Rage Against the Dying - By Becky Masterman Page 0,1

down under his shirt.

His rubber flip-flops skidded on the fine gravel covering the slope into the wash, but he recovered. Tucking an oily strand of hair behind his ear and adjusting himself one more time made him feel presentable enough to approach his date.

The woman appeared not to notice him as she picked up rock after rock with her bulky garden gloves, examined them, threw some away and put others in a dusty olive green backpack resting on a larger stone. That was a good sign, her ignoring him. You could tell they were a little fearful if they didn’t look at you. Fear was a good sign.

As he watched she bent down and one-handed a rock that looked to be about five pounds. Did a couple curls with it. Maybe not so old after all?

But then he got closer and saw that, yes, this was the one he was looking for, and she was ripe. Face not wrinkled, but lined a little with the dryness of the desert, and a trace of softness along the edge of her jaw. Gerald sucked in a sudden breath as he thought about running his nose over that jaw. Freckles sprinkled the part of her chest that showed above the neckline of her T-shirt. So thin and frail he wondered if her hips might break when she spread her legs. Fantasies of cracking bones aroused him again. She took off her hat and wiped her face with it. The hair that looked gray on first sighting from the bridge glowed white in the mid-morning sun.

The reflection of the sun in her hair made Gerald think about how goddamn hot it was. At least a hundred and five, maybe more. More humid than usual, too. You could almost feel steam rising off the wet sand. His head itched and he scratched it, picking the residue from under his nails as he picked his way through the hardening mush of the riverbed.

A trickle of sweat ran down his inner thigh, matching a sheen of moisture where the woman’s denim shirt formed a V between her cushiony breasts. Ten degrees less would make this a whole lot more comfortable. Most guys of his persuasion did their work at night, but when your specialty was older broads you had to take advantage when the opportunity arose. All the older ones had been to the early bird special and were in bed by the time darkness fell.

His thoughts for a moment took him far away from the wash, to other sites and other women. Returning, Gerald was surprised to discover the woman looking at him. No “hi,” no friendly wave, just observing him with an unblinking gaze. Her left hand that held the stone paused in mid-curl. She was so still she creeped him out, made him want to back away, to nix the deal. But then he remembered there was more than just satisfaction at stake here.

“Hiya,” he said. The urge to tug on his balls was unbearable but he knew it could be off-putting in a new relationship.

“Hello.” Her rich, elderly vibrato made him swell. Hers was an odd voice, not high and airy like most old ladies, but almost as deep and strong as a man’s. She looked down briefly at the boner pushing up from underneath his shorts. Her head jerked involuntarily, and gave a little tremble. Maybe she hadn’t seen a hard-on for a long time. Maybe she was excited.

“You okay down here?” Gerald asked. Back and forth in the sand he bent the rubber edge of his flip-flop, casually, to show he was relaxed, to put her off guard until he could get closer.

Her eyes crept to the right and left of him, scanning the mesquite trees on the side of the wash with the intensity of prayer. She started to speak, coughed once, unsuccessfully, but managed to croak, “Fine.” In the sand her walking stick swizzled nervously.

“It’s a hot day and it’s noon,” Gerald said. “You could get dehydrated before you know it, and no one around.” With that he took a step closer, not directly but a little to the right like a coyote side-stepping to figure out the best approach to his prey.

The woman didn’t deny she was alone. “I’ve got water in the bag.” She indicated the backpack nearby, then turned her head to look at the bridge above and behind her, at a single car going over and going gone. Funny how most of them never screamed