of their sleek and scaly bodies. He wondered at their teeth and wings.
He fondled the tooth bag beneath his shirt. Slowly the contents of the sac rolled through his fingers one at a time like a rosary, focusing him, summoning wrath and willing stillness into his muscles. Only his left hand moved, mechanically precise over the smooth surface of the pocket, polishing the enamel inside. His right hand rested atop the club he used now as a cane.
The Elephant Man From Lamancha.
When the cars stopped and the dust plume settled, five men emerged baring fangs, scraping the dirt with gore-encrusted talons, hissing and spitting. Promising hell, but withholding it until commanded not to. With contemptuous grace Mr. Peck oozed as much as stepped out of the foremost vehicle at last, dressed as always, in a pressed black suit and sunglasses. Peck strode the grounds with scornful patience coolly inspecting the broken cantina, the violated safe and the cowering, silent whores peeking from their doorways before ever looking Ramon in the eyes. He took in the mess and sneered.
“You had a chance to redeem yourself.” He smiled, a mocking show of pity that dissolved into open disgust. His lips spread over teeth for a mile. Continually pulling back over venom-dripping fangs. “Instead you’ve disgraced yourself further.” He flicked a split, serpentine tongue to his widow’s peak, and turned his back on Ramon. “Your replacement is here.”
Peck gestured imperceptibly and the back door of the first sable carriage clicked open behind him. A large African man dressed in a gaudy vinyl track-suit that was already looking lived in for three days unfolded himself from the back seat of the Cadillac. He stood a full head over Peck and leveled a malevolent reptilian glare at Ramon.
Peck smirked. “If I weren’t so angry, Ramon, I’d kill you.”
*
When Peck left, Ramon’s replacement set about business. The new pimp kicked the club out from Ramon’s grasp and tossed it over the cantina, then he kicked Ramon in the ribs and chased him thusly beyond the border of the shantytown. Ramon’s loyal whores followed at a calculated distance, watching the parade of two dance in the dust. Some of them covered their faces with their hands, others cried out, but the wisest kept their mouths shut, witnessing in silence.
When Ramon’s banishment ceremony was complete, the replacement turned his attention upon the women, huddled in a semi-circle thirty yards away. “Go back home. Clean yourselves. You are filthy.”
One by one they turned and left until only Consuela remained. She approached them and the African pivoted to obstruct her path, but she side-stepped him and knelt beside Ramon. He felt her fingers, strong and delicate, as they explored and kneaded him gently, searching for broken bones, and Ramon knew it was the finest touch he’d ever known. Her Nubian pimp watched them with clinical curiosity that turned to perverse amusement when Ramon reached for her face and she kissed his fingertips. Finally, her examination completed, she held his face with both hands for a brief moment, rose and stepped away from them without a glance at her new lord.
Ramon watched her go, a tightness in his stomach, a firming of spirit with each step. As she retreated, the African knelt and whispered to him, “There are new girls on the way. New guests too.” He nodded at Consuela’s dissolving figure. “She is going to be the new specialist. I will give her to the violent ones, the sadists who will pay for her by the blemish. You think she’s ugly now? She will be beaten, cut on, and unnaturally violated for the rest of her life until one of them finally kills her.” Ramon could hear the man’s lips curl. “Or she kills herself.”
*
For three weeks Ramon lived in a cave, a hollow in the rocks just large enough to shelter him from the sun and the night winds. Consuela tended to him
He fondled the tooth bag beneath his shirt. Slowly the contents of the sac rolled through his fingers one at a time like a rosary, focusing him, summoning wrath and willing stillness into his muscles. Only his left hand moved, mechanically precise over the smooth surface of the pocket, polishing the enamel inside. His right hand rested atop the club he used now as a cane.
The Elephant Man From Lamancha.
When the cars stopped and the dust plume settled, five men emerged baring fangs, scraping the dirt with gore-encrusted talons, hissing and spitting. Promising hell, but withholding it until commanded not to. With contemptuous grace Mr. Peck oozed as much as stepped out of the foremost vehicle at last, dressed as always, in a pressed black suit and sunglasses. Peck strode the grounds with scornful patience coolly inspecting the broken cantina, the violated safe and the cowering, silent whores peeking from their doorways before ever looking Ramon in the eyes. He took in the mess and sneered.
“You had a chance to redeem yourself.” He smiled, a mocking show of pity that dissolved into open disgust. His lips spread over teeth for a mile. Continually pulling back over venom-dripping fangs. “Instead you’ve disgraced yourself further.” He flicked a split, serpentine tongue to his widow’s peak, and turned his back on Ramon. “Your replacement is here.”
Peck gestured imperceptibly and the back door of the first sable carriage clicked open behind him. A large African man dressed in a gaudy vinyl track-suit that was already looking lived in for three days unfolded himself from the back seat of the Cadillac. He stood a full head over Peck and leveled a malevolent reptilian glare at Ramon.
Peck smirked. “If I weren’t so angry, Ramon, I’d kill you.”
*
When Peck left, Ramon’s replacement set about business. The new pimp kicked the club out from Ramon’s grasp and tossed it over the cantina, then he kicked Ramon in the ribs and chased him thusly beyond the border of the shantytown. Ramon’s loyal whores followed at a calculated distance, watching the parade of two dance in the dust. Some of them covered their faces with their hands, others cried out, but the wisest kept their mouths shut, witnessing in silence.
When Ramon’s banishment ceremony was complete, the replacement turned his attention upon the women, huddled in a semi-circle thirty yards away. “Go back home. Clean yourselves. You are filthy.”
One by one they turned and left until only Consuela remained. She approached them and the African pivoted to obstruct her path, but she side-stepped him and knelt beside Ramon. He felt her fingers, strong and delicate, as they explored and kneaded him gently, searching for broken bones, and Ramon knew it was the finest touch he’d ever known. Her Nubian pimp watched them with clinical curiosity that turned to perverse amusement when Ramon reached for her face and she kissed his fingertips. Finally, her examination completed, she held his face with both hands for a brief moment, rose and stepped away from them without a glance at her new lord.
Ramon watched her go, a tightness in his stomach, a firming of spirit with each step. As she retreated, the African knelt and whispered to him, “There are new girls on the way. New guests too.” He nodded at Consuela’s dissolving figure. “She is going to be the new specialist. I will give her to the violent ones, the sadists who will pay for her by the blemish. You think she’s ugly now? She will be beaten, cut on, and unnaturally violated for the rest of her life until one of them finally kills her.” Ramon could hear the man’s lips curl. “Or she kills herself.”
*
For three weeks Ramon lived in a cave, a hollow in the rocks just large enough to shelter him from the sun and the night winds. Consuela tended to him
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