The Curse of the Scots

Angie's father had died, lung cancer got him, and her mom ended up living alone. I felt good thinking about that bastard coughing up his lungs the last few weeks he was alive.

Stupid Angie had been living off the small checks I had to send; well she had moved in part time with one of the nastiest stupidest drunks in the area. I say part time because Angie sort of drifted back and forth between her mom's and the asshole's. Still I thought she spent too much time living in the guy's rattrap leaky old farmhouse on the edge of the colored section of one of the small towns. That's where she lived with this lazy asshole and the girl who I knew was my baby.

It was funny how I ended up knowing Emily was my baby? I caught up with Angie at the local I.G.A. store one day. She had Emily with her. Now my mother had a slight deviation in her left eye, a stance they called it. I'd seen it in her pictures. There were only four people I knew of who had that stance, my two older brothers, my older sister, and me. I took one look at Emily, and there it was. Even at three years old it was there.

Emily was my kid. My kid was living with her, once again, promiscuous mother and this overbearing woman beating lazy shit-bird of a man. Angie knew she was mine too, but she denied it to everyone. I think most people knew Emily was my girl, but no one wanted to go up against Angie's live in boyfriend, his name was Bernard Keith. Bernard was this big dumb ex-convict who was so stupid he couldn't even shovel dirt.

Bernard was a big bastard; a lot bigger than me. Shit when I was growing up, due to what I assumed was my dead mother's diminutive size, most of the older boys were able to beat the shit out of me. When they wanted to get into my shit they would call me 'that little Jew'.

Well, too keep it short and sweet, I could out work most anybody in the county, but I sure couldn't out fight everybody. Oh I could hold my own, but old dumb shit Bernard was way too much for me.

So stupid Bernard had my ex-wife; off and on I thought he could keep her, but honestly I still felt real guilty about how I'd treated her. I think I still must have had feelings for her. Who am I kidding; I still loved her.

I don't think I would have remarried her, but I didn't want her getting beat up all the time or getting fucked by every drunk in town either. All her old friends had abandoned her, and her new friends weren't really friends. What especially gnawed at my craw was how asshole Bernard had my little girl too. I thought right after I came back from the army how if I had to remarry Angie to get my daughter I'd do it. Am I confused or what?

I know I had to do something. Thank god for Angie's mom. She hated me, but she really loved Emily. Since I couldn't directly help little Emily, and Angie wouldn't let me near her, I managed to work out a deal with Angie's mom. If Angie needed clothes, a trip to the doctor's, or school stuff, or maybe a birthday party, or some Christmas presents, I could give the money to Angie's mom. She'd buy the stuff, and give it to Angie.

To make sure Angie or Bernard didn't take the stuff and return it for money to buy booze or drugs Angie's mom would give me all the receipts, and she'd cut all the tags out of any clothes. If there was a party or something she'd buy the shit, but I'd get the receipts for that stuff too. In fact I bought Angie's mother an inexpensive camera. When Emily went out anyplace, or got a new dress Angie's mom took pictures. She kept the pictures, but I got the film so I could have my own pictures developed. I kept all this shit in an old sea chest that had belonged to Uncle Mitchell. I could never get near my daughter, but I knew I was helping her, and I had my own little treasure chest filled with clothes receipts, pictures, and even some locks of her hair. It wasn't much, but it was about all I'd get until she got old enough for someone to tell her the truth.

If anyone ever saw her I know they'd fall fucking in love with her. She had this light sandy colored hair, big green eyes, and she was just a little chatter box. I got to see her a lot from a distance. I found out where they went to church and joined it. No one could keep me from doing that, and that way I got to see my daughter, and my ex-wife, almost every week. I also saw it as a way to keep in touch with Angie's mom so I could find out if they needed anything.

Honestly, I didn't think Angie wanted to go to church anymore. Her mom and dad had really crammed it down her throat when she was a kid, but I think the Social Services were on her case. If she wanted to keep her daughter she had to at least pretend to be a good mom.

I knew if Emily were with me I'd spoil the shit right out of her. I tell you I really loved her. Yeah, Angie was totally paying me back. I couldn't blame her though.

++++++++++

The whore was sick so I had to stop a little early.

