Rave reviews for richard laymon!
"A brilliant writer."
-
Sunday Express
"Plenty of teasing sex, outrageous violence and
dawn-fresh
writing that Laymon fans love."
-
Publishers Weekly
"Laymon doesn't pull any punches. Everything
he writes
keeps you on the edge of your seat."
-
Painted Rock Reviews
"One of the best, and most reliable, writers working
today."
-
Cemetery Dance
"Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing
book."
-
New York Review of Science Fiction
"Laymon always takes it to the max. No one
writes like him
and you're going to have a good time with anything he
writes."
-Dean Koontz
"If you've missed Laymon, you've missed a
treat."
-Stephen King
"Laymon is an American writer of the highest
caliber."
-Time Out
"Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A
genius of the grisly
and the grotesque."
-Joe Citro,
The Blood Review
"I've read every book of Laymon's I could get
my hands on.
I'm absolutely a longtime fan."
-Jack Ketchum, author of
Peaceable Kingdom
Other
Leisure
books by Richard Laymon:
BLOOD GAMES
TO WAKE THE DEAD
NO SANCTUARY
DARKNESS, TELL US
NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER
ISLAND
THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS (anthology)
IN THE DARK
THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW
AMONG THE MISSING
ONE RAINY NIGHT
BITE
RICHARD
LAYMON
BODY RIDES
LEISURE BOOKS
NEW YORK CITY
LEISURE
BOOKS
* March 2004 Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be
aware
that this book is stolen property. It was reported as
"unsold and
destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the
publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."
Copyright [*copygg'1996 by Richard Laymon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any electronic
or mechanical means,
including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage
and retrieval system, without the written permission
of the
publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN 0-8439-5182-6
The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "I" with
design are
trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of
America.
Visit us on the web at
www.dorchesterpub.com.
BODY RIDES
Neal Darden, alone in his car, took back roads
to stay away from
Robertson Boulevard. He wasn't worried about
too much traffic
on Robertson; he was worried about getting shot for
no good
reason.
After all, this was night in Los Angeles.
Anybody could get shot at any time of the day or
night, but night was worse. And the well-traveled
boulevards such as Robertson seemed more dangerous
to Neal than the hidden roads that twisted through quiet,
residential neighborhoods.
His theory was simple: the fewer cars in sight, the
less likely
you are to encounter a load of trigger-happy
gangsters.
The very best way to stay alive was to avoid going out
at all. Especially at night. Especially
late
at night. He refused to live that way,
though. He was only twenty-eight years old, too
young to become a hermit. For safety's sake, he
might make a few concessions-but he wouldn't
surrender and stay home for the rest of his life.
You take precautions and you go anyway.
Even if it's just to return the video rentals.
The two movies were due before midnight. Marta had
stayed later than usual, actually changing for work in
his bedroom so she wouldn't have to leave until the very
last moment. By the time she'd gone and Neal had
finished rewinding the tapes, it had been nearly
11:30 P.m.
Plenty of time to reach the store.
But a bad time to be out in your car on the streets of
Los
Angeles.
Neal knew that he could've waited and returned the
videos tomorrow. There would be a late charge. Five
or six bucks, he supposed. A small amount
to pay, compared with the risk of taking them back at this
hour of the night. But there was a larger price in
waiting for daylight: a payment made in freedom and
self-respect.
What kind
of chickenshit's afraid to drive five
miles?
he'd asked himself.
Marta, who worked the graveyard shift at LAX,
had to drive thirty miles, five nights a
week. What would she think if she found out that Neal
was afraid to take the videos back?
She'll never find out, he'd told himself.
She might. Any thing's possible.
It's a moot point, he'd thought. I'm taking them
back tonight, even if it kills me.
Now, driving along the empty streets on his way
to the video store, Neal smiled and shook his head.
He was pleased with himself. He felt fairly brave
and reckless.
In the great scheme of things, the real danger in making
a midnight run to Video City was slim.
Nevertheless, a prudent person wouldn't be doing it.
He was needlessly putting himself at risk.
If his mother found out he'd done such a thing, she would
pitch a fit.
He smiled and shook his head.
What a way to go, he thought. Killed in the act of
returning Straw Dogs and I Spit on Your
Grave
to the local video store. Oh, the irony.
He laughed softly.
He didn't feel particularly nervous until after
he'd crossed National Boulevard. The freeway
underpass, just ahead, never
failed to worry him. It was too long, too
empty. Driving through it, he always felt cut off from
the world, vulnerable.
He had walked through it many times in daylight.
Seen disturbing graffiti under there.
KILL OFAY
He sure would hate to run into the taggers who'd
scribbled those charming tidbits. He wasn't a
cop. He was white, though. Anyone who enjoyed
writing such shit might very well try to kill him.
And such shit got written at night.
He thought about turning around. He could easily go
back and take National over to Venice Boulevard.
Avoiding the underpass. Avoiding the even creepier
area on the other side of it.
As he neared the underpass, though, his headlights showed
it to be empty. A broad, barren tunnel.
Nothing to be afraid of.
As he entered, he picked up speed. The engine
noise swelled, reverberating off the concrete. On
both sides, taggers had left their
spray-painted names, symbols and threats-a jumble
of secret codes, symbols and bizarre
spellings. He'd seen them before, so he'd didn't
try to study them now; he tried to ignore them.
I really should've stuck to the main roads, he
decided. This was stupid.
He left the underpass behind.
On both sides, embankments slanted down from the
freeway. The lower areas of the slopes were thick with
bushes and trees. Then came the old railroad
right-of-way. Unused for years. Overgrown.
Scattered with every kind of garbage. Bordered by a
ragged chain-link fence that obviously did little good.
Neal didn't even want to think about what sort of
people might be lurking in there.
Not very long ago, a police officer had been
murdered somewhere in that odd little strip of wilderness.
Late at night.
LAPD 187
He looked both ways. He saw nobody wandering
around. But nearby streetlights showed enough dense
foliage to hide a legion of mad predators.
His car bumped over the tracks.
Time for another decision.
Make a left onto the back road or go
straight ahead to Venice Boulevard? If he
didn't make the left here, he would find himself at
Venice on the wrong side of the video store.
Also, he would
have to turn into the drive-through lane of the Burger Boy
where that teenager had gotten murdered last month.
He shook his head and sighed.
One way was probably as bad as the other.
The back road would be more direct.
Narrow, much of it dark under trees that blocked the
street" lights, it ran for about half a mile
alongside the abandoned rail road
right-of-way. Where God-knows-who might be lurking.
Where the cop had been gunned down.
Neal made the turn and stepped on the gas.
To his left, the wilderness. To his right, a row of
shabby dwellings.
Fun and games if the car breaks down.
His car seemed to be working fine.
Next time, he told himself, just take Robertson
and forget about all this back-road crap.
Right. Next time, just forget about returning the damn
videos in the middle of the night. You're asking for
trouble with this.
Blowing
it all out of
proportion, that's
what you're doing. Better just hope to God nobody
ever finds out what a wimp you really are.
Through his open window-mixed in with the mild night air
and the sounds from the freeway-came the far-off but distinct
cry of a woman shrieking, "Hellllp!"
Neal's stomach clenched.
He looked to the left.
For a moment, his view was blocked by a van parked
across the road.
After passing the van, he saw the strip of wilderness
leading to the embankment. He slowed down and gazed out
his window. High in the distance, cars and trucks sped
along on the Santa Monica Freeway. He
saw nobody by the side of the freeway, nobody in
the grass and weeds of the embankment, nobody in the
darkness among the trees and heavy bushes that cloaked
the base of the embankment, that spread out toward him
over the field of the long-abandoned right-of-way. He
saw nobody on the railroad tracks.
He saw no lights over there.
The yell could've come from anywhere, he told himself.
He
was fairly used to hearing distant cries and
screams. He would
sometimes step outside his apartment, glance around and
listen
for a while. But he had never done more than that. Most
such
cries, he suspected, came from kids goofing
around.
"No!"
Goosebumps prickled Neal's face.
He swerved to the left, swung off the road, hit
the brakes, killed the engine and headlights, and
yanked his key out of the ignition. Clamping the key
case in his mouth, he used his right hand to fling up the
lid of his console beside his seat. He fumbled through the
compartment, reached under the notepad, change purse,
and a stack of napkins and snatched up his Sig
Sauer .380 pistol.
He thought about the spare magazine. Down there somewhere.
Couldn't afford the time to search for it.
Keys still in his mouth, the pistol in his right hand, he
threw open his door with his left and leaped out of his
car. He rushed to a gap in the chain-link fence,
ducked through it, and ran straight for the deepest,
thickest part of the darkness at the bottom of the
freeway embankment.
As he ran, he plucked the leather key case out of
his mouth. He shoved it into a front pocket of his
shorts. Loose down there, it whopped against his thigh
with every stride.
His baggy gray shorts looked pale in the night.
His legs looked brighter than the shorts. His white
socks glared. Only his shoes and shirt were dark.
Should've warn black.
Yeah, he thought. Right. Gotta dress proper for
my midnight rescue missions.
He couldn't believe he was doing this.
Must
be nuts.
He had never in his life rushed to the rescue of
anyone. The opportunity had never come up. He'd
never really expected it to come up.
The pistol in his console was meant for self-defense,
a last resort in case of attack. He'd bought
it after watching news coverage, telecast live from
a helicopter, of people being dragged
from their cars and beaten nearly to death at the corner of
Florence and Normandie back in '92.
You just never know when you might suddenly find yourself in the
middle of a riot, or jumped by a thug who wants
to jack your car and possibly kill you in the
process.
So you carry a gun, just in case.
Illegal as hell, but worth the risk.
Better to be tried by twelve than carried by six.
He wondered if he would be doing this if he didn't
have the gun.
Not a chance.
This is nuts, he thought.
But he kept on running, kicking out his legs,
pumping his arms, leaping over the dim obstacles of
railroad tracks, brambles, ruts, an old
tire, a sofa cushion, a collection of crushed
cans that smelled of motor oil. He dodged the
larger bushes, and a car bumper, several trees, a
toilet that smelled as if someone had used it not very
long ago, and an old door that lay on the ground like
an entrance into the dirt.
Then something snagged his foot.
A root, a strand of barbed wire, maybe an
electrical cord from a buried appliance.
He didn't know what, but it grabbed his left foot
and held it back. He fell headlong.
On the way down, he almost yelled, "Shit!"
He kept his head, and yelled it only in his mind.
The landing hurt. He whammed down on an
unseen mixture of foliage, dirt and junk.
Things beneath him crackled, mashed, crunched,
scratched him and gouged him. His breath got knocked
out. His balls took a hit. He had hot,
painful places on his knees and arms and chest. He
thought that he must be bleeding here and there.
He wanted to get up fast.
No telling what horrible things might be under him.
He easily and quickly imagined plenty: rusty
nails, broken glass, a used condom or diaper
or sanitary napkin, canine or human turds,
spiders, snails or snakes. A half-mashed
rat might roll over under his belly and give him a
nip.
For a while, though, he was unable to move.
Then he pushed himself to his hands and knees, and stood
up. He couldn't stand up straight-too much pain for
that. He had to bend over, and it hurt to breathe.
This is what I get for trying to be a hero, he
thought.
He felt as if he'd been clubbed in the groin and
chest.
Warm trickles were running down from his right elbow and
both knees.
"Don't," he heard. "Please."
Not an outcry, more of a sobbing plea.
From somewhere in the darkness of the trees up ahead and off
to the left.
Eyes fixed on the area, Neal clenched his teeth and
started hobbling. He tried to be quiet about it.
"What'll you give me?" he heard a man say.
"Anything. Please."
A soft chuckle. "That's what I thought."
"I don't want to die."
"Glad to hear it. Know what? I don't want you
to die, either. Not for a few more hours, anyhow." More
chuckling.
Then came a quick hiss.
"That didn't hurt, did it?"
"Yes." The sad and hopeless tone of her voice
made Neal's throat tighten.
"Aw, tough tittie," the man said.
Then came a gasp.
"Or not so tough."
"Please." She wept.
"Awwwww."
"Ow!"
"Hurt?"
"Please."
"Tell me something."
"What?" she sobbed.
"Tell me you're a filthy, stinking slut."
"I'm a filthy, stinking slut."
"You need to be cleansed with pain."
"I need to be ... cleansed with pain."
"I'm your salvation."
"You're my salvation."
"Please, make me scream."
"Please . .. make me scream."
"You don't sound like you mean it."
"I mean it!"
"Do you?"
"Yes!"
"Liar."
She squealed.
Limping past a tree, Neal saw them ahead and still
a distance over to his left-maybe twenty feet
away.
Dim, vague shapes that seemed to be facing each
other. One blacker than the darkness, one pale.
Both mottled by random flecks and dabs of light that
reached them through the foliage.
The pale one, definitely the woman, was facing the
dark one. She didn't seem to be wearing any
clothes. She had her back to a tree
trunk. Perhaps she was tied to it. Neal could see her
squirming. He heard her sobbing.
The man's dark arm reached toward her. He held
something shiny. A small tool of some sort.
Pliers?
"No!" the woman gasped. "Please!"
"Oh yes, oh yes," the man said.
The tool moved toward her left breast.
Neal yelled, "Drop it!"
Both heads turned fast.
The man had a white face masked by wild black
hair.
"Drop the fuckin' pliers, Rasputin!" Neal
yelled. "I'll blow your head off!"
He flung his arms high. "Don't shoot!" he
yelled. "I give! Don't shoot!"
Above his head, speckled with moonlight, Neal saw
the pliers in his right hand and a knife in his left. The
slim, tapering blade of the knife looked almost as
long as the man's forearm.
"Drop that stuff," Neal said, aiming his Sig at
the dark figure.
Shaking.
Heart racing, pounding.
Mouth as dry as a handful of sand.
The man turned toward him, arms still raised, knife
and pliers still in his hands. He looked cadaverous.
His black hair and beard hid most of his face
except for pale knobs of cheekbones. His
long'sleeved black shirt seemed to cling to the bones
of his arms and rib cage and hug his sunken belly.
The way his black trousers gleamed, they were
probably leather. His black gloves appeared
to be leather, too.
"Drop the knife and pliers," Neal said.
"Get outta here. Go on. This isn't any
business of yours."
"Wanna bet?" Neal said.
"It's just between her and me."
"Not anymore."
"She's my wife."
"It's a lie!" the woman blurted. "He grabbed
me! Kidnapped me!"
"See how she lies.

his
"You shut up," Neal told him.
"Want in on her?"
"No."
"Just you and me. We do her when we get
done, nobody'll ever know the difference."
Neal shook his head.
"Sure you do." In the blackness of the man's beard,
teeth appeared. "You a
man?"
"Please," the woman gasped. "Help me."
"You'd better drop that stuff," Neal said.
"I'll let you fuck her."
"No."
"Then fuck
you,
Charlie," the man said, and threw the knife at
Neal.
Neal fired three times as he ducked, the blasts
crashing in his ears, the pistol jolting his arm. The
man in black, hit, staggered backward a step just
as the knife whipped past the side of Neal's
face. A couple more steps. Then a hard
sit-down. He sat there, arms hanging, the pliers
still in his right hand, his legs
stretched out and twitching as if he wanted to kick off
his boots.
Neal aimed at the shaggy black head and fired again.
The man's head jerked as if kicked under the chin, and
he flopped backward.
Chapter Two
"Hello?"
He turned his head toward the sound of the voice and
saw the vague, pale shape of a woman standing in
front of a tree.
Oh, he thought. Yeah. Her.
The man Neal had shot, stretched out straight on the
ground, looked like a black shadow. He hadn't
moved in a long time. He hadn't moved at all,
in fact, since flopping backward from the head shot.
"Hello?" the woman said again.
Neal looked at her again.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Sure I am, he thought. Why shouldn't I be?
He's
the dead guy, not me.
"Mister? Are you okay?"
Am I okay? he wondered. After a while, he
answered, "Yeah." His voice sounded dull and far
away.
"Can you get up?"
Up?
He realized that he was down on his knees. It
startled him, upset him. Quickly, he stood up.
"I'm fine," he said. "Just... I don't
know ... I've never .. . how are you?"
"I want to get out of here."
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Not exactly. Come here, okay? Come over here?"
"Yeah. Okay."
Neal walked toward her. He felt trembly and
weak. His right arm, hanging limp by his side,
swung with the weight of the pistol.
The woman was naked, just as he'd thought. Her skin
looked
ghostly pale except for the dark smudges of her
eyes, nostrils,
mouth, nipples and navel. And except for the
blood. He supposed
it must be blood-those black and crooked strings that
led down her skin from several wounds.
"He cut you," Neal said.
"That's okay. I'll live. Can you untie me?"
"Sure." He started to slip the pistol into the
pocket of his shorts, then stopped and looked over
at the man he'd shot.
"Don't worry about him."
"Is he dead?" Neal asked.
"He hasn't moved."
"Jesus."
"It's all right. You did the right thing. He was some
kind of a maniac."
"Keep an eye on him, okay?"
"I will."
Neal went ahead and slipped the gun into his
pocket. Then he stepped past the woman's side.
Her left arm slanted away from her shoulder toward
the back of the tree trunk. A rope, wrapped
around her wrist, was stretched around behind the trunk to the
other side, where it bound her right wrist.
Neal decided to stay at her left side, where the
woman and the tree blocked his view of the man in
black.
She'll tett me if he moves.
With his fingertips, Neal started to pluck at the tight
cluster of knots near the woman's wrist. His
eyes were no help with the work, so he looked at her.
Beyond her upper arm, her left breast swelled out.
Neal had a wonderful view of it, in spite of the
poor light. It was rather small and nicely shaped,
and the nipple jutted out. It was near enough to touch.
He kept his hands busy with the knots.
"I'm Elise," she said.
"I'm Neal."
"Thank God you came along when you did."
"I heard you yell for help."
"He said it wouldn't do any good. He said
nobody'd ever hear
me. And if they did, they'd ignore it."
"I almost did."
The knots felt hard as iron, but he didn't
give up.
He watched Elise's chest expand, breast rising,
as she took a deep breath.
"I was taking a couple of movies back to Video
City," he explained.
"At this hour?"
"They're due before midnight."
"Are you going to make it?" she asked.
"I don't think so. It doesn't matter."
"Sorry I ruined things for you."
"Are you kidding?"
"I'll be glad to pay your late charges."
"Forget it. Really."
"You saved my life," she said.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"No guessing. My God. Getting killed .. .
that wouldn't have been the worst of it, either, I don't
think."
"Well, you'll be okay now. Except I
can't get the knots undone."
"Maybe you can use his knife."
He remembered the big knife whipping past his ear.
"I don't know if I can find it. Anyway, 1
shouldn't touch it, you know? It'd mess up his
fingerprints. We should probably leave everything the
way it is, so we don't disturb any evidence."
"Including me?" she asked.
"Well... I hadn't actually thought of that. Might
not be a bad idea. If they see how he tied you
up like this ..."
"I don't want any cops seeing me." She
turned her head as if trying to look at Neal over
her left shoulder. "I don't want
anyone
seeing me this way."
Neal blushed. "Sorry," he murmured.
"You're different," she said. "You saved me.
Look to your heart's content."
"Uh. Anyway . .."
"Anyway, are you sure you want the cops getting
involved in
this?"
"They'll probably show up any minute."
"I don't think so," Elise said.
"Somebody must've reported those gunshots." Even
as he spoke the words, he realized how naive he
was being. Rarely a night went by when he didn't
hear a few distant banging noises that might be
gunshots. Or might be, instead, the sounds of
slamming doors, automobile backfires,
firecrackers, whatever. Some of the noises
had
to be gunfire, but he'd never called the police
about any of them.
In this case, the shots had been fired in a strip of
thick woods below the Santa Monica Freeway.
Nobody passing along on the freeway was likely
to have noticed them.
The nearest homes were those shabby places across the
field and railroad tracks, beyond the chain-link
fence, all the way over on the other side of the
road. People living there were probably used to strange
noises coming from this direction. Especially
backfires.
"If someone called the police," Elise said,
"where are they?"
"On their way, maybe. It takes a while . .
."
"It's probably been fifteen or twenty
minutes since the shots."
"No," Neal said. "Not even five."
"I haven't exactly checked my watch,"
Elise told him. On the side of her face that
showed above her left shoulder, the corner of her mouth
seemed to rise. "It's been a lot more than five
minutes, though. You zoned out. You must've been on
your knees for at least fifteen minutes."
"No."
"It's true. I just stood here and waited. Tried
to pull myself together. But I finally figured we might
end up here all night if I didn't speak up.
Looks like we're going to be here all night,
anyway, unless you go find the knife, or something."
"Not the knife," he said. "I shouldn't touch it."
"Well, find something. Okay?" She sounded about
ready to cry again. "I don't
like
this. I want to get
out
of here."
"I'll get something," Neal said. He stepped around
to the front
of the tree. He looked toward where the knife must've
gone
after flying past his face.
It should stay where it is, he told himself. Wherever that
might be. Let the cops be the ones to find it.
He thought about making a quick return to his car.
Probably something there ... Sure. There should be a
pocket-knife somewhere in the console.
"I could go to my car," he said. "I've got..."
"No, don't. Don't leave me alone.
Please."
"It'd just take a few minutes."
"Something might happen. Please. Maybe ...
See if
he
has something."
Pliers, Neal thought. Pliers, if nothing else.
"Okay," he said. He walked slowly toward the
body. He felt crawly inside.
What
if the guy's
not dead?
What
if he
is
dead?
Either way, Neal didn't care for the idea of
going in close to him.
He pushed a hand deep into the right front pocket of
his shorts, took hold of the pistol, and pulled it
out. He was fairly sure that he had fired three
shots.
No, four.
Three quick ones, plus the head shot.
He was almost certain he'd started off with six
cartridges in the magazine, and none in the chamber.
He should have two rounds left.
It was a double-action pistol and had no safety, so
...
Grimacing, he raised the gun close to his
face. Not enough light. With his left hand, he fingered the
rear area of the slide, searching for the hammer.
He found it all the way back.
In the dark, after blasting the man to the ground, he'd
obviously forgotten to use the decocking lever. He
had dropped the weapon into his pocket, at full
cock with a round in the chamber.
Jesus, he thought. Could've blown my leg open.
Keeping the pistol cocked, his finger light against the
trigger,
he stepped past the man's feet and crouched down.
The pliers
lay on the ground near the man's right hand.
"Is he dead?" Elise asked.
"I guess so."
"Shouldn't you make sure?"
"You mean like shoot him again?"
"No! Check his vital signs."
"Like his pulse?"
"Yeah."
"I'd have to touch him." Quickly, he added,
"Anyway, I don't think it's necessary. He
isn't moving. I don't hear any breathing, either.
I'm pretty sure he's dead. I mean, I
shot him in the head."
For a few moments, Elise was silent. Then she
said, "You're going to check his pockets, aren't you?"
"What for?"
"Maybe he has a pocketknife or something."
"I think the pliers'll work fine." Keeping his
pistol aimed at the body, he reached for the pliers with
his left hand. He watched the man's gloved hand.
He half expected it to make a grab for him. But
it didn't move. He picked up the pliers and
hurried away. After a few steps, he glanced
back.
"He isn't coming," Elise said.
"I know."
The pliers in his hand felt contaminated. As if
they'd been soiled by all the suffering they'd caused,
and might pass the filth to him.
He imagined himself suddenly clamping their jaws on
Elise's nipple, squeezing hard, making her
scream.
The fantasy sickened him.
Possessed pliers.
They're just a tool, he told himself.
Like my gun.
Stopping by Elise's side, he clamped the pliers
under one arm and decocked his pistol. Then he
dropped the pistol into his right front pocket.
He took the pliers in his right hand.
"Watch out with those, okay?" Elise said.
"Don't worry."
"They can really hurt."
"I bet." Left hand holding her above the wrist,
he caught a
loop of the knot in the jaws of the pliers and tugged.
And felt the hard knot soften.
"It's coming," he said.
"Thank God."
"Keep an eye on him."
"I am."
Continuing to work on the knot, Neal said, "I mean,
I know he's dead, but. .. That's what they
always
think, you know? In the movies? Like
Halloween,
that sort of thing. You always think the bad guy's dead,
and then he gets you. I know it's just the movies, but.
.."
"Sometimes life's worse than the movies,"
Elise broke in.
"Yeah. You can say that again."
"And sometimes it's better."
"Think so?"
"And it's always stranger."
"Stranger?"
"I think so. Yeah."
"Well," Neal said, "all this is sure awfully
strange. Me just happening to come by at exactly the
right time and saving you."
"A few minutes earlier couldn't have hurt."
"Yeah. God. I sure wish ..."
"I was kidding," she said. "I mean, it would've been
nice, but on the other hand, I might not've
yelled just as you drove by. I wouldn't
exactly like to go back in time and give it another
whirl. You might miss me altogether, and then where would I
be?"
"Good point," Neal agreed.
"I'm not about to quibble about how it turned out. It's
like a miracle."
"Or a bunch of lucky accidents."
"I don't believe in accidents," Elise said.
"Everything happens for a reason."
"Well... I guess you weren't meant to die tonight.
And he was."
"And
we
were meant to meet."
He blushed. "Guess so." Then the last twist of
rope yielded
to the pliers. "There," he said.
Elise sighed. Her wrist shoved against his hand, so
he let go. She swung her arm forward, shaking the
loose circle of rope off her hand. Then she
stepped away from the tree. With a swing of her right arm,
she whipped the rope out from behind it.
She hunched over slightly, head down.
Neal looked at her back and the curves of her
buttocks and her slender legs.
We were meant to meet.
"Could you help me with this?" she asked. Turning
toward him, she held out her right hand. It was still bound
with knotted rope.
"Sure."
When he reached out, she took hold of his hand. She
gripped it firmly while he used the pliers in his
other hand to grab and rip at the knots. He tried
to avoid staring at her body. He couldn't help it,
though. Sometimes, when he jerked hard with the pliers, her
breasts joggled. He could see that happen, even with the
bad light. He could also see the neat little patch of
hair at her groin.
After a while, he forced himself to look away from her.
He looked toward the body of the man he'd shot.
"Still there?" Elise asked.
"Yeah."
"Thought so." She lifted her left hand away from her
side and put it on Neal's shoulder. "Still no
police," she said.
"Not so far."
"I don't think they're coming. Not unless we call
them ourselves. Which I don't think we should do."
"We have to," Neal said.
"No, we don't."
"Sure, we do."
She squeezed his shoulder firmly, but not so hard that
it hurt. "Listen," she said.
He gave the rope a rough tug with the pliers. The
jaws slipped off and the pliers leaped sideways.
"Damn!"
"Stop it for a minute. Listen. Nobody has to ever
find out
about any of this."
"He was going to
kill
you."
"Yeah. And he's dead. So it's not as if he has
to be apprehended or put on trial or anything.
He's already been... brought to justice. He's never
going to hurt anyone again. So what'll we
accomplish by bringing in the cops?"
Neal shrugged. "I'm not sure, but.. . You don't
just walk away from something like this."
"Why not?"
"I
killed
this guy."
"In self-defense," Elise reminded him.
"Maybe it won't look like self-defense
if we run away. It'll make
us
look like the criminals."
"How will you explain your gun?"
"Tell the truth."
"Do you have a permit, or whatever?"
"Not to carry. Are you kidding? In L.a.?
Nobody gets a carry permit. Not unless you
happen to be the chief of police, or something. That's
why crime's so out of control around here."
"The thing is, are you going to be in trouble?"
"Maybe. They won't prosecute me for killing
the guy, I'm pretty sure. Though I guess his
family could always sue me. You know, for wrongful
death."
"Yeah."
"I guess that's very likely, if he has
family. Not that they'd win. But I'd be up to my
neck in legal stuff..."
"And what about the gun?" Elise asked.
"Carrying a loaded gun in my car ... I'm
pretty sure it's a felony."
Her hand tightened. "You could go to jail?"
"I guess it's possible."
"My God. For saving my life?"
"Well... The main thing is, I did what had
to be done. If I have to go to jail for it... those are
the breaks. I mean, I sort of assumed that risk
when I started carrying the gun. But I'll
probably just end up with a suspended sentence and a
fine."
"What sort of fine?"
"I don't know. A thousand bucks, maybe."
"Okay, get this rope off me."
He lifted the pliers, clamped the knot, and started
tugging again.
"I didn't think it'd be
that
bad," she said.
"What?"
"The trouble you could get into."
"Hell. The way things work these days, you're in
trouble if you
look
at someone funny."
"I wasn't going to mention that." A slim crescent
of teeth appeared in the blur of her face, then
vanished. "Anyway, none of that will happen if we
keep quiet about all this."
"I'm the one who'll be in trouble. You
haven't done anything wrong."
"Do you think that'll matter? By the time the media gets
finished with us?"
Neal grimaced. "You've got a point, there."
"You know exactly what'll happen. They do it
to everybody. Doesn't matter how good a person you
might be, they won't quit till they make you
look like the scum of the earth. If they can't find
dirt on you, they'll make something up."
"Yeah. That sort of thing happens."
"All the time," Elise said.
"Well, most of the time." As he said that, the knot
gave a bit. He pulled harder. The tight
bundle of rope came apart. "There."
"I'll get it." Elise let go of him and worked
on removing the rope.
Neal watched her.
She said, "Even if they
don't
try to trash me-and they will-I don't much like the idea
of suddenly being known throughout the world as the woman who
got abducted and tortured by some sadistic
maniac. That I was found naked and tied to a tree.
It won't just be strangers who find out about it, either.
It'll be everybody who knows me. All my
relatives and friends . .."
"Doesn't sound very pleasant," Neal admitted.
"There'll be pictures of me everywhere. Guys will
probably look at them and have daydreams about
stripping me and using
pliers and knives." She threw the rope down and
rubbed her
right wrist. "I want to keep my life," she said.
"I don't want to
become public property."
"You talked me into it."
"You're with me?"
"Yeah. I don't want to end up in court or on
Hard
Copy."
Chapter Three
"Are your clothes around here someplace?" Neal
asked.
Elise, still rubbing her wrist, shook her head.
"Here, you can wear this." Neal took off his shirt and
gave it to her.
"Thanks." She put it on. As she fastened the
buttons, she turned away and walked toward the
body. The tail of the big, loose shirt draped
her buttocks.
Neal followed her, the pliers in his hand. "What're
you going
to do?" he asked.
"Borrow his shoes, for starters." Crouching by the
body, she started to pull them off. "Don't want
to wreck my feet on the way out," she said. "He
carried me over here."
He carried her naked?
"I'll carry you out, if you want," Neal offered.
"Thanks, but you don't have to do that."
1 wouldn't mind, he thought.
She stood up. Balancing on one foot, then the
other, she put on the man's dark sneakers.
"Disgusting," she muttered.
"What?"
"Wearing his shoes. But at least they aren't
gigantic." She squatted and tied the laces.
