Selene’s father had paid for her to go to Catholic school and wanted her to become a nun. Seeing his little girl strutting around with half her ass hanging out of her miniskirt had almost driven him insane. He was on the verge of disowning her and striking her from his will when, just a month ago, he was shot by an unknown assailant coming out of a whorehouse owned by one of his clients. His death was ruled an attempted robbery and Selene’s inheritance was secured. The only thing in the way of her and daddy’s millions was her pill-popping, bulimic, cosmetic-surgery-addicted stepmom with the drum-tight skin, basketball-sized, saline-filled mammaries, and sausage-shaped, collagen-injected lips. It hadn’t taken Selene long to feed her enough Xanax and vodka to kill her. Everyone assumed she’d overdosed trying to handle the grief of her husband’s death. No one suspected Selene.
When the police tried to question Selene, she’d cried so long and hard they’d given up and had never returned. Orgasms weren’t the only thing Selene had learned to fake well. They buried her stepmother a week ago. Now, Selene had all her daddy’s wealth and still couldn’t get a decent fuck to save her life.
The innocent, prudish Catholic girl she’d once been was a distant memory now. The idea of joining a monastery and becoming a nun, as her father had wished, was laughable considering all she’d experienced. Once, she’d actually taken it seriously. Sex hadn’t meant much to her anyway. Why not marry herself to the “Almighty” and live a life of celibacy? Now, it was almost inconceivable. She still believed in God and could technically still become a nun even after all her sexual trysts, but that would mean first giving a total confession. She’d have to tell some child-molesting priest about her homosexual experiences, the group sex, the bondage and whips and scalpels and cattle prods and dildos the size of a man’s arm, even her experience with a Doberman pinscher. None of that bothered her much. At least she wasn’t sodomizing little boys and girls, though she’d considered it more than once. Even what she’d done to her stepmother could be considered a mercy killing and she’d feel comfortable arguing the point. What worried her was what she’d done to that frat boy. That wasn’t something she could ever see herself copping to in a confessional. On the bright side, no one called Selene an ice princess anymore. Now, she was a slut, a pervert, and apparently a sadist, and had still never had an orgasm.
To date, her little experiment with cannibalism had been by far her most profound sexual experience. It had been her closest near-climax experience. The violence, the blood, even the taste of Mark’s pectoral muscle sautéed in butter and garlic, had been amazing. Biting his cock off while Mark was still alive had been the most exhilarating part, but the taste and texture of the raw meat had been unbearable. Eating the frat boy’s cooked flesh had tasted much better, but hadn’t given her the same thrill. There had to be a way to combine the two experiences. She had to try anyway, either that or wait another month for Joseph to get well enough for visitors. She remembered a dish she’d tried once on a trip to Beijing, China, for the 2008 Olympics. It had been a delicacy called “Yin Yang Fish.” Then, she’d thought it was the cruelest thing she’d ever seen. Now, it sounded like a wonderful idea.
Tired of sitting around the hotel room watching bad horror movies and reality TV shows about obnoxious teenagers and housewives from New Jersey, Selene decided to check out the hotel bar. First, she went online to find a local store that sold electric deep fryers. Just in case she got lucky.
Thirty-Three
Joe walked around the hospital, dragging his IV behind him as he traveled from his bed to the bathroom to the hallway and back three or four times. The doctors and nurses had made him walk the day after surgery. They said it helped prevent blood clots or something. He’d made a ritual of it ever since, gradually increasing his distance until he estimated he could now walk a mile. It wasn’t much, but it was progress and it might be just enough to get him out of here.
The phone call to Dirk was promising. His cousin volunteered to come into town this evening and find Selene. Together they would prepare everything for his escape. As many times as Joe had told his cousin that the prison phones were monitored, the kid had still almost given away the plan several times during the conversation.
“I need you to get a hold of Selene. I think she’s already in town. She’s been trying to get in to see me. Just tell her to hang tight. I’ll see her soon.”
“Don’t worry, Cuz. I’ll handle it.”
“Tell her there’s a truck that leaves the prison almost every morning, taking dead inmates to the crematorium. She might want to find out the truck’s route, where it stops, what roads it takes, where the crematorium is. You understand? And she might want to rent an SUV. Something big like a Navigator or an Expedition.”
“For what?”
“Just tell her.”
“Why not something fast like a Charger or a Mustang or even a Porsche or a Lamborghini? She can afford it with all that money she’s got.”
“Dirk. Just tell her what I told you, please.”
“Okay, sure. I just don’t see why you wouldn’t want something faster. I mean, if we get chased.”
“Dirk. All you’re doing is coming to visit me in prison. Why would you get chased? Now keep quiet and listen. I told you these lines are monitored.”
“Yeah, okay, Cuz.”
“Tell her she needs to get some hair clippers and sunglasses too.”
“Ohhhh! Okay. I got it. That’s smart. That way she can—”
“Shut up, Dirk. What did I tell you? Make sure she understands that I’m still injured.”
