Sawbones: A Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

she’d never accepted his school pin. They were supposed to be going to Yale!
    She stops on the sidewalk and holds up a hand as a yellow cab goes past. Son-of-a-bitch doesn’t even slow down. Men!
    Of course, what she should do is call her dad, ask him to come pick her up, but then she’ll have to tell him why she isn’t getting a lift home. And he’ll ask her what’s wrong. And she’ll start to cry. And then Dad will probably get Henry to kick the crap out of her boyfriend. Not that Brian doesn’t deserve it . . .
    Harvard . . .
    How could he do that to her?
    She’s not going to cry. She’s not . . . Yes, she is.
    Laura’s so miserable she almost doesn’t hear it – a pitiful mewing sound. A kitten, in the alleyway. She peers into the dark space between a hair salon and a flower shop, both closed for the night. There’s a cardboard box sitting in a doorway, about halfway down the alley, caught in the glow of a security light.
    She can see a pair of little fuzzy ears moving around in there.
    Laura takes a couple of steps towards it, then freezes, and pulls the pepper spray from her purse. Never hurts to be too careful. But there’s no one there, just the cardboard box with a single black and white kitten in it. The poor thing must be hungry. She squats down in front of the box and wipes the tears from her eyes.
    “You been abandoned too?” And the tears are there again.
    She picks the kitten out of the box, holding the little furry bundle against her chest, turns . . . and it all goes into slow motion. A scuffing noise behind her – and she starts to spin round. But she’s not fast enough.
    It feels like a punch in the kidneys, and then the electricity kicks in, shooting through the muscles of her back, making everything scream. And as her legs give way, and she starts to fall, all she can think of is that if she lands on the kitten the poor thing will be crushed.
    Laura’s head slams into the alley floor and everything goes black.
    The back of a filthy Winnebago – Today – Friday
    The Bastard pops the tazer back in his holdall, and picks up the cardboard box from under the table, making cooing noises at the kitten inside. “Who’s Daddy’s little angel?” he says. “You are. Yes, you are.” Then he tucks the box under his arm and walks back through the curtain, singing The Lord is My Shepherd as he goes.
    The next sound is the driver’s door being slammed.
    Laura knows that when the Bastard returns he’ll have another girl with him. And then they’ll be back on the road again. One Step closer to Christ knows what.

Chapter 9
    It’s nearly midnight and we’re driving along the Interstate, listening to some bullshit talk radio station, because that’s all this God-damned car will pick up. Henry’s sitting in the passenger seat, arguing with the callers – even though they can’t hear him – and drinking from a fresh bottle of Old Kentucky.
    I can’t decide if the smell of bourbon’s making me feel hungry or sick.
    ‘I just wanna say,’ says some cracker on the radio, ‘that this isn’t about gun control, it’s about not treating women with the respect they deserve!’
    “Course it’s about gun control, you stupid bitch!” says Henry, “How can it not be about gun control? How stupid are these people? Hello! Wake the fuck up. Isn’t about gun control my ass.”
    “Yeah, well,” I say, “what do you expect from people who got nothing better to do on a Friday night than call some lame-ass radio show?”
    Jack’s in the back, trying to sleep as the counties slowly drift by outside: McLean, Woodford, Tazewell, Peoria, Knox . . . We get a small laugh on the way out of Knox – the next county’s called ‘Henry’. “Hey, look,” I say, “you’re five miles away!”
    Henry toasts the big sign with his name on it as we cross the county line.
    Then twenty-five miles later we’re driving through the last chunk of Illinois, Rock Island. It’s not even eleven miles wide, but it