Iceman

27 DAYS LATER...Mount Olive

“Jinx, I never saw such a fucking rat's nest,” the whore with the crooked teeth said, smiling. “Find it for me,” she whined.

“Will you give me a goddamn break for five fucking seconds?” the other whore said, her hand over the phone mouthpiece. “Look for it yourself, you're in such a hurry."

“Eyeglasses case, wallet, pen, notebook, lipstick, knife, Jesus Aitch! Hair spray, compact, Esgic, deodorant tampons for a sweet-smelling pussy, powder blush, makeup bag, more lipstick, what a fuckin’ RAT'S NEST.” The whore named Jinx slammed the door—that is, she reached for the handle to slam the door but there wasn't any handle because there wasn't any door.

“This is Jinx.” She smiled into the phone. “Hidee. Any calls?” She waited. “Okay.” She said over her shoulder, “Brandi! Bring me my purse. Come on. Hurry.” The whore with the crooked fangs got up on her high-heeled boots and clacked over with the outstretched purse. The woman on the phone rummaged for her datebook. “Did you take my pen ou—"

She saw the pen. “Oh.” She handed the purse back. “Go ahead,” she said, speaking into the phone.

“Breath mints, Trojans, coin purse, rain scarf, hand lotion, gum, keys, a fucking rat's nest in here, I tell you. Aspirin, Kleenex, FINALLY the fucking Tums.” She popped a couple and removed something else from the depths of the purse with a smile.

When the whore named Jinx came back over to the table, she said, “Hidee, Heidie, any calls?” She stuck the beat-up joint in her mouth and posed.

“You dumb bitch, get that outta your mouth.” They both laughed. “You crazy fool."

The sleek car cruised the streets of Mount Olive's Strip, a notoriously high-crime-rate area populated by people who had almost anything that discretionary income could buy—the sort of goods not offered in your normal in-store product-and-service operations. But if it was a bit warm, chances are it would find its way to the Strip: dope, stolen merchandise, illicit flesh. These were the staples.

In this eight-block section of urban decadence you could seek out a variety of ways to rid yourself of surplus disposable income. As long as you were willing to pay for your thrills, there was very little that you couldn't buy—or at least order. Purloined laser discs. China white. Night people for sale in the full range of makes and models.

By the time the car pulled slowly past Cup's Bar, Jinx and Brandi were out in front, gossiping, giggling, and shaking tail for the cruising johns. He saw the one he liked and hung a right, quickly circling and making another pass. Stopping this time. He lowered the window and slid over where they could see his face.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he called, and they both came over anxiously.

“Hi. Wanna go out on a date?” the crooked teeth said. He ignored her and said to the girl beside her. “Hey, Blondie. How much to get down?"

“Wanna party?” the other girl said, sticking her face in the window suspiciously. Smile, you stupid cunt, he thought as he said, “Yeah, baby. How much?"

“What chew got in mind?"

“Let me think about it some and I'll let you know,” he said, quickly pulling back out as he changed his mind.

The other woman had been too interested in him. She'd seen his face. Even with the wig and the poor light he wasn't taking any chances. Too many people knew his face.

“Think about this, too,” the one named Jinx said, pulling up her short skirt and brazenly mooning him as he drove off. “Fucking cheesedick fag."

He liked the next one he saw alone. Walking fairly fast and young enough, but it was hard to tell. Very short and with the heels he figured yes but you got everything around here. Housewives tricking on weekends with hubby gone. College girls. One-night stands of any possible combination. Undercover cops. You name it. It was all out here. Even a boy or two.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She had a nice smile with her mouth closed and from a distance.

“Listen. I'm kind of alone and ... you know."

“You want a date?"

He breathed a small sigh of relief. “Sure. How much?"

“What do you want to do?"

“We could go look at my stamp collection. But I think I'd rather go get between some clean sheets and do the horizontal mambo. You know, fuck, and suck, and do the hucklebuck."

The girl laughed and opened the door, looking him over in the car light.

He smiled warmly. “Get in."

She did, but left the door open.

“Sixty—for you to suck it?” He pulled out a roll and she shook her head.

“A hundred for that.” He didn't speak right away. “I'm worth it."

“Sure, beautiful. I don't doubt it.” He peeled the money off. When she spoke, he had seen her teeth and she'd reminded him of Fang a minute ago. Did all these cunts have fucked-up teeth?

“What's your name, darlin'? Mine's Tanya.” He thought of an outcall ad. Tanya is young, long-legged, and busty. Dominant Wendi is slim and very pretty. We will fulfill your fantasies.

“Tanya. What a sexy name,” he said. “Mine's R.G."

“Hi, R.G."

Hi, you stupid bitch. The mouth. He finally realized who all these whores were reminding him of, these cunts with the fucked-up teeth, these fang-mouthed sluts—they were reminding him of Nicki when he'd first met her. I'll make em PAY for what they did to you, baby, he thought.

“You look like somebody I used to know."

“God. Really? A lot of people tell me I look like—you know—the one on that TV show. Donna Mills?"

“Yeah. You look exactly like Donna Mills. She's the one I was thinking of.” You look like GENERAL Mills, maybe. Stupid cunt.

“There's a nice place just a couple blocks from here,” Tanya said. She had a slight malocclusion that actually enhanced her smile, made it sexier, like Cher's before she had her teeth fixed. As if the woman's mouth was sexier for being flawed, figuratively or metaphorically more open, penetrable, accessible. More vulnerable.

“Negative.” He peeled off another twenty. Her whore eyes fastened on the roll of greenery. “I live six blocks away. Let's go there. We can shower or whatever—get nice and clean, you know?” She shook her head. She didn't think much of the idea.

“I know a nice dark street. Pull around the corner up there.” She reached for the money. He let her take it and she reached over and pulled the car door shut. He started the car and moved out.

“My place, babe."

“I don't go to private houses, R.G. Come on, hon, you just pull around the corner and I'll show you a great time. Okay, handsome?"

He kept driving straight ahead, talking to her gently, smiling his good-looking salesman's smile. She had a very short micro of a denim mini and a low, scoop-neck T-shirt. He reached his right hand over and put his fingers on the inside of her left thigh.

“Hey!” Her voice was grating when it was loud in his ear like that. “I toldja pull around the corner. Come on, now. Pull up there in the shadows and I'll really make you feel good, lover.” Without asking him, she pushed the power button on the radio/tape deck and one of his tapes began to play as the antenna slid up.

“Fuck THAT,” she said, punching the music off and twisting the dial to rock radio. “Lemme hear some JAM!” Loud formula rock blasted from the speakers and she immediately started moving in the seat. “Pull over up there."

He was so enraged he didn't even wait. He just turned in the seat and hammered her with his fist. A fast reflexive blow to the head. Hammered her again. POW. Reached over and pulled her closer, the powerful muscles of his upper body rippling as he took the metal object from its case and stabbed it down into her skull, rubbing himself with his other hand, mashing down on the brake light—having forgotten he hadn't even turned the engine off—ejaculating over Tanya's dying form.

“—fucking slut CUNT WHORE BITCH FUCKING SHIT—” Coming, the front of his trousers soaked, his hot splatter of ejaculate all over the car interior. He was still hot. He would take this one home and improvise with her for a long time before he threw her away.