Page 39 of Prosper

Denny shook his glass-covered, beer-soaked head and roared like a lion in a rage. His face turned purple with fury. When he bunched up his hand and pulled back a fist, Pinky knew she was a dead woman. She closed her eyes tight and waited for the punch that was going to shatter her jaw, her nose, and her eye sockets.

But instead of feeling a hard punch to the jaw, she heard the soft click of a gun and squeezed her eyes even harder to wait for the bullet that would end her life.

“You’re a fucking dead man,” a man’s voice rasped out. Then the heavy weight of Denny’s body was yanked off her.

Prosper kept the gun pushed hard into Denny’s temple and used his other hand to pull Pinky out of the car. His expression turned from fury to fierce when he took in her torn shirt, exposed breasts, and trembling hands.

“I know you’re not okay,” he said to Pinky and then added in a tone heavy with meaning, “But are you okay?”

Pinky nodded. “Sonofabitch didn’t rape me if that’s what you mean, but only because he ran out of time.”

“Are you okay to walk home? He nodded to Pinky’s apartment building a half-block away.

“Yeah, I can get home.” Pinky felt a surge of relief at this very welcome turn of events. Before she walked away, she stopped in front of Denny. She looked him straight in the eye and spit in his face. Then she executed a violent kick to his ball sack. When Denny groaned loudly and slumped to the ground, Prosper forced him back up.

“You done?”

“Yeah, I’m done,” Pinky told him. Then as she walked away, she added, “Shoot the bastard’s dick off.”

Pinky stood under the shower and scrubbed her skin until it hurt. It was only after the water turned cold did she step out from the protective mist. Though the night was warm, her lips chattered and her skin tensed from a deep aching chill. Pinky dug up a pair of flannel pajama pants, a heavy sweatshirt, and a pair of thick socks.

She poured herself a double shot of bourbon, cuddled up under a large comforter, and berated herself for being so damn dumb. She was raised by a violent man, so she should know one when she saw one.

She’d have to work on that.

Yeah, she’d have to work on that.

The combination of the bracing bourbon and the fear-driven adrenaline wreaked havoc in Pinky’s already overloaded nervous system. Pinky got up from the couch and had two more shots before she finally began to relax, and when she did, her guard came down and memories of her past came flooding back. Things she had not thought of for a very long time.

Pinky was the second of three children born to Edna and Joseph McCabe. She was wedged between Petey, who was the oldest of the brood, and Lilah, the youngest.

Lilah was the family’s wild child. She’d been loud, aggressive, argumentative, capable of throwing epic temper tantrums, and loved to spit in the face of convention and authority. On the very first day of kindergarten, Lilah had walked right over to the wooden block area, gathered all the blocks into a pile, and bit anyone who tried to play with her. And it’d just gone downhill from there. All through her growing years, a collective groan could be heard sounding out from the teachers’ lounge whenever Lilah McCabe’s name was mentioned. By the time Lilah was thirteen years old, she’d had the longest juvenile rap sheet in the county. She was fearless, defiant, and determined to wreak havoc everywhere she went.

The only thing that Lilah had ever been afraid of in this whole world was the Boogie Man.

Pinky was the forgotten middle child and she liked it that way. She had worked hard at mediocracy. Pinky had made sure never to be anything that was … “too.” She’d been careful never to looktoopretty ortoougly, be too smart or too stupid, or arrive too early or too late. If Pinky could have had one wish in the whole wide world, that wish would have been to become invisible. To escape all notice.

Especially from the Boogie Man.

Petey had been the pride of the family. He was the star athlete, the honors student, the captain of every team he played on. He was loved by the teachers, popular with his peers, and dated the prettiest girls in town. He was smart and strong and brave.

Petey had always known all of the best places to hide his little sisters from the Boogie Man.

Edna McCabe was their mother. She was small and timid and zealously religious. Edna McCabe had quoted the bible daily and spoke in parables.

She’d denied the existence of the Boogie Man.

Big Joe McCabe was the patriarch. He’d had a third grade education, was a third generation Klansman, and had won the State Heavyweight Boxing Championship title three years in a row. He’d liked to joke at the church socials that three was his lucky number. Then he would point to his three children with pride.

Big Joe McCabewasthe Boogie Man.

Big Joe had never touched his children except with a loving hand. Instead, he’d beat their mother viciously for their smallest infractions. Because it had been her job to raise his children right, after all.

Lilah had left school without making her bed …smack.

Pinky had gone to church with a thread hanging from the hem of her dress …smack, smack.

Petey’s team had lost a game …smack, smack, smack.

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