Flowers in a Dumpster (10 page)

He would have screamed if he had any strength left, but all that came was an asthmatic gasp.

He’d thought it sounded like an army, and it was. Hundreds by the look of it: glowing green on the display, advancing slowly but steadily.

He let his head drop to the pavement, closed his eyes against his approaching death. He only prayed he’d lose consciousness fast.

Cane’s last coherent thought was that someone was going to find the camera, review the footage, and then he would have gotten his wish.

This
would put S.C.A.D.P.I.T. on the map.

A HELPING HAND

The baby was crying again.

Erica heard her through the baby monitor sitting on the nightstand. She pushed aside the James Patterson novel she was reading, got up, and started toward the nursery, down the hall. Halfway there, she heard Brett coming down the stairs.

“I’ve got it,” Erica called over her shoulder and stepped into baby Patricia’s room. As she lifted the baby into her arms, Erica felt the diaper’s dampness. “Does Pat need to be changed? Yes she does, oh yes she does,” she cooed.

“I’ll do it,” Brett said, reaching for Patricia.

“You’re supposed to be working.”

“I know, but I heard the baby crying.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Erica said, carrying Patricia to the changing table. “The whole purpose of me moving in here was so that I could take care of the baby, allowing you to get back to writing.”

“I know, I know, but when I hear her crying, I have to come. It’s instinctive. Pavlovian, I guess.”

Brett gently elbowed Erica aside and started to remove his daughter’s diaper. Patricia giggled and squirmed, repeating “Da-da, Da-da” over and over, obviously delighted to see her father. Erica stood off to the side, feeling useless. “So, have you got much work done on the new novel?”

“Some,” Brett said evasively, taking the moist wipes from the box and cleaning the baby.

“You know the deadline for the publisher is just around the corner.”

“What are you now, my agent?”

While Brett dusted baby powder onto Patricia’s bottom to prevent diaper rash, he made silly, cartoonish faces at her, causing the baby to laugh even harder as she pumped her fists in the air.

“I’m just saying, Cassie always told me how important your writing was to you, and you really haven’t done much since . . . well, since Pat was born.”

Brett said nothing as he diapered Patricia, picked her back up and bounced her as she tried to snatch the glasses off his face. “It’s been a rough adjustment,” he conceded. “Learning to be a single father has taken up a lot of my time.”

“It’s been a year.” Erica smiled compassionately, placing a hand on Brett’s forearm. “I know losing Cassie in childbirth was painful. She was my daughter, and I miss her, too. I also know raising Pat by yourself took a lot of your time and focus away from your work. But I offered to move in to shoulder the burden. Yet, in the three months that I’ve been here, your writing continues to suffer, because you can’t let me take care of my own granddaughter.”

Brett placed Patricia into her crib, handing the child her favorite stuffed animal—a yellow rabbit with one ear straight up and the other flopped over. “Hoppy,” Patricia exclaimed.

“That’s the thing,” Brett said. “You said ‘shoulder the burden,’ but I don’t view Pat as a burden at all.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, I know, but the truth is I
want
to take care of her, I like it. I don’t feel right pawning her off on you.”

“I don’t mind, Brett. Grandmothers love to dote on their grandchildren. It’s what we live for.”

“I know you don’t mind, and I’m glad you’re here to spend time with Pat and help out when I need you, but I don’t intend to leave all the work to you. Like I said, I want to do it.”

“What about your writing?”

“What Cassie told you was right, my writing was one of the most important things in my life, but my priorities shifted since Patricia came along. There’s nothing more important to me than Pat.
Nothing
.”

“Aren’t you worried about your career?”

“Not really. Having sold the film rights to my first two novels—for a hell of a lot more money than I got for the books themselves—I don’t
need
to work for a very long time. I might even take some time off from writing. I can go back to it when Pat’s older.”

“What about your fans? They’re clamoring for more.”

Brett looked down into the crib, flicking a finger under Patricia’s chin and making her smile. “What Pat needs is a lot more important to me than what my fans want.”

Erica looked at her son-in-law with misty eyes. She smiled, wiped her eyes, and said, “Well, it’s almost time for Pat’s feeding so—”

“I got it. You can relax.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble for me to feed her.”

“I’m sure,” Brett said, taking Pat back into his arms, kissing her on her soft head with the peach-fuzz of hair growing in. Red, like her mother’s had been. “I think Pat here needs a little Daddy bonding time.”

“Da-da, Da-da, Da-da, Da-da.”

With one final glance at the family tableau presented by father and daughter, Erica left the nursery. Back in her own room, she looked at the Patterson novel she’d left on the nightstand. With a disgusted flick of her wrist, she knocked the book off the table and into the wastebasket. What a waste of dead trees.

She went to her closet and opened the door. On the top, small shelf, she had lined up all seven novels Brett had written.
Crutches, The Unexamined Life, Washed in the Blood, Fancy Junk, The Last Resort, All the More Reason,
and
Climbing the Mountain
. The last was completed a few short months before Patricia had killed Cassie when she ripped her way into the world, leaving Erica’s daughter nothing but an empty shell.

It was bad enough Patricia had killed her mother, but she’d also killed her father’s writing career. No one wrote like Brett. His novels were full of such rich emotion, such layered themes, such complex characters. They moved Erica, made her laugh and cry and fear and rejoice. No other books satisfied her like these. She wasn’t merely Brett’s mother-in-law; she was his biggest fan. She practically salivated over the prospect of something new, being lucky enough to read most of his novels in manuscript form long before they were available to the general public.