“Oh, that’s why you don’t want her to get a Porsche, huh? You can’t be hidin’ in a trunk or anything when you’re all stitched up, huh?”
“Hang up the phone, Dirk.”
“What?”
“Goodbye, Dirk. Remember what I told you to tell Selene.” “Okay, but—”
Joe slammed the phone down and looked around to see if anyone was watching him. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him, but he knew that didn’t mean they weren’t listening to his call from a control booth somewhere or taping it to listen to later. That idiot cousin of his had almost fucked everything up. Now, all that remained was for him to convince Cindy to help get him out of the hospital and down into the morgue. That would be the hardest part. Joe decided to do a couple more laps around the hospital. He was feeling good today.
Thirty-Four
The hotel bar was full of empty barstools and bored waitresses. The bartender was an older woman, mid- to late-thirties, with platinum blonde hair and big pendulous breasts. The woman stared at Selene hard as she walked in. It immediately occurred to Selene that this bartender was exactly the type of woman Joseph Miles would have been attracted to. Looking at her large breasts and hips made her miss the big cannibal all the more. Even though she’d never been physical with him, he’d shared a piece of her, and after all the letters and phone calls, she felt like she knew his soul.
At first she thought the woman was another jealous bitch mean-mugging her to compensate for some insecurity or inner self-hatred projected outward as animosity toward anyone prettier than her. A “hater,” in other words. Selene was used to that sort of reaction from women. Then the bartender smiled and looked Selene over from head to toe, and Selene realized what the long stare had been for—the woman was checking her out. She was a lesbian and she was attracted to Selene and not making any attempt to hide it. Selene returned the bartender’s smile and took a seat at the bar.
“What can I get you?” the woman asked.
Selene grinned and licked her lips.
“Something wet, exotic, and intoxicating.”
The bartender smiled back coyly and once again dragged her eyes over Selene’s body, slower this time, more deliberately, and without the slightest pretense of modesty.
“Sex on the beach or a slow comfortable screw?” The bartender asked, sucking on a maraschino cherry and twirling her tongue around it like it was an engorged clitoris.
“I’m really in the mood for a screaming orgasm.”
The bartender pursed her lips, made a whistling noise, and then smiled.
“So am I, sister. So am I.”
The woman began making the drink. Her eyes never wavered from Selene’s except to sweep salaciously over her breasts.
“Maybe,” Selene began. “Maybe we can both have one. What time do you get off?”
“I’m here until the place closes. Midnight tonight.”
Selene checked her watch. It was just after seven p.m. She would have to wait five hours if she wanted the woman and Selene really wanted her.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” Selene asked.
The woman smiled and nodded approvingly. She was obviously not used to being so brazenly pursued by another woman. It was evident from her mannerisms that she was usually the pursuer, but she was enjoying the role reversal.
“My name’s Wendy.”
Selene held out her hand and the large woman took it and held it rather than shake it and release it.
“Nice to meet you, Wendy. My name’s Selene.”
“Are you staying here at the hotel?”
Selene held up her door key.
“Room 212. You’re welcome any time.”
Wendy smiled then and suddenly looked over Selene’s shoulder and frowned.
“Is he with you?”
Selene turned and frowned when she saw a large man standing behind her in a faded, black “I Spit On Your Grave” promotional T-shirt, wearing baggy, black cargo jeans and black, retro Adidas shell-tops. He had long, greasy, black hair that was all one length and he wore black fingernail polish and eyeliner like an Alice Cooper or Ozzy Osborne wannabe. He smiled with a mouthful of yellowing teeth. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in days and hadn’t brushed or flossed in months. Selene looked him over, scowling in disgust.
“Selene?”
“Yes? And who are you?”
“I’m Dirk, Joe’s cousin. We talked a few times? We need to talk.”
Selene turned back to Wendy the bartender and rolled her eyes.
“I’ll be back,” she said, then Selene stood up and walked toward the exit.
“Follow me,” Selene said, swinging her Prada handbag over her shoulder and storming past the greasy Heavy Metal/ Goth kid. She could hear him struggling to keep up with her as she strode in long purposeful steps toward the elevator.
“Wait! Hold on. You’re walking too fast!”
Once inside the elevator, Selene whirled on him, jabbing a finger in Dirk’s chest and pinning him in place with her angry dark eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Dirk?”
“Joe wanted me to find you.”
Selene’s features softened.
“You spoke to him? When?”
“Yesterday.”
“And he asked for me?”
She knew she sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush on the high school quarterback. She was practically gushing, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Yeah, he wanted me to let you know that he’s escaping next week and he needs you to get an SUV. Something big like an Escalade or a Navigator or one of those huge Yukon, Denalis or something. He said to remind you he’s still going to be pretty sore. I guess he got cut up bad. I told him you should get something fast like a Mustang or a Porsche so we can outrun the police, but he said no. I don’t get it.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot, Dirk. The last thing we want is to be running from the police. You can’t outrun an entire police force. He needs something he can stretch out in and relax on a long trip. Something with a big rear storage. I’d better make sure it has tinted windows.”