Then she duckwalked away from the body and tugged a
couple of thick, leafy weeds out of the ground.
"What're you doing?" Neal asked.
"I want to hide him."
"Shouldn't we just get out of here?"
She twisted sideways and tossed the weeds at the
body. One
landed on the chest, the other on the face.
"If the cops were
coming," she said, "they'd be here by now. Don't you think
so?"
"I don't know. Depends on how busy they are,
I guess."
"I think they'd show up fast for a report of shots
being fired."
"Probably," Neal admitted. He pulled a
handkerchief out of his pocket. As he wiped the
pliers, he said, "I'd still like to get out of here."
"This won't take long." She pulled out more weeds.
Done wiping the pliers, Neal squatted beside the
man. He placed the tool on the ground near the
gloved hand.
"The longer he goes without being found," Elise said,
"the better off we'll be. Don't you think?"
"Yeah," Neal said. "Things'll deteriorate. It
won't be so easy for the cops to pinpoint when he
died."
"And people might forget they saw us," Elise added.
"Let's hope nobody
does
see us."
"But if they do, it won't matter so much if the
body doesn't get found for a while. If
nobody knows for sure when anything happened..."
"Yeah. You're right."
"I wish we had a shovel."
"That'd be pushing it," Neal said. "The quicker we get
out of here, the better."
"Maybe so."
"You go ahead with that," he told her. "I'll look
for my brass."
"Your brass?"
"My cartridge casings. I want to find them if
I can. We should try not to leave anything behind."
On hands and knees, he searched the ground to the right of
where he had stood while firing. He quickly found
two of the shells. The chances of finding all four were
remote, but he figured there was no reason to quit.
Not yet. Not while Elise continued to work at
concealing the body.
She hurried about, pulling bunches of weeds and
grass, and even uprooting a couple of small
bushes.
Neal found the third casing. It must've flown six
feet before landing on the ground beside an old beer can.
"That should about do it," Elise said.
Neal raised his head. The body had disappeared under
a cover of foliage.
"I'm still missing one shell," Neal told her.
She came over. On hands and knees, she helped
him search. "What happens if we don't find
it?" she asked.
"The cops will."
"Does that matter?"
"It might. I'll have to get rid of the pistol,
anyway. But the shell might have my prints on it.
Partials. Maybe not, but I'd feel a lot..
."
"Is this it?" Elise picked an object out of the
weeds. She held it up between the tips of her thumb
and forefinger.
"Let's see." Neal held out his hand. She
dropped it into his palm. "That's it. Good going."
"The least I could do."
The four brass casings jingled in the pocket of his
shorts as he got to his feet. Beside him, Elise
stood up. She bent over and brushed off her bare
knees.
"What about you?" he asked. "We can't leave
anything of yours behind."
"Nothing here. He just brought me."
"You weren't wearing anything at all?"
"Nothing."
"How about jewelry? Earrings? Anything like that?"
"No."
"Okay, good. Did you touch anything around here?"
"Just the rope, I think."
"That's all right. I don't think they could lift
any sort of decent prints off that. What about him?
Did you touch him? His pants?"
"With my hands?"
"Yeah. They're leather. That goes for his gloves,
too. Any chance your prints might be on them?"
"I doubt it."
"There wasn't any sort of struggle?" Neal
asked.
"He got me from behind," she explained. "All of a
sudden, I had this arm across my neck. It lifted
me right off my feet. I
didn't have a
chance
to struggle. Next thing I knew, I was in the
back of his van with my hands tied behind me."
"Okay. Good."
"Good?"
"Just that we don't have to worry about his pants and
gloves. Anyway, even if you did leave some
prints, all that stuff we piled on hm'll
probably mess them up pretty good." He
frowned down at the oblong, bushy mound.
"Whatr Elise asked.
"I'm just wondering if we should go ahead and take them
anyway, just to play it safe."
"Take what, his pants?"
"And gloves."
"Are you kidding?"
"You could wear his pants," Neal said.
"Not a chance. It's awful enough having his shoes on.
If you think for one second ... no way. Not his
pants. Let's just go." She took hold of
Neal's hand and pulled him along beside her.
"Are you sure you aren't leaving anything behind?" he
asked.
"I'm sure.
"You didn't have a purse, or. .."
"No purse. Some blood, that's all. I guess
I'm leaving some of that behind. Along with some sweat and
tears."
"Nobody can identify you from any of that."
"What about DNA and that sort of thing?"
"They might be able to match you to it, but first they'd have
to know who you are. You'd basically have to be arrested and
indicted before they'd ever run tests like that."
"You seem to know a lot about. .. crime things."
He shrugged. "Not that much. I see a lot of
movies, read a lot of books. Watch some
trials on TV. That's all."
Before stepping out of the trees, they stopped and scanned
the field, the nearby streets, the sidewalks and
yards. They saw no one. A couple porch
lights. A few lights showing through windows. But no
headlights.
Elise let go of Neal's hand and started to run. More
of a quick jog than a dash. Neal guessed that she
might be afraid to go all- out
wearing the large shoes.
He rushed along beside her.
At first, he had almost objected to running.
We'll look too conspicuous.
But he realized it would be a silly argument. At this
hour of night, coming through this no-man's-land, they were so
out of place that running wasn't likely to draw
any additional attention.
Better to hurry and reach the street as fast as
possible. They'd be far less conspicuous there.
Except she's not wearing anything but my shirt.
And a dead man's shoes.
As he jogged by her side, he glanced all
around. So far, so good. Still nobody in sight. Still
no cars coming.
Doesn't mean we aren't being watched.
Doesn't matter, he told himself. In this light,
somebody'd have to be right in our faces to get a good
look.
A block to the left, the street suddenly brightened
with the lights of a car approaching the intersection.
"Watch out," Neal gasped. Moments later, the
headlights appeared. No turn signal, but the car
started to make a left-hand turn.
Elise dropped. Neal dropped.
They were both flat on the ground before the headlights
swept by.
Neal kept his head down as the brightness washed over
him and went away. Not moving, he listened to the car's
engine. A steady, windy noise.
What
if it's a cop car

.
What if it stops and the cops get out?
The thoughts sickened him.
But the car kept on moving. As its engine sound
began to diminish, Neal raised his head. Just
a regular passenger car. Near the stop sign at
the corner, its brake lights came on, doubling the
red brightness of its rear end. Though no turn
signal started to blink, the car turned right and headed
for the underpass.
In front of Neal, Elise rose to her hands and
knees.
The shirttail covered less than when she was standing.
A lot less. Neal glimpsed the pale curves
of her buttocks, the dark split between them, the
backs of her legs. He turned away quickly,
feeling guilty.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the car disappear
into the
underpass.
When he faced forward, Elise was scurrying up.
The shirttail slid down and covered her rump.
Neal scrambled to his feet and ran after her.
Watched her leap the railroad tracks. Watched
her duck through the gap in the chain-link fence. Watched
her crouch by the side of the van.
A few seconds later, he crouched facing her.
They both huffed for air. His heart was slamming.
"What'll we do ... with his van?" Elise asked.
"What's in it? Anything of yours?"
"Blood, sweat, whatever."
"Clothes?"
"No."
"Jewelry? Purse?"
"Nothing."
"Fingerprints?"
"My hands were tied behind me. I was on a
mattress."
"What's in there?"
"I don't know. It was dark. Should we drive it
away? We could leave it a few miles from here, or
something."
"We didn't bring the keys."
For a few moments, Elise didn't speak. Neal
heard her quick breathing. Then she said, "One of us could
go back for them."
"That'd be fun."
"Yeah. Any volunteers?"
Neal imagined himself running all the way back,
entering the darkness of the trees, creeping over to the
body, reaching into the bushy mound, feeling blindly,
digging a hand into a pocket of the dead man's leather
pants. All alone.
And what if he's not dead, after all?
And if he is dead-a corpse?
I'm all alone in the dark, digging into the pocket
of a corpse.
And while I'm busy at that cheerful task,
Elise is waiting for me here, all by herself. God
only knows who might happen to come along . ..
Have her wait in my car.
Big improvement.
Neal was not about to let
her
go for the keys while he stayed behind. If it came
to that, he would go instead.
"We could both go back," Elise suggested.
"Let's just leave the thing here. Even if we had the
keys .. . The less we have to do with the van, the
better. You never know. We try driving it
someplace, we're just asking for trouble. Somebody
might see us. We might get stopped by a cop.
We'd have to worry about leaving prints inside-hair,
blood. Let's not bother. It isn't all that
conspicuous here, anyway. It could probably sit
here for a week without anyone giving it a second
thought."
"You're probably right about that."
"Besides," Neal said, "there might be something inside
that'll incriminate the guy. Which would be good for
us, in case we do end up getting caught."
"Okay. So we leave it here?"
"Might as well. I'll drive you home in my
car. Wait here for a minute. I'll back it up
to the rear of the van."
Leaving Elise crouched beside the van, Neal hurried
to his car. He jerked open the door. The overhead
light came on. He dropped behind the wheel and
swung the door shut, quickly but silently. The car
went dark.
He reached to the ceiling, removed the courtesy
light's plastic cover, and popped the bulb out of
its socket. After tossing the cover and bulb onto
the passenger seat, he dug the keys out of his
pocket. He fumbled in the darkness for the ignition
key, found it, slid it in and gave it a twist. The
engine started.
Keeping the headlights off, he backed slowly to the
front of the van. He stopped and shifted. Brakes
on, he called out the window, "Stay low and get
into the backseat."
Eyes on the side minor, he watched Elise
rush forward. She squatted beside his car, reached up and
opened the rear door. After climbing in, she pulled
the door shut gently.
Neal drove forward.
He kept his headlights off.
After turning right at the corner, Neal put his
headlights on.
"You okay back there?" he asked.
"Fine."
"Why don't you stay down for a few minutes?
I'll go ahead and drop off the videos."
"What time is it?"
He glanced at the bright green numbers of the clock.
"Twelve forty-five. Guess there'll be a late
charge."
"I'll pay it."
"It's no problem. Let's just make sure
nobody sees you."
A couple of minutes later, he steered into Video
City's parking lot. Though brightly lighted, it was
nearly deserted. A few cars remained on the
lot, as if abandoned there. The store's interior was
dimly illuminated. Nobody seemed to be
inside. Nor was anyone roaming the lot-or
loitering near the entrance.
More often than not, a filthy vagrant could be found in
front, standing sentry at the video return slot.
All set to snatch the videos out of your
hand, drop them into the slot, and demand a fee for the
service.
Neal had wondered what to do about the guy.
He didn't want to risk an encounter. Best
to keep the videos and drive on by ... return
them tomorrow.
He was glad to find the post deserted.
"Coast is clear," he said, and swung into the
space in front of the return slot. "Stay down,
though. This place is really well- lighted."
He climbed out of the car and walked casually toward the
slot, swinging the two videos by his side and
keeping his back to Venice Boulevard. It had a
fair amount of traffic. He knew he could be seen
by anyone in the passing cars.
The night was somewhat cool. After such a hot day,
however,
nobody was likely to find it peculiar that he
didn't wear a shirt.
He hoped Venice was too far away for anyone
to notice his
injuries, filth and blood.
He dropped the videos through the slot, one at a
time, then turned around.
A cluster of cars approached on Venice,
still crowded together after being released by a nearby traffic
signal.
Neal raised his forearm and rubbed it across his face as
if wiping sweat away. He kept his face hidden
until after he'd turned toward his car. Quickly, he
pulled open the door and climbed in.
"How'd it go?" Elise asked from behind him.
"No problem." He backed out of the space and steered
toward one of the exits. "Where to?" he asked.
"Well, you said you'd take me home."
"To your place."
"That'd be perfect," she said. "Do you know how to get
to Brentwood?"
"You live in
Brentwood?"
"If it's too far away .. ."
"No, no. I'll drive you anywhere you want.
Hell, I'd drive you to San Francisco if
that's what you want."
She made a soft, laughing sound. "Brentwood will
do fine."
"Venice runs into Bundy, doesn't it?" he
asked.
"Centinela, 1 think. It turns into Bundy after
a while."
He made a right-hand turn out of the parking lot and
onto Venice Boulevard. "Where did that guy get
you?" he asked.
"At home."
"In Brentwood?"
"Yeah."
"And he brought you all the way over here?"
"It's where we ended up."
"Weird. Maybe this was his home territory.
That'd make sense, I guess. If he wanted
to take you someplace familiar to him."
"I don't know," she said.
"Do you live in an apartment building?"
"A house."
"A house in Brentwood?" Smiling over his
shoulder, he
glimpsed Elise curled across the back seat. "You
must be loaded."
"Pretty loaded."
"Great."
"You're not going to suddenly hate me, are you? Just
because I'm well-off?"
"Nah."
He felt a certain disappointment, though.
"Hope not," she said. "Some people act as if
it's a sin to have money."
"Not me," he said. "Do I look like a Commie?"
She laughed softly.
"Do you live alone?" he asked. "I mean, I'm
just wondering why this jerk didn't... uh ... why not
do everything to you right there in your own house?"
"He wanted to get me screaming. Maybe that's why
he took me away. One good scream at my
house, and the cops would've gotten hit by so many 911
calls they'd think the Martians had landed. It's a
very
quiet neighborhood. And very nervous. All my
neighbors know I live alone. And they know I've
had some troubles with my ex-husband. I think they're
all expecting him to drop in on me some night with a
knife."
"This wasn't him, was it?"
"No. No, no. This guy was a complete
stranger."
"Sent by your ex-husband?"
She didn't answer for a while. Then she said, "I
doubt it. I think this guy just picked me at random.
Maybe saw me out shopping today, or something, and
followed me home. You know?"
"Maybe. But if he
was
hired by your ex-husband this might not be the end of it."
"All right if I sit up, now?" she asked.
"It might look funny, the front seat empty and
you in the back."
"Pull over and I'll get in front. We'll
look like a couple on our way home."
"I don't know. You're not exactly wearing any
pants."
"Pull over someplace dark."
"Well.. . All right." He wished she would stay
in back, out
of sight. He didn't want to argue, though.
If I ever tell Marta about this, he thought,
Elise is going to be dressed from head to toe.
Better not tell her anything.
I never left the apartment tonight.
Nice.
Start tying
to her.
He turned onto a narrow street with homes on
both sides, found a blot of darkness and pulled
over. He cut off his headlights. "Okay."
Before Elise opened the passenger door, Neal
picked up the bulb and light cover that he'd
tossed onto the seat. He put them into the console.
Elise sat down and shut her door.
Neal made a U-turn. On the way back
toward Venice Boulevard, he put his headlights
on.
"This is much better," Elise said. She fastened
her seat belt.
"I didn't like it back there. It was like being a
prisoner all over again."
He turned onto the boulevard, and light filled the
car. He kept his eyes on the road. "I've
got maps in the glove compartment," he said.
"I know the way."
"No, I figured ... you might want to use
one."
"I'm not lost."
He looked at her. She was smiling, and Neal
realized this was the first time he'd been able to see her in
halfway decent light. She had dirt and blood
on her face. And shadows still hid her eyes. But
he saw, at once, that she was a beautiful woman.
Her beauty didn't seem austere or threatening.
There was something warm about it. Soft and appealing.
"I thought you might want to take out a map and, uh
. . . open it."
"Oh." She glanced down at herself. "Nothing shows,
really."
Neal lowered his eyes. The front tails of the big,
loose shirt were drawn together and tucked between
Elise's legs. They formed a triangle that
covered her groin but left her thighs almost entirely
bare.
"If it makes you uncomfortable .. ."
"Doesn't matter to me," Neal said, and returned
his eyes to the road.
"Well, there isn't much of me you haven't already
seen."
It was dark then, he thought. He decided not to say
it.
"That's all right," he said. "What did the guy do
with your clothes, anyway?"
"Nothing. I didn't have any on."
"When he got you?"
"Right. I was in my pool."
"Ah."
"Actually, I was
out of
the pool when he grabbed me. I'd just climbed out,
and was on my way over to the diving board. I used
to be a diver. Guess I still am. I
mean, I still do a lot of diving, but now it's just for
fun."
"You used to compete?" Neal asked.
"Oh, yeah. Back in the Dark Ages.
Anyway, he must've been hiding somewhere near the
pool. I didn't even hear him coming. I was just
walking toward the board, and all of a sudden he
grabbed me around the neck. I think it must've been
one of those holds that cuts off your circulation and
makes you pass out."
"And you woke up in his van?"
"Yeah."
"You'd never seen the guy before?"
"I don't think so. But who knows what might've
been under all that hair and beard?"
"You're sure it couldn't have been your ex-husband?"
"Vince? No. Not a chance."
"I just keep wondering if you were a random victim,
or if maybe there was some other motive."
"I'd guess random victim. I think he was one
of these nutcases you hear about. The kind of guy who
gets his kicks out of things like torturing and killing
people." Looking at Neal, she ran her hands up and
down her thighs a few times as if trying to rub
away goosebumps. "He didn't rape
me, by the way. In case you're wondering. I
don't think I'd be feeling quite so chipper .. .
Why
the hell
do
I feel so chipper? It's not as if 1 exactly
got off
unscathed."
"Maybe you're just glad to be alive."
"Something like that. Who knows? I got off light, that's
for sure. Thanks to you. My God, if you hadn't
come along with your trusty gun .. ." She shook her
head and rubbed her legs some more. "I'd probably
still be tied to that tree. And screaming for mercy."
"I'm just glad things worked out the way they did."
"You and me both, Neal. Especially me." She
laughed softly. "Have you ever saved anyone before?"
"No. Not hardly." "What do you suppose a
customary reward might be for rescuing
a person from ... that sort of a situation?"
Neal blushed. He was sure Elise couldn't see
it, though. "I don't want any reward," he
said.
"Whether you want it or not, you're going to get it."
He looked at her. She was smiling.
"I'm not taking any money from you," he insisted.
"Why not? Are you rich?"
"Ha. That'll be the day."
"What do you do?" she asked.
"I'm a substitute high school teacher."
"And?"
"And?" he asked.
"What else? You're a sub and you live in Los
Angeles. Therefore, you must be trying for a career in the
movies. Not an actor, though. You're not the
type. Screenwriter?"
He shook his head. "That's right."
"And you specialize in crime stories?"
"You must be psychic."
"I just pay attention," she said.
"What do
you
do?" he asked.
"When I'm not being abducted by psychos?"
"Right."
"Mostly, I drift. Have you had any luck at
all with your scripts?"
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"And you sub. Are you sure you should go around turning
down money?"
"I'm not going to take money for saving you. No
way. Not a chance."
"Okay," she said.
"Good," he said.
"That's not what I'm planning to give you, tonight."
"Good, because I wouldn't take it."
"I'm going to give you something much more valuable than
money."
"And what would that be?"
"You'll find out."
Chapter Five
He stopped his car at the gate of Elise's
driveway. Through its
wrought iron bars, he saw that the driveway led to a
garage with
a closed door.
"Wait here and I'll open the gate," Elise
said.
"Okay."
She climbed out and walked around the front of the car.
Neal watched her in his headlights. The shirttail
over her buttocks shifted with each stride. Below
it, her legs were long and slender. She still wore the
shoes that she'd taken off the dead man. They looked
huge on her, but she seemed to have no trouble
walking in them.
At a post beside the gate, she tapped a few
numbers on a keypad-her security code, Neal
supposed.
She stepped through the gate as it swung open.
Inside, she moved out of the way and waved Neal
forward. He drove through. The moment he stopped the
car, his passenger door opened and Elise leaned
in.
"Come on into the house," she said.
"I really should be getting home," he told her.
The best way to avoid becoming more deeply involved
with
this woman, he'd already decided, was simply to drop
her off
and leave. If he went into her house, no telling
what might
happen.
At the very least, she was bound to bring up the business
of a reward.
"Just come in for a few minutes," Elise said. "I
have something for you."
"I don't want anything. Really."
She smiled. "Shouldn't you wait and see what it
is?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Well, then, come in and have a drink with me."
"I'd better be getting home," he said.
"Please?"
The way she said it, Neal realized she might be
afraid to go into her house alone.
Should've known. After what she's gone through tonight . . .
He suddenly felt like a jerk. He should've
offered
to go in with her, check around, make sure it was safe.
"Okay," he said. "But just for a few minutes."
"Great. Thank you." She stepped away from the door
and shut it.
Neal climbed out. They met in front of his car.
"I don't have my keys," she said. "We'll have
to go around to the back."
She led the way, leaving the driveway and walking
across the grass of the front lawn. Thick shrubbery
and a brick wall stood between the narrow lawn and the
road. But Neal glimpsed the road through a small,
open gate.
"Is that how he came in?"
"I don't know," Elise said. "He might've
jumped a wall, or something. It's probably the
way he carried me out, though."
Neal went to the gate and shut it. Reaching over it,
he tried the knob. It turned in his hand. "You
don't keep this locked?"
"Not all the time."
"Maybe you should."
"Vince was the nut about security," she said. "The
way I see it, if they're gonna get you,
they're gonna get you."
"Tonight, they got you."
She turned to Neal. A corner of her mouth
lifted. "Almost,"
she said.
From the gate, a walkway led to the front door.
Above the door, a light was on.
"Have you got an alarm system?" Neal asked.
"Yep."
"I hope you use it."
She flashed another smile at him. "Sometimes."
She resumed walking. Neal looked at the house as
he followed her.
He was a little surprised to see how normal it
appeared. He hadn't exactly known what
to expect. Something more impressive, he supposed.
But this looked pretty much like a typical Los
Angeles home-or an old Spanish
mission. A low, sprawling structure of stucco,
red tiles, and arches. It looked fairly large.
Certainly not a mansion, though.
Just priced like one, more than likely.
If she can afford a house like this, he thought, she could
probably throw a hundred thousand at me without even
blinking.
I don't want
her money.
Besides, she probably got this place in her
divorce settlement. She might not be ... no,
she admitted she was loaded.
Doesn't matter, he told himself. I'm not taking
a penny from her.
He followed her around the corner. There, a small
grove of fruit trees stood between the side of the
house and the brick wall at the edge of the property.
No light came from the windows of the house. When they
entered the grove, darkness surrounded them.
Neal walked slowly, ducking beneath low limbs,
keeping his eyes on Elise. She was a vague,
moving blur.
At the rear of the house, they stepped out of the trees.
No lights were on, but there were no trees to shade the
area. It seemed bright after the walk through the
grove.
Back here, the pool dominated everything. A large,
rectangular swimming pool with two diving boards
at the far end: a low board and a high dive. The
pool was bordered by a broad, concrete apron.
Neal could see a few places where the concrete
appeared to be wet-probably where Elise had
climbed out of
the water earlier that night.
Just off the nearest corner of the pool was a hot tub.
Close to the house were a couple of padded lounges.
Farther off, but also near the house, Neal saw a
barbecue grill, a table and a set of chairs.
As they walked past the lounges, Elise reached
down and plucked a large towel off one of the pads.
She flopped it over her shoulder.
"Why aren't there any lights on?" Neal asked.
"I didn't have them on." Elise turned and headed
for the sliding glass door.
"You were diving in the dark?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Makes it
more interesting."
"I'll bet."
She rolled open the sliding door. "Actually, you
can see pretty well by the full moon."
Neal followed her inside. A lamp came on.
The brightness made his eyes ache. Squinting, he
saw that he was standing in a large bedroom. It looked
feminine, fresh and tidy.
Elise tossed her towel onto the king-size bed.
Heading for a doorway at the corner of her room,
she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Why don't you
come along? I'll show you the guest restroom. You
want to clean up, don't you?"
"It can wait till I get home."
"There's no need for that. Just relax, all right?"
He followed her into a hallway.
After flicking on a light, she walked to the right.
"If you'd like to take a shower," she said, "I'll
find you something clean to wear."
"No, really. I'm fine."
She reached through a doorway and flipped a light
switch,
then turned toward him.
For the first time, he was able to get a look at her in
good light. Her face was filthy, smudged with dirt
and blood, and more beautiful than he had imagined.
He had never seen such eyes.
They were shocking. A rich, blue-green color
unlike any eyes
he had ever seen before.
She had hair like a pixie. Short, golden, but
wildly mussed.
Her shirt was unfastened partway down. It showed her
throat, the curves of her collar bones, and a
narrowing strip of tanned skin down the middle of her
chest. The skin there looked shiny with sweat. A few
inches below her throat was a smear of blood.
In several places, her blood had soaked through the
shirt. Some of the blood, Neal realized, might be
his own. The rips and dirt, and likely some of the
blood, had probably been the result of his rough
fall in the field.
Most of the blood, though, had to be Elise's.
Her legs looked as if someone had rubbed them, thigh
to knee, with wet red hands.
"I'll have to find you something to wear," she said. "Your
shirt's ruined."
"That's all right. I'll..."
"What
happened
to you, anyway?" she asked.
"Huhr
"You're a wreck, too."
He looked down at himself. He was a little
surprised to find that he was bare to the waist. He had
a few scratches on his chest and belly. And some
reddish areas that would soon become bruises. Nothing
serious. His shorts were filthy in front, but not
torn. Layers of skin had been scraped off both
his knees. His elbows were probably as bad as his
knees, but he didn't bother to look at them.
"I took a little fall," he explained.
"I didn't see it."
"On my way over to you."
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's nothing. Really. You're the one who
got messed up."
She shrugged. "You really should take a shower," she
said. "Wait here a second."
She hurried past him, disappeared briefly into her
bedroom, and returned with a white terry cloth
robe. She held it out to
him. "You can put this on after you're done, and I'll
run your
things through the wash."
"It's really not necessary."
"You'll feel a lot better once you're all
nice and clean."
"I don't. .."
"Please."
He sighed. "Well... okay." He took the
robe from her.
"Good. When you're finished, just make yourself at
home. There's a bar in the den." She nodded down the
hall. "Go ahead and make yourself a drink if I'm
not out yet."
"Do you want me to look the place over, first?
Make sure nobody's . .. you know, lurking
around?"
"Don't bother. Unless you want to. I don't
think there's anything to worry about. Two attackers
in one night? What're the odds?"
"Not very great," Neal admitted. "Unless the guy
had an accomplice."
"I didn't see one."
"People like him usually work alone. Not always, but
usually."
"I'm not worried. If you're worried, though,
feel free to look around. My house is your
house. In the meantime, though, I have to get cleaned
up." She turned away and headed for her bedroom.
Not looking back, she raised a hand and said,
"Later." Then she was gone.
Neal stood in the hallway, holding the
robe, listening. When he heard the water start
to run, he figured that Elise was safe: nobody,
at least, had jumped her in the master bathroom.
He entered the guest bathroom, shut the door, and
hung the robe on a hook.
The doorknob had a lock button.
He thumbed it down.
Just in case, he thought.
He looked at himself in the enormous mirror over
the sink and counter, and shook his head.
You're nuts if you think she'll try to come in.
Am I? he wondered. I'm not such a bad-looking
guy, we're about the same age, she obviously
likes me, and I
did
save her life.
He started unloading his pockets onto the counter
by the
sink.
She won't come, he told himself. For one thing, I
told her all about Marta in the car. For another,
I'm not in her class. Financially or
physically. Not even close. Gals like her don't
get involved with guys like me.
She's awfuUy grateful,
though. Who knows?
Maybe my reward will be a visit while I'm
showering.
Done emptying his pockets, he took off his shoes
and socks, his shorts and briefs.
It seemed odd to be naked in a stranger's house.
We're not exactly strangers, he told himself.
1 did save her life.
He could hear the faint, rushy sound of water from the
other bathroom.
She's naked, too, he thought. We both are.
Separated only by a few walls and doors.
He pictured her standing under the other shower, water
cascading down her body, her skin agleam.
What would she do if 1 went to her?
He smirked and shook his head.
No way, he thought. And if she tries coming to me,
she'll have to pick the lock.
Chapter Six
When Neal was done showering, he couldn't hear water from
Elise's bathroom. He dried himself, keeping the
towel away from
the abrasions on his knees and elbows. He used
toilet paper to
pat those areas dry. The wounds seemed a little
leaky, but not
bad.
A gentle knocking on the door made him flinch.
"It's me," Elise said.
He snatched the robe off the hook.
"When you're done," Elise continued, "just leave your
clothes
in there, and I'll..."
Robe on, he said, "Just a second." He shut
the robe and tied its cloth belt. "You can have them
now." He opened the door.
Elise smiled. "Good timing," she said. She
looked wonderfully fresh and clean. Her short
hair, damp and shiny, was neatly combed. Her face
was a little flushed from the shower. She wore blue satin
pajamas. Here and there, small drops of moisture
had seeped through the top. "What?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Nothing. You look ... like nothing ever
happened to you."
"You should see all the bandages under my pj's. Here,
let me in and I'll pick up your stuff."
"I'll do it," he said.
"No, no. Go on to the bar and make yourself something.
I already turned the lights on for you. Next room
down the hall. You can't miss it. I'll be
along in a couple of minutes. Make me a
vodka and tonic, okay?"
"Well. . ." He wondered if there might be an
inconspicuous way to rescue his briefs from the
small heap of clothes on the bathroom floor.
Sort of embarrassing to think of Elise picking them
up.
"Chop-chop, move it or lose it."
"Let me get my socks and underwear," he
muttered.
"They'll be safe with me. I promise. Out of my
way, buddy."
Blushing, Neal smiled and shook his head and stepped
past her. She entered the bathroom.
Okay, he told himself. No big deal. Forget
it.
The next room down was lighted, just as she'd said.
An L-shaped counter occupied a corner near the
sliding doors to the pool. It had four padded
stools in front of it.
Neal stepped down off the hallway and walked toward
the bar. The carpet felt soft and thick under his bare
feet.
Ahead of him, a wall of glass faced the pool
area. He couldn't see the pool, though.
He couldn't see much of anything out there. The glass,
like a black mirror, reflected the living room and
Neal walking in the white terry robe.
He looked a little transparent. So did everything
else.
He didn't enjoy the view.
He wondered if someone might be on the side of the
glass, staring in.
Turning away from the glass, he gave the den a
casual scan. It had a long oak coffee table,
a large sofa that looked very comfortable, several lamps
and a few reclining chairs. Most of the wall space
consisted of bookshelves. Across the floor from the sofa
was a television with a screen that looked about four times
larger than the screen of Neal's TV.
Man, he thought, what would it be like to watch some
videos on
that
baby!
That's a reward I might be tempted to accept.
But I won't, he told himself. 1 won't accept
anything. Wouldn't be right.
Before stepping behind the bar, he grabbed the handle of the
sliding door and pulled. The door skidded
sideways.
My God, he thought. Doesn't she lock
anything? She's lucky she's lasted this long.
He shut the door and locked it.
Then he stepped around the bar. Behind it were shelves of
drinking glasses and bottles, a sink, and a small
refrigerator. He took down a couple of
glasses. In the freezer compartment of the
refrigerator, he found ice cubes.
What a setup, he thought. What a house. Must be
incredible to live like this.
What the hey, he thought. You, too, might have a
place like this someday. All it'll take is a little
luck, a little hard work, a major miracle . . .
From somewhere near the other end of the house came a
faint, low humming sound. The washing machine starting,
he supposed. He made a vodka and tonic for
Elise, and the same for himself.
He had just squeezed a wedge of lemon into each
drink when she arrived.
"All set," she said, stepping down into the den.
"Did you find everything you needed?"
He lifted both glasses.
"Great." She walked toward the bar, her bare feet
silent on
the carpet. Neal saw the way her breasts were
moving inside her
satin pajama shirt, and looked away.
My God, he thought, if Marta ever found out about
this. ...
Not that I've done anything wrong.
Just that it would
seem so
bad.
Elise stopped at the other side of the bar. As she
reached for one of the drinks, her sleeve slipped
away from her wrist.
She wore a brilliant, gold bracelet.
It looked heavy and very expensive.
Though Neal only caught a glimpse of the
bracelet, it appeared to have a reptile design-a
slender body in the shape of a lizard, or maybe
an alligator or snake.
"Thank you, sir," she said as she took the drink.
"Thank
you.
Your stuff."
"What's mine is yours."
"No. Huh-uh."
"Oh yes it is. Everything. From now on."
"I don't want anything of yours," he
told her. "Really."
"You don't have to take anything you don't want,"
she told him. "But everything is yours."
He shook his head.
She smiled. "Anyway, don't worry about it.
Why don't you come over here and sit down?"
Carrying his drink, he stepped around the bar. He
followed Elise to the sofa. She sat on it,
switched the glass to her other hand, and patted the
cushion by her side. "Right here," she said.
Neal sat beside her, but a little farther away than
she'd indicated.
She turned toward him, lifting her arm onto the
back of the sofa and sliding her right leg onto the
cushion. She bent her leg at the knee, and
tucked its foot beneath her left knee.
She raised her glass. "A toast," she said.
"To a fate worse than death, and the fellow who
saved me from it."
"Well.. ."
She clinked her glass against his, then took a
drink. "Mmmm. Very good."
Neal tasted some of his, then took a large
swallow. He sighed. "Does hit the spot," he
said.
"Now, down to business."
"There isn't any business, Elise. Really. I
don't want a reward. I just happened to be at the
right place at the right time, and things worked out. I'm
really
glad
I saved you. I mean, I think you're ... a very
nice woman."
She grinned. "Nice?"
"Hell, you're terrific."
"Thank you."
"So, I mean, saving you was its own reward. You know
what I mean?"
"I know. But I'm not going to let it go at that."
"You can't make me take anything."
"I'm not going to try. I already told you that. But
everything is yours, when you want it. And I intend
to write a will. .."
"No, don't. My God."
"That's all right, I don't plan to die in the near
future."
"You can't put me in your will."
"Sure I can. And I
will.
That's why they call it a "will." his
"No, jeez."
"Don't sweat it, I might even outlive you.
How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty-eight."
"I'm thirty-two, so .. ."
"You are?"
"I know, I'm well preserved."
"My God. I would've thought twenty-five."
"Thanks, 1 guess. Anyway, I don't have
any family. You're the most important person
in my life, Neal."
."The most. .. his No. Come on. Maybe 1
seem that way tonight, but. . ."
"You
saved
me," she said with a sudden fierce urgency. "Don't
you
get
it? I'd be toast right now ... or maybe screaming
my head off and wishing 1 was dead. He would've
killed me, sooner or later. No question about it.
I'd be dead. So this is the thing: I'd have
nothing
if it weren't for you. No house, no bank accounts,
no jewelry, no future, nothing. No
me. So it's all yours."
"But 1 don't want. . ."
"I know, I know. And I understand that, and I accept
it. You
don't have to take anything. But everything is yours,
regardless.
Everything."
His mouth suddenly felt awfully dry. He took
another drink. "You don't mean . .." He
couldn't say it.
"Me?"
He nodded.
"Of course."
He heard himself moan.
Elise's smile returned. "Don't worry about
it. If you're in love with Marta . .. just figure
you've always got me in reserve, if you want me."
"You gotta be kidding," he mumbled.
"I think you know better than that."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough," she said. "I'm yours-if and when you
want me."
Elise took another drink, then leaned out toward the
coffee table and set down her glass. "Everything
that's mine is yours," she said. "Whenever you
want it. But I
would
like you to have this tonight."
She slipped the gold bracelet off her hand, and
held it toward him.
A snake-a single, thick coil of intricately
detailed gold, the head swallowing the tail. The
eyes of the snake were a pair of brilliant green
gems. Emeralds?
Neal shook his head. "No, no. I can't take
that."
"It's the most valuable thing 1 h."
"All the more reason."
"Put out your hand."
"Elise."
"Please. For me."
"What am 1 supposed to tell Marta, she sees
me with a thing like this?"
"Just the truth. Or don't let her see it. That's
up to you."
"I can't take it. Really."
"Just try it on for a minute."
He couldn't see any harm in that, so he switched the
glass to
his left hand and held his right toward Elise.
She slipped the
bracelet over his hand and around his wrist.
It was warm from being on Elise.
It felt heavy.
"Really beautiful," he said.
"It's a lot more than that."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not just beautiful, it's magical."
Smiling, he raised his eyes to Elise. "It
does card tricks?" he asked.
"I'm serious."
"A magic bracelet?"
"That's right. It was a gift to me. I've had it
since I was sixteen. It was a present from ... a
very wonderful man. A poet. His name was Jimmy
O'Rourke. We fell quite madly in love. But
he had to go back to Ireland."
"An Irishman?"
Elise nodded. "He was over here as a guest
lecturer at UCLA."
"How old was he?" Neal asked.
"Oh, thirty-five."
"And you were sixteen?"
"I know. Awful. But I was smitten. He was
lovely, and you should've heard him talk."
She sighed. "Anyway, I met him when I was with
some girlfriends over in Westwood Village. We
were browsing through a bookstore, and ... he started
talking to me. He hardly had two words out of his
mouth before I was head over heels. After that, we could
hardly stay away from each other."
"What about your parents?"
"They didn't know anything about him. I made up
stories about going over to a friend's house. Or to the
mall. Or to the beach. But the friend was always Jimmy
O'Rourke, and my folks never caught on. They
would've been horrified, no doubt about it-their
daughter going around with a man that age. Not that we ...
there was nothing at all sordid about it. We were so much
in love."
Neal saw tears in her eyes.
"Then the end of summer came, and Jimmy's mother
phoned
him from Shannon. His sister'd been in a car
accident. She was
in critical condition, and they didn't know whether she
would
make it." Sniffing, Elise wiped her eyes.
"Did she live?" Neal asked.
"I don't know. I never heard from Jimmy
again, after he left. Before he went away, though, he
gave me this." With the tips of her fingers, she patted
the bracelet on Neat's wrist. "He called it
a "faerie bracelet." Apparently, back
when he was a student at Trinity, he was out on the
town one night and happened across a burning building.
He heard someone screaming, so he rushed in. He
found a blind woman upstairs. She was hysterical,
didn't know which way to go. So Jimmy picked her
up and carried her outside. Saved her life. She
was wearing this bracelet, and she gave it to him. She
insisted that he take it. And she told him that he was
free to give it away, whenever he pleased, if he
should find someone deserving. So he gave it to me."
"Did you save his life?" Neal asked.
"No."
"Why did you deserve it?"
"He loved me." Tears again came to her eyes.
"He told me that he had never loved anyone the
way he loved me. And that I deserved to have a life
full of wonders and strange delights." Again, she
used the back of her hand to wipe her tears away.
Then she sniffed. "So, that's that."
Neal's throat felt tight. He swallowed, then
said, "You never heard from him again?"
"Never."
"Why? If he loved you so much ..."
"I don't know."
"Did you ever try to get in touch with him?"
"I wrote him letters. Scads of letters. I never
mailed any of them, though." She shrugged. "I was
afraid ... they might be returned to me. Maybe
marked "deceased," or... I don't know, I just
didn't have the courage. For all I really knew,
he might've had a wife. He claimed that he
didn't, but who knows? I didn't want to find
out."
"Must've been awful for you."
"I was heartbroken. But I had the bracelet. 1
don't know if I
could've survived without it. I mightVe done a
triple back-flip
off a freeway overpass. But the bracelet kept
me going. It helped
take my mind off Jimmy."
Neal slipped the bracelet off his hand. He held
it out to her. "There's no way I can take this."
She shook her head. "I want you to have it."
"It means too much to you."
"It's yours, now. Use it for as long as you
wish, then pass it on if you find someone you feel
should have it."
He shook his head. "I don't know."
"Put it back on. Please." A corner of
Elise's mouth tilted upward. "Take it, or
else."
"Or else what?"
"You'll risk my wrath, which is indeed a terrible
thing to behold."
Neal broke into a grin. "I bet," he said.
"Go ahead and put it back on. Please. We'll
have a little demonstration. Once you find out what it
does, I think you might have some second thoughts about
turning it down."
He slid the bracelet onto his wrist again.
"Okay. What does it do?"
Chapter Seven
Elise patted Neal's leg through the robe, then
leaned forward
and picked up her glass. "You should probably lie
down," she
said. "I'll get out of your way." She stood up
and walked around
to the other side of the table.
"Why do I want to lie down?" Neal
asked.
Elise grinned. "Don't give me trouble. It's
how it's done."
"Okay." He took another drink, then set his
glass on the table. Holding the robe to keep it from
falling open, he swung his legs onto the sofa and
sank down onto his back. He rested his hands on
his belly.
"Very good," Elise said. "Now, close your
eyes."
"What's supposed
to
happen?"
"You'll see."
"Not if my eyes are shut."
"Are you going to be difficult?"
"No, no, not me." He closed his eyes.
"Now, kiss the serpent's head."
"You're kidding."
"Neal."
"How can 1 kneel when I'm lying down?"
"Very funny. Kiss the serpent's head."
"Okay." Keeping his eyes shut, he lifted his
right hand to his face. Then he hesitated.
"Do you want to give me a hint?" he
asked.
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
"If this thing does some kind of magic stuff, I
really don't want to get involved."
"I'm surprised you believe in magic."
"I don't. But it scares me."
"You trust me, don't you?"
"I guess so. Sure, I do."
"Do you think I'd ask you to do something dangerous?"
"I guess not."
"There
are
a few dangers, but nothing you need to worry about. Not
yet. This is just a trial run."
"What dangers?"
"Later, all right?"
"I think I'd rather find out that sort of thing
before
I take my trial run."
Elise laughed softly. He looked at her. She
was smiling, shaking her head. "I'm still here, right?"
she asked. "Still in one piece? Still sane?"
"You seem to be."
"Well, I've used the bracelet thousands of
times."
"Thousands?"
"I've had it for sixteen years, Neal. I can't
say that I've used it every single day-I went through
periods without using it at all. Other times, though,
I might've used it... I don't know, eight or
ten times in one day."
"Well, I guess you survived it okay."
"I'm sure you will, too."
"This
guy
didn't have anything to do with the bracelet, did he?"
Her smile died. "I don't think so. I don't
see how... no. Look, if you'd rather not do this . .
. I'll tell you something, though. I've never much
regretted anything that I've done in my life.
What I regret are a few of the things I decided
not
to do. If you don't give the bracelet a try,
Neal, you might look back on tonight, in years
to come, and wonder what would've happened-and wish like
hell that you'd taken the chance."
"Can't you just tell me what the thing is supposed
to do?"
"It'll change your life."
"Maybe 1 like my life the way it is."
Her smile returned. "You'll
love
what the bracelet does. I promise."
"What
does
it do?"
"Try it and find out."
"Okay." He smirked at her. "Here goes
nothing." He turned his face toward the ceiling,
shut his eyes, and touched the bracelet to his mouth.
He felt the emerald eyes against his lips. He
felt the warm gold.
Soothing.
As he waited for the next instruction, he kept the
bracelet to his mouth and thought of Elise's lips.
She must've kissed it thousands of times. Her lips
had touched it here, just where his lips were touching it now.
Feeling pleasantly light-headed, he pictured
himself floating up from the sofa. Elise watched him.
With the hand that didn't hold her drink, she gestured
for him to approach. "Right this way," she said. "Come
on in."
Don't mind if I do, he thought.
And suddenly he was inside her.
As if looking through Elise's eyes, he
saw himself stretched out on the sofa, his hands again resting
on his belly, his eyes shut. He appeared to be
asleep.
I'm asleep, all right. Dreaming this whole bit.
Is
he here yet? Must be. "Hello? Ned? Are you in
me? Welcome
aboard."
Jesus, he thought.
He could feel everything: Elise from head to toe,
inside and out. She had numerous pains, but didn't
seem especially both' ered by them. She was a little
trembly, nervous and excited- and thrilled to have him
aboard.
Neal tried to speak, but couldn't: not from his own body
on the sofa, not from Elise.
So he said in his mind, "I'm here, Elise.
What's going on? Has to be a dream, right?"
Elise thought: "Actualffright-brace , I can't
hear you. This is pretty much a one-way deal,
Neal." I'm a
poet, but
I don't know it. M caret
feet show it. Longfellows.
Stop that,
he'll think I'm an idiot. "Neal? You can't
communicate with me. 1 can't even tell whether or
not you're in here, but I
assume
you are. So, how do you like it so far?"
Incredible, he thought.
Let's
see how he likes this.
She lifted the glass and drank.
Neal felt the cold rim of the glass on his
lips-on
her
lips. He felt the liquid flood her mouth,
chill her teeth. He felt the sizzle of the
tonic, tasted the vodka and the tart lemon. Then she
was swallowing. It was as if
Neal
were swallowing. He felt the drink slide down his
gullet, grow warm in his belly.
All the while, Elise kept on thinking. Not as
if talking to Neal, but going along on her
own-talking to herself but also wondering and considering things
on other levels, a level or two (maybe more)
that seemed deep down and barely articulate.
A little like listening to a radio that was picking
up a few different stations-some coming in more clearly
than others, some nearly inaudible.
She lowered the glass.
Hope he's not freaking out in there. "How's it going
Neal?" Let's see what he thinks of this.
She turned around and started walking across the den.
Neal felt every movement. Very much as if he were the
person walking, but different because he had no control.
He was merely a passenger along for the ride.
A passenger riding in Elise.
He felt her muscles work. He felt the carpet
under her bare feet, and the satin of the pajamas sliding
softly against her skin. He felt how her breasts,
rather small and not very heavy, sprang up and down with
each step. He felt the solid tightness of her
flexing buttocks, and a curious absence of weight
and movement at her groin.
This is what it's like to be her, he thought.
Fabulous.
Except for the pain.
The bastard had done real numbers on her. Neal
felt where she had been cut by the knife, pinched
by fingers, teeth or pliers-hurt in other ways.
Where she wore bandages, he detected a slight
stiffness on her skin.
Her face seemed fine. But the guy must've really
worked on her breasts. They hurt all over, and
Elise seemed to be wearing about seven bandages on
them. Her nipples were very sore, but not bandaged. She
wore a few bandages on her belly, and a couple
on her left buttock. The lips of her vagina
burned as if they'd been pinched or gnawed. Neal
didn't feel bandages down there.
He found no pain deep inside her. She'd
apparently told the truth about not being raped.
While Neal concentrated on the sensations of her
body, Elise walked slowly about the room,
holding her nearly empty glass. Though she was
thinking nonstop, she didn't seem to be addressing
Neal, so he paid little attention.
He was fascinated.
Is this what the bracelet does? It gives you a
ride like this?
Incredible!
It's like I'm her!
"You oil
right?"
Elise asked in her mind.
Fine, he thought.
"I've never done
this
before." It's kind of spooky having him in me.
Seems like a great guy, though. But God, it's so
intimate. Has he paid a visit to my pussy,
yet? Oh shit, what if he heard that? Of course
he heard it. Be grateful, at least you didn't
call
it ... No no no no.
"Hello there, Neal. Hey, look, time to vacate
the premises,
okay? This was
just to
give you a Utde taste." Must've been out of
my mind. Oh,
great,
now he's probably heard that, too. Probably,
my ass. Ass. Terrific. "Now that I don't
have any dignity left, Neal.
Anyway, you saved my Ufe, so now you haven't
got any illusions
about who you
saved."
Hey, I'm not
that
bad. Could've been a lot
worse. Get him out of here! "Neal? Hey! Time
to go, okay? If you're
still
here. Are you? Anyway, you have to wish yourself back
into
your own body." What if he won't leave? What
if he likes it in here
so much
..."
He was out.
No longer inside Elise, no longer feeling the
weight and motion of her body, no longer seeing what
she saw, feeling what she felt. No more
eavesdropping on her mind.
At least the pain was gone. But it had been a small
price to pay for the multitude of other sensations.
He felt sad and lost. He wanted to return
to her.
Knew he shouldn't, though.
So he settled down into the body that was stretched out
on the sofa as if asleep.
Home.
Nothing exciting or strange about this body. It
felt familiar all over. His weight, his size,
his muscles. All the same as when he'd
left. Though he could feel several sore areas, he
seemed remarkably free from pain, compared with
Elise.
He opened his eyes and turned his head.
Elise, standing at the other side of the table,
grimaced at him and blushed fiercely. She
shrugged. "So," she said. "That's the magic
bracelet."
"Wow," he said. He sat up and swung his legs
off the sofa. Leaning forward, he picked up his
glass. He took a few big swal lows
of his vodka and tonic.
Elise's had tasted better.
"Sorry I had to kick you out," she told him.
"That's all right."
"It was ... it got embarrassing."
"Nothing to be embarrassed about."
"I should've known better. I mean, I've been in
enough people to know you can't hide anything from a hitcher. The
mere act
of trying to hide something reveals it. Almost always. You
have
to think it to avoid it. The whole situation is
impossible. Not
to mention, the hitcher gets to feel every part of the
person's
body. Forget any kind of privacy."
"I thought it was great."
She made a face and shrugged her shoulders. "Great
if you're the hitcher. But God, it's such an
invasion
of the people you're in."
"They don't know it's happening?" Neal asked.
"They haven't got a clue. So, in a sense,
there's no damage done. They don't know that every
corner of their being is getting explored by a secret
intruder. Hell, 1 didn't know for sure. 1 just
assumed you were in me."
"I was."
"Well, that's what I figured. 1 mean, that was the
whole idea."
"I thought I was dreaming. At first, anyway."
"You weren't dreaming."
"I was "hitching." his
"That's it. Like hitching a ride. A lot like hitching
a ride. This was a little different, tonight, because we know
each other. Usually, you'll be taking your rides in
strangers. I mean, that's where the real adventure
comes in. You know little or nothing about them. You just
jump aboard and ride them down the road
for a while, see where they take you. When you've had
enough-or if things get hairy-you bail out."
"Sounds simple enough," Neal said, then polished
off his drink.
"It is simple. It can get nasty, though. My
God, I've gone through some incredible things."
"Incredibly good or incredibly bad?"
"Both. You wouldn't believe it. Just wait and see
for yourself. I'm getting another drink. Want one?"
"I'll make them," he offered, and quickly got
to his feet.
Elise smiled over her shoulder at him as she
walked toward the bar. "It's all right. I'm
perfectly capable-was
"Maybe you should sit down and take it easy. I
mean, I know you're in a lot of pain."
Her face went crimson. "Guess you know
everything. It isn't
that bad, though. Give me your glass. I'll
make these."
He surrendered his glass.
Elise stepped behind the bar. "Pull yourself up a
stool," she said.
He hopped aboard one of the stools. Leaning forward,
he put his elbows on the counter. And
winced.
"I'd say we're both in some pain."
"Mine is nothing compared to yours," Neal said.
"I guess you're in a position to know. Women are
tougher than guys, though."
"Is that so?"
"That's so. When it comes to pain. Believe me, I
know." She started to make the drinks, and kept on
talking. "I know damn near everything there is to know
about people. You hitch enough rides, you find out..." She
shook her head. "More than you want to know. But it's
always fascinating. You're a writer, so this'Have be
like a godsend. You'll run into so many odd characters and
weird stories you won't know what to do with them all.
Your main problem will be pulling yourself away from the
hitching . .. finding time to write. Finding time for
anything
else, as a matter of fact. Which is Warning
Number One: don't let it run your life. If
you're not really careful, you'll get addicted."
"Yeah, I can see how that might happen."
"It
will
happen. Just fight it like any other addiction.
Abstain. Or at least cut back. You
want it to be like a hobby, not an obsession."
"I usually have fairly good self-control."
"I hope so." Glasses full, she squeezed a
wedge of lemon into each. Then she stirred with a red
plastic swizzle stick and slid one of the drinks
toward Neal.
They raised their glasses.
"Chug-a-lug," Elise said.
"Cheers," Neal said.
They drank. This one tasted stronger than those that
Neal had made. He liked it better.
"Now," Elise said, "on to Warning Number
Two: don't ride in anyone you know. You can take
my word on that. I learned the hard way. Even with people
who love you, you'll be shocked
by what's going on in their minds. You
don't
want to know.
Believe me."
"It'd be awfully tempting."
"It's terribly tempting. And I'm sure you'll
end up doing it. But fight the temptation as hard as you
can. Stick with strangers. They'll be shocking, too,
but at least you won't have an emotional link with them.
And you won't often find yourself as the
subject of their thoughts."
"Well.. ."
"In other words, stay out of your family. And stay
out of Marta."
"Boy, I don't know. I'd sure like to hop in
Marta for a few minutes."
Elise smirked. "I warned you. But I'm not the
bracelet police. Do whatever you want with it.
If you go hitching in girlfriends or lovers, though, you
might find yourself a very lonely boy."
"I'll have to think about it."
"Think long and hard."
"Any other warnings?"
"How long have you got?"
Chapter Eight
He laughed. "How long have I got? I thought you
said it's safe."
"The trial run was safe. There are all sorts of
dangers when you start hitching in the real world. Mostly
psychological. But some physical risks,
too."
"Can I get hurt when I'm in someone?"
"You feel their pain. Of course, you already know that."
"Yeah, sure do."
"The pain can't actually harm you, though."
"That's good to know."
"Other than whatever psychological or emotional
damage it may do-going through someone else's suffering
that way."
"What doesn't kill me, makes me stronger."
"Well, we're coming to that. Try not to be inside
anyone at
the time of his or her death."
"Wouldn't
want
to be."
"It might happen, though, if you aren't careful."
She frowned, shook her head, and took a sip of
her drink. "You hitch with a few thousand people, you'd be
surprised what happens. A gun shot,
a car crash, a heart attack. If anything like that
starts going down, bail. Bail fast."
"Why? I mean, what happens if I don't, and the
person dies?"
She gave him a very solemn look and said, "I
don't know."
"You don't know?"
"That's the point."
"It never happened to you?"
"I made real sure it didn't."
"What do you
think
would happen?"
"I don't know. But I had this fear about it. I was
afraid I might end up trapped."
"Trapped?"
"In the dead body." She shrugged. "I know it
sounds crazy. But I had a few close calls,
and it almost got to be a phobia with me. I reached the
point where 1 was terrified, every time I hitched, that the
person might keel over dead and there I'd be,
stuck inside."
"Yuck."
"Yeah. Freaked me out. The fact is, I stopped
using the bracelet a few years ago. Because of that.
I was hitching in this guy during the '92 riot. He
was a nutcase. Fascinating guy, but scary as
hell. He was out to kill some cops. I stuck with
him. Nothing I could do to stop him, anyway, so I
figured to hang around for the action. About two
seconds after he opens up on some LAPD guys
with his AK-47, he catches a bullet in the
brain." Elise suddenly flinched, gritting her
teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. "Arh! Hurt
like you wouldn't believe. And it scared the
absolute shit out of me. I figured he'd had
it, and I'd end up ..." She shook her head.
She blew out a long breath that puffed her cheeks out,
then took a couple of swallows from her glass, and
sighed. "Anyway, the shot didn't kill him right
away, so I had time to get out. He actually lasted
a couple of days on life sup
port before he kicked the bucket. But it was too
close. I never
had the guts to hitch again, after that."
Neal stared at her. She looked frightened.
"Now I'm not so sure I want to use the thing,"
he said.
"It's up to you. You shouldn't put too much stock,
though, in my obsession. I mean, maybe you
don't
get trapped if somebody dies. For all I
really know, you might zoom out and return to your own
body as if nothing is wrong. The bracelet
didn't come with an instruction manual."
"What about Jimmy? What did he tell you?"
"Not a whole lot. Nothing at all about what
happens if your ride goes toes up on you.
Maybe he never found himself in that sort of situation.
And back then, I didn't know enough to ask."
She shrugged. "Jimmy only gave me one warning.
This should be sort of obvious, but your own body is
awfully vulnerable when you're off hitching. It can't
do anything to protect itself. It might as well be in
a coma. If something should happen to it, you wouldn't have a
clue until you tried to return."
Neal bared his teeth. "That's terrific news. I
could be off having a great time, I come back and find
out my apartment house burned down-with me in it?"
"Or you might've been murdered. Or had some other
fatal mishap."
He shook his head. "So then what?"
Elise grinned at him over the top of her glass.
"Who knows? That's one more of those mysteries of the
magic bracelet."
"And you went ahead and used it anyway?"
"I'm still here."
"But you quit. .. back in '92."
"The dangers aren't really all that great. Just don't
get caught in a dead person, and watch where you
leave your body when you go hitching. As for your body,
use common sense. I mean, if you're in bed in your
own apartment, not much is likely to happen to you. But
play it safe. Act as if you're going away on
a trip-because you are. Make sure the
doors are locked, you aren't leaving the stove on, that
sort of thing. Don't leave a candle burning.
Don't go on a hitch with a cigarette in your
mouth."
"I don't smoke."
"Good. Just try to take every precaution before you go off.
And don't stay away for hours at a time. If
you're somewhere iffy-the beach, for instance-make your
hitches shorter. Ten or fifteen minutes,
maybe. Come back every once in a while to check up
on yourself."
"You did it on the beach?" he asked.
"Sure. It's a great place for hitching. So many
people to choose from."
"Couldn't you just do it from home?"
"Oh, sure. To a certain extent. The thing is,
you're always better off hitching in the general vicinity
of your body. Makes coming and going a lot easier and
quicker."
"So, you just stretched out on your towel, or something, and
pretended to be sunbathing?"
"That's about it."
"Weren't you ever robbed?"
She shook her head. "The thing is, nobody knows
you're basically dead to the world. For all they
know, you might be completely awake with your eyes
shut."
"But what if somebody
does
rob you?" Neal asked. "What if you're off
hitching and somebody takes the bracelet off your
body?"
"Ah. I've
had
the bracelet taken off. Vince did it once.
What happens is, you're sort of dragged out of your
hitch and straight back into your own body. Then you
take the bracelet back."
"Did he know about it?"
"The bracelet?" Elise shook her head. "I
told Vince it was a graduation gift from my
parents. He never had a clue that you could travel with
it. That's another thing: Don't let
anyone
know what the bracelet does. I mean, that should be
pretty obvious."
"It is."
"Can you imagine what would happen if people found about it?
Everybody'd want it. They'd want to borrow it,
buy it from you, steal it. Some people would
probably even kill you to get their hands on the
thing."
"Are you the only person who knows what it can do?"
Neal asked.
"Far as I know. I mean, I've had it for
sixteen years and I've
never told a soul about its power. Not until you,
tonight. The
only reason I told you is because it's your
bracelet, now."
"Are there any more of them?"
Elise shook her head. "Not to my knowledge. I've done
loads of research work, and I've never been able
to find any mention of a bracelet like this. As far as
I know, it's one of a kind. And I've never found a
record of its existence, either."
Neal lifted his arm and studied the bracelet. "My
guess is it was probably forged by Merlin."
Elise laughed. "Or maybe Saint Patrick.
In collaboration with a pack of leprechauns."
"I can't believe it really works."
"It works."
"I
know. I
just can't believe it. My God. I can .
.. tune in on anybody I choose? Kiss the
bracelet and wish myself into them?"
"That's basically it. You do have to locate your
target, though. You can't simply think the person's
name, for instance. You need to go to him. Or her. Like the
way you went from the sofa to me. But I was right there.
Sometimes, it might take a bit of hunting."
"You said it's better if they're nearby."
"Right. There's some travel time involved. The farther
you have to go, the longer it takes. Both ways. And there
seem to be some distance limits."
"How far?"
"All depends. You'll have to play it by ear. The
farthest I ever got was about thirty miles. But I
had to work up to it."
Shaking his head, Neal rubbed the bracelet. "My
God, this is going to be incredible."
"Just remember to be careful."
"You're sure you want me to have this?"
"I'm absolutely sure."
"It will be great for my writing. Man oh man,
I'll be able to get right
inside
people, really find out what makes them tick."
He heard a distant buzzer.
"That's the washing machine," Elise said. "I'll go
throw your clothes in the dryer. Be right back."
She set her drink on the counter, stepped around the
end of
the bar and hurried across the room to the hallway. When
she
was gone, Neal sipped his drink. He stared at the
bracelet.
What about now? he wondered. Pay Elise a
surprise visit.
No. That'd be a crappy thing to do.
She'll never know, he thought.
She might suspect.
And what if I fall off the damn bar stool?
He supposed that he wouldn't fall if he slumped
forward on the counter.
Forget it, he told himself. I'm not even going
to try. It'd be a dirty trick. She
gave
me the thing. 1 can't go and use it to spy on her.
In a deeper part of his mind, he thought, Maybe
someday.
Returning, Elise said, "They should take about
half an hour in the dryer."
"Looks like you'll never get rid of me."
"I'm in no hurry," she said, stepping behind the bar.
"This isn't a night when I'm exactly looking
forward to being alone."
"Well.. ."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to force you to stay.
It's been a long night. For both of us."
"Is there anything else I need to know about the
bracelet?"
She shrugged. "I think we've covered the main
stuff. I'd hate to tell you everything I know, and
ruin all the surprises for you."
"No other warnings?"
She took a drink, and sighed. "Well... not
really."
"What if I have some questions? Will it be all right if
I call?"
"Questions or no questions. Call me, come over for a
visit... move in, if you're ever so inclined. I
wasn't joking when I said that everything is yours. 1
meant it."
"Well. .. I've got a place. And a
girlfriend. So... 1 don't know."
"Maybe you'd like to bring Marta over for a visit.
Does she like to swim?"
"Sure."
"Come over for a swim, and we'll have a barbecue .
.. make a day of it."
"Sounds nice. Though I'm not sure she'd be
thrilled to know
I've got a friend like you. You're a little too ...
attractive, if you
know what I mean."
"Marta the jealous type?"
"Well, I don't know. But she's a woman. I
can't imagine she'd be pleased to find out I have a friend
who looks like you. I was actually planning to keep
everything quiet. Not tell her anything. I
did
kill a guy. I don't think we should tell
anyone about that. Especially now that we've tried
to cover it up."
"No. Obviously."
"So how would I explain about
you?"
