Black Neon

by Tony O'Neill

  BLACK NEON

  Tony O’Neill

  Copyright © Tony O’Neill 2014

  First published in 2014 by

  Bluemoose Books Ltd

  25 Sackville Street

  Hebden Bridge

  West Yorkshire

  HX7 7DJ

  www.bluemoosebooks.com

  All rights reserved

  Unauthorised duplication contravenes existing laws

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication data

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-910422-03-8

  Printed and bound in the UK by Short Run Press

  “Any movie, even the worst,

  is better than real life.”

  Sebastian Horsley

  “When the going gets weird,

  the weird turn pro.”

  Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

  ONE

  Following an incident a couple of months ago where she almost ended up as the fifth victim of a serial killer who would later become infamous nationally as The Reno Ripper, Genesis Shania Neilson usually avoided making dates with guys she met on Craigslist. That time her sixth sense had kicked in as soon as she’d laid eyes on the guy. Genesis – who went by “Jenny” at work – had arranged to meet the guy at his apartment building. He lived in a skeezy dump nestled between an auto body shop and a 99¢ Store on the outskirts of town. She told the driver to keep the engine running. When the john answered the door a distinct odour hit her immediately – the heavy scent of bleach, with an undertone of something rotten that she couldn’t quite place. There were other things that struck her as being off about this guy. His hepatitis-yellow eyes, for one. But it was what she saw behind him, on the corner of the unmade bed, that really sealed the deal. A leather-bound bible that was lying open as if he had just been reading it prior to her arrival. Even from where she was standing Genesis could see that this freak had made numerous neon highlights on the text. So many in fact that there were more words highlighted than not. Before he’d even said a word to her she mumbled something about forgetting her rubbers, then ran back to the cab, jumped in and told the driver to split. She looked back as they pulled out of the forecourt. He was still standing motionless in the doorway, as if somehow expecting the cab to circle around and bring her back to him.

  The next time she saw that apartment complex was a few weeks later when she was watching the local news. Apparently the neighbours had complained about the smell coming from that same creep’s room, and the Reno PD found the decomposing body parts of several hookers stuffed in a suitcase he kept underneath his bed.

  This was the sort of thing, Genesis mused, that could only happen when you met a guy on Craigslist.

  Sometimes though, the gig looked too easy to turn down. After all, that incident didn’t scare her enough to remove her picture and ad from the Casual Encounters section. Now she found herself on another fucked-up Craigslist gig, arguing with three college-kid shitheads about how much a gangbang was gonna cost. Genesis had told those assholes that she didn’t care whether or not it was the kid’s birthday – for sixty bucks only one of them could fuck her. If his goony friends wanted to join in it was gonna cost extra.

  “But it’s his birthday!” one of the assholes protested again – the brawny blond one who looked like a reject from The Real World, fitted out in head to toe Ed Hardy crap. “Can’t you cut us a deal? You only turn twenty-one once for Chrissakes…” When he said this he grinned at her and reached down, giving her ass a clumsy squeeze. She slapped his hand away and shot the kid a Don’t-fuckin-touch-me-before-you-pay-me look.

  “I don’t do freebies. Sixty bucks, he gets to fuck me. If you wanna fuck –” she pointed at Ed Hardy, “or if this guy over here wants to fuck,” she pointed at the other one, a scrawny Asian kid wearing a backwards baseball cap and American Apparel T-shirt, “then you gotta pay.”

  American Apparel looked up from his laptop, where he was tapping away distractedly. He sniffed and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “What if we want to watch?”

  “Then call it an even hundred.”

  “Forty bucks to watch? What about if we, uh…” Ed Hardy made a jerking motion with his hand, “You know… beat off?”

  Genesis shrugged, “No skin off my ass.”

  At this the birthday boy perked up a little. “Shit, this bitch is a real class act…” he slurred, “Where d’ya find her? Hanging around outside a fuckin’ methadone clinic?”

  “I found her on fuckin’ Craigslist, Chad!” bellowed Ed Hardy, “Who’d you fuckin’ expect was gonna show up? Anne Hathaway? Stop being such a fuckin’ wuss.”

