Box

7

“I understand how you stole my handcuffs,” he says. “How’d you steal the key?”

“Is that your only question?”

“I’ve got others.”

“Can you ask them all up front?”

“Why?”

“It’ll save time. That way you can hang me and still have time to get to the county fair before the corn dogs sell out.”

“How’d you talk Trudy into goin’ out back with you? And how’d you keep her from screamin’? ”

“Screaming?”

“When you raped her.”

“Whoa,” I say. “I never raped her, and you know it.”

He gets to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my rope.”

Moments later I’m startled to see the rope he’s brought has already has a professional hangman’s noose at one end.

“You’re going to hang me with a used rope?”

“Why do you care?”

“I’ve got a thing about germs.”

“Trudy’s the pride of Wilford County,” Scooter says. “Homecoming queen, three straight years.”

“I’m not surprised. Were you the runner-up?”

He frowns.

“How’d it go down?” he says. “Trudy’s smart. How’d you get her to go outside with you?”

“I tricked her.”

“How?”

“I told her I saw a starving cat out back and asked permission to feed him a crab cake.”

“And she went with you?”

“She did.”

He nods. He can see that happening. Then he says, “When you cuffed her to the fence, why didn’t she scream?”

“I said I’d kill her if she made the slightest sound.”

“You admit you tried to rape her?”

“I’ll admit I wanted to.”

“Close enough,” he says.

He unties the rope around my chest and legs but my wrists are still bound.

“Are these the same handcuffs?”

“Yup. I felt they was appropriate,” he says, helping me to my feet.

He places the noose around my neck and tightens it. Then kicks me in the nuts so hard I fall to the floor and nearly pass out. When I come to, I’m in a world of hurt, gagging, choking. He helps me to my feet and kicks me in the nuts again.

By now my pain receptors are numb with adrenalin, so the pain is palpable. Still, it’s enough to make me fall to my knees, retch, and start dry-heaving.

He helps me to my shaky feet a third time, and tosses the other end over a beam I now notice is situated directly above his chair. He makes me stand on the chair, then on top of the chair back. Then he takes up the slack, and ties the rope to one of the stall doors.

“You’ve got good balance,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“If you slip, you die,” he says.

“Got it.”

He watches me a minute, then says, “What sort of name is Box, anyway?”

I start to answer, then say, “Does it really matter?”

“Not really.”

He watches me some more, then says, “I can go ahead and kick the chair out from under you if you’d like.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll try to balance a while and see how it goes.”

“Any last words?”

“Four.”

“Let’s hear ’em.”

“It was worth it.”

“You wanna share what you mean?”

“Trudy Lake was awesome! Her tits are perfect! Feeling her up was one of the highlights of my life!”

“Worth dyin’ for?”

“And then some! Her nipples were like pencil erasers. Her breath, her tongue, sweet as condensed milk.”

“Condensed milk? What the fuck type of degenerate mother-fucker are you?”

“The kind that would haul Trudy Lake off to New York City and give her ass a daily pounding. I mean, be honest, Scooter. Can you just imagine what it would be like to get some of that?”

“She’s barely eighteen!”

“Which means I could fuck her for ten years and she’d still only be twenty-eight!”

He comes around to look at me. He’s red-faced, furious.

“You’re jealous,” I say.

“No.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“She’s my daughter, you miserable fuck!” he yells, then kicks the chair out from under me.