First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [43]
"Ah, Carrie, you sense it, don't you?" Kray crooned softly. The pink inside of her mouth was almost erotic. People were so predictable, Kray thought bitterly. But you never knew about Carrie. That was the delicious part of it, like a spice only he knew about. She could wind herself lovingly about his wrist for years and then one day sink her fangs into the meat between his thumb and forefinger. He felt—it was a French word—a frisson, yes, that was it—he felt a frisson electrify his spine.
"Dinner is served." Opening the sack, he dumped the contents into his slightly cupped palm. The rat lay on its side, dazed, lethargic from the cold. Out snaked Carrie's wide, triangular head, its tongue questing. Coiling around Kray's wrist, the viper's demon head hovered over the slowly stirring rat.
"That's right," Kray sang. "Eat your fill, baby."
The forked tongue quivered; the head reared back. Just as the rat, warming, rolled onto its pink feet, Carrie struck, her flat head lanced forward, her fangs sank to the root into the rat's neck. The rat's eyes rolled, it tried to extricate itself, but so powerful was the nerve toxin that it couldn't even move.
Now comes the most beautiful part, Kray thought as Carrie began the long process of swallowing her prey. The miracle of death overtaking life a centimeter at a time. Because, though paralyzed, the rat was still alive, its eyes rolling in terror as its hindquarters were sucked into the viper's throat.
Afterwards, Kray returned to the back room, where he drew out a key attached to a loop on his overalls by a stainless steel chain. Inserting the key in the lock, he walked through.
On the other side, he shut the door, locked it carefully behind him, turned, and said to Alli Carson, "What have they done to you?"
TWELVE
WHEN JACK walks out of Reverend Taske's rectory into the church proper, the first thing he sees is Gus sitting in a pew. His eyes are closed, his lips are moving soundlessly, but the moment Jack tries to glide past, his eyes open, and though he's staring straight ahead, he says, "First time in a place like this, kid?"
Jack feels a tremor run down his spine. "You mean a black church?"
Very slowly, Gus turns his head. His eyes are boiling with rage, and Jack shrinks back into the shadows. "I mean a church, kid."
Jack, hovering, doesn't know what to say.
"I'm talkin' God here."
"I don't know anything about God," Jack says.
"What do you know 'bout?"
Jack shrugs, dumbfounded.
"Huh, smart white kid like you. Think you got all the perks, right?" His lips purse. "What you doin' in these parts, anyway? Why ain't you tucked away nice an' cozy in yo' own bed?"
"Don't want to go home."
"Yeah?" Gus raises his eyebrows. "Rather be beaten up in a alleyway?"
"I'm used to being beaten."
Gus stares at him for a long time; then he lumbers to his feet. "Come outta there, kid. Only rats stick to the shadows."
Jack feels like an insect stuck on flypaper. His muscles refuse to obey Gus's command.
Gus squints. "Think I'm gonna hurt you? Huh, that already been done real good."
Jack takes a tentative step forward, even though it means coming closer to the huge man. He smells of tobacco and caramel and Old Spice. Jack's frantic heart lurches into his throat as Gus lays a hand on his shoulder, turns him so that the early morning sun, colored by the handmade stained-glass windows in the church's front, falls on him.
"That little muthafucka Andre."
He looks up into Gus's eyes and sees a curious emotion he can't quite identify.
"Past time someone taught him an' his crew a lesson, what d'you think?"
Jack feels a paralyzing thrill shoot up his spine.
Gus puts a thick forefinger across his lips. "Don't tell the rev. Our secret, right?" He winks at Jack.
MEAN STREETS