A Trip to the Park
“Take Shepherd Lane into the park.” Skid jerked his chin to indicate the tree-lined road that curved and descended into the Metropark. “We’ll cross the river there.”
“Uh, sure.” Knuckles slowed the van.
Skid whistled the opening bars of La Donna é Mobile right on key.
He’d been told he could have been the next Pavarotti if only he’d learned how to accept criticism. But the streets had never let go of him and his music career had come to an abrupt end when he’d beat up his music professor at Oberlin College for berating him about his work ethic. Scar tissue from a motorcycle fall covered the left side of his face. He found that and the Deacon’s Death’s Head emblem on the back of his black leather jacket shocked, even frightened people. He liked that.
I’ve got to find a way to make a buck, Skid thought. This fuckin’ war has changed everything. If only I could’ve worked out something with Blade Velasquez and his Diablos, but that asshole wants to run the whole show. Since he got that fuckin’ armored troop carrier, he’s had a hard-on as big as the Terminal Tower. We should’ve got to the Armory first an’ got that armored troop carrier instead of him. Now he’s got a shitload of firepower. It’d be suicide to take him on.
Skid watched Knuckles, who drove slowly and deliberately. Skid knew Knuckles was dumb, had enormous strength, and would do as he was told, killing without any qualms. Skid liked that, too.
Knuckles slowed the van and steered it into the park, then stepped on the gas. The van balked and ran roughly until it built up speed, rattling and squeaking over the potholes.
This van sure is a piece of shit, Skid thought.
Knuckles stood on the brakes, abruptly stopping the van.
“What the fuck you doin’?”
“Uh, I think I saw a van back there. It looked new.” Knuckles’ smile revealed a mouthful of half-rotted teeth, the legacy of a lifetime of meth usage.
There was a shiny, metallic-green conversion van in a parking lot surrounded by tall pines. Behind it was a large, angular building made of brown-stained wood that overlooked a tree-lined river. It was the Metropark’s Nature Center.
After Skid got out, he appraised the van with a practiced eye. It had no rust and sat low on its springs as though heavily laden. He glanced through the van’s window and tried its door, but it was locked. He sighed and got out a lock-pick and went to work.
“Hey, hey, you.” A burly man in blue work clothes lumbered forward, shotgun pointed at them. “What d’you think you’re doing with my van?”
“Bingo, the keys.” Skid said quietly. He put the lock-pick away and reached for the nine-millimeter handgun stuffed in the back of his jeans. He eased its safety off and stepped away from the van.
“This yours?” Skid asked in as pleasant a tone as he could muster.
“Yeah, what’re you doing to my van?” The man moved between Skid and the van, shotgun at the ready.
“Well.” Skid waved his left hand in the air. “You got a mighty nice van here. We’re in the market for one. We’d like to check it out, and, er, take it for a test drive, okay?”
“It ain’t for sale,” the man said. “And we found this place first. So beat it.”
“Stosh, Stosh,” a woman called from the Nature Center. “Who’s there? Is it Fred?”
“Naw, it’s just a couple of drifters.”
Skid grinned and waved his hand in a placating manner. “Hey, man, it’s cool, no problemo. We’re going.”
“Sure, and keep moving.”
Skid saw the man breathe a sigh of relief, glance back at the woman, and lower the shotgun. In one fluid motion, Skid lunged forward, knocked the shotgun aside, and jammed the handgun’s barrel in the man’s face.
“Drop it,” Skid said. “Or I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out.”
The man blanched and dropped the shotgun.
Knuckles picked it up.
Skid smiled. “Let’s go inside for a little chit-chat.”
Inside the Nature Center, Skid saw a dark-haired woman wearing a plaid shirt and jeans stood with her arms around two teenage girls. One was tall and gangly with an angular face. The other was shorter, pretty in a young and plump sort of way.
Within the wood-paneled room, tall windows overlooked a slow-moving river. A wood stove crackled quietly, surrounded by several faded armchairs and a battered coffee table.
“A regular family scene.” Skid spat on the floor. “Okay asshole, gimme the keys to the van. Unnerstand?” He pushed the gun’s barrel into the man’s nostril.
Anger stormed across the man’s face as he pulled keys from his pocket. He dropped them into Skid’s open hand.
The women’s fear aroused Skid. The full, petulant lips of the smaller girl caught his eye and he felt his cock stir. “Hey, you, baby bitch.” Skid waved his gun at the younger girl. “Show me your tits.”
“W-what?” The girl’s eyes opened wide.
