Rules of Prey

half-’n’-half . . .”
    “Oh, yeah.” She tipped her head in bemusement. “You look a lot different.”
    The maddog looked down at himself, nodded, and changed the subject. “You said you might come up with something more exciting, if I could get the money.”
    “You get the money?”
    “I got a hundred.”
    “So what you got in mind, cowboy?”
     
    The motel was pleasingly decrepit. Heather went into the office, got a key, and returned a minute later. Inside, the maddog looked around the room, sniffed. Disinfectant. They must spray the place, he decided. The bathroom was tiny, the floor was missing tiles, the bedspread was thin and badly worn.
    “Why don’t we get the money out of the way first?” Heather Brown asked.
    “Oh, yes. A hundred?” The maddog took the bills out of his pants pockets and tossed them on the dresser. Five twenties. “And if we can really do . . . you know . . . I’ve got another fifty.”
    “Hey, I like you, guy,” she said with a bright smile. “Why don’t we just go in here and discuss it while we take a little shower.”
    “Start it, I’ll be right there,” he said. He started taking off his jacket, and when she stepped into the bathroom, took the knife out of his pocket and slipped it under the bed.
    The shower was agonizing. She carefully washed his penis, and when nothing happened, said, “Have a little trouble there?” She frowned, a wrinkle between her eyes. The impotent ones weren’t the worst of the trade, but certainly slowed down the turnover.
    “No, no, no, not if we can . . .”
    She had silk scarves in her handbag, four of them, one for each wrist and ankle.
    “Don’t tie them too tight,” she said. “Just looping them is enough.”
    “I can do this,” he said through his teeth. He tied her feet first, one out to each corner at the foot of the bed, then her hands, out to the sides, tied to the sideboards.
    “How we doing, honey?”
    “Fine,” he said, turning toward her. He had a half-erection now, his penis standing away from his body.
    “If you want to bring it up here for a minute, I can help you out,” she offered.
    “No, no, I’m fine; but I want to use a rubber . . . I’m sorry . . .”
    “No, that’s good,” she said encouragingly. He turned and picked his jacket up off the floor, found a rubber, ripped it out of the package, and unrolled it on himself. Then he took the Kotex from the same pocket and lay down beside her.
    “Open wide,” he said.
    Sensing that something was wrong, she tried to sit up,opened her mouth, perhaps to scream, and the maddog grabbed her by the sides of the throat and squeezed and pushed her down on the bed. She flopped, twisting her shoulders, struggling against the binding scarves. As he squeezed and squeezed, her mouth opened wider, and she managed to force out a moan, not loud enough to attract attention in a motel like this, and then he forced the Kotex into her mouth, stuffing it in.
    When it was in, he covered her mouth with one hand and fished in the pocket of the jacket with the other, found his gloves and slipped them on, one at a time. The girl watched him, still bucking against the scarves, her eyes wide and terrified now. When the gloves were on, he took his tape from the other pocket and wrapped it twice around her head and across the gag. Next he checked the bonds again; they were holding nicely.
    “Look at it now,” he said to the girl, kneeling over her. “That’s the real thing. And they tried to say I was impotent.”
    She had stopped struggling and shrank back on the bed, watching him.
    “So now we’ll have a little fun,” he said. He found the knife under the bed, took it out, and showed it to her, the steel blade shimmering in the lamplight. “It won’t hurt too much; I’m very good at this,” he said. “Try to keep your eyes open when it goes in; I like to watch the eyes,” he said.
    She looked away, and there was suddenly a smell in the room and he looked down at her pelvis and realized that she had wet herself.
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he said. But he was delighted. She’d wet herself in fear. She knew the power.
    But he wouldn’t rape her now. The thought of lying in cold urine was distasteful. And rape wasn’t necessary, anyway. The maddog stretched out beside her, reached over and kissed her gently on the cheek as she strained away from him. “It’ll just take a second,” he said. She began frantically jerking her arms against