"Heusler, Marianna - A Second Look" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heusler Marianna)

When she finished pouring the detergent into her last batch, he sneaked up behind her. For a spilt second, she hesitated. He thought she might turn around, but he never gave her the chance.

He slipped the wire in front of her neck, swiftly and soundlessly. She let out a small squeal, barely audible and then with all of his strength, he pulled the wire taut.

She wasn't going easily--not this girl. She was a fighter, a nervy aggressive bitch, who took advantage of the guys who loved and cared for her. Well, she wouldn't be doing that no more.

She tried to pull the wire from her neck, a wasted effort. If she were smart, she would use her waning energy to injure him somehow, so he would release the weapon. Dumb cunt.

It was over in minutes.

She stopped struggling--her breath receded, no longer coming in strange little gasps, her body went limp and she fell with a crash on the concentrate floor.

He was putting her in the duffel bag when he heard footsteps on the staircase.

He realized then what he should have realized all along, this was not a safe place. But he was learning to think fast, so he finished stuffing her body in the sack, and when the old man came in to use the one free machine, he acted real casual like. He walked out as though he were carrying a ton of fresh laundry, and he made a mental note that he'd have to come back for her clothes later on. After he dumped her body.

There must be no connection between the dead girl and the laundry room.

He lifted the duffel bag up the decrepit stairs and dragged it home.

He hid the body on the far side of the cellar, in the old freezer. She never bothered to go down there anymore; it was his job to clean the basement. She just sat around all day, gossiping on the corner with the neighbors, and then at night, she'd throw some frozen shit in the microwave and call it dinner.

He found it difficult to close the lid of the freezer and he struggled with it for a while. The other two were fatsos--he would soon have to make other arrangements, cause it was getting mighty crowded in there.

By the time she came home from getting her two-inch nails wrapped, he was in the living room, watching TV and eating Cheese Puffs.

She glared at him for a moment before starting in. "I work all night, watching that dying bitch and you sit around doing shit."

He didn't respond, just slouched back into the sofa and licked the orange off his fingers. Anything he might say would just enrage her. Her resentment had turned to anger a long time ago. There was no good answer for that.

"You know I gave up everything for you. I could have been an actress or model--"

Short and stubby, he thought, with a whiny voice. Yeah, people would really pay to see that.

"You know, I could still do it. I could leave you at any time." She was always threatening him. Why don't you just go, he wanted to shout, and set me free?

And then the thought crossed his mind, and not for the first time either, that maybe he could just tell everyone that she had abandoned him. She could be just another tubba lard in that freezer downstairs.

If only he could summon up the courage to do it.

"It's Thursday night, you're supposed to take the trash out. I bet you didn't take the trash out, did you?"

"I'll get to it."

"You'll get to it, that's what you always say. I guess that explains why you're where you're at. Thirteen years old and you're still in the damn fifth grade. Mark my words, you don't do good in school, you're going to turn out to be a juvenile delinquent."

"I ain't going to be no juvenile delinquent, Mama."

"You ain't smart enough to be nothing else. No one will ever give you a second look. Now take the trash out."