"Make up something," she suggested. "Tell her
I'm your sister."
He laughed. "Right."
"Don't worry about it. If you decide you want
to bring her over, we'll work out some sort of cover
story. I'd better give you my number,
though." She sidestepped toward the end of the counter.
Next to the telephone was a scratch pad. She
scribbled on it, tore off the page, and returned.
She handed the paper to Neal.
"I'm unlisted," she said, and took a drink.
"Lose it, you'll have to come over if you want to get
in touch."
"You didn't put your name on here."
"Do you want Marta to see it and wonder who
Elise is? Anyway, you know who 1 am."
"Not your last name."
She looked slightly surprised and amused. "I
think you're right. Weird. I feel like we're old
friends, but... I don't know your name, either, do I?"
"Not unless you read my mind."
Maybe she did, he suddenly thought. What if
she's used the bracelet on me?
"I'll tell you mine," she said, "if you'll tell
me yours."
He felt a hot blush flood his skin.
"Darden," he muttered. "Neal Darden."
She reached her hand across the counter. "Pleased to meet
you, Neal Darden. I'm Elise Waters."
He shook her hand. It felt slightly cool from
her glass.
She held on. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Come on. Hey. You can tell me. Can't you? After
everything we've been through?"
Neal grimaced. He felt awfully warm and
squirmy. "I... it just suddenly... it's okay
if you
did. I
mean, I was in you, so it'd only be fair."
"You're not making much sense." "I just suddenly got
embarrassed," he explained, already guessing
that she hadn't paid him a secret visit. Too
late to turn back, though. "It crossed my mind
that maybe you used the bracelet on me."
Smiling, she raised her eyebrows. "When would I
have done that?"
"While I was showering, maybe. B.. ."
"Ah. I see. No wonder your face is red."
"You didn't, though, did you." Not really a question.
"I didn't."
He tried to laugh. "Well, that's sure a
relief."
He felt relieved, all right. But also
embarrassed that he'd brought the subject up.
And something else.
Elise still held his hand. "Now what's wrong?" she
asked.
"I don't know. I guess ... in a way,
maybe I sort of wish you
had
done it."
Her hand tightened. She stared for a long time into his
eyes. "If that's what you want," she finally said,
"I'll do it."
In the shower? he wondered.
What if I'm in the shower, all naked, and I know
she's in me and I start thinking about her and I get a
hard-on?
Under the robe, his penis began to grow and rise.
"You'd better think about it, though," Elise said.
"Are you sure you want me inside? You were in me,
so you know how it is. I'd be aware of
everything
that's going on in you."
Everything.
He smiled in a way that he knew must look
sickly. "Well, maybe it wouldn't be such a hot
idea, after all."
Neal waited beside Elise while she squatted in
front of the dryer,
reached in, and removed the clothes. Out came his
shorts, a
sock, his shirt, his other sock, and his underwear. With the
clothes clutched to her chest, she stood up.
"I can take this stuff," Neal said. Reaching out, he
took them from her. He tried not to touch her, but the
back of his right hand accidentally slid against her
pajama shirt, and he felt her skin beneath the satin.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"No problem." She shrugged. "I'm all yours,
remember? You're free to touch or look to your
heart's content."
"Jeez. Don't tempt me."
"Just remember. If you ever split up with Marta
..."
"I don't think I'm likely to forget."
"Anyway," she said, "your shirt is pretty much
ruined. I'd be glad to give you one of mine."
"The shirt off your back?" he asked, and found himself
blushing again.
"Whatever you want. But I don't think this would fit
you very well. I do have some nice, large shirts,
though."
"I can wear mine home," he told her. "It
won't be any problem."
"Up to you," she said.
"I'm sure it'll be fine."
In the bathroom, Neal hung the robe on the back
of the door and hurried into his clothes. After putting
on his belt, he filled the pockets of his shorts
with the wallet, pistol, shell casings, car keys and
handkerchief that he'd removed before his shower. Then he
stepped into his shoes and tied them. In a pocket
of the robe, he found the note with Elise's phone
number. He folded it, slipped it into his
wallet, and stepped into the hallway.
He found Elise in the kitchen, rinsing out their
glasses.
When she turned around, he spread his arms.
"Shirt's fine."
"Other than the bloodstains that didn't come out. And the
rips."
"No big deal. It did look a lot better on
you, though."
"A matter of opinion." She dried her hands.
"So," he said. "Guess it's about time for me to hit
the road."
She came toward him. "You have my number?"
Neal patted his rear pocket.
She stepped up to him and put her hands on
his shoulders. "Stay in touch, okay?"
"I will."
"And speaking of wills, 1 meant it about mine."
"You shouldn't do that."
"I do need your address and number. Do you have a
card?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Thought you might."
As he pulled the wallet out, Elise dropped her
hands and stepped back. She watched him pluck a
business card out of its slot. He handed it to her, and
she read it. Then she looked up at him. "No
cute little typewriter or ink bottle?"
"Are you kidding?"
"How do I know you're really a writer?"
"You don't."
Grinning, she slipped the card into the pocket over
her left breast.
"Well," he said. "Guess I'd better go."
"This time, you can use the front door."
They walked side by side to the front door. She
opened it for Neal, and stepped outside with him. "Will
you be able to find your way home from here okay?" she
asked.
"I think so." He nodded to the left.
"San Vicente's that way, right?"
"Left."
"Exactly." He faced Elise. The porch
light was on. She looked beautiful in its mellow
glow.
I must be nuts to leave, he thought.
Yeah, and what would Marta have to say about that?
Who cares?
I do. Obviously. Or I wouldn't
be
leaving.
He sighed. "Well. Thank you for the bracelet."
"Use it in good health. And thank
you
for saving my life."
"We were just lucky, 1 guess. But, you know what?
I sort of feel as if my life is going to be
downhill from here."
"Oh, very nice."
"No, I don't mean it that way. Just that...
I'll probably never do anything as important as
saving you. So it's bound to be an anticlimax."
Smiling, Elise shook her head. "Don't count
on it."
"Well..."
"How about a kiss?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know."
"Don't worry, I'm not trying to seduce you."
"Maybe not. But I might get carried away."
"You don't want the temptation?"
"That's about it."
"That Marta of yours, she's a lucky gal."
"Oh, I don't know."
"Has herself a loyal fellow like you. And a hero,
to boot."
"I'm no hero."
"Sure you are." With a smile, she said, "So you're
going to leave me standing here, kissless?"
"I'd
Uke
to kiss you. It's just. . . like I said."
"We'll compromise, then. A friendly kiss. A
chaste kiss."
"Without any hugging," he added.
"Gonna leave me kissed but hugless,"
Neal laughed softly.
"Okay," she said. "I'll take what I can
get." She stepped closer to him, but stopped before their
bodies met. Then she turned her head
sideways, offering her cheek.
He leaned forward to kiss it.
Her head turned quickly.
An old trick. An ancient trick. He
nearly laughed, but his urge to laugh was shut down
fast by the feel of her lips.
As he drove away, he thought about the kiss. He
smiled, remembering
the trick she'd pulled on him. Then he sighed,
remembering
the feel of her lips.
He'd put his hands on her sides, ready to pull
her against him,
but she'd lifted them away and stepped back, saying
"Ah-ah. No
hugging allowed."
Good thing she stopped me, he thought.
It had hurt, though. He'd wanted so badly
to hold her, to embrace her hard and feel the whole
length of her body pressing against him.
I could
go back.
Yeah, right. And that'd be the end of me and Marta. You
don't dump someone like her just because you run into the most
gorgeous gal in the world .. . who also happens to be
intelligent and sensitive and funny, who
is also rich, who also happens to be eternally
grateful to you for saving her life.
Not even if you've fallen in love with her?
How can I be in love with her? he asked himself. We
just met. I hardly even know her.
But he felt as if he'd known her for a long, long
time.
How does she
really
feel about me, he wondered. Is it only that she's
so grateful?
It had seemed like more than that.
Could it be possible, he wondered, that she might
actually love
me?
An easy way to find out.
Neal's hands were near the top of the steering wheel. The
gold bracelet hung heavily on his right forearm,
a couple of inches below his wrist.
One kiss . . .
And I crash and burn.
I'd have to pull over, he thought.
That'd be real safe. Pull off to the side of the
road at this hour.
Deep in thought, he hadn't been paying much
attention to his route. Now he found that he was heading
east on Venice Boulevard.
He must've simply backtracked.
A mistake. Long before reaching Venice, he
should've turned onto Pico. This route had taken
him two or three miles farther south than he
needed to go.
That's what I get for daydreaming, he thought.
He kept on driving.
I'll be home in fifteen minutes, he told
himself. I can wait that long.
He knew that he shouldn't pay Elise a visit,
though.
What good is the bracelet if I don't use it?
I
shouldn't use it on her. Anyone but her. She hated
it, having me inside knowing everything. Embarrassed the
hell out of her.
Besides, he thought, Brentwood's awfully far
to travel. Especially for my first solo.
Eight or ten miles?
It'd be crazy to try that sort of distance right off the
bat. What I need is to try a few things closer
to home, first. Work my way up.
But not so 1 can go to Elise's house.
I've got to
never
use the bracelet on her. Never again.
While I'm busy making pledges, Neal thought,
I should promise never to use the bracelet on
Marta, either.
He didn't feel quite ready for such a pledge; if
he made the promise and broke it, he would feel
ashamed of himself.
We'll see, he thought.
But it's definite about Elise. If I want
to find out how she feels or thinks, I'll do it the
right way. By going to her, by being with her, by talking to her.
How about tomorrow?
No.
I've got to stay away from Elise unless things go
wrong with Marta.
I don't
want
things to go wrong with Marta. I love her.
You can't
love them both.
What a mess, he thought.
A nice sort of mess, though. A lot better
to be crazy about two women than none at
all.
Probably.
Neal saw the sign for Video City. Suddenly
remembering the man he'd shot, he felt a
plunging sensation as if the car had suddenly dropped
out from under him.
Though he'd never completely forgotten about the man,
his
strange, amazing experiences with Elise and her
bracelet had
occupied most of his thoughts for the past couple of hours.
He'd
been given a temporary reprieve.
But now it all came slamming back through him.
Memories of the terror. Worries about getting
caught.
What
if the cops get me for it?
How could they? he asked himself.
Easy. All it would take is one person who saw
a bit of what was going on, got suspicious, and
wrote down Neal's license plate number.
Other than that?
If nobody got the license number, he was home
free.
Unless he or Elise should make the mistake of
telling someone about the incident.
Not likely.
If it ever does come out, he told himself, we
shouldn't have much trouble convincing the cops that it was
self-defense.
So
why did we cover it up?
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he muttered.
And then he turned left at the first street after
Video City. He drove past the parking lot
entrance.
Am I nuts? he wondered.
Still time to turn around.
No. He needed to take a look down the next
street to see if the area was crawling with cops.
Suppose it is? he thought. If they stop and search
me, they'll find the gun in my pocket.
They'd need probable cause for anything like that. Can't
just search a guy for no good reason, and they've got
no reason to suspect me of anything.
All I have to do is act normal.
Besides, Neal would be turning onto the road more than
a block past the area where the cops would likely
be-if they'd arrived, at all. He could
simply hang a left before reaching the crime scene
and return to Venice Boulevard.
Easy.
As he approached the dead-end, his headlights pushed
twin,
pale beams into the field, lighting the old
railroad tracks, junk
and rocky ground, weeds, and the strip of woods below the
freeway
embankment.
He slowed, signaled a left, and made the turn.
His headlights swept sideways.
No lights among the trees or on the road. No
people wandering about. No street barricade. No
police cars.
And no van.
The van's gone!
Neal felt as if his wind had gotten kicked out.
"Oh, shit," he muttered.
Heart slamming, mouth parched, he drove slowly
toward the place where the van had been parked.
It was gone, all right. No question about it.
He swung to the side, stopped his car on the dirt
shoulder, and killed the headlights.
What the hell is going
on?
He gazed across the dark field.
Nothing at all seemed to be going on.
But
where's the van?
Neal realized he was gasping for air as if he'd just
finished a race.
Calm down, he told himself. No reason
to panic.
Like hell. Somebody drove the bastard's van
away!
Best-case scenario: a thief came along and
stole it.
A possibility.
But what if the guy had climbed back into his own
van and driven off?
He
was dead!
Maybe not.
Neal had fired four shots. He'd seen the man go
down. But he'd never examined the wounds. Never
checked vital signs.
I hit him. I know I hit him.
Three in the body and one in the head.
One or two of the body shots might have
been misses, but he doubted it. And he was sure that
the head shot had been on target. Doing research for
various scripts, however, Neal had en
countered stories of men surviving multiple
gunshot wounds.
Cole Younger, the western outlaw, had supposedly
caught about
twenty rounds from the posse that ambushed him and his
gang.
He'd recovered.
And what about Rasputin?
This
jerk even looked like Rasputin.
That crazy old Russian monk had been damn
near impossible to kill. He'd survived being
poisoned, stabbed and shot. They'd finally managed
to drown him.
Those were oddities, though.
This guy didn't get up and walk all the way
over here and drive away.
Probably.
If he did come over, there should be lots of blood
on the ground.
Neal put on his headlights, leaped out of the car and
hurried to the front. Standing in the brightness
of the beams, he scanned the shoulder of the road. He
saw tire tracks in the dry dirt- plenty of
them. He also saw a few patches of grass and
clumps of weed, a smashed beer can, glittery
shards of broken glass, candy and cigarette
wrappers, an old dark sock, the flattened ruin
of a small paper sack.
No blood.
still might
be in the wrong place.
The van had been parked
near
here, but Neal hadn't made a point of noting its
precise location. He might be too far forward,
or too far back. He even might've parked his
own car in the very spot where the van had been.
What should I do, drive back and forth a few times?
Nothing conspicuous about that.
He looked toward the wooded area where he'd left
the body.
Quit screwing around, he told himself. Run over
and see if it's still there.
He didn't want to.
The idea of returning to look for the body gave him
a sick, scared feeling in the pit of his
stomach.
Besides, it would take forever to run all the way there and
back. And somebody might see him.
The bracelet!
Of course!
A few seconds later, in the driver's seat, he
eased his door shut and killed the headlights. He
locked the doors. After taking a quick look around
to make sure nobody was nearby, he raised his right
wrist toward his mouth.
Wait a second, he thought. I'd better stop and
think about this. What if the creep is there? And I
zip into his body?
Can't, not if he's dead.
Probably can't, he corrected himself. Elise
hadn't mentioned anything about entering dead people, just that you
don't want to be in someone at the moment of death.
Which
could happen.
The man might be teetering on the brink, might
take the fall while Neal was inside.
I'll get out quick, he told himself.
If the guy's even there.
He closed his eyes and kissed the gold
bracelet. Even as his lips touched the
warm gold, he felt himself rise weightless out of his
body. He feared for a moment that the car roof might
stop him, but he drifted through it. He hovered above
his car.
Amazing, he thought.
This really
must
be a dream.
Analyze it some other time. Check on Rasputin.
Eyes on the dark section of trees below the
freeway slope, Neal flew over the field. In
what seemed like a few seconds, he found himself in
the dark clearing. He saw the tree where Elise had
been tortured. Veering away from it, he darted to the
place where they'd left the body.
The burial pile of weeds and bushes was thrown
apart, scattered.
Let's get!
He sped out of the clearing, across the field and down through
the roof of his car. The solid mass of his body
seemed to overwhelm him. He felt his weight, his
tiredness, his aches and pains.
Quickly, he glanced about.
Nobody coming.
Okay, he thought. Now what? The body's
gone. Rasputin has
risen from the grave. I didn't kill the bastard,
after all.
Unless someone came and got him.
That didn't seem very likely, though.
He imagined the mound of foliage falling away from
the rising body, saw the gawky man struggle to his
feet and hobble across the field, bleeding and groaning,
watched him climb in behind the driver's seat of the
van, crank up the engine and drive away.
Going where? he wondered.
Better be on his way to a hospital.
But
what if he headed for Elise's house?
Chapter Ten
Neal felt a rash of hot panic.
The guy could be at her house right now. He might
already have her. She might already be his prisoner again-or
dead.
On the other hand, maybe he was still on his way over.
Or just arriving.
Or not going to Elise's house, at all.
Gotta figure he's after her, Neal told himself.
What'll I do?
Save her. Somehow.
Okay, how?
Send the police? They could be at her house in a
few minutes-but only if they get a call.
Neal had no car phone.
He was at least a five-minute drive from his own
apartment. He supposed there must be a public phone
closer than that- maybe over near Video City,
somewhere.
The houses across the road probably had
telephones.
He glanced at the dashboard clock: ten till
three.
How do you get someone to answer the door at this hour?
At best, he figured it'd take him five
minutes to reach a phone and put a call through to the
police. At best, the cops might reach
Elise's house three to five minutes after that.
Too
long!
Forget the cops-call Elise. Warn her. Tell
her to get out.
Right, he thought. And waste five minutes getting
to a phone?
He kissed the bracelet.
Lifted out of his body, left the car below
him, and raced northward climbing fast.
Don't go too high, he warned himself. Waste of
time.
He crossed the Santa Monica Freeway at
an altitude of about fifty feet. Cars and
trucks sped along the lanes below him. He was
vaguely aware of having an incredible experience, but
he couldn't appreciate it.
He was too scared for Elise.
The flight meant only one thing to him: the fastest
way to reach Brentwood.
He hoped.
It was eerie, though. He could see and hear everything
clearly, as if airborne in his own body. He was
able to think clearly. He could even
feel
many things: his fear and hope and maybe an odd sort
of excitement.
He couldn't feel the speed, though. He felt no
momentum or velocity or drag. He felt no
rush of wind against his face as he raced through the
night.
His awareness of speed depended entirely on his
view of the buildings and streetlights, trees and
billboards, parked cars and roads rushing
along beneath him.
He flashed past Pico Boulevard. Considered
following it west to Bundy, but found that he was already
above Olympic.
Take Wilshire to Bundy, he told himself.
Seconds later, he swung left and raced
westward through the heart of Beverly Hills, some
fifty to sixty feet above the broad pavement of
Wilshire Boulevard.
Not much moving around down there.
He willed himself to pour on the speed, but didn't
seem to go any faster. Probably already at the
maximum, he realized.
As he passed above the San Diego Freeway,
he began to bog down.
What's happening?
You're slowing down, that's what.
Richard Laymon
Skit!
He felt almost as if he were attached to an elastic
cord--a cord that reached all the way back to his
body inside the parked car. Like a rubber band, it had
run out of slack. Now, it was stretching, allowing him
to continue, but resisting.
Elise had said there were distance limits.
Now, Neal knew what she'd meant.
But she'd made thirty miles, hadn't she?
That was after lots of practice, he reminded himself.
That was her record distance.
If she can make thirty, I can make
eight
or ten.
Already, San Vicente was below him; he recognized
its wide center island.
He turned west off Bundy and descended.
Speeding just above the pavement of San Vicente, he
watched for narrow roads to the right. And spotted
Eltse's road, Greenhaven. And shot around the
corner. Following the narrow lane, he didn't
spot the van.
Maybe this is a false alarm, he thought.
He veered away from the road. Heading for Elise's
house, he passed through bushes and trees-but didn't
feel them. They felt no different from the air.
What am I, a ghost?
He sped through the walls of Elise's house.
Found her standing at the mirror in a bathroom he
hadn't seen before. The master bathroom, he
guessed. Where she'd taken her shower. Now, she was
brushing her teeth.
He entered her.
Yes!
Relieved to find her safe, Neal was amused to find
her stewed. She must've had another vodka and
tonic-or more-after he'd left.
There was a vagueness in her mind. And the pains from her
numerous injuries didn't hurt very much,
anymore.
Mouth full of minty-flavored froth, she worked the
brush over her teeth and gums. She seemed to be
enjoying herself.
Do'de-do'do, dum.-de-dv.rn.. What shall vie
do with the drunken sailor? Oh boy oh boy oh
boy,
I'm gonna
have me a doozy
tomorrow.
She took the brush out of her mouth, grinned at herself
in
the mirror, and let the white froth flow over her
lip and down
her chin. Large dollops of it fell into the
sink-splot, splot, splot.
Then she spat out the rest, ran her brush under the
faucet, and
started scrubbing her teeth with the clean, dripping
brush.
Better take me same
aspirin. Gonna
be headache city in the morning. Should've stopped after
one or two. Yeah, wett, what the hell. Not every
night you get yourself kidnapped and tortured and damn
near kitted. Thank God for Neal.
How nice, Neal thought.
Hope he doesn't get himself jammed up with the
bracelet. Maybe I shouldn't have given him . .
. Ah, he'Us be fine. Fine and dandy. Wish
he'd stayed. Sweet guy. Ah, well. Win a
few, lose a few. Anyway, he'Us be back.
He knows a good thing when he sees one.
Shaking her head, she laughed a bit.
Yeah, I'm a prize, aRather right. Drunk out of
my gourd. Blotto city.
Wonder what that Marta's like.
Wonder if he'Rather try and putt another hitch on
me? Never
gonna know.
Less he telh.
Wouldn't
mind if he did, anyhow. Wonder if
he's in here, now? "Hello, hello, wherever you
are. Neal? You in here?"
Sure am, he thought.
Didn't think so.
Alas.
She spit into the sink again, rinsed her brush and
resumed scrubbing her teeth.
Alas, alas,
he ain't in the lass.
Unless he is.
Neal noticed how the quick motions of her arm made
her breasts jiggle. He felt her nipples
slide against the inside of her pajama shirt.
Elise didn't seem interested in any of that.
Of course not, Neal thought. They're hers. She's
used to them.
He tuned in on her thoughts again as she rinsed her
brush and put it away.
Alka-Seltzer or aspirin? How about both? Some
for the of' hangover and some for my multiple
contusions, abrasions
and
lacerations.
That's me, a cut
above,
the
rest.
Ho ho ho.
How could
that
bastard do those things to
me?
Godsake. Biting
me.
Neal felt a hollow chill in her groin. She
pressed her thighs together, and he felt stinging
sensations.
Should I go to a doctor?
Yeah, sure.
Wouldn't that
be cute?
What's
your problem, dear? Oh, nothing, had a littk
run-in with a
sadistic . . .
She took a foil pack of Alka-Seltzer out
of a box in the medicine cabinet, then glanced around,
looking for her glass.
Ah,
yeah.
In
the dishwasher.
Took it
there this morning. Yesterday
morning. Right.
Fooeykablooey.
In a lower part of her mind, she imagined herself
dropping Alka-Seltzer tablets into water cupped
in her hand. And she supposed they would make her hand
tingle.
Not
quite smashed enough to pull
that stunt. Some
other time. Maybe. Fat chance.
She dropped the packet into her shirt pocket.
Neal felt its stiffness against her nipple.
She took a plastic bottle of aspirin off one
of the shelves, popped its lid, and shook two
capsules into her palm. Then she returned the
bottle to the medicine cabinet and swung the door
shut.
She walked out of the bathroom, across the soft carpet
of her bedroom, and out to the hallway.
On her way to find a drinking glass, Neal
figured.
In front of Elise, the lights were off.
He felt a small tremor of fear slide through
her.
Since
when are you afraid of the dark? Forget it, the
bastard's dead.
Kaput. Finito. Gone with the wind. Toes up.
His ticket canceled,
his
farm bought.
You're wrong! Neal thought.
And then he thought, My God, I've got to warn
her!
That's why I came here, he reminded himself. Can't
take all night about it, either. My damn body's
sitting by itself in the car. No telling what might
happen to it...
What if
I'm afraid to go out after dark?
Elise stepped down from the hallway and walked through
the
den. On her way to the bar, Neal supposed.
Plenty of glasses
there. Closer than the kitchen.
Pit dry.
What I oughta do,
I oughta
step out there
right now,
do a few laps, make a few dives.
He could feel her excitement as she approached the
sliding glass door, her eyes on the dim shape
of the moonlit swimming pool.
Not
a smart move. Screw
up
all my bandages. Sides,
might
get busted for
drunk diving.
She laughed.
Instead of reaching for the door handle, she stepped behind the
bar. She flicked a light switch, and a bulb
came on above the sink. As she reached high to open a
cupboard door, Neal felt the adhesive strip
of a bandage pull loose from the underside of her right
breast.
Shoot.
She studied the rows of glasses, reached up and
pulled down a fair-sized tumbler. She
set it on the counter. Then she reached under the hanging
front of her pajama shirt, determined to fix the
bandage.
Won't stay stuck, anyway. Why in
heaven's name can't they make bandages that stay where you
put them?
She fingered the dangling strip. Its lower end still
clung to her ribcage.
Should've tried
putting it on sideways, not up and down
tike this.
With a wordless thought process similar to what had gone
on when she wondered about drinking Alka-Seltzer from
the palm of her hand, Elise considered removing the
bandage completely and putting it on crosswise.
But she seemed to think that the removal would do further
damage to the adhesive, so she decided against it.
Pressing the lower end to her ribcage, she used the
side of her forefinger to lift the fallen part of the
bandage. She touched her wound through the thin pad, and
Neal felt a sting of pain. Then she rubbed the upper
adhesive strip against the bottom of her breast.
Her breast felt soft, springy.
She rubbed her finger up the bandage again.
Now stay stuck.
Somebody seemed to be aroused.
Didn't seem to be Elise.
How can still be? Neal wondered. I'm just a ... a
nothing. I can't be getting turned on.
Sure felt that way, though.
He wished Elise's finger would slide upward past
the top of the bandage so he could feel her bare skin.
But her hand lowered, came out from under the shirt, and
took hold of the drinking glass.
With the hand that held the aspirin, she turned the water
on. She filled her glass halfway, popped the
two capsules into her mouth, then raised the glass
to her mouth and drank. The capsules went down with
her first swallow.
Drinking no more, she checked the water level inside
the glass. A few inches remained.
Ought to be enough.
She set down the glass.
Okay, Neal thought. I'd better get on with it.
Didn't come here for a good time. Gotta tell her
about Rasputin-even if he isn't here.
Right. How?
Must be a way.
"Elise!"
he shouted in his mind.
"Etise!"
He shouted into her head,
"It's Ned! I'm in! The guy's not dead! Do you
hear me? He's not dead! He might be coming after
you!"
He focused on her thoughts.
Probably have to get up and pee in the middle of the
night. Who am I kidding
comx's
already the middle of the night.
Damn!
There must be a way to communicate!
With her right hand, Elise reached into the pocket of her
pajama shirt. She pinched the top edge of the
Alka-Seltzer packet and lifted it out.
Looking at it, she found herself staring at Neal's
business card.
She'd pinched it together with the Alka-Seltzer.
"Ah," she said.
Hope he made it home all
right.
He only had a couple. Why don't 1 give
him a call? No no no.
Might
wake him
up.
Anyway, he's got that Marta. Don't want
him to think I'm trying to butt in.
She slipped the card back into her pocket, then
tore the foil pouch, spread it, upended it and
dumped the two white tablets into her water glass.
They started to fizz.
Maybe I can make her
do
something, Neal thought. If I could force her hand
to move . .. might get her to write a warning.
As Elise watched the water in her glass grow
white and fuzzy with bubbles from the dissolving tablets,
her hands were busy folding the empty foil packet,
making it into a tiny hard square.
Neal put all his energy into her right hand.
Make it let go, he thought.
It tossed the tiny square onto the counter, and
picked up the glass.
This one's busy, he thought. Try her left hand; it
isn't doing anything.
Make it tap on the counter.
It hung by her side and lightly stroked her thigh
while she gulped down the fizzing water.
This isn't working, Neal thought.
He suddenly felt as if he were being smothered. He
struggled to breathe. Couldn't. His lungs ached.
What the... his
Elise came up for air.
Thank God, he thought.
After a few quick breaths, she resumed drinking. Not
much left, now. A few more swallows, no
problems, and the glass was empty except for a white,
powdery residue.
Elise rinsed the glass and set it down by the sink.
Then she took a deep, deep breath. The air
felt great, filling her lungs. But her expanding
chest popped the same bandage loose.
Phooey. Ah, well, least the others are holding.
She flicked the light off, then walked around the end
of the bar and headed for the hallway.
Neal was aware of a decision, below word level, not
to fool again with the bandage, leave it as-is until
morning.
The decision seemed to trouble her, though.
Don't want to bleed on my jammies. Take
them off? Good idea, then I'll bleed on my
sheets.
I'm probably done bleeding, all nicely
coagulated . . .
Don't count on it. Bound to be some dribbling ooze
of some sort, this many wounds.
Walking up the hallway toward her lighted
bedroom, she considered changing the bandage, after all.
Just
take a minute or two.
What am I going to do? Neal wondered. I came
here to warn her, but... What the hell was I thinking,
anyway? Did I think I could change the rules
just because 1 wanted to? She can't pick up my
thoughts. Doesn't have a clue I'm even in her.
I can't make her lift a damn ringer ...
He realized that he'd made a big mistake.
He'd gotten here fast, all right. But so what?
He might as well have stayed in his car.
I
did
stay in my car, he thought.
And what I'd better do now is get back to it.
Drive to the nearest phone and call her. Which is
what I should've done in the first place, if I'd
had an ounce of sense.
Thank God it was a false alarm, he thought.
Just as he was about to will himself back to his own body,
Elise walked past the doorway to the
guest bathroom and a dark shape leaped at her out of the
darkness.
Chapter Eleven
Elise glimpsed the quick dark motion. She gasped,
"Ah!"
Oh God,
who is it? No!
Hit hard from the side, she was hurled across the
hallway. Her shoulder crashed against the wall.
Shit." No! Oh, God."
Who is it? What's going on?
Him? Is it him?
He slammed her back to the wall.
Wild hair and beard.
Him, all right. Neal hadn't doubted it for an
instant.
No! You're
dead! Why aren't you dead!
Gotta do something! Neal thought. Gotta help her!
If I scream . . . I
The attacker suddenly pistoned fists into her
belly, blasting her air out. She folded with the pain
and dropped to her knees.
Inside, she felt as if her stomach had caved
in, as if her lungs had been squeezed
empty.
Neal was suffocating. Like with the Alka-Seltzer, but
ten times worse.
Oh God,
he's gonna kill me. Can't be happening. How
am I
gonna get out
of
this? Has
to be a way!
I
have to help her, Neal thought. Leave now? Get to my
car and race back over here and blow this fucking
bastard's head off.
Never make it in time.
Why the hell didn't I drive back in the first
place? 1 might be here by now!
It'll all be over by the time 1 can get back!
Maybe not, maybe not.
Elise was getting some breath, now. She was on her
knees, hunched over, hugging her belly, head down
as she wheezed. She kept thinking,
What'm I gonna do? Gotta stop him. He's
gonna
kill
me. What'm 1 gonna do? Has to be a way.
Can't let him
kill
me.
Can't.
Below those thoughts, she seemed certain that she wouldn't
survive. And she wondered how much pain there would
be. And she wondered what she would miss the most,
being dead. And she was glad her parents weren't
alive to find out that their daughter had been murdered.
