The Artist of Death

The Artist of Death - Chapter 1

Troy swaggered into the kitchen, his greasy, worn out sneakers scuffing on the filthy linoleum. Amy slid a glance sideways, resenting the way her walked. Always, everywhere he walked he would be dragging his feet, like he was too lazy to lift them. But then that was Troy. He was slovenly and lazy, an aversion to work and a thirst for spending money, hers mostly.
"For crying out loud Troy, pick your feet up, please. You know how much that irritates me."
Troy slid his eyes at her as he passed by. "Shut yer face you wining bitch, yer sound like me muvver’."
"God, if I was your mother I would disown you . . ."
"Well you ain’t, so zip it before I belt yer," he growled.
Amy gritted her teeth, an open show of contempt. "Don't talk to me that way. You've no right . . ."
"I said shut up," he interrupted, rounding on her, "Or you'll get this," he snapped, raising his voice and holding up his fist to her face, and pressing it hard against her skin and bone of her cheek.
Amy retreated slightly, repelled by the sudden smell of oil and grease. "You do and they'll be no point me going out to work tonight."
Troy stood his ground, squaring up to her. "What do ya mean?" he snapped
"Well, who's gonna want to look me for company if I've got a face like Tyson after a title fight?" she drawled in her smooth Texas accent
He sneered at her with derision. "Yeah, that's right. So yer better not be lippy, 'ad ya."
Amy wasn’t scared of Troy but the last thing she wanted was to take any facial bruises to work with her. Any blatant disfigurement meant she would be sent home without pay. The loss of the money and tips would make life even more miserable than it was now.
"You're a pig Troy Lenning. God knows how I got caught up with you . . .”
"One more word," he snarled, his yellowed teeth showing and waving his finger in front of her nose, "an' you're be needin' to see a dentist."
Amy stared angrily at her partner. She recalled how she had been in New Zealand just a few days, still finding her way around. The Y.W.C.A was crowded and noisy and she needed to find somewhere more permanent. It was while she was out one evening with a friend that she met Troy. She never told him her real name. In fact no one knew her real name. It was a promise that she was determined to keep that to herself until she knew the person well enough to trust them, that and the fervent desire of not wanting to be found.

She had been a little wary of his rough looks but he seemed pleasant enough. It wasn’t like she had never seen a man like him before and mostly once she got to know them they weren’t too bad. Amy felt this guy might fall into that category. Also she was a stranger in a new country and she wanted, needed, to make new friends. She'd agreed to meet him the next night for a drink. He had tidied himself up and paid her a lot of attention. Amy never found it hard to make new friends and she wanted someone to help her out. Troy called her constantly over the next few weeks. Taking her places and showing her things. Then as soon as he learned where she was staying he wasted no time in asking her to move in with him. More than a little anxious, she agreed, thinking it would be okay for a short while until she could get on her feet properly.
Troy had turned from being helpful and kind, to a back-yard thug in a matter of days but that was all it took. By then it was too late to for her to get away. He'd stolen all her money and sold most of her jewelry. It had all happened so fast. The speed of her demise astonished even her. As soon as she realized what was happening she hid her passport, otherwise, she knew for a certainty that would have vanished too.
She looked at the mess in the kitchen. It was the same story. Dishes were piled high in the sink after another of Troy and his mates late night feasting frenzies. It was hard enough to buy enough food for the two of them without feeding every slob friend of his in the neighborhood. The rent was due this week. She almost cried at the thought. As fast as the money came in, Troy and bills swallowed it up equally as quickly.
She washed and dried the dishes and cleaned the kitchen as best she could. No sooner had she finished than Troy and Lenny Skeath crashed through the back door and covered the kitchen table with greasy parts from Troy's Holden Torana.

