Three Twisted Stories by Karin Slaughter Page A

the toe of his shoe to unfold the cardboard. The poster fell open. It was an Alka-Seltzer ad from last Christmas. Sammy Davis, Jr., was holding a red stocking with white fur around the top. He was laughing. The words beside him read, “Falalalala … lalala … Ahhh!”
    “Whatchu doin’, bitch?”
    Charlie looked up. There were two men walking toward him. He saw his car in the distance. The door was still open. He’d left the keys in the ignition.
    “I asked you a question, mama.”
    Charlie took a step back. His heart was in his throat. He scanned the buildings. Checked the street. They were alone. Just him and two black men who looked like they had trouble ontheir minds.
    “Comin’ into our neighborhood,” one of them said. “Whatchu want here, bitch?”
    Charlie said, “I just … I was …”
    The other man hissed to shut him up. He had gold front teeth. They both wore black leather jackets, dark sunglasses, and black berets.
    “I’m sorry.” Charlie did the calculations, wondering if he could run past them and get to the car. He wasn’t a fast runner. The extra weight wasn’t helping him. “Gentlemen, please, I don’t want trouble.”
    “Then you in the wrong street.”
    “Please,” Charlie said. “I’m sorry. I just stopped here to—” He couldn’t explain it. What could he say, that he’d hit a homeless man who wasn’t really black and ended up watching him die, only to find out later that he’d passed on some kind of curse that made Charlie’s dick unplug like a table lamp?
    Charlie laughed. What were they going to do to him? His dick unplugged like a table lamp. That would freak them out enough to give him time to run for his life.
    “You want this?” Charlie unzipped his pants. “Come and get it.”
    The two men looked at each other for a moment. They looked at Charlie. They looked at each other.
    And then they laughed.
    The gold-toothed man said, “Shee-it, mama, you think we can’t do no better than you? Get your skinny honky ass outta here.”
    “Get on out,” his companion said.
    Charlie didn’t have to be told twice. He ran toward his car. He jumped in behind the wheel. He didn’t let himself smile until he was a few blocks from the dry cleaner’s.
    They had called him skinny.
    Mr. Salmeri was standing behind the counter when Charlie walked in. “Mr. Lam.”
    Charlie nodded. He’d seen the squad car in the parking lot. Part of him had wanted to turn around. The other part had told himself that he was being silly. He couldn’t run every time he saw a woman in uniform. Nothing had really happened between him and Jo, anyway. It wasn’t like she’d raped Charlie. She’d shoved her breasts in his face. She’d touched him inplaces he didn’t want her to touch him.
    So what?
    Looking back, he’d probably started the whole thing anyway. Charlie had been drinking. He was worked up because of the fight with his girlfriend. And being completely honest, he’d found Jo attractive in a dirty kind of way. He’d gotten a little excited thinking about her kissing her friend. It had felt a bit dangerous when she’d commented on the way his suit hugged his shoulders. Obviously, Jo had picked up on his attraction. Charlie couldn’t blame her for assuming he wanted more.
    Still, he was relieved when the toilet flushed and the cop who came out wasn’t Jo, but the woman from the other day. The pretty one who would look prettier if she wore something other than a man’s uniform.
    “Thank you, Mr. Salmeri.” She saw Charlie and stopped fiddling with her belt. “Mr. Lam.”
    He read her name tag. “Officer Lawson.”
    She stared at him. Charlie got the message. He ran over and opened the door for her. She took her time. Charlie pretended he didn’t remember what had happened the last time he’d stood at this door. The glint of the blade arcing through the air. The smell of blood.
    This is how you end it
.
    “Nice gal,” Charlie told Salmeri. He wasn’t going to make the