Lacene Lords Read online

  Lacene Lords

  By

  Nancy Fornataro

  * * * * *

  Published By:

  Nancy Fornataro

  Copyright © 2012 by Nancy Fornataro

  License Notes

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Adult Sexuality, Language and Situations

  *****

  Lacene Lords

  "Woman is a temple built over a sewer, the gateway to the devil. Woman, you are the devil's doorway. You should always go in mourning and in rags. Do you know that each of your women is an Eve? The sentence of God - on this sex of yours -lives in this age; the guilt must necessarily live, too. You are the gate of Hell, you are the temptress of the forbidden tree; you are the first deserter of the divine law."

  "Having being made pregnant by the seed of the devil...she brought forth a son."

  Tertullian (150-230 AD)

  PROLOGUE

  In the early hours of the morning, Maria heard the piercing screams before a deep voice over the intercom bellowed, "Please! Maria!"

  "Si." She threw on her robe and trudged up the staircase as fast as her heavy, old body would allow. The more the years passed, the more difficult it was for her. Moving breathlessly down the hall, finally flipping on the light in the bedroom, she hurried to the sobbing woman.

  "I was there, Maria, I was there again." Meg sat up in bed, with her face buried in her hands. Her long billowy blond hair, blue eyes and pink cheeks always reminded Maria of an angel, even though Meg had reached her thirties now. Tears ran down her face, and she was sobbing.

  "Mija." Maria sat on the bed and hugged her. She rocked, consoled as best she could, and murmured soft words the whole time. How many more nights? She thought. How long could this go on? At first, it was every few months. But this week, since the death of Meg's brother Chad, it was every night. They'd tried so many medications. Nothing seemed to work.

  This was a bad time for everyone. Dark days in the house. But, she thought, had there ever been good days? Some happy times came to her then. Births, school, graduations. Yes, that was it. She must focus on those times.

  A deep voice at the doorway startled her, "Is she...is she okay, then? Don't need this now."

  "Yes," she said, still comforting, without turning around, as she could hear the edge in his voice, "she will be fine, Senor Jake." She heard the old man sigh deeply and walk back towards his bedroom. Her heart went out to him. He was good, in his own way.

  She gave one last stroke to Meg's hair, pulled away and gave her a tissue. "You want to talk tonight?"

  Meg nodded, and Maria walked over and took her usual seat by the window.

  Heaving a shuddering sigh, Meg began. "I was in a field. The same one. Shivering. I was shaking and everything was damp, very damp and cold. I was running fast and something hit me on the side of the head." She paused and took a noisy gulp of water from a glass on her night table.

  Maria nodded. "Si, I understand." But she didn't. Maria never dreamed, and couldn't fathom it.

  "Then I was suffocating, Maria." Meg inhaled deeply, as if to convince herself she really could breathe again.

  The two were silent for a minute. A strong gust of summer wind rattled the windowpane. But, except for that, the house was quiet.

  Maria thought this nightmare story wasn't too bad. Some she'd heard from Meg in the past few days made her shiver, which she always tried to hide. The ghosts, blood, gore, and the omens. The blackness meant something. Maria was sure of it. But what? She knew her little one had courage. Yes, she was brave. Meg was angry the morning after the nightmares instead of sad, and this was good. They said this was good. Anger was better than sadness.

  With sorrowful eyes, Maria watched this woman she'd cared for since infancy struggle with the aftermath of the nightmare; battle with the black evil. She looked out the window again. And, as she saw Meg dimly reflected back, Maria was bound and determined.

  Diablo! She thought. You cannot have her!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Radio blasting, Spence drove his old Cadillac convertible down the hot, dusty Arizona back road at a hundred miles an hour. Then, out of respect, he slowed to sixty as he rounded Tyler's Bend, named for the teenager killed there in 1975.

  A few minutes later, he cursed as he heard a siren behind him. After he'd pulled over and shut everything off, a young sheriff approached the car. "License and registration, please."

