Part XXVII - Hunger So Deep

HONK!

The car’s horn blared loudly as the mountain bike came hurtling across the intersection, rocketing directly for the front of the idling old Ford, but at the very last second with practiced movements the girl wrenched the handlebars hard to the left, sending herself into a radical lean.

WOO!

Canvas sack flying out behind her like a broken wing, the redhaired girl brodied around the side of the boxy car like a BMX pro, missing chipping it’s chromed coating by barely a hair. She blurred across the asphalt, kicking up sparks as the down pedal skipped along the smooth black surface, then she yanked hard on the bars, pulling with all her sixteen year old mite, and managed to gain just enough height to drive her sneakered foot down into the pavement.

YEAH!

Immediately she righted and the 18” hot-pink Mongoose fishtailed around 180 degrees in a whirl that made the ginger’s head spin, then she clanked to a stop, the bike’s frame vibrating dangerously beneath her, and found herself facing the rear of the car that had very nearly claimed her young virginal life.

“W-Wow!” she gasped, “That ... that was so ... so cool!”

“HEY!” roared the driver, glaring into his side mirror at her, “You dumb kid! Watch where you’re driving!”

“Sorry!” she blushed and then backing up she pulled her bike around and set off again at a fast clip, the thrill of what had just happened charging her insides like a live wire.

And a moment later she whisked down a sidestreet and returned to her personal chunk of the suburbs, the long curving road that doubled back on itself known as Stingray Crescent. One hundred and sixteen upscale houses sat side-by-side and facing each other, the abodes of the town of Danover’s professional elite, no home was worth less then nine hundred thousand, and a few had in recent days been bought for three million. Sculpted lawns and three plus car garages were the norm, and cosmetic perfection was required by the all-powerful homeowners association. Swimming pools, sculpted topiaries, marble fountains, one of the miniature estates even had it’s own hedge maze.

And it all was the personal territory of Katrina “Kat” Nierce, papergirl extraordinaire for the Danover Sentinel. Well, at least it was within the juvenile depths of her own mind teenaged mind. But Kat arrogantly acted like Stingray was her own domain, and as so often in life such an attitude is instinctively recognized as truth by those of a weaker countenance.

Like, say, the tall boy she was now hurtling down the sidewalk towards.

“Heads up, Blavin!” shouted Kat and the lanky lad gasped and dived for cover, bodily throwing himself over a line of lawn gnomes to land in the Slinger’s yard, he crashed face down and slid for nearly a foot.

He flipped over onto his back, spitting out clods of dirt and grass, and glared at the girl’s shrinking back as she cycled away, shook a fist, “Watch where you’re going, Kat!”

“Bite me, peeping tom!” she threw back a hand without looking and flipped him off.

Randy paled and looked back-and-forth fast, praying nobody had heard her insult. Did--Did she tell on me? That little ginger bitch! No ... she wouldn’t have, she couldn’t.

... could she?

He gulped and paled, doubt filling him. He definitely needed to do something about this, before it got even further out of his control.

Twelve meters away on the charging mountain bike, Kat grinned darkly and pedalled harder, increasing her speed. Hah! I made that curly-haired dork eat lawn. Epic pwnage!

She winged around the curve in the road, leaned back and squeezed the brakes, skidding to a halt in hiss of rubber beside the waiting wooden box. She leaned over and stuck her key in, twisted it and flipped open the lid, exposing the rows of waiting newspapers. She began stuffing the plastic-wrapped cylinders into her sack and when the final one was in place she slammed the box shut and set off again, travelled a total of five meters then knifed to the side and entered the driveway of the first house on her route.

“You’re ten minutes late!” growled the old man as he pushed open the screen door and glared down at the diminutive papergirl.

“Sorry, Mr. Chinwester! I had swimming lessons today.”

“Yeah, whatever. No excuses.” he snatched the paper from her extended hand, then glanced with narrowed eyes at the box just a house-length away, “Tell me again, girl, why I can’t just go get the paper when the truck drops it off?”

“That’s against the rules, sir! You know that, sorry! Okay, bye!” and she pounded back down the steps.

Chinwester watched Kat hop onto her bike and watched her trim thighs grip around the seat, and behind the stained flannel of his bathrobe his cock stirred, began to stiffen.

I should take it out on her fine little ass. Bet she’d squeal like a stuck piglet when I speared in and popped that ripe rectal ring...

The old man watched the sixteen year old flash away in the afternoon sunlight, a crimson-headed pixie princess in cut-off jeans and sleeveless purple tee, then he slammed the door shut and went to the bathroom to jerk off while dreaming of violently ass-fucking her...

Forty-five minutes and exactly a hundred papers away, Kat pulled to the right and left concrete behind for polished cobblestones, and a two story story olive-green Cape Cod rose up before her, surrounded by peak-topped pine trees imported from Alberta, Canada.

She hopped off and set the cycle down on the edge of the lawn, then panting heavily she marched slowly across the sea of emerald blades. God! This day is even hotter then yesterday! W-Will this heatwave ever end? Makes me wish September was here, school or not, just to c-catch a break from this unrelenting heat, jeez!

She pulled a nearly empty water bottle from her paperbag’s side pocket and shook out it’s final drops into her upturned mouth, then jogged up the steps onto the pine veranda and stood staring at the front door. For the first time since starting her daily route, trepidation filled her. Did she dare?

I--I have to! It’s gone too far, it ... it’s the rules.

Rules were very important to Kat. So much of the world made no sense to her, so she clung to the structure that surrounded a sixteen year old like her, structure laid out by school, by her parents, and by her job delivering papers. Especially the job.

And the regulations of the Danover Sentinel are very clear: if a customer doesn’t pay for six weeks then I have to cut them loose. I ... I have to...

So despite all her instincts telling her, no, yelling at her, to just turn tail and run, Kat instead squared her bare shoulders and raised a hand with index finger extended. The digit hung suspended in the air, an inch from the little gold button, then taking a deep breath she stabbed it.

Inside the house chimes sounded. Oh crap! I--I did it! I did!

What am I gonna do?! What if she’s actually home--oh no!

She backed up a step, fear twisting her belly, as footsteps echoed forth from the Cape Cod, and then a moment later the door opened and the tall form of Dr. Marion Gurns appeared. Black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, hornrimmed glasses perched on the tip of her thin nose, the woman was dressed in a Channel jogging suit with a duffle bag slung over her right shoulder. She towered over the little redhead and glowered down at her like she was a ladybug.

“What? I told you to leave the paper on the anorondak chair over there.”

“Uh ... I ... um-”

“Spit it out, girl!”

Kat chewed her bottom lip, then held out her hand, palm upwards, “You ... you’re late paying.”

“And you’re late delivering.” Dr. Gurns snapped back.

“I ... I had swimming practice-”

“We all have something in this world, but your responsibility to others must always take precedent.”

Kat didn’t know how to respond to that, so she said nothing.

Gurns scowled down at her. What a little coward, disgusting...

“How late am I paying?” Gurns demanded after a fashion.

“Um ... six weeks.”

“Well then, here’s how were going to work this. If you manage to deliver my paper on time every day for the NEXT six weeks, then perhaps you will get paid.”

“What?!” blinked Kat, “No-”

“No? No!” Dr. Gurns crossed the threshold and snatched hold of the front of her shirt, gripped it and leaned down into Kat’s ashen face, “Don’t you EVER talk back to me, little girl. I’m the adult and you’re NOTHING! You do as you’re told, and that’s the end of it!”

“I-I-”

“Quit stammering!”

“But--it’s Danover Sentinel policy! If you don’t pay for six weeks then your paper is d-discontinued!”

Marion Gurns chuckled, “Oh really? How fascinating. What was your name again?”

“K-Katrina. Katrina Nierce.”

“What an utterly dreadful name. When you grow up the first thing you need to do is have it legally changed. Though with that hair and that awful complexion, I doubt a new name would actually help. Did anybody ever tell you that you look like the Wendys girl?”

Only three times a day, every day, at school, Kat pursed her lips and fumed underneath her terror.

Gurns released her collar and pushed her back, placed hands on her hips and chuckled dryly, “You won’t be cancelling my paper, Wendy, because if you do I’m going to call your employers and tell them why I stopped paying.”

“Why?” blinked Kat.

“Because you broke one of the windows in my house and refused to pay for it.”

“What?! But--But I didn’t break any windows!”

“You didn’t? Strange, because I was sure you did.” Gurns winked at her, “And when I confronted you about it, you swore at me. Such filthy language!”

“I--I never-”

“And who do you think the paper is going to believe, Wendy? You, a twelve year old with stupid orange pigtails? Or me, the Gynochological Head for Dobson Memorial Hospital?”

Kat chewed her bottom lip, “I’m sixteen, not twelve.”

“Shut-up, you little twit.” and the doctor went in for the kill, “Now, you are going to keep delivering my newspaper, and on time for now on, and in twelve weeks if you’ve done a perfect job then perhaps I will start paying you. But if you ever talk back to me again you won’t have to worry about the rules, because I’ll get you fired and then there won’t BE anymore rules. Understood?”

The girl only stared up at her, open mouthed in shock. Gurns smiled cruelly, “Now, give me that, I’m late for the gym.” and she snatched the rolled up paper from Kat’s numb fingers and shouldering her way past she descended the steps and headed for the garage.

Twenty seconds later her Mercedes was backing down the driveway and onto the street, Kat watched it go from the foot of the stairs and fear fell away to be replaced with rage.

That--That bitch! Twelve weeks?! And always on time? But ... but swim practice! I’m almost to the third ribbon. It’s only an extra ten minutes once a week--but I can’t lose this job!

Dammit! and she kicked the heavy ceramic frog sitting beside a flower bed. It rolled over with a soft clunk and a slot in it’s base swung back.

Kat stared down at the opening, stooped and fished inside, rose up with a key. It’s the back-up one, in case she loses her house key. And there’s a six digit number scratched on it. The security code for the alarm system? Must be...

A sudden impulse for revenge filled her, and looking around to make sure she wasn’t being observed, Kat darted back up the steps and jammed the key in the lock, twisted it open and pushed inside, quickly shut the door behind her. A shrill beeping sounded from the panel on the left, but she took care of it in a jiffy with the code, and the house fell back into silence.

She prowled down the hallway and entered the kitchen, eyes panning about looking for--there! Besides the chrome and steel monstrosity that was Dr. Gurns fridge, she spied an oversized water jug, two thirds of the way filled with change. Kat’s eyes bulged at the sight of all those pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters.