Killing Ways

53

Dainty Farraday was lying naked on the messed-up mattress. It was a raw nakedness, rough and careless, with nothing sensual about it, no attempt to be sensual. She had just taken a hit and was limp and dozy. Lights streamed through the high windows above her, making bright squares on her flesh and across the mattress.

Duke walked in and lay on the next mattress along, on his back, arms behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles.

He didn’t like it when she stayed here. But the Feds had descended on Benny’s apartment. There would be no going back there. Duke knew there was nothing of him in that place — he had never been there. But Dainty... Dainty was a powerful link.

‘Dainty, get on over here,’ said Duke.

She smiled her junkie smile. He knew that smile. He’d seen it a hundred times before. She was the daughter of an addict; he was the son of an addict. He went one way — drank in moderation, she went the other — down her mama’s junkie path. That suited him, though, that suited him down to the dirty ground. He was the one who guided her along it.

‘Dainty,’ he called. ‘Dainty lady. I’m waiting for you.’ He didn’t tell her about the pills he took to get him hard, she could be real mocking, like her bitch mama. ‘This is your fault,’ he called, pointing to his crotch. ‘You need to take care of a man. Look at what you’re doing to me. I’m waiting.’ He took off his jeans. He took everything off.

Dainty turned toward him. Her smile was mocking. He looked down at his erection, back up at her.

She blinked a few times.

Fuck you, you junkie bitch.

She reached out her arm, rolled to the edge of the bed and picked up her guitar. She slid it toward herself, sat up against the wall and began to play, began to sing.

You have a beautiful voice. Such a beautiful voice.

He closed his eyes. Nothing like your mama’s.

‘That’s real beautiful, Dainty,’ he said. ‘But I need you to take care of this!’ he said.

Or I’m gonna come over and stuff it in your face. I’m gonna pry open your jaws and choke you with it.

Instead, she started a new song. A four-chord song. ‘It’s a new one,’ she said. ‘Here goes: found his pills inside his pants, pops them so he’s got a chance, swore he’d never love another, he ain’t Harry, he’s my brother.’

She ended on a flourish, broke out in a cackling laugh. ‘Harris — Harry! That was funny. You gotta admit that was funny.’

Oh, you dumb bitch. You dumb, dumb bitch.

Then she broke down and cried, and her guitar fell to the floor with a bang and the dull sound of tuneless strings.

Hours later, Dainty drifted out of her terrible sleep. She could feel water pouring down on her.

It wasn’t water. He was standing over her.

‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘Oh my God!’

She tried to roll out from under the flow, and it was then her body erupted in pain. She screamed. All the realizations happened at once: she was naked, she was cold, she was wet, terribly wounded, she was bleeding.

‘No,’ she moaned, ‘no, no, no, no.’

And there are no drugs to numb you now.

She started shivering violently.

He was laughing as he zipped up his fly. He raised his foot and kicked her hard.

She howled in pain, howled again.

‘Get up,’ he said.

‘What are you doing?’ she said. Her words were slurred, but edging into hysteria. ‘Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to you? I’m going to be one of your victims now? We’re family...’

‘Run, rabbit, run,’ he said.

She whimpered. ‘I can’t. I’m—’

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up off the ground. Her legs buckled underneath her. He tried to steady her. They buckled again.

‘No!’ she sobbed. ‘No. Just look at me. Look at me. No.’ She tried to control her sobs. ‘Please don’t, please. I love you. You know I do. I love you, Harris! I love you.’

Duke stared at her. ‘People like us... we don’t know what love is.’