The Exchange

She sat quietly at the bar slowly sipping from a glass of white wine.  She was  blond-haired with the gray blue colored eyes that newborn’s have.  Her hair color was a blend of shades from honey to platinum to caramel.  Her lips weren’t the popular overblown full type, but rather the old fashioned slightly thin on top, fuller on bottom look in a rich color of a shade between pink and red.  From the length of her leg, she would not be tall, more around average.  She was too well padded in certain areas to be considered thin.

He watched her surreptitiously through the mirror over the bar.  She wasn’t waiting for anyone, she didn’t have that anxious look that was always there for them.  She wasn’t worried about picking up anyone for the night, that air of expectancy wasn’t there either.  She probably wasn’t looking to be picked up either, but she wasn’t being mean or hurtful when a few of the other men at the bar had approached her.  She was a lady, the man laughed at himself for thinking. 

Whatever she was, she appealed to him from the top of her blond head to the tips of her pale pink toes.  His desire for her had grown from faint to ravenous over the last few hours.  From watching her with others, he felt sure that she wouldn’t shoot him down before he even had a chance to ask her to dance.  He waited until the level of wine was down and then walked over to her at the bar.

“Can I buy you a glass of wine?  He asked casually, leaning beside her, his elbow on the bar.

Her eyes rose to meet his and he held still as she scanned his face.  It wouldn’t do to give the game away in advance, so he tried to remain calm, but let some level of interest bleed through his look.  Whatever she thought she saw, she apparently thought he was harmless, because she allowed a small, slight lift of the corners of her mouth and thanked him in a soft voice.

“I’m Charlie,” he told her with a shake of his hand, “Charlie Jones.”

He smiled ruefully.  “I know it sounds fake, but it is my name.”  He told her untruthfully. 

“Rose, my name is Rose.”  She replied, not providing him with a last name. 

Charlie chatted quietly with her as she sipped her wine.  He talked her into dancing a few slower tempo songs with him and gradually into sitting at a table with him.  Rose seemed to blossom with his attention and his interest in her grew to fierce proportions. 

Finally, Rose placed a hand on his arm and told him it was time for her to leave.  Charlie unsuccessfully pleaded with her to stay longer with him.  She was adamant that she needed to leave.  Charlie asked if he could at least walk her to her car.  She agreed. 

Gathering her things together as Charlie laid money on the table; Rose was unaware of Charlie’s growing anticipation.  Things were falling into place perfectly. 

Struggling into her lightweight jacket, Rose grabbed a handful of napkins before going out the exit. 

With his hand against the small of her back, Charlie walked Rose to her KIA Reo in the parking lot.  The derision was high in his thoughts as he fingered the small knife in his pocket.  Rose would be one of those timid women that flinched at the glint of a knife and it was all he would need to push her off balance enough to get her into his car where he could then take her somewhere else to satisfy his cravings.  He even laughed softly as he realized how far from the entrance her car was parked.

His hand grabbed at her arm to pull Rose around to face him.  The blade of the knife in his hand glinted in the night.  Now was the time for the rough stuff he craved.  Charlie rushed Rose against the side of the car, pressing heavily against her, grinding into her soft body as his mouth crushed down over hers.  He exultantly felt her struggle against him.  He stepped back to let her see the knife in his hand and blinked in confusion.  Something was wrong with her mouth. 

The next few seconds were jumbled as Rose went from prey to predator.  Her soft mouth was suddenly against his neck drawing his blood away.  His confused expression was the last thing she saw as she laid him on the ground and stabbed him in the neck, hiding her teeth marks.  Using the napkins that she had wiped her mouth with after her drink from Charlie, she dabbed inefficiently at the blood throbbing from the dying man’s neck.  Her staging had to be perfect before she started screaming and scream she did. 

The police were all too happy to put the incident down as self-defense, especially when they found the duct tape and gags in the trunk of “Charlie Jones’” car.  Further investigations showed that there was mounting evidence that Charlie was possibly a serial killer gearing up for his spree.  Certainly, he had been connected, by now, with several deaths and disappearances even if there was no body to be found.

Rose was considered the “man of the hour” for a while.  Eventually both she and the story faded away.  Every now and then, the subject was raised at the bar and discussed.  The subsequent disappearance of Rose discussed and dismissed.

However, in another town and another bar, a man with burning eyes watched a blond haired woman nursing a glass of white wine at the bar.  Wondering when he could make his move.  Rose smile slightly as she sipped her wine, knowing she would be having something much more satisfying later in the evening.