Satan’s Lambs Read Free

the worn down nap of the carpet with the toe of her terry-cloth house shoe. The warm, sweet smell of baking was strong.
    â€œI ’predate you coming over—I got a cake going. I take orders, you know, weddings and all.”
    She was growing out a perm, and thick black hair fell in limp wiggles to her shoulders. She wore navy blue polyester pants, snagged and frayed across her wide, loose backside. Her nose was big and crooked. Lena wondered how many times it had been broken. There were wide white scars on the inside of her right arm and across both wrists. Large red weals spotted her arms, neck, and face.
    â€œI heard, at the shelter I think, how you quit school and some job you had, and started taking these cases, you know, where women need help. Some of the girls down there call you the equalizer. Like the TV show.”
    Lena smiled. Ph.D. candidate to woman’s equalizer. It would make for an interesting résumé.
    Eloise chewed her lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d help me. Because of how I used to be married to Archie, and him working with Hayes. But then I figured, you more than anybody would know how serious it is to cross these boys.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd I didn’t figure you had any love lost on Archie. You might not mind getting back at him some.”
    â€œMight not.”
    â€œAt least Hayes is locked up.”
    â€œNot anymore. He just got parole.”
    â€œBut how can that be? He got forty years!”
    â€œHe got two twenty-year terms, to run concurrently.”
    â€œConcurrently?”
    â€œThat’s both at the same time. He’s served twenty percent of his sentence. He’s out.”
    â€œAfter what he did to your sister and her little boy, that was so awful. And her being pregnant.” Eloise shook her head. “I remember reading about it. He ought to have got the death penalty.”
    â€œWasn’t possible,” Lena said. “He had a solid out on diminished capacity. He was taking Prozac—that’s an antidepressant. Prescription drug with known side effects.”
    â€œLike making a man kill his wife and little boy?”
    Lena shrugged. “Says so in the warning on the side of the bottle.”
    â€œOh, now. Are you kidding me?”
    â€œSome.”
    â€œMaybe what I need is some Prozac. Seems like you can get away with anything in Kentucky except killing a white man or stealing his money.”
    â€œThat’s two of the big three.”
    â€œWhat’s the other one?”
    â€œMarijuana. Grow it or smoke it and they throw away the key.”
    Eloise grinned.
    Lena felt an ache in the small of her back. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
    â€œGosh, no. I got to check my cake and see if Charlie’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
    The couch was dark green vinyl. Three Matchbox cars—a tiny dump truck, a police cycle, and a Thunderbird—were on the far right cushion. A TV Guide was open beside them. The television was going in the apartment next door.
    â€œNow, Aint Bea ,” a male voice said in an irritated tone. A woman’s voice rose and fell, followed by a ripple of laughter.
    Lena heard the oven door open and close, and she went to the edge of the kitchen. A portable black radio was turned low, a male voice sputtering in barely audible tones. It was small room, warm and humid, the table and counters covered with bowls, spoons, cake pans. Batter dripped from a mixing bowl onto the edge of the sink. Two pans of sheet cake had been set on the table to cool, cushioned by worn plaid dishrags.
    A small boy sat up on his knees at the table.
    â€œCharlie, you watch them pans.”
    The boy nodded and stared at Lena. Eloise turned around.
    â€œSorry, I didn’t mean to leave you in there so long. Just let me—”
    â€œGo on and finish,” Lena said. “I’ll sit down and talk to you while you work. I’d like to see somebody make a cake