Read Blood and Ashes for Free Online Page B

come with you.’
    ‘No. You have to wait outside and keep watch.’
    ‘I want to watch you .’ Her eyes flared at the suggestion.
    Vince touched her on the tip of her upturned nose. ‘Don’t worry, baby. When I do it, I’ll be thinking about you.’ He stood up, kicking back the chair with a heel of his silver-tipped boots. ‘Wait until I’m outta here, then go on over to the well. You see those guys come back, you ring me right away.’
    ‘Yeah, whatever.’ She slurped her milkshake again, managing her pout around the straw this time. ‘Knock yourself out, Vince.’
    He stared down at her. Then he curled his lip and held her under his smouldering gaze. She smiled, but then she hunched her shoulders, ducking her head coyly like she couldn’t bear his sexy look any longer.
    All an act. But he liked it.
    He hitched up his jeans and then pimp-walked out of the store looking back over his shoulder.
    Sonya watched him go. He saw her head come up and the innocence vanish from her features. They loved playing their little game, but now Sonya was all business. And so was he.
    Vince Everett was a fake name, but that was all he’d allow. Everything else about him was the real deal. In the movie Jailhouse Rock Elvis Presley played the character of Vince Everett, the ex-con who became a big singing star. It didn’t matter that Vince couldn’t sing a note, or that his hip-swinging was more akin to someone taking a fit, there was something this Louisiana Cat possessed that the man whose name he’d assumed couldn’t claim. Elvis was famous for shooting at TV screens, but had he ever shot and killed a man?
    Vince Everett had.
    More than once.
    He was also suspected of murdering a cop by beating him with the PR24 baton he’d taken off the cop’s belt. Vince had reputedly laughed for joy as the cop’s face went from stunned surprise to ground beef under the repeated whacks of the baton.
    Unlike the Presley character, Everett had never been caught. He was no ex-con, and all being well things shouldn’t change.
    School kids were clambering to get the best seats on a yellow bus as he walked across the green. From the misted windows a couple of older girls watched his progress. He swaggered for their benefit; but their laughter was too harsh to be appreciated. What did they know about sex on legs, anyway?
    The bus puttered away, sending clouds of smoke out of its tailpipe. Vince kept walking. At the gate on to Don Griffiths’ property he paused. Back across the way he saw Sonya come out of the drugstore and walk towards the green. She was already clutching her cell phone, ready to warn him of the men’s return.
    She was a good catch, that one.
    He’d met her out East at one of them burlesque clubs in Greenwich Village. Not a dancer but a punter just like he was; someone who liked the archaic fashion and musical styles of bygone eras. It only took a glance and they both knew it: there was something else they shared. That night they’d danced and drunk and fucked, and things had been pretty much like that in the three months since. And twice already they’d shared their lust for violence. Sonya liked to watch him. Afterwards they’d screwed their brains out; high on the agony of the ones they had hurt.
    She was probably pissed that she was going to miss out on what he was about to do to Millie Griffiths, but he’d tell her all the gory details afterwards. Right now she had to watch from a distance, keep an eye out for Don and his visitor returning. There’d be nothing to tell if Vince was disturbed on the job, nothing to spice things up when he ripped off her clothes.
    Vince wondered who the newcomer was.
    Looked nothing special to him, but who knew?
    The guy was older than him, heavier built, and he looked a little tense when he walked. Old and slow. Vince was pretty sure that the man was no threat.
    But then he thought of the way that the man had returned his stare out of the window earlier. Something about the guy