Bag Man

This is a flash draft, a story I knocked out in an evening when the first line was used as a prompt. Everything else just came after that line. It's fun to do that once in a while, but you never know how it goes until someone reads it. So... read. Thanks...

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The knock on the door came sooner than she expected.

"Honey, get your things and let's go out to the balcony."

"But I want to keep reading."

"We'll read later."

She took her daughter by the hand and made sure she pulled the kitchen door closed behind them as they headed to the balcony. She heard the knocking on the apartment door again as the kitchen door was closing. It was louder knocking, more rapid.

It was insistent knocking. She pretended it wasn't.

She reached across the flimsy railing that separated their balcony from the family next door. She rapped on the window of her neighbor's kitchen door. A black woman, about the same age, with the same beginning signs of weary age that made her look slightly older than her thirty years, opened it. She wore an apron and held a spatula.

"Carla can Millie stay with you for a few minutes? I have to go out."

"I'm just fixing lunch for my girls. You want her to eat with us?"

"Could she?"

Millie interrupted.

"Where are you going, Mommy?"

"I'll tell you when I get back, honey."

She lifted her daughter over the railing and mouthed 'thank you!' to Carla, who with a smile reached out and took Millie, but behind the little girl's back she rubbed her fingers together and raised her eyebrows. She mouthed another message.

"You owe me!"

Millie's mother answered with a barely perceptible nod of the head. Carla's face changed from arrogant to concerned, but Millie's mother hurried back into her own apartment, not seeing the Carla's worry or the sad wave from Millie.

She closed the kitchen door and rushed across the apartment to the sounds of ceaseless pounding from outside.

"Just a minute!"

"It's been a minute already! Open up!"

She breathed deep and exhaled as quietly as she could. She snapped open the locks and as she turned the knob the man outside took over and forced his way in and past her. She closed the door as he stood near her and took an angry look around the place.

"You Nancy?"

"Nanette."

"Whatever."

"People call me 'Nan.'"

"How about I call you 'fuck up' for making me wait out there like that?"

"Sorry."

"I heard you had a kid. Where is she?"

"Babysitter's."

"Is that every day?"

"Only some days."

"Why today?"

"I was waiting for you."

That did not please him. Nothing on him moved. He stood and stared down at her for what felt like a half an hour. She got her first good look at him.

He stood taut, straight, like a man who held that position often and could go from standing there to beating or strangling her faster than she cared to imagine. For a microsecond she thought that he must have been a boxer, and a big one. He was at least half a foot taller, with shoulders that scared her, even under the black t-shirt and faded denim jacket. He was bald, with a dark beard and a horizontal scar under his right eye. The scar looked old but deep. She wondered how he got it but was afraid of the answer. His eyes were gray blue and intense, and getting more so.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"So where's the money?"

"The money?"

"Yeah, the money."

Her mouth fell open.

"See." He still hadn't moved. "That tells me you're not ready."

She swallowed and bit her bottom lip gently.

"No, I'm not."

He moved closer to her. She felt as if a storm had just blown a tree down and it was about to land on her. She would have backed away but she was already against the door.

"Are you fucking me here?"

"No, I'm not. I swear."

"Because it feels like the two of you are fucking me here."

She could smell him, and she could feel the heat of his breath. She stared up at him and swallowed several times but her throat was dry and it hurt. He saw the stress in her face and backed away until she was free of his shadow.

"You know what's going to happen here if you two are fucking me."

She nodded.

"Sweetheart, you—what was your name again?"

"Nan."

"You better start talking, Nan. I'm already here longer than I shoulda been."

Her shoulders lifted as she breathed as deeply as she could. She still wore Hank's t-shirt that she had slept in the night before. It hung down over her loose gym shorts. She felt even smaller in it now than she usually did. Her hands clasped in front of her stomach, like a child's hands during bedtime prayers.

"You want a drink?"

"Wrong answer, Nan."

"May I have one?"

"You need one?"

"I'd like one."

"Where?"

"The living room."

"Go."

He followed her. She poured some Jack Daniels in an iced tea glass and swallowed it all in one drink. She started to pour a second.

"That's enough."

She put the bottle down and turned to face him.

"I don't have the money, Mr...?"

"You already told me that, and my name doesn't matter."

"Hank told me a man named Curtis was coming."

"Call me Curtis if you want. Where's the money if it's not here?"

"Hank said you were bringing the stuff."