"Look, 'ere's the problem. Yer carburetor’s stuffed," said Lenny, wiping his hand across his forehead, leaving a black smear."
"Fuck sakes, what's next!" exclaimed Troy. He picked up the part, eyed it closely the flung it back onto the table. “Jesus Christ, now what?”
"It's okay. I gotta mate who's got a few spares, he'll 'ave one you can 'ave."
"'Ow much?" asked Troy, glaring angrily at the greasy part.
"I dunno. Twenty bucks maybe."
Troy fished into his pockets and pulled out two twenties and a five. "Yeah, I got enough. Come on then let's get over there."
They both raced out of the house leaving the smell of oil and grease behind and the scrap metal on the table. Amy stared at the door as the handle smacked against the wall.
"Hey, what about this mess?" she called after them, but her voice fell on deaf ears. "If I were back in the States and was treated like a common tramp," she mumbled, "I'd kill the bastard." Although she hated guns and hated the violence that went with it, in situations like this she reflected on the merits of Texas gun laws. She knew she could never shoot him but it would be good, just for once, to give him a good scare.
Amy recalled with sudden clarity, the time that some boys were yahooing around their family home. It was harmless, playful stuff, yet it could quickly have got out of hand if not dealt with swiftly. Her father had come out of the house as the youths were preparing for another circuit. They all stopped as he stepped slowly down the porch steps and went towards them. Being a crowd of them, eight or more, they oozed adolescent confidence. They took little notice of him as he approached to talk to them. Yet as he got closer, their eyes everywhere except on him, he caught their attention with unerring swiftness when he pulled back the slide on his semi-automatic weapon. Amy was watching from the window and even from there she could hear the sound of the gun being cocked. Although the gun wasn’t loaded, she learned later, it was utterly amazing to see how nine or so faces suddenly changed expression and gave her father their full attention at the sound of the rapid, double clicks. It was a universal sound that everyone understood. Amy would give anything to see that kind of expression on Troy’s face right now.
Shrugging off the thought she went into her bedroom and tried to study. Just a few more weeks and she could kiss this life goodbye and Troy and his mates could rot in this squalid dump.
Amy moved the bed, pulling it away from the wall and gingerly removed the floorboard from under the carpet. Reaching into the space she pulled out her passport and her savings account book. She had almost two thousand dollars, enough for her airfare at the very least. She hurriedly put them back and replaced the floor board and pulled the bed back as she heard Lenny's Ford Anglia chugging up the driveway, the muffler so full of holes it throbbed like a jackhammer pounding on a building site. Amy snatched up her books and made the pretence of reading as she lay on her bed.

Heavy foot steps echoed along the hallway. The bedroom door smashed open. "What ya doin'?" growled Troy, his scrawny frame in the doorway.
Amy didn’t take her eyes away from the page as she said, "Reading, what does it look like?"
"Don't be fuckin' smart," he snapped. What time yer goin' in?”
“Around four thirty," she said, her eyes still staying on the page.
“Make me an' Lenny a cuppa, will ya." It was an order rather than a request.
Amy put her books onto beside table and slid off the bed. Troy had already gone out, back into the kitchen and he and Lenny, elbows resting on the table and their faces almost touching, examined the replacement part for Troy's aged Torana.
"Come on, there’s no uses gawking at it, let's get it in," said Lenny. Chairs scrapped on the floor as they got to their feet
Amy made their tea and took the two cups out to the back yard where she saw Troy and Lenny's butts hanging out from the engine bay.
She put two mugs on the ground beside them. "Tea," she announced.
They made no reply.
She reached into the driver’s side of the car and leant on the horn.
As the horn sounded, two heads smashed upwards against the hood as they recoiled against the sudden sound.
"What the fuck are yer playing at yer stupid cow?" yelled Troy.
"Tea," she said pointing to the two mugs on the ground.

Lenny rubbed the back of his head, "Fuckin' stupid bitch," he moaned.
"Piss off back to yer books," said Troy gruffly as he wiped the back of his head and then examined his palm for any sign of blood.
Amy turned on her heel and strode back into the house. "Ungrateful bastards," she mumbled but she couldn't help smiling to herself as she envisioned the sight of Troy and Lenny’s head crashing against the metal hood and the surprised, pained expressions on their faces. It was only a small act of retribution but it helped lift her spirits a little.
Entering her bedroom she lay back down on her bed, face down and finished reading her assignment. She spent the remainder of the afternoon making notes ready for the final draft that she would type up later.
While she was putting her books away, Amy heard the engine of the Torana erupt into life and the excited, childish whoops of Troy and Lenny as the former revved the engine with unabated glee. Troy's muffler was only barely better than Lenny's as it thundered past her bedroom window. Moments later the car roared off down the street. At last, a moment of peace to herself, she thought. But minutes later they were back. The familiar sound of the back door hitting the wall and his footsteps thumping along the hallway, then the bedroom door burst open.
"Come on, I'll drop you off at work."
"Wait, I'll just get changed."
He eyed her impatiently. “Well, don’t take too fuckin’ long; I got things I wanna do.”
Troy marched out of the room and Amy closed the door quietly behind him. She hated this time of the day. But it was the only way she knew with the way things were of how she could survive. Slipping out of her jeans and sweat-shirt, she put on her black jacket over her black underwear and slipped on her black high heels. When she first started at the bar she used to wear a short skirt but quickly she learned that the more leg she showed the better the tips and so she now went in not wearing a skirt at all, letting the hemline of her jacket cover the hidden treasure that all men craved for but could never have, not from her anyway. Picking up her shoulder bag she headed out the door and walked along the hallway to the living-room.
Troy and Lenny were in the lounge stretched out on the sofas watching kid’s cartoons on T.V. neither acknowledged her when she came into room. She stood for a moment studying their faces, their eyes transfixed as though they were in some kind of hypnotic trance as they stared at the flickering screen.

