LUCK BE A LADY

BY: JAMES WATTS

1

He would like to tell himself that he was one of those lucky few that always made it in ahead of the storm, but that just was not the case, not for David Anthony Evans anyway. He was about ten feet away from Ed’s Package and Convenience when the downpour hit, soaking through his slacks and tee shirt in an instant. By the time he reached the door and pulled it open his clothes were heavy with moisture and clung to his skinny frame like wet tissue stuck to the ceiling of a public restroom; his shoes were full of water that squirted recycled wetness onto the worn tile floor with every step. Luck be a lady tonight, he thought as he headed to the back of the store, not giving any thought to what that actually meant. It was just another useless thought to pop up in his head.

     Out the corner of his eye, he could see the line at the front counter, stretching damn near all the way down the first aisle. Ed himself was running things today, sweat running down his baldhead as he rushed to ring up and cash out his customers, in bitter anguish for the need of a cigarette, no doubt. Drunks. The whole lot of them was drunks. Apparently, not even a monsoon could stave off addiction. Poor, confused, unholy bastards. Let them destroy their temple with their tobacco and alcohol…not me. My body is my temple; God’s temple and I dare not defile it.

    David moved at a slow pace in front of the coolers, pretending as if he were struggling to make a decision on what he wanted from them, a Coke or a Pepsi, maybe a chocolate milk or a juice. He was waiting for the line to go down so he could approach the counter, so he could approach Ed. He reached into one of the coolers and picked out a twenty ounce Dr. Pepper, knowing good and well he would pour it out once he left the store (had to keep his temple well maintained and sodas were bad business; all that carbonation and sugar), and headed to the middle aisle.

     Advil, Tylenol, Ibuprofen; the names of these products barely noticed as his eyes did a mock scan of the shelves. Nothing on this aisle was of interest to him, but the pretense of being an average customer was essential. He cut his eyes up and to the rear of the store, and it was just as he had hoped. He turned as if checking on the shelves behind him for what he was looking for and checked the front and rear corners of that side of the store, and felt a smile in his soul. There were mirrors all the way around and no security cameras, as far as he could tell. Given the fact that Ed had only been robbed twice in fifteen years, both robberies a good five years apart, David figured good old Ed didn’t believe he needed cameras; he just prayed that he was right on that assumption. Pray to the good Lord God that I am right.

     There were only two left at the register now and David picked up a bottle of Advil and slowly made his way in that direction, eyes still half-scanning shelves, half-watching the front counter. Hurry up, damn it!

     Finally, Ed was down to his last customer and David was somewhat shocked to see him placing a rather large bottle of some clear liquor in a brown paper sack for an elderly lady; the woman had to be eighty or ninety at least. Surely, it was for her husband or maybe her son, surely not all that alcohol was for that dear old woman. Surely not. Lord Forgive her. For she has sinned. Lord please remove the taste of Satan’s brew from her lips and from her heart. Guide her Lord, for she has defiled her temple that you have created for her. Amen.

     At last, the old woman paid for her purchase and ambled away from the counter and out into the rain. David watched for a moment with brief interest then approached Ed and set his drink on the counter. Ed looked at him, he looked at Ed; there was no friendly “How ya doin’” attitude in the clerks eyes or on his face. It was more of a “Hurry up, ya shit. I need a smoke” type of look.

     “That all, Mr.?” Ed asked. His voice was deep and scratchy.

     David looked past Ed for a moment in stern concentration then said. “I’ll take a fifth of Jack Daniels and a carton of cigarettes, please.”

     “What kind?”

     “Excuse me?” David asked, genuinely puzzled by the question. He had drifted away in thought and was not paying attention.

     “What kind of smokes you want? Any particular brand, friend, or you just want me to toss you in a carton of anything?”

     “Uh,” David stumbled for a brand name, never having bought cigarettes before he was unsure on which to get. Then a bright red and white box caught his eye. “Yes. A carton of Marlboros will do.”

     “Regular, 100’s, lights, Menthols…?” Ed was growing impatient.

     “Regulars will be fine.”

     “You want those in a box or the soft pack?”

     “Soft packs will do.” David had no real idea the difference between “box” and “soft pack”, but he had to be convincing enough to save what little of his act there was to save. You should have thought of a brand before you came in…just as you did with the liquor.

