AsphyXXia

By Deborah Foxford

Marie and Karen—both exotic dancers, the best of friends, young and vibrant. When Karen is accosted in the parking lot of The Fantasy Lounge one early morning, it solidifies her decision to get out of the business and the Arizona heat.

After Marie begs Karen to keep her company on a weekend trip to visit her widowed father, the cool mountain air and serene environment in Peeples Valley, Arizona convinces her that’s where she needs to be.

After settled in her new home, Karen becomes ensnared in the sordid history of the town, and her involvement brings both love and violence into her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deborah Foxford
• Release date: Aug 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450789301

Deborah Foxford

Deborah Foxford began writing at the age of 12 with her first widespread neighborhood fact sheet, distributing to all neighbors and getting her grounded for a month. Undeterred, she began as an adult publishing science fiction shorts for magazines, followed by poems. Deborah evolved into mystery and detective shorts, culminating in a series of psychothrillers. Deborah spends her time writing, studying the human mind and educating herself in continuum. Deborah enjoys the arid desert and scorching sun of Arizona as her permanent residence.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Damp, soggy leaves clung to the bottoms of his feet as he made his way through the field. His feet were dirty. His toenails were dirty. He was a foul-smelling, filthy, and defeated man, but he didn’t mind being that way. He had no awareness of his cleanliness, and therefore didn’t care. In fact, he cared very little about most things. What bothered him was the frigid night air.

His jagged nail, underlined with black, reached up to dislodge something crusty from his nose. He puffed outward once, as if to help whatever it was along its way. He took the moment to stop, crouch, and look around with eyes that were half closed against the driving wind. No one would notice him; he was merely another teardrop of humanity in the rain. Things had gone well. If his love were alive, she’d be proud of what he was planning to do.

CHAPTER ONE

Her passion was dancing. When she was on stage wearing pasties and a G-string, she felt powerful. The men in the room had their eyes locked on her, their breathing a bit more rapid as they waited for the moment when she would have on nothing at all.

Karen worked out every day so that her movements on stage looked fluid and effortless; if she wasn’t in shape it wasn’t happening. She had to admit that she felt healthier when she worked out, sluggish when she didn’t. No matter how agile she was, she knew that stripping for much longer was not in the stars. She got into stripping for the money, and had managed to put back most of it. Karen’s earnings were in the mid six-digits a year, and that was without going to college.

It was almost time for her to go on again. She loved it, and she loved it. She had worked at The Fantasy Lounge for three years. It was a reputable club, and paid its bills.

Karen bustled into the dressing room, almost ran into Priscilla as she was bent over snapping her right-legged nylon to her garter belt.

You have anything special going on tonight Marie? You look like a sophisticate, decked out for a wedding.

Marie had on a long sheath dress, slit up the side to just below her crotch. She lifted her dress to reveal a strapless bikini. This pretty sophisticated too? she said.

Marie’s full name was Priscilla Marie Evans, but everyone called her Marie, and I keeping with her given name of Priscilla, she was quite prissy. Instead of looking like the stripper she was, she looked like a high fashion model getting ready to step out onto a runway, albeit a scantily dressed one.

"No, just the regular, routine stuff. Well, all except for last week one of my regulars asked to see me in white on Saturday night. Here we are at Saturday night already, and I saw him out there earlier. I don’t know why this guy likes white, but if he likes white, I’m in white. He’s one of our big- tipping customers. It never hurts to make them happy. When they’re happy, we’re happy, right?

Karen made an absent-minded nod in acquiescence, and shot a quick glance at Marie through the reflection in her mirror.

Marie’s hundred-mile long legs, waist length long blonde hair, and boobs bigger than Texas were all attributes that incited the lust of the customers. Certain men liked different girls, and Marie had an entire stable full that she had collected of her very own who returned to the club night after night after night. When not dancing she was kibitzing with the men, teasing them, taunting them, and supplying their every need.

I’m going to miss this excitement when I leave, Karen said.

No you’re not, Marie said. I’m not letting you leave. Besides, if you did leave where would you go?

