Part 5

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think I can do this. I need to go.”

She didn’t stop moving. She leaned in, wrapped her arms around him.

“You leave and they think is my fault. They beat me if you go. They are watching,” she nodded toward the camera. “You must stay. You must do.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She let go of him, and stood in front of him. He saw desperation in her eyes. She quickly removed the dress and stood in front of him.

“Please stay. They don’t pay. They beat me instead.” She approached him and put his hands on her naked chest. Her arms were thin, belly flat, and ribs protruded like corrugated sheet metal. She swirled, and he saw bruises on her back and legs.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No Jesus,” she said, and backed toward him, putting his hands on her hips. He could smell her body, and feel her cold skin. He pushed her away. “You must do or they beat me,” she raised her voice in desperation.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and slapped herself in the face.

Blackburn looked at her puzzled.

She screamed, and he heard footsteps moving toward the door. She opened the door and the two men marched in.

“He hit me,” she held her face. The man inspected her face. They turned to him.

“Is this true?”

“Yes,” Blackburn answered.

“Get the fuck out of here before I shoot you.”

Blackburn stared. Blood drained from his fists and rushed into his chest. He exhaled, turned toward the door, and slowly walked out.

“Tell Maddox not to send his crazy friends over again,” the man shouted after him.

He sat in his car. His head pounded, and his hands shook. He didn’t smoke, but he fished a cigarette butt with lipstick from the ashtray and lit it. The flame scorched a part of the stubble on his face. He took quick drags from the cigarette. The smoke got into his eye and burned. Enraged, he extinguished the cigarette in his fist, grabbed onto the steering wheel, and screamed.

The door of the house swung open. The man dragged the naked girl by the hair out, and threw her off the porch. She screamed, landed on the gravel, and cried. The man grabbed a three-foot piece of black, high-pressure hose, and followed her. She stood up and tried to run when the first blow landed, knocking her to the ground.

Blood drained from Blackburn’s face and fists. With determined rage on his face, he jumped out of the car. The hose landed and the screams grew louder. The girl’s nose bled.

Seeing him approach, the man dropped the hose and pulled the gun.

“Stop. Stop right there,” he screamed aiming at Blackburn, but Blackburn didn’t break his stride. By the time the man finished the sentence, he stood three steps from the barrel. The shot rang out, and Blackburn felt the heat of the blast hit his face and metal pierce his armpit like a burning knitting needle. The bullet slowed him but didn’t stop him. He pushed aside the pistol and headbutted the man’s face, breaking the nose and face bones. The man went down covered in blood, with no visible nose and one eye hanging out of the socket. He picked up the pistol and looked toward the house. The second man stepped out and shot at him. Blackburn shot back. The man’s knees gave out, and he rolled down the stairs face-first, never to stand up again. Blackburn turned to the girl.

“Are there other men?”

She shook her head.