Hope on the surface, despair below.
I can't save her if 1 stay! Neal shouted at
himself.
But he hated to abandon her.
But he couldn't stand to stay, either, and go through any more of
this.
"Get up, bitch."
Neal thought, I'll be back, Elise. Hold
on. Please!
But he knew she couldn't hear him. She had no
idea he was
even inside her, much less trying to communicate.
The attacker grabbed Elise by the hair on top of
her head, and pulled. She gasped with pain. Neal
felt the burning hurt of her scalp as she
tried to stand up.
Gotta fight him. It's the only way. He's
shot up.
Isn't
he?
Has to
be. Can't be all that strong.
Below, she knew he was still strong enough to overpower her.
Knew she didn't stand much chance.
At
least I'll go dawn fighting.
I'm out of here!
And he was.
The moment Neal willed himself to leave, he was torn
out of Elise's body and flung up through the roof of
her house. He had no control. As he shot through the
treetops and gained speed, he felt as if he were
being sucked through the night by the gravity of his own
body.
Not falling to earth, but hurtling across the miles to the
place where he'd left himself.
The city beneath him raced by in a blur. The
streetlights were long, jagged streaks.
Suddenly, he found himself inside his own body.
Even before he opened his eyes, he realized
that he was a wreck: gasping for air, sobbing, tears
running down his face.
He opened his eyes. Knuckled the tears away.
Then reached out and twisted the ignition key. As the
engine kicked to life, he put on the headlights.
He shifted and hit the gas. The car took off.
Oh God, he thought, let me be quick enough.
Let the bastard take his time.
Work on her slowly.
Let her be alive!
Neal drove faster than he'd ever driven before on
city streets. He didn't stop for traffic
signals. He swerved past slower cars. His
tires screamed on the turns. He had a hard time
breathing. The steering wheel was slick in his hands, but
he held on
tight-except when he had to let go, one hand at a
time, to
wipe the tears from his eyes.
I'll never make it in time, he thought.
Please, God, save her. Don't let him
kill her. Please!
Lower in his mind, he figured that God probably
didn't have much to do with it.
Maybe, he thought. You never know.
I
already saved her once,
tonigftt. What
are the odds I can do it
again?
It'd be a miracle.
Let's have a miracle! Please!
The real miracles, he realized, seemed to be
working for the other side. That was the same guy. He
had
been shot at least twice-once in the head. But
he'd still been able to get up and drive over
to Elise's house and jump her.
No bulletproof vest, either. That's movie stuff.
That's cop stuff. Maybe some nutcases
do
wear vests, but not this guy. Neal had noticed, way
back at the start, how he'd been able to see the
shape of the guy's cadaverous torso through the
skintight shirt.
I hit the bastard, Neal thought. Hit him good.
Not
good enough.
Maybe he's close to the end of his rope.
But those punches Elise caught in the
guts hadn't felt like they'd come from a guy on the
verge of collapse. They'd been damn hard. And the
way he'd picked her up by the hair.. .
But who knows?
He can't keep going and going forever.
Maybe she'll be able to take him. Hurt him enough
to get away. Or enough to slow him down.
Neal had the green at Olympic Boulevard. Not
that it mattered. Red, amber or green, he wouldn't
have stopped. He'd been blowing through intersections against
the red all down Venice Boulevard, Centinela,
and now Bundy. Hoping not to end the race with a crash.
Hoping a cop might see him and give chase.
Tonight, the cops must be somewhere else.
Soon, he shot across Santa Monica
Boulevard.
Almost there, he thought. A few more minutes.
Fight him, Elise! Hang on.
What
if they're gone?
Last time, the bastard hadn't worked on her in the
house; he'd driven her away.
Maybe he'll do that again, carry her out to the van and
head for somewhere else.
Maybe he's too hurt to carry her.
Find out soon.
At the corner of Bundy and San Vicente, the
traffic light was red. The intersection looked
clear. Knowing he would probably flip over if he
took the turn at full speed, he slowed down
slightly. He swung left. He skidded,
tires squealing. Came out of the skid, and stepped
on the gas.
Greenhaven coming up.
Nothing in the rearview.
Bearing down on Greenhaven, he hit the brakes.
Slowed abruptly and almost came to a stop before making
his turn onto the narrow lane.
As he raced the final stretch to Elise's house,
he knew he'd made good time.
Must've averaged sixty.
Doubted he could've gone faster.
But the guy'd had at least ten minutes with Elise.
More like fifteen.
No sign of the van.
Was it just around the bend? Or gone? Gone with Elise
inside?
As Neal swung into her driveway, his headlights
reached past the open iron gate and lit the rear of a
black van parked in front of Elise's
garage.
The sight of the van struck him like a kick to the
heart.
Still here, he thought. Oh, God.
He killed his lights, shut off the engine, pulled
the ignition key and switched the key case to his
left hand. With his right, he flipped open the console
and dug for the bottom.
Come on, come on, where is it!
He found the spare ammo magazine.
Snatched it up.
Flung open his door and leaped out.
Running toward the van, he pocketed the keys.
He clamped
the steel magazine between his teeth, reached deep
into his right
pocket and drew out the pistol.
The van was dark and quiet.
Engine not running.
Not yet.
You're not going anywhere, bastard, he thought.
Ducking as he rushed past the rear, he shoved his
pistol toward the tire and fired. The blast stunned
his ears. The gun bucked in his hand. He didn't
stop to check the effect, but hurried on to the
front right tire and shot it, too.
Then he glanced through the side window.
Nobody in the front seats.
He thought about making a quick search of the van. He
doubted anyone was in it, though. And he didn't
want to waste time opening the door and climbing in.
A few lost seconds might make all the
difference to Elise.
So he kept on running.
As he raced toward the corner of the house, he
changed magazines and jacked a fresh round into the
chamber. On his way through the grove at the side,
he dropped his used magazine into a pocket. He
dodged his way through the fruit trees, ducking under
low limbs. Suddenly, the trees ended. He rushed
out onto the concrete apron of the pool.
Light spilled out from the sliding glass door of
Elise's bedroom.
Neal ran toward it.
Open.
I was the last one in, he thought.
Elise had picked up the towel she'd left on the
lounge and stepped into her bedroom, and Neal had
followed her through the sliding door.
He couldn't remember locking it.
Did
I lock it? he wondered. Did I even
shut
it?
Must be how
he
got in.
Fuck!
Doesn't matter now, Neal told himself.
And charged through the open door.
Elise's bedroom looked almost the same as when
he'd last seen
it. The big blue towel was gone, that's all.
She'd thrown it onto
her bed, but someone had taken it away.
On the other side of the room, the door to the master
bathroom was ajar.
Light showed through the crack.
Neal jumped onto the bed and ran across it, the
mattress bouncy under his feet. At the other
side, he leaped down. He ran at the bathroom
door.
"Hey!" he yelled. No answer.
He kicked the door open. It slammed the wall
behind it, bounced and swung back.
In the moments it was wide open, Neal glimpsed a
small heap of shiny blue cloth on the floor.
Elise's pajamas?
He didn't see her, though.
Or the attacker.
So he kneed the door wide open, gently so it
wouldn't fly back.
This was much larger than the guest bathroom. Over to the
right, it had a long counter with twin sinks, cupboards
underneath. A mirror ran the length of the wall.
Down at the far end was a toilet.
From where Neal stood, just inside the doorway, he
couldn't see the tub.
But there seemed to be a large, recessed area to the
left, just beyond the small heap of Elise's
pajamas.
He walked toward it.
They aren't here, he thought. I'm wasting time.
What
about her pajamas?
Then he saw Elise.
Saw her reflection in the mirror to his right.
It wrenched out a moan.
He told himself that maybe it wasn't as bad as it
looked. Mirrors distort things.
He turned his face away from the mirror and
hurried on and stepped over Elise's pajamas and
found her. Not a reflection. Not a distortion.
The bath was a sunken tub, rectangular and tiled
like a miniature swimming pool, a ledge around it.
She sat on the ledge at the far side, her feet
in the tub.
Her arms were stretched out to her right and left, her
wrists bound with tape to chrome fixtures that
appeared to be handholds. The way she leaned forward,
the fixtures seemed to be bearing most of her
weight. Her head hung down so Neal couldn't see
her face.
There was no water in the tub.
Its tile bottom was puddled and spattered with
blood.
The towel from the bed lay in a heap near her feet.
It looked sodden. It wasn't very blue anymore.
Neal stepped down into the tub.
He had to see her face.
Maybe it isn't Elise, he thought. Maybe
it's a trick to make me think she's dead, and this
is some other woman.
This
can't
be her, he told himself. Not this slaughtered,
mutilated ruin.
"No," Neal muttered. "No, no. Huh-uh."
The tiles were slippery.
He crouched in front of her and looked up at her
face. Coils of hair clung to her bloody
forehead. Her eyes were wide open, bulging. A
thick bar of pink soap was jammed into her mouth.
He looked away quickly and stood up.
He suddenly went dizzy. His vision darkened.
Blinking, he saw electric blue auras. He
heard ringing in his ears.
God, I'm gonna
faint!
He staggered backward and sat on the edge of the tub.
Bending at the waist, he lowered his head. He gazed
down between his knees. Down at the tile steps.
As his head cleared, he noticed there was no blood
on the steps.
He looked to his left. No blood, anywhere,
on the bathroom floor.
Maybe that's what the guy did with the towel, he
thought. Used it to clean up after himself, then tossed it
into the tub.
Neal kept his head turned away so he
wouldn't see Elise again, and climbed backward up
the steps. He turned and backed away from the tub.
Leaving bloody shoeprints.
They're gonna
think I
did this.
The crime scene investigators would find his shoe
prints in Elise's blood, his fingerprints all
over the place ... his hair in
the drain of the guest bathroom's tub, even traces
of his blood on the tissues he'd used for drying his
abrasions after the shower.
Other evidence, too.
The task of cleaning up after himself to make all the
traces disappear seemed overwhelming. And even if
he spent hours, he couldn't possibly eliminate
every print, stain, hair . ..
Forget it, he thought.
"Who cares," he muttered.
He felt sick, confused, tired, scared.
Where's the bastard who killed her? That's what I
want to
know. Gotta
get my hands on him.
He has to
be around here someplace.
Van isn't going anywhere.
He wondered if the cops would be arriving soon.
Only if someone reported my shots, he thought.
If Elise had been right about the neighbors, the
cops should've gotten a dozen calls by now.
So
where are they?
He suddenly felt an odd sensation of having
drifted into an alien land-an unreal, twisted copy
of Los Angeles where nothing quite worked out the way it
should.
A place where madmen don't die when you shoot
them.
A place where damsels in distress can't really be
saved, after all.
A place where magic bracelets let you inhabit
people but won't allow you to help them.
A place where no cops come.
He wondered if he should call the police, himself.
Maybe they could surround the place and catch the
killer.
They'Us
think still
did it.
Where is he? Neal wondered. Turning around, he
found himself standing above Elise's pajamas. He
gazed at them.
My card.
He crouched. Keeping his head up and the pistol ready
in his right hand, he used his left hand to separate the
pajama shirt from the pants. He turned the shirt
until he found its pocket.
As he dug his fingers into the pocket, he remembered
Elise
slipping the Alka-Seltzer packet in-the feel
of the stiff foil
against her nipple.
Where's that nipple now?
In the bastard's belly?
The thoughts made Neal want to scream and crash his
head against a wall.
None of this happened!
Not
reaRy.
Then what was that in the tub?
I'm
asleep and dreaming . . .
Neal knew he was awake.
His fingers were delving inside an empty
pocket.
My card!
His first thought was that the killer had taken it. Then he
realized it mightVe simply fallen out of
Elise's pocket during the struggles, or when the
man stripped her.
He picked up her pajamas and checked the floor.
No card.
Worry about it later, he told himself. The
killer's still around here, someplace.
Probably.
He let the pajamas drift from his fingers. As he
stood up, he scanned the bathroom floor.
No sign of his card.
If the. cops find
it ...
Least of my worries. What if
he has
it?
He'll know where to find me.
"Good!" Neal blurted.
The sound of his voice shocked him. He didn't
dare speak again.
But he thought, Come and get me.
Neal searched the house.
He worked his way carefully from room to room,
looking for the killer.
And looking for his business card.
He felt oddly calm.
The worst had already happened.
He sort of hoped the police wouldn't show up and
catch him here, but he didn't actually care that much,
one way or the other. If they showed up, they might
shoot him. LAPD cops weren't trigger-happy
cowboys, though. That was movie crap. He'd be
fine if he put his gun down.
They would almost certainly arrest him, but so what?
He could live with that.
He would prefer to avoid the mess, but it didn't
seem like much of a big deal.
Elise dead, that was a big deal.
So was finding her killer.
Empty my pistol into his face.
As Neal searched, he found small amounts of
blood on the carpet of Elise's bedroom, and in
the hallway. Not much. A few drops and smears
here and there.
But he found a pattern of spots on the rug just
inside the doorway of the guest bathroom.
The rat-fuck's blood.
This was where he'd waited before jumping her.
At least 1 didn't just imagine hitting him,
Neal thought.
There was hardly more blood, however, than might come from
a small cut on the finger.
He bandaged himself, Neal realized.
Probably bled like a stuck pig when I nailed
him. Probably out cold. Woke up after we
left. By then, a lot of the bleeding
must've already stopped. He made it back to his
van, crawled
in and patched himself.
Bastard carries a toolbox, why not a first-aid
kit, too?
More likely, he put together makeshift bandages from
whatever odds and ends he could find in his van. He was
bound to have something. An old shirt, a towel, a
sheet. Elise had mentioned a mattress; there
might've been a pillow case, a blanket.
One way or another, he'd stopped most of the
bleeding.
Not all of it, though.
If only I'd been a better shot!
Should've killed
him.
Should' we finished him off. Stuck my gun in his
mouth when he was down on die ground in the trees, and
blown his fucking head off.
Elise wouldn't be dead now.
Whirling away from the bathroom door, he shouted,
"Where are you!"
No answer came.
He finished searching the house.
He didn't find the killer.
He had no luck finding the business card, either.
The bastard's got it, all
right.
Neal left the house without entering Elise's
bathroom again. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stand
another look at her.
He also left without making any attempt to clean
up after himself.
If the cops came after him, so be it.
Outside, he checked around the pool. Then he went
to the front of the house.
After seeing that the van and his own car were still parked in the
driveway, he walked completely around the outside
of the house, listening and watching, hoping the killer
might leap out at him.
But nothing happened.
At the driveway again, he opened the driver's
door of the van. No light came on. He
climbed in. Kneeling on the seat, he peered into the
back. He couldn't see much. A few dim
shapes, that's all: the gray rectangle of the
mattress, several scat
Richard Laymon
tered objects too small for anyone to hide behind.
The killer wasn't there.
Must've taken off on foot, Neal thought.
Unless he's still
somewhere in the house.
Might be anywhere, Neal told himself. Not here in the
van, though.
Quickly, he switched the pistol to his left hand,
leaned to the right and popped open the glove compartment.
Its light came on.
Empty.
As empty as Elise's pocket when he'd felt
inside for his card.
The registration papers should've been in the glove
compartment comwiththe killer's name and address.
Van's
probably
stolen,
anyway.
Neal imagined the killer returning, climbing in and
driving it away in spite of the two flat tires.
He could see it moving down the street, lopsided.
He could hear the loud thumping of the flats.
So he leaped out. Crouching in the V of the open
door, he reached under the dashboard. He found
wires, grabbed them and jerked them loose.
At the front of the van, he smashed both
headlights with the butt of his pistol.
At the rear, he smashed the taillights.
He considered shooting the other two tires, but
decided it would be pointless. If the guy could drive
away with two flats,
why not with four?
Besides, any more shooting and the cops probably
would
show up.
Yeah, right. There aren't any cops, remember?
Everything is topsy-turvy, all fucked up.
Don't count
on it.
Let them come, he thought.
And stepped to the front of the van.
He put a line of four shots across the
grill, the gun jumping with each blast. In the
quiet that followed, his ears rang and the car hissed.
He heard the tinkly sound of a rolling brass
shell. Then came the sounds of coolant splashing
onto the driveway.
Bastard's not going far in this van.
Neal thought about his brass. Firing at the grill had
sent four casings spitting out the side of his pistol.
The cops were sure to find them.
So what? he thought. I've left so much else behind.
Doesn't matter, anymore.
As he walked to his car, he hoped the killer
might be hiding inside.
He looked through the windows, gun ready.
Nobody there.
Nobody anywhere as he backed out of the driveway and
drove slowly down Greenhaven with his headlights
off.
Before turning onto San Vicente, he put them
on.
He checked his rearview mirror many times during the
long drive back to his apartment.
Nobody seemed to be following him.
He spotted a total of five police cars. A
couple seemed to be on routine patrol,
one raced by at a high speed, one had a biker
pulled over, and another was stopped in the parking lot
of McDonald's. Each sighting gave Neal a
horrible rush of terror.
He realized he'd been kidding himself: he
did
care about get' ting arrested and being charged with the murder
of Elise. Just imagining it, he got a sickish
feeling in his stomach.
They could never make it stick, he told himself.
But they would sure have plenty of evidence putting him
at the scene of the crime. He'd be arrested, for
sure. Thrown in jail. And maybe indicted,
maybe put on trial.
If it went that far, he might spend months in
county jail. Even a year or more. He would
probably be acquitted, eventually, but maybe not.
Maybe found guilty.
It was torture murder, a "special
circumstances" crime. He could get the death
penalty.
Death by lethal injection.
It'll never come to that, he told himself. Too much
reasonable doubt. They probably wouldn't even
prosecute him.
But anything might happen. He might be tried and
found guilty.
Tonight had taught him many things.
Its biggest lesson: The worst
does
happen.
As Neal parked in his own space behind the apartment
building,
he took a deep breath, sighed, and muttered,
"Made it."
Then he sat for a while in his car, trying to calm
down.
Trying to stop shaking.
Monday morning was gray with the approach of dawn when
Neal finally climbed out of his car. He stuffed the
pistol into his pocket and walked to the rear gate.
Elise's gold bracelet felt heavy on his
wrist.
Maybe I can use it to find the bastard.
Too tired.
Anyway, he'll find me. Knows
right
where to look, if he has the card.
Let him come.
Neal shut the gate carefully so it wouldn't
clank and wake people up.
The only lights came from above the doors of several
apartments that surrounded the courtyard. And from the
curtained window of his own living room on the
second floor. He had left a lamp on,
figuring to be back from the video store in a few
minutes. It had been on all night. Every other
window facing the courtyard was dark.
As Neal climbed the outside stairs, he looked
at the swimming pool. It occupied the center of the
courtyard. The reflections of a few lights streaked
its surface.
It looked very calm and peaceful.
He thought about Elise's pool.
Imagined her naked on the high'dive, leaping,
twirling, flipping, maybe touching her toes in
midair before knifing down through the darkness and into the
cool water.
She'U. never get to dive again.
His throat tightened.
How could this happen?
He followed the balcony to the door of his apartment.
He unlocked the door, entered, shut it and closed
the dead bolt.
Then he removed the pistol from his pocket.
Keeping it ready, he started to walk through his rooms.
He told himself there was no reason to worry. The
killer couldn't be hiding here, no transportation.
That I know of, he reminded himself.
But who knows? The guy might've had a spare car
waiting for him nearby, just in case. Or maybe he
stole a car from one of Elise's neighbors.
Or took
Elise's car?
While searching her house, Neal had checked inside
the garage. A two-car garage. A white
Mercedes had been there. He'd supposed, at the
time, that it was the only vehicle she owned.
What if there was another? he asked himself. The
killer might've taken it before I showed up. Or
he might've waited, hiding, and stolen the Mercedes
after I left.
Wasn't the van blocking the driveway, though?
Not completely, Neal thought. Probably enough space
for a car to slip by.
The bastard might be anywhere.
Not here, though. Not in Neal's small living room,
eating area, or kitchen. He had already checked those
places, but now he found himself afraid to enter the
bathroom and turn on its light.
He's not in there, Neal told himself.
It's not
him I'm afraid of.
Who will it be? he wondered.
Marta?
Naked and bloody, ripped and chewed, bound with her
arms outstretched as if asking for a last embrace?
"She's at work," Neal muttered. "Nobody's in
here. Nobody."
Gritting his teeth, holding his breath, he stepped
into the bathroom and flicked the light switch.
The tub was white and clean and empty.
Nobody was in the bathroom except him.
He turned toward the mirror. He saw his own
face, but it didn't look a way that he had ever
seen it before. Haggard, dazed, shocked. The sort of
face he might expect to see on the last
survivor after a stroll through the wasteland.
He turned away from the mirror and left the
bathroom.
He didn't hesitate at the door to his
bedroom, but stepped in
and turned on the light. Fine. Nothing appeared
to be out of
place. But he checked inside the closet
and underneath the bed,
just to be safe.
Then he removed a box of ammunition from a top
drawer of his dresser. Standing at the dresser, he
reloaded both his pistol magazines. He put one
of the full magazines up the Sig's handle, and
shoved it home with the heel of his hand. He jacked a
round into the chamber. After decocking, he set the
pistol down
while he took off his clothes.
He dropped the clothes onto the floor near his
feet. He didn't want to deal with them now.
He still wore the bracelet.
No more hitching, he thought. Not tonight.
He liked wearing the bracelet. It let him feel
as if he still had a connection with Elise.
He didn't want to have it on, however, if Marta
should show up. She would be getting off" work at eight,
and might stop by instead of going home to her own
apartment.
She sometimes came over without notice, and she had a
key.
So Neal removed the bracelet. He put it into the
dresser drawer and tucked it under some socks.
Then he picked up the pistol and carried it
with him into the living room. He turned off the lamp
there, and then switched off the lights in the kitchen. In
the bathroom again,
he placed the pistol on the counter where it would be within
easy reach.
He washed, brushed his teeth, and used the toilet.
After retrieving the pistol, he turned off the
bathroom light and went
to
his bedroom.
He turned off his bedroom light.
He crossed the room with the pistol in his hand, and
took the pistol with him into bed.
The sheets felt cool and good against his bare skin.
The pistol thumped quietly against the wood of his
headboard shelf when he set it down beside his clock
radio.
The green digital numbers on the clock read
5:42.
Which reminded him to say a prayer.
A prayer was routine for Neal at bedtime. Usually
a quick run-through of the Lord's Prayer in his head.
Usually without giving it much thought. Just something he'd
done since childhood.
God might be out there someplace.
If He was, however, Neal rather doubted that He paid
much attention to prayers. And doubted strongly that a
prayer, if heard, was likely to change God's
mind about anything at all, or alter the course of
events.
But you never know.
Tonight, Neat's mental recitation didn't stop at
"for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever."
He went on from there. "And dear God, please
watch over Elise. I don't know why you let
something like that happen to her. You probably didn't have
much to do with it, I don't know. Shit. Sorry.
Anyway, I guess her number was up, or
whatever. Anyway, be good to her in heaven, if there
is such a place, because she sure got fucked down
here. Sorry about that. It's how I feel. And if
You're listening, I'd appreciate it, too, if
You'd not let that scumbag sneak in here and nail me
while I'm asleep. Thank you. Amen."
Chapter Thirteen
Neal slept fitfully, troubled by nightmares and
strange dreams,
disturbed every so often by sounds from outside his windows as
other tenants started their day. Throughout the morning and
afternoon, noises intruded on his sleep:
banging doors and gates,
voices, footsteps, laughter, splashes in the
pool, distant lawn mowers
and leaf blowers and sirens, an occasional faraway
barn
that might be a gunshot, a backfire, a board being
dropped onto
concrete, who knows?
The noises lifted him toward consciousness. Few of
them woke him completely, though. The times that he
did wake up,
he was too confused to focus on what had happened
last night,
and slipped back into his uneasy sleep.
When Neal finally did wake up, he found himself
sprawled on his back, naked and sweaty in the afternoon
heat, his sheet kicked off.
He used his pillow to mop his face dry. Then he
rolled onto his side and looked at his clock
radio.
4:23
He'd slept about ten hours.
He glanced at his pistol on the shelf beside the
clock.
With the weight of memory caving down on
him, he wished he'd gone on sleeping.
Nice
not to wake up at all.
He wondered if he might be able to fall back
asleep.
Impossible. He was wide awake, now. Not just
awake, but sick with fear and guilt and revulsion and
sorrow.
Move it, he told himself. Won't be as bad if
I'm up and around.
He scurried off his bed. Though he moaned at the
stiffness and aches from his injuries, he didn't
pause. He rushed into the bathroom, remembered his
pistol, trotted back to his bedroom and grabbed it
off the headboard, then returned with it to the bathroom.
He locked the bathroom door, but didn't take
the pistol with him into the shower.
Didn't want to get it wet.
Besides, taking it into the shower would've been going a bit
too far.
I'm not
that
paranoid, Neal told himself as he showered. If the
bastard hasn't shown up for the past ten hours, it's
not likely he'll try to make his kill
at four-thirty in the afternoon.
What kept him, anyway?
Maybe he had trouble finding the place. Or trouble
finding transporation.
He might still be in Brentwood.
Might be in police custody.
Might even be dead.
Wishful thinking, Neal told himself. A guy
doesn't get up
after being shot two or three or four times, then
drive all the
way to Brentwood, beat up Elise and drag her
all the way from
the hall to the master bathroom, tie her in the tub and
do
all
that to her, then go off somewhere and drop dead from his
gunshot
wounds.
Maybe tine
bastard's just resting
up.
That seemed a lot more likely.
All the work on Elise had probably worn him
out, so he went to ground.
Not to a hospital. He wouldn't be that stupid. The
cops would nail him for sure if he checked in for a
little treatment of his gunshot wounds. They'd put two
and two together-blood at the scene, .380 caliber
brass at the scene, and he's got .380 size
holes in his body. They'd be sure to connect him with
Elise's murder.
No, no hospital for Rasputin. He'd go
home, patch himself up the best he could, and hit the
sack.
He'll probably come for me tonight, Neal thought. But
not until after dark.
This was July, daylight saving time, so darkness
wouldn't come until well after eight o'clock.
Neal figured he was probably safe until then,
at least.
Done in the shower, he quickly dried himself, being careful
to
avoid the abrasions on his knees and elbow.
Scabs were starting
to form, but the wounds still felt raw and sore. He
patted them
dry with a tissue. The white tissue came away
wet, but not
discolored. He tossed it into the
wastebasket.
And thought about the tissue in Elise's
wastebasket.
It had been pink with his blood and puss.
Evidence that could put him at the scene of the crime.
He should've flushed it down the toilet-then gone
around Elise's house and wiped away every trace of
his fingerprints and shoe prints.
He'd been too messed up, at the time.
Too scared and outraged and confused.
It had seemed like too big a job, an overwhelming
and impossible task, and not an important thing to do.
Finding the
killer had been the important thing. Not trying
to cover up for
himself.
If he had it to do over again, though . ..
You can't go back, he told himself.
Unless the body
hasn't
been found yet.
He draped his towel over the bar to dry, rolled
deodorant onto his armpits, then picked up his
pistol and opened the door. After the steamy heat of the
bathroom, the hallway felt cool. So
did his bedroom.
He took a pair of faded blue gym shorts out
of his dresser drawer, and put them on.
He started to shut the drawer. Then stopped and reached
inside. He slipped his hand underneath the socks, and
touched the bracelet.
Leave it, he told himself. Don't want to have it
on if Marta shows up.
So he shut the drawer, picked up his pistol and
walked into the living room. The clock on the VCR
showed 4:57. In three minutes, local news should
be starting.
He hurried into the kitchen, took a can of
Budweiser out of the refrigerator, returned to the
living room and picked up the television remote.
He thumbed the TV on. Seated on the sofa, he
popped open the can. He took a swallow of beer,
then made sure he was on one of the three channels
that carried local news at five.
Elise was the top story.
They found her.
Neal had a sudden urge to turn off the TV. He
didn't want to see this, didn't want to know.
I
need
to watch, he told himself.
A photo of Elise appeared behind the
anchorwoman. A photograph from the past. She was
hardly more than a teenager, and dressed in a
swimsuit. Her hair was wet. She looked
beautiful. Neal groaned.
"The affluent west-side community of Brentwood
has once again been shocked by a brutal slaying in
its midst. Elise Waters, former Olympic
diving great and wife of actor Vince Conrad
was found murdered in their home on Greenhaven
Lane this
morning. Jody Bain is live at the scene."
The reporter seemed to be standing somewhere on the road
near the front of Elise's house. "The grim
discovery," she said, "was made at
approximately nine o'clock this morning when the
victim's housekeeper, Maria Martinez, arrived
for. .."
Neal flinched as someone knocked on his door.
Then he recognized the quick, light rhythm of the
rapping.
Marta.
"Thank God," he muttered, and shut off the
television.
"You in there? It's me."
He hid the pistol underneath one of the sofa's
pillows, then stood up. "Just a second," he
said. He considered hurrying to his bedroom and
putting on enough clothes to hide his injuries. But she
was bound to see them, sooner or later.
So he stepped over to the door, unbolted it and
swung it open.
Seeing Marta, he felt some of his pain slide
away. She looked so fresh and cheerful and alive.
And familiar.
Nothing about her had changed since last night,
except her outfit. When he'd last seen her,
she'd been wearing her airline clothes: blue
blazer, silk scarf, white blouse, blue
slacks and black leather shoes. Now, she wore a
big, loose T-shirt, denim shorts, and
sandals.
So familiar and so normal.
As if nothing had happened.
Since seeing her last night, Neal had shot a
man, saved a woman's life, fallen suddenly in
love, taken trips with a magic bracelet, and
let the wonderful new woman get destroyed. But
Marta looked as if everything had gone
along in a normal, fine fashion, nothing out of the
ordinary happening since her last visit.
She was smiling when Neal opened the door. Moments
later, however, she frowned. "What happened?" she
asked.
"A long story," he said.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm okay."
She stepped inside and swung the door shut. "Come
here,"
she said. "I'll make you feel better."
When he moved closer, she put out her hands to stop
him. She leaned forward, kissed him on the mouth, then
worked her way slowly down his body, squatting lower
and lower as she gently touched her lips to every scratch
and scrape and bruise on his chest and belly.
By the time she faced his shorts, they were jutting out.
"Glad to see you're feeling better," she said.
Neal pushed his fingers through her thick, soft hair.
She slipped her fingertips under the elastic waistband
at the front of his shorts. "What've we got in
here?" she asked. She drew the band toward her and
down. "Well, now," she said.
The shorts came to rest around Neal's feet.
Marta kissed the tip of his penis. She
licked him. Her tongue was slick. Then her lips
were a slick, tight circle sliding down while her
hands clutched his buttocks and urged him closer.
Neal was astonished.
She had never done anything like this before.
It was almost as if she'd sensed a need in him-a need
to be surprised, shocked, delighted.