I haven’t decided yet, but I want it to be somewhere nice and cool, not like here in Phoenix, she said.

The women, who had now put the final touches on their getups before going on, checked each other out.

We look good, don’t we? Karen said.

No, we look great. She turned her head to look at her ass, as if to check to see that it was in its proper place. They’ve started my song. See you after, Marie said.

Karen gazed at herself in the full length dressing room mirror, and was only half pleased with what she saw. Yes, she looked in shape and wasn’t overweight, but she didn’t possess Marie’s dynamic looks. Her thick black hair had always been hard to tame, and was a stark contrast against her pale white skin that she had long protected from the sun. She was looking forward to living in a climate where a person didn’t need to sequester themselves inside to fight skin cancer.

She was satisfied with her aquamarine eyes, but could use some breast implants and foot surgery; the augmentation to improve on the size of her chest, and the foot surgery to do something, anything, with her large ugly feet and curly toes.

Marie rushed through the parted stage curtain, down the hallway and back into her dressing room, as bare-assed naked as the day her mother brought her into the world. Breathless, she said, your turn darlin’. The house is packed tonight. You can’t believe the cash they are throwing up on the stage. Let’s hope their money lasts as long as their libidos.

They both knew that the real dollars piled up after the show was long cold, and the back rooms heated up.

By the time the final curtain closed, the back room was packed to capacity. The room in which the club’s private parties were held was not one area at all, but rather had been designed as a beast of a room, and in the belly of the beast was a bevy of smaller rooms, each decorated with seductive hues of crimsons, purples and deep blues. Tonight both Marie and Karen were entertaining one gentleman who had requested two women. Both of them knew little about him, having never seen him at the club before. One thing that was obvious was that it appeared that he didn’t need to worry about money. He seemed to have plenty of it, and was generous with passing it out. The private rooms, fully stocked with a variety of liquor, amyl nitrate poppers, and a little cocaine, cost upwards of a thousand dollars for one evening. The girls were paid separately, and accepted the cash directly from the customers for any services rendered. The only requirement for passage to entertain in the back was total nudity. Beyond that, it was up to the women to decide what they would and would not do, how they would perform, and how much it would cost.

The women were in the crimson room tonight. Marie seemed to be having a hard time staying focused, and Karen couldn’t think what the reason may be. The night had gone well, the man they were with was charming and respectful, looking, talking but not touching. As the evening folded into early morning, the excitement and bantering voices had receded. It was almost time to go off shift. They bade their customer goodnight without a hitch, and both of them headed back to the dressing room where they felt they spent half of their waking hours.

Why are you so solemn this evening? Karen said.

I’m thinking about my father, Marie said. He’s been in a bad spot for quite awhile now, ever since my mother died. He seems to have gotten much worse lately. They continued talking while changing into their street clothes, and readying themselves to change once again after they got home, this time into some comfortable pajamas.

Karen and Marie had talked about her father, James, before, and Marie had voiced her concerns over his well-being in the past. To say that he hadn’t done well after her mother had died was a massive understatement.

I was contemplating going up to Peeples Valley this week to spend some time with him, you know, visit a little, but my main motive is to check up on him to make sure he is eating, that type of thing, she said.

If I had a daughter like you, I’d be blessed. I hope he’s been a good father, too, she said.

Marie didn’t answer, in fact acted like she hadn’t heard one word that Karen had just said. Oh well. Karen walked to the door, turned to say a final goodnight.

Marie looked up at her with surprise. So, where is it that you think you’re going without me? You’re my ride home tonight, remember? she said.

Karen looked down at the big blue overstuffed lounging chair, and was tempted to drop into it and sleep for a millennium. Since she knew that would be a bad idea in the long run, she opted instead to go outside and wait in the car. At least she’d be sitting down.

Hey, I’ll only be a minute, Marie said. Don’t look so disappointed.

Oh it’s not that. I’m exhausted. I want to climb into bed and fall into a deep sleep for at least eight hours. I’m anxious to get home and achieve my goal, she said. I’ll wait for you in the car.

