Addison yawned, stretching her sore limbs, and went to the bathroom for a quick pee. She had to bite her tongue to suppress a scream. Goddamn did that burn. She washed up, pretending the pain didn’t exist. Maybe one day it wouldn’t, although she doubted it.
She made her way out into the kitchen, nostrils following the meaty scent of bacon.
And sure enough, there was Connor, hovering over the stove frying a pan full of bacon strips. He glanced over his shoulders and smiled at her. “Morning, baby.”
“Morning.”
“Go ahead and grab a seat. You want some coffee? Orange juice? Milk?”
She sat down at the kitchen table. “Since when do you cook?”
“Girl, I’m the best cook in the Midwest.”
“You’ve never cooked for me, before.”
“Well I am now, so shut up before I throw it all in the trash.” He poured a cup of coffee and brought it to her.
He returned to the stove. Addison looked at the large plate of pancakes and bacon on the table before her and dropped her jaw. “Jesus, Connor, I don’t think we can eat all of that. Where’s your dad?”
“Already went to bed,” Connor said, finishing up the last set of food. “But, um, we have a guest joining us.”
“What?”
She couldn’t think of a single person. Except for his bandmates, of course. But if they suddenly showed up, she was leaving. Those kids were nothing but freaks. She didn’t understand how Connor could hang out with them so much.
Connor opened a cabinet and brought out a jar of peanut butter. He put it down on the table with the rest of the breakfast and everything clicked. Then there was a knock at the kitchen door.
Addison gaped at Connor. “You didn’t…”
He looked at her and shrugged. “I had to.”
He opened the door and let in an old friend, one they hadn’t spoken to in quite a while. She walked in the kitchen with the same spiky pink cotton candy hair, the obnoxious piercings, and a tight tank-top.
“‘Sup, bitches!” Candy Blossom said, and saw the plate of bacon on the table. Her green eye shadow broadened. “Aw shit, you guys are too cool.”
And without another word, she was sitting down across from Addison, digging in. She took a knife and spread a glob of fresh peanut butter on a pancake, folding it around a pile of bacon and taking a large bite.
Addison adjusted her position in the chair and winced. Her appetite was lost. She sat there sipping her coffee and nibbling on a strip of crispy bacon.
“You gonna eat that?” Candy asked.
Addison willingly handed over her share. “Help yourself.”
Connor pulled up a seat between them and helped himself to a couple pancakes and a tall glass of milk. They sat there, eating in silence. Then Candy said, “So, what’d y’all wanna talk about?”
“How do you eat so much of that stuff and never get fat?” Addison asked. She couldn’t help it. It was driving her crazy.
“Bulimia,” Candy replied.
“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“Well, that’s fucked up,” Connor said, and shrugged. “No, that discussion can be saved for later. I called you for a different reason. We need some help and don’t know who else to turn to.”
“What happened? You guys kill someone or something?” She laughed.
Connor and Addison exchanged looks.
“Oh,” Candy said. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah.” Connor sighed. “I know.”
“Christ, what did you guys do?”
He told her.
He told her all of it. It took a while, but he told her everything that had happened to them since Friday night. It was only Sunday morning now, but God, did it seem like so much more time had passed—a lifetime.
Most of this storytelling session Addison spent in the living room, watching episodes of The Twilight Zone on Netflix. She couldn’t bear to listen to him talking about it very long. Eventually he finished and she joined them again in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee.
“So, what do you think?” Connor asked.
“You guys are racking up a body count and you want my advice?” Candy said, a little shocked. “What makes you think I’m some kind of expert?”
“Well, we don’t know anyone else we can trust.”
She seemed touched. “Really?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Then I advise you get a shit load of cash and get the hell out of Dodge as fast as you can. How’s that sound?”
“Well, yeah, we already figured that,” Connor said. “But the problem is, how? How do we do that?”
“Hell if I know. Go rob a bank or something. Invest in stocks. Mow a lot of lawns.”
“It’s November!”
Addison just sat back, thinking. She wasn’t really sure why Connor had gotten Candy involved, but maybe there was something she wasn’t seeing. After some bickering Addison interrupted them. “What about my father?” she asked. “I already have him trying to come up with some money. Maybe he will.”
“Maybe so,” Candy said. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Yesterday. He was the one who dropped me off yesterday before…you know.”
“Well, do you know his number?”
Addison nodded, reaching in her pocket. “He gave me a place to call.” She pulled out a crumbled up sheet of paper with a number scribbled across it.
“Then call him and see what’s up,” Candy said.
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“All right, fine.” Addison went off to the living room where the telephone was. Not even a minute passed before she returned. “Some guy answered and said he was unavailable. So, I guess I’ll call back later.”
Candy shrugged. “Well, all right. But in the meantime, how ‘bout some more of that bacon?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Violation of Good Leather
Maddox was awakened bright and early the next morning by a pair of eager hands shaking him. He opened his heavy eyes to spot his brother leaning above him, more excited than a kid on Christmas morning. He was dressed in a black and white suit.
He bounced up and down. “Ready to go?”
Evidently, someone had gotten into the coffee.