Only there were no more novels, no more manuscripts, and the way Brett talked there wouldn’t be for quite some time. Erica had thought moving in would free him up to go back to what he did best; she would tend to her murderous grandchild and Brett could produce more extraordinary novels. Obviously, things weren’t going according to plan. It was as though Patricia had cast some spell over her father, keeping him from his important work, which left Erica with no new novels to look forward to.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Erica reached over, took one of her pillows and hugged it to her, squeezing tight. Tonight, after both father and daughter were asleep . . . tonight she’d employ Plan B.

Tonight she’d remove the one thing keeping Brett from his work.

THE POSSESSION

Okay, let’s get one thing straight. I did not murder Dirk Vandercock. I mean, I know how it looks, but what you see ain’t always what you get. That thing I killed, it may have looked like Dirk and it may have sounded like Dirk, hell his own mama would probably have thought it was him, but it wasn’t him. It was some
thing
, a hell-beast taking residence in his body, like a squatter.

I guess, in a way, you could say I
did
murder Dirk, because what happened to him—the possession and all—was my fault. I didn’t mean for it to happen, didn’t even believe in demons and shit like that, but I’m responsible all the same.

You see, what you got to understand is that I have a reputation in the gay porn industry for being a writer/director with real vision and ambition. My productions ain’t just a bunch of mindless fuck flicks. Shit no. They got plotlines, character development, the whole shebang.

I’m not the winner of five Golden Cock Awards for nothing.

Hey, a little patience, please. All this is relevant, trust me. Now with each film I really tried to push myself, to come up with something more mind-blowing than the last. Take
Black Holes
for instance. It’s not just an interracial orgy set on a space station. I mean, it is that but there’s more to it. It also explores issues of race and stereotyping, as well as the results of prolonged isolation. Real deep shit, you better believe it. And
Backdoor Justice
, with its storyline of an Average Joe who gets revenge on the guys who gang-raped his daughter by tracking them down one by one and ass-raping them? That film takes a long, hard look at vigilantism in this country. No pun intended.

So I’m sure you can see it was important to keep coming up with something bigger and better, to constantly top myself. So when I hit on the idea for
The Devil’s Pitchfork
, I knew I had a real winner on my hands. The subject matter would be controversial which was sure to get the film lots of attention, and I figured it would be a perfect vehicle for Dirk.

Well, I guess at this point I should back up and tell you about me and Dirk.

He was the star of my films for the last three years, true, but he was also my lover. I met him when he was eighteen, new to the city and working as a waiter for a catering company while trying to make something happen with his acting. He’d only been at it for a couple of months, but he seemed depressed that all he’d gotten so far was a two-line part on some soap. Like the perfect cliché, he’d stepped off the bus expecting to find someone standing there ready to hand him bug bushels full of fortune and fame.

He’d moved into my building, down the hall from me. A real fleabag of a place. I noticed him right away. That dark hair and strong jawline, the slender body and bubble butt. He had a twinkle in his eye that a wordsmith, such as myself, can only describe as devilish. Dirk made my mouth water, I can tell you that. I introduced myself, offered to show him around the city, told him I was in the film business without getting into specifics. Just enough to get him interested.

We started spending a lot of time together, and I admit I was laying it on thick. I mean, in my line of work I got plenty of action, tasty young boys willing to do almost anything for a screen test or audition. But I hungered for Dirk in a way that I hadn’t experienced in a while. Him playing hard to get made me want him all the more.

When I finally admitted that I made gay porn for a living, there was disgust, but excitement at the same time. He asked me lots of questions, so I offered to show him one of my films so he could see firsthand what I did. Dirk was reluctant, or at least acted like he was, but agreed nonetheless. We had a little private screening in my apartment. Needless to say, it had the desired effect. Got him all hot and bothered, which is how I finally got him into bed.

Where I was shocked to find out Dirk was a virgin. A guy as hot as all that and still untouched . . . It was like rooting around in shit and finding a gold nugget. I showed him the ropes, though. You can take that to the bank.

Dirk was awkward and shy about things in the beginning, but before long he was sucking like a pro. And that ass . . . that sweet, tight ass! If there’s a heaven, it ain’t in the clouds but buried deep in Dirk Vandercock’s ass.

First time I brought up the idea of him starring in one of my films, he refused. After all, he had plans of being a serious actor. The next Vin Diesel. I shit you not, he actually said that. I figured I could bide my time, and after only three more months of not booking a single gig, not even a dog food commercial, he caved. That’s when I gave him his name, Dirk Vandercock. Got a real ring to it, wouldn’t you say? His real name was just so bland and forgettable. I’m not sure I even remember what it was anymore.

First film we did together was called
The Fuck-It List
, about a young man who discovers he has a terminal illness and decides to go out fucking up a storm. Dirk had a touching death scene at the end while a gang of strapping young men did a circle jerk over his body. It was a huge hit. Dirk became an instant gay porn sensation.

About that same time, Dirk and I moved in together, getting a nicer apartment in a better part of town. Financially it made sense, but I also wanted to keep him all to myself.

He was mine, I found him and I wasn’t planning to share him.

I know what you’re thinking. Wasn’t I jealous with him fucking all those hot guys in the films? Hell no,
that
was business, nothing personal. Besides, I got to hand-pick all his co-stars, remember? If he seemed to enjoy himself a little too much with a certain actor, I made sure they didn’t work together anymore. When the cameras were off, though, he belonged to me and me alone. He seemed okay with that.

After all, I had taken him under my wing when he was new to the city and painfully naïve, I taught him the art of fucking, and I gave him not only a job but a career. Dirk showed his gratitude in a variety of pleasurable and increasingly inventive ways.