  Spence peered at him, observing a big nose, clean-cut features, and a shadow of stubble on the young sheriff's face. The resemblance was unmistakable. "You must be Miller's kid."

  "Yeah." The deputy tipped his hat back and planted his foot on the running board of the car.

  Chuckling, Spence ventured, "Well...if your name's Davey, I used to change your diapers." Usually, Spence was careful not to reveal his age, but if it kept him from getting a speeding ticket, he'd use it.

  The deputy looked at Spence with suspicion. "Don't remember you, Mister. You from around here or something?"

  "Used to be. Knew your pap. Yeah. Pap Miller was the best sheriff Lacene County ever had. Everybody said so." Greasing the wheels, Spence thought. Should work. He had to lie through his teeth to get that one out, though. Pap Miller was an asshole, and Spence never changed any diapers in his whole life, much less the diapers on this kid.

  Davey relaxed, grinned and rested his arm on the Caddy. "Yeah. The old man is still telling stories about when he was sheriff. Retired a few years back, then had a heart attack. He's okay now, though. Hey, what's your name, mister? Maybe he told me about you."

  Yes, Spence thought, I'll bet he did. "Name's Spence. Spence Moorehouse."

  The grin disappeared from the young deputy's face immediately. Spence could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, processing the information. And now the kid realized he was speaking with the second surviving son of double-homicide victims.

  "Well...hey, Spence, nice to meet you. Guess you haven't been back here for a while..." Davey paused, and realized his mistake right away. But he put his hand out, and now Spence shook it.

  Smiling, Spence said, "Yeah. Eighty-two was the last time I was in this sad excuse for a town. Well, you know the rest."

  The deputy gave Spence's hand an extra squeeze before pulling his own back. "Yeah, tough break."

  With the convertible top down, merciless, blistering Arizona sun beat down on Spence, and he lifted the front of his sweat-soaked t-shirt, hoping for a breeze, knowing it probably wouldn't help. Plus, his steering wheel was heating up, and he'd been burned before by steering wheels and door handles in this kind of heat. Almost summer in Arizona, he mused, and the worst yet to come. Hell, that's what it was, pure hell.

  The deputy straightened up. "Well listen, Spence, take it easy on these roads. Remember Tyler's Bend. Speed limit here is only forty-five and I clocked you at eighty plus over there before The Bend."

  Nodding and flipping his sunglasses down, Spence started the car and waved as he drove off. He knew the kid wouldn't give him a ticket. People always pitied him in Lacene when they found out who he was. And if it was bad enough to drive him away in eighty-two, it would probably be even worse now. Stories had a tendency to grow with time in Lacene.

  Spence Moorehouse was a strikingly handsome, well traveled, thirty-six year old disc jockey with collar-length light brown wavy hair. His warm brown eyes often appraised situations with the overt amusement of someone who's been everywhere and done everything. He never said too much, but then, he didn't need to. Usually, the look on his expressive face said it all.

  Music was ev
erything to Spence; it was his life. He immersed himself in it, in a fashion most would never know, with details of songs and artists crowding his mind, blocking out everything else.

  Now, Spence thought about his reason for even coming back here, back to this jerk-water town, this godforsaken place. Chad's funeral. Chad's father, Big Jake, had located Spence and convinced him to D.J. for the wake. Not that it had taken too much convincing. When Spence heard about the death of his best boyhood friend, he'd said yes immediately and rearranged his schedule.

  He remembered the break in Big Jake's voice over the phone. "Spence...ah, you know my boy...my boy always said he wanted the biggest wake in Lacene County when he died. We gotta do right by him. Gotta do right." From what Big Jake told him, the death was painless. A brain aneurysm happened at midnight, which killed his son.

  Spence skid his car into a gas station on the outskirts of town and dust swirled up from the pavement as he opened the car door. Over on the road, a truckload of teenagers flew by with the young deputy in hot pursuit, and Spence grinned as he filled up his tank. The scene reminded him of Chad. How many times had they eluded Pap Miller? How many car chases and near misses did they have back then? And Spence's dad and Big Jake had never believed the Pap Miller stories about trying to chase down their sons on the back roads of Lacene. They'd always gotten away with it.

