Page 33 of Burn
Karma’s a big bitch ain’t she?
“You can say that again.”
Now, find me my victim and do it quick. It’s been too long.
Rolling my eyes with a dramatic sigh, I give in to him, like always. “Fine.”
I’m already in my new leathers, with a blacked out mirrored visor, so I’m ready to go. There’s no need to travel back to the fire house and raise suspicions of me coming and going so quickly. So I roam down the streets, waiting for the sky to darken and the streetlamps to come on.
It’s not long, once the sun starts to set, night falls quickly, even for the early summer. We haven’t reached the summer solstice yet, so the days aren’t too long. Before I know it, the corners are packed, and the alleys are shrouded by the scum of the earth.
The scent of the restaurants and bakeries in the air changes to the smells of the acrid drugs. Weed smoke fills my nose like an odor from a ripe skunk, and the acidic scent of meth crackles in the space around the rear entrance of a Chinese restaurant.
Whores in their bright clothes, fishnets, and crazy hair pace up and down the sidewalks, with their cigarettes hanging from their overly painted mouths, calling out to cars as they pass by. Twice as I make my round through in the inner city, the same hefty one in her way too tight, purple, halter dress, and black knee-high pleather boots cat calls me.
“Hey darlin’ you need a backpack?” She asks as I slow down and approach her.
I can already smell the stink of old cum and weed on her, and it makes my eyes water inside my helmet when I stop in front of her, revving the bike, making her squeal in excitement like the piggy she is.
As if it wasn’t easy enough to pick up a two-dollar hooker, the bike makes it a breeze. Most women will willingly go with any dude on a motorcycle, throwing away all their sense of pride, safety, and everything else just for a ride on something that can go so fast. They don’t even ask to see who’s behind the helmet. They don’t even care that it could be a serial killer lurking behind the closed visor. The thrill of getting on something that goes over 200mph is more than enough for them to toss out all sense of sensibilities.
“I could always use a new backpack. I don’t know where mine got to.” I laugh, putting my feet down, leaning on the sidewalk curb a little, so she can admire my ride.
“She fall off?”
“Yeah something like that.” I chuckle, patting the small, plastic, triangular seat behind me. “Hop on baby.”
Her long, cracked fingernails feel like daggers even through the leather as she holds onto my shoulder to hoist her fat ass up on my bike. I can feel the suspension dip from her added weight, and I shake my head about the extra work the engine is going to do driving her to someplace more remote.
You picked a good one, lots of meat to cook.
“Yep.” I sigh in my helmet, not really feeling it, but whatever. I gotta make him happy so he leaves my Phoenix alone.
“Where ya wanna go honey?” The whore says, leaning against my back, wrapping her arms around me, her hands going right to my flaccid dick.
“Someplace private, baby.” I choke out, moving her claws off my crotch and up to my waist. “Hands higher while I drive please. Can’t have me distracted.”
“Ooohhh, yeah, sorry.” She giggles. “Let’s go.”
The ride isn’t fun with her on my back. The wind doesn’t feel as nice, and her hands keep roaming all over my front, making me want to gag as I take us deeper into center city, going under the El tracks and into the catacombs beyond the train station. The noise of the rail cars overhead will be perfect for drowning out her screams, and the sounds of my vomiting if she continues to fondle me.
“You know, I could be a serial killer.” I laugh in my helmet, turning the music down so I can hear her.
“I doubt that. Killers aren’t hot like you.” She says back with that little piggy laugh.
“If you say so.”
The catacombs are practically empty when we arrive. The graffitied walls covered in years’ worth of tags seem to echo every sound around us, making the bike sound like something from the bowels of hell as I take us in deeper. It growls and snarls out its mechanical sound, getting louder as the tunnels narrow around us, hugging us in its privacy.
“How far in are we going?” She asks, tightening her grip on my waist as we bump over debris and trash from the homeless garbage that resides down here.
“Far enough that no one will hear you scream.”
“Ooohhh kinky. Me like.” She says, her hands moving back down between my thighs and the gas tank. “What do you have planned for me? Something hot?”
“Very hot, baby.”
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