Page 48 of Charlotte's Reckoning
Sometimes, a boy trying to become a man needed encouragement. He’d zeroed in on Lucy, who was close to his age, as soon as he walked in the door. The tall, stunning brunette was better suited for a man looking for a take-charge kind of woman. A few minutes upstairs with Lucy would have scared the wet-behind-the-ears nineteen-year-old to death.
Charlotte had intervened and steered him toward blonde, blue-eyed, twenty-eight-year-old Prue. She was patient, sweet as apple pie, and perfect for a first-timer. But they’d been outside much longer than it should have taken Prue to coax him back inside.
There was a slight breeze, the temperature mild for late June, a perfect night for porch sitting, but the two benches were empty.
“Prue?”she called, keeping her voice low in case they had found a shadowy corner and wereinthe middleofthings.
Not hearing a response, Charlotte started toward the end of the wide porch. A faint yelp of pain behind her, and the sickening thud of a fist hitting flesh—sounds she’d never forget after being on the receiving end—had her whirling around. She also lifted the hem of her dress and retrieved the small pistol she kept in a holster on her thigh.
More than capable of using it, she tiptoed to the far side, pausing briefly to signal Big Tom, their gargantuan 6’8” guard, with a tap on the window.
When she peeked around the corner, what she saw made her blood boil. A man had Prue pinned on the ground, his knee in her belly. With her face bloody and her gown torn open in front, she was struggling. The first-timer she’d left with was nowhere in sight.
Without hesitating, shestepped off theporch, grabbed his pistol from its holster, and tossed it away. “Release her and step away,”she demanded with practiced authority.
Startled, the man turned, his trousers gaping open. In the moonlight, Charlotte saw more of the would-be rapistthanshe caredto. Or, in his case, considerably less.
“Get outta here, bitch,”he snarled. “This ain’t none of your business.”
“I beg to differ. Prudence works for meand Fenton Sneed.”
Shedidn’t hesitatetowield his name and reputation as weapons. “Fen doesn’t take kindly to men stealing what he’s selling. As for me, I don’t tolerate men manhandling women. I’ll give you until the count of three to back off before I shoot that tiny excuse for a prick clean off your body.”
He looked undecided, so she prodded him a little by counting.
“One…”
“She’s a whore. I’m just taking what she’s offering.”
“Oh? Then you must have paid her in advance as is required.”Charlotte looked at a bloodied and frightened Prue. “Did he pay you?”
“No, ma’am, and he scared away my customer who had money at the ready.”
Charlotte clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Now you owe double and for the damage to her dress. That was your favorite, right, Prue?”
“I’m not paying for pussy I never got,Miss Charlotte.”He spat her name more than he said it. “I’ve heard about you. They call you the Frigid Whore of Sixth Street. Once I’m done with her,I’ll show youhow a real man fucks. That’ll unthaw your frozen cunt.”
“Have I given you the impression we’re negotiating?”she asked, calm in the face of his threats and insults. “We’re not, and the count is now two.”
With him distracted, Prudence scrambled away. “You better do what she says,”she advised.
He grabbed for her but missed. Even angrier now, he shouted, “Ain’t no whore gonna tell me what to do!”
Charlotte sighed as she sighted down the barrel. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Three!”
A single gunshot echoed through the night. A man’s squeal immediately followed—much like a stuck pig—as Prue’s attacker grabbed his crotch with both hands and crumpled to his kneesin the dirt.
“Help, someone! The crazy bitch done shot my dick off.”
Doors slamming and boots poundingon the boardwalkcouldn’t drown out his cries and curses.
“What the hell is going on here?”Fenton said from behind her.
Prue ran out of the alley, holding her dress closed with one hand and her cheek with the other, leaving Charlotte to answer.
“This man scared off Prue’s customer. When she wouldn’t cooperate, he got rough. And he mistakenly thought we were a charity and refused to pay.”
“Is that so?”he asked, his tone cold. “Why did you bother with potshots? Why didn’t you kill the bastard where he stands?”
