyl slipcovers.
"I'll call the police," she said.
That turned my momentary confusion back to rage and I was tempted to stamp my foot and cry, "I called them first." Instead, I said,
"Try this."
I reached for my pants button but my lack of a thumb denied me firm grasp. She brought her hands to her face and screamed,
"Rape! Rape! Help, Oh God, rape!"
"Shut up," I said. "I was going to flash a moon, don't flatter yourself." She kept screaming and I moved even closer. "Believe me, I couldn't lie to you even if I wanted to. I was going to shine a moon at you, that's all."
She kept screaming.
I turned my back to it, ran out into the sunshine, and made a path straight back to my house. A score of neighbors were watching from lawns, walkways, and patios, and I could feel their greasy eyes on me right up until I threw myself into the living room and slammed the door tight.
"Jesus," I said.
The odds are all even and I'm still losing.
I heard the drone of a siren in the distance. My hand had settled for a dull, pounding throb and I climbed the stairs with weak legs. Then I halted in the bedroom doorway. There was a strange form leaning into the opened closet with a rag-tag pile of ripped cloth hangers at his feet. His coat was stuffed with Tina's antique jewelry and by the bulges in his pockets it looked like he had just about gotten it all.
It was my buddy the cab driver and part-time cat burglar. He turned and, with a gloved hand, leveled a pistol at my chest.
"Don't try anything stupid, kid. I don't want to waste you."
My bladder cut loose. He saw it, gloated, and rode the fear factor for all it was worth.
"This is loaded with hollow points. They would pierce your stomach like a dime and come out your back the size of a basketball. By the way, kid, you look terrible."
There was a peal of tires outside. Our eyes jerked simultaneously and he waved me over to the window. One-handed, he snapped the lock and lifted the frame. Now the gun was pressed to my temple as we both looked through the screen.
A weather-stained red pickup was parked in the middle of the street. On its side was a phone number and block letters that read "D'GIDEO PLUMBING." The thick-browed, tattooed bruiser who owned it was rooting through the job box bolted to the back bed. He was red faced and pissed.
"Who's that?" the cabby said.
"It's my neighbor from across the street," I said. "Probably got a distressing call from his wife about a rapist."
The plumber lifted out a long crowbar and started for my walkway. His fickle wife leaned out of her doorway and begged him to stop. Over his shoulder, he shouted back at her in Italian. The cabby shoved me away.
"Sit down," he said. "Now! On your butt Indian style. Hands in the back pockets, move!"
I complied and muffled a scream when my left-handed wound scraped the top pocket band. The cabby spoke through his teeth. His voice had a sort of whistle to it.
"From that position, you won't be able to get up in time to jump me clean, and if you move I'll shoot you like a dog."
"Please, no."
He punched out the screen, walked back a step into the shadows, and
By the time she looked up and registered my approach, I was right in her face. There was no choice for her but to step back and suddenly I was in the strange house, backing her into a corner.
"You rotten witch," I said. "Do you know how hard my wife worked on that garden?"
"Get out of my house," she said. I had to lean in a bit because she was whispering. She backed from me farther but kept the low tone through her thin lips. "I've despised you and your wife from day one, it's obvious you hate women, and deep down I know you've always wanted my body."
What?
She had mean-spirited eyes but now looked a bit too frightened to make them work their magic. Her shaky voice seemed to complement the cheap, outdated wallpaper and the pastel furniture wrapped in vinyl slipcovers.
"I'll call the police," she said.
That turned my momentary confusion back to rage and I was tempted to stamp my foot and cry, "I called them first." Instead, I said,
"Try this."
I reached for my pants button but my lack of a thumb denied me firm grasp. She brought her hands to her face and screamed,
"Rape! Rape! Help, Oh God, rape!"
"Shut up," I said. "I was going to flash a moon, don't flatter yourself." She kept screaming and I moved even closer. "Believe me, I couldn't lie to you even if I wanted to. I was going to shine a moon at you, that's all."
She kept screaming.
I turned my back to it, ran out into the sunshine, and made a path straight back to my house. A score of neighbors were watching from lawns, walkways, and patios, and I could feel their greasy eyes on me right up until I threw myself into the living room and slammed the door tight.
"Jesus," I said.
The odds are all even and I'm still losing.
I heard the drone of a siren in the distance. My hand had settled for a dull, pounding throb and I climbed the stairs with weak legs. Then I halted in the bedroom doorway. There was a strange form leaning into the opened closet with a rag-tag pile of ripped cloth hangers at his feet. His coat was stuffed with Tina's antique jewelry and by the bulges in his pockets it looked like he had just about gotten it all.
It was my buddy the cab driver and part-time cat burglar. He turned and, with a gloved hand, leveled a pistol at my chest.
"Don't try anything stupid, kid. I don't want to waste you."
My bladder cut loose. He saw it, gloated, and rode the fear factor for all it was worth.
"This is loaded with hollow points. They would pierce your stomach like a dime and come out your back the size of a basketball. By the way, kid, you look terrible."
There was a peal of tires outside. Our eyes jerked simultaneously and he waved me over to the window. One-handed, he snapped the lock and lifted the frame. Now the gun was pressed to my temple as we both looked through the screen.
A weather-stained red pickup was parked in the middle of the street. On its side was a phone number and block letters that read "D'GIDEO PLUMBING." The thick-browed, tattooed bruiser who owned it was rooting through the job box bolted to the back bed. He was red faced and pissed.
"Who's that?" the cabby said.
"It's my neighbor from across the street," I said. "Probably got a distressing call from his wife about a rapist."
The plumber lifted out a long crowbar and started for my walkway. His fickle wife leaned out of her doorway and begged him to stop. Over his shoulder, he shouted back at her in Italian. The cabby shoved me away.
"Sit down," he said. "Now! On your butt Indian style. Hands in the back pockets, move!"
I complied and muffled a scream when my left-handed wound scraped the top pocket band. The cabby spoke through his teeth. His voice had a sort of whistle to it.
"From that position, you won't be able to get up in time to jump me clean, and if you move I'll shoot you like a dog."
"Please, no."
He punched out the screen, walked back a step into the shadows, and
Similar Books