“What in the hell are you wearing?” Maddox attempted to sit up but sunk right back down as exhaustion overwhelmed him. He felt like vomiting and going back to sleep, and then possibly vomiting some more.
“What do you mean?” Benny asked, apparently offended. “This is what they wore in Reservoir Dogs! Remember?”
“This isn’t Reservoir fuckin’ Dogs, Benny. Now go change out of your bank robber costume and get into something more casual before I change my mind about this whole thing.”
“Fine!” Benny stomped his feet down to his bedroom. The same bedroom where the lot lizard had held up camp for the past day or so, shrieking like a dying coyote in heat. And if Benny was going in there, that meant…
Reluctantly, Maddox cranked his head over to the sofa where Jazzy was lying with Floyd resting between her legs. This happened to be one of the rare occasions in which Maddox had seen the beast in actual clothes, and he counted it as a blessing.
The Lord works in mysterious ways.
The lot lizard was scratching her long swamp green fingernails along Floyd’s shiny scalp. He purred like a cat with each motion of her claws. They were watching a show that seemed to portray the simple life of two ditzy blonde chicks. TV had really gone downhill.
“What are you two all dressed up for? Leaving already?” he asked hopefully, and yawned.
“We’re coming with you,” said Floyd, wearing gray sweatpants and a white university T-shirt that was three sizes too big for his body. Excluding freaky monkey noises, this had been one of the very few things he had said since his first encounter with Jazzy. She seemed to have calmed him down considerably.
“Excuse me?”
“You t
houghts youse coulda gotten away from me dat easy, sugar?” Jazzy laughed, dressed in the same biker attire as before, including the leather whip holstered at her side, looking as menacing as ever.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Maddox gulped. It was suddenly very humid in the trailer and he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
“Oh puleaze! I knows what youse two were plannin’. Hit the road Jackie-boy and thinks I’d never get my money, huh, my deserved paycheck, is that it? Well nice try, honey! That hyper little boy in there told me all abouts it this mornin’ while you were asleepin’ away. I knews somethin’ wasn’t right, and of course my suspicions were correct. After a little torturin’, I founds out what I needed to know all right. Oh yeah!”
“Oh God, what did you do to him?”
She winked. “Oh a little of this, a little of that…”
“You sick twisted bitch,” Maddox whispered, feeling pity for his poor stupid brother.
“As I understands it, I’ll finally be gettin’ paid today, yes?”
“Yes, sweet Jesus, yes! You’ll leave afterwards, right?”
“O’course,” Jazzy said. “Along with my lover.” She squeezed her large chicken wing arms around the blushing Floyd and slobbered along his head, leaving it all wet and squeaky.
Benny walked out wearing blue jeans and a gray flannel. He gestured to the outfit. “Better?”
“I do believe you look like a redneck, Benjamin,” Floyd said.
Maddox cleared his throat. “Bring the gun.”
“Way ahead of you, bro.”
* * * * *
The Cadillac pulled into the Super 8 parking lot at 11:20 A.M. Maddox had to borrow forty bucks from Jazzy for gas, which had of course raised their tab from three to five thousand. He was seriously debating just killing her. He probably would have, too, if not for the fear of likely failure. This was one strong prostitute.
Benny sat next to him in the passenger seat while Jazzy and Floyd relaxed in the back. She reeked profoundly of motor oil. The repugnant odor was finding a permanent home in his poor leather seats.
Rocking back and forth in the seat, Benny asked if he was ready.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Maddox killed the ignition but left the key hanging there. There was, after all, a chance of a speedy getaway, and he didn’t want to delay essential time digging in his pockets for the car keys.
Benny stopped rocking and scrunched his face as if in concentration. “Not a clue. What am I doing?”
Maddox sighed and gave God a dirty look, questioning His reasons for cursing him with such an imbecile of a brother. He looked back at Benny. “All right, pay attention, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. You listening?”
“When am I not?”
“You’re going to fuck this all up, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Maddox didn’t believe him for a second, but what other choice did he have? “Okay, fine, just pay attention. You’re gonna sit right here in the car, okay? And I’m gonna go way over into room 23 with a briefcase. Now, this is where you come in, all right? If I don’t return in fifteen minutes, I need you to get up outta the car and come running in, gun blazing. Gun blazing, Benny. You know what that means? It means you don’t ask questions, you don’t say a single word. You just start shooting…and whatever you do, you do not shoot me. Understand? Chances are, if I’m not out in fifteen then that means it’s a double cross and they’re planning on killing me. Do not let them kill me, Benny. If you do I swear I’m going to kick your ass so bad…”
“How you gonna kick my ass if you’re dead?” Benny grinned.
“I’ll come back from the grave as a ghost and haunt the shit out of you.”
“What kind of ghost? Bruce Willis or Casper? I rather liked Casper.”
“No, I’m not going to be friendly. I’ll be a drink-all-your-beer kind of ghost. You want a ghost drinking all your beer? Huh?”
Benny stopped grinning. “No, no I do not.”
“All right,” Maddox said, “then don’t get me killed.”
