Cannibal Corpse, M/C

And she’d be sealing their deals, all right.

Slaughter lit a cigarette, wishing he had some popcorn.

You could go in there and help her, he thought, but instantly dismissed the idea. Mary didn’t need help. She might even get pissed if he broke up the party. Let her have some fun. Already her free hand was sneaking around the back of her belt and going for that razor.

The Ratbags weren’t even aware of it.

Except maybe the short, Hispanic looking guy in the back. Maybe Mary wasn’t his kind of thing. Maybe he liked to drop his worm in a different sort of pond.

Here it comes, Slaughter thought.

Just about the time the guy Mary was working on was about to loosen his load, his eyes all glazed over, and his three compatriots were sweating with anticipation…Mary went in for the kill. She grabbed the guy’s sack and squeezed it to pulp just as she sank her teeth in his business like a shark chomping down on some good red meat.

The guy screamed.

Sure, it was bloody murder.

He knocked Mary aside and fell back, his dick nearly bitten in half, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood. Mary came out with that razor and sliced another guy that tried to take hold of her, laying his hands open and almost blinding still another.

But then they had her.

“Shit,” Slaughter said, crushing out his smoke. “She must be losing her touch.”

He went around front, kicked open the door, and stepped right in with the Combat Mag in his hand. It was a big, blue steel piece of death and they saw it. Saw how their own guns—three M16s and two hunting rifles—were not within easy reach.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them said.

Dirty Mary had been beaten down now and the men had knives in their hands. What was coming for her next wouldn’t be pleasant. The dude she’d bitten was writhing on the floor, bleeding all over the damn place. He was not screaming now, but moaning and sobbing, and it was such a pathetic spectacle that Slaughter almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Name’s Slaughter,” he said. “Mary? Get up.”

“Fuck took you so long, you prick?”

“Got here soon as I could.”

Dirty Mary’s brown eyes were simmering like hot molasses. She wiped blood from her lips with the back of her hand. “Oh, really? I bet you were standing outside looking in through the window, you goddamn asshole. It would be so like you to think this was all a joke. Think it was funny that these limp-dicks were raping me.”

“Didn’t look much like rape to me.”

“You asshole.”

“How’d that shit taste?” he asked her and when she made to come at him with more castration in mind, he waved the gun at her. He put the Mag back on the Ratbags. “Wait a minute…were you fine citizens raping this woman?”

The biggest of them, the guy who’d been next on the train, managed a smile that was thin as a paper cut. “We weren’t raping anyone. She volunteered.”

“THE FUCK I DID!” Dirty Mary shouted at him. “DON’T YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT, SLAUGHTER! THEY FORCED ME!”

Slaughter nodded. “Sure. Now grab their guns, Mary.”

She did.

“Now throw them out the door. Eject the magazines and throw the bullets into the bushes.”

She did that, too.

“Now we can be civilized and talk business.” Slaughter smiled at them. “First off, who said you could mistreat my old lady?”

“Fuck are you talking about?”

“Her, I’m talking about her. You ain’t got no right to be doing that. If you would have been civil, I would have sold her to you. Maybe a carton of cigarettes or a bottle of good booze. I’m not a scalper.”

“Hey, fuck you, Slaughter,” Dirty Mary said, still making no attempt to cover up her breasts. “I’m not for sale.”

“You’re always for sale, woman.”

She glared at him. “I’ll kill you. I swear, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Slaughter believed her. That was one of the reasons he made her throw the guns out the door. There were things in life that didn’t go together real well like open flame and dynamite…or Dirty Mary and guns. You had to keep them apart in order to keep the body count low.

The Ratbags just watched him. What kind of game was this? Was he fucking with them? He wasn’t really going to sell them the woman, now was he?

They didn’t know Slaughter was all. They didn’t know the kind of shit a man like him was capable of. That he had once sold his old lady to another biker for a dollar and then bought her back for a pack of cigarettes. That’s the kind of guy he was.

Slaughter turned his attention to the bleeding man on the floor. “Your friend…that Snake?”

“How’d you know?”

“The kid out back told me.” Slaughter looked down at the dickless wonder groaning and moaning. “Sorry, Snake, but I think you’re gonna need a new name.”

With their leader so unfortunately incapacitated, the Ratbags just didn’t know what they should do. The biker and the woman were some kind of couple apparently. The biker had a gun and he looked plenty mean.

“How much will you give me for her?” he asked them.

Dirty Mary sneered at him. “You cheap sonofabitch—”

“Shut up,” Slaughter told her.