Never Too Rich (69 page)

She rolled her eyes. “Some help you are!”

“
This craft got
floodlights?”

She smiled suddenly. “You’re in luck.”

“
If the fog doesn’t get any higher,
that is,” the pilot grumbled to himself as he expertly nosed the
whirlybird down to an altitude of a mere hundred feet. They were
practically skimming the rooftops now.

Watch the eyes, never the hand. Snake remembered the
cardinal rule of knife fights. It’s the eyes that’ll tell you what
the hand is going to do next.

He kept watching Miss Bitch’s eyes.

They were bleak with an unholy joy.

Quick as lightning, Snake jumped forward and his
knife blurred in an upward slash intended to disembowel. Just as
swiftly he withdrew again. “Son-of-a-bitch!” he cursed aloud. His
blade had met only air. Miss Bitch had leapt nimbly back out of
harm’s way. Christ, that fairy can move! he thought.

In a crouch, they circled each other warily again.
Without warning, Snake’s knife flashed once more as he made a
powerful lunge.

Miss Bitch spun adroitly sideways and the blade
missed him by a mere fraction of an inch. He screeched insane
laughter.

Snake cursed again, and scowled. How the fuck had
the fairy managed
that?

From the sidelines, Billie Dawn watched the fight
with growing alarm. Her eyes kept flicking to the open door—and
safety. She was waiting for the right opportunity so that she and
Hallelujah could slip out unnoticed.

So far, the chance hadn’t come. Worse still, they
would have to cover some fifteen feet in order to reach it: they
were huddled in the far corner of the room, where they had taken
refuge from the slashing blades.

Hallelujah, unable to watch the violence, had her
face buried in Billie’s breast.

Billie stroked the back of the girl’s head. “We’ll
be fine,” she kept repeating over and over, as much to reassure
herself as Hallelujah. “We’ll be fine.”

Snake pressed forward with intense concentration.
But again Miss Bitch parried as neatly as if the short blades were
fencing foils, and Snake’s blade missed yet again.

“
Fuckin’
shit!”
Snake
growled. Sweat was pouring down his face and stinging his eyes.
Even worse, slowly but surely he could feel himself wearing down.
And that fruit wasn’t even sweating.

The next lunge Snake made met empty air yet again.
So did the next. And the next one after that.

Miss Bitch danced confidently in and out of his
vision, screeching deranged laughter, his lunatic eyes filled with
a brilliant crazed light. All he had to do was a few dance steps to
avoid Snake’s knife; it was that easy. He had not once slashed at
Snake—not yet. That would wait until he was weary of toying with
him.

Snake could no longer stand the hysterical, mocking
laughter. “Listen, you fruitcake!” he snarled. “Why don’tcha fight
like a man?”

Miss Bitch placed both hands on his hips and looked
Snake up and down. “Well!” he huffed. “Look who’s talking! If
you’re
such a man, why can’t you hit where you aim? Huh,
honey?”
Miss Bitch blew him a noisy wet smacker of a
kiss.

That did it. Snake had had it. Defeat was new to
him—as was mockery. He had taken all he could take.

Anger blinded him; his fleshy, hairy face grew beet
red and his features twisted with rage. He wasn’t gonna let anybody
else make a fool out of him in front of Shirl! Bad enough when that
old bitch had invaded the Satan’s Warriors’ clubhouse, pulled a
gun, and run off with her. But this fairy? Unh-unh. No fuckin’ drag
queen was gonna get the better of
him.

Miss Bitch delighted in seeing Snake lose his cool.
He hopped back, turned around to cut a momentary Betty Grable pinup
pose, and then leapt out of the way when Snake attacked again.

Billie Dawn watched in horror as Snake tripped on
his own heels. The big biker had spent a lifetime relying upon
being bigger and heavier and meaner than anyone else. Now he had
met more than his match. His size and weight—always before a
distinct advantage— were now working against him. He was like a
lumbering elephant, while Miss Bitch was a gazelle dancing elegant
circles around him.

Please, God, Billie prayed. Don’t let Snake die.
He’s all that stands between us and that monster.

“
Watch
this!”
Miss Bitch
commanded and danced gracefully backward and then stopped, both
legs pressed tightly together. He raised his switchblade high, the
tip of the long blade pointing down, in a matador’s pose. Then he
looked out from under his centipede lashes and blew Snake another
obscene kiss.

