The Minotauress

Balls and Dicky traded another uneasy glance. 'He's gotta point there, Balls,' Dicky said.

But Balls shook his head. 'Look, Crafter ain't married and he ain't got no kids or reller-tives. I'se know for a fact there ain't no one else in this house.'

Just then, quite loudly, a television clicked on upstairs.

'This is CNN Headline News,' a woman was saying, 'and this is Lynn Russell reporting on all of the nation's up to the minute headlines. In Milwaukee, Wisconsin, today alleged serial-killer Jeffery Dahmer was arraigned on six counts of capital murder... '

Balls pulled the other two aside, into a dim hall beside another door with, of all things, a cross on it.

Now here's a cross INSIDE, the Writer reflected. Crafter's obviously no Christian, so why would he mount a cross on THIS door?

Balls and Dicky weren't the least bit interested. All of their faces glowed eerily in the candlelight.

'Keep yer voices down,' Balls whispered. 'There's someone upstairs watchin' fuckin' television. Whoever it is... we gots ta get rid of 'em so's we can finish the haul.'

'But who is upstairs?' Dicky whispered after huddling closer.

No answers were forthcoming.

All the while, the Writer considered: How can a TELEVISION be on when the power's cut off? But he did not give voice to this curiosity.

'Yer buddy Tooler fucked up,' Dicky sniped. 'Crafter didn't go to fuckin' Spain. It's probably Crafter hisself sittin' upstairs, waitin' fer the police.'

Against the wall, a mahogany stand inlaid with crisp amethysts stood with a phone on top. The Writer picked up the phone and listened. 'No dial-tone. Crafter probably did go on this trip of his and had his phone turned off. So whoever is upstairs couldn't have called anyone.'

'Good thinkin',' Balls said. He tiptoed across the expansive sitting room and straddled Cora. He slapped her face several times till she roused, then pressed a palm across her lips. ''Shhh. Not a word. Someone else is in the house, upstairs... '

He helped her up and led her back to the hall.

Cora's objection was a whining whisper. 'Someone else in the fuckin' house? You're fuckin' shittin' me! We gotta get out'a here!'

'Only person goin' anywhere is you,' Balls informed her. 'Upstairs.'

'My fuckin' ass,' Cora illustriously stated.

Balls' face set. 'Listen, Cora. I'll'se make a deal with ya. We needs ta know what we're up against, so you go upstairs and take a peek, see who's up there, then come right back down. You do that, and I'll untie yer wrists and let'cha go.' Then Balls cocked a brow. 'And if'n you don't do that, I'll cut'cher head off and piss out'cher mouth, then I'll scalp yer dirty pussy'n wipe my ass with it next time I take a corn-shit.'

The Writer had to chuckle. 'Not exactly an affable alternative, hmm?'

'Shut up.' Balls whipped out his Buck knife and flicked it open, eyeing Cora.

Cora sighed. 'I should'a never offered that old man a blow job back at the bar.' She blinked, took a deep breath, then began to walk very slow up the plushly carpeted steps.

From upstairs, they could hear the TV channels being changed. CNN switched off, replaced by some man with a German accent saying, 'But... this room has other qualities—in 1436 it was here that Prince and Princess Von Hart had their throats cut while they were sleeping.' A woman's voice: 'Their throats cut?' The German man: 'Yes, madam, but that was in 1436. Will you excuse me?' and then the channel switched to a baseball game, 'David Cone has just won his next shut-out for the Yankees! What another tremendous acquisition by George Steinbrenner, folks!' and next, a commercial, 'Not available in stores! Call now while supplies last! Get the patented Therm-O- Fresh Food Saving System for just four easy payments of $49.95. That's right, just $49.95!'

The Writer rolled his eyes.

Then the TV switched off.

Had Cora been discovered by the unknown sentinel? Balls pulled out his pistol, and Dicky very courageously suggested, 'Fuck it, let's just leave her, Balls. We'se can git out'a here while Cora's still upstairs.'

'No way, Dicky. You seen the loot in this joint. We ain't splittin' till our kick is full up.'

The three of them waited, pinned by shadows against the wall. A clock ticked somewhere. The Writer noticed again the other door behind him, with the cross on it, and without thinking he opened it. Cinderblock steps descended into darkness, and an awful smell assailed his nostrils.

'Shee-it, what's that stink?' Balls complained.

'It's coming from down there, presumably a basement.'

Dicky saw the cross. 'Just like the ones outside goin' ‘round the whole yard.'

'It's interesting,' the Writer reflected. 'An occult afficionado... using crosses as some kind of transitive emblem.'

Balls shot the Writer a funky look. 'Close that fuckin' door. The stink's pissin' me off.'

The Writer quietly reclosed the door, then went back to listening for any noises from upstairs. Then—

Tiny footfalls were heard padding fast down the stairs carpet.

Cora ducked around the hall. She looked more perplexed than anything.

'Well?' Balls asked. 'You see who's up there?'

'It's a gal, weird-lookin',' the addict-prostitute enlightened them.

'A gal? Old, you mean?'

'Naw, don't thank so.' Cora's eyes thinned. 'And she looked weird 'cos she was all, like, black.'

'A colored gal, you mean,' Dicky presumed.

'Guess Crafter's got a maid,' Balls supposed.

The Writer frowned.

'Naw, naw,' Cora insisted. 'I mean she was all black and wet. Like she been painted with black paint. And she was buck nekit.'

Balls sighed. 'A nekit woman painted black, huh? Shee-it. What else could I expect from a meth-head? You're seein' things, ya asshole.'

'I am not!' Cora objected, almost too loud. 'She was painted black, she was all