Fresh Flesh Read Online Free PDF Page B

Pandora's Box.
    Satan wanted Torque out and had told him
everything he needed to say and do to massage the parole board.
    "What—what do you want?" the manager finally
asked, still shaking.
    Torque swung around. "Dumb fucking question,
Chief! What the fuck do you think I want?"
    "Money. You want the money?"
    Torque laughed so hard he almost fell. "The
money. You think I want the fucking money?" He walked over to the
drug addict kid with an Iron Maiden concert shirt, and gestured to
the manager. "Do you think I want the fucking money?"
    The kid answered fast: "No."
    "So, what's your problem?"
    "I'm tripping on two hits, man, and you just
killed my friend and I'm really, really freaking out."
    "Tell me, why do you think I'm here?" Torque
asked the drug addict curiously. He reloaded Sally.
    Silence. The boy struggled to think with his
poisoned head. After a moment he came up with: "Hell. Hell sent
you."
    "BIN-GO." Torque rushed back to the manager
and pointed Sally at him. "No, I didn't come here for your fucking
money. This is a game, Chief. You, me, the squaws." He kissed the
butt of the gun. "And Sally."
    The manager gulped. His employees backed
against the back counter where they packed their chicken orders.
One of them knocked over a cardboard sign which read: SERVICE WITH
A SMILE.
    "Did you call the pigs yet?" Torque barked,
spitting a gigantic loogie on the cash register.
    "N-no."
    "Bull-FUCKING-SHIT. You want to see some more
blood, huh?"
    "NO! No. No, please. Yes. Yes, I called the
police."
    But he hadn't. Someone who was passing by
already had.
    "Good," Torque said and informed Sally that
they'd have more company soon. He looked at the manager and pointed
at the scared people behind him. "How should I line them up,
Chief?"
    "Line—them—up?"
    "What are you, stupid?" He rested Sally on
the manager's forehead and massaged the trigger. "Who should I kill
first? Mr. black referee guy? Drug addict loser kid? Or, how about
the Eight isn't Enough kids bitch?"
    As if they understood, the children cried
louder.
    "Shut them up." Torque shouted, "Shut them up
bitch or I'll blow them straight to hell."
    Torque wouldn't let Satan take him that
far , he would turn Sally on himself before hurting children.
But the squaws didn't need to know that. It was prison rule that
once you hurt children hell would be a vacation. Torque knew his
limits and Satan better not dial that number.
    The woman hushed her children, regarding
Torque with pitiful, pleading eyes. Not the children, she
transmitted, take anyone but the children, they don't understand
this. Torque answered with a demented glare.
    "Why are you doing this?" the manager
asked.
    "Shut up and give me a piece of chicken."
Torque ordered, removing Sally. "And why is a Southern Fried
Chicken down here in California. This ain't the south."
    "W — we are
expanding."
    "Shut up, I don't give a flying shit."
    In the distance he heard the growing drone of
sirens. Sure enough, the pigs were coming. They had been quick
about getting to Torque's house that eerie night twenty-six years
ago, too. Weird , thought Torque, when you kill somebody
the pigs come running as if the butcher is on their tails.
    The manager slid a piece of the SFC original
chicken across the unmarred blue counter. Torque snatched it
    Sally. She was hot as a branding iron now,
she'd never felt this hot and horny before.
    Torque pointed Sally at the black referee.
"Get up." The man jumped to his feet. "What sport do referee,
watermelon?"
    "Soccer," the man replied.
    "Too bad soccer sucks." He grabbed the man
and pushed him toward the front door. When Torque was sure the cops
could see the hostage he shouted: "Any funny business and the
soccer ref gets wasted next!"
    Icy silence. Torque didn't know who was using
the deadly weapon this time, yet an inner voice hinted that it was
the pigs. Cops were not strangers to the weapon of silence. Torque
didn't get nervous, though, he knew how to deal with cops, he'd
spent his whole