Free Leather Maiden by Joe R. Lansdale

best photo of her and a shot of her shoes and that sad sack of food lying on her car seat. I wrote reminding the community that she had lived here, was well known at the university, was thought to have tremendous promise, that she had disappeared, and all these months later, no one knew any more than the day she disappeared. It was also about the fact that not only was there no information on her disappearance, when you got right down to it there wasn’t much information on her before her disappearance. I thought it might be a two-part or three-part piece, the other two parts a little more investigative. It depended on the feedback I got.
    Anyway, the column got done, and I was at my desk on a Tuesday morning, two days after it appeared, having managed not to get drunk and to think of Gabby only a few hundred times since I got up, showered, shaved and had my coffee. I brought some more coffee to work from the coffee shop and was still drinking it when Mrs. Timpson came out of her office, stopped at my desk and shifted her ample ass onto the corner of it, then shifted the teeth in her mouth.
    â€œCason, you kind of got things stirring.”
    â€œThe column on Caroline Allison?”
    â€œNo. The one you did on Noah’s ark.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œChristians are all fired up.”
    â€œAren’t they always? What did I do, misspell Noah?”
    â€œYou suggested that it didn’t really happen.”
    â€œAnd you think it did?”
    â€œDo I look like an ignorant yahoo? No one in their right mind thinks some fella put, what was it you said, ‘thousands of species, times two’ on a goddamn boat and sailed it around for forty days and forty nights. But for some Christians, it’s like the best sex in the world to them. They can’t let it go. They like getting banged in the ass by the Noah story.”
    â€œActually,” I said, “I understand that. Personally, I’m still mad about there not being any Santa Claus.”
    Timpson adjusted her teeth with her tongue. “Some of the people who put advertising in the paper are big Charlie Churches. We have to kiss their ass a little, right around the pucker hole.”
    â€œYou’re telling me not to write about that sort of thing anymore?”
    â€œI’m not going to say that. But you followed it with stem cell research, and how we need it. Don’t put two ass kickers back to back. Space them out a bit. It’s all right to stir them up, but let’s don’t keep them stirred. Kick Jesus in the balls one week, then do some fluff piece or a profile, then come back for another kick. Give them time to heal. They get stirred enough, they’ll get deep-fried and sanctified all over our asses. I’m going to let Reverend Dinkins address your article in his Sunday column. He’ll take the fundamentalist view. It’ll be stupid, but it’ll make the church people happy.”
    â€œIsn’t he the one trying to keep them from building a school down in the old black section of town?”
    â€œHe is at that, and so is Reverend Judence. Funny thing is, they both want the same thing, but not for the same reason, so they’re mad at each other.”
    â€œDad told me about it.”
    â€œI know your dad. He’s not a bad-looking old man.”
    â€œI’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”
    â€œJudence and Dinkins. They’re real pieces of work, those two, but they’ve been good for news, and when Judence comes to make his speech, that’ll be a hot news day for this little town.”
    â€œWouldn’t it be a better idea to get some other preacher for the rebuttal? Someone screwed down a little tighter.”
    â€œDinkins is the celebrity, kid,” she said. “That’s who we’ll go with. It’ll spike paper sales and show we aren’t godless heathens. Except for you.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. “Let him go at