A Twist Of Noir 382 - BJ Bourg

GET SOME - BJ BOURG

Originally published at Flashing In The Gutters in June 2006 as Baby Come Get Some

“Hey, baby, come get some!”

Allison quickened her pace and stared at the ground.

“Come on, baby, where you going?” The man moved away from the tin building. He was lanky, unkempt. He sauntered closer.

Allison could hear his boots dragging the graveled parking lot. She walked faster.

“Hey, Pedro, think you can keep up with her?” someone called.

“I dunno, she’s a quick one.” Pedro's laughter chilled Allison to her Hush Puppy sandals. She ran through the parking lot. As she ran, she fumbled in her purse. Frantic fingers searched for car keys. When she found them, she smashed the unlock button and dove into the Mountaineer. Inside, she locked the doors and buried her face in her hands. Tears rolled down flushed cheeks. Her breath came in labored gasps. Suddenly, a sharp smack on the driver’s window caused her to jerk her head around.

Allison screamed when she saw Pedro’s face pressed against the glass. His mouth was open wide. His tongue slithered between stained teeth, as he licked her window like a dehydrated coyote lapping water from a cool stream. Allison’s body swayed involuntarily as the Mountaineer rocked from side to side. Men hollered and cheered as Pedro pulled on the door handle and beat on the window.

Heart pounding in her ears, tears streaming down her face, Allison pushed the key in the ignition with a hand that trembled. She cried with relief when the engine roared to life. A pull on the gearshift set the Mountaineer in drive. Her vehicle lurched forward. Pedro pounded on the window as she sped away.

*

Allison rushed into her house and slammed the door shut. Tim looked up from his recliner. His brow furrowed when he saw her. “What’s wrong, Ali?”

Allison rushed to the recliner and collapsed on the floor beside Tim. She leaned against the arm of the chair and sobbed uncontrollably.

“They...they...they almost raped me!”

Tim jumped to his feet. “What?”

Between gasps for air, Allison recounted what happened in the parking lot at her work. Tim listened intently at first. The more Allison spoke, the more his face relaxed. “Baby, I thought you said they almost raped you.”

Allison’s mouth fell open. “What the hell do you think they were trying to do?”

“Just hassling you.”

“Hassling me?”

“Look, you work around a bunch of horny men. Besides, look at the way you’re dressed.”

Allison glanced down at her jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You buy your jeans two sizes too small, you--”

“Are you saying this was my fault?”

Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Look, they didn’t touch you, so they didn’t commit a crime. If you don’t want it to happen again, stop dressing the way you do.”

Allison shook her head slowly, her eyes bloodshot and sunken. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cop and a worse excuse for a husband.”

“Hey, don’t blame your problems at work on me! Besides, it’s an internal issue, not a crime.”

“I already reported them to security.”

“What did they say?”

Allison hung her head. “Nothing they could do. They said he was free to say whatever he wanted. That he has a right to free speech.”

“Well, you can always quit if you can’t handle it.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve always said a woman’s place is in the home. At least I’d have a warm meal when I got back from work.”

*

The next day, Allison swallowed hard before stepping out her office. She clutched her purse and walked grim faced, her jaw set. When she approached the tin building, she heard Pedro’s familiar voice.

“Hey, baby, come--”

Allison turned abruptly and stomped directly toward Pedro, who froze in his tracks. His eyes widened as she pulled a hand from her purse. In it, she clutched a bottle of Freeze +P she’d taken from Tim’s gun belt. Pedro opened his mouth to speak and Allison raised the bottle. She pressed the ridged cap and pepper spray streamed from the bottle and splashed against Pedro’s face, in his mouth, and across his eyes. He fell to the rough ground, clawing at his face.

Allison raised her foot high and stomped the side of his head with the heel of her Nine West shoe. She did it again, and again, and again. Pedro could only grunt and writhe helplessly in pain. Between stomps, Allison yelled down at him, “You have a right...to free speech...so feel free...to tell your friends...what just happened...you piece of shit!”

BIO: BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at BJ Bourg.