“Yeah! He said that too!”
Selene looked the big scraggly kid over. Except for his size, well over six feet, it was hard to imagine he was related to Joseph. He was so skinny he was practically bony, but still managed to sport a beer belly. He reeked of clove cigarettes, candy, and body odor. She couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like cleaned up though. Perhaps with that ridiculous hair pulled back out of his face, a shave, and a bath, he might actually look presentable —and he was from the same bloodline as Joseph.
“How is he getting out?”
“He didn’t say. Oh, he said you should check the routes on the truck that takes the bodies from the prison morgue to the crematorium. You know, where it stops, what streets it turns on, that sort of thing.”
Selene nodded.
“What did he want you to do when he escapes?”
“He didn’t say that either. He just wanted me to get you that message.”
Selene smiled and gave Dirk another head to toe appraisal.
“You smell terrible, Dirk. When we get upstairs, you’re taking a shower and you’re shaving.”
“But I don’t want to shave.”
“What you want doesn’t matter right now. Now, does it?”
Dirk locked eyes with Selene for a moment and then looked away, dropping his eyes to the floor.
“No. I guess not. I just don’t see how me shaving is going to help get Joe out of prison.”
“You don’t need to understand. You just need to do what I say. Me and Joe are the only ones who need to understand.”
The elevator stopped and Selene strode down the hall with Dirk still struggling to keep up despite the fact that his legs were easily twice as long as hers.
“Have you ever heard of drunken shrimp?”
Dirk looked confused for a moment.
“Uh, no. What is it?”
“It’s one of my favorite Cantonese dishes. Have you ever had saki?”
“You mean like sushi? I don’t like raw fish.”
“Saki. Not Sushi. Japanese rice wine. The Chinese make a similar drink. It’s very potent. You’ll like it. I’ll get us some from somewhere while you get showered.” She looked him over again, and Dirk squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze.
“What do you keep looking at me like that for?”
“Do you have any body hair? Like on your chest or stomach or your back or anything?”
“A little, I guess. Why?”
“Shave that off too and your pubic hair.”
“Shave my pubes? What the fuck for?”
“It’s part of the plan, Dirk. You’ll understand it all soon. Just use my razor when you get in the shower and come out looking like you did when you left the womb.”
“You’re not going to dress me up like a woman or anything are you?”
Selene snickered.
“Why? Does that get you off, Dirk?”
Dirk scowled in exaggerated outrage.
“No! I like girls.”
Selene smiled and wagged her finger at him.
“Not all transvestites are homosexuals, Dirk. I used to date a guy who liked to wear women’s clothes. He was hung like a horse and fucked like a demon. You should be more open-minded.”
“Are you really going to get wine?”
“Chinese rice wine, yes.”
“Like saki?” Dirk asked, repeating her previous description of the drink with obvious delight.
“Sort of.”
“Sweet! Can you get me some tequila too and some Coronas?”
Selene paused and thought about it as they stopped in front of room 212 and she used her credit card-shaped room key to unlock the door.
“Tequila, yes. Corona, no. I hate the taste of beer.”
“Well, you don’t have to drink it. I’ll pay for it.”
“I think the rice wine and tequila will be enough, Dirk. You just get in the shower. One more thing, did Joe say exactly what day he wanted to escape?”
“No. He said he’d call me.”
“Do you have your phone with you?”
“Yeah. It’s right in my pocket.”
“Let me have it.”
Dirk pulled it out and placed it in her hand, this time without questioning her until she turned to walk away.
“Why do you need my
cell phone?”
“In case he calls while you’re in the shower. Use plenty of soap. I’ll be back soon.”
Selene waved and shut the door.
Thirty-Five
The infirmary was a dark maze of shadows when Cindy came to visit Joe. The fluorescent lights that normally lit the place with a stark, white incandescence were out and the cavernous room now resembled a morgue with row after row of bodies laid out under sheets. The smell of vomit, blood, feces, and disinfectant roared in Joe’s nostrils. Moans, snores, and heavy, labored breathing echoed off the sterile walls in a sonorous chorus broken by the sound of Officer Cindy Addison’s leather boots clip-clopping along the vinyl floor.
Joe knew those footsteps. He’d listened to them walk past his cell night after night while he was locked up in supermax, hoping they would stop at his door. Now, they traveled to the side of Joe’s bed.
“Hello, lover,” Joe said.
“Hey, Joe.”
“Help me up,” Joe said, holding out his arms.
Cindy leaned down and slipped an arm around Joe’s shoulders and started to lift him up when he pulled her down into the bed with him. She giggled as he tried to spoon with her, pressing his erection against her back.
“We can’t. Someone will see us,” Cindy whispered.
“Okay, then help me up for real.”
Joe swung his legs off the side of the bed and Cindy rushed over to help lift him to his feet.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Prey Drive Page 17