Or maybe the need was hers.
For a while, he forgot about everything except Marta
and her mouth.
When it was over, she quit sucking and swallowing, but
kept him inside, holding him softly with her lips.
Neal felt weak and shaky.
She pulled her mouth away, lifted his shorts to their
usual place, then tilted back her head and
looked up at him. Her lips were shiny. "How was
that?" she asked.
"Are you kidding?"
She stood and leaned forward against him and put her arms
around his back. She was breathing hard. Her breasts
pushed at his chest. "Did I do it right?" she
asked.
"It was great."
"I wasn't so sure about the swallowing."
"I think it's optional."
She laughed. "Would've made a mess if I
hadn't." She kissed
him gently on the mouth, then eased her face away
so that she
could look into his eyes.
Her eyes switched from side to side. After a
while, she asked, "Something's the matter, isn't
it?"
"Everything's fine," Neal said, and saw a change in
her eyes. They stayed the same pale blue
color, but somehow they seemed to darken. She knew
he'd lied.
"Is it something I did?" she asked.
"No. No. Are you kidding?"
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Then, is there anything I can do to help?"
"You just did."
"Ho ho."
"I mean it."
"I know. But I hate to see you this way. Do you
want to tell me about it?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Do you want to get me a beer?"
"Sure." Leaving Marta, he hurried
into the kitchen. He took a Bud-weiser
out of the refrigerator, a glass mug out of the
cupboard. He had nearly filled the mug when
Marta stepped into the eating area.
Neal had never eaten there. The table held his word
processor, printer, scattered pens and notepads
and a few stacks of books.
Marta glanced at the blank screen of his
monitor, then looked at Neal and raised her
eyebrows. "Writer's block?" she asked.
"Worse than that."
"What could be worse than that?"
He shook his head. "Plenty."
He saw that she was already holding a can of beer. She
raised it to her mouth, and drank.
"That's mine," he said.
"Do you mind? I saw it on the table in there.
Couldn't help myself."
"Don't you want a glass for it?"
"Fine this way," Marta said. With her free hand,
she pulled
the straight-backed chair out from under the table. She
turned
it around and sat down, then tipped it back on its
rear legs.
"You're gonna fall and break your head open."
It was what Neal always said when she did that. She
did it a lot. Teetering on the back legs of his
kitchen chair seemed to be one of her favorite
pastimes.
"I'll take my chances," she told him. It was
what she always answered. Smiling, she took a
drink of beer. Then she said, "How did you get
banged up like that?"
"Taking the videos back," he said.
"Fall down?"
"Yeah." He lifted the mug and took a few
swallows of beer. Then he leaned back against the
counter. Legs out in front of him, he gazed down
at the dark scabs on his knees. "Nothing very
serious," he added.
"What is serious, then?" Marta asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know." Frowning, she shook her head.
"Are your parents okay? Did something happen to
... ?"
"No, no. It's nothing like that."
"Are you going to make me guess?"
"I really don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." She shrugged. "I'm just
concerned, that's all. When you're hurting, it hurts
me."
Her words gave him a tight feeling in the throat.
"Maybe it shouldn't be that way," she said. She
lowered the chair so its front legs touched the
floor. "I mean, we aren't even married or
anything. But I love you. I can't help it. And
you're getting me awfully damned worried, here.
You aren't sick, are you? You don't have something . ..
drastic?"
"I got involved in something last night," he said.
"That's all. I'm not sick. I tried to stop a
crime, but everything went haywire and the woman ended
up getting killed. She was nice. I couldn't
save her, though. This .. . this
bastard
... he decimated her, and I couldn't stop him."
"My God," Marta muttered.
"Not only did she get destroyed, but the cops
might end up
thinking I'm the guy who did it. And the guy who
did
do it
knows who I am. I think he got away, and I
think he has the
business card I gave to Elise, so he knows where
I live, so he
might come over and ..."
"Elise Waters?"
"Yeah."
"You were there?"
"Yeah."
"My God!"
"What?"
"The woman in Brentwood? Elise Waters? The
Olympic diver?"
"Yeah."
"Holy jeez. It's all over the news. You were
there? When it happened?"
He drank some more beer, then shook his head.
"Sort of. Maybe I'd better start at the
beginning."
"Wait," Marta said.
"Wait?"
"Don't start yet." She stood up. "Let's
get it on videotape."
"What?"
"We'll record your whole statement, and take it
to the cops."
"I'm not going to the cops."
Marta sat down again, rather hard. Her mouth drooped
open for a moment. Then she said, "Why not?"
"I used my gun. 1 shot the guy."
"Shot who?"
"The killer."
"You shot
the
killer?
Holy shit!"
"Don't get too excited, I didn't kill
him. He's still out there, as far as I know. But if the
cops find out what I did, I can be arrested for
carrying a loaded firearm, discharging it... And they
might even think I'm the one who murdered Elise.
I was in her house. Right there at the scene of the
crime, and I must've left fingerprints, at the very
least."
Scowling, Marta was silent for a while. Then she
said, "Okay. It's your call. If you think it's
best to stay away from the cops . . . But I
definitely think we should tape your story. I'll
do
the taping, and you tell me everything, every little detail.
It'll
be great evidence in case you
do
end up getting busted."
"I don't have a camcorder," Neal reminded her.
"I do."
"I know."
"So let's go over to my place," Marta said.
"I was about to suggest that, anyway. I don't like you
being here. The guy's probably gonna pay me a
visit. When he does, I sure don't want
him to get his hands on you."
Chapter Fourteen
Marta waited in the kitchen while Neal went
into his bedroom
to get dressed. He wanted to look fairly
respectable for the videotape,
so he put on his best short-sleeved shirt and
gray dockers.
He thought about dropping the bracelet into his
pocket, taking it with him, showing it to Marta and
explaining its magic.
Don't, he warned himself. Are you nuts? Whatever
you tell her, keep the bracelet out of it.
He left the bracelet hidden under the socks, and
shut the drawer.
He slipped the spare ammo magazine
into a front pocket of his trousers.
"All set," he announced, returning to the
kitchen.
Marta, tilted backward on the chair, tossed her
empty beer can at the recycling bin beside the
doorway. It flew past Neal and dropped in.
"Bingo," she said.
"Good shot."
"I'm a whizz."
Neal polished off the beer in his mug, tossed his can
into the bin, and gave the mug a quick rinse under the
faucet. Marta led the way into the living room.
As she headed for the door, Neal stepped over to the
sofa.
He pulled the pistol out from under the pillow, and showed
it
to her. "Okay?" he asked.
"Just don't shoot
me
with it."
He eased it down into the right front pocket of his
Dockers.
Hand on the doorknob, Marta frowned over her
shoulder at him. "You know, I was thinking. Do you
want to bring something for overnight? Your
toothbrush? Pajamas?"
"I thought that wasn't allowed. No overnights.
Isn't that one of your rules?"
"This can be an exception. You shouldn't be staying here.
Besides, I work tonight so I won't be there, anyway.
You can use my bed."
"Well, I guess I can grab a few things.
If you're sure about this."
"I sure don't want you staying here if the killer
might show up."
"Okay. Hang on." He hurried to the bathroom
and dug his toilet kit out of a cupboard. He
checked inside to make sure it still contained his
travel gear: spare toothbrush, toothpaste,
shampoo, razor and shaving cream, soap and
deodorant, along with an assortment of pills and
bandages. Everything seemed to be in place, so he
closed the zipper.
In his bedroom closet, he found a nylon
overnight bag. He carried it over to the dresser,
unzipped it, stuffed the toilet kit inside, then
opened his drawer again. He tossed in a pair of
clean socks and underwear for tomorrow.
He tossed in the bracelet, too.
If I'm staying all night, he thought,
I might want to use it.
He had no pajamas or nightshirt, so he
tossed his gym shorts into the bag. He could wear them
to bed, if necessary.
After zipping the bag shut, he carried it into the living
room.
Marta was leaning backward, her rump against the
door.
"Anything else I might need?" he asked.
She gave her head a quick shake, then shoved off from
the
door. Neal opened it for her. He stepped out after
her, shut the door and made sure it was locked.
Walking with her along the balcony, he looked
around.
No sign of Rasputin.
No sign of anyone except for the woman he had
dubbed Miss
Universe. She could often be seen sunbathing by the
pool in
the skimpiest of bikinis, her body brown and
oily. But now the
sun was too low, the courtyard and pool in shadow.
Wearing a
white T-shirt and carrying a basket of
clothes, she was striding
alongside the pool in the direction of the laundry
room.
Marta bumped against Neal. "I could look like that,"
she told him.
"Ah," Neal said.
"You believe in reincarnation?"
He laughed. "How would I recognize you?"
"Oh, thanks a heap."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Oh, sure."
They started down the stairs. "Anyway," Neal
said, "how could you possibly be improved upon?"
"You're right, you know. How right you are!"
Neal, laughing softly, stroked her back.
How strange, he thought, to feel so fine at a time
like this.
The thought sent his good feelings crashing down.
"Where'd you park?" he asked at the bottom of the
stairs. "In front?"
She nodded.
"I might as well take my own car," he said.
"Okay. Meet you at my place."
They split up. As they headed for opposite ends
of the courtyard, Neal looked over his
shoulder at her. She walked quickly, her sandals
smacking the concrete. The back of her T-shirt
hung crooked across the seat of her shorts. Her
blond hair, long and loose, blew slightly
away from the sides of her head.
What if the bastard gets her, does what he did
to Elise?
Neal turned away quickly and walked fast.
Not gonna happen, he told himself.
Might.
No! I won't let it!
On his way to the rear gate, he passed the open
door to the laundry room. He heard Miss
Universe drop a coin into a washing machine, but he
hurried on by without looking in.
Outside the gate, he checked the alley.
No Rasputin.
He's probably in bed somewhere, Neal told himself.
Maybe even in a morgue.
No dark van, either.
Why even look for the van? he thought. Not a chance in
hell that it could be up and running, by now. The thing's
probably in police custody.
Neal climbed into his car, swung his bag onto the
passenger seat, then backed out of the parking
space and headed for Marta's apartment.
It was less than a mile away, an easy walk.
He wanted to have his car available tonight, however, just in
case. Nice that Marta hadn't made a fuss about
it.
One of her better traits: she didn't try
to run his life.
He turned on the car radio, hoping to find some
news about the killing. As he drove, he changed
to several different stations.
But he found only traffic reports, music, and
call-in talk shows. He liked John and Ken's
show, so he listened for a while.
Soon, he reached Marta's street. As he
turned onto it, he saw her green Jeep
Wrangler pull into her reserved space at the
front of the building. He parked at the curb,
grabbed his bag and climbed out.
They met at the walkway.
Neal scanned the area, checking the nearby
buildings, driveways and sidewalks as they headed
for the front gate.
No Rasputin.
Don't even bother looking for the van, he told
himself.
But he looked, anyway.
just because I shot the thing doesn't mean it's dead.
No sign of it, though.
He spotted a black-and-white police car
halfway down the block, however, and felt a sudden
sickening rush of fear.
They don't know anything, he told himself. Calm
down.
Marta unlocked the gate. They entered the
courtyard. It was very similar to the courtyard of
Neal's building, but larger. The pool was larger, and
so was the concrete apron surrounding it. More apartments
faced it, too.
Her building had a hot tub near one end of the
pool.
And better apartments. Neal had only been inside
Marta's, but it was much larger and newer than his.
It also cost nearly twice as much per month.
He was looking forward to spending a night in it-even
if Marta wouldn't be there after 11:15 or so.
He followed her up the outside stairs. Her
leather purse swung by her side. The backs of her
legs looked slender and lightly tanned. The seat
of her denim shorts pulled taut against her
buttocks as she climbed.
At the top, she moved out of the way and waited for
him. Then they walked together along the balcony to her
door. She unlocked it, and they stepped inside.
The apartment seemed very dark.
Marta took the overnight bag from Neal, set it
aside, and stepped into his arms. Her skin and
clothes felt hot against him, as if she'd brought the
heat of the afternoon sunlight into the room with her.
They kissed.
"Do I get the whole treatment again?" he asked, still
holding her.
She grinned. "Wouldn't want to spoil you. Let's
go in the kitchen, I'll make us something to drink."
On their way to the kitchen, she asked, "How does
vodka and tonic sound?"
"Fine," he said. But there must've been something wrong
with the way he said it.
"What's the matter?"
He shrugged.
He already felt guilty about his plan to keep the
bracelet a secret. He didn't want to start
lying outright, so he decided on the truth. "It's
what
we
drank last night. Elise and I.
Vodka and
tonics."
Marta lifted her eyebrows. She looked
curious, maybe a little disappointed. "Have a party with
her?"
"We were ... sort of trying to recover, I think.
After we got away from the guy." He met her
eyes, and knew she could probably see the misery
in his. "We thought we'd made it," he said, "that
I'd saved her and everything would be all right."
"I'm sorry," Marta murmured.
"Anyway." He shrugged. "That's what we had.
Vodka and tonics."
"Would you rather have something different?" Marta asked.
"Well. . ."
"How about margaritas?"
"Okay. Good idea."
Before starting to make the drinks, she took out a
package of tortilla chips. She opened the bag
and handed it to Neal. "Help yourself. This may take a
while."
She crouched down, opened a cupboard, and lifted out
an electric blender.
"So," Neal said. "What have you heard? 1 was
asleep all day. I didn't get a
chance to watch the news, and you showed up just at five
.. ."
"Well, if they're after you, they haven't announced
it."
"That's good," Neal said. He popped a tortilla
chip into his mouth. It was crisp and salty, and
tasted good, so he ate a few more.
Marta set the blender onto the counter and plugged it
in. Then she took out a couple drinking glasses.
"Last I heard," she said, "they don't have any
suspects at all. They haven't really said very
much." She crossed the kitchen, opened another
cupboard, and took out bottles of tequila and
triple sec. "Just that the victim was a woman named
Elise Waters, and she used to be a diving
champion. Won a silver medal in the
Olympics."
He was surprised. Elise had told him about being
a diver, but he'd never suspected she might've
been
that
good. He usually followed the Olympic Games
on TV.
Had he actually
watched
Elise dive, admired her beauty, studied how the
swimsuit revealed her body, cheered her on, seen
her on the podium when they awarded her the silver
medal?
Probably.
If so, however, he had no memory of it.
"What year?" he asked.
Marta shrugged. "Don't ask me. I think they
might've said, but I don't remember." She
brought the bottles over to the blender.
"What else did they say on the news?" he
asked.
"Well, that she's married to some guy who was out of the
country when it happened. And how it was very brutal, the
way she was killed. She was-was
"That's her ex-husband?" Neal interrupted.
"They didn't say
ex.."
Elise set down the bottles.
"She told me that she was divorced from him. A guy
named Vince?"
"I think so. Vince something. He's supposed to be
an actor, but I didn't catch his last name. I
don't think it's Waters, though."
"But they're not divorced?" Neal asked.
"Not on the news I heard. You know how they get it
wrong, though." She took out a measuring cup.
"Elise told you she was divorced from the guy?"
"Yeah, she sure did." So much for the will, he thought.
Not that he'd wanted anything. .. Funny for her
to make such a grand offer, though, if she still had a
husband.
"Maybe the divorce wasn't final, yet,"
Marta suggested. "Isn't there a six-month
waiting period, or something?"
"I think so."
She stepped past Neal, opened the freezer compartment
of the refrigerator, and took out a plastic bin
full of ice cubes. "Well, maybe it's just that
the waiting period hadn't ended. Some people might
consider themselves divorced even if they've still got a
few months to go."
"I suppose."
Back at the counter, Marta tossed a dozen ice
cubes into the blender.
"I'll take it," Neal said.
She handed the bin to him, and he returned it to the
freezer. "Would you grab me a couple of limes
while you're over there?" she asked.
"Sure." He opened the refrigerator,
spotted a plastic bag of limes, and took out
two.
"Anyway," Marta said, "it looks like hubby
didn't do it. From what I heard, he was in
Hawaii at the time of the killing. He'd been there for
about a week. In Honolulu, I think they said."
"I know
he
didn't do it. But who did, that's what I want
to
know?"
"They don't know. Or if they do, they aren't
saying."
Neal watched her fill the measuring cup with
tequila and empty it into the blender. As she filled
it again, he said, "The bastard is all shot up.
How hard can he be to find?"
"I don't know." Marta dumped in another cupful
of tequila, then a third. Then she picked up the
bottle of triple sec.
"Not to mention," Neal said, "I shot up his van."
"It was a stolen van, I
do
know that."
"So they found it?"
"In the driveway of the house. You shot it up,
huh?"
"Sure did."
Marta looked over her shoulder at him. "You
killed an innocent van."
"Didn't want the bastard to get away in it."
She added a cupful of triple sec to the tequila
and ice inside the blender. "A car was stolen from a
house down the street sometime during the night. They
think that's how he got away."
"I bet they're wondering who disabled his van. I
mean, I only put about six bullets into it."
Marta took out a knife. As she split the
limes in half, she shook her head and said, "There
was no mention of any bullet holes. Not that I
heard, and I caught the whole story on the four
o'clock news."
Neal supposed the police must've decided to keep
quiet about someone shooting up the van. There were often
details that the investigators kept from the
press-or tried to: so there would be secrets known
only by themselves and the suspects.
"Did anybody hear my gunshots?" he asked.
"I don't know. You can go in and turn on the news,
if you'd like."
The suggestion alarmed him. He shrugged and shook his
head. "Maybe later. I want to find out what's
going on, but... It can wait."
She looked at him.
Can't I hide anything from her?
"Might be easier to take," he explained, "after a
margarita or
two."
"Most things are," Marta said. She held one of the
lime halves over the blender, and squeezed. Its
juice spilled out of her fist. "I forgot the
margarita salt. Do you want to grab it for me?"
She nodded toward the liquor cupboard. "It's in
a little white plastic tub."
"Sure." He crossed the kitchen, crouched, and
opened the cupboard door. The tub was in front.
"Got it."
As he returned, Marta said, "We should
probably go ahead and tape your statement before we
sit down to watch the news. And before you get too
polluted."
"I won't get polluted," he told her.
"And I can't. Not on a work night."
As Neal opened the salt container and set it on the
counter, Marta finished squeezing the last
section of lime. Instead of tossing that one into the
sink, she used it to rub the rims of the glasses.
Then she set it aside, turned one of the glasses
upside down and pressed it into the tub of salt.
When she lifted it, the sticky rim was thick with
white, clinging salt.
"Go easy on that for mine," Neal said.
"Health nut."
"I'm just not a salt nut."
"Would you rather have none?"
"I guess so."
Without dipping his rim in the salt, she placed the
two glasses side by side. Then she put the lid
on the blender. "Here we go." She thumbed the
switch.
Neal cringed at the sudden noise.
The clear, greenish mixture seemed to lurch. The
ice cubes leaped and whirled. An instant later,
the blender was full of froth. White froth with a hint
of green hue.
The machine went silent.
Marta peeled off the rubber lid, lifted the container
off its base, and poured the concoction into the glasses.
It plopped into them almost as thick as a milkshake.
After the pouring was done, Neal heard the
quiet fizzy sound of the bubbles breaking up.
Murky green fluid, clear of froth, rose from the
bottom of
each glass until only a head of white foam
remained.
Before drinking, they clinked their glasses together. A
few crumbs of salt fell off Marta's rim.
"Here's to the future," she said.
"For those of us who have one," Neal added.
When he saw how sadness filled her eyes, he
wished he hadn't said it.
"I'm sorry," he told her.
"Don't be sorry," she said. "I know you're
hurting."
They both drank. Neal's margarita felt cold
and soft in his mouth. It was sweet and tart. As it
went down, it spread a soothing warmth through him.
Marta lowered her glass. She had pale froth on
her lips. She wiped it away with the back of her
hand. Watching Neal's eyes, she said, "Did you .
. . fall in love with her?"
"I don't know. In a way, maybe."
In a big way, he thought.
"I only knew her for a couple hours," he
explained. "It was all so strange. I
mean, I saved her life. She was beautiful and .
. . very nice. She was a lot like you, I think.
Maybe that's why ... I guess I sort of
fell in love with her, there for a while."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
"You would've liked her. Really. And you probably
would've met her, too, if... things hadn't gone
bad. She asked us to come over for a barbecue, and
to swim in her pool."
Marta looked surprised, a little relieved, but
wary. "You told her about me?"
"Sure. You were the reason I didn't stay the
night with her."
"She asked you to spend the night
T
"Yeah. But I wouldn't."
"Because of me?"
He nodded.
She stared at him, frowning slightly, slowly shaking
her head. Finally, she spoke again. Softly, almost
as if talking to herself. "My God," she said.
"Elise might still be alive if you'd stayed. Or
you
might've gotten killed. But you didn't stay.
Because of me?"
"None of it is your fault," Neal said.
"But I'm sure part of it."
"Sort of, I guess. If you want to look at
it that way. But-was
"Funny. I don't even know her, but I had a
hand in getting her killed."
"No. Not really. Things just happened."
"Man, oh man." She shook her head, then
tilted up her glass and took several swallows.
When she lowered the glass, her lips were frothy again.
"Let's do that videotape."
Chapter Fifteen
Marta refilled their glasses. Then they went into the
living room.
While Neal waited on the sofa, she brought in the
bag of tortilla
chips. Then she disappeared for several minutes. She
returned
with a VCR camcorder in one hand, a tripod in the
other.
"I'll have this set up in a jiffy," she said.
"You'll need to move, though. We don't want
all that light behind you. Maybe bring in a chair from the
dining room."
He did as she suggested, and placed the
chair off to the side so he wouldn't have the window to his
back.
When the camcorder was fixed atop its tripod,
Marta sat on a chair behind it. "The tape'll show
the date and time," she said as she leaned toward the
viewfinder. "So we'll have proof as to when we did
this."
"We won't be turning it in, though. Right?"
"You might
want
to, at some point. You know, if you need to clear
yourself."
Neal finished his margarita, then peered at the
camera's lens. "That isn't going yet, is it?"
"Nope."
"How's this supposed to clear me of stuff I
did?"
"You didn't kill Elise."
"No, I know that. 6051, do I know that." He
tried to laugh. "But I carried a concealed weapon.
A
loaded
weapon. Which is a felony, and which is the main
reason why Elise and I decided
to stay away from the cops in the first place,
last night. So I
wouldn't get busted for carrying. Isn't that a laugh?
They do
that, you know? You use your gun to save yourself, next
thing
you know, you're behind bars." He tried to take another
drink,
but found nothing left except a patch of foam at
the bottom of
his glass. "I mean, 1 have a Constitutional right
to bear arms.
Or I
had
one. Back in the good old days when we
had a.
U.s.
Constitution. So I use my gun to save Elise
from this asshole,
but then we can't even go to the cops about it... suddenly
we're
the criminals ... so we sneak off and he gets up
and comes after
her and finishes the job. Isn't
that
wonderful? Isn't
that
beautiful?"
He started crying.
"Oh, shit," he muttered.
Marta hurried over to him. She took the glass out
of his hand. Then she was pulling his head forward,
murmuring, "It's all right."
He snuggled his face against her belly.
"It's all right, honey," she said, gently stroking
his hair. "It's all right."
The front of her T-shirt felt soft. Her skin
beneath it felt warm and smooth. He wrapped his arms
around the backs of her thighs.
"I'm sorry," he said against her T-shirt.
"Don't be sorry."
He tried to stop crying. "I thought I'd ...
saved her. That's what... it's
hard."
"I know. I know."
"I let her down."
"No, you didn't."
"We ...
should've
gone to the cops. If only we'd gone to the cops
... right then and there, right after I got her
free. Or
phoned
them. They would've come and taken the guy. Elise,
she'd still be alive."
"Maybe."
"I didn't even make sure he was
dead.
God! If only I'd checked!"
"The if-onlys can kill you," Marta said.
"She'd still be alive."
"She might be. Or maybe not. Maybe her
number was up, no matter what you did." Marta's
hand moved slowly and gently down the back of his
head.
He nodded, rubbing his face against her belly.
"Shit happens," he muttered.
"And we can't always duck in time."
He laughed and sobbed and almost choked. "Shit," he
said. Then he eased his face away from her soft
warmth. "I drenched your shirt."
"It'll dry," Marta said. Her curled hand
stroked him over and behind the ears.
He tilted back his head. She was staring down at
him. Her eyes were wet and shiny. "Why don't I
fix us something to eat?" she suggested. "Then
we'll try again."
He nodded.
"How about tacos?"
"That'd be appropriate."
"My name is Neal Darden," he said, looking into the
lens of the
camcorder. Then he gave his address and
telephone number. He
spoke carefully, though he no longer felt
particulary high.
An hour had gone by since his first attempt at the
tape-and his breakdown. During that time, he'd consumed
a Pepsi, lots of tortilla chips and salsa,
and four beef tacos. No beer, and no more
margaritas.
"I'm making this videotape," he said, "as a
record of what happened to me on the night of
Sunday, July 9, 1995. And in the early
morning of the tenth.
"I left my apartment at about 11:30 Sunday
night to return a couple of tapes to Video
City, over on Venice Boulevard. I wanted
to get them in before midnight. It was warm out, so my
window was down. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't
have heard the screams."
He went on, talking at the camera. Though aware
that the tape might someday be viewed by strangers,
Marta was his true audience. He wanted her to know
every detail-
almost
every detail-because in some ways it was her story, too.
He wouldn't have been out last night, returning the
videos
at such a late hour, if he hadn't rented them in
the first place.
He had rented them because he wanted Marta to sit beside
him
and watch a couple of his favorite films.
And then, instead of leaving by ten to return to her own
place and get ready for work, she had stayed. They
had made love right there on his sofa. Then she had
gone down to her car and returned with her work clothes in
a bag. "I brought them along in case things got
late," she'd explained. After vanishing into the
bathroom, she'd come out dressed in her sharp
airline outfit, her makeup on, her hair
neatly brushed.
It had been wonderful.
And it had put Neal exactly where he needed to be
at the time of Elise's screams.
So this was Marta's story, too. Neal felt as if
he were filling her in on part of her own life-an
important part that had occurred in her absence.
He'd always figured he would end up telling her
something. After all, she was bound to see his injuries.
But he was surprised to find himself telling her so
much-giving her details that he'd expected to keep
secret.
He had even told about Elise being tied to the tree
naked. He'd intended to leave out the naked part, but
he found himself speaking the truth, regardless.
He did manage to keep silent about his arousal.
He'd already admitted to falling in love with
Elise; Marta sure didn't need a history of
his erections.
Or how he'd struggled against the temptations to have sex
with Elise.
The less said about such things, the better.
He didn't attempt to hide his feelings of love
for Elise (a bit too late for that), but he tried
to make it seem like innocent affection. He spoke
of her as if she had been his sister or a wonderful,
old friend.
And realized he
did
feel that way about her.
Mostly.
And mostly because of Marta. His loyalty to Marta
had kept him out of Elise's bed, prevented him from
becoming her lover.
Now she's gone, he thought. Dead and gone, so it will
always
be innocent between us.
He found himself weeping again.
Several times, he wept as he told his story.
Each time, he paused for a while to regain control,
and Marta kept the camcorder running.
"Can't you turn it off?" he'd asked, the first time.
"It'll be better if we don't. Let's keep
this a continuous shot so they'll be able to see we
didn't make any cuts."
So she kept it running, no matter what.
Sometimes, Neal heard sniffles from behind the camera.
Sometimes, groans. Rarely did Marta speak.
Once in a while, she asked questions when Neal
didn't seem to be making himself clear or when he
left out details that she thought might be
important. She almost never made comments, though.
Until he described Elise's body in the
bathtub.
"Oh, dear God," she'd said.
Neal wished he hadn't told her so much. It
would've been easy to leave out the worst of it. But he
felt that she deserved the truth.
The truth about almost everything except the bracelet.
Elise's private gift to him.
Telling Marta about the bracelet would be like breaking
Elise's trust, so he kept it to himself.
He simply omitted it from the story.
In the story he told, he was never given the
bracelet or any other reward for saving
Elise's life. He never tried it out on her,
there in the den. Nor did he use it, after leaving her
house, to take a quick look at where they'd left the
man's body, or to rush back and try to warn her that
the bastard might not be dead, after all-only to find
himself helpless inside her body when she was jumped in
the hallway.
For Marta and the videotape, none of those things had
ever happened.
The way Neal told the story, curiosity had
gotten the best of him while he was driving home from
Elise's house. Instead of taking the shortest
route, he'd chosen a detour that would take him past
the place by the freeway where he'd rescued
her.
Only to discover that the van was gone.
He'd run across the field.
The man's body was missing.
Fearing the worst, he'd dashed back to his car.
Back to the truth, he'd told of his race
to Elise's house, breaking every traffic rule but
never able to speed as fast as he wished-fast enough to save
her from torture and death at the hands of the madman who
should've been dead.
Finally, he said, "That's about it, I guess."
"Okay," Elise said from behind the camcorder.
"Now, let me ask a few questions."
"Sure."
"You already described the guy pretty well, but about
how tall do you think he is?"
"Maybe six feet, six-one. An inch or two
taller than me."
"Weight?"
"I don't know. He was skinny. Skin and bones.
Cadaverous. I could see his ribs through his shirt.
That's why I'm so sure he wasn't wearing a
bulletproof vest."
"Age?"
"That's like weight. Who knows? I never
got much of a look at his face. All that hair and
beard. I didn't see any gray hair, though.
And he was quick and strong. Just a guess, I'd say
he was in his twenties or thirties."
"That's a
reed
help." Her face was mostly hidden behind the camera,
but she sounded amused.
"I'm not good on ages," Neal explained.
"That's for sure." After a pause, she asked,
"Could you identify the man if you ever saw him again?"
He had to think about it. After a few moments, he
answered, "Probably not. I wouldn't be able
to tell him from any other skinny guy with a big
black beard and wild hair. And if he paid a
visit to a barber, I wouldn't know him from Adam."
"Or if the hair and beard were fake?" Marta
suggested.
"A disguise?"
"Yeah."
"They might've been, huh? Great. I had the
impression they were real, but.. . who knows? The thing
is, I don't have the
slightest idea what he might look like without the
beard and
hair."
"He'd be the skinny guy with the gunshot wounds,"
Marta pointed out.
"That's about it. At least I'm
pretty
sure he's wounded."
"Okay. Next. Other than giving the police a
description of the man and telling that he's been shot,
do you have any information that might help them solve the
crime?"
"I don't think so. And I did what I could last
night. Searched for him, disabled his van. I'm
surprised he got away. Hell, I'm
surprised he didn't die when I shot him back
by the freeway. I know I didn't miss. I
mean, he went down. And he bled in Elise's
house."
"Anything else you want to add?" Marta asked.
"That's about it, I guess. Any other questions?"
Marta shrugged, shut off the camcorder, and scooted
her chair out from behind it.
"Now what?" Neal asked.