  As he finished up and paid the teen on duty, a sudden depression descended on Spence when he remembered the years he'd grown up with Chad. Why hadn't he kept in touch more often? He'd seen his friend in Vegas once, and a few times in Santa Barbara, but that was it. Now, his friend was gone.

  Riding towards town, he realized Lacene had changed little in all the years he'd been away. The one main street, mainly set up to trap tourists, had dozens of small wooden shops with trinkets and t-shirts for sale. Spence saw that Ned's Barber Shop was still there, and now Ned stood from his usual chair outside and waved absently as Spence cruised by. Carrie's Restaurant, which used to be a trucker's hangout, stood vacant, boarded up, and surrounded by tumbleweeds and sagebrush at the other side of town. A new one, with a familiar logo, had taken its place just across the street.

  He whizzed past gnarled trees growing at odd horizontal angles, as if to shield themselves from the scorching sun, and barrel cacti growing straight up as if to embrace it. Gigantic rocks lay against hills, placed by glaciers long ago, now immovable objects. Along this section of road, the same rickety trailers sat, looking ridiculously out of place in the barren landscape. Spence wondered who would want to live in the desert, stuck in the middle of nowhere.

  About ten minutes later, he got his answer. After driving up a long, winding driveway, Spence arrived at Big Jake's house. It was a sprawling two-story monstrosity high on a hill, with rooms built on like afterthoughts. He noticed the two large expansions and a new porch, which had been added since the last time he was at the house. Spence wondered why Big Jake grew green lawns and brilliant red bougainvillea bushes in front. All that watering seemed like a colossal waste, as most of it dried up before it even hit the ground. But, that was Big Jake. He was rich, powerful, and the man always got what he wanted, including an oasis in the middle of the desert.

  Hesitating momentarily, not really wanting to look at the black wreath on the door, Spence gazed out at the terrain. No other houses in sight, and the desert looked unforgiving. The hot wind scorched Spence like a blow dryer. The sun had almost set, but the temperature sizzled, and he knew it was still well over a hundred degrees. His hair clung damply to his neck, and his shirt was soaked through.

  "'Bout time you got your ass back here." The deep voice was the same. As Spence turned and observed Big Jake standing on the porch, he realized the man had barely changed in twenty years. He still had a head full of black hair, although the temples were gray. His low-slung blue jeans were topped by the same beer belly just barely covered by a white shirt.

  As Spence strolled up the walkway, he noticed Big Jake's cowboy hat was in his hand. The man's leathery old face looked so sad when Spence reached him, he gave him a bear hug.

  "Goddamn," Jake said softly as they broke apart, "Goddamn, son. Where the hell you been?"

  "Here and there." Spence grinned.

  "Hell's afire, it's good to see you." They sat on a porch swing, and Big Jake began turning the hat in his hands. "I sure do thank you for coming here so quick like you did, son. Chad boy was only your age, thirty-six. And him with the diabetes and all. Just don't know. Doc says it happens."

  His voice drifted off, and they sat in silence, watching the huge red ball of sun sink in the west. Spence wondered where people went when they died. He'd never been religious by any sense of the word. But there was always the thought in his mind that he was invincible. The thought of dying, his own death, rarely entered his mind, especially when he drove at break-neck speeds over the countryside.

  Big Jake lit a cigar. "How about a beer, Spence?"

  "Sounds good to me."

  "Let's go down to Red's Bar for it, though. Lila, she's not taking this good. Meg's up there keeping her company. You know women."

  Images came to Spence with the mention of Meg's name. Shapely legs, nice round back-side, firm high breasts. The one woman he could never forget. She had been his first. Feelings intruded, familiar warm feelings of sex and love. "She's still here? I thought she went to live over in Rushburg or something."

