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The predator added nothing to the conversation unless someone pushed him. His smile never got near his eyes.
That was his way— stand close, but apart. A wolf watching the campfire. He remembered one night in Chicago. A crap game behind a car wash where he'd been working to build up a stake after they let him out the last time. He faded the shooter all night long, never touching the dice. But finally they passed cubes to him, telling him he had to roll. He refused again. Politely. One of the men patiently explained to him that the odds were always a little bit against the shooter, so it wasn't fair to hang back like he was. The predator listened to the explanation, no expression on his young face. He knew all about the odds. But he didn't touch the dice. They crowded in around him, telling him to roll or walk…and leave his wi
An old man who had been in the game caught up with the predator at the end of the alley.
"I hope you learned something, son," he said.
The predator looked at the old man. "I'm not your fucking son."
The old man knew it was the truth.
But this was way south of Chicago. And young people never knew the truth. He got Joa
Three nights later, they were coming back from the movies. Driving in the Cadillac an old woman had bought for him in Phoenix. There had been a newsreel about the lynching of Mack Charles Parker in nearby Mississippi. A mob had stormed the jail where Parker had been waiting trial for rape—his body had never been found. Joa
The predator knew she would have sacrificed the black bastard in a minute if he had. Knowing things—that's how you got on in this world. Patience. He drove out past the old factories, watching the quick pulse throb in her neck.
"Where're you going?"
"I thought we'd park the car and talk for a bit. I can't handle the drive–in and all those silly kids."
Joa
The predator parked near the edge of the swamp, fitting his car inside the sulfurous mist. He left the engine ru
"I can't believe those punks were really serious about some nigger living out here and slicing people up…. You can tell when a kid's never left home."
"Well," she said, "they really are pretty immature. I never go out with any of the boys around here anymore, not since I got back from college…."
"Christ, you can't see a thing out there, huh?"
"This is the first time I've ever been out here. None of the town boys come out here now. You know, ever since…"
The predator lit a cigarette, watching her face over his cupped hands. "Doesn't bother you, right?"
The old factories shifting on their rotten foundations made a moaning sound that seemed to blossom from the ground around the car. A tiny red light appeared in the distance. The predator glanced at the glowing tip of his cigarette—just a reflection in the windshield. He smiled his smile.
Joa
"Ah, let's stay here. Besides. I thought you liked niggers, the way you were carrying on in the movies and all…."
The predator pumped the gas pedal, listening to the engine roar against the swamp–sounds. The Caddy rocked in its place, a frightened beast chained by the predator's foot.
"No," the girl said. "I don't want to stay here. I don't…please…"
"Come on, what's the big deal? Wouldn't you like to have some big black gorilla get hold of you? You might like it."
Joa
"It's getting pretty stuffy in here; I think I'll just open this window and…"
"No!"
"What's your problem?" he whispered, still holding her. "I've got this." The predator pulled a shiny little automatic from under the dash, holding it up so she could see it gleam in the darkness.
"Please…please. I want to go home…."
"I got something to do first," he told her, watching the dice bounce on the blanket and thinking "natural" in his mind. It was a word he liked.
Joa
The predator twisted his hand, making her see his face. The swamp–sounds tightened around the car, but the predator was calm within himself. The key was knowing when to move—picking your time. He made her look until she understood.
"Take me home and I'll do whatever you want," Joa
"Sure. With Mommy and Daddy watching, huh' You must think I'm a fucking idiot."
"No! I think you're wonderful…so strong. My parents are up north on vacation…we'd be all alone. Please?"
The predator's teeth flashed. He had known all about the vacation before he'd called Joa
"I don't believe you," he said. "How do I know you wouldn't just run in the house and call the cops?"
"Oh, I wouldn't. I never would. Just take me home…to my house…and…"
"You do something for me first. Just so I'm sure."
"Wh…what?"
The predator took his left hand off the wheel. He stepped on the gas, hearing the engine scream as he unzipped his slacks. He backed off the engine, letting the car idle down. "Show me," he told her.
Joa
"Not with your hand."
"No! I can't…I never…"
The predator took his hand from her thigh and moved it to the back of her neck. He slowly forced her head down and held her against him, the pistol in his left hand tapping a steady rhythm against the driver's window. When he was sure she was going to do the right thing, he took his hand away from her neck and let it rest across the top of the seat.
When she finished he jerked her back by the short hair at the base of her neck.
She looked at the predator, her eyes milky, unreadable.
"Do you believe me now?"
He nodded, waiting.
"I love you," Joa
The predator stomped the gas, shoving the Caddy into gear—it fishtailed on the soft ground, clawing for a grip. The predator flicked the wheel expertly, guiding the big car out of the dying swamp. He released the girl, shoving her against the passenger door.
The predator drove straight to her house. He didn't need directions. When they pulled up, he pushed her out her side of the car, following close behind, never taking his hand off her.