Shame Read Free Page B

convicted for any of those crimes?”
    He laughed. “Haven’t you heard? Wives run away all the time. That’s what the cops told me, and I believed them, oh, yes, I did. And who cares about hookers?”
    “What’s prompted you to act as you have?”
    “Like my daddy always said, ‘If bitches didn’t have a pussy, there’d be a bounty on them.’ I never run short of no reasons to do away with them.”
    Elizabeth could see the engineer working feverishly, doing his best, she was sure, to land her fish.
    “What reasons?”
    “They’re nosy, like you.”
    “And for that you killed them?”
    “And sometimes they acted high and mighty, like you’re acting now.”
    “How did you murder them?”
    “That’s a trade secret. But I’m always willing to learn new tricks. I like the way Shame took care of business. You was real good about describing that in your book. Made me feel like I was right there.”
    She had wanted readers to be sickened by those passages. His reaction, his exultation over the violence, made her feel ill. She didn’t want to continue talking, but Kip kept gesturing to her, his hands coming together and apart, imploring her to stretch the conversation just a little longer.
    “So you admire Gray Parker?” she asked.
    “He had the right idea, that’s for sure. The only mistake he made was not doing you when he had the chance.”
    “You’ll forgive me if I don’t agree with you.”
    “I’m not sure if I will. I’m not sure if I don’t owe you one for Shame. The way I see it, you’re just unfinished business.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    “I don’t make threats. I just do what I do.”
    “And if we’re to believe you, what you do is murder.”
    “If you get rid of vermin, you’re an exterminator, not a murderer.”
    Somehow Elizabeth was keeping her voice steady. Unflappable. Behind the calm voice, though, were shaking knees and a face gone pale. The caller was scary. She half believed him.
    “Is that so?”
    “Yeah, poetry lady, that’s so. Think you’re so goddamn superior, don’t you? Well, reciting poetry in the middle of the night isn’t always gonna save your ass. Fact is, I’ve been working on a poem for you, seeing’s how you like poetry so much. I’m thinking of carving it somewhere. Maybe on your ass.”
    “I hope it’s a short poem then,” Elizabeth said. “I’d hate to think that part of my anatomy could support a really long poem.”
    “You’re a smart-mouthed cunt.”
    “Do you really have a poem, Kenny? Or is that just another one of your lies?”
    “You’re afraid of my truth, lady. And you should be.”
    “You’re wrong there. That’s my job. I look into dark corners. I open doors that most people would leave shut.”
    “If I were you, I’d be shitting in my pants, bitch.”
    “I’m sure you would, Kenny.”
    He started cursing, didn’t stop until he needed a long breath.
    “Did that make you feel better?” she asked.
    “Cutting off your head will make me feel better.”
    “I think only one of us has lost our head in this conversation.”
    “Talk is cheap. Bitch like you thinks you’re so smart, spouting off words. I’ve got a few words for you.”
    “I thought you had a poem.”
    “I do.”
    “I’m listening.”
    Ken didn’t say anything for several seconds. Elizabeth didn’t offer him an out, just waited in silence. Then he started reciting:
    “I hear your heart beating,
    Awaiting our meeting,
    I wonder at your greeting,
    When my knife meets your flesh.
    Will you scream out in pain,
    Will your tears run like rain,
    Will your blood gush from a vein,
    When my knife meets your flesh.”
    He wanted her to react; Elizabeth knew that with certainty. He wanted her to be afraid, to plead with him that he shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts. He hoped she would scream, or shout that he was a sick bastard, or hang up in fear.
    Instead, she asked, “You know what, Kenny?”
    Suspiciously: “What?”
    “I think you should