I had to stop earlier than I planned. I'd turned the heat up as high as it would go, but the whore kept shivering. I felt her forehead; that was about the only place where she wasn't hurt, and it was hot. I stopped at an all-night Walmart and bought some shit. I got some Nyquil and a big bottle of Advil. I walked all around and found some blankets. I got one of the soft fluffy kinds. I also got some baby receiving blankets, some paper towels, some rubbing alcohol, and a couple kinds of women's shampoos and soap. I got one of those soft scrubby things they say women use when they take a bath. I don't know why I bought this crap; she was only a whore, and an old one at that. I guess I was sort of thinking about Emily a little bit. The whore had green eyes, and they reminded me of my daughter. I know that sounds stupid.

I got back to the truck and looked the whore over again. Yeah she had big green eyes! Her hair had been dyed dark brown, but not lately and I saw a few grey roots, but the rest looked a lot lighter. I bet she was at least thirty maybe forty years old. She didn't have a lot of wrinkles, but I could see the crow's feet pretty clearly. Other than the tattoos, and the cuts and bruises her skin looked pretty good. I went to work right there in the parking lot.

I told her, "Sit up."

She sat up.

"I've got some Nyquil for you." I took the plastic cap, opened the bottle and poured her a dose. She took it without complaint. I handed her a receiving blanket, "Hold this."

She took it without comment. She kept looking at me like she was waiting for something to happen.

I made a rapid move with my right hand. She flinched back real fast. I figured it out; she was expecting me to hit her.

I stopped and took out the big fluffy blanket, "Can you sit up a little. I want to wrap this around you."

She gave me this really confused look, but sat up. I saw she really did have a pretty face, long eye lashes, and big round, did I say green, eyes, high cheek bones, kind of a tiny nose, and sort of a sweet mouth, actually a pretty heart shaped mouth. I bet she was a real looker once.

Shit, I'd seen a hundred pigs like this one; fucked a few too. What did I care what she looked like? I wrapped the blanket under and around her the best I could. I handed her two throw pillows, "Here maybe these will make you a little more comfortable."

I walked back around and got in my side of the truck. I had to say something, "Look I didn't mean to scare you a second ago. I'm not going to hit your or anything. I just wondered what you'd do. Now I know."

She just lay there on her side and stared at me.

I asked, "Your name is Caprice?"

She only nodded.

I asked, "That's your real name?"

She actually answered that one, "I'm not sure. I mean I'm pretty sure. I don't remember."

"How long have people been calling you Caprice?"

"I don't know; a long time."

I asked, "You have any questions for me?"

She looked at me for what seemed like a long time, it wasn't really. Then she said, "You want me to do you?"

Christ I thought, this is one fucked up bitch, "No I don't want you to do me. I don't do whores." I watched her; me calling her a whore didn't make a dent. I didn't think it would. I told her, "Look I'm going to take you home and clean you up. Then I'll decide what I want to do with you."

All she did was sit there. Then she asked, "Can I go back to sleep now?"

I answered, "Yeah sure."

She looked at me, "If you want me to stay awake I will?"

It occurred to me I was working with a fucking dog; a dog that could talk, "No I want you to go to sleep."

She lay her head back down and closed her eyes. I watched her for a second or two.

She opened her eyes a little to see what I was doing.

I told her, "Go to sleep."

She closed her eyes and pretty soon she was breathing about as evenly as anyone in her condition might.

I drove the rest of the way home without thinking about anything except the traffic and what I needed to do when I got her home. I also needed to get in touch with Del. Del is my nephew, and the only member of my family I have any respect for.

++++++++++

I've got this nephew I trust named Del.

Cayden always leaves me in charge of the farm while he's out gambling. He has other nieces and nephews, but he and I have worked out a pretty good relationship. My dad doesn't like Cayden; he says he shouldn't have gotten all his great grand-mom's farm. My dad says Cayden manipulated their Aunt Margaret into giving him everything. I know that's not true. I might still be just a kid in everybody else's eyes, but I saw who took care of those old people at the end. I never saw my dad, my other uncle or my aunt ever go to the farm to help out. It was only Cayden; I think he deserves the farm.