"Should we go ahead and turn the tape over to the
police?"
"No. Are you kidding? I confessed stuff
that could get me fined and jailed. Not to mention, I'd
probably end up with a criminal record. I
hadn't even thought about
that,
till now. My teaching credentials might get
revoked. I could lose my job."
"Could they fire you over something like this?"
"I'm not sure, but I'd hate to find out the hard
way."
"You ought to be given a medal."
"They don't hand out medals for shooting bad guys.
Not unless you're a cop .. . and around here, even a
cop is likely to get prosecuted for it."
"So, we don't turn over the tape," Marta
said.
"I don't see what good it would do, anyway.
It'd clear up a bunch of confusion for them, maybe,
over things
I
did at Elise's house, but it won't tell them
who did the killing. And it might give them the idea
that I'm the best candidate."
"Okay," Marta said. "You're probably right."
"If I

get pulled into it, that's when we'll think about turning
over the tape. It should help get me off the hook
for the
murder, at least."
"Fine. That's what we'll do." She reached over
to the camcorder,
opened it and removed the tape cassette. She
tossed it
to Neal. "All yours. But I have one suggestion."
To: Investigating Officers
Elise Waters case Date: July 10,
1995 Sirs:
I have firsthand information regarding the identity of the man
who murdered Elise Waters on the night of
July 9, 1995.
He is a male Caucasian, approximately
six feet tall, and thin to the point of emaciation.
On the night of the crime, he had very long, unruly
black hair and a full beard. His age is
unknown, but he is probably in the twenty to forty
range.
He was a stranger to the victim.
On the night of the crime, he may have suffered
gunshot wounds to his head and torso. One head
wound, one to three body wounds. All
inflicted by .380 caliber bullets.
Fingers still resting on the typewriter keys, Neal
looked over
his shoulder at Malta. "How's that?"
"Looks fine." She smiled. "They'll go ape
when they see this. I just hope they believe it."
"They'll believe it, all right," Neal said. "The
bastard bled in her house. And I left my brass
behind after I shot up the van. It's .380.
They'll believe."
He turned the platen knob of the old Royal
portable.
Marta, wearing rubber dishwashing gloves, plucked
the paper from the roller. She folded it and slipped it
into an envelope that they had already stamped and
addressed.
The address was typed:
LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT
West Los Angeles Station
1663 Butler Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90066
Marta sealed the note inside the envelope.
"When do you think they'll get it?" Neal asked.
"I'll mail it on my way to the airport.
Maybe in Inglewood. So it'll
probably go out tomorrow morning. The cops should have it on
Wednesday."
"Good enough," Neal said.
Chapter Sixteen
Shortly after eleven o'clock that night, Marta left
for work with
the envelope in her purse.
After walking her down to her car, Neal returned
to her apartment and let himself in with the key she'd given
him. He sat down on the sofa. He felt shaky,
and his heart beat fast.
Okay, he told himself. She's gone.
What'Us I
do?
He had two choices: either return to his own
apartment in the flesh or go there with the help of the
bracelet.
If he went over in person, he would wait in the
darkness, maybe sitting in a corner of the living
room, the pistol in his hand. Sometime during the night,
the killer might show up.
He will show up, Neal told himself. For all he
knows, 1 can identify him. Besides, he'll want
to pay me back for shooting him. He'll want
to kill me.
Torture me first?
Strip me and tie me up, stick a bar of soap in
my mouth so I can't scream?
Do me the way he did Elise?
Going cold inside, Neal told himself that the guy
probably wouldn't work on him the way he'd worked
on Elise. That had been a sex thing. Elise had
been a beautiful woman.
It won't
get him off, doing that stuff to me.
Don't count on it, Neal thought. What if he
isn't particular- goes both ways? Or maybe
he'll torture me just for the hell of it. For
revenge. I hurt him; he'll hurt me worse.
Have to get
me first.
I'll empty my gun into the bastard, Neal thought.
Won't matter how much he wants to torture me,
if he's sprawled out dead with six slugs in his
face.
Neal knew, however, that something could always go wrong.
He might get taken by surprise-jumped from behind.
What if he drifted off to sleep while waiting
for the killer to arrive? What if something went wrong with
his pistol?
What
if I empty it into him and he keeps
on coming?
The idea seemed ridiculous, but sent tiny cold
fingers scurrying up Neal's spine. The nape of his
neck went prickly with gooseflesh. His scalp
crawled.
What if he isn't human? Something immortal.
A vampire, or something.
That's crazy, Neal told himself. Of course he's
human. He bled, didn't he? Vampires
don't bleed.
"Shit," he muttered. "The bastard isn't any
vampire."
Didn't drink her blood, he thought.
How do you know? He bit her. He bit off
pieces. God knows what kind of monster he is.
"A man," Neal said. A Dahmer sort of guy,
he thought. Mad as a hatter, but die-able.
"Imminently die-able," Neal said. He smiled.
He liked the sound of it.
Maybe use it in a script sometime, he thought.
"Imminently die-able," he repeated.
"Bullet-resistant, but die-able."
Diabolical.
Rasputin, Neal thought. But give him a shave and
he'll look like Nosferatu.
I'm not going over there, he decided.
Neal carried his overnight bag into Marta's
bedroom and set it
on top of her dresser. He took out only the
bracelet.
In the lamplight, the gold gleamed with a deep, rich
lustre. The emerald eyes of the snake sparkled
brilliant green. He
turned the bracelet, inspecting it closely. The
details were in tricate.
A gorgeous piece of jewelry, he thought. Too
bad it has to be a snake.
Snakes bite.
He shook his head.
He supposed that the snake design was probably
symbolic of something.
How about the serpent in the Garden of Eden? Which was
Satan, right?
It had been quite a few years since Neal had
studied
Paradise
Lost, and probably even longer since he'd read
Genesis in the Bible. But it seemed to him
that the serpent had led Adam and Eve "down the garden
path" by offering them forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge-knowledge
of good and evil.
Which is pretty much what the bracelet does, he
thought.
Probably no accident that it was made in the form of a
serpent.
A warning? A promise of forbidden knowledge?
He wondered if the bracelet, itself, might be
evil.
No. That didn't make sense. From what he'd
seen of Elise, she had been a wonderful
person-not a hint of meanness, dishonesty, or
cruelty about her. She wouldn't have used the
bracelet, time and time again, if there'd been anything
sinister about it.
Besides, Neal had already used it three times. He'd
noticed nothing evil about the bracelet or its
effects.
He only wished it had a different design, something
less ominous than a snake.
Don't worry about it, he told himself.
And slipped it onto his wrist.
Leaving the lamp on, he stepped over to Marta's
bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress
and pulled off his shoes. Then he stretched out. He
removed the pistol from his pocket, and placed it near
his right hip.
As he raised his arm, he shut his eyes and tried
to imagine Elise kissing the bracelet.
But he pictured her dead on the edge of the bathtub,
naked
and bloody and mutilated, her arms out, the bar of
soap in her
mouth. He could almost taste the soap.
Groaning, he kissed the gold head of the serpent.
My place, he thought as if giving directions to a
cabby.
He felt himself rise out of his body, leaving behind its
weight and aches. A moment later, he was outside
the bedroom window. He glimpsed the balcony below
him. Then he was above the dark swimming pool. He
passed the far side of the apartment building as he
climbed into the night. The moon was full, and very
bright.
Suddenly too high for a good view of landmarks, he
willed himself to descend. At treetop height, he
prowled above the streets until he was able to orient
himself. Then he headed straight for his own building.
He approached it from the front and swooped
in through the wrought iron bars of the closed gate. As
he made a pass above the swimming pool, he
scanned the area. Nobody in the pool. Nobody
wandering outside, either on ground level or on the
balcony. Many of the apartment windows were dark, but some
glowed with light from lamps or televisions on the
other side of their curtains.
Maybe it's still too early, Neal thought. Not even
11:30 yet. The bastard might not make his try
till two or three in the morning, just to make sure
nobody'Us be up and around.
Neal wondered if he would be able to remain that long.
He had no idea.
Gotta just play it by ear, he told himself.
And glided through the picture window and curtains of his
living room.
The lights were off. He went to a wall switch and
reached for it. No arm, however, appeared in his vision.
He let out a small laugh, but didn't hear it.
Who needs light, anyway? he thought. It's not as
if I'm going to crash into the furniture and hurt
myself.
This is so damn
odd!
Ought to be used to it by now, he told himself.
But the first trip last night, from the sofa to Elise and
back, had started and ended very quickly. During the two
trips that
followed, he'd been preoccupied with worries about
the killer
and Elise, and hadn't focused much attention on the
wild, fabulous
magic of his flying.
Now, he suddenly found himself marveling at it.
He could hardly believe that he was actually floating
through his apartment five feet above the floor-actually
able to see the dim shapes of everything, actually able
to hear various sounds such as the motor of his
refrigerator-though he had no eyes or ears.
He had no body at all. He shouldn't have any
sensations at all.
For that matter, he shouldn't even
be
here.
None
of this should be happening. Every bit of common sense told
him that he was in the midst of an impossible
experience. You can't leave your body behind and go on a
flying trip like an odd patchwork of Peter Pan,
the Invisible Man, and Casper the Friendly
Ghost. It defied reality.
Only one way to accomplish such a feat-by dreaming
it.
Maybe I'm asleep back at Marta's
place, he thought, and this is nothing but a dream. I
had to be dreaming last night, too, when I thought I
was taking those bracelet trips.
I imagined going into Elise? Hearing her thoughts?
Feeling everything she felt?
We talked about it later.
Had he imagined that, too? Where does it all
stop? When did the dream begin? Did he ever really
meet Elise? Maybe he crashed on the way
to Video City, and he's been in a coma ever since.
Or dead.
"Bullshit," he muttered.
I'm alive, he told himself. Alive and awake.
This is not a dream.
Whatever's going on, it's happening. Who knows why?
Just accept it.
For now.
While pondering the strangeness of the situation, Neal
had somehow roamed out of his apartment. He found himself
drifting over the pool, moving toward the front
gate.
As if being pulled by a subtle force.
He supposed it must be the same force that he'd
experienced
so strongly last night-the imaginary elastic strip
connecting
him to his body. Tonight, he hadn't noticed it
until now. Its
pull felt very weak, barely noticable.
Let's check the alley, he thought.
He willed himself toward the rear gate.
The pull didn't hold him back. He couldn't
even feel it as he jetted in silence past the end
of the pool, past the laundry room and out the gate
to the alley.
I'll just make a quick run in both directions, he
thought, then go back and wait in my-
Off to his right, far down the alley, a dark
figure shambled toward him. He felt a quick lurch
of fear.
Is
it him?
Neal couldn't tell. The stranger's head was out of
sight beneath a slouch-brimmed hat. A long, dark
coat concealed the shape of his body.
Might even be a woman, Neal thought.
Or it might
be the bastard
coming
for me.
One way to find out.
Even as he began to consider approaching for a closer
look, he found himself suddenly rushing over the
pavement, heading straight toward the stranger.
Who wore a cape, not a coat.
A cape?
Nobody wears a cape! What's going on?
Neal gazed into the darkness under the slouch hat.
Is it him?
The gray of a narrow, beardless face.
I don't know, Neal thought. Could've shaved,
or...
Vh-oh!
Neal was suddenly inside the stranger.
No wounds.
The man seemed young and healthy and excited. He was
sweaty inside the cape, but he kept it shut in
spite of the warm night. The lining, where it rubbed him,
felt like satin. He seemed to be wearing shorts, but
no other clothes. From the calves down, he was
encased in hot leather. The boots felt
slimy
inside, and his feet slid around in them as he limped
through
the alley.
A fake limp, Neal realized.
While taking a quick inventory of the body, he'd
ignored the man's mind. Now, he tuned in on it.
"Yes yes yes. I am the creeper,
creep'Creep'Creeping. All those who see me
piss their pants. Where is everyone? Come out, come
out, wherever you are. Here comes the creeper,
creep'Creep'Creeping. Nightmare man. Who
knows what evil lurks in my heart?"
Neal felt his glee, his anticipation.
What sort of nut is this guy? he wondered.
Not rrry nut.
"Yes, yes, yes. Here I come, creeping down the
alky. Come one, come aU. Behold the creeper.
I am the black heart of the night. I'm coming for
you."
Jesus H. Christ, Neal thought.
This is the sort of guy you find roaming down the
alleys at night?
This and worse, he supposed. This guy is playing
some sort of game.
While the weird monologue continued, another
level of Creeper's mind seemed to be amazed and
thrilled by his oddball behavior. He seemed to have
a fantasy about revealing his mid' night strolls
to friends. They wouldn't find it cool, though, if he
had to
tell
them about it. They'd need to find out by accident.
The fantasy-vague meanderings of thought when Neal first
noticed it-became more and more focused. Soon, it
broke into his monologue.
"I creep this way and that through the alleys of the night,
bringing terror to all who see me." Maybe I should
say this stuff out loud. That'd be cool. Nobody
around to hear me, though. So what? Who cares?
"I am the creeper," he said, trying to make his
voice a low, spooky groan. "Ho ho ho."
Knock
off the ho ho ho, I'm not Santa Claus.
"I am the creeper," he tried again. "I own the
night. I'm gathering souls. I eat them and
laugh."
What's
the good of
all this
if
there's nobody around? Need to have
an
audience.
I've got it! Find a security camera! Yes!
Go to a 7-Eleven. They're open
all night, and they've got cameras.
Sound?
Doesn't
matter, I can say my stuff to the clerk.
Creeper seemed to be more frightened than thrilled by the
idea of taking his show into a store. There would be so much
light. And maybe customers.
All
fine and dandy, but what if I run into
hooligans?
Neal laughed. He wondered if, blocks away,
his body was laughing on Marta's bed.
The passing thought was interrupted when a movie-like
scene started running through Creeper's mind. The guy
was imagining himself inside a brightly lighted
7-Eleven store, face-to-face with a gang of
sneering, vicious teenaged thugs. Seeing him, they
mutter among themselves. Then they start pointing at htm
and laughing. He runs from the store. They
chase him, hooting, shouting, "Fag!"
The scene made the Creeper feel hot with
humiliation.
It's a stupid, silly
outfit!
He had a sudden urge to fling off the slouch hat and
cape and shove them into the nearest garbage container.
But he pictured himself walking home, dressed in
nothing except his swimming trunks and boots.
Neal saw the same mental image. A rear view
of a young man, probably no older than eighteen,
quite tall but skinny and weak, hurrying down an
alley. Head shaved. Big ears sticking out. Skin
so white it almost glowed. A skimpy little
bikini-style swimming suit clinging to his skinny
ass. Big old leather cowboy boots clumping
along as if he were wearing buckets on his feet.
A pretty sorry picture, Neal thought.
Creeper thought so, too. He decided to stay in his
slouch hat and cape.
Good idea, Neal thought.
Still hot and squirmy with embarrassment, Creeper was
trying to recover.
Nobody laughs at
the Creeper. "See me and scream. I
am
the
demon of the
night,
a vulture and you're my carrion. I peck your
eyes out and swallow them whole." Shit.
The mood was gone.
This is no good. I should've stayed home. Must've
been nuts. What if I run into someone
I know?
And they laugh at me? Who am 1 gonna scare in
this getup, anyway? I look like a refugee from a
bad Halloween party.
Creeper turned around and started walking the other
way.
He
no longer tried to look spooky, hunching himself over
and limping. Afraid of being seen, he glanced over
his shoulder every few seconds.
Ready to bolt and find a hiding place in case a
car might come along.
Fun's over, Neal thought. Time to go back to my
apartment and wait for Rasputin.
No, no. Let's stick with Creeper for a while
longer. See if I can find out where he
lives.
Though Neal didn't care where Creeper might
live, it would be a good experiment. If he could
hitch his way to someone's home, he'd be able
to return there, later, in the flesh.
He might need to do that with Rasputin.
Find the bastard first, of course . ..
Let's just see how it works.
Creeper reached the end of the alley. He checked
both ways. No cars were coming, so he broke into a
run and raced for the other side of the street. It was
tough, running with boots on. Especially the way his
sockless feet slid around in them. He couldn't
pump his arms, either; they were busy keeping the cape
shut. But he made it across the street all right, and
ran on into the alley.
Entering a stretch that had no lights, he flung
open his cape and ran on, arms wide. The night
air rushed against his sweaty body. The cape
fluttered behind him.
Hey, nice.
Next time, ditch die boots. Run free.
He wanted the hat off so he could feel the fresh
air on his scalp. But as he clamped a hand on the
edge of its brim, a gate
swung open a few yards in front of him. Someone
barged out
into the alley.
Sudden fright blasted through Creeper.
He yelped with alarm.
The woman, coming to an abrupt halt just outside the
gate, turned her head toward him. Behind her, the
iron gate banged shut. She dropped her
garbage bag.
Creeper was scared, confused.
The woman didn't move.
Creeper watched her as he ran closer.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, plump,
with round glasses and a bowl-shaped haircut. She
wore a tank top, as if proud to show off her
thick arms, her breast tops, and the gorge of her
cleavage. She also wore white shorts and white
moccasins.
What a bowwow.
Swell guy, Neal thought.
She flung her hands up to the sides of her face and
screamed.
Oh, shit.

Now look what I've done!
Creeper considered stopping to apologize. But glee
suddenly surged through him.
He ran straight at the woman, reaching for her.
"No!" she squealed.
She whirled around and grabbed the gate. But she was
too slow. Before she could open it, Creeper clamped
a hand on her shoulder. She screamed again. It was
shrill, earsplitting.
"I am the creeper," the guy said in the spookiest
voice he could muster. "The night belongs to me, and
so do you."
As if unhinged by fear, the woman sank against the shut
gate, cowering and whining.
Wow!
Creeper took a step backward, trembling. He
could hardly believe that he had done such a thing to a
person-scared the hell out of her, turned her into a
cringing heap of mindless terror.
He felt disgusted at himself.
And elated.
She's at my mercy'. Why don't 1 do more?
In the distance somewhere beyond the gate, a door banged
shut. Creeper heard footsteps on a stairway.
He whirled around and ran down the alley, boots
clumping, cape afly. Afraid he
might soon find himself pursued by the gal's husband
or boyfriend, he glanced back.
Clear, so far.
He dodged into the nearest carport-a doorless
structure with stalls for half a dozen vehicles.
Every space was full. He slipped into the dark,
narrow gap between a couple of parked cars.
Don't touch "em. Set off an alarm, and you're
screwed.
He made his way forward, then to the left. Midway
between the headlights of a midsize car, he squatted
down.
They won't find me here.
After a while, he was able to control his breathing. He
continued to tremble, though.
Scared that someone might come along and find him.
Thrilled by the memory of how he'd scared the
woman.
He realized his teeth were chattering.
What a rush!
"I am the creeper. Creep-creep-creeping through
the alleys of the
night. I'm
coming for you, sweeties. I'U make you scream and
piss your pants."
He wondered if the woman had wet her pants.
He pictured her cowering at the gate in her white
shorts and tank top. Imagined himself shoving his hand
against her crotch, feeling the hot and soggy cloth.
The thoughts were giving Creeper an erection.
In his mind, he grabbed the woman by the ankles and
dragged her away from the gate. He ripped open the
waist of her shorts. He tugged the shorts down her
legs, tore away her dripping panties and ...
Enough of this sick puppy, Neal thought. I'm out of
here.
A moment later, he was free.
Clear of the parked cars, he found himself speeding up the
alley. He glimpsed the gate. The woman was
gone. Nobody there at all, but her overturned
trash bag lay on the pavement. Nothing had fallen
out of its tied mouth.
Neal wondered if Creeper would sneak back to see
if she'd
left a puddle.
Fucking weirdo.
But not
my
weirdo, Neal thought.
With no effort at all, he sped to the end
of the alley and over the street, then on into the next
alley. He swept through the rear gate of his apartment
complex. He soared up to the balcony, heading
straight for his own front door.
Approaching his door, he tried to slow down.
Couldn't.
He barged through the shut door and tried to stop. He
wanted to sit down and wait for Rasputin. Or
hover and wait. But he couldn't even decelerate,
much less stop. He blew through furniture and
walls that had no more substance than air, and suddenly
found himself outside again, speeding above the pool on his
way toward the front of the building.
What's going on?
It's taking me back, he realized. Won't let
me stay.
Let's just see about that.
Though unable to slow down, he found that he still had some
control over his direction of travel. Not much, but
some.
Scanning the streets below him, Neal spotted a
man wandering along the sidewalk behind a leashed dog.
Try this guy out.
Neal dived toward him.
Hope this isn't another weirdo.
Entered and exited, fast as an arrow, and kept on
going.
Shit." I
can't stop!
Chapter Seventeen
But he did stop, and very soon.
He stopped when he reached Marta's apartment, her
bedroom, her bed, his own body.
What was that all about? he wondered.
The answer seemed obvious: there were a couple of
rules to
bracelet travel that Elise hadn't mentioned. For
one, you can't
linger around very long, disembodied. For another, no people-
switching.
Try again?
Not just yet.
He folded his hands beneath his head.
Let's think about this for a minute. Gotta figure
out a few of the rules.
For starters, they give you a while to scout around.
They? he wondered.
The bracelet police, of course.
Right.
There might be limits to the scouting time
allowed, he thought, but at least they allow a while
to search for someone interesting to ride.
You need to be careful, or you might end up inside
someone by accident.
Me and Creeper boy, Neal thought.
Neal had not really intended to enter that guy. He
would've preferred to avoid him and keep moving, but
he'd approached closer and closer, hoping to get a
look under the hat brim, and suddenly found himself
sucked in, part of the guy.
From now on, he warned himself, keep your distance. And
don't even
think
about getting into somebody unless you're ready to go ahead
with it.
Never point your gun at anyone you don't intend
to shoot.
And then there's the biggie-you can't switch people in the
middle of a trip. They just won't let you hop from
one to another. Once you leave the body you've been
riding, you make a beeline back to your own body.
Whether you want to or not.
What a drag, Neal thought. Puts some real
limits on things.
If you want to switch people, you apparently
need to start all over again. Return to your own
body, kiss the bracelet and go looking ...
Neal wondered what other rules there might be.
What if Elise had left something
really
important out of her instructions and warnings?
The possibility made him uneasy.
I've got to trust her, he thought. She
must've
told me everything that worried her about the
bracelet-gave me all kinds of warnings.
Don't get addicted to it.
Don't ride in people you know.
Bail out quick, if someone's dying.
Be careful where you leave your body.
Where you leave your body . . .
Neal opened his eyes, sat up in Marta's bed, and
glanced around. The pistol was still by his hip. Everything
looked fine.
He picked up the pistol, then made a trip through
the rooms just to be sure that nothing had gone wrong
while he'd been away.
No problems.
He used the toilet, then returned to Marta's
bedroom. Her clock on the headboard
showed 11:55.
He certainly didn't feel sleepy.
Give it another try?
As he stretched out on the bed, he realized that he
didn't want to make another trip to his own
apartment. Rasputin hadn't been there five minutes
ago; he wasn't likely to be there now. And having
learned some more rules of bracelet travel, Neal
figured it wouldn't be possible to hang around and wait
for the killer's arrival.
Why bother making the trip? It was sure to be a
waste of time.
Maybe give it a try in half an hour or so.
Neal thought about getting up, returning to the living
room and turning on the TV. He might find some
local news. Maybe Rasputin had been
apprehended by now, or ...
He didn't want to watch the news.
There would be photos of Elise, tales of what had
been done to her . ..
They would hurt.
Let's take a trip, Neal thought, and kissed the
bracelet.
He headed for his apartment building, even though he
felt certain
that Rasputin wouldn't be there yet.
I'll just take a quick look, then pay someone a
visit.
Try not to pick a weirdo, this time.
The best way to avoid weirdos, he decided, was
probably to stay away from people in alleys. And on
streets. And in cars. Excluding cops and a few
other types with night jobs, nine out of ten people
roaming Los Angeles at this hour were probably
oddballs, creeps and criminals. Most normal
people would be locked inside their apartments and homes.
Maybe I'll try one of my neighbors, he
thought.
As he approached the front gate of his apartment
building, he realized he didn't
have to
use the gate. He wished himself high. In moments,
he was well above the complex. He moved slowly,
gazing down into the courtyard.
Few lights seemed to be on. The balcony was
deserted. He saw nobody in or near the pool.
Most of the tenants, he supposed,
were probably asleep by now.
Gliding past the rear of the building, he looked up
and down the alley. He scanned the
puddles of light, the patches of gloom, the black
places where no light reached.
From this height, he could see a great many black
places.
Where someone might be lurking.
Nobody can touch me, he told himself. I'm
invisible, invincible.
Can't
do
shit, but at least I'm safe.
Hearing a faint rattly-clattery-rolly sound,
he peered to his left. A shopping cart had just
entered the far end of the alley. Undoubtedly stolen from
a local grocery store, it was now loaded with
treasured junk and being pushed along by a squat
person dressed in a knit cap and overcoat.
Maybe a man, maybe a woman.
Not Rasputin, he told himself. Unless the
bastard's not only bullet-resistent, but also a
shape-changer-magically alters himself from tall and
skinny to short and dumpy.
In
a world where a bracelet
like this realty
works . . .
Neal didn't want to pursue that line of thought; it
could lead into very dark, disturbing places.
I have to go along as if everything's normal, he
told himself.
Everything except me. Right. The only
supernatural stuff going
on is me and my bracelet.
Sure as hell hope so.
What if
that
is Rasputin?
Tempted to check, he found himself racing toward the
scavenger.
No!
He banked hard to the left, a panic turn that
sent him through a stucco wall and into someone's kitchen.
Nobody there, but light came in through an archway
to other rooms. Curious, he slowed down and headed
for the light.
In the living room, he found a woman seated at the
end of a sofa, reading a paperback book under the bright
yellow glow of a lamp. She seemed to be the only
person in the room.
She looked reasonably young and normal.
In her early twenties, Neal guessed.
Her soft brown hair looked clean and neatly
brushed. She wore glasses. She had a
pleasant face, pretty but not strikingly
beautiful. She wore a big, loose T-shirt
with a neck so wide that it hung off one of her
shoulders. The shoulder was bare.
Give her a try? Neal wondered.
Why not? I could do worse.
Just pay her a little visit, find out what's ...
He was in.
And reading.
The woman's eyes rushed across the lines of her
paperback, so Neal tried to read with her. The words,
being read in unison, seemed oddly doubled. He
heard the woman's mental voice, but also his own.
It sounded like a duet recitation.
Though the words matched, the images they called up in
the woman's mind were different from those Neal was
experiencing.
Her images seemed a lot more vivid than his.
They ought to, Neal thought. I'm just jumping in.
She's halfway through the book. She knows what's
going on, what the characters are supposed to look like . .
.
He noticed something odd.
The female in the scene, whose name was Nora, looked
very
much like the woman reading the book.
He read on.
According to the writer's words, Nora was supposed to be
a redhead.
But not in this gal's mind, she wasn't.
Ignoring the writer's description, the reader had
given Nora brown hair the same as her own.
This gal's really into it, Neal thought.
Fascinated, he tried to keep on reading. The
conflicting images were too confusing, though. Nothing
looked quite the same in the woman's mind as in his.
She saw the same words as Neal, but it was as if she
were watching a movie of the book-a film with the same
script as Neal's version, but with a different
director and cast.
He gave up on the words, and turned his attention
to the woman.
That, in itself, was confusing.
She seemed to have a split life. She existed
simultaneously as two women in separate
places, doing different things but joined and flowing together
in strange ways.
The reading woman sat motionless on her
sofa, leaning back comfortably in its soft cushions,
one leg crossed and tucked beneath the other. Though
deeply involved in the story, she was also aware of
herself. She felt safe, cozy, and mildly aroused.
Neal found it quite pleasant, being in her.
He wondered what her name was.
No way of finding out, at least not yet.
She's Reader, he decided.
Reader and Nora.
Reader sat on the sofa, book in her hands, while
Nora now sat astride a black stallion that
trotted along a beach. Clear blue water rolled
in calmly against the sand. The day was lovely,
cloudless and warm. A sea breeze blew in
softly, tossing Nora's hair so it flowed out behind
her like a gleaming brown banner. She wore a
loose, white nightshirt-the sort of garment Neal
had seen men wearing in illustrated editions of
Dickens novels.
He had no idea why she might be wearing such a thing
for
her horseback ride on the beach. Obviously,
she'd acquired it
before his arrival in Reader.
She seemed to be naked under the garment. At
least in the mind of Reader, she was. Reader felt
the horse, hot and powerful between Nora's bare
legs, pounding up against her, writhing and rubbing her.
As it trotted, her breasts leaped about wildly
inside the nightshirt.
Naked under her T-shirt, Reader felt it all.
Not just the horse but the sunlight, the sea breeze,
and Nora's breathless excitement. She took a
deep, trembling breath. She squirmed a little. The
front of her T-shirt stirred against her
nipples, caressing them. Neal could feel their
hardness. They felt so sensitive that the soft brush
of the T-shirt sent a thrill of pleasure rushing
through her.
Nora suddenly spotted a man in the distance. He
was on foot, walking toward her along the water's
edge. Too far away to recognize, but...
Tyrone?
Reader seemed very familiar with Tyrone. Along with
Nora, she felt a surge of excitement. Nora
urged the stallion to a gallop. She and Reader
raced along the beach, hunched low on the horse and
clutching its mane, the wind in their faces, hair
blowing behind them, horse throbbing under them.
Is it
my Tyrone?
Nora wondered.
Of course it's him,
Reader thought.
And she was right. When they were near enough, they
recognized him.
In Reader's mind, Tyrone was slim and strong,
dressed like a swashbuckler. His floppy white
shirt, wide open to his waist, revealed a smooth
and tawny chest. He wore a colorful sash instead
of a belt. The sash held a dagger at one side,
some sort of old-fashioned pistol at the other.
He wore tight-fitting leather pants, and shiny
black boots that reached up past his knees. His
hair was long, dark, and flowing in the breeze.
Though Reader and Nora had already settled their
doubts about the man's identity, Neal couldn't quite
make out his face. Not that the distance or the jolting of the
horse caused a problem: He could
see
Tyrone's face just fine.
It seemed, however, somewhat vague in Reader's
mind. Almost
as if the face kept undergoing subtle changes.
One moment,
Tyrone appeared to be the spitting image of Clark
Gable's
Rhett Butler. Another moment, he looked like
Tom Selleck as
Magnum. Then, Pierce Brosnan. Then
Selleck again. Then
Brosnan. As if Reader couldn't make up her
mind which image
she preferred.
"M caret
love!"
Nora suddenly cried out. The horse hadn't even
stopped running before she leaped from its back. She
stumbled over the sand toward Tyrone-who currently
looked like Brosnan.
Reader wondered how he'd escaped, but she was in no
mood for an explanation. Right now, she needed
Nora to throw herself into Tyrone's arms.
Which Nora did.
