MicroHorror

“Can you finish closing up, Bob?”

“Sure. How’s your daughter holding up?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“And you?”

Angie shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

***

On her way out, Angie grabbed a pack from the cabinet, filled a syringe from two ampoules then hurried out to her car.

At home she changed into a pair of fishnet stockings, a red skirt and shiny black thigh-length boots. A final adjustment of the wig and she was out the door.

***

John strolled into the bar, a practiced eye scanning the room. Bingo. A brunette sitting by herself. He could read them like a book. This one had recently broken up with a boyfriend; the puffy eyes told the story. Perfect.

He slid up to the bar and ordered two drinks, a scotch on the rocks for him and a Singapore Sling for the lady.

A blonde in fishnet stockings cut him off.

He smiled. This one wasn’t even an open book; she was a fucking billboard for fuck’s sake. A little old for his taste. A cougar on the prowl, but look at those legs!

She placed a hand on his chest and ran her nails along his shirt, sending shivers down into his pants. She might be worth his while…

“One of those for me?” she purred.

This was going to be too easy. The night was still young. He had the room till midnight. Maybe he’d have time to finish with her and still come back for the pining sophomore.

What? Stupid bitch! He fought down his shock and anger. “You spilled your drink all over my two-hundred-dollar pants!”

“I’m sorry.” She grabbed a handful of napkins and began patting down his crotch. Nails dragged up his inner thigh. “Why don’t you finish yours and we’ll go someplace where I can clean you up properly?”

John gulped down his scotch in a single swallow. The motel was just across the street. Why waste time here.

He fumbled for the key in his pocket then fumbled again trying to insert it. Damn lock. A card key would be easier, but you get what you pay for.

“Hurry…” she breathed in his ear.

The key turned in the lock. The door flew open and they tumbled inside. Suddenly sleepy he flopped on the bed, his erection bulging in his pants. The blonde placed her purse on the bedside table. Why do these old broads have such goddamned big purses?

“Sweet buns, you could be a plumber with the size of that bag. Make any houth callths?” Did he just slur? He tried to sit up but she pushed him back gently and slipped off his shoes.

“Be back in a second, honey. Got to wash my hands.”

“Wash your handths?”

She shrugged. “Habit.”

The blonde came back toweling her hands, only now there were two of her. He blinked. Even that was hard to do.

She unzipped her purse and snapped on latex gloves with practiced ease.

“Latex gloves?” he thought dimly.

Something metallic flashed in her hand. “I think you will find ketamine is more effective when mixed with Valium.”

“What…”

***

Bob entered the surgery just as Angie was closing the Great Dane. “You’re in early.”

“Just wanted to finish this postmortem.”

“Cause of death?”

“Kidney failure.”

“Poor old fellow. Not a nice way to go. Here, let me help you move him to the crematorium.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

Bob paused as they reached the oven. “Suzie won’t testify against the bastard?”

“She feels it’s partially her fault.”

“Nonsense! Being drugged and raped is not a normal college date.” Bob slid the Great Dane into the oven. “If she doesn’t testify the creep will do it to somebody else.”

Angie watched as the flames consumed the carcass and its four kidneys–two scarred and shriveled, two flush in the prime of youth. “How long do you figure someone can live without any kidneys?”

“About seventy-two hours, give or take.”

Angie smiled. She thought he was probably right.

• Copyright: © 2009 Brian Laing