He continued down the street until he came to the opposite side of town. A small sign reading “Hera’s Diner” had been posted on one side of the street, a fat red arrow painted on the bottom. His stomach growling fiercely, Tim turned in the indicated direction and drove into a kind of commercial district. Storefronts lined the street for two blocks, including a bank. He saw no sign of a cash machine out front, but it did not matter. It would not have done him much good without a bank account to draw from.
Two squat, ugly buildings, a hardware store and an insurance office, surrounded the cheerful, pastel yellow Hera’s Diner. A lighted sign outside the front door announced the daily specials above a phrase proclaiming “Hera’s: her meals are positively magical!”
Kind of corny, but only cared about filling his stomach. He pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside an old, beat-up green Ford pickup. He recounted his money as he climbed out and walked in. Signs posted in the door informed him the place was open twenty-four hours and that without shirt or shoes he would not receive service.
The interior of the place proved to be as cheery as the exterior. Imitation wood panels covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and the staff kept the tables and booths immaculately clean. Geometric shapes in subtly shifting shades of red decorated the rich maroon carpeting. The counter to his right supported the cash register, and, like most restaurants, it displayed a broad range of candies beneath the glass. A hunched elderly gentleman dressed in faded coveralls, plaid shirt, and a bright red cap sat at the counter along the far wall. Beyond the counter, Tim could almost see into the kitchen.
Taking note of the Please Seat Yourself sign, he strolled into the dining area and selected a booth along the window facing the street. A tall, lanky young man, probably right around twenty years old, loped over to his table and set a glass of water down before him.
“Good morning, sir. Here is your menu.” He thrust a laminated sheet of paper under Tim’s nose.
“Thanks,” he replied, judging whether or not the waiter’s abruptness was intentional. He found himself disappointed that there was no buxom young waitress here to flirt with.
“Coffee?” the waiter asked. His tone indicated a clear dread for the answer “yes.”
“No, thank you.” The waiter stalked away without another word.
Tim read the menu, pleased to see the low prices. They did not have a broad range of dishes, but there were enough dishes that Tim was not sure what he was in the mood for. He decided on steak and eggs and set the menu on the edge of the table. Hopefully, the waiter would take the hint and return soon.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a slight movement, and looked over toward the counter. The old man turned away quickly, focusing his gaze on the dripping coffee machine. Tim watched the man carefully for a few more seconds, then casually began to drum on the table with his thumbs. He wondered if this town had a record store or a radio station. Radio reception was probably next to nil inside this valley.
Outside, two cars drove by. Tim wondered how busy the town got during the day.
“May I take your order?”
The voice came so suddenly that it startled him. The waiter had returned, towering over Tim’s shoulder. He hoped the punk did not notice he jumped, but the waiter’s subtle smirk said otherwise.
“Yeah. I would like the steak and eggs breakfast, with the eggs over easy.”
“White toast and hash browns?”
Tim nodded. “Please.”
“Drink?”
“A large glass of milk. With the meal, please.”
The waiter nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He stuffed his order pad in the front pocket of his stained apron, snatched up the menu, and hurried back to the kitchen.
Boredom set in quickly, and Tim began to idly scratch at the flower patterns on his paper placemat with the dull, serrated blade of his butter knife. He really needed to invest in couple of books or magazines.
The screech of tires on asphalt drew his attention outside, where a bright red sports car skidded past his window and careened into the parking lot. The driver worked the wheel while three crazy women leaned out the passenger windows and squealed with laughter, waving their arms wildly. They disappeared around the side of the building an instant later.
The waiter returned then, Tim’s order in hand. The waiter’s attention, however, was fixed outside the window.
“Wow, that was quick,” Tim said loudly.
The waiter looked down at him, stunned, as if seeing him for the first time. “What? Oh, yeah.” He carefully set Tim’s plate and glass of milk on the half-shredded placemat. “Here you are, sir. May I get you anything else?”
“The catsup and steak sauce peeking out of your apron will be fine.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” The waiter hurriedly plucked the bottles from his pockets, set them down, and scurried over to the door.
Just as he reached it, the door opened and four women entered the diner. A pair of identical twins entered first, both very tall and stunningly beautiful. A short, plump woman with a nice set of curves to her figure followed them. Her curly red tresses bounced on her shoulders as she laughed at some joke they all just shared.
The fourth woman’s sharp and elegant facial features, however, caught his attention the most. Her straight black hair reached down to her waist in a Lily Munster style. Unlike her companions, she wore no makeup on her lightly tanned skin. She reached up to wipe a tear of laughter from her eye, flashing long black fingernails. The waiter scurried to her side, head bowed, eyes locked on the floor.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said respectfully, four menus already in hand. “May I show you to a table?”
“Oh, I suppose,” the redhead replied. “If you think you’re worthy enough.”
The twins chuckled softly. The black-haired woman, however, placed a finger to her chin and eyed the waiter thoughtfully.
“Perhaps not, madam, but I am the only waiter at this moment. Please, allow me.”
“Oh, very well then,” Red snapped. “Carry on.”
