Edward Lee: Mangled Meat

“Much better,” Leon said. “Let Phipps titty-fuck that… ”

That was it for Flood. He almost lost his footing then, heels thumping backward until his knees gave out against the edge of the bed. Then he fell over on the mattress.

And lay there perfectly still.

He couldn’t have gotten up again if he’d wanted to. But he could still hear them talking, ghost-voices fluttering around in the dark.

Leon: “Oh, yeah, that’s a good job. This lying bitch is hosed. ”

“Lemme get her ready.”

“Right. I’ll go down to the parking garage and bring the van around to the security door. I’ll also have Nick come up and help you get her down the stairs. He’ll lock all the stairwell doors on each floor so you can get her down without anyone seeing.”

“Got’cha. That was fun. Wish we could be there when Phipps takes a look at what’s lyin’ in his driveway in the morning.”

Flood’s heart felt truly dead.

“And it’s a shame, too. Greed is what I mean. And the other one’s worse. Taking a commission on any girl of mine she can swing over to Phipps. I can’t be embarrassed like this, I can’t have it. I can’t have that gold-toothed piece of cracker shit laughing at me.”

“You’re talking about Ann now, ain’t you?”

“Yes. You know what we have to do, right?”

“Sure.”

“You have any problem with that?”

A chuckle. “Me? I groove on it.”

“Excellent. Tomorrow, then. You pound that whore’s face in till she’s dead.”

“Oh, Mr. Flood, our records show that you’re booked for another night,” the lanky hotel clerk observed at the desk.

“Yes,” Flood mumbled. “Something came up; I’ve gotta leave a day early.”

“Oh, okay. I hope you enjoyed your stay at the Rosamilia.” The clerk produced a receipt, then Flood made a quick exit through the revolving door to the sun-lit entrance circle.

He couldn’t leave till tomorrow, but there was no way he’d be staying the last night here. The place disgusted him, because it reminded him of what he’d done—or what he hadn’t done—while Therese was being raped, beaten, and mutilated. It reminded him of what an utterly irredeemable human being he was…

The wheels of his suitcase squealed as he walked over to the next hotel. He knew what he would do, though; he simply hadn’t done it yet and wasn’t quite sure why. Haven’t worked up the nerve, he supposed. A coward all ways… The procrastination, at least, gave him time for some lame rationalization. I couldn’t have called the police last night, because the call could be traced back to my room. Couldn’t call from my cell phone, either—it’s gotta be anonymous. And I couldn’t call security ‘cos that’d be even worse. Leon’s got the hotel security man on his payroll.

It worked a little, at least.

I’ll call the police from a pay phone, blow the whistle on the shit going on in Room 415. I’ll tell the cops about Jinny and Therese. Leon and Oscar will get questioned and spooked, not knowing who ratted on them. Maybe Jinny and Therese will even decide to press charges once the cat’s out of the bag. I’ll call Henry Phipps, too, from the card Carol gave me. The cops’ll put major heat on everybody, and at the very least, Leon and Oscar won’t beat up anymore girls, and they sure as shit won’t be killing this other girl tonight.

Flood sighed.

Then I’ll go back to Seattle and forget I ever came to this awful beach…

He stowed his bags at the new hotel, then made it over to the convention center. Nathans and Farris were exuberant; Flood had his sign-up meetings with a flock of corporate buyers, and deals were sealed. It took the rest of the afternoon but to Flood, with all that guilt sitting on his shoulder, each meeting went by in a fog. By dinnertime, he was done, and when he went back out to the showroom, his associates were high-fiving each other.

“This has to be our biggest haul at a con,” Nathans was rubbing his hands together.

“You might be right,” Flood said.

“We’re making the west coast sales dickheads look like doodly-squat,” Farris added.

“Can’t disagree with that, either,” Flood said. “You guys did great.”

“Great enough for a night on the town—on the company account?” Nathans pushed it.

“Once you guys get everything packed up…” Flood gave him a company credit card, “yeah. Have a good time.”

“Thanks, boss! Won’t you be joining us?”

“No, can’t. But I’ll see you guys at the airport in the morning.”

“Come on,” Farris implored. “We’ll hit some of those kick-ass strip joints in Tampa.”

The idea deadened the little left of Flood’s soul. “No, count me out, guys.”

“He must have a hot date.” Nathans grinned.

“Nope,” Flood assured. “But I’ve got a very important call to make.”

Flood left them in the convention’s decaying buzz. He knew what he had to do, and he knew he was going to do it this time. The anonymity of the call would guarantee his protection; there’d be no way Leon or Oscar could come calling for him because they’d have no idea who made the call. The police would have to follow up on something this severe…

The phone coves were all full, sellers either reporting windfall sales to their home-bases, or a dismal turnout. Flood wasn’t thwarted; he simply crossed the street back to the Rosamilia but when he found their phone cove full too, he saw no harm in putting off the call a while longer for some dinner.

He ate light and tried to relax, feeling better at least for knowing that he would soon report Leon’s crimes, however late. He couldn’t blame himself entirely, could he? Getting beaten up by your pimp was a hazard of any prostitute’s calling.

Flood even recognized that these mental observations were indeed excuses, but that was okay now because he was going to stop it all.

And the time is now…

He left the restaurant and went straight to the phone cove where there were plenty of available phones. He sat in the first booth, lit a cigarette in spite of the NO SMOKING sign, and took some time to think. And there’s another girl named Ann, he could tell the police. When they find her, they’re going to kill her. Then he’d hang up and leave.

Easy.

But before he could dial, another voice leaked in through the gap in the booth’s folding door, a woman’s.

“Hey, Jimmy, this is Ann. Remember me? Yeah, yeah, two nights ago at the Swigwam. You said I could give you a call. Still game for tonight?”

Flood sat frozen, listening.

Ann…

Something moved then at the fringes of his vision. He didn’t quite catch it.

Figures entering the cove?

A tap, not at his door but at the next.

“Okay, Jimmy, look, lemme call you back in a few, okay? Something just came up.” A girlish chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, that too. Talk to ya real soon—‘bye.”

“There she is,” a man’s voice could be heard.

Another man’s: “We’ve been looking all over for you, we were worried.”

“I told you I’d be here, Leon. And here I am.”

Leon and obviously Oscar.

“Good,” Leon said. “I got a rich as hell optometrist wanting you in a bad way, showed him your pic in the brochure. But he’s only got an hour, and his wife’s in his room.”

“That’s cool. How about I use your room?”

“Great. Here’re the keys. Go get ready, and we’ll bring him up. He’s going to meet us in the bar in a few minutes.”

“Sure thing. I’ll call you on your cell when he’s done.” Then the door in the next booth closed, and a woman walked by.