The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,16
lyin’. You’re fuckin’ lyin’ to me.”
His hand flew out with a sudden rush of rage. The flat of his palm connected with her cheek with a loud smack, and she went sprawling against the kitchen counter. Grabbing her by the hair on the top of the head, he jerked her face up toward his. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes were clenched tight as she braced herself for whatever was to come. “Listen to me,” he said. “Don’t you ever, ever talk to me like that again. Understand?”
She nodded with considerable effort, and the first few tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.
“Whatever I do outside this house is my business. My business. If I want to go rent fifty whores for a fuckin’ hour at the Ramada, I’ll do it. You do not tell me what to do. Is that clear?”
She nodded again, her cheeks glistening with tears, her lips smeared with blood.
Wade gave her hair one last violent tug before pushing her away. “You are so goddamn paranoid. Every time I look at another woman, you think I’m fuckin’ her. Well, maybe I am. If you’d spread your legs once in a while I wouldn’t have to.” He grabbed his keys off the hook by the door and stomped out toward his truck. He’d had enough of her bullshit for one night.
He drove into town to the Wild Horse and was soon parked at the bar with a cold Bud in front of him. And soon he’d had four more. The crowd was wild, the music was too loud, and all the women were either ugly or with somebody. A couple of guys that he recognized, regulars here like himself, nodded to him from a corner booth, but he was in no mood for conversation. His head had begun to ache, and he just wanted to be alone, to let the beer take the edge off everything.
A little while later, standing in the men’s room, taking a gusher of a piss, he felt something in his pocket and realized he still had the note with Missy’s phone number. A rush of excitement surged through him, and his cock began to stiffen in spite of the beer.
In a little alcove outside the restrooms, he pulled out his phone and punched in her number. After three rings she answered, and her voice sent a buzz of electricity through his gut. “Missy?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Hey, it’s Wade. Wade Roberts. I met you by the pool yesterday. Cable guy.”
“What do you want?”
“Thought I might come by and see you. Take you up on that swim.”
She let out a sigh. “Do you know what time it is?”
He glanced at his watch. It was past eleven. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I just lost track of time. You weren’t in bed, were you?”
“As a matter of fact, I was.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Look, if it’s too late—”
“I got a call from your wife today.”
His body suddenly froze. Marla never said she’d called the number. “What?”
“Yeah, so don’t ever bother me again. I don’t have time to waste on losers like you.”
“Missy, wait.” But he was talking to a dead line; she had hung up. He shoved the phone back in his pocket. Fucking cunt. He thought briefly of driving over to the apartments anyway, but that was nuts. He wasn’t sure which place was hers; hell, he didn’t even know her last name.
He threw some bills out on the bar for his tab, not sure if it was even enough, and stormed out to the parking lot. Even out here, the pulse of the music throbbed in his head. He slid into the truck, started the engine, and pulled out on the street. He didn’t know or care where he was headed.
After about an hour of cruising up and down the quiet residential streets, his headache had eased and he turned back toward town, back toward the college campus. As he got closer to the college hangouts, which were noticeably dead this time of the year, one of the places caught his eye. The Capitol, which had once been a movie theater years ago, was now a bar and dance club. Unlike most of the other places on the street, the Capitol seemed to be doing a booming business. He wheeled into the lot and parked between a Nissan and an Oldsmobile, both of which sported Greek window decals.
He hadn’t been here since he was a kid, since it still