Chapter 8

Mack and I discussed Charlene's little party at some length; he was highly surprised to discover that I was a Gulf War veteran. It's just not something I talk about. Frankly, I was worthless for a couple of days after the incident; I'd thought I'd put all that away. In general, that guy who carries guns and shoots people isn't me -- or isn't the me I'm used to having around nowadays. It got me some serious respect from the girls as the story made the rounds -- which I found embarrassing. Mack wanted to know if I would have killed that pissant, Marco. To be honest, I nearly did. You don't fuck around with firearms -- the simplest and safest thing to do would have been to shoot the idiot between the eyes -- and if Mr. T had rushed me, I'd have done it. And I'd have never forgiven myself, because he wasn't that serious of a threat. Oh, yeah, he might have shot one of us, eventually, but he was busy PLAYING bad-ass, not BEING one.

Two weeks later, it became general knowledge that Rudy and Irene were dating. After the initial surprise, everyone settled down and put Elliott's birthday party in perspective -- something Edwina was a big help with.

Elena was paying the rent -- but showing up at my door once or twice a week, anyway. Mack got wind of it and we had an argument; I told him that I could handle things and if Elena wanted to do more than fuck, she was shit out of luck. But Mack did something to cool her jets anyway and she throttled things way back.

Charlene was paid up -- and for some reason, I really didn't want to fuck her, anyway. She got back on track the next month and it was a dead issue.

Cindy, on the other hand ... We had to put her out -- she wanted too much abuse. Solo servicing of the Friday night poker parties wasn't enough; nothing Mack could think of was enough -- and Mack had a fertile imagination. After some VERY careful feeling out of each other, we turned Elias and Company loose on her -- and THAT wasn't enough, although I think she gravitated in that direction after we put her on the street.

Irene was with Rudy -- and working hard and paying the rent. Another source of fun gone...

Toward the end of the month of Charlene's party, though, Cindy was still around -- and still holding out. She was okay for regular sex -- she just wanted more, and you knew it. We were closing on the thirtieth and I'd had her twice that week -- and was, frankly, bored with it -- so I was reluctant to answer my apartment door when the knock came.

It was Teresa. "I wanted to thank you for that night," she said.

"It's okay," I replied. "I didn't do that much."

"No, they'd have gone with Marco as long as he had the upper hand," Teresa insisted. "And they'd have fucked me and who knows what else, once they got going!"

"I doubt it," I lied. "Things would have settled down. Cooler heads would have prevailed. I probably stirred things up."

"Uh uh," Teresa shook her head. "Mom's a better judge of character than you are if you really believe that -- but you don't. Mom says groups like that always boil down to the least common denominator -- and there's a good chance they would have killed all four of us, once they got going."

I got more and more uncomfortable with the situation. "Look, I'd really rather not talk about it."

"That's fine," she said. "I didn't come to talk."

"What DID you come to do?" I asked -- but I knew the answer. "Uh, look, Honey -- you're STILL fifteen, and that makes you jailbait. What good does it do me to be your hero if to everyone else I'm a sex offender?"

"It'll be fine -- I'll close the curtains. Besides, you already took my cherries, remember? Like, two of three? It's a little late..."

Besides, she had That Look -- she was her mother's daughter. Once she turned it on, I couldn't say no; five minutes later, we were fucking. I don't know whether she'd been practicing, or it was just genetic memory, but she seemed to know every position -- missionary (several variations) cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggie, incorporating various furniture -- you name it. I blew three nuts in her before crashing and burning.

I woke up a bit later to see her climbing back into her clothes. "You didn't have to do this."

"Mom says I ought to do a few nice guys before I graduate to bad boys," she replied, hauling her top over her unfettered breasts. "You're the nicest guy I know."

I scratched my head. "Well, your mother knows best."

The next month -- the month we tried to abuse Cindy to death -- Cindy was basically the only show in town. Everybody else was up to date, and Elena, for whatever reason, couldn't bring herself to come by more than twice. By the end of the month I'd had my fill of sex and violence. Teresa didn't come back; I think she moved directly to bad boys. The next month, Charlene gave her notice, anyway.

That was the month I almost got sneaked up on.

On the first, we made the rounds, and Mack looked up from the lockbox, surprised. "No Gillian."

I was surprised, too. Gillian was a pillar of the community -- always on time and always willing to help others. She babysat for just about everybody. She had some kind of dental assistant's job, or something. She was a thin, fragile-looking thing with brown hair and eyes. Mack rubbed his jaw and said, "Go see her and get her tale of woe. Maybe she just forgot."

So I found myself rapping on the door of Apartment 1B. Gillian opened the door, and I knew right away that she didn't forget -- she looked like she was going to the gallows. "Gillian, uh..." I muttered.

"Doctor Volkmann shut down his practice two weeks ago," Gillian said mournfully. "I'm looking, but..."

"Didn't he give you a package?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Well, he did, but I had to borrow money for Robbie's medical bills..." Her kid was sickly -- a regular hospital occupant. Something about a disease the kid's father had and passed on. "Basically, I got it all before he let me go."

"Uh, okay..."

"Not okay," a voice interrupted from behind me. "Gillian, this is no fun, but you KNOW the rules -- I can't break them for you."

"I know, Sir," she piped. I stood there feeling like a shit.

"Look, Honey, the only break I can give you is Pete," Mack said gently. "That's a little better than having my old beer-stinking ass laying on you."

I turned around and gave him a look -- since when was I the bad guy? But Mack shook his head and said, "Pete, don't make me embarrass the girl by having to come in after and check for creampie."

So I went in and she closed the door behind me and stood there with her back to it, regarding me with sad eyes. My heart went out to her -- but we BOTH knew Mack...

"Where's Robbie?" I asked.

"Asleep."

"I'll try not to wake him up."

"Okay."

I felt the need to explain myself. "Honey, I really don't..."

"I know the rules," she said softly. She started unbuttoning her blouse.

"You shouldn't be here," I blustered.

"But I am," she said softly, "and I agreed to this. I didn't think it would happen, but..." The blouse slowly came off, exposing her no-nonsense brassiere over her small, conical titties. "Let's go in the bedroom." Her voice was sad, listless. I felt like a skunk. She got out of her clothes like she was just going to bed -- no affectation. She was, I dunno, too thin and soft and delicate to be hot, you know? Too much like somebody's baby sister. Undoubtedly she WAS somebody's baby sister...

I did the best I could to make it gentle and romantic; I didn't make her suck my cock and I didn't get all grabby. I took it slow and easy. Eventually, she seemed a little less wooden, then she relaxed and it got to be halfway decent -- but I didn't figure she actually got off. Ah, well.

Afterward, she told me about Robbie's father -- her high school sweetheart, apparently. "We had one night of bliss, and he was gone..."

That was a bit vague for me. Did he leave because she was a dead lay, or because he was just notching his gun belt, or did he go off to war and not come back, or what? The more I thought about it, the more I felt that it was too romantic and vague to be real. Maybe she'd been raped, and this was the cover-up...

Anyway, the deed was done. I wandered back to the bar. "How was it?" Mack asked.

"I feel like scum." That pretty much summed it up.

"She didn't blubber on you or anything... ?"

"No -- it was sort of like fucking my baby sister. Fortunately, I don't have one," I grunted.

Mack nodded. "We'll give her a couple of days."

So we did. Long about the fourth, Mack says, "Better go check on Gillian." I opened my mouth to tell him to go be the bad guy, and decided against it.