William Bernhardt - Death Row

Ben arched an eyebrow. “Are you interested?”

“Let me think. A handsome hunk, never married, who’s also a billionaire.” She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be interested in that.”

“Just set up the interview,” Ben said, pressing his hands against the table. “Remember, folks, Ray Goldman has been wrongly incarcerated for seven years. Seven years . He’s lost his fiancée. He’s lost his business. He’s lost all his friends, family. And if we don’t do something to prevent it-he’s going to lose his life.” He paused, making eye contact with each of them. “Do I need to say anything more?”

April was wearing the transparent blouse again.

She did not intend it to be transparent, Gabriel Aravena reasoned, and she would undoubtedly be shocked if she knew that it was. But when she stood directly beneath the powerful overhead fluorescent lights in the store, it dissolved. Her brassiere was fully visible, as was her cleavage and the lovely little mole at the base of her neck. He could even make out her nipples, dark and firm and pert. They were winking at him, playing peekaboo.

Aravena smiled. Off Depo for a mere twenty-four hours. And what a change it had already made in his life.

The chemical castration, the hormones that were slowly turning him into a woman, enlarging his breasts, shrinking his genitals, making his facial hair turn to peach fuzz, had been arrested. If he was not quite himself yet, he was certainly on his way.

“Did you see what that clown was driving?” April asked. She was staring through the front doors toward the gas pumps. “The pickup with the jacked-up wheels?”

“I did.”

“Why do men do that? Or boys, I should say?” She turned slightly. It was as if she were pointing at him with those lovely little nippies. “Does it make them feel more manly?”

“Perhaps so,” Aravena said.

“I hate it when boys think they have to put on a big show.”

“All men are not alike.”

“No. You don’t do stuff like that, do you?” She smiled. “We’ve been working together at this store for-how long now? And you never do any of that macho-stud crap.”

Better living through chemistry, Aravena thought. “It would not be appropriate in the workplace.”

“I bet you wouldn’t do it, wherever you were.” She smiled, letting her hand brush his shoulder. Her touch sent his blood coursing through every part of his body. “You’re just not the type.”

As if you had the slightest idea what kind of man I am, Aravena thought. If you did, you would not be standing so close to me. If you knew how much I wanted you. If you knew how I would take you.

And now I can.

“I used to go out with this guy,” April said, “who drove one of those rigs. And he had tattoos all over his body. And he spit and cursed and chewed tobacco. Every he-man affectation in the book. His whole life was governed by his dick.”

Aravena felt himself becoming aroused. “What about the young man you are seeing now?”

“Larry? He’s all right. I mean, he’s kind of thoughtless sometimes. Rude. But I’m not thinking it’s going to be a forever thing, anyway, so who cares?”

“You should have someone in your life who treats you well, April. Someone who takes care of you.”

“Yeah, well, we’d all like that.”

“You deserve it.”

April’s eyes darted downward. “That’s very nice of you, Gabe.”

“It’s the truth.” And about that he was not lying. He would take care of her, given half a chance. He’d take care of her over and over again, till she cried for mercy. He’d take care of her in every possible way, every position, every orifice. He’d pound her again and again till she screamed. Till it killed her.

“I’m going to pour in some more Slushee mix. Can you watch the front counter?”

“Of course.” He watched as her curvy little butt sashayed away from him. It had been so long. Too long. But he was going to change that. He was going to change everything, starting-

“Excuse me?”

Aravena brought his eyes out of soft focus. There was a young woman standing before him on the other side of the counter. Tall, dark-haired, slender. Beautiful.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I need to pay for my gas.”

She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place the face. “How would you like to pay?”

“Plastic. What else?” The woman passed him a credit card. Sheila Knight, the name on the card read. Sheila Knight.

He stole a few furtive glances at her while he processed the card. Her blouse was not transparent, but it was so tight it might as well have been. She had no secrets. Her body was beautiful and she knew it. She wanted everyone else to know it, too.

Maybe it was just the effect of the chemicals drying up, but it seemed to Aravena that she was the most arousing, most devastatingly desirable adult woman he had ever met. And he had seen her before. He was certain of it.

But where?

It came to him as he thrust the pen and the credit-card receipt across the counter to her. She was a friend of Erin’s.

He smiled with great enthusiasm. “Thank you for shopping at FastTrak.”

She nodded, grabbed the receipt, and left. Too bad.

But he would see her again.

He watched as she passed through the front doors to her car, swinging her hips, inviting everyone around to drool over her. How he would like to give her what she wanted. What she was asking for. How he would like to throw her down, knock her to the concrete, take her under the pumps, roll around in the gas and grease and-

But that would not be smart. It would be pleasurable. But not smart.

He glanced at the credit-card receipt in his hand. That was his passport. The key to whatever he wanted to know about-or to take from-Sheila Knight. He would call the credit-card company and say that she had left her card behind. They would give him her phone number. From her phone number he could get her address. From her address, he could get-her.

He smiled, feeling better than he had all day. Better than he could remember, actually.

The days of looking and talking and being a woman were over. From now on, he would be himself. Himself and no one else. The real Gabriel Aravena. Not the fake chemically induced, harmless-puppy variant. The real thing.

He would be visiting Sheila Knight. Soon. And it would be a visit she would never forget.

Ben was doing double time across the street toward his van when he heard Joni shout. “Be-en!”

He stopped, and a moment later, she caught up to him. “Sorry, Joni, I’m running late. I have to get to McAlester-”

“The penitentiary? To see another of your glamorous clients?”

“Something like that. You can give me the maintenance update later, okay?”

“It’s not about the house, Benjy. I took Giselle to the vet, like you asked.”

“And you got her… got her…”

“Fixed? No, I didn’t.”

“But you said-”

“I know I said I’d take care of it. But there was a problem.”

“I’m waiting.”

Joni grinned from one high cheekbone to the other. “She’s already preggers, Ben.”

The color drained from Ben’s face. “Giselle? Pregnant? How-?”

“Do I really need to explain that to you again, Ben?”

“I mean-she spends the whole day locked up in the apartment.”

“Apparently she busted out. Or a furry friend busted in.”

“But-she can’t! I’m in the middle of a huge life-or-death case. I don’t have time for this.”

“You’ll make time.”

“And-I don’t know anything about delivering kittens.”

“Don’t panic, Ben. I’ll be there for the blessed event. It usually pretty well takes care of itself.”