Her car, of course, wasn’t parked close. Oh, no. That would have been too convenient, but she hadn’t been able to find a space closer to the building when she arrived last night. As she neared the half-way point from door to car, total fatigue overtook her. She bet this is how it would feel if someone had drained out all of her blood.

The parking lot lay nearly abandoned, scattered with only the few cars left as designated drivers dried up and taxis stepped forward. Night was beginning to turn into early morning. The Fantasy Lounge lay totally exposed to advertise its wares unencumbered, but for obvious reasons large willow trees were scattered closely throughout to make parked cars close to invisible from the street.

She unlocked her car and slumped into the driver’s seat, and noticed her dome light didn’t come on. She resigned herself to the fact that this was nature’s conspiracy to keep her from sleeping, yet a strange feeling of peace came over her as she sat for a moment in the quiet dark, watching the sky become a smoky, light grey. She turned the key in the ignition, and heard nothing. The engine didn’t turn over. It didn’t even try. The car didn’t start. Shit. She tried again. No go.

His timing was impeccable. Earlier in the evening he had exchanged her battery for an old, and lifeless battery of his. The men scurrying inside had paid him little attention, their main goal being to get out of sight before either their wives or pastors caught them walking into the club.

She heard a voice and turned toward the sound. It was the man they had entertained earlier this evening. He approached the car.

Could be a dead battery. If you need a jump, I’ve got cables in my toolbox, he said. She supposed it could be worse. She could be out here without a Prince Charming jumping to her rescue.

Oh, hi, she said. I could call a cab, but by the time it gets here we could have the battery charged up enough to get me home. I sure would appreciate the help.

That’s not a problem, he said. Let me move my truck closer to your car. She watched him as he walked the few feet to his vehicle, start his engine and begin to pull into place alongside her.

She had figured him for a Mercedes kind of guy. Black Mercedes, dark grey interior, something along those lines, but instead he got into a slightly battered truck. Judging from the mud around its tires, it was also well used. People sure could surprise you, she thought. Karen couldn’t stop herself from thinking of how sophisticated he looked, how his clothes didn’t match up with his vehicle. How he had acted throughout the entire time she and Marie had spent with him—educated, gentle and respectful.

Once alongside her, his truck overshadowed her car to the point that she could barely open her door.

I think you’re a little too close, she said. She started to grunt and contort as she shimmied her way out of her Volvo into the small space between her car door and his truck. I can barely get out, she said.

He gave her an odd look. Why do you need to get out? I can handle this, he said. The tone of his voice had changed and was more guttural. He no longer seemed relaxed, didn’t seem tired, but rather energized.

Get back into the car, he ordered. She realized he didn’t have any jumper cables in his hands. She stood there, shocked that he was telling her what to do, not asking.

No, why should I? I’d rather be outside. Alarmed now, fully tense.

I told you to get back into the car, he said.

"Listen, you little whore, you asked for my help. Now I’ve changed my mind about helping you. You’re going to give me what I’m desperate to get."

In an instant, Karen’s entire body was also energized. She was alert. The adrenalin was coursing through her, her fight or flight response kicking in. He was walking around the back of the truck as he spoke, not running but at a fast pace.

Both of them looked toward the abrupt, distant sound of the club door opening and then closing, watching as Marie exited the building.

Karen was screaming now, running toward her, Marie, call 9-1-1, she said. She looked behind her, watched as this demented asshole jumped into his truck and sped away. Thank God Marie had asked her for a ride home. What if she hadn’t? What if she had been alone?

Dearest Jesus, she said. She grabbed Marie’s phone from her hand, dialed 9-1-1 herself. Marie stood frozen to the pavement. That does it, she said. I’m out of here, I’m not coming back. I saw my life pass before my eyes in about two seconds. That was too close to home for me.

CHAPTER TWO

The day had swung into full being, cars bustling from place to place, Karen still not in bed sleeping. After her adrenalin rush, she had the inevitable crash, and was standing like a mummy talking to the cops.

No, I didn’t get his license plate number. It was semi-dark. I almost couldn’t make out that the truck was red. I know it was a Dodge Ram 1500 or something, though. Looked like a workhorse truck, four-wheel drive maybe, Karen said. I’m not that good with knowing trucks.

