Hot Steel by Mike Cooley (well read books TXT) 📕

The smooth cold steel of the Beretta felt reassuring against my thigh as I entered his office. I let him sit back down before I shot him. Then I closed my eyes and held my Dad’s gun between my breasts, letting the heat from the barrel work its way deep into my tattered soul. I remembered the night I dug him up to get it. He had insisted it be buried with him. I pushed the barrel release and slid it off, holding it beneath my nose, my long dark hair hanging down to my shoulders. The smell of powder and hot metal sent shivers down my spine. Dan stared at the ceiling, blood oozing from the hole in his forehead. There was less blood than I expected. Time to switch to hollow-points.
 
I left when the sirens got loud, after clicking the barrel back in place and sliding the 9mm into the holster beneath my short black dress. The security cameras perched in the ceiling of the office complex had a good view of my breasts as I looked up and smiled. My nipples were hard from the killing. I could hear the sound of wings on the other side of the gateway. Flapping ponderously as they waited for me. Outside the sky was blue and dotted with clouds. It was a warm summer day. The Tribune at the newsstand had a grainy picture of me on the front with the caption Femme Fatale Body Count Rises. I was just getting started.
 
I slipped two loaded fifteen-clips down my shirt where they nestled sweetly between my breasts before I left my apartment on the south side of St. Paul. I licked the barrel of my trusty 92FS and rubbed the side of it against my face like I was getting prepared to suck it down my throat. It was cool and dark… just waiting and waiting for me to flick off the safety and blow someone’s brains out. I had a list. It was three days since Dan. And a week since I started. There were police everywhere but they didn’t seem to recognize me. At the edges of my vision the dark wings flickered up and down, edging closer.
 
The bank was fun. Shooting that many people made me wet. The iron grate separating me from hell creaked open on its rusty hinges and I could smell the decay of the river. The sky was grey and filled with bats. I could hear a hum like the sound of a power transformer about to blow. I slipped another clip in the Beretta and stopped at an Irish Bar to use the bathroom. The blood spatters didn’t show on my red dress. I wiped droplets off my face and hands. The blood tasted salty. There was a glimmer of recognition in the Bartender’s eyes. I leaned over and ordered a Guinness, letting my succulent tits erase his suspicions. I could hear the Beretta whispering its sweet song into my mind as I drank.
 
Sam was last. I shot him in the balls when he answered the door. The look on his face was priceless. My Dad’s gun radiated heat and happiness. Charon was calling for me. Melissa. Melissa.
 
It wasn’t time yet. I pushed Sam to the floor on his back and kneeled over his face with my knees on each side and held him down as he bled to death, not giving him the release of a quick death. His struggling got me off as I rubbed the tip of the warm Beretta against myself.  
 
The police came and examined the body as I sipped lemonade on his couch. They didn’t seem to notice me.
 

***

“So what’s her story?” asked the Doctor as he watched the green lines tracing across the display. He tapped the side of the machine out of habit and jotted down notes on his clipboard. The girl was pale, dark-haired, and very beautiful.

“Taken hostage during a bank robbery,” said the nurse. “They took her home, to her own house, and raped her. Then they shot her Dad when he got home from work. Then they shot her three times and left her for dead.”

“Next of kin?” asked the Doctor.

“She’s got no one. It was just her, and her Dad, and he didn’t make it.”

“No brain activity,” said the Doctor. “Time of death—“ He looked at the clock, jotted it down, and flicked off the ventilator.

***

I pulled back the barrel and ejected a brass shell from the chamber as the coroner zipped up the body bag over Sam’s cold, dead eyes. The shell pinged onto the glass table in his living room and rolled off onto the white carpet. I pulled the breech back and unloaded another shell, and another, until the clip was empty. Then I set the gun down on the table and walked outside.

The sky was crimson and full of pterodactyls. The moon hung large in the sky like a rotting melon. I stepped onto the boat at the edge of the river and the char of brimstone flooded my nostrils. Charon helped me off on the far side, kissing the back of my hand, and told me to walk towards the light.

***

The nurse reached into her pocket and felt the cool dark steel. And the list. She went to the front desk and punched out early.


 
 
 
 

Publication Date: 06-27-2012

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