Free Shella by Andrew Vachss

no clothes on. Another woman stood next to her, high black boots that came almost to her knees, a blackcorset pulled tight around her waist. When I walked past, she said “Fifty bucks.” I kept walking over to the bar, asked the man for a rum and Coke like I always do.
    I sipped the Coke, watched. Two women came over to the girl tied to the post. They gave some money to the woman in the corset. She picked up a leather handle with thin straps attached to it, whipped the other woman three times.
    People were all in costumes. Masks, chains. It smelled like a hospital where somebody was going to die.
    A stairway in one corner. Doors to rooms on the side. It felt like the ceiling was very low but I couldn’t see it.
    I looked around some more. No stage. No dancers.
    When the bartender came back, I asked him if Roxie was on tonight.
    He looked at me close, for just a second. Told me she wasn’t—wait there and he’d find out for me, when she was coming back.
    A man sat down next to me, another man with him, a studded collar around his neck. The first man held a leash to the collar. He asked me for a match.
    I gave him a little box of wooden matches. He said thanks. Struck a match, held it against the hand of the man on the leash. I could see the flesh burn, but the man on the leash didn’t say anything.
    The bartender came back. Said Roxie would be coming back on Tuesday. I thanked him, left ten dollars on the bar.
    I walked out. When I got on the sidewalk, I turned left, looking for a cab. A man in a raincoat came out of the alley. I was on him before he could get the sawed-off out of his coat—I heard the shotgun go off as my fingers went for his eyes, felt a stinging against my legs, twisted my body against the wall, and pulled him down with me. Shots came fromin front of me, chipping the brick wall. The man’s body caught a couple of them, one nipped the fleshy part of my arm.
    A siren ripped out. I heard shoes slapping on the sidewalk. I bent down to make sure the shotgun man was finished. The sawed-off was on a leather strap around his neck so he could swing it free when he needed it. A photograph was taped to the inside forearm of his coat. My picture, black and white. I pulled it free.
    I left the man’s body there, kept moving through the alley. Came out on the next block. Started walking.

    I walked for a long time. A black girl came up to me, asked me if I wanted to have a party. I asked her how much. She said twenty-five, ten for the room.
    I told her okay, gave her the money. She took me to this hotel, signed the book for us. We went upstairs.
    Little room, one light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The sheets were yellowish, washbasin in one corner. There was no chair. I sat on the bed.
    “You want some half ’n’ half, honey? Get your motor started?”
    “Unbutton my coat,” I told her.
    She did it. My shirt was red around the muscle. “Take it off,” I said.
    She knew what I meant. Was real careful about it. There was a slash across my arm—the bullet hadn’t gone in.
    “Can you get some hot water here?”
    “Down the hall, honey.”
    “Here’s what I want. You get me some hot water, okay? Real hot. I’ll put my arm on the windowsill, you pour thewater across it. Then you tie my shirt around it. Tight. Tight as you can. Then I’m gone. I’ll give you another fifty bucks, okay?”
    She nodded. I gave her the fifty. Opened the window with my left hand in case she didn’t come back quick.
    But she did. She poured the hot water over my arm. It ran off clean, but it was bleeding a lot.
    She took some stuff out of her purse. Kotex. “It ain’t much, but it’ll be better than just that shirt, okay?”
    I told her thanks. She put the Kotex on my arm, tied the shirt tight around it, helped me on with my jacket.
    “Where’s the nearest city?” I asked her.
    “Big city? Akron, I guess.”
    “Want to make a couple of hundred bucks?”
    “Doing what?”
    “Can you get a car?”
    “No, honey. I