He treats his workers good too, even the black guys; my dad wouldn't do that. A lot of the men around here pay their white employees by check. They keep written records for their white people, but then they pay their black workers in cash so they don't have to cover all the government costs like unemployment insurance and social security.

They don't pay their black workers as much either. They say they do, but I know they don't.

I feel kind of sorry for Uncle Cayden. He had a wife, but she divorced him, or at least a divorce was arranged. His ex-wife's name is Angie. I know her real well. She says she hates Uncle Cayden, but every time I see her she asks about him. She says she hates him, and whenever his name is mentioned around her she talks him down, but sometimes I think she tries too hard. I see things. She watches him when he's around. She doesn't watch him like he's somebody she hates.

Cayden has a kid too; a pretty little girl named Emily. Angie won't let Cayden near her.

Little Emily's going to be a looker when she grows up. Her mom's not much to look at, but I think Emily will be quite a cutie someday. I like Angie; I just don't think she's very pretty. Too bad about Angie; most people around here resent Cayden because he's always been sort of lucky so they try to get even by taking advantage of her.

Angie's got her problems. I know Cayden would help her if she'd let him. To tell the truth I think she'd be pretty if somebody would help her, I mean take care of her. Angie's kind of the helpless type.

++++++++++

I finally get home from Pennsylvania.

Me and the whore finally got home. I pulled down the long driveway to the house. I got out, walked to the front door, unlocked it and shoved it open. I went back to the truck, opened the passenger's side door and tapped the whore on the side of her face. She opened her eyes. Her first look, after her initial surprise, was again fear.

Again my first thought was; what has she been put through to be so scared? I whispered so as not to further alarm her, "We're at my house."

The whore leaned up and looked around. I could tell she was careful not to appear too curious.

I reached under her and as carefully as I could and lifted her up. She felt light; much lighter than I anticipated. I told her, "Put your arms around my neck," she did.

I carried her in the house. This was not a traditional farm house, but something a little different. The front door opened to a large foyer that led immediately to a spacious living room.

The living room had a big picture window. I'd had that added some years back. If I turned to the right I'd be headed down a hall to two large bedrooms and a master bathroom. If I turned to the left I'd go into a large open dining room that adjoined an open kitchen. It was a big country kitchen.

Immediately to my right was a wide stairway that led upstairs. Upstairs were two more bedrooms; each with its own small bathroom.

The master bedroom was downstairs just to the right down and on the left side of the first floor hallway. Inside the master bedroom I'd had a large bathroom added that was equipped with a good sized shower and an even larger bathtub. It was to this master bedroom I carried the whore.

Holding her as snugly as I could with my right hand I opened the bedroom door. I carried her in, and sat her down on the side of my king sized bed. I gently pulled the blanket I'd bought earlier away from her. She still had my blue shirt and boxer shorts on. "Let's get you undressed and in bed," I told her.

I watched her. She didn't look at me. She just kept her eyes and head facing downward. If I was a pimp, who I'm not, that's how I'd expect her to behave. I got her out of my things, pulled the spread, the blanket, and top sheet off the bed down. I lifted her again to get her ass in the bed and as gently as I could I pushed her body back so her head was lying on one of the pillows. I pulled the top sheet, blanket and spread up to her neck. I felt her wince once or twice as I moved her; I guessed I wasn't as careful as I thought. I could see the cuts from her earlier beating, everywhere the belt tip hit it looked raw.

She still looked confused, and still scared. I tried to calm her down a little, "Stay here and try to get back to sleep. I've got to check my phone messages. In a little while I'll be back. I want to get you cleaned up." I could tell the Nyquil was working in as far as it was keeping her sleepy, but she still felt hot to the touch.

I wanted to say something to reassure her, "Now will you stay still until I get back?"

She nodded.

I added, "Tell me you'll stay in bed."

She murmured, "I'll stay in bed."

I gave her a wooden smile and said, "You won't try to run away?"

She nodded.

I told her, "Say it."

She said, "No, I won't run away."

"Promise?"

She answered, "I promise."

I smiled and got off the bed. I laughed to myself; imagine believing a whore's promises. I looked over again, "I won't be long."

She already had her eyes closed. She reopened them, "I'll be good."

I wondered what that might have meant. I mean a prostitute's promise to be good. What was she going to do give me a good blow job? Spread her legs just the way I liked? A whore's promise, shit. I left the bedroom.

