The curtains were off in the Hotel Intercontinental room. Petra lay bedecked in leather lay on the bed. Her one good eye watched the dappled reflections of car headlights playing an inarticulate shadow drama on the wall, while the glass orb in the other socket pulsed with a dull throb. She gripped the 9mm pistol with her right index finger curled around the trigger. Flecks of blood dotted her scarred skin and she wasn't washing it off until her revenge was complete.
Strangely she had not achieved the epiphany of pleasure she had anticipated from the savaging of the least guilty of her attackers. She blamed the lack of fervor on allowing a man to get close and tricking her into falling in love. Murder was the only game she would play with men from now on.
During the months after her beating Petra had intimately debated with herself how she should kill her attackers. Flaying them alive was too long a process. Breaking their bones with a crowbar too messy. Blowing them up in their car was too quick. Setting them on fire might not be fatal. She had read newspapers for unusually cruel forms of death, ruling them all out. She was not into torture, but death. To achieve that goal, a gun was her tool, as it had been for millions before her.
The brunette in leather had aimed the pistol countless times, until the action relied entirely on reflex and desire. Petra checked the gun and the contemplation of suicide skidding through her mind, since there are only so many things you can do alone with a gun in a hotel room.
She re-visualized SS Tommy driving up to the hotel and leaving his BMW with the valet. The pimp would give the maitre de a thousand marks to betray where she was, then take the stairs this floor. He would walk down the hallway and break down the door, expecting her to cower under his brutality, but she would shoot him dead.
If she killed SS Tommy, the court sentence was prison life was destined for prison. Not forever, because the court understood the circumstances and the state was going to be grateful to be rid of a criminal like SS Tommy. Of course there was the possibility that SS Tommy might be quicker with the trigger and kill her. Her mother would cry and so would her father in private. Some of the girls from the Reeperbahn would put flowers on her grave. Petra laughed harshly, then prayed for God to help her go through with this.
She was finding her religion a little too late, but better late than never.
No comments:
Post a Comment