“You two are so cute!” Jazzy cut in, leaning forward between them. Loud smacks echoed from her mouth as she chomped her rotted teeth down on a wad of bubblegum. The stench of motor oil blew forward like a rancid gust of wind.
Maddox ignored the beast and trained his attention on his younger brother. “Repeat my instructions.”
“What?”
“Repeat my instructions.”
“Oh, um, okay. Uh, you’re going to room 32...”
“No! 23!”
“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re going to room 23, and if you’re not out in fifteen minutes I go in there guns blazing. Shoot first, ask questions later—but not you, ‘cause your ghost will drink all my beer. Anything else, chief?”
“I don’t know,” Maddox said. There was still about three minutes left to kill before show time. His vision traveled aimlessly until they came upon the black pistol shaking nervously in his brother’s lap. “You know how to work that Beretta, right?”
“That what?”
“The Beretta. Your gun.”
“Oh yeah, right, right, right…yeah, sure I know how to work it. I ain’t no damn kid, ya know.”
“What’s the magazine’s capacity?”
“Huh?” He seemed thoroughly puzzled. “I think I have an old Rolling Stones back here somewhere, if that’ll do.”
There was suddenly a loud obnoxious snort of laughter from the lot lizard in the backseat. A chunk of thick snot sprung forth and splattered against the dashboard, making her giggle. “Whoops.”
Silently grateful the snot had missed his face, Maddox went on: “No, you idiot. How many bullets can it hold?”
“Oh! Uh, twelve, I think.”
“Is it fully loaded?”
“Of course.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Not really.”
“I figured,” Maddox said. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have to use all twelve—hopefully you won’t need to use any. I have to go now. Just remember, fifteen minutes, room 23.”
“And don’t shoot you.”
“Correct.”
“Go ahead, Mads. I won’t disappoint you.”
Maddox doubted that, but felt there was no need to press the issue. He clicked the trunk-release button and stepped out of the Cadillac, but was interrupted when Jazzy’s large pit bull head came poking out of the window, nearly giving him a heart attack.
“Can I have your car?” Her tone was surprisingly less threatening than usual. It was almost human.
“What?”
“When you dies, coulds I have your car? It’s so cool.”
“What? I’m not going to die.”
“Yup, sure are.” Jazzy winked at him as he lifted the briefcase out of the trunk and slammed it shut. “Trusts me. I knows who this guy is right here. Jules? Yeah, he’s my pimp. He is one funky Negro all right.”
Maddox stopped, caught off guard. Sure, she was a prostitute, but that had been unexpected. “He’s your pimp?”
“O’course he is.” She pointed to the fishhook scar running across her face. “Who you thinks give me this beauty right here, huh?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, youse fucked.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, big boy,” Jazzy said. “So, can I keeps your ride or not? I’ll be takin’ real good care of it and all.”
“No way!” Benny shouted. “I already have dibs.”
“It’s true,” Maddox said. “He did call dibs.”
“Damn!” Jazzy returned to the backseat.
Maddox managed two feet before he was interrupted once again. This time it was Floyd.
“Hey, you.”
“What?”
“You think you could maybe score me a couple of those little bottles of motel shampoo? I just love those things. Oh, and some bars of soap! You can never have enough soap.”
“I’ll…
I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks,” Floyd said. “I’m gonna go do the sex now.” And with that, his head retreated back inside where Jazzy was waiting for him.
Maddox cringed and turned away. He climbed the slick motel stairs with the briefcase of drugs swinging in his hand. Tightening the Cubs cap against his scalp, he knocked on the door once, paused, added four more in rapid-fire, and finished with a duo. The infamous code knock of crime lords. Although, in Maddox’s humble opinion, he felt it rather lacked originality. Sadly, he did not make up the gangster rules. Other gangsters did. Gangsters much more gangster than himself.
He stood there waiting for someone to answer. Maybe no one was home, or perhaps he had the wrong information. To pass the time he began thinking about his precious car. He wondered if Floyd and the lot lizard were really “doing the sex” right now.
His poor leather…
The door to room 23 swung wide open and a pair of large black paws dragged Maddox inside, the door shutting quickly afterward. No one outside the motel noticed. He didn’t even have a chance to scream for help.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Black and White Pimp
Maddox was slammed into the wall face-first. Large hands worked their way in between his legs and spread them, quickly patting him down for any weapons—like, say, the Beretta he had left in Benny’s possession. Ha! Maddox spat silently, and then was roughly spun around to face the dimly lit motel room. The blinds were pulled closed, making the small television resting on a nightstand across from the bed the only source of light.
The fat man standing beside him, the one who had pulled him inside, was wearing a short golf hat and a tight leather jacket. “He’s clean!” he announced, and stepped away, hands folded behind his back like a true professional. It was a bit amazing the guy was able to wrap those short stubby arms around such a wide body.
The bathroom door creaked open and a ghostly sheet of light escaped into the main room. Out stepped a short scrawny little black guy, no more than five-five. Maybe a hundred and ten pounds. He wore a white suit, along with a white fedora and a set of white dress shoes. Hell, he was even holding a white cane.
Toxicity Page 15
