XXXVI
“Sorry I hit you,” Erin said, “but we need to get out of here before the machos come.”
Dazed by the accident, Task reached across himself with his good hand (which was still covered by a blue rubber glove), pulled the silver handle, and shoved the door. He staggered out into the flickering yellow light and patted his right pocket, which contained a hunk of perpendicular metal that was a semiautomatic.
Something warm dripped down his chin.
The slick touched his nose, and a spike of pain shot into his brain.
“Shit.”
“Don’t touch that,” the brunette said while limping around the car on her bare feet. “It’s broken.”
“In the accident?”
“Yeah.” Erin pocketed the other semiautomatic inside of her windbreaker. “You slammed it against the wheel.”
Task recalled breaking his nose against the prison ceiling in the awful nightmare from which he had just awakened. “We should go to the next avenue, get a cab, and get out of this area.”
“Can you make it?”
“Think so. Can you?”
The brunette took the slick’s right arm and led him from the wrecked vehicle toward the corner. Headlights glared as a speeding cargo van thundered past.
The unsteady pair crossed the street, turned onto a dark road, and continued east toward the adjacent avenue.
Task noticed flecks of dried blood upon Erin’s thighs, and he shuddered when he recalled the smoking curling iron that he had earlier removed from her vaginal canal.
Dismissing the image, the slick returned his gaze to the distant avenue, which did not seem to be getting any closer. His breath sounded unnaturally loud, and his hands felt like ice.
“Can you keep going?” asked Erin, who was looking at Task.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you—about what I did to you. I never sh—”
Dizzy, the slick lost his legs. His knees smacked the concrete.
“Darren. Stay awake.”
A constellation appeared, covering the brunette and the night sky.
“Darren! Try to—”
Things went dark.
Task awakened, lying upon his back atop a piece of cardboard in a dark alleyway. The sky above lacked stars, and a quick survey of the narrow area in which he now found himself told him that he was completely alone. Although he understood that he had passed out because of blood loss, shock, and a possible concussion, he did not know how he had arrived at his current location.
The slick sat up and leaned forward. His beige shirt was soaked with sweat, excepting the left sleeve, which contained a darker and redder part of his being.
Scuffing footfalls approached the mouth of the alleyway.
Task assumed that the person was Erin, but then recalled that the brunette had been barefoot during their flight from the wrecked town car.
The slick reached into his right pocket—but found nothing.
His gun was missing.
The scuffing footfalls grew louder.
Task looked around the alley for a usable weapon. Only milk crates and garbage bins lay nearby.
Into the yellow pool of light limped Erin, wearing a white monogrammed bathrobe and two turquoise slippers. “I got us a motel room. Tried to pay cash, but they made me put down your credit card.”
“We can’t go to a motel,” stated Task. “We’ve gotta grab what we need from our apartments before the consortium—”
“You’ve been out for forty minutes,” said the approaching brunette, whose robe contained a heavy right angle. “They’re probably already at our places. Can you stand?”
“Think so.”
Erin helped Task to his feet. “If you think you’re gonna pass out again, say something. Dragging you wasn’t easy, especially before I found that piece of cardboard.”
“I’ll be careful.”
The slick and the brunette ambled to the end of the alleyway, where they circumvented the radiance of a street lamp and continued north along the sidewalk. Other than the two tiny red dots of a distant car, the avenue was empty.
Erin withdrew a bottle of cranberry juice from her left pocket. “Drink this.”
“Thanks.”
Task opened the beverage, put the rim to his lips, and drank. His agonies, fears, and burdened conscience were momentarily dissolved by the sweet, almost impossibly rich flavor of the juice. Walking north, the slick tilted the bottle until gravity had excavated all of its insides.
Ahead of the pair was a glowing sign that read, “Deluxe Continental Motel.”
Erin fished keys from her bathrobe and motioned to the sprawling establishment, which was a turquoise, two-story edifice. “Second floor.”
The pair proceeded across the parking lot, up the stairwell, and along the outer hallway. Into a teal trash basket, Task tossed the empty bottle.
The brunette stopped in front of room 243, slotted the key, and opened the door.
Light and air conditioning spilled into the night from the bright, clean room. Task walked inside, followed by Erin, who then closed the door, snapped a bolt, and notched the safety chain.
The slick saw that the turquoise curtains had already been pulled across the windows.
“Go to the bathroom and take off your shirt,” ordered the brunette.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Task circumvented the king-sized bed and entered the bathroom, which illuminated by itself. There, he removed his rubber gloves, slid buttons through eyelets, and peeled his beige shirt off of his sticky left arm. The sock tourniquet was dark with blood.
Erin limped through the doorway and lowered the furry toilet lid. “Sit.”
The slick obeyed.
Focused, the brunette set the semiautomatic and a first aid kit upon a stainless-steel towel rack, turned to the sink, and ran the hot water. Her green glitter fingertips found the tourniquet and gently loosened the knot.
Wincing, Task bore the pain in silence.
“Probably better if you don’t watch.”
