Selena

by Greg Barth

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m not touching that one yet. I’m holding out for a couple of degrees. I like it warm.”

  “Gina, I’m paying for every drink this guy wants tonight. Put them on my tab.”

  Gina smiled and nodded. “Okay, but be warned. He only gets more full of shit the more he drinks.”

  I lit a cigarette. Not a Winston, but one of those long, thin girlie ones with the white filter that looks all sexy when I get lipstick on it. Guys like that shit. They’re okay cigarettes, I guess. Just a little weak.

  Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” was playing loud in the background.

  We made small talk for a bit, then he took a restroom break.

  “Hit our drinks again, Gina,” I said.

  She brought fresh drinks over. “Look, you watch out for him, okay? He might not be looking for the same thing you are.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said. “But he’s the one that has to worry.” I gave her a wink.

  When her back was turned, I slipped the powder that Lenny had given me into his glass.

  Tommy returned, and we talked casually while we finished our drinks.

  “You want to dance?” I said. This was not really the kind of place where people danced. There was an open floor in front of the tables, but no one was dancing.

  “Sure,” he said. “As long as it’s slow songs.”

  We got up and moved over to the dance area. We were the only couple dancing. He held me close, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist. I leaned in against him. I was a good bit shorter than him, but I was able to get my hair and neck near his face. I pushed my chest against him, making sure he smelled my clean hair and my perfume. I felt his breath against my neck and shoulder, and my firm, small breasts pressing against his chest. Our eyes were closed as we danced, the booze taking effect and giving us that dizzy, lightheaded feeling.

  I knew the roofies I’d spiked his drink with were kicking in when his hand slipped from my waist and pressed against the front of my skirt. It caught me a little off guard, but I moaned in response and pressed against him so the bar staff wouldn’t notice what we were doing.

  He drew his face back far enough from my neck and shoulder and kissed me full on the lips. I opened my mouth to him. He put one hand behind my head, his fingers entwined in my hair, pulled me to him until his kiss was firm. We stopped dancing. He was more aggressive with his hand on my crotch, his fingers probing and rubbing me through my thin dress.

  I broke away from him and leaned in close to his ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I’ve gotta sit down for a minute first. That last drink is getting to me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll drive. I can’t sit down.”

  “Why not?”

  I said the words that I knew would get us somewhere we could be alone. “You’ve got me creaming for you, baby. If I sit, it’ll soak through the back of my skirt. I’d be too embarrassed to stand up.”

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  I signed off on the tab while he stood by the door.

  We exited the bar in a rush. He staggered down the concrete steps and across the parking lot to his car. He tossed me his keys, and I caught them with one hand.

  FOURTEEN

  I drove us to the edge of town. There was an old industrial section out by the railroad tracks, a long concourse of empty brick buildings. Some of the homeless stayed there, but it was a large complex and it wasn’t hard to find a good spot to be alone. Many of the old buildings had suffered fire damage, their roofs collapsed inward. The old glass windows were all broken out.

  “Here, drink this.” I passed him a small energy drink container from my purse. “Looks like you need a pick-me-up.”

  “That last drink hit me hard.” He opened the bottle and drank it down.

  It was Kool-Aid mixed with more of the drug that Lenny had given me.

  I pulled in behind an abandoned warehouse and turned the engine off.

  We sat there in silence for a few seconds. The only sound was the tick of the engine as it cooled.

  Finally he pulled me to him and kissed me. His grip was strong. The drugs hadn’t taken full effect yet. I hoped I had given him enough.

  He pushed the top of my dress down and kissed the tops of my bare breasts and sucked the nipples. They stiffened and poked out to his lips. He pulled me over on top of him until I was straddling his lap, my dress riding up. I could feel him rock hard against my crotch. He slid the seat back giving us more room. He put his hands behind me, pulled my dress up and squeezed my ass hard. He slipped his hands inside my panties from the back and squeezed my bare flesh even harder.

  “Hang on, hang on,” I said pulling away from him.

  “What?”

  “Let’s slow down,” I said. “Lay your seat back.”

  He released the seat until he was fully reclined.

  I got back in the driver’s seat on my knees and leaned in over him. I tugged on his belt until it came loose and unsnapped and unzipped his jeans. I tugged down his boxers. His cock came out like a live serpent, stiffening even more and seeking attention. I leaned in and took him in my mouth. He was slick with excitement.

  I suck cock the way men in Hemingway novels go bankrupt. Two ways. First gradually. Then suddenly. I worked him slowly, taking him deep until the head was pressed against the back of my throat, my mouth working the whole length of his shaft, but moving easy, then working my way back up until only the very tip remained between my lips. With each intake I gradually picked up steam.

  He pinched my nipple with one hand and had his other inside my panties.

  I knew from a young age that I was an animal. When I had my first menstrual cycle, and when my breasts began to develop, I looked down at my tiny little tummy and knew that I was a biological creature. That’s where the baby goes. I had no illusions. Dogs had puppies, they sucked at the tits. I was no different. I had no soul, merely a biological consciousness. I was a creature driven by brain chemicals, hormones, and instinct. My intellect gave me the thin illusion of control over my circumstances.

