by Lee Alan
“Excuse me, sir!” The cashier called out. “You can’t be here. You leave.”
Tony walked straight over to the liquor aisle, pulled a gallon bottle of vodka off the shelf, and then walked past the sales desk on his way to the exit.
“You put that back right now!” The Asian man shouted, his voice quivering.
Tony stopped mid–stride and looked at the cashier. The flustered shop clerk halted in his tracks, seeming to be unsure of how to deal with the crazy–eyed thief’s lack of caution.
“I call police!”
Tony remained still, with his glassy, blue eyes fixed. When the clerk showed no further sign of intervention, he turned and strolled out.
***
Tony felt better. The vodka had sent molten lava flowing through his veins, making him feel strong again. But he yearned for the other craving. He didn’t know for sure where Anna now lived, although he had his suspicions. Until then, he needed something tasty to take off the edge.
He found the woman at the corner of Thirty–Eighth Avenue. She had a good body with long, auburn hair and long, supple legs. Her attractive features, however, had been spoiled by the cracked, brown teeth of a meth head. The way she swayed on her feet betrayed the fact that her intoxicated adventures were drawing to a close for that evening. A faux fur coat covered her from head to toe. Instinctively, he knew she would be near–naked underneath. Drawing closer, he noted, with revulsion, that the garment looked caked with grease and dirt.
“Well, hi, honey,” she greeted him in a thick Texan accent. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You wanna have some fun tonight?”
Tony suppressed the urge to smash those filthy, brown teeth down her throat. “How much?” He asked bluntly.
“Forty dollars, and you can do—whatever you like,” she replied, her tone all business now.
Tony produced sixty dollars from his back pocket. He specifically made sure it was the same money stolen from the small stash Anna had hidden in her panty drawer. Maybe I’ll tell Anna how I spent her money, he thought, enjoying the anticipation.
“Where do you want to go?” The hooker asked.
“Anywhere nearby,” he replied. “I want privacy.”
She nodded, took him by the hand, and then led them toward a dimly–lit parking lot that had once served a now abandoned doughnut shop. Tony hated the sensation of her coarse fingers on his, imagining them encrusted with dirt, just like the coat. As they moved into the gloom behind the building, he looked around to ensure no other soul was in sight. The light from the main street didn’t penetrate this far, and all the windows at the rear of the shop had been boarded. Overlapping graffiti tags covered the cheap, rotting wood in thick, multi–colored layers. His excitement grew in the knowledge that she’d picked a good spot to allow for full indulgence.
The prostitute turned to face him and slipped the coat from her shoulders. It dropped onto the grimy ground with a lack of feminine care he found distasteful. She was, indeed, bare underneath, except for a pair of black suspenders. Her breasts were large and dark in the gloom, and a mound at the bottom of her abdomen greeted him invitingly. Tony reached out and began to feel the curve of her hips. Her skin was smooth and cool. Instinctively, he placed his lips around her right nipple and sucked hard. It reacted instantly, engorging inside his mouth.
“How do you want me?” She asked. He pressured her hip, making her turn away. “Okay, honey.” She agreed, pushing her bottom toward him.
Tony became aroused at the prospect of things to come, and he dropped his pants. He entered her quickly, and she moaned without any genuine conviction. In response, his rage grew further, even as the climax in his loins did. When he vented, his anger spewed forth in union, and he grabbed her roughly by the hair. This time, her groan sounded real.
“What the—” she didn’t get the chance to finish her protest.
Tony swung her face around and slammed it into the concrete wall of the building. He rubbed her fetid teeth against the brickwork, make them grind against the concrete blocks. She let out a squawking noise, dazed by the sudden violence.
He forced her to turn to look at him again, her face a bloody mess and her eyes now those of a trapped animal. Tony didn’t see the hooker, anymore. Instead, he saw Anna staring back, triggering the final rush.
“Anna,” he said, laying his hands around her throat. He could tell she’d become paralyzed by fear, as was often the case by this stage.
All the better, he thought. Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and…
He squeezed harder. She began to fight as his full intentions were revealed. Her mouth opened to scream, but he choked off oxygen until only a gargling sound could emerge. He watched with curiosity as her eyes widened further and became bloodshot. Panic set in, and she tried to claw and gouge at him. He countered by head–butting her in the nose. The pain made her limp, allowing him to continue. Tony observed the life leave her eyes, and a tremendous relief sailed through him. The promise of how it would feel to extinguish the light from Anna heightened his bliss.
“I’ll find out soon enough,” he said to the dead woman before him.
Chapter 10
Anna stared at the blinking cursor on the blank laptop screen. Several times over the past hour, she’d started to type only to produce long–winded nonsense. Visions of Professor Young and her fellow students mocking her came to mind. Frustratingly, she also found her concentration wandering to his attractive chin, or the way he’d whispered in her ear.
“Get a grip, girl!” She exclaimed.
Despite her hesitation, she felt determined to prove her literary skills. She just couldn’t seem to focus. She felt guilty for thinking about the self–effacing teacher while already dating Jim Peterson. She reminded herself more than once that the dashing congressman had been good for her. Yet, here she was, getting all doughy–brained about another guy. She speculated why. Perhaps it was the attractive naivety that Jim lacked?