Tim watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye as he cut into his steak, half amused and half curious. The four women paraded behind the waiter as he led them through the maze of tables to a booth on the wall behind Tim. Nearly running, the waiter went to the counter, where the cook already set out four glasses of water for him. He carried them precariously over to the table, dividing them amongst the women.
One of the twins casually brushed hers over the side of the table.
In an impressive display of dexterity, the waiter caught it before it could hit the floor. Roughly half the water spilled onto the carpeting.
“Oh jeez! I’m so sorry madam!” He dropped to his knees and sponged up the water with his apron. The four women giggled.
Tim noticed the old man at the counter had suddenly disappeared. A half-finished meal and a small pile of bills marked his former presence. Nonchalantly as possible, Tim continued to listen to the conversation behind him as he spread grape jelly onto his toast.
“Do we forgive him ladies?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if he were to kiss my feet.”
“That may do it.”
Tim heard a soft thump, presumably the sound of the woman kicking off her shoe. Feigning a distraction on his leg, he looked down and brushed at his thigh, at the same time casting a few quick glances at the ladies’ table. The waiter cradled the black-haired woman’s foot as if it were a delicate china plate, careful not to tickle her as he did so. He bent down slowly, kissing the top of her foot.
“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.” Twin Number One kicked him roughly in the side, just hard enough to catch his attention. The women chuckled again.
The waiter then kissed the fool earnestly. Fortunately, Tim thought, it was a rather attractive foot. He could not help but wonder what the rest of her leg looked like under those tight black jeans. If it was as smooth as her foot…ooh yeah.
“I said kiss it, n
ot slobber on it!” Blackhair snapped, lashing out viciously with her foot. It smacked the waiter solidly in the nose and a trail of blood started down his upper lip. “Go get cleaned up, idiot.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand as she slid her foot back into her shoe.
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied, pinching his nose shut to stanch the flow.
Tim turned back to his breakfast before they could catch him looking. As he ate, the ladies’ conversation suddenly turned serious, and they spoke in tones low enough that Tim could not hear them. Their conversation stopped twice over the next few minutes, once when the waiter brought them their food (this time he made it without incident), then when another gentleman came into the diner. He almost sat down when he caught sight of the four women and turned right back around. The door slammed shut loudly behind him, but the women did not seem to notice.
Tim finished his meal, piled his napkin and silverware onto his plate, and pushed it all aside. He then leaned back to wait for the bill, tossing back the rest of his milk in one gulp. As he wiped the sides of his mouth with thumb and forefinger, he noticed the waiter standing at the counter and waving him over.
He took one last sip from his water glass, got up, and dug his money out of his pocket as he approached the counter. The waiter fidgeted at the register.
“Got a thing for feet, do you?” Tim asked sarcastically. He kept his voice low, but the waiter cringed as if Tim threatened him with a baseball bat.
“Are you crazy?” the waiter hissed. “You must have a death wish or something!”
Tim looked over at the women, who all watched him intently with calculating stares, as if sizing up a side of beef at the butcher’s shop. “Are all women in this town like that?” he asked just loud enough for them to hear.
The waiter blinked and his jaw dropped. “You are a dead man,” he replied solemnly.
The women whispered quickly to one another, never taking their eyes off him.
“Just get out of here before it’s too late,” the waiter said.
Tim slapped a few bills on top of his check. “Keep the change,” he said, leaving only sixty-odd cents as a tip. He noticed the dark-haired one still staring at him intently, and he inadvertently made eye contact with her. He nodded, then turned and pushed the door open.
“See you around, big boy!” he barely heard her call after him.
As he started his car, Tim saw the waiter staring out the window at him. The youth jumped suddenly, then scurried back over to toady to the four women. Traffic picked up since he arrived, and Tim eased his way into the flow as he wondered what all that had been about. Probably just a few eccentric old skanks getting their kicks from some punk kid, the only form of life lower than themselves.
And people wonder why men turn gay.
A tall motel sign caught his attention down the street and he headed in that direction. The street stretched across an open patch of land, a field about one hundred yards long. He turned out of traffic and steered for the motel itself, a squat building made of ugly red brick hastily pasted together with heavy blobs of white mortar. A garish green awning stretched out over the entry walk. The sign out front proclaimed “satellite television” and “vacancy.” Good enough.
Ahead, a small flock of birds gathered near the shoulder on his side of the road. He slowed, but the birds did not disburse. They all looked like ravens, some smaller than the one pestering the scarecrow outside of town, some bigger. As he came closer he honked his horn once, short and sharp. Simultaneously, the birds’ heads turned and they all watched him coolly.
“There’s something you don’t see every day,” he said, a bit freaked out by the occurrence. He honked the horn again, a bit longer this time. The birds did not react.
He turned the wheel to move around the strange birds, and as he drew nearer he realized they stood in a formation of sorts, four birds wide and five deep, all in perfect rows, all watching Tim through beady little eyes. A twenty-first raven stood separate from his companions, facing the front rank and fixing Tim with an icy gaze that spoke volumes more than his little soldiers.
