Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

it. Socks would want a third of the action, and she was damned if he would get it. This was her score, not his. He hadn’t been there.
    He hadn’t killed anyone.
    Abruptly she turned away from the window and paced into the bathroom. She didn’t want to think about that endless time when she had been screaming in the center of nothing, screaming and there wasn’t any sound, just the certainty that she was screaming and screaming and screaming. A pipeful of crack and four fingers of vodka had chased the memories. For a while.
    She hadn’t meant to kill Virgil. Hell, she couldn’t even remember doing it.
    But he sure enough was dead.
    “Well, nothing I can do about that now,” Cherelle told her image in the dull mirror. “I have to think of me, and to hell with everyone else. Even Tim.”
    She went to the bed and began gathering up a generous half of the gold pieces, generous in both number and weight of the pieces. She was greedy in her division, but she wasn’t stupid. She left twelve articles for Tim, including an eye-catching armlet, a necklace, the three smallest pins, and something that looked like a pecker and balls. Reluctantly she added four of the small figurines, because they were the kind of gold Socks would understand. Portable and a nice weight in the hand.
    Tim’s share fit easily into one of the small, battered wooden cartons. She wrapped the rest of the gold in dirty clothes and packed it inside one of her two beat-up wheeled suitcases. If she had thought she could get away with taking all of the gold, she would have, but she was smarter than that. Even if Tim would stand still for her holding everything until it was fenced, Socks wouldn’t. He was a real junkyard dog.
    So she would throw him a golden bone.
    After she locked the suitcase full of gold in the trunk of her car, she stuck a spare key in her bra. She was forever losing keys, so she stashed spares everywhere. Carrying extras in her bra was easier than breaking into her own apartment or hot-wiring her own car every time she had a brain fart and forgot where she had left something.
    She opened the second, smaller suitcase, set it on the floor next to a coffee table that wobbled, and looked around for anything important she might have forgotten. The first thing she saw was the stack of newly printed pamphlets advertising Tim as a spiritual adviser and herself as a “clear, clean” channel. With a smile of contempt she knocked the stack off the table. Pieces of paper flew and slid everywhere, including one that landed in her suitcase.
    She dumped shoes and candy bars on top of the brightly colored pamphlet, then tampons, shampoo, underwear, makeup, toothbrush, everything she owned. When she was finished, she bounced on the suitcase lid until she could shut it. Only one of the wheels still worked, but it was better than nothing. With a squeak and a snarl the suitcase limped after her out the door and into the parking lot.
    Tim and Socks drove up just as she was shoving the suitcase into the backseat of her car. Socks was driving the Pontiac Firebird that he spent more time underneath than inside of. It was neon purple, had fat tires, and could pass anything on the road but a gas station. Socks himself was less flashy—medium height, bulky, dark hair, dark eyes, and a firm belief that every female in the universe would benefit from a session with his dick.
    Tim got out, balancing three coffees and a sack full of doughnuts. “Packed already?”
    “My stuff,” she said. “You want yours packed, you do it.”
    He gave her a hard kiss. “Knew I should have screwed you when we got back this morning. You get real bitchy when you go without.”
    She made a show of shoving him away, but in the process one of her hands just happened to slide down to his crotch. She squeezed him where he liked it, the way he liked it.
    “Watch that coffee,” Socks said, slamming the door of the Pontiac. “Paid five bucks for it.”
    If he hadn’t said anything, Cherelle would have stopped at a playful squeeze. But Socks was forever trying to come between her and Tim, so she settled against her lover for a thorough rubbing. As always he responded with impressive speed. No doubt about it, the best part of this boy was below his belt.
    “Gimme that.” Socks grabbed the teetering cardboard tray of drinks out of Tim’s hands and headed for the open motel door. “You wanna hump her in the parking lot, knock yourself out. I’m having