Jesus, did I just admit that he’s attractive?
The mischievous chain of thought gave her an idea: truth. It was a quality she’d always clung to during the hardest of times. From truth came betterment, and, in her view, its absence led to pain.
My time with Tony proves it, she thought.
While padding out the concept further in her mind, she rose to fetch another cup of coffee. On entering the red–tiled kitchen, she noted the favored status of the room with its owner. Julia had lavished much time and money on its appearance. An expensive Aga stove formed the center piece of the area, with a brushed copper pan set hung above its six gas burners. Rows of neatly–labelled jars sat upon shining, metal shelves running the length of the back wall. As usual for this time of the evening, her sister stood at the stove, cooking while watching TV shows on her tablet. Big Bird removed one earphone as she noticed Anna enter.
“Any ideas, yet, hon?” She asked.
In response, Anna raised a finger in a gesture that said, “Do not disturb, genius at work.” Julia smiled and continued to stir the bubbling pot of spaghetti.
Returning back to the blank screen, Anna considered the assignment question once more.
Why do I want to write?
In truth, she wanted to reach out to people and tell stories. It offered the potential to influence the world using the power of truth. Running with the theme, her essay title started to form.
Using the Written Word to Forward the Cause of Truth.
She took a sip of the bittersweet coffee, reviewed the words on the screen in front of her, and smiled with satisfaction. But the feeling was short–lived, because she remained concerned that, after their disastrous conversation, Professor Young would regard her work unfavorably, regardless of its real merit. With this in mind, she resolved to speak to him at the earliest opportunity and head off any bad blood between them.
***
The next day, she arr
ived to the class before anyone else in the hope of talking to her professor before the lesson started. Anna laid her laptop out, ready, along with a notepad and a few sharpened pencils. This time, she meant business. After her initial block, the rest of the essay had poured out to the point that she’d struggled to fit the piece into a thousand words. It’d taken a couple of re–writes and lots of coffee to finish, but in the end, she was pleased with the result.
The class filed in without any sign of Professor Young. Anna worried that the entire lesson would be cancelled. Sure enough, a flinty–eyed woman in a floral dress entered the lecture hall and began to step with great care toward the front. This simple action seemed to take forever, due to her extraordinarily short legs. Unfortunately, the unusual impediment triggered a chorus of sniggering across the room.
“Christ, we’re being taught by a friggin’ oompa loompa.” The unpleasant observation came from one of the same students who’d been rude about Professor Young.
After several painful moments watching the tiny lady tackle the steps, like an explorer traversing Mount Everest, she finally reached the podium.
“I’m afraid Professor Young is not well and won’t be teaching until further notice,” she announced into the microphone. “My name is Kendra Williams, and I will be your new professor.”
The news hardly caused a stir with the audience, but, in contrast, Anna’s heart sank. She couldn’t be certain, but part of her suspected that Professor Young’s absence had something to do with his last performance. The knowledge that she’d played a role in the situation only fueled her anxiety.
Now I’ll never get the chance to prove myself, she thought.
Anna raised her hand. Kendra Williams pursed her lips with disapproval, but nodded. “Erm, Mr. Young promised to provide his email address—for our assignments.”
“All assignments should come to me,” the older woman replied, before scrawling her details on the board.
Disappointed, Anna made an impulsive decision to send her essay to him, regardless. And, while doing so, make it clear just how stupid she thought he’d been for giving up. Without further hesitation, she gathered her things and left. After emerging from the lecture hall, she took out her phone and scrolled through the staff listings on the college website without luck. It looked like they’d already removed his details. Maybe he intends not to come back at all? Cursing, she headed for the main college office.
The reception desk had been designed to look like the basket of an air balloon, with a fake, plastic canopy rising above it. She waited in line, trying to think of a way to persuade the faculty staff to give her Professor Young’s personal contact information without being branded a stalker. Ten minutes had passed since her initial decision, and, with only a half–baked idea to go on, the last person ahead of her concluded their query. Taking a breath, Anna put on her best ditsy female expression and approached the boy manning the desk, while wondering what the hell she was doing. Judging by his uncertain demeanor, she guessed he was a student intern.
“Hi, there,” she said, her expression warm.
“How can I help you?” The student asked, in a bored tone.
“I’m in Professor Young’s class,” she stated, producing a radiant smile. Have you met Professor Young?”
“Sorry, I’m afraid not,” he replied with a puzzled look.
“He’s a wonderful teacher,” she pressed on, prompting an awkward smile from him. “Unfortunately, he’s really unwell. We’ve heard it’s, well, serious.”
The young man continued to look uncomfortable, and his gaze darted toward a mature–looking supervisor, who was currently in the middle of a deep phone conversation. Anna knew if she allowed him a lifeline, it would almost certainly be game over.
“You see, we’ve all come together and bought him a get–well–soon gift. The problem is, we don’t know where to send it,” she went on, grabbing his wavering attention. “So I—we, that is, wanted to take it to him in person.” She paused, watching his conflicted body language. “Like a surprise to cheer him up,” she added.