"I'm ready," she said, finally fed up with watching their infantile expressions.
Troy looked away from the screen. "Well let's hope business is a little better tonight, I'm getting’ short of cash."
"I told you Troy. Things are slow right now. There's a recession on at the moment. People just aren't spending like they used to."
"Don't give me that bollocks," he snapped. “When it comes to getting ‘is rocks off a, man will pay almost anythin’. Besides,” he continued as he looked her up and down, lust flashing across his face, “if yer were to start spreadin’ yer legs and puttin’ it out you could make a lot more.”
Amy glared at him with disgust. “I’ve already told you Troy, never would I stoop that low, I have some dignity left, you know.”
He leered. “Talking about stooping why don’t you get down on yer knees and give me some.”
Amy shook here head slowly with utter disbelief. “Just take me to work, will you.”
Lenny was smaning at the cartoons, his face contorted in a stupid grin as another animated character was blasted off the screen.
Troy’s expression melted at her words. “I’m just gonna drop 'er off," Troy said to his friend.
"Yeah, what ever," Lenny replied between pathetic snorts, not even turning his head.
Troy led the way out to the car and Amy silently followed.
As they were climbing into their seats she said to him, "Why do you hang out with that retard?"
"'E's a mate an' 'e helps me with my car an' stuff."
"How old did you say he was?"
"Same as me," he answered, his head looking straight ahead, eyes darting left and right looking for traffic as he pulled out onto the road.
"Funny," she said, "I though twenty was his I.Q not his age."
"Fuckin' well leave it alone won’t ya?" he barked.
Amy shrugged her shoulders. There was no point in pursuing it. Keeping any further thoughts to herself she clipped on the seatbelt and eased back into her seat. The strong aroma of grease made her stomach lurch. It was only a passing sensation. Experience told her that soon she wouldn’t notice the smell and her belly would settle down. Taking out her cosmetic case she adjusted her make-up. She thought she looked older than her twenty-three years. Gone was the vibrant shine that used to be in her eyes. She watched as the streets sped by and she looked at the anonymous faces of the people on the pavements and wondered what sort of problems they had. Was there someone was worse of than her?
The light was fading and she gazed up at the amber street lamps as they flashed past. She hated winter but the warmer days held the promise of spring. They rounded the corner and they pulled up outside the door.
"See you at six," she mumbled.
"Closer to seven probably," he replied moodily. He hated getting up early to fetch her. Still the money wasn't so bad, little as it was. In his eyes it seemed small but to most ordinary people it was nothing short of a fortune but at least he didn't have to work for it.
Amy slammed the car door shut and turned towards the building and walked elegantly up the steps of 'Nikita's Lounge and Bar.”
It was a front for a strip joint and brothel. Although Amy didn’t have to dance or take her clothes off, she was merely waitress, she still felt a little degraded going into the place but it was means towards an end. Keep the patrons buying drinks and being fed, if they wanted it. The regular pay wasn’t great but then it didn’t need to be, tips were by far the most lucrative method of income. The dancers got the men excited, she kept satisfying their thirst with drinks and when they needed satisfying in other areas there were plenty of women close by who were more than willing to help them in that area. Often she wondered how they could do what they did. She asked one girl once why she did it, the reply was simple and to the point. Openly, she admitted she loved sex and plenty of it. She wasn’t ashamed of her body and kept herself looking good and men were more than willing to pay her for what they wanted. To her it was heaven on Earth. The money, of course was the sole reason. The girl she had spoken to said that most nights she would service around ten clients; at a hundred dollars a jump that equated into a thousand dollars a night. She worked Wednesday through Sunday, Monday and Tuesday she took off. Five thousand a week she made. That was more than a quarter of a million dollars a year. More than a lot of top executives made. Yet for all that money Amy could see no improvement in the young woman’s lifestyle. Later she found out why. Most of what she made, she injected up her arm. The craving fed the need which supported the habit. It was a sad cycle.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Troy was craning his neck out of the side window as he edged out into the heavy evening traffic, then the nose of the vehicle lifted as he sped out into the line of cars and down the street.
He was gone and he wouldn’t return until early morning. Amy hated this job. But she kept reminding herself this was the means to get her away from Troy and then out of this country. Desperately she wanted to go home. Just a few more weeks, she had to keep telling herself and Troy and everything else would be nothing more than a distant memory, an unpleasant one at that but distant all the same.
As she waited for the door to be opened she thought about her family, especially her father. How saddened he would be to see her like this. She bowed her head for a moment, as if offering a silent prayer of hope then looked up as the door to the entrance and the sordid, seedy world of fleshly lust opened to her. Taking a deep breath she gripped the handle, pulled and went inside.