Edward Lee - Succubi

“Damn if you weren’t right, fairy”’ Duke celebrated. “Looky!” Under the counter he found a big old Webley revolver. He held it up like a prize.

When Erik finally got the blonde up, she screamed and kicked him squarely between the legs. “Feisty little cooze, ain’t she?” Duke guffawed.

Erik went down.

Duke gestured. “Hey, darlin’. It ain’t polite to like leave without even sayin’ hello, now, is it?” The blonde was running for the door. Duke grinned behind the Webley’s sights and fired. The giant bullet struck the blonde in the left buttock, shattering her hip, and knocked her to the floor.

“Fuckin’ fairy.” Duke chuckled. “Ya let a woman kick your ass.”

The old guy was still churning in his own blood. “Looky there,” Duke observed. “Old fucker shat himself… Lights out, pops.” He fired a second shot into the old man’s head, which promptly exploded like a melon dropped from a great height. “I don’t think we have to worry about him tellin’ the cops nothin’ now, huh? You think so?”

Erik dragged himself up. “Fucking crazy psychopath!” he yelled, rasping. “We haven’t even been off the ward fifteen minutes and you’ve already killed three people!”

“It’s a kick, ain’t it?” Duke laughed back.

The blonde’s face ballooned red from pain and screaming. Her leg stuck out funny from her hip as she tried to drag herself out before a smear of blood.

Duke stuffed the money along with a box of shells into a plastic bag which read “Qwik Stop, the Happy Place to Shop.”

“Come on, fairy. Help me with the bimbo.”

The blonde blubbered, shivering, as they carried her out. The station wagon had keys in the ignition. Erik started it up while Duke pulled the blonde in the back.

“Glad this ain’t my car.” Duke chuckled. “This bimbo’s bleedin’ all over the place. Looks like she’s got some nice little titties, though.”

Erik spun wheels out of the lot. The girl shrieked steadily. “We can’t just let her die,” Erik yelled. “We’re gonna have to drop her off at a hospital or something.”

Duke’s grin flared in the rearview. “Oh, we’ll drop her off, all right. But not at no hospital. And not till I’m done.”

What have I let loose? Erik thought.

The girl screamed and screamed as Duke hauled off her shorts. He gave her leg a twist, snorting laughter, and she passed out. “Ain’t heard a woman scream like that in years. Makes my dog haaaaaaaaaard.” Erik could hear the shattered hip bones grinding. “Yes, sir, there’s some nice little titties,” Duke approved, and pulled the orange halter over her head. “Big cooze on her, though. Like you could drive a truck through it.”

Erik felt numb as he drove. This is all my fault, he thought. He should never have brought Duke with him. He should’ve found a way to get out himself.

“Hey, fairy, take a look. Show ya how a real man treats a woman.”

Duke’s mad, pumpkin grinning face descended. He gnawed, grunting, bit off a nipple, and spat it out the window.

Erik kept his eyes on the road. His heart was still racing. Duke had the knife and gun—Erik was helpless. All my fault, he thought over and over. He shivered when he heard Duke unbuckling his pants.

All my fault…

Duke raped the girl twice; after the second climax, she appeared dead. “You die on me already?” he asked, and stuck his knife right into her anus. She bucked and wailed. “Guess not!” Then he worked on her some more with the knife, for good measure, until she was dead.

“Later, baby,” Duke said when he was done. He popped open the back door. “Happy landings. And give Saint Pete a great big kiss from Duke.”

He shoved her out the door. The wind rushed. The naked body tumbled off the road into high grass.

Duke leaned forward, grinning. He put his arm around Erik. “You know somethin’, I ain’t had me this much fun since high school.”

Erik just drove.

Up ahead, the green road sign read “Lockwood 15 miles.”

—

Chapter 6

Ann fingered the plane tickets wistfully. “I want you to get those Delany ’rogs out tonight; give the assholes enough time to stew but not enough time to do the work, and also get the responses out to Winters’ document requests. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” asked the associate. He was young and lean, he had the hunger in his eyes. “That’ll be tough.”

“You’re the one who wanted to be a litigation lawyer. Get the stuff out tonight.”

The associate nodded, attempted a smile.

“I’ve looked through the documents you marked as privileged,” she went on, yet her fingers did not come away from the tickets. “I think we’re probably right, but I’m uneasy about those six internal memoranda on the maintenance procedures. If the bolts cracked while the plane was in flight, that’s fine. We’ve just got to make damn sure the bolts were maintained according to SOP. So we need to get with these guys and track down a solid basis on anything Jolly Roger might be preparing in anticipation of litigation.” Jolly Roger was what they called the opposition firm. They were well named. Ann’s firm was better named: the Snake Pit.

“Well,” replied the associate, “it wasn’t addressed to inside counsel, so we may be a little weak there.”

“I know, but these in house guys might’ve made a call to the addressees and asked for the junk on the memo. I’ll leave it to you and Karl to make the final decision.” God, I can’t wait to get out of here, she thought.

“Gotcha,” said the associate.

“And remember, when I come back we’ll only have a week to get the preliminary jury instructions out for the JAX Avionics trial. You’ll have to hump on that too.”

“Right,” said the associate.

“I’m out of here,” Ann said. “Good luck. I’ll leave my number with the paralegals in case you need me.”

“Okay, Ann. Hope you have a good time.” He paused, smiled. “You flying Air National?”

“Hell, no. The Atlantic Ocean’s a bit too cold for my tastes.” The associate laughed and left.

Ann felt strangely at ease with the idea of being away from the firm for a week. Usually, she couldn’t let go of things. Today, though, she couldn’t wait to. She was a partner now—the associates served her. Eventually, they’d have a nickname for her, something nasty like “She Devil” or “Ann of a Thousand Teeth.” Partners considered derogatory nicknames a secret compliment.

She turned off her office light and closed the door.

Suddenly, she shivered. It wasn’t cold. A squirrel just ran over your grave, her mother would tell her as a child.

What was it?

For a second, she felt as though she were leaving the firm for good.

«« — »»

Martin and Melanie were packing when she got home. Their excitement was clear—they were hustling about with big smiles on their faces, Melanie’s stereo pounding away.

This is going to be great, she thought, and shed her coat.

“I’m home,” she said. She held up the tickets.

“Hi, Mom!” Melanie greeted.

Martin came and kissed her. He looked longingly at the tickets. “This is going to be great,” he said.

“I was recently thinking along those same lines.”

“Everything tied up at work?”

“Yep. For the next nine days, I’m not a lawyer.”

“And I’m not a teacher.”

“And I’m not a student!” Melanie added.

For once, we get to be a family, Ann thought.

«« — »»

“The itinerary’s all planned,” she said at dinner. Martin had cooked one of his favorite culinary inventions, which he called “Poet’s Seafood and Pasta in a Bowl.” It was simple but quite good: pasta twists in olive oil, a little garlic, and powdered red pepper, heaped with steamed shrimp and cherrystone clams.