The policeman she was talking to looked less than interested. He stood about 5’7", had hair cut so short you could see his scalp shining in the sunlight, and he was able to balance his flip pad on the top part of his stomach while he wrote.

That’s all I can tell you. He seemed so nice at first, she said.

Baldy looked up from his notes, ‘at first?’ he said. What do you mean, ‘at first’?"

He was a customer last evening. Stayed until we closed.

What time did you close? he said.

Well, we officially closed at two in the morning, she said. She looked uncomfortable, exchanged glances with Marie, who was maintaining a stoic, protective stance by her side. It was no secret between them that they were skating this side of the law by holding their private parties in the back after official closing time, but in fact the all but bald cop looked disinterested, not at all concerned; or if he was, he didn’t show it.

All right, he said, flipping his notepad closed. I’ll need the two of you to come to the precinct to file a formal report. In the meantime, we’ll stop and question him if we happen to spot a truck matching that description. But we aren’t going to be actively searching for him, he said. He didn’t harm either of you.

What—he had to kill us before you look for him?, Marie said. She placed her hand on her right hip, cocked her body to the left.

Karen added, That’s fine, officer. We may be down, we may not.

Suit yourself. No matter to me, he said. To the cop the suspect was only another john, and this was what could, and did, happen often. They sometimes got a little rough, went a little nuts. These types of girls proved good prey for the sickos, were moving targets. He knew what took place behind closed doors. He knew they thought him lame. He knew he wasn’t.

In the end, they had taken a cab home anyway. Marie got dropped first. It seemed to her like she was in Oz, following a yellow brick road that didn’t stop at her house. When the cab at last pulled into her driveway, she was amazed that she had at last arrived, and was where she wanted to be.

She paid the cabbie, walked the short distance to her front door, and straight into the bedroom, where she collapsed into bed. She wasn’t waking up ‘til she damned well felt like it; and she wasn’t going back, either. Ever.

Despite the fact that she had gotten enough sleep, she felt logy. Still, she had a song in her head and a bouncy step, knowing she wasn’t going back to the club. She loved what she did, but she also loved not doing it. After all, work was still work.

She walked to the phone, dialed up Marie. She had always felt like their relationship was mixed. She thought of Marie like a younger sister, but she was also her best friend.

You okay? she said.

Oh yeah, fine, Marie said.

Hey, you want to go to dinner tonight?

Sure. What time, and where do you want to go? she said.

I don’t know, Karen said. What do you feel like eating?

There was silence over the phone, then, How about a steak and a baked potato?

Then, as if she had discovered uranium, said Wait a minute—I have a great idea—let’s go to Red Lobster. We can get those salty potato skins, the garlic baby shrimp, and I think they have the best salad in town, she said. By now, she had made Karen’s mouth water. She was in.

Okay, what time? You want to meet each other? I can take a cab. Or do you want to pick me up? My car’s dead, remember? Karen said.

How could I forget. That weird crap just happened last night, she said.

The conversation turned cloudy, contemplative.

It was so strange how that guy was sweet, and generous all night. And then he just turned into a monster, Karen said.

I know. Maybe he didn’t know that he could have taken you to the far back, that you were available for sex if he’d wanted it, Marie said.

Maybe. We both know there are some sick-ass freaks out there, Karen said"

For sure. I’d believe anything. Remember that dude last summer? The fat guy, came to the club all the time, and then went berserk in the back room? I’m pretty savvy about that stuff, unfortunately.

Last summer a regular customer had turned Rambo on her. The bouncer stopped it right away, but not before Marie was already badly hurt.

Maybe he didn’t ask for sex because that not what gets him off, Karen said. It’s the control that some of them like. That’s the only time they can become aroused.

Are you shitting me? Freaks, Marie said. Forget it, let’s talk about dinner. I’m still for Red Lobster.

That’s fine with me. Come pick me up at 7:30? she said.

At dinner, Marie monopolized the conversation in the beginning, talking non-stop about her father—her worries, concerns, and her plans for him.

