Ad Nauseam - By C. W. LaSart Page 0,16
quiet night. The wooded area wasn’t too far from the park where they had found him and lured him in with promises of booze and sex.
I hope no one heard that and called the cops, Chantal thought.
Liza shrieked and crab-walked backwards, having been unable to avoid being splattered with blood and brains. The vomit she had tried to hold back erupted out of her mouth and down her blouse in a surprising torrent. She began to sob, tearing handfuls of grass out and scrubbing her face with it. Spying the bottle of gin still clutched in his hand, she pried it out and wiped the neck of the bottle with a clean spot on her shirt, before turning it up and draining it in one gulp. When she was done, she tossed it into the bushes, earning a glare from Chantal.
“Way to leave behind evidence, you idiot. Go get the damned bottle.”
Liza scowled back, but did as she was told. She grabbed a flashlight and shuffled off to the bushes. Returning with the empty bottle, she shoved it in her knapsack.
“Did it work?” She looked over at the dead guy, barely able to make him out in the dark. Only one streetlight was close enough to the wooded area to provide any light, but its glow barely penetrated the trees. They could see each other, but little else. Liza aimed the flashlight, the beam falling on his ruined face before she jerked it away and turned it on his exposed crotch. He had died with an erection, but as they watched, it faded. Along with their hopes.
Liza felt conflicted, upset it hadn’t worked, but relieved that one of them wouldn’t have to fuck the man. He was nasty enough before his face looked like grandma’s prize strawberry-rhubarb jam. She also didn’t know how they would’ve dragged his body somewhere remote enough to make their film, while being well-lit enough. The plan had been flawed from the beginning.
Chantal wasn’t taking it so well; she swore and sputtered as she kicked the dead man repeatedly in his flaccid cock.
“Stupid . . . fucking . . . idiotic . . . no dick . . . piece of shit! Why can’t one of you worthless fucks stay hard?” She finished up by spitting in his ruined face.
“Say, I’m not very smart, but isn’t that DNA?” Liza flinched when Chantal turned on her, her face a mask of hatred. The scar tissue twisting down one side was red with rage, and Chantal held her fist back, ready to clobber Liza. She stood that way for several seconds before Liza saw her physically struggling to calm herself. When she was under control again, she spoke.
“DNA won’t matter unless we get caught. And we will get caught if we don’t get this right soon and split town with the money.”
“Have you even talked to this guy? How do we know this is real and not some kinda set-up?” Liza felt near hysteria at the thought of getting caught.
“He’s for real, alright. I’ve talked to him.”
“When? How?”
“I answered his ad with email and talked to him on the phone.”
“The phone? This dude just gave you his number? Sounds like a fuckin cop to me!”
“No, he didn’t just give me his number. Calm down.” Chantal grabbed Liza by the shoulders and pinned her with a level gaze. “ I gave him my address in the e-mail, and the next day, some dude in a real nice suit and black car shows up at my door. I tried to ask him questions, but he just hands me this envelope and drives off. At first I thought I was being served for something, but then I realized I ain’t got nothing to be sued for. So I open the envelope and there’s this cheap cell phone in there, the kind you get at the department stores that you can pay as you go. In the phone was only one number, you know, in the address book. And I call it and it’s him. He says call me again when it’s a done deal.”
“Really? You don’t think it’s a cop?” Liza looked skeptical.
“No I don’t. But there’s gonna be plenty of cops looking for us if we don’t figure it out. We have to do it now. We get the shot, Dan gets his video, and we get paid so we can split.”
“Dan?”
“That’s what he said his name was.” Chantal waved it off as unimportant.
“So how we gonna do it?”
“Don’t worry,