  The birthday boy was already stripped down to his boxer shorts, slumped across a couch in a corner of the suite. He had a goofy-looking paper hat on his head and a half empty can of Four Loko wedged between his legs.

  Genesis had been in these college kids’ suite at the Sands in Reno for only ten minutes, but she was already starting to get pissed off. For a start, Ed Hardy hadn’t mentioned that there’d be a frat party going on when he’d called to make arrangements an hour ago. Second, these fucking kids were annoying the crap out of her. They were drunk as hell, and when the birthday boy – a smug little asswipe who looked like he got kicked off of an Army recruiting billboard – answered the door, he’d made some snide fucking comment about her looking like a crack whore. Not to say that Genesis hadn’t been smoking crack before she came over, but she didn’t appreciate the condescension in the snot-nosed bastard’s voice. To top it all off, they didn’t even have any decent drugs in the place.

  “You want some of this?” American Apparel had asked when she’d first walked into the suite. He was holding a bong fashioned out of a two-litre Mountain Dew bottle, and a lighter. For an optimistic moment she’d thought that they were smoking rocks. “Whatcha got in there?” she asked. She took the bong from him with a coy smile. Although her preferred drugs were painkillers and crystal meth, Genesis still felt her stomach gurgle with anticipation at the very idea of smoking some cocaine.

  “Salvia,” the kid said with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Totally sweet stuff too.”

  Genesis’s smile evaporated. She made a face and handed the bong back to him. What the fuck was this? An after school special or something?

  After they’d finally negotiated the price, Genesis looked over to the birthday boy. He was nervously taking a slug from his booze. Eager to finish up and get out of here, Genesis tucked the bills in her purse and headed into the bathroom. She took a piss then gave herself a cursory wipe with a damp facecloth. She rummaged through her purse. Besides the money she had a bullet full of meth, a keychain with a miniature can of pepper spray attached, rubbers, a switchblade, and a tube of KY. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  Genesis was in her mid-twenties, although you couldn’t tell at first glance. She’d been a pretty girl when she was a teenager, but drugs and hard living had aged her dramatically. She still had the body though. She’d lived in Reno most of her life and had always planned on leaving as soon as she was old enough. A guy called Duane she’d met while working at Dairy Queen had introduced her to speed when she was sixteen. That particular relationship hadn’t lasted more than a month or so, but her relationship with crank was a different story. Drugs made living in Reno seem bearable and when she was high life didn’t seem so oppressive any more. By the time she was old enough to leave town the idea of getting out of Reno had receded, like the ache of a rotten tooth that you somehow learn to deal with over time. Meth made dull people seem interesting, crappy jobs more fun, ugly guys more attractive, and for once her brain seemed to
finally catch up with her constantly racing mouth. No, for a while, meth had been the perfect solution.

  It was only when she was coming down again that she remembered how badly she’d once wanted to get out of this lousy city for good. But while meth had made living in Reno more bearable, it made getting out of Reno almost impossible. The outside world was an unknown, a gamble, while drugs were her only certainty. The idea of heading to a strange city, one where she had no friends, no place to live and, worst of all, no drug connections filled her with foreboding. Nights like this reminded her of how she’d once promised herself that she would escape, for sure. Nights like this were enough to make her seriously consider just getting on a Greyhound and striking out for anyplace else. But she knew the horrors that awaited her if she ever went without drugs for long enough, so Genesis fell into a passive acceptance of her fate. For the time being, at least, she was stuck.

  She pulled her shirt over her head and slipped her denim skirt off. She stepped out of her underwear and carefully folded her clothes in a pile by the sink. Naked, she reached into her purse, retrieved the bullet, and took a quick blast of meth in each nostril before she stepped out into the hotel suite to give the birthday boy his present.

  The college kids were blasting a Kanye West album while Genesis got to work. The two goons were somewhere behind her while she tried to coax the birthday boy’s pecker into life with her mouth. The birthday boy was complaining the whole time. “Aw Jesus, this is so skeezy. I feel like I’m in an episode of fuckin’ Intervention or somethin’…”

  Ignoring his comments, Genesis kept working his dick, determined to get this kid hard so she could finish him off as quickly as possible. When he was firm enough she reached down, ripped the packet open, and started rolling the rubber onto him. When it was in place she pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him backwards so she didn’t have to look at his dumb fucking face. As she slid herself onto him she muttered, “Oh shit baby that feels so good,” in her disinterested, practiced way. The other two assholes were leering at her. Ed Hardy had his pants around his ankles and was jerking off, red faced, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a thirsty dog. American Apparel was sitting on the bed, half watching as he fucked around with his phone. She had just started to get into her rhythm when she noticed that the little fucker was holding the phone up, watching her through the screen. She immediately stopped what she was doing and pointed an accusatory finger at the kid.

  “Hey asshole!”

  American Apparel ignored her, so she raised her voice further.

  “You! Are you fucking filming me, you little prick?”

  The kid looked up with a guilty look on his face. “Uh… uh… no… what, me?”

  “Yeah you, fuck face! Are you fucking filming me?”

  “No, I, uh.” the kid put the phone down, “I wasn’t doing nothing!”

  Genesis got up, and felt the birthday boy’s softening penis slide out of her as he groaned, “Aw Jesus!”

  Ed Hardy leapt to his feet, and clipped American Apparel around the back of the head.

  “What the fuck you stammering for, you chickenshit? Gimmie that thing!”

  He grabbed the iPhone, and pointed it at Genesis and continued to film her as she stormed over to him. “Bitch, we paid you to fuck him, so fuck him!”

  The birthday boy was on his feet now, pulling his shorts up. “Fuck this,” he said, “I’m not in the mood any more.”

  Genesis tried to grab the phone from Ed Hardy. He was taller than her, and started making a game of dangling it just out of her reach. “We fuckin’ paid you already,” he laughed, “What’s the problem?”

  “You can’t film me, asshole!”

  “Says who?”

  “Says ME!”

  There was a thump, and suddenly everything went grey. It took Genesis a moment to realize that Ed Hardy had punched her in the face. Now she was sprawled on the carpet. Her entire head felt numb. Panic gripped her. She felt Ed Hardy’s weight squeezing the air out of her as he straddled her chest. He smacked her again, open palm this time. She felt the coppery taste of blood in her mouth.

  From somewhere far away she heard one of the others yelling at him to stop it. Screaming that he was hurting her.

  Through her haze she heard Ed Hardy’s mocking voice repeating ‘Stop it! You’re HURTING her!’

  Then she was moving.

  Genesis was being dragged toward the bed.

  *

  Later, Genesis was in the bathroom cleaning up. She felt tender, achy. She could hear them arguing in whispered voices outside.

  – The fuck is wrong with you, bro?

  – I don’t feel so good, that’s all.

  – Stop being such a pussy.

  – I just feel bad. Leave it, okay?

  She looked at herself in the mirror.

  Ed Hardy had raped her first.

  He was pretty enthusiastic about the whole thing and it had had gone on for at least five or ten minutes. The others didn’t want to do it, but Ed Hardy wasn’t taking no for an answer. When he was done he yelled “boo-yah!” and gave the others high fives. The birthday boy was up next. He had been the worst, because he kept stopping every few minutes and asking if that was enough. Genesis was facedown on the bed, ears still ringing from that punch to the face, willing them to just get it over with quickly. Every time the birthday boy stopped thrusting Ed Hardy would clip him around the ear and demand that he finish the job. She heard the kid vomiting when he was done. American Apparel went next, but he couldn’t stay hard. After a few unenthusiastic thrusts, punctuated by Ed Hardy guffawing and making racially tinged jokes about the size of his cock, the kid faked an orgasm and pulled out. Then she heard them opening more beer.

  She got to her feet cautiously, before making it to the bathroom.

  She locked the door after her.

  She stared at her reflection. Her face was gonna bruise up, no doubt about it.

  –The fucking bitch loved it. She’s a fucking crackwhore, Chad. You don’t think she does worse than that to feed her habit like every fucking day? Wake up, dude.

