8
He liked the danger. Oh, to be sure; he liked the sweet young sex, too, but it was the danger itself that was the real thrill. He'd once bought a girl here who said she was thirteen, but he suspected she was even younger. Happily.
The place was Loring Park, not so far from the Guthrie Theatre. Despite the best intentions of the city council and various outraged civic groups, parts of Loring Park remained a meat market for a very special kind of shopper.
Take tonight If you knew where to look, finding the kids willing to sell themselves for dope or food or yankee cash was easy enough. You drove to a certain section of the park, and there they were. Now, in the way of his headlights, they looked more than delectable. (Girls only. In his twenties, worried that he might be gay, he'd tried it once with a guy. It had neither excited him nor even shamed him especially. It just bored him. No; for him it was girls only). There were about a dozen girls ranging from the ages of perhaps fourteen to maybe sixteen or seventeen. Fat ones, skinny ones, white ones, black ones, clean-looking ones, dirty-looking ones. The boys, if you were interested, ran along the same lines. His own preference was usually the same-a short, thin girl with largish breasts. He even had a special preference in nipples. He liked smaller ones that came taut and erect quickly under his thumb. And one more thing: He liked innocent faces. In an era of breast-fuckers, mouth-fuckers, butt-fuckers, and God-knew-what-else, he considered himself still a romantic. He fucked faces. Sad little-girl faces especially.
He saw her in the arc of his headlights as he went up a small incline. She stood this side of a copse of trees. He knew immediately she was the one. Not too scruffy, not Girl Scout clean. A wan, pretty face and a body that looked ripe beneath a blouse, denim jacket, and jeans. She had long blonde hair blowing now in the steady wind. She made no concessions to him-no whore smile, no whore jiggle of ass or touching of breasts or pussy. Had some self-respect. He liked that.
He pulled up alongside her. He always did the same thing. Opened the passenger window and pushed his face out in a big grin. Then he waved the crisp new fifty-dollar bill in her general direction.
'Is that really a fifty?' she asked. Judging by her voice, he'd put her somewhere around fifteen. A little more knowing than a real kid. Been around some but not too much. That was another thing he liked about her.
'It sure is.'
'And it's for me?'
'If we get along.'
'I think I've seen you before.'
'Oh?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Aren't you cold out there?'
She smiled. It was a halting smile and all the lovelier for its hesitancy. He tried not to notice how much dental work she needed. 'Yeah, I guess so.'
'Why don't you get in, then?'
'I got to tell you.'
'Got to tell me what?'
'There's some stuff I won't do.'
'I'm a pretty normal guy.'
She grinned again. This time there was just a hint of irony in it. That part he didn't like so much. 'If you say so,' she said, 'but I'm serious.'
'About the stuff you won't do?'
'Right.'
'Well, you tell me what those things are, and I promise I won't ask you.'
'And I get the fifty?'
'And you get the fifty.'
She got inside. She smelled of cold night air and cigarettes and just faintly of sweat.
She shut the door.
'What's your name?' he said.
She looked at him oddly. 'Are you a cop?'
He laughed. 'Hardly.'
'Then why do you want to know?'
'Maybe I'm just being polite.'
She shrugged and looked out the window at the park that was quickly fading from view. 'Denise.'
'That's a pretty name.'
'I don't want you to put it up my behind, all right?'
He smiled at her little-girl crudeness. She was a find, was Denise. 'All right,' he said.
'And no rough stuff.'
'You don't have to worry about that.'
'One guy really beat the shit out of me once. I had to go to the free clinic.'
'Anything else?'
'Huh-uh. As long as you wear a condom, I mean.'
He smiled again. 'I'm well supplied.'
She looked out at Hennepin Avenue. On this part of the strip all the houses and businesses looked as if they could qualify for urban renewal.
'Mind if I ask where you're from?'
'You sure ask a lot of questions.'
Her sweet little pussy would more than make up for her sour attitude, he thought. 'Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I like you, and I'm interested in you?'
'Yeah. Right.' They drove some more. She said, 'St. Louis.'
'Beg pardon?' His mind had been drifting.
'I'm from St. Louis.'
'Oh. That's a nice city. The Gateway Arch and all.'
'Well, I'm not actually from the city.'
'From a small town not too far from there.'
'Farm girl?'
'Yeah. There somethin' wrong with that?'
He smiled. 'No; just asking.' He drove a while longer, and then he said, 'You don't like it, do you?'
'Like what?'
'You know. Having sex for money.'
'Seems like I don't have a lotta choice.'
'Can I be honest?'
She stared out the window, shrugged.
'That kind of turns me on,' he said.
'What does?'
'That you don't like it.'
'I'm happy for you.'
'You should take that as a compliment. It just means you've got some dignity; some self-respect.'
'Yeah, I've got a lot of self-respect all right.' He took her hand. At first she resisted; nothing obvious, simply held back. He took her hand and placed it on his crotch.
'Feels good,' he said.
'Right.'
He smiled again. 'You really don't like it, do you?'
'Would you like it, mister? Somebody always pawing at you?'
He started thinking very seriously about where it was going to happen. Where exactly he was going to kill