  Men don’t know they’re animals most of the time. They are more soulish creatures than women, living almost entirely in their heads. But you put a man’s dick in your mouth and suddenly he’s in touch with his body in a way he usually isn’t. I ask you, is there any moment of life more precious to a man than when he has his cock in a woman’s mouth? Of course not.

  I cupped his balls in my hand. They were big and hung loose against his warm crotch. I gently massaged them with my fingers and kept working his cock over rhythmically from my lips to my throat until I felt the balls tighten and contract up close to his body. I knew he was about to blow his babymaker down my throat.

  Time to stop.

  I backed away from him and sat back up in the driver’s seat. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Mmmm, don’t stop.” His voice sounded thick. “You’re just getting to the good part, baby.”

  “You don’t want to finish so fast, do you?”

  “No,” he said. “Your turn.” He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

  “Just relax. You able to talk to me, Tommy?”

  “Yeah, I can talk. Just don’t feel like I can move.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll talk for a few minutes. You’ll feel better soon. Then I’ll finish you off, okay?”

  He didn’t respond.

  I put my hand on his crotch and squeezed his cock. “You still awake down there?”

  “I just feel really drunk,” he said. “Aren’t we going to fuck?”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “We’ve never met,” he said. “Unless it was at a Joan Jett concert.” He laughed.

  “Actually we were together one night a few months ago.”

  “I would remember you. Come kiss me.”

  “You remember the girl that stole some cash, a cigarette lighter, and a CD from you?”

  He took
a deep breath. “What is this?”

  “That girl. That was me, Tommy.”

  “No,” he said. “No. You’re not her.”

  “I am.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Shit.” His voice was starting to slur. I wanted to get what I needed before he became unintelligible.

  “What was on that disc, Tommy?”

  “What, you don’t know?”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “God, why did you take it then?” His erection was fading.

  “It didn’t look like your type of music,” I said. “But it wasn’t music. What was it?”

  “A bunch of data. Credit card information. Personal information on thousands of people. Tens of thousands. A guy I know pulled it off of a server at his job. He had an IT position with a big retailer.”

  “What were you doing with it?”

  “Selling it. It was already sold. I owed a guy. This was how I was paying him.”

  “Who were the guys that beat me up?”

  He looked at me but didn’t answer.

  “Tommy, you have to tell me.”

  “I know,” he said. “I feel like I have to, but part of me doesn’t want to. He’ll kill me.”

  “Who will kill you?”

  He wouldn’t answer me. I pulled a long, thin silvery object from my purse. “Tommy, do you know what this is?” I held it in front of his eyes.

  “A big-ass straight pin,” he said. “My grandma used to use those for sewing.”

  “Actually, it’s a hat pin. Longer and thicker than something you would sew with. Can you move your arms, Tommy?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Listen real close to me, Tommy. This is important. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, not only are you not going to cum tonight, but you’re not ever going to be able to again. I’m going to shove this through your testicles until I’ve completely pierced them both. I’ll skewer them, and you’ll still tell me. And we won’t be able to have any fun together.” I frowned at him. His penis was completely flaccid and drooped over his testicles.

  I cupped his balls in my left hand, tightened my grip, and started toward them with the pin in my right hand. “Tell me his name. The leader. The guy with the dark hair, widow’s peak. Wears a big silver watch.”

  He sighed. “Kurt Dello.”

  I said the name over and over in my head. “Who’s that?”

  “He runs a crew in town. He’s one of Faranacci’s guys. He’s into all kinds of shit.”

  “What kind of shit?”

  “Illegal shit. I don’t know it all.”

  “Who is Faranacci?”

  “Joe Faranacci. You know, Crazy Joey?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t know Faranacci? He…he’s…fuck. He’s like the devil.”

  “Unless Stupid Joey was the one with his dick up my ass, I don’t really give a shit about him.”

  “It…it’s Cr…Crazy Joey. Not Stupid Joey. Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  “Forget Joey. It’s Kurt Dello I want to talk about. You told Dello about me? About me taking the CD and where to find me?”

  “I did,” he said. “You were the only person I could think of that would have taken it.”

  “What did you think they would do?”

  “Get it back.”

  “No. What did you think they would do to me?”

  “I…I don’t know. Just get the disc back, I guess?”

  “Tommy, you are a terrible liar. You knew this Kurt Dello was a tough guy, right? You just said he would kill you for talking to me. What did you think he would do to me?”

  “I didn’t care. I mean, I uh. I didn’t think. Of course I cared. I just…didn’t know what to do, right?”

  “He hurt me, Tommy. Him and his thugs.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “I thought they were going to kill me, but they didn’t. They hurt me real bad.”

  “I wish they hadn’t done that to you.”

  “Me too,” I said. “But if it makes you feel any better, Tommy, I was a trainwreck long before the train hit me.”

  “Yeah, you are one wild woman.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “Who?”

  “Fucking Kurt Dello.”

