Divine Evil

three.
    “Ernie?”
    He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Guess so.”
    She hustled to the kitchen and brought back three cold bottles of Pepsi. “I'll let you know about that chifforobe, Bob.”
    “You do that.” He took a swig before he started toward the door. “We're open tomorrow twelve to five.”
    She let him out, then turned back to Ernie. “Sorry you got roped into that.”
    “ 'S okay.” He took a drink, then glanced around the room. “Is this all you've got?”
    “For now. I'm having fun picking up a little here, a little there. Why don't we try it out?” She sat on one end of the sofa. “The cushions are sunk,” she said with a sigh. “Just the way I like them. So, have you lived in town long?”
    He didn't sit, but edged around the room-like a cat, she thought, taking stock of his territory. “Since I was a kid.” “You go to Emmitsboro High?” “I'm a senior.”
    Her fingers itched for her sketch pad. There was tension in every inch of him-young, defiant, and restless tension. “Going to college?”
    He only shrugged his shoulders. It was another bone of contention between him and his parents.
Education is your best chance.
Screw that. He was his best chance. “I'm going to California-Los Angeles-as soon as I save up enough.”
    “What do you want to do?”
    “Make lots of money.”
    She laughed, but it was a friendly sound, not derisive.He nearly smiled back. “An honest ambition. Are you interested in modeling?”
    Suspicion flickered in his eyes. They were very dark eyes, Clare noted. Like his hair. And not as young as they should have been.
    “What for?”
    “For me. I'd like to do your arms. They're thin and sinewy. You could come by after school sometime. I'd pay you scale.”
    He drank more Pepsi, wondering what she wore under her snug-fitting jeans. “Maybe.”
    When he left, he fingered the inverted pentagram he wore under his Black Sabbath T-shirt. Tonight, he would perform a private ritual. For sex.
    Cam dropped by Clyde's after supper. He often did on Saturday nights. He could enjoy the single beer he allowed himself, some company, a game of pool. And he could keep an eye on anyone tossing back too many before pulling out car keys to head home.
    He was greeted by shouts and waves as he walked out of the twilight and into the dim, smoky bar. Clyde, who grew wider and more grizzled year after year, poured him a Beck's draft. Cam nursed it at the ancient mahogany bar, one foot resting comfortably on the brass rail.
    From the back room came music and the clatter of pool balls, an occasional ripe oath, and a snarl of laughter. Men and a scattering of women sat at the square uncovered tables with beer glasses, overflowing ashtrays, and mounds of peanut shells. Sarah Hewitt, Bud's sister, did what waitressing was required in a tight T-shirt and tighter jeans. She scooped up tips and propositions with equal relish.
    Cam knew it was a ritual, coming here, nursing onedark beer and smoking too much. Listening to the same songs, hearing the same voices, smelling the same smells. And there was a comfort in it, knowing Clyde would always stand behind the bar, snarling at his customers. The Budweiser clock on the wall would always be ten minutes slow, and the potato chips would always be stale.
    Sarah jiggled over, her eyes sooty, her skin drenched in come-hither perfume. She set her tray on the bar and rubbed her thigh lightly against his. Cam noticed, without much interest, that she'd done something different with her hair. It was a Jean Harlow blond since her latest trip to Betty's, and it drooped seductively over one eye.
    “I wondered if you were coming in tonight.”
    He glanced over, remembering there had been a time he'd have chewed glass to get his hands on her. “How's it going, Sarah?”
    “It's been worse.” She shifted so that her breast brushed his arm. “Bud says you've been busy.”
    “Busy enough.” Cam picked up his beer again and broke the inviting contact.
    “Maybe you'd like to relax later. Like old times.”
    “We never relaxed.”
    She gave a low, throaty laugh. “Well, I'm glad to see you remember.” Annoyed, she glanced over her shoulder when someone hailed her. She'd been aiming to get her hands into Cam's pants-and his wallet-since he'd come back to town. “I get off at two. Why don't I come by your place?”
    “I appreciate the offer, Sarah, but I'd rather remember than repeat.”
    “Suit yourself.” She shrugged as she picked up her tray