That did it! Snake charged him like a bull.

Miss Bitch simply pirouetted sideways and hopped on
tippy-toe. And Snake, unable to stop in time, barreled right past
him, but not before Miss Bitch’s knife flashed down and jammed into
the back of his neck.

A shock geysered through Snake and his eyes bulged
in disbelief. He staggered. The quivering knife was buried in his
neck, all the way to the hilt. Instantly, thin spraylets of blood
squirted up like pink veils.

That was when Billie Dawn started screaming.

Miss Bitch clapped imaginary dust off his hands.
“See how easy it is, girls?” he called out to Billie and
Hallelujah, while Snake, bellowing like a wounded lion, stomped
around in circles. He was hunched over and kept trying to reach up
behind him to pull the knife out of his neck, but he couldn’t reach
it.

“
Big brutes really are all bark and
no bite!” Miss Bitch clapped his hands in delight. “Don’t you
agree, girls?”

Billie couldn’t bear to look at Snake. Even he,
vicious as he was, didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved this.

But Miss Bitch was not finished with Snake, oh no.
Without warning, he advanced on him and kicked high, his toes
dislodging Snake’s grip on the switchblade he was still holding. It
flew up out of his grasp.

Miss Bitch snatched it right out of thin air, just
like a magician.

He turned to Billie Dawn and Hallelujah.
“Girls.”

“
Don’t look!” Billie whispered
hoarsely to Hallelujah, and pressed the girl’s face closer into her
breast. “You don’t have to look.”

“
Oh, but she does! Unless, of
course, you wish me to fling this into
her
back?” Miss Bitch
was now holding Snake’s knife by the tip of the blade, and he flung
back his arm as if getting ready to toss it at
Hallelujah.

Billie waved a hand frantically. “No!
No-no-no-no-no!” she cried. “She’ll look! She’ll
look!”
Then, softly, she said to Hallelujah, “You’ll have to turn around,
honey. Just do as the . . .” She glanced at Miss Bitch. “As he
says.”

“
I can’t!” Hallelujah sobbed, and
gripped Billie even tighter. Her sobs increased in volume. “I just
can’t!”

Tears were streaming down Billie’s face too, but
humoring Miss Bitch demanded priority over everything else.
Somehow, even if she couldn’t save herself, she had to try to save
Hallelujah. Somehow she had to help her escape this
slaughterhouse.

Firmly Billie took Hallelujah by the arms, pushed
her away, and forced her to turn around.

Miss Bitch smiled. “There! That’s much better, my
dear. Isn’t it?”

Hallelujah stared at him, her eyes glazed with
shock, her teeth chattering.

Miss Bitch reveled in the girl’s fear. He could feel
it coming right at him. Oh, he simply
adored
seeing his
victims tremble! It imbued him with strength and glory; fear, that
most spontaneous of emotions, made it all seem so
worthwhile!
Fear made him . . . yes! Happy! Oh, he felt so
happy, so alive! So good that he felt like . . . dancing!

And without warning, Miss Bitch broke into a
quick-stomping flamenco and danced around and around Snake. Then,
raising the biker’s knife high, he drove it viciously down into
Snake’s thick neck, right next to the other. When he let go, the
haft quivered like an arrow.

“
Arrrrrgh!” Snake didn’t bellow
this time; he bucked and gurgled. Dropped heavily to his knees in
writhing agony and cradled his head in his arms.

Miss Bitch continued dancing madly around him, then
grabbed the hafts of both knives and, quick as a flash, drew them
out.

Snake bucked again and fell flat on his face. Blood
geysered powerfully up out of the open wounds.

Miss Bitch took a few flamenco steps backward. “In
Spain, sometimes a matador dedicates his bull to a member of the
audience,” he told Billie and Hallelujah. “Do you know how he does
this?”

“
No,” Billie said in a strained
whisper.

“
Then I shall tell you. He presents
someone with the animal’s ears.”

“
No!” Billie gasped, and let out an
anguished moan. Her eyes, wide and frightened, stared pleadingly at
Miss Bitch. “Oh, God, please don’t!”

