Free Fierce Bitches (Crime Factory Single Shot) by Jedidiah Ayres Page B

Her: Somebody did.
        You: Why?
        Her: Only reason to. It made sense.
        You: Who?
        Her: Son of a bitch with a knife.
        You: Why are you here?
        Her: Paying for my sins, just like you.
        You: Actually this is payment for my sins.
        Her: What’s the difference?
        You: One’s reward. One’s punishment. One you earn. One you owe.
        Her: How very middle class of you. It’s all just price in the end.
        You: Prize?
        Her: That too.
        She soaks the sponge and wets you both with giant drips that roll between her generous bosoms into your eyes and ears. As you drift off to sleep again, you think you hear her say: “It falls on the just and the unjust alike.”
    *
    It’s called Politoburg, this ramshackle camp in the middle of the desert. It’s so remote and desolate, it may as well be on the moon. There’s no agriculture or natural resource other than dust and lizard shit. The economy consists entirely of the goods sold from Ramon’s cantina and the services of the Marias. Ramon’s is stocked in weekly truckloads, and Ramon sends the contents of his safe back with the drivers.
        Sweet fuckin’ set up. Harlan Polito hires you for something. A job he needs a little distance from, doesn’t wanna use his regular guys. Says, “You’ll need to lay low a while. Get outta town. I’ve got a place in Mexico. You like Mexico? You’ll love it. Get laid. Get a tan.” And he pays well. There’s a reason everybody wants to work for him.
        So you do your job. You’ve already been paid half and thinking about the rest of it is driving you crazy. A truck meets you at the rendezvous and the driver tosses you a fat envelope that hefts like the first. As you get in, he says you should sleep ‘cause it’s going to be a long ride.
        For a week or so, you actually enjoy yourself. You’ve never had a proper vacation before. Maybe you’ll grow a beard. Maybe you’ll stay in Mexico, you kinda dig the vibe. Ramon’s got every kind of substance you’ve ever tried and a couple you’re curious about, and the Marias don’t care about your car or your education or whether you’re hung like mule or a ferret. It’s all sunshine and beans and rice.
        You get bored pretty quick.
        You begin to think about it, a bad idea. You realize you’re just shoving Polito’s money back at him as fast as you can eat it, fuck it or shoot it away. Starts to get to you. Don’t think about it. It’ll ruin your buzz.
        But, of course you do. Worse, you get yourself a little plowed one day and say something to this effect to Ramon and wonder further, just when will you be going back to civilization, air conditioning and escort services?
        Ramon smiles, grabs that short bat he keeps behind the bar and smashes your teeth in. He pats your kidneys while you grab your face and when you’ve stopped crying, he really puts you in your place.
        “The fuck you think you are, pendejo? Huh? The fuck you think this is? A vacation?” Then he laughs. A cruel and practiced laugh. He’s made this same speech dozens of times. It’s the part of his job that he enjoys.
        It begins to sink in, the horror, when you realize that you’re not a tourist. You’re a local. You belong here. You’re fucked.
    *
    The idea has kicked around in your head since Ramon had gone all Hank Aaron on you, but it takes Conrad getting his throat slashed for you to decide. Problem is, it will take two. And now your only choice is to use Metcalf, the only gringo left.
        At least he shouldn’t be hard to convince. Dick had been a stabilizing presence for him. Metcalf was going downhill fast.
       “So, how ‘bout it, man?”
        Bleary and sullen, he makes you wait.
        “Hey!” You slap him to get his attention. “Are you in? I need to know that I can count on you.”
        He rubs his cheek and his eyes clear a little. “Yeah, I’m in. Fuck