Backwater Publishing LLC

CONDEMED

(based on a dream)

 

by

 

Clem Mason

 

(warning: graphic language and description)

 

(age 16+)

(wc-1600)

 

 

 

Just after sunrise, the shiny, vintage Cadillac, filled with boxes, entered the small Nebraska town. There, it pulled into a roadside diner. Slowly, the tired, rather plump driver, drew himself out, stretching and yawning wide. The handsome, middle aged man, dressed in a cheap three piece suit was obviously a traveling salesman.

“‘Mornin’,” someone greeted him.

He looked around and found a young man about twenty five years old, sitting on the bench in front of the cafe.

“Good morning to you, Sir. Tell me, my good man, is the coffee any good here?” the salesman asked.

The young man with a straw hanging out of his mouth, shrugged. “It’s only the best place in town because it’s the only place in town,” he quipped.

“Then by all means, I would be glad to treat you to some of that fine coffee if you so desire.”

The young man shrugged again. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

The salesman stepped up and extended his hand, “Richard Younger. My friends call me Rich. And you are…?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting.

They shook hands. “Johnny.”

He noticed Johnny’s eyes were small and void of emotion; like a snake. “Well, Johnny, it’s nice to meet you.” Richard said.

“Likewise,” Johnny said.

They went in and settled into a booth near the front. When their eyes met, they nodded. Richard suddenly felt a red flag waving, but as usual, paid it no heed. He chuckled.

“Tell me, Johnny, what do you do around this quaint little town?”

“Tell me, …Rich. Are you rich?”

The salesman chuckled nervously.

“I couldn’t help notice that fine automobile you drove up in,” Johnny said with a flat tone. “Nice!”

Richard puffed up with pride. “That’s the love of my life; 1979 Caddy. No, I don’t want one of those new fangled, over priced pieces of junk they’re putting out now. No Sir. Not old Rich. “It’s paid for and it keeps the costs down, if you know what I mean.”

Johnny nodded out the window. “What would something like that bring on the market?”

Richard twisted around to look fondly at the Cadillac. “If you find the right buyer, you could easily come away with four or five grand.”

Really?” Johnny said with a glint in his eyes.

Just then, a fine looking, young girl stepped into the cafe and they both looked to take in the welcome sight. She looked around with apprehension. When she glanced at the men in the booth, she nodded and flicked a smile at them. Her dark blue eyes looked brooding; troubled. She settled onto a stool right across from them. Her auburn hair hung down over shoulders. She had a small waist and her tight Levis didn’t sag over the edge of the stool. She appeared to be in her mid twenties.

Richard’s eyebrows raised and nodded in her direction. “Fine looking woman,” he whispered.

Johnny looked at the girl disinterested. He shrugged. “Married!” he said softly.

Richard’s face flushed red; he smiled an evil smile, “That don’t mean they won’t play.”

Johnny leaned forward to speak quietly. “Her husband’s a truck driver, I think.

He’s away most of the time.” He sat back and stuck the weed back in his mouth. “That’s why she’s in here; He’s gone and she don’t like stayin’ out there all by herself.”

“Out there?” Rich questioned.

“On the farm,” Johnny explained.

Richard looked at the back of the redhead and had no trouble imagining what she looked with nothing on. He smiled to himself at the picture in his mind. Familiar urges began to stir inside him. “Out on the farm, you say?”

“‘Bout ten miles out east,” Johnny said nonchalant.

Richard turned and smiled brightly. “Well, it seems to me this fine vision needs to see some of my exquisite kitchen ware as soon as she gets back home. Now where did you say she lives?”

 

Richard followed the directions given to him by the young man in the cafe and sure enough, a half mile passed the water filled abandoned quarry stood the lone, ramshackle farmhouse. He pulled into the muddy drive and drove up to the single story house. When he got out, the red haired girl had come out onto the side porch. She stood with her arms folded.

“May I help you?” she called to him in a husky voice,

“I’m sorry to bother you, Ma’am. My name is Richard Younger and I just dropped by to show you some of my fine kitchen ware.” He held up his hands. “Now before you say no, just let me tell you that all my products are guaranteed.”

