Blow Fly

54

GATOR EYES REMIND BEV OF periscopes fixing her in their sights before vanishing under water the color of weak coffee.

Jay told her gators won't bother her unless she bothers them. He says the same about cottonmouths.

"Did you ask them their opinion? And if it's the truth, then how come cottonmouths come crashing out of the trees, trying to get in the boat? And remember that movie we watched? Oh, what was it called…?"

"Faces of Death," he replied, on this occasion amused instead of annoyed by her questions.

"Remember that game warden who fell in the lake and right there on camera, this huge gator got him?"

"Cottonmouths don't fall into the boat unless you startle them," Jay explained. "And the gator got the game warden because the game warden was trying to get him."

That sounded reasonable enough, and Bev felt slightly reassured until Jay smiled that cruel smile of his and did a complete about-face and explained how she can tell if an animal or reptile is a predator, and therefore an aggressor, and therefore the fearless hunter.

"It's all in the eyes, baby," he said. "The eyes of predators are in front of the head, like mine." He pointed to his beautiful blue eyes. "Like a gators, like a cottonmouth's, like a tiger's. Us predators are going to look straight-on for something to attack. The eyes of non-predators are more on the sides of the head, because how the hell is a rabbit going to defend itself against a gator, right? So the little bunny needs peripheral vision to see what's coming and run like hell."

"I've got predator eyes," Bev said, pleased to know it but not at all happy to hear that gators and cottonmouths are predators.

Eyes like that, she realized, meant somethings on the prowl, looking to hurt or kill. Predators, especially reptiles, aren't afraid of people. Shit! As far as Bev's concerned, she's no match for a gator or a snake. If she falls in the water or steps on a cottonmouth, who's going to win? Not her.

"Humans are the ultimate predator," Jay said. "But we're complicated. A gator is always a gator. A snakes always a snake. A human can be a wolf or a lamb."

Bev is a wolf.

She feels her wolfish hot blood stirring as she glides past cypress knees jutting from the bayou like the ridges of a sea monster's back. The pretty blonde woman hog-tied on the floor of the boat squints in intermittent early morning sunlight. Wherever cypress roots break the surface, the water isn't deep, and Bev is vigilant as she motors slowly toward the fishing shack. Now and then her prisoner tries to shift her position to ease the terrible pain in her joints, and her labored breathing flares her nostrils, the gag around her mouth wetly sucking in and out.

Bev doesn't know her name and warned her not to say it. This was hours ago, inside the Cherokee, after the lamb realized she couldn't get out the passenger door, and if she tried to climb over the seat, Bev was going to shoot her. Then the lamb got chatty, trying to be friendly, trying to make Bev like her, going so far as to politely ask Bev's name. They all do that, and Bev always says the same thing: "My name is none of your fucking business, and I don't want to know yours or a damn thing about you."

The woman was instantly powerless, realizing that she wasn't going to talk her way out of whatever horror was in store for her.

Names have only two purposes: use them to manipulate people into feeling that their lives have value, and refuse to use them, to cause people to feel that their lives have no value. Besides, Bev will learn a lot about this pretty little lamb soon enough, when Jay monitors the news on his battery-powered radio.

"Please don't hurt me," the lamb begs. "I have family."

"I'm not listening," Bev tells her. "You know why? Because you're nothing but the catch of the day."

Bev laughs, enjoying the strength of her own voice, because very soon, she won't have a voice. Jay will. Once he takes possession of the lamb, there will be nothing left for Bev to do, except what he orders her to do or not to do. Mostly, Bev will watch, and thoughts of that overwhelm her with a compulsion to control and abuse while she can. She binds the lambs tighter than Jay does, tying ankles to wrists behind the back so the body is bowed, making it all the more difficult for the lamb's diaphragm to relax and contract as she struggles to breathe.

"Tell you what, honey," Bev says as she steers. "We're going to anchor right over there under those shade trees, and I'm gonna cover you good with skeeter spray, every inch of you, because my man ain't gonna want you swelled up and itching."

She laughs as her prisoner's eyes widen and tears flood her puffy red lids. This is the first the lamb's heard mention of a man.

"Now you quit your bawling, honey. You need to look pretty, and right now you're looking like shit."

The lamb blinks hard, the gag making wet noises with each agonizing, rapid, shallow breath. Bev steers the boat closer to shore, cuts the engine and drops anchor. She picks up the shotgun and scans the trees, checking for snakes. Satisfied that the only one in harm's way is her prisoner, she lays the pump-action shotgun on top of the tarp and places a boat cushion on the floor just inches from her "cute little catch of the day," as she continues to call her. Bev digs in her beach bag and pulls out a plastic squirt bottle of insect repellent.

"What I'm going to do now is take off your gag and untie you," Bev says. "You know why I can be that nice, honey? Because you ain't got nowhere to go but overboard, and if you think about what's in these waters, you ain't likely to want to go for a little swim. Or how about the fish box?"

Bev opens the lid of the coffin-sized fish box. It is filled with ice.

"That'll keep you nice and fresh if you decide to get rowdy. And you're not gonna do that, are you?"

The woman vigorously shakes her head and dryly says "No" as the gag comes off. "Thank you, thank you," she says in a shaking voice, wetting her lips.

"Bet your joints are hurting like hell," Bev says, taking her time untying her. "My man Jay tied me up once, my ankles and wrists tied up tight together behind my back until I was bent like a pretzel, just like you. It turned him on, you know." She tosses the rope on top of the tarp. "Well, you'll find out soon enough."

The woman rubs her raw ankles and wrists, trying to catch her breath. She reminds Bev of a cheerleader, one of those athletic blondes with pure prettiness, like those in Seventeen magazine. She wears small horn-rimmed glasses that make her look smart, and she's the right age, late thirties, maybe forty.

"You go to college?" Bev asks her.

"Yes."

"Good. That's real good." She disappears inside her thoughts for a moment, a slack expression on her fleshy, weathered face.

"Please take me back. We've got money. We'll pay you whatever you want."

Bev's meanness snaps back into her eyes. Jay's smart and has money. The woman is smart and has money. She leans close to the woman, the whine of mosquitoes loud beneath the trees. Not far away, a fish splashes.

The higher the sun gets, the hotter it is, and Bev's Hawaiian shirt is damp with sweat.

"Money's not what this is about," Bev says as the woman stares at her, hope fading from her light blue eyes. "Don't you know what this is about?"

"I didn't do anything to you. Please just let me go home and I'll never tell anyone. I won't ever do anything to get you into trouble. How could I, anyway? I don't know you."

"Well, you're getting ready to know me, honey," Bev says, laying a rough, dry hand on the woman's neck and stroking it with her thumb. "We're getting ready to know each other real good."

The woman blinks, wetting her chapped lips as Bev's hand works its way down, touching the hollow of her neck, then down lower, exploring wherever she pleases. The woman sits rigidly and shuts her eyes. She jerks when Bev reaches under her clothing, unhooking her bra in back. Bev starts squeezing the insect repellent, rubbing it on the lamb's naked body, feeling her luscious, firm flesh tremble like Jell-O. Bev thinks of Jay and the bleached area of the floor beneath the bed, and she shoves the lamb hard, slamming her head into the outboard motor.