"That's not how this works, and don't change the subject. Where's the money? And I'm getting impatient."

She moved farther away from him and sat nervously in a chair by a window that brought no light into the room. She made her body as small as it could get and did not look up at him.

"Someone else has your money."

"It's not my money. Who has it?"

"One of Hank's friends."

She wished he would move. He didn't. Nothing moved. She was afraid that if he ever decided to move it would be quick, decisive, and decisively bad for her.

"Do you know this friend of Hank's, where he stays?"

"Yes."

"Let's go there now."

He moved, finally. He came across the room and grabbed her by the arm and lifted her to her feet. She was afraid to wince, thinking her fear might anger or encourage him, like a dog looking for a weakness. She wondered if he could pull her arm off. She believed that he could.

"Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

He lifted the t-shirt and saw the shorts she wore.

"Shoes?"

"In the hallway."

When he moved toward the door he held onto her arm and moved her in front of him. With his other hand he reached for the doorknob.

"Wait!"

"I thought so."

"There's no money."

He stopped abruptly and the grip on her upper arm tightened. She felt the pressure of his hands, but she felt no pain.

"You see, that's bad, Nan, for everybody, but it's really bad for you."

"No, I mean there's no money right now, but it is coming. Hank's friend just has to go get it."

He slammed her back against the door. His other hand whipped a blade out of his belt. He held the point to her throat.

"I'm getting tired of being here, Nan."

"I mean I just can't go get the money, just like that. The money's coming here, today, from some place Hank stashed it. That's how Hank set it up, with his friend. It's just not here yet."

"Why didn't Hank just have you get it?"

She felt the point of the blade against the skin of her throat.

"No one told me where it was. Hank didn't. His friend didn't. Hank said the less I knew the better for me."

"So when I knocked you thought I was the bag man?"

"Yes."

She hadn't cried, and she wouldn't. The Jack Daniels made sure of that. Her eyes were steadier than they should have been if she was lying. He lowered the blade but held onto her arm.

"You're either a very cool liar, or Hank married a good girl."

"We're not married."

"Then he chose a good girl."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're steady, in the face, everywhere else. Most guys cry or beg or shit themselves when I have 'em up against a wall about to cut their throats."

"You do that a lot?"

"I do it when they deserve it."

"Do I?"

"Too early to tell."

"Does Hank?"

"He's not here, you are, so it really doesn't matter, does it?"

She stared at him without blinking. He let go her arm and moved a step back. He folded the blade and replaced it in his belt.

"Hank tell you what time this guy's bringing the money?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

His face tightened and his eyes got their intensity back.

"You see Hank told us the money would be here at six in the morning."

He looked at her the way he had when he first came in. Nothing moved. She wondered if she had ever seen another human being who could stand that still.

He spoke again, and his voice slowed, was more measured than it had been.

"And Hank told you I'd be bringing the stuff?"

"If you're Curtis, yeah."

He looked around. He looked at her.

"Don't move."

He walked into the living room again. He looked around and came back.

"Bedroom. I'll follow you."

She walked slowly. The Jack Daniels was working on her now. She felt no fear. She pushed open the bedroom door and switched on the light.

The man looked around the room and switched the light off. He moved into the kitchen and pulled her along with him. He used a foot to pull a chair from under the small table and pushed her down in it.

"Your kid, the little girl... is she Hank's?"

"Why?"

"I see pictures here of you and a kid, no pictures of a kid with Hank. Hank live here?"

"Sometimes."

"Is she his?"

"No."

He walked to the door that led to the balcony. Nan looked out the window passed him and hoped Millie was not playing on Carla's balcony. She hoped Carla was not there.

He turned and grabbed her by the arm and took her back to the living room.

"Sit."

She sat in the chair she had been in earlier.

"You're gonna die today, Nan."

He poured another glass of Jack Daniels and handed it to her. She only stared up at him.

"Drink it."

He walked across the room and for the first time looked relaxed. He leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the other as he stood.

She hadn't drunk anything.

"Are you going to kill me, after you get me drunk so I don't fight back?"

"You couldn't fight me off if I didn't want you to."

"I could scream. I have neighbors."

"Could you? Do you?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"That's what Hank had in mind."

She sat, unmoving, as still as he had been earlier. She looked at him, then at the door, then at the small clock on a table across the room.

"Good girl. You got it all now?"

"There's no money."

"Was never going to be."

