Resurrection
Tim Marquitz
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Chapter One
There is no wound whose pain cannot be salved by the soft touch of a beautiful woman.
For me, it’s more like a little bump-and-grind, beauty optional.
It’s a good thing I’m not picky because Candy, the little filly rubbing up on me like buttered toast, wasn’t gonna win any beauty pageants. Short and a little on the bony side, sporting a wild mane of greasy hair, which failed to cover the pockmarks on her face, she wasn’t exactly a model of attractiveness. But that’s okay. You can’t feel ugly in the dark.
Not that I was bashing her, or anything. I was still there, right?
We both understood it was a business transaction. We weren’t looking for love. I was just renting a good time from a woman who wouldn’t bat an eyelid when I broke out the vat of Jell-o and a snorkel. She didn’t care about my broken heart or want to hear how my day went. She wasn’t looking to be the next Mrs. Trigg. All she cared about was the big, hard bulge pressed tight against her sweaty little hand.
My wallet.
Not in the mood to play games, I grabbed her hips and pulled her to me, leaning close to her ear so she could hear me over the throbbing bass of the club’s sound system. “You want to take a walk?”
“Already?” She plucked her glass off the table, taking a slow sip. “I’m not even finished with my drink.”
“What, you gettin’ paid by the hour?” I knew the routine: buy her a bunch of overpriced drinks and keep stuffing dollar bills in her skirt until closing time before I’d be given the pleasure of emptying my pockets for a quickie out back. Not up for the soft sell, I cut out the middle man. “Just chug it and I’ll throw in an extra hundred so you can drink to your heart’s content afterward.” That worked.
With a loud gulp, she sucked down the remains of her Jack and Coke, then tossed the empty glass onto the table. She hopped to her feet, tugging me up by my belt.
“What ya drivin’?” she asked, all about the romance while she pulled me toward the door.
“The primer gray Impala out back.”
“Ooh. Big back seat?” She was easily impressed. That worked in my favor.
“Room with a view.”
More of a show than tell kind of guy, I hurried her out of the Old Town strip club and around the back of the building to my car. I whipped open the creaking rear door, having left it unlocked for quick access, and rushed her inside. I slipped in after her, settling into the seat. Her hand was on my crotch an instant later.
“I hate to do this, but it’s cash up front.” She gave me a crooked smile, all feigned innocence and poor dental hygiene. She punctuated the sentence with a flutter of her fingers. “And don’t forget the hundred you promised.”
I grumbled as I pulled my wallet out, yanking several crisp bills from inside, and handed them over. She counted them with a pleased look on her face, then folded the cash before slipping it into the waistband of her mini-skirt.
On the clock, she undid my belt and attacked my zipper. Her lithe hands, nothing less than professional, went about prepping me. Not that it took much these days. A stiff wind and I’m reaching for a napkin. I’m loads of fun in a crowded x-rated theater.
Any other time, I’d watch Candy work her magic, but the club was situated at the outer edge of Old Town, just off the desert that surrounded the city. No matter what you had going on, it was best to keep at least one eye peeled in this neighborhood. This wasn’t the place to let your guard down.
As usual, my cynicism and paranoia were right on the button. I hated them for it.
Out of the corner of my eye, a figure shambled out of the darkness near the rear of the parking lot, just beyond the glow of the shimmering club lights. I watched for a moment longer and then Candy shifted from her hands to her mouth. My eyes shut for just a second, an involuntary moan slipping out. Without a doubt, the girl was gifted.
When I regained my composure, I looked back at the figure as he walked herky-jerky toward the club, muttering to himself. I chuckled as the drunk stumbled, weaving his way toward the beckoning neon signs that promised all manner of unsavory carnal delights. He had about twenty too many from the looks of him. Tomorrow morning was gonna be hell on him, if he made through the night.
Pretty low on the threat scale, my paranoia be damned, I looked away from the drunk and watched my money in action. Just as I started to relax and get back into the rhythm of things, I heard an angry shout, followed by a woman’s screech. Candy stopped and peered up at me, her eyes wide. Growling, I looked out the window to see a couple backing away from the wobbling drunk who’d apparently careened into them as they’d exited the club. Even from the car, I could hear him jabbering something incomprehensible while he moved toward them, wavering from side to side.
The couple’s faces were plastered with terror.
Thinking that was a strange reaction given the circumstances, I took a closer look. While I couldn’t really see the guy that well, I noticed he had his arms thrust out before him, reaching for the woman. Irritated, and not up to playing the hero, I tried to ignore the situation, urging Candy to keep going. That’s what bouncers are for. I paid for a good time, and I was damn well gonna get one.
That’s when I noticed them.
Out of the desert, from the same direction the drunk had stumbled in from, a huddled mass of figures appeared. Like the guy harassing the couple, they seemed to shamble forward, their steps awkward and rigid. They, too, were mumbling loudly, their words lost in the jumble of their raspy chorus. Unable to see them any better than I had the first, I let my senses loose. They drifted out, invisible tendrils of my spirit, seeking the bare essence of the approaching crowd.
A shudder ran down my spine right then, which had nothing to do with flickering precision of Candy’s pierced tongue. I felt the dim, flickering sense of residual magic coming off the group, dappled with a lingering taste of spiritual decay. There was something not right about these guys.
I reined in my senses and looked back to the club doors. The couple had retreated inside, but the drunk followed. A second later I heard someone cry out. Another second after that, a choir of horrified shrieks rang out, drowning out the music and rattling my eardrums.
Candy popped up again and I shoved her back down fast, pushing her to the floorboard on the far side of the car. She started to complain, probably thinking I hadn’t paid for any rough stuff, but I put my hand over her mouth, gesturing for her to be quiet. She complied meekly. She was confused and scared, but amenable. She hadn’t survived this neighborhood by being stupid.
“Stay down and keep your mouth shut,” I whispered as I packed all my parts away and did up my pants angrily, trying not to catch anything in the zipper. There’s something wrong with the world when a man can’t even pay to get off without interruption. I was gonna be asking for a refund, no doubt about it.
Things situated as well as they could be, I reached under the front seat and pulled out my chromed. 45 and bullet belt. Candy whimpered as I checked the chamber, probably thinking I was gonna use it on her. I did my best to calm her with a toothy smile as I strapped the belt on.
“Don’t move. I’ll come back and get you once I figure out what’s going on,” I told her as I opened the car door as quietly as possible. Not knowing what I was dealing with, I didn’t want to announce my presence any sooner than I had to.
She nodded and sank further into the floorboard, grateful she wasn’t gonna get shot. I had no such
