THIRTY-THREE

Alice Palmer reached under her bed and took out the model car so her boyfriend, Earl Tucker, could see it. He took it in his hands and turned it in the sunlight streaming in through the window to get a better look.

Her mother hated Earl, and that alone made him appealing to Alice. She told Alice that Earl lacked class, had no sense of propriety, and had been shorted crucial social filters necessary for any interaction more involved than buying cigarettes in a convenience store. She further said he looked like a shiftless, genetically crippled cartoon hick. She said that the biggest decision he'd made in life was not only that being an illiterate black man was glamorous, but that he actually was one.

At nineteen, Earl was six feet four inches tall and had never in his life weighed more than one hundred and fifty pounds. He smoked Newport cigarettes, and did whatever drugs he could get his hands on. He had closely cropped hair, acne, a pronounced overbite, and large ears you could see light through. When he talked he motioned with his hands as though he was communicating with an invisible audience using sign language. Because he didn't have a regular job he was available when Alice wanted company. It wasn't like she planned to marry him or anything.

“So… know ah'm sayin’?… this same perv that's on the TV news gave you this and he wants it back enough to pay you five hundred dollars for it?” he asked. “Jesus… know ah'm saying?… this is our lucky day.”

“That's right,” she said. “He doesn't look like a pervert, but according to the news he is.”

“And, like we know, you know, look, he wanted to fuck you because you, you know, look like a little kid.”

“I never said that. He was just friendly, is all.”

“He wanted to fuck you, a’ight. I think he gave you the little car, like but when you said you wouldn't suck him off in the airplane bathroom, he took it back. So, look here now, you friggin’ snatched it out of being angry and scared and like that. Indian- giving son of a bitch likes young stuff. And he has big bucks, right?”

She shrugged. “How would I know that?”

“He has his own damned company. He owns the big place they showed on the TV How much you reckon we could ask him for? To keep his unproper advances on you quiet. A lot, is how much, know ah'm sayin’? Like I could get my tattoo finished, man.”

“The detective said five hundred bucks.”

“I figure it's worth like a thousand, you know? Like maybe a lot more than a thou,” he said, smiling to show the top row of prominent yellow teeth. “That's a starting point for a negotiating placement. Like see, they say one, you say naw it gone be more like ten, and we settle right smack in the middle.”

“His investigator gave me weird vibes. I think I better take the five hundred and get it over with.”

“You got this perv by the gonadies, my darling. You just say if this pervert don't pay the five grand, you might jes have to talk to the man about him putting his hands on your leg. Maybe saying he'd pay you-know ah'm sayin’?-to put on a Catholic schoolgirl uniform and let him fuck you while you sucked on his lollipop.”

“It was on an airplane. I doubt he thought I could get a school uniform on a plane. And how could he screw me while I did that, like I even would?”

“Naw, dig this, I mean later on, baby doll. He gave you that little card with your picture drawed on it so you could call him and set things up in a motel, you see. Let your brain create a little here. A real- life eighteen- year- old virgin that looks more like about thirteen. He wanted to talk to you. Anybody that wouldn't is a queer, pure and simple, know ah mean?”

Alice smiled at the compliment. “You think I look thirteen?” Earl was generous with compliments only when he was horny or had an idea about what she could steal, which was about always.

“You call this dude back and tell him he needs to make us a better offer? Then you say you can't be bothered to think about it fa’ less’n five grands and you ’ont come off that number even if hell freezes up. He tries to say no, you tell him you are going to talk to the cops about him trying to touch yo’ snatch and saying you looked maybe twelve or some shit, and ’bout him wanting to get a motel room and all ’at. Stick to it. I'll be right there to give you like lots of my own love and mental support you need. If he gets rough and tries anything I'll have my dad's gat.”

“You'd shoot him if he threatened me?”

“To protect the woman I luz with all my heart? On truth, I would! I gots a three- eighty and I can use it, know ah'm sayin’? And I don't give a flip how big he is, a bullet right between the dude's eyes will make him my size.”

Alice took the model car from Earl and tossed it onto the pillows on her bed. Running her hand up his leg, she grasped him through the material and felt him stiffening. She looked up at him, batted her eyelids, and bit her tongue, so he could see its tip. That, she knew from practicing in the mirror, made her look very sexy.

“Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Hell yes I'd shoot the fucker. I'd shoot the fucker for five grand. Fuckin’ A, I would.”

“But I'm not worth your risking jail.”

“Well, obviously you no Playboy beauty. You gots them tooth fences ’n’ a roly- poly belly and don't have no tits to speak of, but I luz you anyway.” He pressed his splayed fingertips against his chest for emphasis. “See, know ah'm sayin’? To me, you are more or less pretty enough in your own way, and you smart. My mama says, you got a lot to speak for yourself, rich girl or not.”

“That so,” she said.

“You know I love you, baby doll. You're my girl. I know you be savin’ yourself for your husband, but that's gone be me, know ah'm sayin’? I mean you needs to give it up for your man, know ah'm sayin’?”

Alice looked into his dull blue eyes and thought about it.

Tongue tip between her teeth-adorned with gleaming wire-Alice unzipped Earl's pants and freed his rigid member but didn't look at it. She'd seen it before.

“Maybe like later on we can do it. I'm not ready yet. But I'll make you happy.”

“A wise man once said, A wise man take whats he can get,’ ” Earl said.

When she began moving her hand on the shaft in the manner of someone chopping at a block of ice with a pick, he closed his eyes and he began moaning his approval softly. She picked up the pace, hoping for a quick resolution.

“Hey!” he said. “This ain't a race. Damn, don't you gots some soothing hand lotion or some shit.”

“It makes my hand feel slimy.”

“Then relax up on your grips or you gone take my skins off. Know ah'm sayin’?”

“I know what you're saying,” she told him.

Alice followed his instructions mindfully and as soon as she slowed down, he closed his eyes again. This was familiar territory, and she had come to view this exercise with the clinical detachment of a scientist conducting an experiment. As she stroked him, she watched his face carefully, so when he got that weird look and started whimpering, she would know to grab up his dirty T-shirt lying on the floor by the bed.

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