The slick turned his gaze to the white, gray, and turquoise tiles that comprised the bathroom floor.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry too,” Erin said while peeling the dried, bloody sock from the wound. “You did some horrible things to get me to work for you, but it certainly would’ve been easier—and a whole lot smarter—for you to just listen to those guys in the trailer and pull the trigger.”
Task exhaled through his nose while staring at the floor. “I’m not so smart sometimes.”
“We certainly have that in common.”
Steam wafted as the brunette dipped a washcloth in the sink, wrung out the excess water, and applied the hot fabric to the gunshot arm.
Pain lanced the slick, jarring his heart and shutting his eyes, but it soon became tolerable.
Gently moving the washcloth in small circles, Erin cleaned the entrance and exit wounds. A tiny tingling pleasure gilded the burning sensations that Task felt.
“Doesn’t look infected.”
The brunette wrung fruit punch into the sink, shut off the water, and reached for the first aid box. Her belt loosened, and the neckline of her robe opened, revealing the shaded swells of her half-covered breasts.
Erin noticed where Task was looking. “You’d think a bullet would make tits less fascinating.”
“A woman might think that.”
The brunette tightened her belt, applied butterfly stitches to the wounds, and wrapped the slick’s entire upper arm with gauze. “Go lie down.”
“I need to call Karate John and have him shut down th—”
“The parlors are all closed by now. Go lie down.”
Task stood, and the bathroom wavered.
A palm landed upon his bare back.
“Lie down before you fall down,” ordered Erin.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Shirtless, the slick lifted his heavy feet and stumbled into the main room, where he flopped on the turquoise and gray bedding. Mattress springs chirped as he rolled onto his back, kicked off his Italians, and shed his slacks and socks.
The bathroom door shut. Metal squeaked, and a shower hissed.
Task rested his head upon an obese white pillow and shut his eyes. Filling his mind were images of Chester Fredericks, stainless steel handcuffs, dog anchors, a bedpan, haphazard wrestling moves, snot-flavored water, and a ball of chewed-up food. After twenty-five years of suppression, the slick’s conscience was finally lashing out.
A quiet moan issued from the bathroom.
Task eyed the closed door and listened.
The only sound that emerged was that of the shower hissing.
Thoughts of water running down the upturned face, long neck, and rounded surfaces of the brunette appeared in the slick’s mind, and tingling blood began to circulate inside of his phallus.
Another quiet moan issued from the bathroom.
Task sat upright and adjusted his boxer shorts. “Erin?”
The brunette cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
The slick discarded the obese white pillow, found a slim one that was turquoise and gray, and rested his heavy skull.
Metal squeaked, and the shower stopped hissing. Bare feet splashed water.
Thinking of green glitter toenails, Task felt his phallus grow across his thigh.
A low groan issued from the bathroom.
“Are you okay?” asked the slick.
Erin cleared her throat. “Turn off the light out there.”
“Okay.”
Pulse quickening, Task reached out and switched off the turquoise lamp.
Darkness filled the room, excepting the dim yellow light that limned the curtains and the white glow at the bottom of the bathroom door.
“Close your eyes,” said the brunette.
“Okay.”
Task shut his eyes.
A latch clicked, and door hinges squeaked. Gentle footfalls padded across the carpet. The mattress shook as Erin climbed into bed behind Task and pressed her bare breasts into his back. Soft hands slid across his sides and gripped his chest.
The woman was trembling.
“Hey. What’s—”
“I’m scared,” said Erin.
“I have a house in Mexico City and some money. If you want…you could come with me until you figure things out.”
The brunette sniffled and tightened her embrace. “Okay.”
“There’s probably a way to get the gang down there too.”
“Thank you.”
A warm kiss landed on Task’s nape, and Erin’s smooth calf glided along his right leg. Her thigh rubbed his hip, and she flinched.
“Ow.”
“Don’t push yourself,” said the slick, despite his arousal. “You need to heal.”
“The inside hurts a lot…but the outside still feels okay…”
Task opened his eyes, turned around, and kissed Erin.
Her mouth opened, and she received him fully. His bare chest pressed into hers.
The slick broke the connection, shifted his weight onto his good arm, and kissed the brunette on her neck, between her breasts, on her navel, and atop the small swell that was her shaved pubic mound.
A long deep moan escaped Erin as Task ran the tip of his tongue to the space between her legs and gently circled her clitoris. Her thighs began to tremble.
“Wait…”
The brunette pushed the slick’s face away from her button, rolled him onto his back, and pulled down his boxer shorts. Mattress springs chirped, and something clanked.
Erin straddled Task’s legs, dipped her head, and took his erection into her mouth. Waves of chestnut hair covered everything.
The slick groaned.
Slowly, the brunette raised her head.
Metal clanked.
“He’s loving it,” said a male voice from somewhere.
Erin bobbed her head down.
Facial hair chafed the shaft of Task’s phallus.
Metal clanked.
The slick woke up, fettered to dog anchors and lying upon the floor of the concrete room in the abandoned house. Light from the hurricane lantern glared in his eyes, and his stiff phallus was in the mouth of a bald and goateed black man who was performing an enthusiastic act of fellatio.
Horrified, Task yelled.
Chester chuckled.