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And I feel it too, that thirst. The smell of whisky and beer brings it all back. I remember what it was like. How good it felt to slake that deep, bottomless thirst. The first few drinks felt great, but only for a few minutes. After that the thirst will return, doubled in strength. You can never quite catch up, not for more than a moment. Chasing it felt like falling down a well.
“Stage? Yeah, change of plans,” Dustin shrugs, downing half the beer in one long series of gulps. “Seems like your little girl here already has some kinda fan club. You are gonna have to auction her off. I'll take 10%. And the bidders’ fees.”
“Bidders’ fee?” I repeat numbly. I just keep looking around, looking at all the men gazing at Angel with their mouths open like they've never seen anything like her. This is not what I thought was going to happen.
Dustin leads us through the crowd to the small stage in the corner, the kind where some crappy band could set up and yell out cover tunes for a few hours. A row of tables is clustered protectively in front of the stage, and a few men sit in wobbly stacking chairs. On the middle table is a pile of cash, some in rubber-banded bills, some crumpled and fluttering slightly as though licked by an invisible wind. On the top of the pile is a handgun. Vintage Colt 45, by the looks of it.
“Yeah, Artie decided to do his bidders’ fee in trade,” Dustin explains. “I don’t mind it. I’ve wanted that piece for a while. And if I’m not gonna get a piece of ass, I might as well get a piece, am I right??” He laughs with a snorting, sniggering sound. He’s pleased with himself.
“That's all the bidders’ fees? That's what you're keeping for yourself?”
Dustin shrugs. “Hey, it’s called free enterprise,” he sneers. “It's the goddamn American way. There's no way I'm ending up with any sweet little virgin pussy tonight, so I should get something, don't you think?”
I want to take her out of here. Rage is getting high in my belly, and I feel a red mist creeping around the edges my vision. More than anything, I'd like to kick Owen's teeth in. I can't believe he would allow things to happen this way.
“Get your sweet little ass on stage, sweet cheeks,” Dustin says, bending over at the waist and talking to Angel like she's four or something.
She looks up at me, so trusting, so fearful. Her hair falls around her cheeks in soft waves, lit blue by the light over her head. I hold my breath and nod to her.
With my permission, she takes a few steps forward, obviously wobbly on her feet now. On her white boots. She mounts the stage and stands in the middle, shading her eyes with one hand, blinking and teary-eyed from all the smoke in the room.
“Goddamn, Dustin,” Artie drawls, grinning wide enough to show he's only got teeth on one side. “You did good, goddamn.”
“I swear I didn't know this was going to happen,” Owen tells me, shifting to face me and pressing his shoulder against mine. “I never would've done this if I'd known. This isn’t right, Silas. It's just not right.”
“You're fucking right it isn’t,” I growl back. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now, Owen? What did you get us into?”
“Turn around, honey!” some fat guy with his shirt pulled halfway up his belly hollers at her. He strokes himself, edging his pudgy fingertips down toward the crotch of his light blue stretch pants.
“You think this is all right? Did you think any of this would make sense? Any of this would be worth her life? Seriously, Owen, I'm asking you. Is there any amount of money that would make this all right?”
Owen scrubs his hand across his face, gnawing the inside of his cheek fretfully. “Fuck, Silas, what are we going to do? This is out of control. It was gonna be a discreet transaction, he told me.”
“Does this look in any way discreet to you?” I snarl, jerking my chin toward the scrawny old geezer yelling out dollar amounts. “It’s indecent!”
“Nine thousand, two hundred!” Artie yells out. “And turn around, girly! We want to see your ass!”
“I get her ass too, right, Dustin?” The fat guy yells out. “I get the whole thing?”
“You buy it, you get to break it!” Dustin yells back, slapping his thigh like he’s said the funniest thing in the world.
“No,” Owen growls. “No, Silas. This is not all right.”
“That's what I thought,” I tell him. “I'm putting a stop to this.”
“Yeah,” he nods curtly.
I start to lead off, then double back so he understands.
“When we get out of here, Owen, don't follow us. You got that? You lead them off, take them wherever. The compound is yours. Papers are in the office somewhere. I don't give a shit. Don't follow us.”
His mouth opens as he meets my eyes. I can feel his shock, his unsaid objections. He wants to refuse, but he got us into this.
“Yeah,” he finally growls back, setting his lips in a grim line. He knows what I'm saying.
I catch Angel’s eye so she knows I'm coming. So she knows it'll be all right. Somehow she always seems to know what I'm thinking, and I know she understands it now.
With three steps to the left, I grab Dustin by the shoulder. He flinches toward me by surprise.
