‘Just gotta get you something to wear.’ He climbed out, shut his door quietly, and walked around the front of his car, the revolver swinging at the end of his lanky arm.
Inside the other car, the couple were embracing, unaware of Willy’s approach.
‘Watch out!’ Marty yelled. ‘Get out of here!’
The girl with her back to the passenger door saw Willy approach the driver’s window. She stopped moving. For a moment, the boy continued to squirm against her. Then he looked over his shoulder.
‘Oh, hello,’ he said. He sounded embarrassed and very young.
‘Out of the car.’
‘Yes, sir.' The boy fumbled along the top of the dashboard and found his glasses, then looked down at his open shirt.
‘Get out,’ Willy commanded.
‘Just a…’
The girl said something to him.
The boy reached for the ignition.
Willy stuck the gun muzzle against the boy’s ear. ‘Out. Now.’
‘What do you want?' The kid no longer sounded embarrassed; he sounded terrified.
‘You’ll see.’ Willy opened the door for them, and the interior light came on.
Marty saw how young they were. Sixteen, maybe. The girl might’ve been even younger - fourteen, fifteen?
The boy climbed out of the car. His fingers moved quickly to button his shirt as if it were very important.
‘You, too.’
The girl pressed her back against the passenger door.
‘Willy!’ Marty said. ‘Let her alone.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Do you want money?’ the boy asked.
‘Yeah. Good idea.’
The boy reached into his rear pocket. He slid out a wallet. Marty could see his hand shaking.
Willy jerked the wallet away.
‘Hey!’
‘Shut up, kid.’ Willy leafed through some bills, then shut the wallet and stuffed it into his pocket. ‘You’re filthy rich, you little shit.’
‘I’d like to have it back,’ the boy said. ‘Please? Keep the money, but I’d like to have my billfold back. It was a present.’
‘Tough titty,’ Willy said.
The boy’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. ‘Give it over.’
Willy laughed.
Suddenly, the boy went for him, face turned away, windmilling with aimless fists, crying out, ‘Give it you lousy son-of-a-bitch motherfucking bas…!’
The gun barrel crashed against his skull.
Marty cringed at the sound of it.
The boy staggered on wobbly legs.
Willy hit him again on the head. Marty turned away.
When she looked back, the boy was lying on the ground and Willy was leaning into the car. ‘Your turn, hot stuff,’ he said to the girl. ‘Come on.’ He grabbed one of her hands and dragged her across the front seat.
Her free hand caught hold of the steering wheel. Willy tugged until she let go. Gasping with alarm, she tumbled backward out of the car. She landed on her back, legs in the air.
Making a show of gallantry, Willy helped her stand up. He turned her around and brushed the dust off the back of her knit shorts and jersey.
‘Real cute,’ he told Marty, looking over his shoulder and beaming her a smile. ‘Real class.’ He patted the girl’s rump. ‘You’ll look great in this outfit, honey. Think it’ll fit? She hasn’t got much in the tit department. What do you think?’
Fiends
‘Just leave her alone, Willy.’
‘That’s twice you’ve said my name, you dumb fuck.’ He faced the girl. ‘Take your clothes off.’
The girl stood rigid.
‘Come on, hot stuff, strip.’
‘The boy’s clothes will fit me better,’ Marty said.
‘Shut up.’
‘They will!’
‘Strip,’ he told the girl.
Marty threw open the door and started to climb out.
Turning, Willy pressed the muzzle between her eyes. It made a subtle ache, way back behind her eyes, like something she felt once while trying on the glasses of a friend. She sat back down in the car, but left the door open and kept her feet on the ground.
Willy jammed the barrel down the back of his jeans. He grabbed the girl’s jersey at its waist and tried to lift it. She clamped down both arms, holding it in place.
‘Get your arms up.’
She pressed them closer to her sides. Her mouth was a tight line.
‘Okay,’Willy said. He let go of her. Taking out the pistol, he knelt by the unconscious boy. His thumb drew back the hammer. ‘I’ll give you five. Start stripping.’
The girl didn’t move.
‘One.’
She still didn’t move. Marty glanced at the revolver. Its hammer, at full cock, looked like a vicious mouth about to snap shut.
‘Two.’
The girl crossed her arms and gripped the bottom of her tight jersey. She peeled it off in a quick, fluid motion.
Marty felt sick for her.
‘Three.’
She tucked the jersey under her chin and unbuckled her belt.
‘Come on.’
Her fluttering hands opened her waist button, found the zipper tab and pulled.
‘Four.’
The jersey fell, but she didn’t stop to pick it up.
‘Real nice,’ Willy said.
Both her hands tugged the tight shorts down her legs.
‘Five.’
‘There!’ she cried out. Naked except for her panties, she hugged her breasts and sobbed loudly. ‘There! I’m done! There!’
Willy lowered the hammer with his thumb, then stuck the revolver into his jeans again. He picked up the girl’s clothes, shook the dust off them, and tossed them to Marty. ‘Get them on,’ he told her.
‘I’ll have to stand up.’
‘So stand up.’
He went to the girl and put his hands on her shoulders.
‘Keep your mitts off her,’ Marty said.
‘Shut up and get dressed.’
Holding the clothes, Marty watched him slide his hands down the girl’s arms. They moved down her sides. They caressed her hips. They clutched and rubbed her buttocks. Then they tore off her panties.