What happened to him? You told me before that when your mom died he never got over it, which I understand, but why do you need to support him?

Despite the fact that it had been close to three years since her mother’s death, her eyes clouded with sadness, tears wetting the sides of her eyes as she tried not to cry.

I think it was how she died, how sudden her death was. I don’t understand it much myself, other than the fact that they were deeply in love, had been for years. The concept of him going on without her was too much. Clinically I think he had a nervous breakdown and never pulled out. I don’t think he wants to pull out. I think he wants to wallow in grief and self pity. Mom walked with God, he knows she’s in Heaven, but he misses her so much. Right after she died, he told me he was responsible. That he should have been with her. Somehow should have prevented it, she said. I don’t know; it’s too beyond me.

By the time the main course was served, the ball had changed courts, and Karen’s conversation turned to herself.

So, I’m gaining ten pounds tonight, just eating these cheese biscuits, Karen said. Tonight she didn’t care, grabbed another. Insult to injury, when the server passed by, she asked for more butter, too.

Well, now that I’ve decided to quit The Fantasy Lounge, I need to decide where to move. I’m not staying in Phoenix, she said.

Karen, really? You’re serious?

Do I look like I’m not? she said.

I don’t want to get mushy on you, but I don’t want you to leave me. I need to work for both me and my dad, I can’t quit. But my life’s not right without you in it. You’re both the sister I never had, and my best friend, she said.

I know. You’re such a sweetheart for saying that, too. And you know how I feel about you. But I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I want to relax, get a little fatter, enjoy life for awhile, she said. Besides, I’ll visit you, and you can come to visit me. After last night’s episode, I realize how temporary life is, how it can be gone in a minute, Karen said. I’m convinced that man wanted fuck me up.

Not if you move to Timbuktu, Marie said.

Don’t know where I’m going, but I do know it’s not Timbuktu since that isn’t a real place.

Yes it is, honest. It’s a town in West Africa, she said.

They looked at the passing server, who told them he’d be back with their check if they didn’t want desert, but they both did. If you’re gonna blow it, ya might as well do it right. They both had flan, finished the meal with coffee as a topper. They had full bellies, and had enjoyed each other’s company.

I have an idea, Karen, Marie said. Before you make a decision, why don’t you get out of town temporarily for a couple of days? Chill out. Maybe go somewhere with a good friend, you know?

Would that good friend be you? she said. You’re trying to talk me into going with you to see your dad you chicken shit, aren’t you? You need my help for something, right?

Come on, go with me, Marie said. She wasn’t begging, wasn’t desperate for someone to go with her, but it sure would be a lot easier on her if Karen went. It would be a little less painful for her to deal with her dad, get his house cleaned up, and get him clean. The country air would be good for both of them, too, and it was only for three or four days.

When’re you going? Karen said.

Next week, thought I’d leave after work. It’s a short drive, doesn’t take long. Thought I’d change into something comfortable after work, get going right after the last set. It’s only an hour or so drive.

Karen thought for a moment. Why not?

I’ve got nothing better to do. Besides, I can read the new Stephen King novel while you drive. I’ve got a book light, it won’t bother you.

Wow, thanks. You’ll be great company on the drive, she said.

Hey, don’t bitch. I said I would go, right? Karen said. Where did you say he lived?

Peeples Valley, Marie said. He lives in Peeples Valley.

CHAPTER THREE

Richard Mason owned his own construction company in Glendale, California, and in the past had been a good one to go to when he’d needed extra work. Of course, later, they had an understanding. He’d made a fortune in real estate during the boom, and Nick respected him for that. It was his guess that Richard couldn’t spend all of it in his lifetime unless he gave much of it away; Nick was going to encourage Richard’s philanthropy in his direction.

In those days, there was never enough money, but Amanda was easy to manipulate into working a long day, two shortened back-to-back shifts at The Crown Motel, a sleazy place in the low-rent district just off West Colorado Road. She worked 12 hours straight through, as a cleaning lady in the mornings, and in the early evening in front reception. Once in awhile he’d pick her up for a break, drive her through McDonald’s, and get some coffee. They’d sit in his patrol car, the silence rarely broken unless he initiated conversation. She would listen with folded hands, taking her coffee out of the holder where she always placed it, sipping at it like a little bird. It was on rare occasion that she made the first move to chat, and he was fine with that. He couldn’t stand the pathetic sound of her voice. Couldn’t stand the way she sipped her damned coffee.

You get any extra change tonight? Any tips today? he said.

She bowed her head down so low it came to within inches of her lap, said no, nothing. I’m so very sorry.

Fuck. He’d been hoping she had some cash. He wanted to play a little after his patrol was over.

You’d better do something to get more tips, he said. We need cash flow. He didn’t care if she had to sell her ass to get it, he needed more spending money. She was a workhorse to him and that was all. She had supported him when he was in the academy, her charity which he took without pause, and there was no reason to change now.

He watched nonplussed as a Lincoln drove by, swerving from lane to lane.

Dumping her out, he said, I’ve gotta go.

She jumped out of the cruiser as he started to speed off, flashing lights on, leaving her standing alone and bewildered looking, but with all ten toes miraculously intact. Well, it was time for her to return to work anyway.

The guy swerving pulled over as quickly as his reflexes would allow, and the minute he rolled down his window to talk to Nick, the smell of booze hung thick in the air. Though he hadn’t recognized the Lincoln, he recognized Richard as he approached the car. Little Richie Rich.

Richard, Nick said. I think we may have a problem.

Listen, Nick, he slurred. He was sober enough to remember that he already had two citations for drunk driving, and drunk enough to think he was driving fine.

When he began talking again, panic edged his voice. I get ticketed once more and I’m gone. They’ll Three-Strike me. They’re going to send me away for at least a year. Begging now. Like a lisping child wanting candy, close to missing their opportunity. Nick was going to milk this to his advantage.

I understand. I almost sympathize, he said, but you’re breaking the law, and might kill someone if you’re as drunk as you look and smell. What are you doing in this part of town anyway, looking for a little action?

Maybe. Maybe I got some already, he said. He had a habit of arching his left eyebrow when he was bragging about something, and he was doing it now.

"Ok Richard, maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, I don’t really care. I am concerned about your driving, though."

Nick, wait. You want this? Richard said. With his pudgy little hand he dug into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, held together with a rubber band. Nick looked around, left to right, saw no one near, grabbed the wad away from him like a magic trick.

Hey, that’s mine, he said. Not the whole thing.

It’s the whole thing, that’s what you meant to say, right?

The sinister way Nick said it sobered him a little, made him feel more nervous, more unsettled.

Yeah, that’s what I meant Nick, he said. After all, he was lucky it was Nick on patrol. He wasn’t going to the tank tonight. Wasn’t going to lose his business, wasn’t going away for awhile. What more did he need? Small price to pay when you weighed all the facts.

Guess what, Richard? I don’t tell on you, you don’t tell on me, and we’ll both go home happy tonight. Deal? he said.

Thanks, he said. He knew when to shut up. His mother hadn’t raised a dummy.

Nick called a cab to get Richard home. No, he wouldn’t see the inside of a slammer tonight, but would be forever in Nick’s debt. Nicky Boy was going to play tonight. Money. That’s what it took. It always took money.

CHAPTER FOUR

You ever try auto-erotic asphyxia? the whore asked him.

What the fuck is that? Nick said.

Come on. I’ll show you, she said. Take off your clothes, relax. This is how it works. Once he was naked, she started to slip a dog leash around his neck that she’d had on her nightstand.

Nick was at Linda’s apartment. Linda was a clean whore whom he’d visited off and on for months. He didn’t want to take any diseases home to Amanda, so he’d paid for Linda to get checked, had gone with her. He tolerated her, couldn’t say he liked her, certainly didn’t love her, and he planned this as his last visit. He needed to find another steady, needed to get rid of her after this.

"A long time ago when they were hanging people, they were getting hard ons when they died, figured it must have something to do with the lack of oxygen or something. I guess someone tried it once, and they really got off on it. It feels good. I’ve done it a buncha