"Why did Hank think you'd kill me when you found out there's no money?"

"Because he's not built for this life."

"But you said you do kill people. You said you cut their throats."

"When they deserve it."

She picked up the glass and drank all the Jack Daniels. She set the empty glass down.

"I think Hank deserves it."

"I think so, too."

"Do you think I'm built for this life?"

He whipped the blade out of his belt and stabbed it into the wooden table between them.

"Let's see what you can do."

She walked to the table and grabbed the blade. She stabbed it into her shirt, made a hole, and dropped the knife on the table again. She put a finger of each hand into the hole and ripped the shirt apart.

"This is Hank's."

"The body?"

"The shirt."

"That's a good start."

She leaped on him. He caught her as she wrapped her legs around him. His mouth found a nipple and sucked hard, then bit gently. Nan threw her head back and moaned from deep on her throat.

"I'm fucking coming already!"

He freed his mouth.

"I know."

A river of hot slut sauce ran from her and soaked the front of his jeans. She humped the growing cock inside them and started to scream.

He slid two thick fingers up her shorts and past her panties and drove them home until his hand bumped hard against her cunt. The rive flowed over his hand and she fucked his fingers violently. She leaned into him and squeezed tightly around his neck.

"Fuck me! Take me and fuck me, now!" she said into his ear before she bit it.

He carried her to the sofa and dropped her on it. She tore off her short and watched him unzip.

"Please tell me you have a giant cock!"

"Look at me."

He held his hands apart and let her stare at the magnificence of his tall, lean frame. She grunted hungrily and took over freeing his erection.

"Oh, god!"

He shoved her flat on her back and with her knees high in his hands he aimed his cock at her and gave her what she begged for.

"You motherfucker! You motherfucker! YES! YES! Kill me! Kill me with your dick!"

He came down on her heavy and fast and the sounds of her cunt squeezing and farting and slapping matched her groans.

He grabbed the blade off the table and held it to her throat. It was too much for her.

"OH YES YOU FUCKING KILLER! KILL ME! KILL ME!! I'M COMING!!!!"

She felt the blade against and squeezed his met with her pussy and then she collapsed. Her hips convulsed and her tits shook and her eyes closed and he wasn't sure if she was still conscious. He started to pullout but she looked up at him.

"No! No! No! Come! I want you to come! Come in me! Come in me!"

He drove into her again. He pulled her hands up over her head so she was motionless except for the shock of his body knocking her hips and jiggling her tits as he fucked her.

She was tight from inattention, and he was there quickly.

"Yes! YES! I feel it! COME! ALL OF IT! COME ON! COME ON!"

They showered. With a blow dryer she removed the stain of her from his jeans. He dressed without talking. She watched him. She was still naked, standing next to where he sat on the bed. With him in the room she felt no desire to be clothed.

"Where will you go now?"

He finished with his boots and stood up to fasten his belt.

"To find Hank."

"Can I come?"

"To do what?" He said everything now without looking at her. He was back on the job, living this life, whatever it was.

"To make sure."

"Come on."

She dressed quickly. In the hall outside her apartment she asked him for a hundred dollars.

"You look like you'd have it on you."

She took the money and knocked on Carla's door. She went inside, where she said good-bye to Millie and told her she would be home tomorrow. She gave Carla the key to their apartment in case Millie needed clothes or toys or books for the night.

Carla came into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her as Nan went out to meet the man. Carla saw him and stopped talking.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had a friend."

"He has a knife and a huge dick," Nan said. The man nodded in agreement at Carla.

"Oh, shit. What?"

"Fuck him, " Nan said. "Just don't fuck with him."

Carla was staring at the man as Nan kissed her on the cheek and left.

"I love you, neighbor." Nan then disappeared around the corner of the hall. Carla called behind her.

"Yeah, love you, too."

He drove a '72 El Camino, black, white racing stripes on the hood, white interior. He started the engine.

"Where do we begin?"

She began to loosen his belt.

"I meant looking for Hank."

She unzipped him and reached in, found him half hard.

"Should I just drive?"

She pulled it all out and let it rest at half mast, the long shaft and the head tilting over his thigh.

"You'll tell me where to go?"

She stroked him.

"I'll drive. But he's happier this way."

He pushed Nan's head down on his cock and as she took it all into her mouth he pulled out onto 4^th Avenue and headed for the freeway. They would start looking for Hank in Pearson, a half hour south.