  “Oh. I don’t know. I go through a guy named Driscoll. You can find him at his private social club on Second Avenue North. It’s off of Broadway.”

  “Driscoll, huh?”

  “He can tell you where to find Kurt.”

  “Does Kurt ever go by the social club?”

  “He doesn’t that I know of. I doubt you could find him there.”

  “Can you move your arms now, Tommy?”

  He glanced down at his hands. “Don’t think so.”

  “Okay. You trust me don’t you?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Just don’t jab me with that pin. Do what you were doing before. That was real nice.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m going to help make things easier for you.”

  I took a syringe out of my purse and a rubber tourniquet. “I’m going to tie this around your arm,” I said, wrapping it around his bicep and tying the stretched ends together. “See? That’s not so bad. Can you make a fist?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try. It’s important. You really should try.”

  His fingers slowly, dutifully curled into a limp ball. “Now you’re going to feel a little prick.” I slipped the needle into a vein in the crook of his arm.

  “What is it?”

  “Something to help you relax. It’s all good.” I released the tourniquet. “You’re going to sleep now, Tommy. Rest well.”

  His breath became slow and shallow with long pauses between. I sat by him until he stopped breathing entirely. I pressed my fingers against his neck and felt no pulse.

  I got out of his car and fixed my dress so that I wasn’t exposed. I walked two blocks back toward the city to the empty lot where I had left my car earlier in the day.

  I felt a sudden need to purge. I kept a scrunchie in my purse for such moments. I pulled my hair back in a tight ponytail and fixed it in place with the scrunchie. I leaned forward, pushed my finger down my throat, and vomited onto the parking lot.

  I got in the car, blew a sober breath into the ignition interlock device and started the engine.

  ***

  When I got in that evening Lenny was out. The Lollipop Lounge was still in full swing that time of night.

  I showered and brushed my teeth. I used Listerine. It’s not that Tommy had tasted bad. He was clean. It was just that he was dead now, and I didn’t want any reason to think of him ever again. I dressed in a t-shirt and underwear and poured myself a strong drink.

  I sat watching TV but couldn’t find anything of interest.

  I got up and paced through the apartment. I felt an odd restlessness. Like an urge that I couldn’t put my finger on. I drank more and smoked some cigarettes but that didn’t calm the craving. I hadn’t used any coke, so it wasn’t that. I just couldn’t seem to mellow out.

  I took a clean razor blade and cut a thin line across my thigh until blood was drawn. Nothing.

  I thought of all of my other addictions and couldn’t identify a substance that would give me the fix I needed.

  I tried leaning against the kitchen counter on my elbow, one hand in my underwear, masturbating furiously, the other hand on my breast. I worked at it hard, pushing my button and twisting my knob like only I could. I kept at it until my fingers grew tired. No relief.

  I paced back and forth through Lenny’s apartment going from room to room to room. The restlessness built and my pace turned from a walk to a jog. I kept this up until my calves ached and my heart pounded in my chest. The restlessness lingered.

  I thought about making myself vomit, but there was nothing to purge but the bourbon, and that was probably doing me more good in my stomach than it would coming up.

  I smoked a joint to mellow out. I got plenty baked but
still, nothing. The urge burned within me.

  Nothing I did relieved the intense anxiety.

  I couldn’t shake the strong urge for…something unknown. Once, during an extended lock-up, I suffered delirium tremens—DTs. The need that I felt now was no less intense than that had been. I was borderline desperate for…what?

  I sat on the floor drinking, trying to figure out what I needed. The alcohol combined with the pot, the cutting, the lack of eating made everything take on the texture of a Pablo Picasso painting, the yellows fading and bleeding into the dark blues, a faint ripple on the surface. Somehow it seemed to help me focus by losing focus.

  After a while it came to me. The hunger I felt was the overwhelming urge to kill the rest of them. That was it. Only their deaths would satisfy my deepest-felt need.

  FIFTEEN

  Driscoll’s was a first-floor joint downtown crammed between businesses on either side. It consisted of a private bar that opened onto Second Avenue, a one-way street that ran north off of Broadway. I staked it out nightly from an Irish Tavern on the other side of the street. I would sit evenings between dates nursing a beer buzz and eating fish and chips while watching the bar across the street.

  The greatest thing about fish and chips and beer was that I could upchuck the whole mess easily. The fucking Irish, they’ve got it all figured out.

  On my fifth night staking out the place, I recognized a couple of guys there as the two thugs that had been watching the back door the night I stepped out of the club. Neither of them were the men that struck me or raped me, but they were a part of that group. They held me by the arms while those acts were done to me. One of them had to know the whereabouts of Kurt Dello.

  They arrived in a large, black sedan.

  I paid my tab and got behind the wheel of my car. I slipped the valet a twenty to blow into my interlock device. Thankfully he blew a negative reading, and I could start the car.

  I sat there and let the car idle in the night while I waited on the two men to come out and get in their sedan.

  Didn’t take long. They were in and out. They got back in the car, and I heard the engine start. I waited until they pulled out and I fell in behind.