The Black Train

Those words, too, echoed down the street. Jesus, he thought. This is too hard!

So why didn’t he just leave?

“We were just making out, Justin,” she said, “and it was wonderful. It was passion, it was desire. But that’s never enough for you guys, is it? If two people are making out, then that’s carte blanche for the guy. Everything’s got to be a nut. Everything’s got to be a piece of ass. If a woman makes out with a man, even after she’s told him she doesn’t want sex, all of a sudden she’s got an obligation to fuck him—”

“Now you’re being a cynical smart-ass,” he countered. “That’s not how I feel at all.” He felt the need to convince her. “And look at it this way. I know now that I’ll never get to have sex with you. Right?”

She peered at him with suspicion. “Yeah.”

“So if I’m just your typical cock-hound, if all I’m out for is a piece of ass… then why am I still standing here? How come I’m not long gone?”

Dominique couldn’t answer.

“Tell me that you’ll go out with me again,” he insisted.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Justin—”

“Bullshit. It’s a great idea.” He squeezed her arm gently this time. “Tell me you’ll go out with me again.”

She sighed. “All right.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Great. What time?”

She grinned. “Seven thirty in the morning.”

What! “That’s really early.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Collier’s shoulders fell. “All right. Seven thirty in the morning. Where?”

She pointed across the street.

Collier couldn’t see the building very well, for the shadows. But he could see the sign just fine: ST. THOMAS METHODIST CHURCH. JOIN US FOR OUR EARLY SERVICE!

CHAPTER TEN I

“Please!” wept the nasally voice. “I’m begging you…My love!”

Jiff frowned, his feet kicked up in bed before the television. “But I was just there earlier today. You want me to come over again, tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, yes!”

“I—” Sheee-it! “I got too much work to do tomorrow,” he semilied. “My ma’s pissed at me fer not gettin’ to all my chores today.”

Sniffling. A croak. “I’m…worthless.”

You got that right.

“I love you.”

“I done told ya. Quit talkin’ like that!”

“I need…to be utterly debased. I’m not worthy of your love because, I know, I’m shit. I’m begging you. Come here tomorrow morning and humiliate me. Treat me like the garbage I am.”

It was getting pathetic. “No. I told ya. I cain’t.”

“I need to be profaned. I need to be debauched. Please, my love.”

“No!”

“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars…”

“I’ll be there. What time?”

“Thank God!” Another sniffle, and something like a yelp of joy. “Come at nine, and…Jiff?”

Jiff was trying to watch Home Shopping Network. “Yeah?”

“I need it…to be real bad. Because I’ve been real bad. I’m so unworthy of your love that I need to be treated like common scum, do you understand?”

Jiff waved his hand. “I gotcha, J.G.,” he almost yelled. He was getting to hate the pitiable fat old man and his masochistic kink games, but…

For a hundred dollars?

“Don’t worry. I’ll surprise ya. Now go to bed, I’ll be ’cos at nine.”

“I love y—”

Jiff hung up. At least business was picking up. He’d made over a hundred dollars today just at the bar; another hundred tomorrow just from one trick with Sute would cash in a fine week. Things could be worse.

It was going on midnight; Jiff hoisted himself up and left the room. He still had to empty the ashtrays and take the trash cans outside, then make a final window check before going to bed. When he passed Lottie’s room, he thought he heard her bed squeaking. Sounds like she’s humpin’ her pillow again, Jiff figured.

The next contemplation aggravated him. Sute wants something extra hard tomorrow. But Jiff couldn’t imagine what. He was being left to his own creativity, and as much of a pain in the ass as it was…

A hundred bucks is solid bread.

Jiff knew he’d think of something rough.

When he left the wing, he didn’t notice the pallid brown dog snuffling around at the other end of the hall. II

Collier came back to a lobby empty and barely lit. Damn, didn’t realize it was so late. He felt like looking around at more of the display cases but thought better of it. Need to go to bed right now, he reminded himself. I need to be in CHURCH at seven thirty tomorrow morning…He could still scarcely believe it. I’m pussy-whipped for a girl who will never go to bed with me. Collier thought hard about that, but didn’t feel any different after doing so.

He was really looking forward to seeing Dominique.

The incident on the bench seemed so absurd now, he almost laughed out loud. Smart move. Great way to really impress her. But his nerves still felt vibrant from being so close to her. He could still smell her hair, could still taste the clean sweat he’d been allowed to lick off her skin…

God…

He left Mrs. Butler’s truck keys behind the counter. Mental note: NEVER borrow her truck again. He’d walk to the church in the morning. He was about to turn up the stairs but noticed a display for the first time: an oblong glass display case on end, almost as tall as he. It held a woman’s dress, a rich burgundy, in something almost like velvet. BALLROOM DRESS WITH STOMACHER AND PANNIERS, the plaque told him. WORN BY MRS. PENELOPE GAST. Collier stepped back to assess it, as one might a painting. She wore that, he abstracted. A hundred and fifty years ago, her flesh and blood was standing in that dress—in this house…the wife of a twisted killer. The notion gave him a chill.

Mrs. Gast. Mrs…Tinkle…

He stepped away, unnerved, but not before noticing a much smaller case hanging on the sidewall of the stairs. It looked like a pair of crude pliers next to an old hat, but then he read, HAND-FORGED IRON COOLING