Choice of Evil

“Want me to kiss you?” she asked, hand drifting into my lap.

“No.”

“I know you don’t. But someone made that mistake, didn’t they? With a lot less evidence than this, huh?” she whispered, flicking her long thumbnail just under the head of my cock. The response was a match in gasoline, but she just kept holding me, gently, waiting for an answer.

“Yes. That happened.”

“Some woman thought you wanted her, but you didn’t?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s involved too?”

“I. . . think so.”

“But she doesn’t know you?”

“No.”

“Know how I know? That she doesn’t know you?”

“No.”

She grabbed my cock around the shaft, squeezed hard, made one of her little sounds deep in her throat. “I asked you what you wanted. That never works on you. It hurts you to say you want something. Anything. So you never say. But if I asked you. . . if I said, ‘Could I?’ you would have said something different, huh?”

I didn’t answer. It was like it always was with her. She frightened me past fear.

“Some men like to be asked. Begged, even. If I got down on my knees and begged, would you like that?”

“No.”

“Why wouldn’t you? It would be a very pretty sight, wouldn’t it?”

“Sarcasm isn’t pretty,” I told her.

“Ummmm,” she moaned. “I don’t beg, and you don’t take orders. It’s so hard, huh?” She squeezed my cock again, chuckling, enjoying her magic tricks. Like always.

“You want to know why I came?” I asked her.

“You want me to stop playing with you?”

“No. It feels. . . nice. I just want. . . something else. Like I said.”

“You can have it,” she promised, breath soft against my face. “Whatever it is. You know that.”

“The way this started—the drive-by—I learned some things about that. It was a hit. Somebody was deliberately taken out, the rest of it was just cover. The guy who ordered the hit was Gutterball Felestrone. The dead man was Lonnie Cork. . . ‘Corky,’ they called him.”

“So? Gutterball’s with the Donatelli crew. And they’re part of the—”

“Yeah, I know all that. Listen for a minute, okay? The way I heard it, when Gutterball made the. . . arrangements, it was on the phone. And the guy he thought he was talking to—the hit man—it was Wesley.”

“Wesley’s—”

“Right. But he’s the key to all this.”

“How could he be, my poor baby? All Wesley is, is a ghost. A rumor. People talk about him in the street like he was a god, but he was a killer, that’s all.”

“That’s not all he was,” I told her. “I know. I know. . . him. We came up together.”

She nibbled at the carotid artery in my neck, waiting.

“Look,” I said, “here’s what I need to know: Is it true? All I got is a handful of rumor. I don’t even know if the stuff about Gutterball is the real thing. Maybe it’s just cop-talk bullshit.”

“Ah. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But you could find out some other—”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Or I would have.”

“Are you afraid?” she asked me.

“I’m always afraid,” I told her.

“I know. I didn’t mean. . . that. I mean. . . this. Of this. You don’t think Wesley’s alive, right?”

“Right.”

“Because, you know, it’s true, some say he’s not gone. That he never died. That he’s still. . . working. Some even think he’s the one doing all this. . . killing now.”

“But not you.”

“No. If Wesley was still here, I’d know it.”

“Will you do it?”

“I already said I would. But you have to trade.”

“Trade what? First you say you’ll—”

“I swore I would always protect you,” she hissed, “and I will. But you have to let me do it my way. My way, the way I know. I’ll get what you want—it won’t be hard. I have all the wires. But I need something. . . need you to do something.”

“What?”

“I need you in me. I need to taste you. So sweet. It banishes the. . . I’m not going to tell you. I want to taste you again.”

“All right.”

“Yes. And I want her too. I want to see her.”

“Who?”

“This woman who doesn’t know you.”

“Why would you—”

“Ssshhh,” she said, holding her fingers against my lips. “You don’t ask now. Two things. For what you want. Will you do them? Do them both?”

“Yes,” I told her.

“Do one now,” she said, her mouth dropping onto me.

Pansy and I watched first light come, sitting together. I wondered if I’d ever watch it come with a woman next to me. I knew Strega would do whatever she promised. She was a woman without boundaries, but she hated liars. In her mind, “they” were all liars. I knew who “they” were. . . . It was a secret she’d shared with me, and I never with her, but we were the same. She knew I lied. Knew it was part of what I did. But I didn’t lie to her, and I guess that kept the wolfpack of her witchery at bay.

I remembered one of the first things the Prof taught me Inside. “Nothing be strong if it don’t play long, Schoolboy. Insistent, persistent, and consistent, that’s the train you got to ride.”

I didn’t know why I was doing this anymore.

“You go there, now, okay?”

“Where, Mama?”

“Girl who eat here call. Her place. Now, okay?”

“I’m rolling,” I told her.

Broad daylight, but I moved the Plymouth through the badlands without attracting even a glance. Just another rustbucket on its way to one of the dozens of bootleg, no-license repair joints in that part of Bordertown— no big thing.

Mama had to mean the same place I’d found Xyla the last time. But I thought they wouldn’t open until it was time for the supper crowd.

Sure enough, when I pulled into the parking lot, it was deserted.

I got out, unsure of myself. But before I could make a move, Trixie came out a side door I didn’t know was there, and made a waving motion at me. I walked over to where she was standing, as evenly balanced as if she was tuned to the earth’s rotation. The way Max stood.

Xyla was at her computer chair, but the screen was blank in front of her.

“It’s the screen-saver,” she said over her shoulder by way of explanation. “He came back. There’s a file. But I haven’t opened it. Wait a minute, and you’ll see what I mean.”