Then Tim saw the body. A squashed bird, perhaps another raven, laid between Twenty-One and the other birds. He passed, and Twenty-One let out a call that chilled Tim to his marrow.
He mashed the accelerator and got away quick.
Maybe that gas station attendant had the right idea. Groaning scarecrows, domineering dykes, and blackbirds holding funerals in the streets was more than he was used to. Maybe tonight he would just get out of town.
He parked out front and walked into the lobby. An older man sat behind the counter, watching a western or war movie or something on a beat-up old TV/VCR combo. A dirty shoelace tied his greasy white hair back in a pony tail, and a long moustache covered his upper lip. He wore a black leather vest over a white t-shirt that bore some kind of emblem that had long ago been washed out. Tim thought the guy looked like he should have been watching porn flicks rather than shoot ’em up thrillers.
The old man turned off his TV and stood as Tim approached the desk. “Good morning sir!” he said cheerfully. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah. I’d like a room. Single bed, non-smoking if possible.”
The old man made a show of turning to the key rack and considering his options. A keyring dangled from the end of every hook. “Well let’s see, let’s see. Hmm.” He rubbed his chin in consideration. “Do I have a non-smoking vacancy?”
Tim laughed softly. “Just set me up with a room, please.”
The clerk dropped a key on the desk and grinned. “Don’t worry, the humor is free. Twenty-five dollars, please. Sign here.”
Tim signed and paid. “Don’t get much business out here?”
The clerk shrugged. “Not tourists, no.”
“Tourist? Is that what I am?”
“No. Unfortunately, not. There’s no such thing as a tourist in Rapture.”
The answer did not make much sense to Tim, but he let it go. “So how do you keep in business?”
“Oh, you know the type. Certain hourly folk and such. I mostly get paid for my discretion and my quiet, if you know what I mean.” The clerk winked suggestively.
Tim nodded. “I gotcha, friend. I trust my room is sanitary?”
The clerk did his best to look hurt. “Of course! I run a clean establishment! Say, you wouldn’t be needing one of those hourly folk, would you?” He winked again.
“No thanks. I’m tight on cash.”
“Are you sure? I know a couple of sweet young boys…” He nodded, flashing a sickening grin.
Tim’s humor drain away in an instant. “No, thanks,” he replied sharply. He took the keys and walked away quickly. Sick bastard, he thought as he read the number off the key tab. He started down the first floor hallway.
“Suit yourself!” the clerk called after him.
He found his room at the end of the hall and found the interior interchangeable with that of any number of other motel room in the world. A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, next to a nightstand and lamp. A dresser sat across from the foot of the bed, with the TV and channel guide on top. The remote rested in a black metal cradle secured to the nightstand with a thin metal cable. The bathroom at the front of the room looked clean, and it was well-stocked with soap and towels. A courtesy razor and tiny container of shaving cream rested on the sink ledge.
He used the toilet, then walked over to the bed to undress for a quick shower.
He started to pull off his shirt, then realized he left his suitcase in the car. He sat down heavily on the foot of the bed, shaking his head. Oh well, he thought. He could get it in the morning. He took a deep breath, laid back, and folded his hands beneath the back of his head.
He intended to lie down for just a second, but instead fell fast asleep.
Chapter Two
Tim stirred restlessly in his sleep, his lower back aching due to his legs dangling over the side. He rolled to one side and pulled himself to the head of the
bed, collapsing once more onto the huge, downy pillow. It barely registered with him that night had fallen. He quickly fell back into a deep slumber.
He dreamt about his motel room then, himself lying on the bed and staring at the pale ceiling. He tried to get up but found himself unable to move. He felt no restraints. Instead, a sort of extreme fatigue filled him, leaving him almost totally paralyzed. Even his eyelids threatened to sag across his eyes and obscure his vision.
He fought hard, struggling to cling to awareness. He felt a presence in the room, strange but vaguely familiar. A silhouette separated from the shadowed alcove near the door and moved through the silvery moonbeams flooding through the windows.
The silhouette revealed itself as a woman, her feminine curves unmistakable in the moonlight. She wore blue jeans and a t-shirt that clung to her figure. Endowed with long legs and a heavy bosom, she reminded Tim of a girlfriend he had long ago. Her face hovered in darkness, just out of the moon’s reach. She stood just beyond the foot of the bed, making strange gestures with her hands that he found hard to follow.
Suddenly the dream took a new turn, a rather erotic turn confirming it could only be a dream.
She crawled onto the bed, her face now concealed by long locks of hair flowing down the sides of her face. She straddled his knees and undid his belt with nimble fingers. He came to full erection as she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. With a soft purr she jerked his pants down to his thighs and bent low to take him into her mouth.
She worked slowly and diligently, and he savored every caress as if it were real. Unfortunately, he still could not make himself move. A faint smile of ecstasy creased his lips, the best he could manage. She bobbed her head faster and faster, as if suddenly impatient, and within moments he felt himself building toward climax.
Deadliest of the Species Page 2
