Evil Dreams by John Tigges Read Free Book Online

him. He suddenly guffawed.
    “But that—that woman’s a—real flake.” Tory fell sideways on the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
    “What woman?”
    “The one—the one—I just told you about.”
    “I don’t remember anything about—about a woman.” Howie heehawed a laugh, snorting as he spoke.
    Tory repeated the story, confusing different aspects until it made no sense. When she finished, he sobered and sat up on the edge of the bed. Hunching over, he held his head in both hands. She watched him for several minutes before moving to his side.
    “What’s the matter?” she asked, slipping an arm around his shoulder. Taking the spent cigarette, she butted it in a full ashtray on the floor next to the bed.
    Howie straightened up to stare out the open window at the gray, smoke encrusted wall across the alley. It would be dark soon. “How much money you got?” he demanded.
    “I don’t know. Twenty, thirty bucks until payday Monday.”
    “Give it to me. I’ve got to do some thinking tonight.”
    “About what?”
    “I’ve gotta come up with something.”
    “What?”
    “Us getting some bread. Making a big score.”
    Tory looked at him completely puzzled. “What do you want for supper?”
    “Fuck supper! Get me the money. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
    She reached for her purse on the table. Withdrawing two tens and a five, she shoved the remaining five dollar bill to the bottom of her bag before handing the money to her lover.
    He roughly grabbed it, clenching the crumpled paper in his teeth while he pulled his pants on and slipped a tee shirt over his head.
    Stepping into a pair of sneakers, he said, “If you want to make something for supper, go ahead. But have it ready when I get back. I gotta have lotsa thought time tonight. I’ll get some ganja with this two bits and we’ll talk about it.”
    She stared, not comprehending anything he said.
    After Howie had left the darkening room, Tory shivered, uncomfortable in her solitude. She pulled the chain hanging from the bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling, blinking at the sudden brightness before realizing she was not dressed. Donning a cotton robe and humming a tuneless melody, she took a can of soup from the almost empty cupboard.
     
    Trina and Jon sat propped up in bed, reading and listening to an early Beethoven String Trio as it softly complemented the bedroom’s tranquil atmosphere. She found it impossible to concentrate on the novel leaning against her knee. Their love making had not been as satisfying as she had hoped it would be. She wondered if Jon’s first meeting with Doctor Dayton earlier in the day could be at fault. Or had she overreacted to his momentary personality change while pouring the wine? She knew he didn’t drink heavily at all. In fact, she considered him more of a marginal abstainer, at best. Still, she couldn’t help feeling as though she had encountered a stranger when her husband began vehemently raving about the Beaujolais. “I don’t drink wine! I never have!” She shuddered at the recollection.
    “You cold?” Jon asked when she shivered.
    “What? Oh, no. I’m all right,” she said, realizing she had been too responsive to her own thoughts.
    “In a way, I’m looking forward to my next appointment with Dayton.” When she didn’t respond, he looked at her. “And where are your thoughts?”
    “I’m sorry, darling,” she apologized. “I guess my mind is wandering all over the place.”
    He recounted his feelings, returning his attention to the book he held when it became obvious she didn’t want to talk.
    Trina lapsed into her reverie again, recalling the strange expression he had displayed when he had said something about wine affecting his decisions and his ability as a leader. Had he actually finished the word? He had corrected himself so quickly she wasn’t certain. Maybe her imagination had played tricks on her. She would have to be more on guard against making wild interpretations of