Avenue of the Giants
by Linda S. Gunther
The hotel was his safe haven, yet in an angry town. Lots of gang activity reported there.
Fate had drawn them together on the Avenue of the Giants. He wanted satisfaction in that three-story dilapidated hotel in the nothing town of Miranda, California.
Her sparkle would be gone; the dirty blonde.
He didn’t care about God. He didn’t give a crap about religion. He laid his green plastic placemat down on the wood table by the window where the dusty blue curtains were drawn. He took out the black leather shaving kit from his suitcase and spilled out a dozen small tools onto the mat. He swaggered across the room to the bed where she lay all pent up, a white handkerchief stuffed in her mouth.
No limits, he thought. He would seduce her. Admittedly, she was a complicated devil. Had a fine, tight petite body and from what he could tell from their conversation at the bus station, a decent level of education.
In his own time, in his own time. His own time.
She wriggled her feet, fighting the white cord wrapped around her ankles, the cord he purchased early that morning at Ace Hardware twenty miles away from that town. The cord had become his friend, the same cord he used to tie her wrists behind her back.
Her knees were bent, her yellow hair flung half over her saucer brown eyes, one of her fake eyelashes trapped between the strands of her matted mop pasted to the side of her cheek. Her tight pale-yellow jeans were stained wet, gray at the crotch. “Peed yourself? Rude bitch.”
He’d take her down while she peered into his hungry eyes. Tears would dribble down her mascara-smeared cheeks. He’d pull the other eyelash off before he’d start the music. Play his favorite song, Mac the Knife. He didn’t like that fake look, would never allow his teenage daughter to wear false lashes or hair extensions. He liked ‘natural,’ all natural.
The phone rang. On the bed, the woman’s body jerked. He picked up the phone, and listened.
“Yes, he replied, “I said, pepperoni and cheese; no anchovies. Knock twice and leave it outside the door. You got my credit card earlier.” He listened. “Twenty minutes? Got it,” he said, and hung up.
He felt emancipated, free, powerful like a king. And on top of it all, he’d have pizza, too.
He laid down on the bed next to her, put his hairy arm across her heaving chest, enjoying the tremble of her body close to him. He fell asleep. The knock at the door woke him. He waited a couple of minutes before opening the door.. He didn’t want to deal with a human being. Not now. A skinny pimply teenager wearing an AC/DC t-shirt handed him the pizza box.
“I told you to just leave the damn pizza by the door, and go,” he barked at the boy.
“Sorry. What time you and Mom gonna be home?”
“Why?”
“I want to borrow your car if it’s okay. I have a first date with a girl from school and I’d like to impress her with the Mercedes. Please, Dad.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He turned to take a quick look at the squirming woman on the bed, then back outside the door. “How about we be home before seven? That work?”
The boy smiled. “Great. Thanks Dad.”
Closing the door with his foot, he flipped open the pizza box, the cheesy tomato smell taking over the hotel room.
He placed the box on the bed close to her. The loose fake eyelash had slipped down her face to the side of her chin; the black smudged mascara under her eyes reminded him of clown paint.
He pulled the handkerchief out of her mouth. “You hungry?” he said, dangling the pizza slice close to her nose.
“Does a mermaid need water?” she said, grinning up at him.
Linda S. Gunther is the author of six contemporary suspense novels: Ten Steps From The Hotel Inglaterra, Endangered Witness, Lost In The Wake, Finding Sandy Stonemeyer, Dream Beach and Death Is A Great Disguiser. Her essays and short stories have also been featured in a variety of literary publications. Author Website: www.lindasgunther.com.