  – I guess. It’s just… you know. Rape, and all.

  – Don’t use that fucking word! How the fuck can you RAPE a crackwhore, dude?

  She insulated herself in two more blasts of meth. Fully dressed now, she opened the bathroom door and stepped out. She stared at them. American Apparel and the birthday boy were sitting on the bed looking like the sorriest assholes you’d ever seen. Ed Hardy was taking a slug of beer and parading up and down, his shaved chest glistening with sweat. He looked at Genesis. Smiled at her. Reached into his jeans and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill.

  “Hey. Look, we’re sorry if we got a little rough on you. No hard feelings, okay? Here’s a tip.”

  She stared at him like he had two heads. He sniggered a little. Added, “Go buy yourself some crack or somethin’.”

  Genesis looked the asshole up and down. “Go fuck yourself,” she said.

  She took the fifty anyway.

  Ed Hardy walked her to the door. Genesis rummaged around in her purse as she went. He opened it for her. Playing the gentleman. As she went to step outside Genesis spun around and hit him in the face with a good blast of the pepper spray.

  His hands went to his eyes reflexively.

  As they did she brought her right hand up sharply.

  Her blade missed his balls by a fraction. It sunk instead into his meaty thigh, tearing easily through the femoral artery.

  Before the others knew what was happening Genesis was running along the corridors of the hotel, out through an emergency exit setting off a keening alarm, her high heels clattering wildly as she raced down the stairs leading toward the lobby. Ed Hardy was rolling around on the floor of the suite screaming. A powerful geyser of hot crimson pumped from his groin in time with the frenzied,
rhythmic beating of his heart.

  *

  A few blocks away from the hotel she called Paco, a crazy Puerto Rican meth chemist she’d been seeing for the past few months. He sounded wired and antsy when he picked up. She told him she would stop by later. Paco never slept, at least not at night. Like most of the people Genesis could relate to, he was burning the candle at both ends. Even if she closed her eyes and tried real hard she couldn’t imagine Paco as an old man. He was definitely more the ‘die young, leave a good-looking corpse’ type.

  Paco was tweaked out and horny when Genesis’s cab pulled up outside his place. He kicked Lilly – a strung-out Vietnamese chick who hung around from time to time – out the door as soon as he got a look at Genesis. I sure as hell fucked a lotta hot bitches in my time, Paco would tell Genesis when he was feeling romantic, but there iz something about you that pushes my motherfuckin’ buttons. The girl was trashy and built like some centrefold wet dream: tiny waist, big silicone tits, a good-sized ass for a blanquita, and to top it all off she was a fiend for meth. The girl would do just about anything in exchange for a teenth. She was exactly the kind of girl that Paco loved: white, strung out, and all kinds of mixed up.

  “You look like you had a shitty night,” Paco said closed the door behind her.

  “The worst.”

  “Come on, girl…” he said, “Let’s take a blast and you can tell me all about that shit.”

  Paco’s place was small and dismal, and stunk of the chemicals he used to cook up meth. The kitchen was a riot of test tubes, Bunsen burners, rubber hosing and funnels. Paco was a brutal, handsome bastard with mismatched blue and green eyes, long straight black hair down to his ass, and a taste for cheap wine and violence. He ran with some boys from Tijuana who moved the raw ingredients for methamphetamine over the border from crooked Mexican pharmaceutical outfits. He claimed to have killed four men. “Or seven,” he would add laughing, “If you count miyates.” Tattooed round his neck was an incomplete chain of skulls, four white, three black.

  He led her to the bedroom. Soon they were lying in bed naked, passing a 50oz jug of grape flavour Wild Irish Rose between them, smoking cigarettes and tweaking out. Genesis was running her hand over Paco’s taut chest, admiring the definition of his muscles, and the prison tattoos that covered almost every inch of his mahogany skin. Paco had always been good to her, never made her beg for dope or gave her hassle when she asked for credit. Plus he was good in bed, with a thick cock and expert fingers. She supposed she would have gotten down with him even if he hadn’t been a dealer.