Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories

5

Cleve crept up to the door of the shed. The padlock and chain that had provided some measure of security had long ago been rendered useless. They lay in a dirty pile near the shed's entrance.

Bobby swore the guy was skinny like Cleve, and Cleve could still hear Bobby's voice rattling off instructions.

"Listen, Cleve," Bobby said. "Just get rid of him. You know what to do,"

Cleve's hand was trembling as he slowly reached up to open the shed door.

Stuck.

The door would not budge.

Cleve grabbed the handle, grunted, and put every ounce of muscle into pulling it open.

"Looking for me, Big Boy?" a deep voice behind him said.

Cleve turned around, staring at what could not possibly be.

He was face to face with a ghost.

She was a mountainous woman and scowling. Streaks of gray were woven into the stack of henna hair that looked like writhing snakes in the eerie moonlight.

"All you little schmucks thought you were all God's gift to women, didn't you?"

He groaned as meaty fingers grabbed the crotch of his pants and twisted hard. Cleve dropped to his knees, his head bowed. He was moaning softly.

"You bunch were always so self-righteous. You paid for the pleasure I gave you, so you thought I was nothing but dirt. Something less than human. I wasn't worth the price of the matt to wipe you shoes."

Cleve looked up, began to shake his head, but she continued.

"I heard what you said. All of you. I was right there. Remember? Did you think I was deaf? Vile, filthy things. And you were right. I was guilty of a lot of it. But those two little mouths I had back home didn't seem to care what I done so long as they had food for their empty bellies. But you didn't know about them, did you, Little Man? And you wouldn't have cared if you'd known!"