Shella Read Online Free PDF Page B

the roof. Everybody came up there. One of the other guys brought a metal folding chair. He opened it for Monroe.
    City lights all around us, but the roof was dark. Flat, just an electrical shack to one side, big skylight on the other. The door to the shack opened, a man stepped out. It must lead downstairs, be locked from the inside so nobody could burglar the place.
    I took off my jacket. I was wearing a sweatshirt. Extra-large. It was baggy on me, loose and comfortable. I pulled it up to my neck, taking the T-shirt with it, holding it like that so they could see I didn’t have a gun. I walked around a few feet, feeling the roof under the thin soles of my gym shoes.
    The redhead took out a knife. A big one, brass knuckles around the handle, little teeth along the top edge of the blade.
    One of Monroe’s guys stepped forward, a short piece of rope in his hand.
    “You want to rope dance?” Monroe asked the redhead.
    “No, fuck that. Just give him a blade—let’s get it on.”
    The guy stepped back. Everybody took out money, whispering in the black corners.
    “Okay?” Monroe asked the redhead.
    “Yeah. Do it!”
    Monroe nodded. “You okay, Ghost?”
    I nodded, watching the redhead. He came in like a crab, in a crouch, the knife in his right hand, holding it underhand, blade facing in. He took a swipe—I stepped to one side, watching. He was making a noise to himself, like a hum from a generator. Each time he came in, swiped, stepped back. Closing the line, coming nearer every time. I moved my left hand to my right wrist, slid back the cuff to the sweatshirt, let the car antenna slide into my hand. I snapped my wrist and it came out, telescoping to about five feet. I whipped it across his left hand before he saw what it was. He made a noise as I brought it around in a stream, slashing an X across his face. His hands came up, blood sprayed around them, and the knife fell. I kicked it away, moved in on him, giving him time, pulling the cuff off my left wrist. He grabbed for the antenna. I let him take it, raking the sharpened can opener I had taped to my left wrist across his face. I locked it in deep, pulling against the muscles. It caught near his mouth as he hit the ground, me on top. I pulled it free. He was screaming then. I chopped at the side of his neck until I felt it go.
    I used the front of his shirt to wipe off the can opener and the antenna. I could smell where one of the guys had thrown up on the roof.
    We all went downstairs. Some of the guys paid money to Monroe. I saw the money on the table. Monroe separated some of it, gave it to me. He saw I was looking at the money that was left.
    “That’s the difference between you and me, Ghost,” he said. “Don’t ever forget it.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    Monroe told me not to come back there. He gave me a place to meet him in two nights. Told me the car he’d be in.

    I went out the next afternoon, bought the papers. There was nothing about finding a body on a roof.
    I don’t read much. Just the papers once in a while. To see if there’s trouble. Shella used to read to me, sometimes. It started when I got hurt. This guy was coming to watch Shella dance every night. He asked her for a date—she told him she didn’t date the customers. So he started calling her at work. The first couple of times, she took the calls. He scared her, with those calls. That’s hard to do to Shella, but he did it. Kept saying, if she wasn’t going to give him a piece of ass, he was going to take one for himself. Cut it off her one night. Told her he had a razor. I told her the guy was playing with himself, talking to her like that, getting off on her being scared. I tried to tell her how I knew, from listening to guys like him the last time I was locked up. Freaks, I know them. You just listen, they’ll tell you everything. He never came back to the club. I told Shella, just don’t talk to him on the phone, he’ll find someone else to give his terror to. She promised