  Big Jake puffed heavily on his cigar and stood up. "Yep. Came back years ago, don't know if Chad told you about that. Tried to make it on her own after some college guy knocked her up. Got me a fine grandson out of the thing, though. The kid wants to be mayor like me. What a champ. Smarter than ol' grandpa too."

  *****

  Judging from the cars in the parking lot, Red's Bar was packed. Spence steeled himself before they entered, silently cursing the small town, and its lack of good bars. Everyone hung out at Red's.

  A buzz of conversation halted then started again as soon as they walked in. He was hoping it was just the fact that Big Jake was here so soon after his son's death. But, Harv Brewster headed to their table, and after that, Spence knew. He and his dead parents were the sole topic of their conversations. Some things never change, he thought.

  "Spence Moorehouse!" Harv shouted drunkenly, as he stumbled into a chair, "Heard you was back in town." Harv was a stone alcoholic with body odor, stubble on his face, long greasy brown hair and bad breath. Spence usually tolerated him, as did everyone else in town, but now he just wasn't in the mood.

  "Yeah," Spence said dryly, as he sat down, "now everyone knows I'm here. How's it hangin' Harv?"

  Harv's cowboy hat flopped down in his face and he flipped it back up with his middle finger before he replied, "A little to the left, or so the wife says." The man laughed uproariously at what he thought was his good joke, while Big Jake ordered two beers and Spence ordered tequila.

  Spence let his gaze wander around the bar. It was cooler than outside, but it smelled like stale beer and smoke drifted in clouds over the tables as he searched for faces he knew. Most of the people were just kids, but it didn't stop them from gossiping about him and glancing his way. Some were women half his age, eyeing him boldly. But he was used to that. A second generation, he thought. And the first wasn't that great, when all was said and done.

  Harv harassed the young waitress heartlessly as she served the drinks. Big Jake nursed his beer and was unusually quiet as he passed a beer to Harv.

  The tangy tequila felt good going down, and Spence sucked on the tart lemon with gusto afterwards.

  "God Damn sissy drinks," said Harv disdainfully, as he watched Spence.

  Spence leaned towards him. "Harv," he said in a low tone, "did you ever drink tequila with the worm at the bottom?"

  Harv bellowed a laugh. "What in Sam's hill are you talkin' about, kid?"

  "Well, they make it in Mexico. And, after you drink it, you see things, Harv."

  He guffawed again. "Hell, I see things but it ain't generall
y 'til the next day."

  Shaking his head, Spence continued, "Beautiful things, Harv, you see beautiful things. Women, Harv, the most beautiful women--"

  Big Jake chuckled, and nudged Spence. "Boy, you got him going now."

  They continued baiting Harv, but then Spence saw Big Jake look up.

  Meg had come in, and now stood next to their table with her hands on her hips. "I thought I'd find you two in here."

  Spence leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Nice to see you too, Meg. Been a while."

  She smirked at him and sat down next to Big Jake.

  The years had been kind to her, Spence mused. A few wrinkles around the eyes, and a few more pounds, but it looked good on her. She was always too skinny as a kid anyway. Her breasts were still high and firm. He hadn't seen her backside yet, but he guessed that it hadn't changed too much either. She still had the same long, curly blonde hair he used to wrap his hands in, and the turquoise eyes he used to dream about. The sensual quality hadn't left her either. She was probably the sexiest woman he'd ever met.

  "Lila, she okay?" Big Jake asked her.

  "Maria's standing guard, Dad. Not to worry." She ordered a whiskey and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" Big Jake asked irritably. "You shouldn't have left your mother. And what's this stand guard crap?"

  "Lila is an actress, Dad. She always has been. Someone breaks a toenail, and she has ten fits. Everyone has to babysit her."

  He sighed. "She just lost a son, missy. That isn't easy. We all lost him...lost Chad."

  Leaning back in the seat, she rubbed her eyes. "What if it was me, Dad? Would you still be as broken up?" She paused. "Me or my bastard son?"