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Chapter 14

Eleven A.M. Zero hour. North Carolina got the first jolt from an unexpected red-hot poker.

CeeCee McAllister, spending her weekend at the beach, was in the tub taking a bubble bath and reading Cosmopolitan. The article was great—"How to Tell If He's Good In Bed BEFORE You Hit the Sheets." She was running through the list of men she knew but didn't know quite as well as she might, applying the quiz questions to them.

The phone on the stand beside the tub rang.

She sat up to answer it.

Something hideous and blue with enormous ears pinched her nipple, picked up the phone, and said cheerfully, "Suzy McAllister Sex for Less—do you wanna get laid today?"

Then, while she was still screaming, it handed the phone to her and blinked out of existence.

In the master bedroom of a nice little two-story bungalow in the northern part of the state, Mac Garret and his client, Tanya Bayer Sidonns, soon to be Tanya Bayer again, were screwing their brains out. Mac loved his female divorce clients—so many of them hadn't had attention in years, and if he so much as smiled kindly at them, they were ready to do whatever he wanted.

Tanya wasn't bad. She was a nice enough looking woman, if a bit long in the tooth—but from the back, he thought, pumping away, who noticed teeth?

The phone rang.

"Let it ring," Tanya muttered.

"Uh . . . . huh . . ." he managed by way of answer.

It rang again.

It didn't ring a third time.

Both of them froze as they heard the characteristic click of a phone being lifted from its cradle. Then a rich, beautiful contralto said, "Of course, Mr. Siddons. She has her skirt up around her ears right now and her lawyer is doing unspeakable things to her, but I'm sure she'll be willing to come to the phone in a few minutes. Would you like to wait until he comes, or would you rather call back?"

A thing sat on the nightstand—a disgusting blue thing with a malicious grin on its face. It waggled its ears at them and said into the receiver, "Ooop, not a problem now! I think his willy went wooshy. Hang on."

It dropped the phone on the floor and disappeared into thin air.

In a filthy, seedy, city apartment, an answering machine rang the third time.

Earwax picked it up, but said nothing.

"I thought you'd gotten stupid and tried to run. Where's the stuff?" The voice might have belonged to Godzilla. Maybe King Kong. The steroid monster attached to it, Earwax thought, probably didn't weigh less than three, maybe four hundred pounds.

The tenant of the apartment, at that moment, stoned out of his skull and passed out in the bedroom, didn't top a hundred. Earwax said, "I'll have it at my place in fifteen minutes, you freaking pervert. If you want it, you'll have to come in and get it."

"Where the hell are you?"

"You don't know?" Earwax frowned, blinked to the outside of the building, then back in again. "534-D Sunrise Terrace Apartments, on Beecher Street."

"If you don't have it this time, you little shit, I'm going to turn you into sausage."

"By all means, you pimple on the ass of the universe. Your father screwed sheep and your mother went baaaa," Earwax told the thug, and hung up.

He adored his new job.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed

Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 14

Eleven A.M. Zero hour. North Carolina got the first jolt from an unexpected red-hot poker.

CeeCee McAllister, spending her weekend at the beach, was in the tub taking a bubble bath and reading Cosmopolitan. The article was great—"How to Tell If He's Good In Bed BEFORE You Hit the Sheets." She was running through the list of men she knew but didn't know quite as well as she might, applying the quiz questions to them.

The phone on the stand beside the tub rang.

She sat up to answer it.

Something hideous and blue with enormous ears pinched her nipple, picked up the phone, and said cheerfully, "Suzy McAllister Sex for Less—do you wanna get laid today?"

Then, while she was still screaming, it handed the phone to her and blinked out of existence.

In the master bedroom of a nice little two-story bungalow in the northern part of the state, Mac Garret and his client, Tanya Bayer Sidonns, soon to be Tanya Bayer again, were screwing their brains out. Mac loved his female divorce clients—so many of them hadn't had attention in years, and if he so much as smiled kindly at them, they were ready to do whatever he wanted.

Tanya wasn't bad. She was a nice enough looking woman, if a bit long in the tooth—but from the back, he thought, pumping away, who noticed teeth?

The phone rang.

"Let it ring," Tanya muttered.

"Uh . . . . huh . . ." he managed by way of answer.

It rang again.

It didn't ring a third time.

Both of them froze as they heard the characteristic click of a phone being lifted from its cradle. Then a rich, beautiful contralto said, "Of course, Mr. Siddons. She has her skirt up around her ears right now and her lawyer is doing unspeakable things to her, but I'm sure she'll be willing to come to the phone in a few minutes. Would you like to wait until he comes, or would you rather call back?"

A thing sat on the nightstand—a disgusting blue thing with a malicious grin on its face. It waggled its ears at them and said into the receiver, "Ooop, not a problem now! I think his willy went wooshy. Hang on."

It dropped the phone on the floor and disappeared into thin air.

In a filthy, seedy, city apartment, an answering machine rang the third time.

Earwax picked it up, but said nothing.

"I thought you'd gotten stupid and tried to run. Where's the stuff?" The voice might have belonged to Godzilla. Maybe King Kong. The steroid monster attached to it, Earwax thought, probably didn't weigh less than three, maybe four hundred pounds.

The tenant of the apartment, at that moment, stoned out of his skull and passed out in the bedroom, didn't top a hundred. Earwax said, "I'll have it at my place in fifteen minutes, you freaking pervert. If you want it, you'll have to come in and get it."

"Where the hell are you?"

"You don't know?" Earwax frowned, blinked to the outside of the building, then back in again. "534-D Sunrise Terrace Apartments, on Beecher Street."

"If you don't have it this time, you little shit, I'm going to turn you into sausage."

"By all means, you pimple on the ass of the universe. Your father screwed sheep and your mother went baaaa," Earwax told the thug, and hung up.

He adored his new job.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed