Ad Nauseam (5 page)

Chantal pressed the key into the lock. A yellow plastic disk embossed with the number 12 bounced against the knob. Pushing open the door, she flipped on a switch, bathing the musty room in muted light. Baby-shit yellow shag carpet, mismatched furniture, and tacky wall-hangings completed the mood. Most surfaces in the room were covered with empty food containers, booze bottles, and condom wrappers. The bed was unmade, its tangled sheets dingy and gray. An unpleasant odor of stale sweat, sex, and booze lingered, but Liza didn’t notice it. Her place smelled the same.

“Got any weed?” Liza asked hopefully.

“You know I don’t do that shit, Liza. Why you gotta keep asking? There’s some vodka in the top drawer.”

Liza rummaged through the dresser drawer in search of booze, while Chantal reached under the bed, pulling out a suitcase and retrieving a laptop computer. Pushing a pile of trash off the table top, she set it down and plugged it in. Having found the vodka, Liza wandered over, upended a chair so the garbage fell off and sat it next to Chantal.

“Since when do you have a computer?”

“I’ve got a regular. He gave it to me.” Chantal squinted at the screen as it booted up.

“He pay for the net, too?”

“Nah-I just hacked someone’s wireless; one of my johns showed me how.”

“So, who’s the regular?” Liza tried to keep the jealousy out of her voice.

“Just some guy. Has money. He’s into freaky shit and can’t get anyone else to do it for him.” Chantal negotiated her way through a forum, intent on the screen as she searched for what she was looking for.

“Is he blind?” Liza laughed, but Chantal didn’t.

“Yes.” If Chantal was offended by Liza’s remark, she gave no indication “Here it is! Look at this.”

“You know I’m not great with reading; just tell me what it’s about.” Liza sat in her chair and swigged directly from the bottle, trying hard to focus on her friend.

“Maybe if you weren’t so fucking high all the time. Never mind. I’ll tell you about it.” Chantal turned her chair so she faced Liza but could still see the computer. “There’s this guy on the internet. He’s always looking for videos and shit. Has some real crazy tastes. Wants videos of bestiality and eating shit and stuff. You know, one of those real sick fuckers. Always wants to watch some chick drinking cum out of a cup or some shit.”

Liza nodded knowingly, though she looked bored, picking at her badly polished nails.

“
Anyways,
he’s on here. Always a different last name and email address so no one can find him, but you can tell it’s him from the messages. So I’ve seen him around and apparently everyone says he pays good for what he gets, so he’s on the level.”

Liza rolled her eyes.

“Okay! I’m getting to it. He’s on here yesterday and he says he’ll pay a million dollars for a video of a chick getting it on with a dude who has angel lust.”

“What the hell is angel lust?” The mention of a million dollars instantly cured Liza’s boredom. She leaned forward in her chair, all business now.

“I was wondering the same thing, so I looked it up. I guess sometimes when a guy dies, he gets a boner. Like a
permanent
boner. The morticians have ways to make it go away so you’re not like staring at uncle Bob in the casket and he’s got a big ol’ hard-on or nothing, but I guess it happens like that.”

“So this dude wants a video of some chick fucking a dead guy? That’s some messed up shit, Chantal”.

“I know it, but a million bucks? Are you kidding me? I’d fuck anything for a million bucks.”

“So why are you telling me about this?” Liza’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Cuz I can’t do this by myself. Someone has to tape the shit.”

“What’s in it for me?” Liza still looked uncertain.

“Half.”

“Half?”

“Yeah, that’s five hundred thousand for each of us.” Chantal seemed pleased, but Liza still looked skeptical.

“Would I hafta pay taxes on it?”

Chantal threw up her hands in disgust and stood, grabbing the bottle out of the other woman’s hand and taking a big swallow before she began to pace the room, gesturing angrily.

“I don’t know why I even bother with you, Liza. Sometimes you’re so goddamned dumb I can’t stand it. Of course you don’t gotta pay taxes on it. Do you pay taxes on your fuck money?”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. I didn’t say I wasn’t in. I’m just wondering why you would even wanna share it with me. You could always put a camera on the dresser or something.” Liza said.

“I know I could. But for a million bucks he’s gonna want something good. And besides, you’re my only friend—my
best friend
—and I thought this thing might help us both get our lives together. Get us out of these piece of shit motels and away from blowing nasty fucks for food.”

“I don’t mind blowing nasty fucks so long as they got the money.”

“Never mind. I’ll do it myself. I thought you might want a better life for yourself. We aren’t that young anymore and you can’t turn tricks forever.”

Liza grabbed the bottle back and took a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The cheap vodka burned its way down her throat, warming her belly and making her flush.

“Drop the drama, Chantal. I’m in. So what we gotta do? I don’t think we can just walk into the morgue and ask to check out all the dead dude’s pricks. It’s not Walmart, I doubt they have a
lay-
away program.”

“Of course not. We can’t exactly get a mortician to let us fuck one of his corpses, either. Well, probably not. The way I see it, we’re gonna have to make a case of angel lust.”

“Make a case?” Liza was confused again.

“Yeah. I’ve been looking it up and there’s certain ways to die that make it more likely.”

“Whoa! Now just wait a minute.” Liza held up her hands. “You mean you think we’re gonna go around offing dudes in hopes they die with a goddamned hard-on? Are you crazy?”

“It wouldn’t be so hard to do. There’s plenty of bums around that won’t be missed and we can split town as soon as we get the money.”

“Yeah, right. And the second the pigs find the body, they come get us cuz we both have records and our prints are on file for hooking.”

Chantal shrugged and smiled, “So we wear gloves.”

“I don’t know. Fuckin a dead guy is bad enough, but I don’t know if I can actually
kill
someone, Chantal. That’s pretty fuckin heavy.”

“I know it is, Liza. It’s a big deal, but so is half a million dollars. The cops in this town are too busy to put much time into a dead wino or two, and we can be sitting on some beach a gazillion miles away as soon as we get paid. You know, weed is pretty much legal in Jamaica.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Liza worried at a ragged cuticle. She thought about what it would be like to live in a place where she wouldn’t get picked up for drugs.
It would be awful sweet
.

“Well I’m gonna contact the perv. You take a couple days and think on whether you wanna be rich or not.”

***

Three days later, Liza and Chantal huddled under an unused bridge sharing a cigarette. A gym bag and a coil of nylon rope sat on the ground between them. It took Liza one whole day to decide she wanted to be rich. Chantal figured the fact she had been roughed up by a john that same night had helped her decide. It was raining out, a fine drizzle that made their bones ache and reminded the hookers they were getting too damn old for this life.

Soon we’ll be living on easy street
,
Chantal thought, discreetly watching a bum stretched out under the bridge. He’d been there for at least forty-five minutes. He seemed to be passed out.

“Okay. What do we do now?” Liza’s hands were shaking, more from nerves than the cold. She appeared sober, miserably so. Chantal had insisted she stay as clean as possible for the task. No use making stupid mistakes because she was loaded.

“See that framework on the underside of the bridge? I’ll climb up the side and toss the rope through, then you wrap it around his neck. I read that hanging causes the angel lust more than anything else.” Chantal held up the noose and Liza looked at it in admiration.

“Where’d you learn to tie a knot like that?”

“My Dad taught me.”

“Didn’t your old man used to fuck you, too?”

“Yeah. He taught me a lot of things. Now get ready to put it over his head.” Chantal started to step away, but Liza gripped her elbow.

“Hold on!” She whispered. “Why do I have to do the noosing? How about I do the climbing.”

Chantal rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. But you have to be ready to jump down and pull on that sucker with all of your weight if he wakes up. We’re only going to get one shot at this.”

“Okay, but wait!” Liza grabbed her arm a second time, the vibration from her high-strung body making Chantal feel like her teeth were rattling. “What if someone sees us?”

“Look, Liza. We’ve been over this a hundred times. Nobody comes around here this late at night. And if someone
was
driving by, they can’t see shit that’s happening under the bridge from the road, anyway. Now put on your gloves and let’s do this.”

Liza grabbed her one more time and it took all of Chantal’s control not to punch her square in the nose. Though she wouldn’t admit it, her own nerves weren’t exactly steady, and planning a murder was a whole lot easier than committing one.

“What, Liza?”

“We aren’t gonna—I mean, we won’t actually fuck him under the bridge, will we?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll figure that out if it works. Now get your skinny ass up there and pass me the rope.”

Liza scrambled up the side of the embankment, her feet skidding more than once on the loose dirt and gravel. When she reached the top, she lost her footing and slid back down on her ass, shredding the dish gloves she wore and cutting her palms in the process. When she reached the top again, she grabbed the metal beam. She hoped there was enough glove left to keep her from leaving a palm print, but the metal gave off a shower of rust flakes and she doubted it was smooth enough, anyway. Feeding the rope over the beam, she held on for dear life, not wanting to slide back down before the noose was around the bum’s neck.

Chantal grabbed the dangling rope and pulled gently, freeing up enough slack to crawl over to where the guy slept in the dirt. She could smell him before she even got close, and pulled her shirt up over her nose. As she made to slip it over his head, he grumbled and rolled over, muttering gibberish in his sleep before resuming his loud and uneven snoring.

Gently easing the noose over his neck, she started when he farted in his sleep and an involuntary giggle erupted from her mouth. The wino flinched and sat up abruptly, then grabbed her sleeve in his dirty hand.

“What the fuck you doin? You robbin me, bitch?” Chantal pulled back hard, trying to break free of his grip.

“Liza, now!” She scrambled backwards, struggling with the man, who was much stronger than his slender, malnourished body made him appear. He lay on the ground, his filthy hand refusing to relinquish its grip on her shirt.

Liza wrapped the rope around her hand and jumped down, sliding on her ass again and nearly jerking her arm out of its socket when the slack on the rope ended. The noose tightened, and the wino let go of Chantal, his hands flying up to his throat. Wasting no time, Chantal scrambled to her feet and ran to where Liza struggled, gripping the rope in both hands and heaving with all of her might. Both women tugged with all of their weight, lifting the bum until his feet dangled several inches above the ground, kicking and spasming as he made the choking sound over and again.

Chantal lost her grip and fell on her ass, causing Liza to also let go. The man dropped to the ground, still kicking and trying to loosen the rope around his neck.

“Aw shit, grab it!” Chantal jumped to her feet and hauled on the rope again. Liza joined her, and they had him in the air once more.
Why’s it taking so long for this heavy bastard to die?
Chantal looked around, desperate to find something that would help gain leverage. She spotted a heavy chunk of broken concrete, an iron reinforcement bar protruding from it.

“Liza. Help me pull this rope over there.” She nodded towards the cement chunk. “Maybe we can tie it off.”

Liza said nothing, only grunted and nodded, eyes wide with fear and exertion. The two pulled as hard as they could, leaning back on the rope so their combined weight would drag the bum higher into the air.

Like a fish on a line, he swung and arched, fighting for breath and making those horrible gagging noises. They almost dropped him again before finally making it to the hunk of concrete. Chantal wound the rope around the rebar, anchoring her weight to allow Liza to do the tying. Neither spoke, their faces red and sweaty as they strained to finish the chore. When it was tied, they stepped back with uncertainty, ready for the block to shift, but it held.

“Sweet Jesus Jumping Christ!” Chantal wiped her arm across her brow, still huffing for breath.

“I know, right?” Liza staggered over to the block and plopped down on it. With elbows resting on knees, she put her face in her hands and moaned.

Chantal gave her an awkward pat on the back, then walked over to where the wino still hung. He was no longer putting up a fight; his hands had fallen to his sides where he swung gently from the beam. She walked around to face him, taking a quick step back and covering her mouth with her hands when she saw his face. His eyes bulged from mottled, purple flesh, the rope barely visible where it cut into his swollen neck. A stiff tongue protruded obscenely from his mouth. He smelled like shit, but she wasn’t sure whether he had crapped himself before or after the hanging. He hung about two feet off the ground, his crotch just below eye level. Chantal shuddered.

“Um, Liza?”

“Yeah?”

“I think he’s dead.”

“God, I hope so.” Liza stood and walked over to Chantal, grimacing in distaste when she saw him.

“So when’s this angel lust supposed to happen?” She reached out to touch him, pulling her hand back at the last second.

“I don’t know. I guess probably right away.” Chantal said.