“Now just a goddamn minute.” The man stepped between Skid and the girl. “Nobody talks to my daughter that way. Nobody. You get the hell out of here, like now.” The man lunged for Skid’s gun.
Skid fired. Blood and pink tissue exploded from the back of the man’s head. He collapsed like an empty blanket.
The women screamed.
“Shaddup,” Knuckles yelled.
They became quiet.
The smaller girl started to whimper.
“What’s the matter? You deaf or something? I wanna see your tits. Come on, show ’em to me.” As Skid pointed the gun at her, he saw her pupils dilate.
She’s afraid, he thought. He felt his pecker grow harder. “Listen, bitch, when I say I wanna see your tits, I’m gonna see ’em, understand?”
“No, no, please, don’t. No.” The girl fell to her knees and leaned forward, putting her head to the ground.
Skid stuck the gun in the back of his jeans. He grabbed the girl’s hair and dragged her upright. With both hands, he grasped her flowered blouse, ripped it open, and tore off her brassiere.
“You bastard.” The older woman leaped at Skid, clawing for his eyes.
Knuckles grabbed the woman’s shirt from behind and threw her to the floor, tearing her shirt open. “Shaddup, bitch.” When she tried to rise, he punched her between the eyes.
“Nice tits.” Skid twisted the girl’s hair. He fondled the girl’s breast as she tried to turn away. “Firm, too.” He tightened his grip and pinched a nipple. Her closeness and the fear in her eyes made him want her even more. He unzipped his jeans and released his erect cock. “It’s time to gimme some head. If you do it right, you won’t get hurt. Understand?”
“No, don’t, please, I can’t.” The girl tried to turn away.
“Don’t say no to me.” Skid backhanded her across the face. “Listen, bitch, that’s just a taste of what you’ll get if you don’t do what I say.” Blood dripped from her nose.
“Leave her alone, you bastard,” the woman yelled as she staggered to her feet.
“Shaddup, bitch.” Knuckles punched the woman on the side of her face. She fell, sprawling, face down on the floor.
Skid used his grip on the girl’s hair to maneuver her head directly in front of his groin. “Okay, little girl, if you don’t get your mouth in gear by the time I count to three, I’m gonna beat the piss out of you.” He bashed her ear and yanked her hair.
“Please, don’t,” the girl said. “I can’t.”
“One.” Skid twisted the girl’s hair, tearing strands loose.
“Please, no more,” she said.
“No more? Really?” Skid twisted her hair again. He grinned. He knew she’d give in. “Two.”
“Don’t, please don’t hurt me anymore.” Tears streamed down the girl’s face. “I’ll do it.”
“Okay, little girl, do it nice and you won’t get hurt.” Skid yanked out his gun and stuck its barrel in the girl’s ear. “If you get any ideas about doin’ anything with your teeth, I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out.” He moved his hips toward her face.
The woman crawled toward Skid. “You filthy bastard, you no-good Goddamn son-of-a-bitching bastard—”
“Shaddup.” Knuckles smashed his fist into the side of her head again. She collapsed. He dragged the woman’s limp form to an over-stuffed armchair and draped her over one arm. He peeled off her jeans, turned her over—buttocks up—and spread her legs.
“Hey, you about done?” Skid zipped his fly. Behind him, the girl was on her knees and between sobs, retched and spat.
“Uh, sure,” Knuckles said. “I got my rocks off.”
“Say, wasn’t there another bitch?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess so. I wonder where she went?”
“If that bitch is messin’ with our new van, she’s dead meat.” Skid reached for his gun. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Uh, sure. We gonna take these ho’s with us?”
“Fuck, no.” Man, my old lady would cut my cock off if she knew I was messing with another chick. “We gotta take care of business, remember?” Skid winked. “I don’t want no distractions, okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” Knuckles scowled.
Skid knew that Knuckles was disappointed. He never seemed to keep a woman very long. With him, they always seemed to get old and wear out real fast, even the masochistic mammas that liked pain. He always had his eyes open for a new bitch to bang and bang around. “Let’s go, we got a lotta things to do.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Like what?” Knuckles frowned.
“Put the gas from our old van into the new one. Gas is hard to find these days.”
“Uh, yeah.” Knuckles nodded several times.
Skid whistled a few bars of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desire” as he searched through the van. It was full of food, clothing, and camping gear.
It’s been a good day, he thought. I got a buncha goodies—as well as some head—even if the young bitch didn’t know how to suck a dick as good as my ol’ lady. Now to business. Maybe I can work out something with those Deacons in Berea.