Demon Harvest by Patrick C. Greene

Author:Patrick C. Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lyrical Press
Published: 2020-05-04T18:44:23+00:00

Chapter 18

Beauty of Poison

Violina parked her Cadillac well out of range of the gas station’s security cameras. As she walked, the dense gray sky seemed to query her. Violina nodded as if to say, Not just yet…

Armed with tailored, almost-tight Earnest Sewn jeans, a scent of her own design that called forth trust and lust, a smile emphasized by lipstick a shade lighter than blood and a tiny flask of “treated” whiskey, Violina entered Gas Giant, Ember Hollow’s resident truck stop/gas station/Halloween shop.

She smiled to the new-wave-styled teen girl behind the counter. Engrossed in a Terry Pratchett novel, the girl ignored Violina.

She traipsed between an aisle of chips and crackers, grimacing at the rack of slogan-printed lingerie, and made her way past the eighty-nine-ounce soda fountain and a glass-faced warmer, where glossy hot dogs rolled on metal bars, to the rear dining room.

One man sat alone at the nearest plastic table, his arms crossed, a foam and mesh cap sitting high on his sun spotted head. He stared at his barbecue sandwich and fries as if working up the courage to eat them.

Violina took a seat across from him, beaming like a diva’s spotlight. “Good evening!”

The bleary-eyed trucker gave the merest of nods. Violina was not discouraged in the least. “Is that your truck out in the rear lot?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

Violina’s smile faded to an expression of deep sadness. “Dear Lord. So many memories.”

“Ma’am?”

“My brother drove one that looked just like it. He died in an accident.”

“Oh, my Lord. Condolences, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She extended her hand. “I’m Violina.”

“Steve.” He took her hand in an indifferent grip.

“I hope you won’t find this too…odd,” Violina began. “I used to ride with him. I would love to just sit in the front for a minute.”

“Well”—Steve shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich, making it bleed brown juice onto his glistening fries—“I don’t see why not.”

“Oh, bless you.” She kept his hand for a moment, letting him feel its softness.

Steve finished his sandwich and fries quickly and stood to dump his tray. “Ready?”

Violina followed him, glad to see the counter girl still ignoring them as they exited and walked around to the rear parking lot, where Steve’s idling rig sat. The only other vehicle was the counter girl’s ’78 Camaro.

Pulling his hat down against the rising wind, he stepped up on the running board and opened the door, then stepped off. “All yours, as long as you need it, ma’am.”

Violina gave a gracious smile and stepped up, disappointed that Steve had not propositioned her—yet. Any footage picked up by security cameras would show what could only be a trucker and his conquest leaving for a tryst. And though she didn’t plan to need the alibi, it was good to have a contingency plan.

“So much like his truck,” she said wistfully.

Steve maintained a respectful silence and distance. Violina realized she would have to work harder than usual to dissolve his gallantry.

“Oh!” Violina leaped off the running board with a faux clumsiness, widening her eyes exaggeratedly for Steve to see in the weak light of the streetlamp.

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