Free The Choking of a Beautiful Girl by the Bastard George Clooney by Huck Pilgrim Page B

eyes.
    He tilts his head. "What did your mother name
you?" Americo asks.
    “Lisa,” she whimpers.
    The man Americo kicked rises to his feet,
retrieving his hat. Americo watches this man collect himself.
    “Not anymore,” Americo whispers. “Tonight you
are Natasha.”
    “Natasha?” she repeats.
    “One of the girls is sick tonight,” Americo
says. He holds his hand out to where the women kneel. “Natasha will
take her place at the wall.”
    She looks at the wall.
    Americo grins.
    “It is only for one night. It won’t kill you.”
He taps the blade of the knife in his palm. “Tomorrow you can go
back to America. Tomorrow you can go back to Lisa. Tomorrow you
forget Natasha. Forget Danny. Forget about Mexico.”
    She looks at the knife, the way the blade picks
up the light. She wipes her nose with her arm. Tucks her hair
behind her ear. She ought to say something, she knows, but it's
hard to imagine what would make sense. What would be an appropriate
response?
    “How . . .” she says. She stops, unsure how to
put into words what she wants to express.
    Americo raises an eyebrow. He listens.
    "How do you know . . . ," she says, her voice
trailing off. She is looking at the wall. Americo is giving her his
full attention, but there is a girl at the wall who has caught her
interest. This girl wears designer jeans that are worn and shiny on
the thighs. She has dark hair and a round face. Looks about
nineteen or twenty. Her thin arms are folded in front of her and
covered with dark wispy hair. She is staring at Lisa with a look
that's hard to read.
    "How do you know if the men . . ." Lisa says.
Her voice trails off and she stops looking at the girl and sees
that Americo's brows are knitted together. He is looking at her
closely.
    "If they're good-looking," she says. She hears
the words come out of her mouth and it's as if someone else has
spoken. Her eyelids flutter down and she shakes her head. It's not
at all what she meant to express.
    Her cheeks warm, the scars glow.
    Someone laughs, breaking the quiet. It's loud
and boisterous and the back of her neck grows moist. Her clothes
feel uncomfortable on her body. Americo is still looking at her
with that same even expression. He turns to the old Mexican man who
is laughing and whips the knife at him. It strikes the old man in
the shoulder and skitters across the room. Americo steps toward the
old man, but he scurries out of the room.
    Americo curses at the door.
    He comes back to her, puts his hands on her
shoulders. Lisa shudders. She wants to lay her head on his chest
and cry. "Natasha," he whispers. He coos softly in her ear, leading
her to the wall. "This is your hole." He says something in Spanish
to the woman already at the part of the wall, and she moves off.
"This hole is reserved for only the most attractive men."
    "Don’t'," she whispers. Her voice breaks and she
looks away from him. "Don't patronize me," she squeaks.
    "It is the truth," he says. "The truth." His
voice rings with confidence.
    She turns to him and falls to her knees. "I'll
suck your dick," she whispers in a throaty voice. Reaching for his
belt buckle, she looks up at him. "I won't tell Danny," she
says.
    He takes her shoulders in his hands and squats,
his face inches from hers.
    "Danny knows." Americo grins at her. He has a
gap between his bottom front teeth. "I told him I would bring you
here, put you at the wall."
    Lisa doesn't know what to do with this
information. His somber grin.
    "It was the very last thing I said to him,"
Americo says. He tucks her hair behind her ear, then puts his hand
on her cheek. He has rough, calloused hands. A cock comes through
the hole in the wall. It's long and brown.
    "I promised him I would watch you tonight." He
strokes her head.
    Her breath is short, her mouth dry. She licks
her lips.
    "And I will."
    Americo leans forward, inspecting the cock.
    "Natasha," he says, pointing to the wall. "It's
Brad Pitt." He makes a face as if this is an