There’s this guy. Name’s Rex. Owns a bar. When once asked his name, the other gent thought he said Tex. It stuck. Good ‘ol Rex became known as Tex.
This is his place.
One night, just before close, Tex sees this blonde siting at the end of the bar, alone, throwing back a Wild Turkey. Straight.
He sidles up in front of her. ”That’s some forgettin’ whiskey y’all got there.”
She raises her glass. “Yup. Sure is.”
“Name’s Rex. Friends call me Tex. This is my place. Y’all got a name?”
She raises her head, smirks, “Of course. You know anyone who doesn’t?”
Not a shy man, nor a bright man; not a full rube, but smarts and tact, that never took to Tex. ”Well, what do I call ya then?” he asked, staring at her big tits.
She shoots quick with venom. “I’m not lookin’ for any friends.”
She reaches into her jacket and grabs a pack of Camels. An ashtray slides her way. She thanks the guy with a quick gesture. He’s tall, attractive, nice wavy hair. She looks him over for two more, maybe three seconds. She sees him as a serial killer. Skinny, white, abuses women, a bit of a pussy. She likes her chances if things get weird. Serial it is.
Tex extends his hand for her to shake. She glares at it like it’s got a grizzly bear dick attached. She pulls a drag on her cigarette and exhales in his direction, says, “No thanks.” His hand lowers to the bar.
A deep inhale from her heater, she blows smoke rings, the tendrils trail off and evaporate into the blackness of the bar ceiling. Eyes fixed, Tex is silent. Doesn’t say a word. He grabs at his lip with the dingy teeth of a smoker.
She peers through his soul, “Fuck you staring at?”
Without hesitation, she eases her seat away from the bar and walks to the restroom. Tex takes a moment to watch. He sees her ass. Looks like an apple, luscious with smooth curves. He wants a bite. He watches as her hips sway up, then down. It mesmerizes him. He steals a grab at his crotch.
Tex pauses, breathes, takes a second then reaches for his cinnamon Binaca. Gulps a few sprays to kill his caveman breath. Bad enough to kill a fly on a pile of shit. He still didn’t get her name, but that’s not stopping him.
She walks back down the narrow hallway, digits extended, scrapping the backs of her long nails along the wall. When she gets to the end, she brings her fists up exposing her middle fingers to no one in particular. It’s a gesture that screams, “Here I am bitches.” The bitches, also, being no one in particular. This is her place. She will own it.
Tex’s eyes follow the sway and bounce of her boobs. Hidden by the bar, he tugs at his boner and slides it to the left.
She hops into her seat, lights a cigarette, sucks it in deep. Real deep. The sides of her cheeks cave. Her neck elongates. She tilts her head back, closes those dark orbs, and blows it out.
Her eyes settle on the bar. She grabs the ashtray and bats it back and forth the way a cat might play with a cricket. “Friends call me Lily, but you—you can call me Lilith.”
She fingers the moist rim of the whiskey bottle. Tex sees it as sexual and alluring. Thinks it’s his in. He leers. “Well, that’s settled then. Big tits Lily it is!”
She sneers, looks to her left – nothing. To the right, Serial is getting up, leaving. She glances around, no one.
She taps the cigarette into the ashtray, crushes it, bends it into a mess, all the while staring him down with those eyes of darkness. Reaches across the bar; sight-gazers glossy with rage, Lilith pulls Tex to her. Leaning, down for the get down, he gets closer.
He’s excited like a virgin about to pop his first cherry. “This gonna be good, huh?”
Her voice sullen, “Yup. Sure is.”
Her eye-saucers, black as coal, don’t move. No blinks. Unclosed. She inches her right hand down from Tex’s shoulder toward his chest. Her left hand gripping his right shoulder tight, pulling him to her. She smells the spice on his breath.
Tex closes his eyes and tilts his head, puckers. “Think I’m gonna like this. Go ahead. Do it.”
Lilith’s forked tongue flickers, smelling her quarry. Transforming, her body radiates heat; the flames of her thought penetrate his being. Tex’s oculi open wide. He shakes and his screams fall silent.
Piercing his flesh, the claws of her fist draw blood. Tex’s sight goes down as he watches the tiny droplets grow to a flowing crimson, spreading throughout the cotton of his white t-shirt. He feels the pain. He feels her scorn.
Fear never gets a chance to settle in. Still alive, ripping out his beating heart, Lilith smiles. The tines of her tongue hitting long on the ‘th’ sound in her name. “My name is Lilith.”
He saunters down the gravel trail, snakeskins kicking up dust along the way.
Slamming into the wainscoting, the front door screams on its hinges. Standing tall, wearing a black duster, the man doffs his hat.
“What’d you do, Lilith?”
Turning, staring, blood oozes over the edge of her hand. Lilith drops her gaze to the floor, shows silent respect.
“My apologies…sir. He…disrespected…” Holding the quivering organ out for approval. “I took—”
“I can see, bitch. I can fucking see.”
Loud, distinct thuds echo as the heavy heels of his boots hit the wooden floor. Walking toward Lilith and the dead man lying across the bar, “The idea, my minion, is to gain acceptance. Not kill future representation.”
Tex’s blue eyes, large, but distant, match his agape and silent mouth. His complexion, once tan, now pales as the oxygen leaves his body.
The man stops next to Lilith – holding the viscus, arteries dangle – runs his finger along the top of the meaty muscle and touches it to his lips. He leans in, kisses her, deep. With tongue. She doesn’t flinch.
“Take it. Eat it. He—it is part of you now. He is one with you.”
She lifts the heart to her mouth. “Thank you Danyal.”
“This thing I allow you to do—this thing’s got rules. Remember, the devil – I – lives in the goddamn details.”