Slag Attack by Andersen Prunty Read Free Book Online Page A

economy. Besides, that is New York. This is Ohio. She doesn’t really care what happens in New York.
       “ Joey Ramone!” she shouts and shakes it away, slinging her giant canvas purse over her shoulder and heading for the door. The office really does smell rank. She wonders if she should call the owner and then decides she doesn’t want to talk to him. She pulls the door shut and locks it, heading down the hallway and the stairs until she is out in the bright sunlight.
       
    2.
       
    Some people look straight ahead when they walk. Some people, dreamers mostly, look up at the sky. They are usually clumsy, always running into things. Amber is a head down kind of walker. A psychiatrist would probably say this is because of low self-esteem.
       “ Elvis Costello!”
        She listens to her voice blare out in the early summer light thinking it doesn’t really sound much like her voice at all. The only time she ever shouts is when she has to shout the names. She turns to head into the alley she claimed as her shortcut after starting this job nearly a year ago. She can’t wait to get home and change out of her dress shoes and skirt, dump her giant purse. And her shirt has felt more binding as the day progressed.
        She looks up and sees a tacky blue El Camino blocking the exit of the alley. Her heart jumps in her chest. Adrenaline not usually there becomes a torrent under her skin. Probably just someone doing a crazy ass parking job. She has never had any problems with the alley before. Muttering curses, she turns to head back out to the sidewalk when a man grabs the back of her neck. She nearly shouts, “Ian Curtis!” but is cut off. The man quickly and expertly covers her mouth in duct tape.
        Immediately, she knows what is happening but it still has a dreamlike quality to it. She has to get away. She knows this much. She springs forward, not caring who the hell is gripping her arms in his powerful hands. But all of her energy is useless. He slams her down on the asphalt, wrapping her wrists together with twirl after twirl of the tape. Then he picks her up and slings her over his shoulder.
        Is he taking her to the car? That’s where she thinks he is heading but the only thing she can see is the bottom of his jacket and his powerful-looking legs, covered in tight blue jeans. He clutches her purse in the hand not restraining her. Maybe somebody will see her before he can get her into the car. These kinds of things did not happen in Celine. Of course, it is really too early in the afternoon for anyone to be out and about. School hasn’t even let out yet and the lunch rush is over.
        Keeping her on his shoulder by pressing his right hand down on her ass, the man pulls open the passenger side door with the hand holding the purse and throws her in. Rather than wasting time to circle the car and reach the driver’s side, he crawls over her and slides deftly into the driver’s seat, covering her with the smell of his heavy cologne. He stuffs her purse behind the seat. She quickly swings her legs up on the vinyl seat and kicks at the man. Kicks at his square head with the black plastic-looking hair and the tightly clipped black mustache that makes him look like a loose-cannon cop in a horrible seventies action show. But he smothers her legs and, for a brief and horrifying second, she thinks he is going to rape her right there in the car. Her skirt slides up her legs, virginal white underwear in plain view. He brings the tape up, snarls at her, and wraps it tightly around her ankles.
       “ Frank Zappa!” her brain screams. No. It is her brain commanding her mouth but her mouth won’t move.
        The man reaches across the seat and grabs her hard in between her collarbone and neck.
       “ Now you listen here, Amber.” He speaks quickly, his voice sharp and clipped. “My name’s Vincent and I do very severe things. I’m a very severe man. You don’t wanna fuck with me. Now