“
This bull”—Miss Bitch’s foot
flashed out and kicked Snake right in the face—”is dedicated to the
both of you. Just think! The matadors chose people like Picasso.
But I choose
you!”

“
Nooooo,” Billie moaned. “Nooooo
...”

But Miss Bitch was already jumping into a crouch,
and in mere seconds had sliced off both of Snake’s ears. Blood
gushed from the wounds in a torrent.

It was at that moment that Billie and Hallelujah
both started screaming and screaming and screaming and—

“
Here’s one
for you!”
Playfully Miss Bitch aimed one bloody ear at Billie and threw it.
Billie ducked and it flew past her. “And one for
you!”
He
tossed the other at Hallelujah, who was too frozen to move. It hit
her in the face and fell to the floor. She stared down at it
wildly, her mouth open as she continued screaming, but now no more
sound would issue forth.

Miss Bitch looked at them narrowly. Then, holding
one knife in each hand, he carefully wiped each of the blades clean
on his stockings. “You are not grateful little girls,” he chided.
“In fact, you are both very,
very
ungrateful!” Then he did
his little trick again, spinning the two knives as if they were
silver pin wheels.

Abruptly the blur stopped.

He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “Now it’s
your turns, sweethearts! It’s time for one of you to offer
yourselves to Miss Bitch!” He did his knife-baton trick yet again,
then abruptly stopped and held the two blades up like a cartoon
character’s knife and fork. “Well? Which of you would like to be
first?”

“
You, you
bastard!”
an
altogether different voice suddenly said from behind
him.

They all turned, even Miss Bitch. Edwina stood in
the doorway. She had taken a wide-legged stance and held the
revolver with both hands, just like Angie Dickinson on
Police
Woman.

“
Drop the knives,” Edwina told Miss
Bitch. “And slowly.”

Deliberately Miss Bitch placed the tip of his tongue
in one cheek and moved it around and around in a slow circle, so
that his cheek stretched out and moved obscenely. Showing her he
wasn’t scared.

“
You heard me,” Edwina said through
her teeth. And she thought: Put them down, please put them down!
Oh, God, don’t make me shoot. I’ve never shot anyone . .
.

“
Did you hear me?” Her voice rose a
shrill octave. “Drop them!”

Instead, Miss Bitch did his little knife-propeller
trick again, slowly turned his back on her, and advanced on Billie
and Hallelujah. As he neared them, he raised both knives high,
preparing to bring them slashing down, when—

“
Ma!” Hallelujah screamed, and
flung her arms up over her face.

And Edwina pulled the trigger. The noise exploded in
her ears as she blew a hole through Miss Bitch’s left thigh.

Miss Bitch was whirled around by the impact. His
arms were still raised, and he still gripped the knives, but there
was a look of total surprise on his ghoulish face. He teetered
toward Edwina, the knives ready to slash down, when—

Edwina clenched her teeth and squeezed the trigger
again.

This time his shoulder seemed to explode; bits of
bone and flesh and wet red blood erupted and went splattering.

Miss Bitch was whirled around by this impact too.
But somehow his arms were
still
raised, and, unbelievable as
it seemed, he kept on teetering toward her, until—

“
Die!” Edwina screamed, and pulled
the trigger one more time.

This time the shot punched Miss Bitch in the belly
and slammed him back against the wall. His mouth opened to say
something, and then the knives fell from his hands and clattered to
the floor. Slowly he slid down along the wall, leaving a wide red
smear, and ended in a grotesque sitting position.

“
You shot me,” Miss Bitch
whispered. “You killed me.” His head slumped forward and Anouk’s
hair slipped off and fell between his legs.

Edwina dropped the revolver and took staggering
steps forward. “Oh, my God!” she whispered, and reeled. She clapped
both hands over her mouth. “It’s
Leo!
It’s Leo Flood! Oh,
Jesus! Oh, God!”

Leo slowly raised his head. “Not . . . Leo,” he
slurred.

“
What?” Edwina looked down at him.
“What are you saying?”

“
Not . . . Leo.”

“
Then who
are
you?” She
dropped into a squat and her fingers dug into his blood-encrusted
arms. She shook him savagely. “Who the hell are you?”

“
Miss Bitch.” His voice was losing
its power, and the life was slowly dimming in his eyes.