“Oh, I don’t know if we’re allowed to…”
She could tell from his demeanor that he didn’t enjoy confrontation and would probably give in if pressured enough. Riding the vibe, Anna put on an expression of crushing disappointment.
They’d be right to think you’re a fruit loop. She imagined Julia chastising her silly behavior.
He looked terrified by the display of emotion. “What is it?” He asked, pushing up the thick frames of his glasses. “The illness, I mean.”
“What is it?” Her mind raced to think of an illness serious enough to give Professor Young without handing him a death sentence. She felt bad enough about her lies without turning them into something downright sinister.
While waiting for an answer, his eyes flickered to the older woman who luckily remained engaged in an argument about a late delivery of white board markers.
Think Anna!
“Fibro myalgia of the kidneys,” she blurted out, suppressing an irrational laugh.
“Wow. That sounds bad! What happens to someone with fibro minagia of the kidneys?”
“Myalgia,” she corrected him solemnly. “Anal problems mainly.” It was the first thing that came to mind.
“Ouch,” the boy sympathized. “‘I think I had the same thing a few years ago. It’s not good.” His voice was also low, matching hers. “The shits, I mean.”
She stifled another inappropriate giggle. “So, you see, it’s really important that I get his address, so we can deliver the gift.” The kid looked unsure. “Can’t you just give it to me, and I can mail it for you?” He asked.
Anna mentally kicked herself for missing such an obvious comeback. “Sorry, I can’t…”
He frowned, looking toward the agitated supervisor. Apparently, the supplier had no black markers in stock until next Thursday.
“I can’t, because the gift is a… Rolex,” she nodded. “It would probably get stolen in the mail.” The ridiculous reasoning hung between them, while Anna’s inner voice screamed. A fucking Rolex, you dumbass?
He mulled over the concept before finally stating, “Cool. That makes sense. Please wait and I’ll see if I can find his file.”
***
Anna felt more than a little surprised when the address provided by the intern specified a location in Paradise Valley – the most exclusive area in the whole state, and a favored playground of Arizona’s great and good. She assumed Professor Young lived with family there, or perhaps he house sat for a wealthy friend. Without doubt, the modest wage of a college lecturer wouldn’t buy a trash can in the Valley.
As her station wagon trundled down Interstate 10, Anna pondered why she’d begun this crazy wild goose chase. She didn’t know the guy, at all, and it wasn’t as if they’d gotten along. But something about his vulnerable nature drove her on, regardless of the illogical nature of the quest. Even to her own mind, it was hard to explain, but, despite his rude comments and obvious discomfort, he’d still taken the time to relate the topic of the assignment to her. There was a selfless quality to the gesture, which hinted at a different person. Deeper still, she tried not to think about how good he’d smelled and the oddly fetching way he’d turned red with embarrassment.
“Stop it, you silly slut,” she muttered. The vision of his lips mouthing words in her ear, however, lingered.
“Argh!” She exclaimed, and then turned on the radio.
The voice of Barry White boomed his super sexy tones from the speakers. Anna immediately changed the station to some good old–fashioned Christian fire and brimstone, which seemed to do the trick. It was far more difficult to have naughty thoughts while a self–declared messenger of “gaawd” screamed about demons flaying the unworthy.
She continued to follow road signs to her wealthy destination and reached the outskirts shortly before midday. As a child, she’d visit
ed once on a school trip. She recalled being paraded past increasingly gigantic mansions. Every kind of luxury existed in the valley, from towers of glass and concrete to southern–style plantation buildings. Her overriding impression from that far off day had been the discovery of an ugly new emotion: envy.
As her modest car passed the first of the estates, Anna noted that her memories hadn’t been an exaggeration. The level of sheer decadence on display was intimidating. Artificial lakes and private golf courses dotted the landscape, all attached to luxury dwellings. Resisting the urge to gawk at her surroundings like some country bumpkin, she couldn’t help but feel inadequate each time a supercar sailed by. Her journey felt like the automobile equivalent of turning up to the Paris fashion show in a pair of mom jeans and a sweatshirt.
The buildings became ever grander, and she felt sure that the information provided by the college had been wrong. The smaller mansions had given way to huge estates, now, encompassing acre upon acre of perfect greenery, sculptures, and water features. The only sign of humanity was the occasional gated guard house marking the entrance to one of the grand houses. She noticed with a twinge of jealousy that many of the security posts appeared larger than her old apartment in Kingman.
She could only imagine the kind of opulence waiting behind each immaculate front, because every residence had been screened from the road to provide total privacy. It also made her doubt the theory that Professor Young was house sitting for a friend. These estates were so large that they must have required a small army just to keep the lights on.
After almost an hour of driving through the incredible environment, she reached a guard station beside ornate, gilded gates with the name Clear Water Estate etched across its massive iron bars.
I’m here, she thought. I may as well see this one through.
Pulling up outside the checkpoint, Anna put on her best friendly, but dumb look before approaching the uniformed guard who manned the post. She could tell with one glance at his professional stance that he would present a far more challenging prospect than the naive kid back at the college.