     Ed set a carton of Marlboros on the counter then went to the back shelf where the Liquors were stored, eyed them for a few seconds, then found what he was looking for and took it from the shelf. As he approached the counter, he was already stuffing it into a brown bag.

     “Anything else I can get ya, friend?” He asked as he added the cigarettes and whiskey to David’s total.

     “That will be all,” David replied and pulled out his wallet, which was just as wet as the rest of him, and he hoped that the money inside of it had not suffered any damage.

     Ed gave him his total and he reached into his wallet, thanking God the money was only damp, and paid for his purchases. All right. You have my money. Hurry it along, now.

     David just happened to look up as Ed was bagging everything into a plastic bag with a big smiley face on the front of it and felt his heart pick up a few beats. Above the clerks head was a security video camera aimed right at him. Too late now, so do not get excited. You have never been to this side of town before…so no one will even think about it. Will they? No! Stop it!

     “Have a goodun,” the clerk said handing David the plastic bag. “Receipt and change is in the bag.”

     “Thank you,” David said. He took the bag and left the store.

2

Patiently he awaited her arrival; dressed in his best pair of jeans and a nice Dallas Cowboys’ sweatshirt his mother had bought for him on his last birthday. He so hoped that she found his house to her liking. It was small, yes, and not expensively furnished, but it was cozy and warm. The TV was not as big as to be compensating for lack of manliness and set snugly in a fine oaken entertainment center. His living room suite was not top of the line, not leather or some fine silky material, but it was two years new and still clean and bore no holes, tears or cigarette burns. His walls were free of unnecessary pictures and do-dads and so were his end tables and bookshelves; he kept it all as neat and organized as books in a library. The best word he could come up with to describe his cozy little home was mellow. And he guessed that that word fit it perfectly.

     There was a knock at the door and David knew she had arrived; it had to be her because David had no other visitors. He went to the door and opened it and it was she, just as he knew it would be and gave her his most charming smile and waved her in.

     “You must be Helen. I am so glad you could make it.” She was just as pretty as her profile picture depicted. The jeans she wore were tight and accented her hips and thighs and a black halter that looked if it may be too small, her breasts seemed to be fighting the material in a vigorous yet hopeless battle. She had her strawberry red hair pulled back into a ponytail that hung down past her shoulders. David felt the heat growing between his legs and stifled it the best he could. Such beautiful hair. Lord, forgive me this night.

     “This place isn’t like you said at all,” Helen said, smiling. “They way you acted when we chatted it was a shack. This is pretty nice.”

     “Well thank you,” David said and ushered her into the living room. “Would you care for that drink we discussed?”

     “Sure.”

     David went to the kitchen and prepared the drinks, a jack and coke for Helen and a cranberry juice for himself, then dropped two cubes of ice into each drink. A few minutes later he returned into the living room, handed Helen her drink, took a seat beside her on the couch, and took a sip of his juice. He watched as she sipped her own drink and smiled at him.

     “This isn’t bad. You know how to throw down on a mixed drink. Usually when I go out…the bartender usually fucks it up. It’s either too much soda or juice or way too much alcohol. This is just right. Cheers to that.” She giggled a little, David felt that heat rising again, and again he stifled it. Lord, I do not wish to be bad, only your servant in this life. Please, forgive me.

     “Back in Mississippi I worked the bar at this club about a half hour from the tech school I was attending,” He lied. “It wasn’t much but it paid for my tuition.”

     She smiled again and finished off her drink. She was all smiles, this one, and David knew it would not be long now. “Would you care for another?”

     Helen slapped a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch and that ever-persistent heat again found its way into his loins; it was becoming increasingly difficult to dismiss. “You trying to get me drunk?” She laughed, and smiled again; this smile layered in seductive undertones.

     As David suspected it did not take long, thirty minutes at his best guess, and he was burying his face deep between her breasts while she straddled his lap. They both still wore their jeans, only removing their tops and David was breathing hard, one erect nipple between his lips the other between his fingers as he pinched ever so gently. A light moan escaped her and that excited David even more, his erection pressed against the fabric of his Levis painfully and he longed for more then this playful touching.

     “…my room,” David breathed. “…my bed…”

     Helen nodded and kissed him, he stood, her legs instantly wrapping around his waist, and he carried her to his bedroom.

