Monday, November 10, 2008
A Train, A Goldfish, A Man In Black---story 2
Lorenzo liked watching them cringe. The way their eyes widened and the tightness abour their jaws excited him. He could smell their fear and savored it.
Sam watched him. A fat man with long hair and little black eyes that looked like buttons, Sam didn't do anything on his own. He would wait for direction, wait and see how crazy Lorenzo was going to go. Tonight, Lorenzo was willing to go pretty crazy.
He held the goldfish bowl out from his body and waited for the first one to make eye contact. It was the mother. She pressed her young son closer, making a "shooshing" noise as she inadvertently looked up. Lorenzo felt the contact, the moment of electricity. He let go of the bowl and watched it drop and shatter. The sound was enormous. The three people on the floor jumped, but quickly settled down as Sam made a motion with the .45.
"It's a wild thing," said Lorenzo. He stepped over the mess he had made and squatted down, deliberately putting his back to the father as he spoke to the woman. "People live tame. But we ain't meant to. We're meat eaters. We're hunters."
"Hunters," echoed Sam. He sounded excited.
The mother pulled her son closer. Lorenzo wanted a greater response, needed a greater response. Someone was going to have to get hurt; it was the only way to ratchet things up.
“Do hubbie,” said Lorenzo.
Without hesitation, Sam squeezed off a shot. The child screamed as blood blended with the water, the shards of glass, and the dying goldfish. A little ceramic train which had been part of the bowl’s western motif turned red.
Lorenzo grabbed the woman’s arms and yanked her up. As she screamed and pleaded, he pushed her toward the bedroom. “Watch the kid,” called Lorenzo.
“You can play with him, but don’t kill him,” warned Lorenzo. “Not yet.”
Those words ignited more screaming from the woman. Smiling, Lorenzo carried her across the threshold and tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed. To remind her of what was at stake, he drew his gun. “Get undressed,” he ordered. Lorenzo liked how flat his voice sounded.
The sound of running feet. Little feet. Heavier feet in pursuit. Lorenzo grinned at the sound. “Games started,” he said.
A gun went off.
Lorenzo turned toward the door. “Dammit, Sam. I told you to control yourself.”
Seeing her wilt, feeling that the fight had been drained from her by this turn of events, he considered just killing her and finishing it. She would be no fun now.
The door opened behind him. Lorenzo expected a rush of apology, a note of disappointment and fear. Sam was a big child. Hard to stay mad at him, really.
The gun fired again.
Posted by Stewart Sternberg at 12:15 PM