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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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Wren |
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| Chapter
Two
She finished her coffee in the diner and left. She didn't mind men eyeing her or being outrageous and wouldn't mind a day or two of fun however it came, but this town didn't feel right and she had no intention of spending the next ten years chained to some cowboy's bed for fun and games while the wifey was feeding the chickens. At a gas station stuck out in the middle of nowhere as near as she could see -- a light pole illuminating the pavement around the pumps and a lone light in the window -- she decided to stop. All around here was clear night and she was tired of walking. Inside, the young man reading a comic in a battered old upholstered chair intently ignored her. She spent a dime for a coke at the machine, popped off the cap and leaned against the wall. "Good book?" she asked. His eyes met hers briefly and he resumed reading. "Must be good." She sat on the floor next to the rucksack. "Okay if I spend the night here?" He turned the page and shook his head. "Know some place better?" He hooked his thumb toward the door between them. "Texas is a real friendly place, isn't it? I could like it here. All the special attention, down home feeling." He turned the page. "People going out of their way to make a stranger feel welcome." "We close in twenty-three minutes." "Are your toilets open or do I need a key?" He ignored her. "I'll be back in a jiffy." She went around back which was unlit. Felt a door and tried it. Locked. "Well, young lady," she said to herself. Wren walked a few feet away, dropped her jeans and did a half squat. After pissing hard and fast for a minute, she bounced her ass to drip dry. Back in the station she sat next to her rucksack and watched the attendant read. He was in his early twenties, cap and jacket on. The jacket was red with white sleeves, like it had been his school jacket. There was no letter on it. Dark hair, cut short. The light was too dim to tell if his fingers were grimy or not. Since he looked otherwise clean, she figured his hands were too. A point in his favor. A loafer's heel had a split seam. He set his comic on the desk and stared at her. "Where do you go when you want to get laid?" she asked. "Unless you have a girlfriend, of course. Or don't. You know. Not a place. Some girl around here?" He didn't blink. "A behind the barn sort of girl. Who's easy to sleep with. You know what I mean." "Why do you ask?" "I figure if I can't stay here, since she's so kind, maybe she'll put me up for the night." "I doubt it." "So you do get laid. Once a year or perhaps more often. Not too often or you'd be nicer. Where do you live?" "Why do you want to know?" "Are you always this hard on us poor girls?" "Why do you want to know?" "What would I have to do to stay here or sleep with you? I put it badly. This isn't a proposal or anything, just asking." "We close in fifteen minutes." "And?" "No." "You have a sister?" "I'm busy. Why don't you bother someone else?" Wren stood. "Buster, what is your problem tonight?" "I'm busy. Scram." "Let's see." She dug into her pocket and picked out a handful of change and a crumpled bill. She counted and said. "Know where I can get a room for one dollar sixty-seven cents? One of the dimes is Canadian." "Scram." "I have some neat tattoos. I got them in New Orleans. You must have heard of New Orleans, in spite of the fact it isn't in Texas. You haven't? Let me show you." She took off her jacket and rolled up the cuff of her work shirt. "See?" He grinned at her. "You are some sort of crazy, aren't you?" She walked up to him, arm outstretched. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her forward. "Some flowers. So what?" She touched the tattoo on her forearm. "Aren't they nice?" "They're fucking tiny." "You were expecting something bigger? I'm a girl, cowhand." "It's not that obvious." He let go of her wrist. "You can't stay here." "Your place or hers?" "You don't know me from Adam, little girl." "You're right. I don't know you at all. Is there a reason I shouldn't have put forward the proposal? Perhaps you read too much in it?" "Scram." "You walk to here. I didn't stumble over a Cadillac in back." "Nearby." "Try a whole sentence and be nice." He almost smiled, got up and brushed past her. She leaned against the wall by her rucksack as he closed up -- shut off the pumps, turned out the light on the pole from