3

After they had stripped off their remaining layers of clothes, David lay back on his bed, his erection full and throbbing, in anticipation of pleasure. This girl Helen, the blessed sweet girl, began to do things with her mouth and hands that made him shudder in ecstasy.

     “Does that feel good?” she asked as she stroked his cock with her well-practiced hand.

     “…yes…dear Lord, yes.”

     She smiled and went back to work with her mouth. David grabbed the sides of her head with both hands, gently, as if she needed help. But he could not take it anymore; he had to be inside her; he had to feel her warmth.

     He rose up and rolled her onto her back and her legs wrapped around his waist as he entered her. He raised her hands above her head and locked his fingers with hers as he rocked his hips. She moaned and he felt her fingers tighten and he thrust harder.

     “Oh God!” She moaned. “…fu…fuck me!”

     God! This whore knew nothing of God! The God who gave his only son to the cross!

     She was close to orgasm now; he could feel it in the way she squirmed underneath him, pushing into each of his thrusts with a thrust of her own.

     David took back one of his hands and leaned back, thrusting harder then ever now and looking like a cowboy riding a mechanical bull. He felt his fingers along the edges of his mattress until he found it. He gave the string a hard tug and the dog collar came free. It was a big collar, one that would fit a Great Dane or a Bull Mastiff. And as she came, he let go of her other hand and grabbed a handful of hair, not so gently this time, her face grew wide and shock and she slapped at his hand.

     “Whatthefuckareyoudoing,” she screamed it all as one word.

     His headboard was solid cherry wood and the only blunt object he had in sight, and after all, his hands were full.

      “Let me go you crazy son of a bitch!”

     Lord Forgive me, for I have sinned.

     He began slamming the back of her head into the headboard, matching it with the rhythm of his hips as thrust into her. Her struggle against him died away and he came into her. Sweat coursed down his body and his breathing slowed. He was exhausted.

     After a few moments, he regained some of his composure, then lifted her head and slipped the collar around her neck. Warm, sticky blood trickled down his forearm and formed a crimson pool on his pillows. If she was dead or unconscious…he did not know…did not care. The Lord would forgive him. He knew his Lord would forgive him. He pulled out of her and stood naked beside the bed, looking down on her with self-righteous contempt. What a whore. What a filthy, disgusting whore. But the Lord would forgive her sins. He would make it right. He will forgive you, dear Helen and all of your heathen ways.

     A few minutes later, he lifted her off the bed and carried her through the house to the basement door in the kitchen. She was heavy, but David had carried heavier women than her, his back had become strong as well as his arms. He placed her with the others, tying the rope on the collar around one of the support beams…just in case. Tomorrow he would have to remove all of her that would carry the stink of death; the tobacco would help with that, his little ritual. But not tonight. Tonight he was tired and needed rest.

     Some time passed, he was not sure how long, and went back upstairs and put his boxers on. There was one last thing to do before he went to sleep, something he did not want to wait on. David went to the corner of his bedroom and sat behind the desk in front of his window. He opened the laptop that set atop it and waited as the windows program loaded. Once it had, he dragged the cursor over the symbol for his instant messenger and clicked on it.

     He scrolled down his friends list until he found Helens screen name, Hotlips4U, a whore’s name if he had ever heard one, and removed her from the list.

     “Filthy whore,” he spoke to no one but himself. “Now you will stand and be judged for your sins.”

4

David pulled his car to a stop in front of the United Baptist Church at a quarter ‘til nine the following Sunday morning. He was still tired; his sleep had been restless and unsatisfying. He checked his review mirror, checking again to make sure his hair had obeyed and stayed flat. The wrinkles around his eyes were growing and his once jet-black head of hair streaked with gray. Doing the Lords work makes you old before your time, but His will must be done. David straightened his collar picked his Bible up from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car.

     “Good morning, Reverend Evans!” It was Jill Westhouse, one of the congregations’ oldest members.

     He met her halfway to the church steps and took her outstretched hand in both of his. “How are you this morning, Sister Westhouse?”

“Good, good. Was just a wondering what wonderful sermon you would be preaching for us this morning.”

     “Sin,” David smiled, a wolfish smile that created a chill in Jill Westhouse that she couldn’t explain, a chill that made her want to go home, lock her doors and hide under the covers. “I am going to talk about sin, Sister, and how we cleanse ourselves of such horrid temptations.”