“I know you love Southern fried chicken and mashed potatoes, so we’ll stop and get you some.”
Forget the mashed potatoes. I want grits, Victor. I haven’t had grits in way too long. Hey, I really like the whiskers and the glasses, makes you look all badass and dangerous and smart. Turns me on. After dinner, let’s stop a little while.
Again he felt her warm breath, felt her lick his cheek.
He shook his head at her. “Come on, stop it, Lissy, you almost made me rear-end that car. Look, we’re nearly out of rush hour now, all the worker bees are starting to peel off. Don’t lick me again, not yet, okay? I’ll find us a place to eat dinner.”
And no one will recognize my guy. You really look hot, Victor, and maybe a little bit mean. Just right.
He was whistling when he walked into the Golden Goose Diner in the small town of Winslow, Virginia, and slipped into a cracked leather booth. A pretty blond girl with a pencil tucked over her right ear, wearing shorts and a skimpy top, came to his table, looked him up and down and grinned. “Hey, you ready for some barbecue?”
“No, not tonight,” Victor said. “Fried chicken, a double order, ah, and some grits.” He saw Lissy was smiling really big. He added to the waitress, “Lots of butter in the grits, please.”
Both the portions were huge, and when the last chicken wing was only bones, Victor pressed his hand over his belly. He was stuffed and felt faintly nauseated. Too much fat. He thought of all that fried lobster, and all the fried chicken he’d eaten in his short life. Lissy should have been happy, but she wasn’t.
That little bitch is flirting with you, Victor. She keeps coming back here, pressing closer and closer, talking to you in that slutty voice. You let her see that wad of cash on purpose, didn’t you, to get her interested? You want to have sex with her since I have staples in my belly and it hurts too bad ? You sleep with her, Victor, and I’ll shoot her ass.
He’d never before seen Lissy jealous and realized it made him feel hot, like a chick magnet. He pulled back his shoulders, gave the waitress a big smile when she came over, and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “I’m Victor, and your name tag says Cindy. That’s a real pretty name. Hey, keep the change. Maybe after work you’d like to have a glass of iced tea with me, cool down? Or we could go somewhere.”
Cindy Wilcox made a snap decision. Victor looked nice, sort of sexy with that long hair and goatee. Fact was, she was bored. She looked at her iWatch, a gift from her married brother last Christmas. “Thirty-five more minutes, and I’ll be done here. Hey, I’ll ask Chuck real nice if I can leave early, how’s that?”
“Sounds good. Why not bring me a glass of iced tea, and I’ll wait for you.”
Victor watched Cindy sashay back behind the counter and fill his glass with more tea, squeeze in some fresh lemon, plunk in the ice cubes. He breathed in deep when she leaned over to set his tea on the table, felt her breast brush his arm. The feel of her was amazing. She smelled like roses. He knew Cindy had seen the cash and knew, too, she wanted some of it. He didn’t blame her, didn’t think less of her, stuck in this hick town in a hick diner with crap air-conditioning and grease floating in the air. He could take her to a nice cool motel and see. Or maybe it would be best to go to her place. He felt Lissy’s anger, thick and hot, pouring over him, into him, heard her hissing in his ear, and that felt even better than good.
He smiled, glanced at his own watch. “I’ve got some time before I have to be on the road again.”
Ten minutes later, Victor followed Cindy’s ancient faded green Mini Cooper as it twisted through a half dozen quiet, unlit streets. It was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic and no screaming kids. They were all inside, watching TV, then off to their beds for the night. She pulled into the driveway of a middle-class duplex in a not-bad neighborhood, turned off her Mini Cooper, got out, and walked to his car, hips swaying. He stepped out of the Chrysler.
Cindy said, “Hey, not a bad car, except for the color. Why’d you get a vomit-brown car? It’s like a rental nobody would ever steal.”
Victor said smooth as silk, “That’s why exactly. I had a car stolen once, a beautiful white Mustang, so all I buy now are ugly-butts. Never got one stolen again.”
“Did you live in a bad neighborhood?”
Victor thought of Jennifer Smiley’s house at the cul-de-sac in Fort Pessel, only three or four hours’ drive southeast of Winslow. It wasn’t a bad house, a bit run-down, and the neighborhood had been mainly white, hick, and nosy. “Yeah, maybe,” Victor said, and stared at her breasts.
48
* * *
Cindy laughed, fully aware he was looking his fill at what her mother called her “assets.” She knew she looked good. There was no way he would get back on the road tonight. She’d made up her mind while she’d helped clean up Chuck’s greasy kitchen so he’d let her go early. She’d see if the skinny cute dude with all his cash might be her meal ticket out of this lame town. He was better-looking than the paunchy middle-aged man she’d met two years ago on the casino floor in the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. He’d scored ten grand at blackjack and laid his eyes on her nubile self, and she’d kissed him, congratulated him, told him how lucky he was. He’d taken her shopping, and she’d come home with two designer outfits, a diamond bracelet, and three pairs of Louboutin shoes. She’d left the dude smiling. It would be the same with Victor—she’d butter him up, make the right promises to get him to offer to take her with him, didn’t matter where. She imagined there was more than ten thousand in that roll of cash he’d flashed at dinner, and she intended to have a blast with him until it was gone. She’d leave him smiling, too. “I’m going to turn on the air conditioner the minute we get upstairs. It’ll cool down pretty fast. Come on, Victor, let’s forget the iced tea and have a little bourbon. That’s my favorite.”
Victor stood behind her while she unlocked her front door, surprised to hear Lissy whispering in his ear. You want to have some fun, Victor? All right, let’s go play with the little slut.
Why wasn’t Lissy still jealous? It made him mad. Time to turn up the heat. He whispered under his breath, “Nah, you don’t want to play with her, Lissy, but I do. She’s really pretty. Time to enjoy myself. You need to leave us alone.”
You think you’re going to screw her? Fat chance. Once we’re upstairs, well, you’ll see. It’s time for me to have some good old-fashioned fun, too, not just you.
“You already had your fun today. We blew up a church, Lissy, this morning. Wasn’t that enough for you?”
Yeah, we did, but hey, did you manage to kill anybody? Haven’t heard you did. That precious FBI agent you locked in the closet at Gatewood, there he was, all hale and hearty, and even old Octavia’s coffin made it out okay. So nope, I’m not about to miss more fun. I do like you looking dark and dangerous. I guess the little slut agrees with me. But you need some more glue or your beard’s going to molt off.
“Did you say something, Victor? Ah, at last, this heat makes the door sticky. Come in, come in. You open windows for air, and I’ll put on the air conditioner.”
Victor walked into a small entrance hall that held a side table with a mirror over it, covered with a stack of mail that looked mostly like bills to him. Poor Cindy, tips must not be very good at the diner.