A car crawled to a stop just ahead of her. She’d seen it out of the corner of her eye even before it passed: a dark blue Sedan. She could even describe the driver — linen jacket, blue open-necked shirt, cropped blond thinning hair, round, rimless glasses, and a wide, wet mouth. That was all she focused on as he leaned out of the window. He smiled, running his thumb around his shiny wet lips as he asked if she needed a lift any place. Lorraine stepped closer, inclining her head, making sure the jagged scar couldn’t be seen, keeping her lips half closed. She didn’t want to scare him off, didn’t want him to see too much of her teeth — or lack of them. She was an old hand at this and knew that if he was a cop he would try to get her to name a price. She bent lower, down to his level.
‘You lost?’ She said it softly, her hand reaching out to the door handle. ‘You need me?’
He stared at her as if sizing her up, then looked past her both ways before he jerked his head. ‘Get in.’
Lorraine went round to the passenger side and climbed in beside him. He drove off fast like they always did, acting flash. Acting stupid. He said quickly, licking his wet lips all the time, that he wanted oral, he wanted it public. Did she understand? Lorraine leaned her arm along the back of the seats, but as she touched his neck, he jerked away. He didn’t want to be touched, he said, he hated being touched. He kept on driving, passing every car on the highway until he wheeled into a supermarket car park. The ground level was almost full, people staggering to and from the store with bulging bags of groceries, their hatchbacks open wide as they loaded up.
He bypassed the first level, then the second, tyres screeching as he drove round and up the narrow entrance lane. In the fourth-storey parking area, he pulled into a space. He had hardly switched off the engine before he unzipped his trousers. Lorraine put her hand out. He swiped it aside. ‘I told you, I don’t want you to touch me!’
‘Okay, chill out, man, want me to talk dirty, you like that? That what you want?’
His body was tense, his hands clenching and unclenching.
‘No, I reckon you want to be sucked off, right here, like with maybe someone close enough to catch you at it, that’s exciting, isn’t it, bad boy? You’re a very bad boy, aren’t you? Well, you got lucky because that’s my speciality. I give the best head. Come on, you want to ask me for it, yes? That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ His lips twitched, his eyes darting round the gloomy parking lot. She kept her voice low, whispering, making sucking sounds, and he closed his eyes. ‘Like I said, I’ll make you feel good, real good, and this is a real public place, but we got to sort out my dough. Can we sort that out? Yeah?’
He looked out of the window, getting more excited as a few customers stashed away their groceries, their voices echoing in the concrete building. He loosened his belt, as if he hadn’t heard her, pulling at his pants. ‘Just do it, bitch.’
Lorraine’s back pressed against the passenger door and her left hand felt for the door handle. If he played games, she was out. ‘Twenty dollars.’
A woman with her husband and two kids parked directly next to them. As they headed towards the elevators, Lorraine’s john started to jerk himself off, his mouth stretched in a weird wet smile of pleasure. His erect pink penis burst up from his crumpled flies and he began to pant, leaning his head back, as his left hand flicked the switch for his seat to recline.
Lorraine tried again. ‘Twenty dollars.’
He lost his erection and gave a half sob. She swore, realizing he was one of those half-a-minute stand-up-for-America and then the weeping impotent syndrome.
Fumbling in his wallet, he took out a thick wedge of bills, peeled off a twenty and tossed it at her. ‘See what you can do for it, bitch!’ He reached over and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face onto his pink flaccid worm. Lorraine could smell him, smell his trousers, even the cotton of his blue striped boxer shorts. His hand on the back of her neck was holding a strand of her hair as he pressed her further down onto his crotch.
Was it the sweet lemon smell of her freshly washed hair? Or that she was stone-cold sober? She knew exactly what she was being paid to do, she’d done it too many times before. But never sober. Face down between a john’s legs, having just been paid twenty dollars for a blow-job in a shopping precinct car park, the ghost of Lieutenant Lorraine Page resurfaced and fought back for a tiny fraction of respectability. She couldn’t suck him off.
‘I’m sorry. You can have your twenty dollars.’
He held onto the back of her head, forcing her down. She pushed up with her hands trying to free herself. He was much stronger than she was now and, leaning over the seat towards him, she was vulnerable, incapable of getting away. He was able to hold her down with only one hand, and her head was stuck under the steering wheel. She heard the click of the glove compartment being opened but couldn’t see what he had taken out. She forced herself to relax, to try to get into a better position so she could move off him, but he still held onto her hair.
The first blow stunned her for a second — it glanced off the back of her scalp — but he had hit her with such force that he had automatically released his hold. She pushed upward with all her strength, propelling herself against his chest. He slipped back in his reclining seat, and it was then she saw the claw hammer. As he tried to raise it to strike her again, she knew he could kill her if he wanted.
Lorraine twisted her face towards his, and bit into his neck. She held on ferociously, her teeth breaking the flesh. He screamed, now more intent on getting her off than on using the hammer, but she wouldn’t release her bite.
The family loading their groceries looked over to the Sedan parked next to them. Its windows were steamed up, but the screaming made the woman push her kids inside their car. She even shouted for her husband not to go across, but he took no notice, and as he reached the driver’s door, he called out: ‘You all right in there?’ He turned back to his wife, who gestured for him to walk away, but he bent down, his hand tentatively reaching for the handle on the driver’s door. ‘You all right in there?’ he repeated.
As he opened the door, Lorraine fell out, face forward onto the cement floor, almost knocking him off his feet. The family started to shriek as they saw the back of her head covered in blood, and blood streaming from her mouth.
The Sedan jolted backwards, dragging Lorraine with it — her dress was still caught on the reclining seat lever. The man who had come to her assistance made a grab, almost had the driver by his sleeve, but he too fell, as the car swerved to make a turn. The door slammed shut, and with burning rubber tyres the blue Sedan shot down the exit ramp.
The woman was bending over Lorraine as she struggled to stand. At her feet was the wallet: it must have fallen from the john’s jacket in the struggle. She snatched it up. ‘He tried to rob me, he stole my bag and—’
The woman shouted for her husband to call the police, but Lorraine shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s okay — I’ve got my wallet. I’m fine really—’
‘But you’ve been injured, look at you.’
Lorraine backed away from their concerned faces. She touched her head. ‘It’s nothing, I’ll report it to security. Thank you very much.’