“I don’t think I need anything,” she admitted.

Richard stared at the exquisitely sweet young body, thinking: ‘You need something alright and old Rich is here to give it to you.’ “Please permit me to show you my pot and pan set that just happens to be on special this week.” Without allowing her to refuse, he leaned in the Caddy and pulled out a large box, holding it up for her to see. He smiled, “Looky here at this treasure, will you? Your husband will want you to have this, I’m sure.”

“He’s out back working right now and could be back any minute,” she answered.

Richard knew it was a lie, so he pushed open the gate and set the box on the rickety porch, “You should see this, little Missy.” He opened the box and lifted up a stack of shinny pans for her to see.

She looked disinterested.

“Aren’t these the best lookin’ pans you’ve ever seen? Now I’m not sayin’ you’re a bad cook, but your culinary expertise will vastly improve with these beauties and your man will be greatly pleased. Come over and look in here at all you get with this set.”

She looked around nervously. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to look.” She came and squat down where Richard could see down her blouse. He couldn’t force his eyes from the display of cleavage in front of him. He swallowed hard.

“What else you got in there?” she asked.

“Why don’t we take this inside where I can lay it all out?” he said to her breasts.

She shrugged. “Okay!”

Richard set the box on the kitchen table and wiped his brow. “Have you something to drink? I’m terribly thirsty.” he said.

“I have some lemonade.”

“Lemonade would be fine, thank you.” He watched her move about the kitchen with keen interest. She poured the drink and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Missy” he said, eagerly drinking it down.

She nodded. “It’s Mrs.”

He watched her over the glass. “And what might your name be?” he asked.

“Stacy,” she said bluntly.

“Stacy is a pretty name.” He finished the drink and handed her the empty glass.

“More?”

“No. No thanks.”

“So, tell me, …Rich? How much are you askin’ for this here set of pans?”

“Stacy, I can give you a real good deal on these. I’m a flexible guy and I will consider any payment you wish to offer.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Any offer?”

Richard was sweating suddenly. “Any offer!”

A smile came to her face. “I don’t have much money,”

He swallowed hard. “It wasn’t money I was thinkin’ about.”

She blushed. “Okay. You have a deal.” She nodded towards the lone bedroom. “Go on in the bedroom. I’m going to lock the door so my husband won’t surprise us.”

When she came to the bedroom door, she leaned against it, her hands held behind her. Richard was already down to his boxers. She snickered. “Rich, you don’t waste time, do you?” she said.

He just smiled and motioned for her to come to him. She walked towards him, shyly; not showing her hands; twisting like a coy little girl. He reached for her and she suddenly drew the butcher knife high above her head and jabbed it deep into his chest with savage force.

 

A dark figure lurked behind a tree, watching the redhead row to the middle of the flooded quarry. There, she rolled the canvas wrapped body over the side of the boat. Weighted, it sank immediately. She rowed back to shore without ceremony. The observer was careful to stay out of sight of the unsuspecting girl. Pulling the heavy garden cart she used to haul the body, she would pass within a few feet of his hiding place. When she drew near, he jumped out and grabbed her arm.

“Gottcha!” he shouted.

She shrieked and jumped back. “Goddammit Johnny, you fuckin’ jerk. You’re lucky I didn’t have my gun.”

“Hey! That’s no way to talk to your husband,” he protested.

“You asshole. When are you ever gonna grow up?. You scared the livin’ shit outa me,” she admitted

He laughed. “You shoulda seen your face. How much money did he have on him?”

“There was three hundred in his wallet and seven hundred some in the car.” She fished in her pocket and handed him the car keys. “Ditch the pots and pans and we might get a thousand outa the car.”

“Yeah? Four maybe,” he assured her.

Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ll tell Chuck to make up a fake title for it.”

“Don’t leave ’til after dark,” she warned.

“I know what I’m doin’. I’ve done this before, ya know,” he said.

Stacy patted his face and smiled sweetly. “I know.”

They kissed and went their separate ways.

 

THE END

 

If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.

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Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your honesty and integrity.