As I walked out I wondered what she was thinking. Hell, I wonder if she thought at all.

++++++++++

Caprice wonders; how did I get here?

I'm here in this man's bed. I have no idea where I am. I don't even know what day it is; I'm not even sure of the month.

Jesus I feel like I've been run over by a truck. My head feels even worse than my body. Since Vince purchased me right around Christmas, I think it was Christmas; it had to be Christmas because they made me wear some kind of red mini-dress with furry white cuffs at their first party. I remember all the men laughed when they ejaculated in my face and their semen spilled out all over the silky red fabric. I laughed too; I really hated it, but being a whore I'm supposed to like being degraded by a bunch of fat drunken old men.

I should stop this; thinking or having an opinion isn't smart if you're a whore, and that's all I am, just a dirty whore.

Chemically the only things Vince let me use was a little marijuana and a lot of Ecstasy. The man who'd sold me to Vince let me have cocaine, and the man before that had pumped me full of heroin. Gee I haven't had any cocaine or heroin in months; I still want it, but not as badly as at first. Oh I think about it all the time, I used to really crave it, but it's been surprising how easily I've been able to adjust to the Ecstasy.

The cocaine is best though; the cocaine numbs the brain and you don't care so much what they do to you.

I think if I got some cocaine I'd feel better. Vince had been giving me something else too, but I think it was more like valium or something. I remember he'd said I wasn't worth the cost of cocaine.

This guy is starting out like all the others. They always start out the same; it's like they think they can get me to like them or something. They're all nice at first until they lay out the rules. I saw how he jerked his hand at me. He wanted to hit me. Some men, shit most men, like to hit women; especially women like me; women who can't fight back.

The rules never change. I sort of remember my first; I think I do. He was so nice. I guess I must have loved him. I can't even remember his name now. He was handsome though. I think I was in college or some kind of school like that; it's been so long. So much has happened; I can hardly remember. I know I got mad at my parents and ran away. Who gives a damn anyway? I sure don't, not any more.

This guy is handsome. Why do they all always look so good? Well no, Vince is ugly. Except for Vince, Vince Spyradakos, they all have the same soft eyes. This one has soft eyes, brown eyes. I know I'll hate him. They're all the same.

Vince said he was going to kill me if I didn't get it right last night. I think it was last night. Well I'm with this guy now. I remember the plastic bag. I think I remember being sold again. I wonder where I am. I wonder who this new guy is. I wonder when he'll kill me. I kind of think this is the one Vince said got off on killing women. Vince said I wouldn't be around much longer. I'm so tired...I'm so fucking afraid. I'm tired of being so fucking afraid all the time.

++++++++++

I talk things over with Delbert.

I left the bedroom, went to the big open kitchen and to the poker table in the corner; that's where I keep my laptop computer and a ground line telephone. I have a farm to run, partners to keep up with, and I have my daughter and my ex-wife to worry about. My oldest brother has a boy named Delbert, everybody calls him Del. Del is just about the only blood relative I like. Del likes me too. In fact Del runs the farm when I'm not around. Though he's only nineteen, I've got a lot faith in Del. He's a fine young man; a testament to the woman my brother married.

I checked the computer; no messages, that was good, I checked the land line; that was almost only used by Del or by Angie's mother. Her name is Mrs. Bradford. Del had left a message.

I listened, "Cayden, Del here. Saw Angie; she's got another black eye. Seems Bernard caught her at the Wagon Wheel. You might want to check her out."

There was a message from Angie's mother. I figured it was probably about the same thing. I turned that one on too, "Cayden Bernard caught Angie with Brad Armstrong. He beat her up. Emily saw the whole thing. Angie and Emily are back with me right for now."

I thought, fuck! I better call Del and see if he can't get over here for a while. I took my cell out and hit Del's number. Del's a good kid, he always answers if he's available, "Hello that you Cayden?"

"Yeah, Del can you come over for a little while."

"Sure, you going to check on your ex.?"

"Got no choice."

"OK, I've been busy, already did the chickens and mucked out the stables. Be right there."

Well I thought, 'what a fucked up way to start a new week. I better get back and check on the whore.'