inside, took the receipts from the drawer and put them in a zippered bag. "Come on. Out of here." He pushed her out the door. The light inside off, he locked the door and pocketed the keys. She followed him as best she could; he had better night eyes or just knew the way so well it didn't matter he couldn't see. Five minutes and she saw a light go on inside and him close a door. "Friendly Texans," she muttered to herself. When she got to the door stoop she waited a minute and then knocked. He stood in the doorway, jacket off, in his t-shirt. She couldn't see his face, but could feel the heat from the room. "Can I spend the night and maybe have breakfast in the morning, pretty please?" He grabbed her jacket and pulled her close. "Scram." He shoved her back and shut the door. She knocked and shouted. "I could give a fuck if you had a pecker shot off in Korea, can't get it up except for virgins, just do oncers, or are still a virgin. It's cold out here." She gave the door a kick. The door shot open and he jerked her inside. "My rucksack." "Fuck your rucksack, you sorry piece of shit." He slapped her. She held her throbbing cheek. "You can hit little girls. So what?" After a pause, smiling up at him, she said, "I have other tattoos." "And every disease known to man." He spun her and shoved her onto the couch. "Not a peep from you. One word and out you go." She nodded, taking off her jacket. She folded it and set it at one end. He came back with a sheet and threw it at her. Since he was waiting she unbuttoned her denim shirt. She undid the sleeves and took it off. Wren hadn't worn a bra or panties for a year now and was used to it. At first the rubbing nearly drove her crazy. She stood, undid her jeans, kicked off her shoes and slid the jeans off her legs. One of her socks had a hole in the heel; the socks didn't match. She folded her clothes and set them on her jacket. She couldn't tell what he was thinking as he watched her. She lay on the couch, on the sheet and watched back. He took a dollar bill out of his wallet and threw it at her. Wren watched him leave the room, heard him run water, make noises in the back. The house wasn't big, looked to be fifty years old or more. Board floor, wide molding and a chair rail. The heat came from an oil heater under a window. He went outside for a minute, came back, stayed somewhere else in the house. She could smell onions and meat frying. He brought her a plate with a hamburger on it, sat across from her, by the heater, eating his, watching her. She finished the burger, set the plate on the floor and grinned at him. "If you can fuck like you make burgers, I'm in luck." He smiled at her, finished his burger, wiped his hands on a paper napkin and set his plate on a side table. She had four tattoos. One on each forearm and one on each thigh. The artist had liked her and hadn't charged her a dime, joked about going in the hole on this one. She opened her legs, leaned back. He stood, came to the couch and tugged at the sheet by her. "Get up." When she was too slow, he jerked her up. She let him pull her after him through the house. A kitchen and a dark room to the outside. "Hey, I don't." "I told you and I meant it, sweetheart." They went into a shed that was lit by an oil lamp resting on a shelf by the door. He pushed her onto blankets spread on the floor. "You'll wish you'd kept your clothes on. Facilities outside. Water's in a bowl over there. Stay still." He took a jumble of rope from beside her and tugged her wrists together, crossed. Bound, quickly and quietly, wrists and ankles, he grabbed a fist full of her hair and held her. "What's your name?" "Wren." "Cute. Mine's Brad. I can be a holy terror. If you mess these blankets, you'll wish you'd never come across me. Understand, Wren?" She nodded. "Need to go?" She nodded. "Then go." She crawled outside into the cold as far as she could, peed and crawled back inside the shed and waited. He held her down as he stroked her cunt. "If my hand falls off in the morning you're a dead girl. If not, maybe I'll find a use for you." He was rough for a moment, then said, "Put your wrists between your knees." He bound her ankles to her wrists, checked the ropes and rose from his knees. After rolling her onto her side and covering her with the blanket, he stood in the doorway, blowing out the lamp. "Brad," she said. "You do have friends, don't you?" She thought she saw the flash of his teeth before he shut the door. A moment later she heard the hasp against the wood and a lock click. Go
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