Tyrone embraced her and Reader. Nora hugged him
hard, mashing her breasts against his powerful chest.
"Oh,
my love!"
she gasped. "I
feared 1
should
never see you again."
"Come on, knock off the chatter,"
Reader told her.
"How ever did you escape from the stockade?"
Nora asked.
Reader thought, Oh,
crap, here we go. Do we need this? Do we really?
Give me a break. Make love to the guy,
don't interrogate him.
Frustrated, she turned the page.
New chapter.
Reader scanned the first few lines, and realized this was
going to be a flashback. Tyrone's daring escape
from the stockade.
"Phooey," Reader muttered.
"Not
me, pals. Lost me, there."
Feeling mildly annoyed, she reached down by her
side and picked up a bookmark-a glossy
triangle that looked like a corner torn from a
magazine page. She tucked it in and shut the
book.
That
was enough for now, anyway. Tune in
tomorrow,
folks, and find out
everything
you always wanted to know about Tyrone's fab' ulous
escape.
Then maybe we can get back to the beach, where the good
stuffs going on.
Reader began chinking about herself on a beach. As her
mind
roamed, her eyes happened to be gazing at the
book's cover.
The
Wild Buccaneer,
Neal read, by Amanda Bums. Gotta be a pseu'
donym, he thought.
The guy on the cover wore a costume similar
to Tyrone's, but he bore little resemblance
to Reader's image of him. With a long and somewhat
equine face, shoulder-length blond hair and
bulging brown pecs, he could never be mistaken for
Gable, Sel- leek
or Brosnan: He looked like a bulked-up
chorus line dancer.
The gal on the cover, cradled in Tyrone's
bulging arms, had russet hair and
bosoms bulging over the top of her bodice. Her
soft, innocent face appeared hopeful and twenty
years old.
She looked nothing at all like Nora-who looked
exactly like Reader.
Attention on the cover, Neal was taken by surprise
when Reader twisted sideways and dropped the book
onto the lamp table.
She stood up. Her left leg felt a little
stiff; she must've had it tucked up underneath her
other leg for quite a while. She didn't give it much
thought, though. She was mostly thinking about making a
trip to Venice Beach next weekend.
Coil
up Trudy, see if she wants to go.
Do I
really want to go with her? She's always on the make,
she'Us get herself picked up by some guy and that'll be
the last 1 see of her and I'll be stuck at the
beach alone. Might
as
well go alone in the first place, save myself the
aggravation.
While thinking those thoughts, she wondered (vaguely,
less distinctly) if she had remembered
to lock the front door. She took a few steps
toward the door and saw that it was locked.
I
oughta
go
by myself.
Not
Venice Beach, that'd be too yucky. What a
freak show. And now they've got gangs over there
shooting at each other every weekend. Don't wanna
get myself shot. What about Santa Monica beach?
Probably just as bad. Malibu? That
might
be okay.
Pleased by the idea of an adventure at Malibu
beach, she reached up and turned off the lamp. The
room went dark except for the murky haze coming in
through the curtains.
Might
meet a nice guy. Who knows?
Miracles
do happen.
As she stepped carefully through the near-darkness, she
imagined
herself walking along the beach, slim and
tanned and wearing
a white bikini. And along comes the cutest dog she
has ever
seen. She squats in front of it, says "Hi,
ya, fetta,"
and rubs its
neck. Then a voice says, "His
name's Growler."
She looks up,
and there stands a gorgeous, tanned man in white
swimming
trunks. He looks a lot like Pierce
Brosnan.
"And I'm
Tom," he
says. Reader stands up, smiling and flustered.
"I'm Karen,"
she
says.
Ah-ha! Neal thought. Karen! She
must
be Karen. Nobody'd go around giving herself a fake
name in her own fantasies.
"HeUo, Karen,"
Neal said into her mind, though he knew she
couldn't hear him. "Mbbity
name's Neal. Nke to meet you."
Fat lousy chance,
Karen thought, startling him.
Did she hear me?
No, she was still involved with Tom, but her fantasy
had gone a bit sour with the intrusion of a cynical part
of her mind.
Never gonna meet a guy like that. If he's that
handsome, he's already taken, or he's gay. Or
he's a total jerk who
thinks
he's
God's
gift to the universe. Or else he is perfect,
in which case he won't give me a second glance.
She stepped through a doorway, flicked a light
switch, and squinted in the sudden brightness. She had
entered her bedroom. Turning around, she shut the
door. On its back was a full-length mirror.
She stopped and looked at her reflection.
Not too
bad.
Not bad at all, Neal thought. This was the best view
he'd had of Karen, so far. She was
prettier than he recalled. She wasn't as
heavy, either. No skinny super-model type, but still
a long way from chunky. She had fairly broad
shoulders, and ...
Neal's view of Karen disappeared. For a few
moments, all he could see was the white of her
T-shirt.
When the shirt no longer blocked his view, Karen was
twisting sideways to toss it underhand toward her bed.
She wore nothing at all.
Holy smoking Toledo! Neal thought.
She looked at herself in the mirror, and shook her
head.
Spectacular! Neal thought.
Could be worse,
thought Karen, and wondered how many
pounds she might be able to lose before next weekend.
She turned away from the mirror.
Shit! Neal thought. "Don't go
away! Gimme a break! Please!"
His disappointment quickly faded. Though he could no
longer see Karen in the mirror, he enjoyed the
feel of the air on her bare skin, and the moving weight
of her breasts as she walked across her room. She
stopped in front of her dresser.
Ist
none of these fit, I'm gonna just
Icill
myself.
The words in her mind were an exaggeration.
She knew that she'd gained weight since last
summer, but she had also been working out. Her
swimsuits might or might not fit, but she felt
fairly confident that she would look better than
usual on the beach this year.
She almost hoped they
would
be too small for her. That way, she'd have a good
reason to go shopping.
Crouching a bit, she bent over at the waist and
reached for the handles of the bottom drawer. Her breasts
pulled downward, swaying slightly.
Neal moaned, but heard nothing.
This is so fantastic, he thought.
Karen wasn't overly impressed by her naked
body, but she did like the feel of the air on her
skin, especially where it felt cool in the heat under
her arms and between her legs.
In the drawer were several swimsuits. She wanted
nothing to do with most of them. Pushing a couple
aside, she spotted her white bikini. She took
it out and stood up. Leaving the drawer open, she
turned around and walked toward the mirror.
Neal watched Karen approach her reflection,
watching herself.
Her arms swung by her sides, the bikini clamped
in her right hand. Her breasts jiggled and bounced a
bit. Her nipples stuck out. Neal could feel the
air on them. He wished he could put his mouth on
them.
But he could only look.
Stopping a few paces from the mirror, Karen
separated the two pieces of her bikini. Eyes
on the skimpy pants, she bent over and spread the
elastic waist band. Then she raised her head.
Yes! Neal thought.
Head up, she watched her mirror image. It
showed her bent low at the waist, gazing at herself.
Her nose was wrinkled to keep her glasses high.
A sweep of shiny brown hair draped her brow.
Her arms were stretched straight down, breasts
suspended between them.
She raised one foot and stepped into the bikini
pants, then raised the other.
She was concerned. Not
only too fat, but I've got no damn tan at
all. It's July already! The ninth? Tenth? And
look at me. I can't go to the beach like this.
As she unbent to pull up her pants, Neal could
see all the way up her legs, to where they joined.
He glimpsed a thatch of brown curls, and lips
like the puffy edges of a gash. Then the wispy nylon
came in underneath her, snug against her crotch and
buttocks. When she let go, the elastic hugged her
like a soft cord.
Karen looked down at herself.
Could be worse. Have to remember to shave,
though.
Good Lord
-
if I ever get one any smaller, there won't be
any point.
She raised her head. The front of the pants
appeared even smaller in the mirror. From the
corners of the patch, elastic strips stetched upward
over her hip bones. Turning, she looked over her
shoulder. The strips slanted down behind her, where they
kept the seat of her pants stretched taut against her
buttocks. The sides of her cheeks were bare.
She wiggled her rear end, watched it
shimmy, and wished it was firm with hollow cheeks.
Ah,
wett.
Can't
have everything. Not bad, as buns go.
"Lovely, as buns go."
Neal told her with his mind, though he knew she
couldn't hear him. "Not to
mention, you've got fabulous tits."
Neal suddenly felt ashamed of himself for the tit
remark.
Nice going, he thought. Very nice.
What's the big deal? he asked himself. She
doesn't know what I'm thinking. Hasn't got a
clue.
That makes it okay?
What am I doing in here? he wondered. I'm no
better than
a peeping Tom.
Worse
than a peeping Tom. I get to spy on her
thoughts, too. And her feelings.
The bikini top still dangling from her right hand, Karen
arched her back and sucked in her belly. She gazed
at her profile.
Soli got
great boobs. A shame nobody gets to see them but
me. I oughta find a nude beach somewhere.
"Yeah, right.
Like I want a bunch of strange men drooling over
me. Bet they'd really be strange, too, at a
place Uke that. Perverts. A bunch of
lechers hanging
around with their whangs in the breeze.
She saw the scene in her mind.
To Neal, the nudist lechers looked like they'd just
escaped from a home for scrawny lunatics.
Then the crowd dispersed, and only one man remained.
He was especially cadaverous and ugly. Neal
realized this was how Rasputin might look, beardless
and naked.
Whose fantasy is this? he wondered.
Has to be Karen's.
She felt sick inside as he strolled toward her.
Grinning, he grabbed his limp member, lifted it,
and waved it at her like a snake.
"Say hi to Monty,"
he said.
Karen grimaced at herself in the mirror.
Monty? Where on earth did 1 dig up
a name tike that? Never even known a guy named
Monty. Much
less
a dick.
She shook her head and laughed. The horrible
images faded, but she still felt a little uneasy because
of them.
"Monty the dick," she said aloud, but softly.
Neal liked her voice. "I'd better find me a
guy fast, I'm losing my marbles. And now I'm
talking to myself. Talking to myself and daydreaming about.
.."
"Penises,"
she finished the thought in silence. "Too long
since I've been around any."
A memory suddenly filled Karen's mind. She was
on a bed in a sunlit room, stretched out on her
back, a man on all fours above her. His name was
Darren. She knew that, though she couldn't see his
face. She could only see his belly, and sometimes his
penis. His thing, that's what she always called it.
Mostly, his
thing was out of sight, hidden between her breasts. It felt
enormous,
hot and very hard.
Darren loved her breasts, so she was giving him a
special treat. First, she had instructed him to rub
oil on them. When they were slippery, she'd rolled
onto her back and guided Darren onto her. Then
she'd used both hands to push her breasts together and
trap his thing.
Facing the mirror, Karen shook her fingers. The
bikini top fell from them, brushed the side of her
calf and dropped silently against the carpet.
She took hold of her breasts and pushed them together.
Rubbed them against each other.
They felt a little slippery with sweat.
Not as slippery as they'd felt with Darren, though.
Concentrating, she tried to feel his thing.
Thick and long, sliding in and out of the crevice between
her breasts. Rubbing up and down, sometimes plunging
downward so deep it nudged her sternum. Other times
sliding forward until its glistening head came
squeezing out, inches from her mouth, like a wiener popping
out of its bun.
"Next
time, we'll use mustard."
She'd actually said that to Darren. But there hadn't
been a next time.
Karen suddenly parted her breasts, clutched
them by the front and squeezed, digging in her
fingernails. Hard enough to hurt.
But the pain from her breasts was nothing compared to the agony
crushing her heart.
She dropped to her knees, sobbing wildly.
Oh my God! Neal thought. What's going on?
What's
the matter
with her?
He fled.
In his own body again, Neal found himself squirming on
his
back, breathless and sweaty. He swung his legs
off the mattress.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried to calm
down.
Horrible to see Karen go crazy like that, he thought.
What the hell had gone wrong? She'd lost
Darren, obviously. Lost him in a way that had
done major damage to her. Did he get himself
killed, or just dump her?
Go back and find out?
No thanks, he told himself.
Maybe she's over the tantrum, by now.
Neal didn't want to take the chance.
Poor gal, he thought. Jeez.
Being inside her had been wonderful for a while,
though.
Wonderful? Spectacular!
My God, she stripped
right in
front of me!
He gazed at the bracelet on his wrist.
No wonder Elise warned me about getting hooked
on it. I can go to anyone I want, get inside,
watch her undress, take a bath, make love.
But 1 don't just get to look, 1 get to
feel
everything she feels.
Incredible, Neal thought. Literally unbelievable.
Way too good to be true.
He
couldn't
believe it was true, but neither could he find a way
to deny it. The bracelet didn't bestow vivid
dreams or fantasies, it allowed you to enter
actual people. Which he knew to be impossible.
Impossible. But he was absolutely certain that,
if he ran down to his car and drove to his own
neighborhood and located Karen's
apartment, he would be able to meet her in the flesh.
I must be out of my mind, he thought as he drove.
He'd been
thinking that, every so often, ever since the idea had popped
into his head.
He knew he shouldn't do it.
Karen was not likely to appreciate a surprise
visit from a stranger in the middle of the night.
And Neal felt as if he were cheating on Marta.
Not that he expected or wanted anything romantic
to happen with Karen. He'd be lucky if she even
opened her door for him, and the odds of being allowed
into her apartment were slim to none.
So why am I doing this? he wondered.
Just to see. Just to see what I can find. See how
reality matches up. If I can at least get a
glimpse of her ...
1 don't need a glimpse. I know how reality will
match up. Perfectly, that's how. This is
bullshit.
But 1 want to do it.
I
am
doing it.
I must be out of my mind.
A few minutes after driving away from the curb in
front of Marta's building, he drove past his
own building. He turned the corner, then entered the
alley. He drove slowly. The area ahead
looked clear: nobody skulking about. Nobody that
he could see, anyway. No scavenger creeping
along behind a shopping cart, no Creeper sneaking through
the shadows in his slouch hat and cape. No
Rasputin.
He wondered where Rasputin might be.
As he drove by his own parking space at the rear
of his building, he slowed and almost stopped.
1 could just run up and check, he thought. If the
bastard's there, I can blow him away. . .
Maybe later.
Maybe never.
I've gotta get him before he gets me, Neal
told himself.
Yeah, but this isn't the time to try it. He's not there,
anyway.
Make a run-through with the bracelet?
I
didn't come here for that. I came to check on Karen.
He kept on driving, but felt guilty about it.
He knew that he ought to visit his own
place. If he stayed away from it, how could he ever
hope to get the jump on Rasputin?
I'll try it later, he told himself. But first things
first. Make this
reality check on the bracelet, and then I'll know
for sure.
I
already know far sure.
No, I don't. Not a hundred percent. This will be
the final proof. Then I'll never doubt it again.
He drove on past another building. The next was
probably Karen's. Its parking spaces were full.
He pulled forward so he wouldn't block them,
swung close to the edge of the alley, then stopped.
He killed the headlights and shut off the engine.
Then he climbed out of his car and walked to the other
side of the alley. From there, he looked up at the
stucco wall.
Is that it? he wondered.
He'd gone through Karen's wall by accident, really,
after an emergency swerve to avoid plunging into the
bum.
This looked like the wall.
Glancing from side to side, he tried to judge the
distance back to his apartment building, then from
where he now stood to the place where he'd seen the bum
with the shopping cart.
The distances seemed about right.
And Karen's apartment was definitely not in the next
building down. That place had balconies above the
alley. There'd been no balcony on the wall
he'd entered.
This has to be it, he decided.
Walking toward the rear gate of the building, he
felt a strong mixture of dread and excitement.
He had come on purpose, planning to pay a
visit to Karen. But he was shocked, anyway, to find
himself here. A strange but somewhat familiar sensation.
He knew it from .. .
Amusement parks. Disneyland, Knott's Berry
Farm, Magic Mountain, Funland, the Santa
Cruz Boardwalk. It had happened to Neal in
all those places, at one time or another.
You get into line for a thrill ride-one of the scary
kind that takes you way too high and drops you way
too fast. You stand in the line on purpose,
planning to take the ride. Wanting to take the
ride. But suddenly, there is no more line in front
of you. You're next. And you suddenly realize the time
is now and you've made a very large
mistake.
You get a tightness in your chest and you want to cry
out, "What am I doing here?
Let me outta here!"
That was exactly the way Neal felt as he opened the
rear
gate, stepped through it, and shut it so gently that it
didn't make
a sound.
Why
don't I just turn back? he told himself. This is
nuts. What if she shoots me or something?
He never turned back from the roller coasters, either.
Or from
the huge and terrifying Ferris wheels. Not since
being a grownup. There was excitement along with the fear,
and he always stepped aboard.
He glanced about as he made his way toward the
stairs. This courtyard had no pool. A parklike
area, instead: a lawn with bushes and trees,
walkways, quaint lampposts, and even a few
picnic tables. It seemed rather old-fashioned and
peaceful.
He saw no one.
He climbed the stairs slowly,
quietly.
His legs were shaking.
It'll be all right, he thought. I'm not doing anything
wrong.
I know that. The cops
won't
know that,
though.
Nobody who sees me sneaking around
will know
that, I oughta get out of here before something happens.
Try not to look suspicious, he told himself.
At this hour? Fat
chance.
Walk straight to her door as if you belong here.
The door nearest the top of the stairs was numbered
26. Neal realized that he didn't know Karen's
apartment number, but 26 seemed to be located in the
proper place-the northeast corner of the building,
its rear wall facing the alley.
Off to the right of the door was a large picture window.
No light came through it. Neal remembered Karen
turning off the living room lamp before heading for her
bedroom in the rear.
He wondered if she was still in her bedroom.
Still kneeling on the floor in nothing but her bikini
pants, hurting herself and crying her head off?
Who knows?
Not all that much time had gone by since Neal had left
her there. Five minutes? Maybe a little more than
that. Fewer than ten, though.
Halting in front of the door, he took a deep
breath.
Oh, man, he thought. Gotta be out of my mind.
He rapped the door gently with his knuckles. A
quick, furtive series of five taps, hopefully
loud enough to be heard by Karen but not so loud as to alarm
any of her neighbors.
At this hour, he thought, an caret knock is
alarming.
He waited. No sound came from her apartment.
Had she heard him? Was she cowering on her bedroom
floor, listening, fear spreading through her?
Give it one more try. Make it sound nice and
friendly.
He rapped on the door again, five times and gently
like before.
Then he waited again.
She's not coming, he decided. Either couldn't hear me,
or she's scared and hoping I'll go away.
Or maybe she's calling the cops.
I oughta
blow it outta here.
One last shot, then I'll go.
He spoke one word softly to the door. "Karen?"
A moment later, her voice came. Little more than a
whisper, it sounded as if she assumed he must be a
friend. "Who is it?"
"My name's Neal. I'm an old friend of
Darren's. He used to talk about you. All the time.
I always wanted to meet you, Karen, and ... I know
it's horrible to drop in on you like this. I mean, this
late. But he said you're sort of a night owl,
anyway, and . .. I'm driving down from San
Francisco. I have to be in San Diego in the
morning. I just thought I'd stop by for a minute, since
I was sort of passing through the area, anyway."
A light suddenly came on above the door.
"Hang on a second," Karen said. The door
opened until the guard chain stopped it. Through the
four-inch gap, Karen peered out at him.
That's
Karen, all
right.
His earlier visit hadn't been a dream.
This was Reader, Karen. No doubt about it.
Behind her glasses, her eyes looked puffy and red
from crying. She wore the big, white T-shirt.
Neal wondered if she'd put it on quickly after
hearing the knocks.
"Have we ever met?" she asked.
He blushed. "I don't think so."
"Are you sure? You seem ... I don't know ...
a little familiar."
"So do you, actually." He smiled, still flustered, but
feeling a
little amused that he'd been able to speak the truth. She
looked
familiar, all right.
"Your name's Neal?" she asked.
"Right. Neal Darden."
My God, I told her my real name! Am I
nuts?
"Anyway," he said, "I just thought I'd drop
by. I've always wanted to meet you, so I figured
I'd give it a shot since I was passing through.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
Staring at him, she sniffed.
"Well," he said, "I'd better get going, now.
I just wanted to stop by and say hi..."
"No, wait." She shut the door. Neal heard the
chain rattle. Then the door swung open wide.
Karen stepped backward, saying, "Come on in."
He hesitated. "I shouldn't. It's late, and .
.."
"No, please." She hurried over to the lamp and
turned it on.
Neal stepped into the lighted living room.
The
living room.
"I guess I can stay a minute," he said, and
shut the door.
On the lamp table was the paperback,
The Wild Buccaneer,
exactly where Karen had put it before going to her
bedroom.
"What can I get you?" she asked. "A Pepsi?
Or I could brew up some coffee . . ." She
shrugged. She seemed nervous and fig- ity,
but pleased to have him as a guest.
"Oh, no thank you."
"You sure?" She waved her arms. She was almost
bubbly.
This is so odd, Neal thought.
Being in Karen's actual presence confirmed
the truth about the bracelet, but seemed very strange.
Not long ago, he'd been inside her. He'd read
the book with her. He'd seen everything she saw,
felt everything she felt, even viewed the scenes
running through her imagination. He'd watched her strip
naked to try on her white bikini. He'd even
been a secret audience to her memories of
Darren's thing plunging between her oiled breasts.
And there they are, he thought.
He could see the shape of them through her T-shirt.
He
turned his head away.
"Are you okay?" Karen asked.
He shrugged. "I think I've got a little fever."
"Could I get you some aspirin?"
"I'd better just get going."
"No, sit down and rest a while." She gestured
toward the sofa.
"Well. .." Neal walked over to it and sat down.
"Let me at least get you a Pepsi."
"All right."
She hurried away. Neal sighed, relieved to have
her out of sight.
What the hell am I doing here? he wondered. I
found out she's real. That's all I came
for.
Get out now. Make a run for it.
No, no, I can't do
that to her.
Would it be any worse than staying? he asked himself.
He had already invaded her privacy-
demolished
her privacy. In a way, staying would be like toying with
her. If he fled, however, she would be hurt,
puzzled, maybe even frightened.
I've got a lose-lose situation here, he thought.
Not necessarily.
Be nice to her, polite, play it out, try to leave
her pleased by your visit.
And don't let her find out you're a fraud!
Chapter Nineteen
Moments later, Karen came into the living room with a
glass of
Pepsi in each hand. She walked carefully. Her
breasts, between
the glasses, wobbled and bounced a little. The ice
cubes in the
glasses made tinkly sounds.
Her T-shirt, though very large, didn't reach down
past the middle of her thighs.
Neal forced himself to look up at her face.
She was blushing; she must've noticed the way he was
checking
her out.
"I guess I probably woke you up," Neal
said, trying to give himself an excuse for staring at her
T-shirt.
It seemed to work. She smiled and tilted her head a
bit. "No. You got me just in time." Stopping in
front of him, she held out one of the glasses.
Neal said, "Thank you," and took it.
"I'm not really used to having visitors at this
hour," she told him.
"I'm not used to being one."
She made a quick, high laugh. "Well," she said.
She glanced at the other end of the sofa, seemed
to consider sitting there, then turned away and crossed
over to a leather hassock. She lowered herself onto
it, smiling a little nervously and pressing the
T-shirt down between her thighs. Her knees were
higher than her waist. She quickly lowered them,
stretching her legs across the floor toward Neal.
He smiled and took a drink. "Ah, good," he
said.
"Good." She took a sip. "So," she
said. "How did you find me?"
If she's
unlisted, I'm
screwed.
"I stopped at a pay phone. Checked the
directory."
"Ah." She nodded, apparently satisfied.
Thank God!
"And you were a friend of Darren's?" she asked.
Oh
boy, oh boy, oh boy.
"Yeah," he said. "We were classmates."
Everybody has gone to school, right?
But he saw a look of confusion on Karen's face.
"That's funny," she said. "You look a
little
familiar, but gosh... I knew all his friends at
SC ..."
"Oh! Not SC. University of Southern
California? No. Not there. We were high school
friends."
What
if he's not my age?
"Ah. That explains it."
Thank God, Neal thought.
If she
keeps on asking questions,
though . . .
He suddenly had a brainstorm-a way to avoid
further traps.
"I actually haven't heard from Darren in quite a
while," he said. "I've tried calling him a few
times, but..." He shook his head. "Has he
moved, or... ?" He shrugged, stared at Karen, and
waited.
She gazed at him.
"Do you have his new address, maybe?"
Pain came into her eyes.
Shouldn't
have asked! She's
gonna
throw another fit! The guy probably
kicked
the bucket. New address, plot
such-and-so at
Friendly
HtJk Memorial Park or
some damn place.
But her voice sounded fairly calm when she said,
"I have it. Sure." She took a drink
of Pepsi, then reached out and set her glass on a
nearby table. "I'll get it for you." She drew
up her knees.
"Oh, that's all right. Don't get up and get it.
Unless ... you know. If you're ready for me to go
..."
"No. I just thought you wanted it."
"I didn't really come here for his address. I just
wanted to meet you. He always... said such nice things
about you."
"He did?" She lowered her knees again, stretching
her legs out.
"Oh, yeah. Talked about how beautiful you are.
He was right about that, too."
She blushed and smiled and shook her head. "It's very
nice of you to say so, but..."
"He told me he'd stopped seeing you."
Carestul.
You're pushing
it. "I really couldn't understand that."
Watch out.
"You sounded like such a great couple."
She's starting to look funny.
"I was awfully sorry to hear it hadn't worked out."
She looked as if, before her very eyes,
Neal had turned into an odd but not unattractive
brown chimp. "What are you talking about?" she said.
"You and Darren."
"What about us?"
"Well, you know. He told me that you'd broken
up."
"Broken up what?"
"Your ... you know, your relationship."
She smiled in a frantic way, and her blush
darkened to purple.
"We never . .." She shook her head. "Nothing's
broken up. Just
because he got married doesn't... 1 mean, he'll
always be my
brother."
Neal felt as if he'd been clubbed on the head.
He lifted the glass to his mouth, and drank, and
tried not to choke.
There's gotta be some mistake!
Lowering his glass, he said, "The other Darren. Not
your brother. The
other
Darren. He must be the one I know."
"I don't think 1 know any other Darren."
1 didn't really think so.
"Sure you do," Neal insisted. "You must. The one
I went to high school with. You don't remember
me, right?"
"Not really. You look a little familiar, though. We
might've met. Did you ever come over to the house?
See, I didn't go to Hamilton. Mom and
Dad sent me to Saint Joan's. That's a
parochial school downtown. They, you know, wanted
to protect their little girl from all the big, bad
teenaged boys."
Neal struggled to smile. "That explains it, then.
The Darren I know went to Santa Monica High
School. We both did. Sa mohi."
"Weird," Karen said.
"Yeah. That his name should just happen to be Darren and
he'd have a girlfriend named Karen. . ." Neal tried
to recall Karen's last name.
still
don't know it! Never did!
Oh shit!
She watched him, her eyebrows rising above the rims
of her glasses.
A few seconds passed. Then she asked in a
quiet, wary voice, "Karen what?"
"You know."
"I know. Don't you?"
"This is really embarrassing," he said. "I guess
I've drawn one of those blanks. You know how
sometimes a name just suddenly slips your mind for no
reason at all?"
"You just looked
mine
up in the phone book, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Sure, I did. But haven't you ever had
a name slip your
mind?"
"What's going on?" she asked.
Neal shook his head, shrugged, and tried to look
innocent. "Maybe I'd better just leave now.
I'm sorry I can't remember your name." He
laughed. "Half the time, I can't remember my
own."
"Neal Darden," she told him.
Splendid. Great. Spectacular. She
remembers.
"If it's even your real name."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll just leave,
okay?" He twisted sideways and set down his
glass on the lamp table.
As he stood up, so did Karen.
As he stepped toward the front door, so did she.
She got there first, and put her back against it.
"I just want to leave," he told her.
She stared into his eyes. "First tell me what's
going on. Only this time, how about the truth? You
didn't look me up in the phone book, did you?
You don't even
know
my last name, do you?"
"Sure, I do."
"Stop lying, okay? Look, you seem like a decent
person. I'm not going to call the police, or
anything, I just want to know what you're doing here."
"Okay," he said, and wondered what to tell her.
Not the truth, that's for sure. She wouldn't believe
the truth. Besides, Neal was not about to tell
anyone
about the bracelet.
"You're right," he said. "I don't know you. I've
seen you around the neighborhood, and I... sort of
followed you home, one day." He smiled, trying
to look sheepish.
"Why?"
"I wanted to know where you live."
"Why?"
"Uh ... I thought I might like to meet you. I
know, that probably sounds kind of creepy. Like
I'm a stalker, or something."
"A little bit," she said. But she seemed more
intrigued than wary. "How did you find out my
name?"
The mailbox? Neal wondered.
No! If her building was like most, her mailbox
label wouldn't show her first name. Probably just a
K.
Followed by her full last name.
I
shauld've looked there! I'd still be going along fine
if I'd
just
taken the trouble to learn her last name!
Karen hoisted an eyebrow. "Trying to think of a good
answer?"
I asked someone?
Sure. Who?
Saw her name somewhere? On her car registration?
Great idea. Give her the idea I searched
inside her car. That'd
really
make me look like a jerk.
"I'm just a little embarrassed," he said.
"I bet you are."
I saw her name on her driver's license? How
on earth would I get a look at her driver's
license?
Yes."
"You'll think I'm a real snoop," he said, "but
at this stage of things ..." He grimaced. "I
stood behind you in a checkout line at the grocery
store, and sort of... I watched you filling out a
check. All I could catch was your first name. I
glimpsed the Karen, and then ... I followed your car
when you drove home."
Please
don't ask any more questions!
She gazed at him. Frowning slightly, but not in an
angry way. "You're kidding," she said.
"No. That's basically it. Tonight, I just... I
couldn't wait any longer. 1 just had to come over and
try to really meet you. I know it's crazy. Coming
at an hour like this. But ever since I found out where you
live, I've been... I haven't been able to think
straight. So anyway. That's that."
"Why?" she asked.
"What do you mean, why?"
"Why me?"
"I just. .. there's something about you. The first time I
saw you, I got this feeling. As if we'd known
each other for a long time, or something."
Her frown vanished. "I sort of... feel that
way, too."
"I know this wasn't the right way to go about meeting you.
I
mean, you probably think I'm some kind of
lunatic ..."
"I don't know." She shrugged. "Not really."
"That's good. Anyway, now that we've met, I'd
better get out of here so you can get some sleep.
Maybe we could meet again tomorrow, or ..."
"That'd be great!"
"Great," Neal said, trying to match her enthusiasm.
"Dinner?"
"Sure."
"Why don't I pick you up? Say, around six?"
"Six? Fine."
"Terrific."
But she still blocked the door.
Neal gave her a big smile. "Are you going
to let me out?"
She smiled back. "Maybe, maybe
not."
Oh,
man.
Now what!
"Before I let you go," she said, "you've got to tell
me one thing."
No more
questions!
Damn." "Any second now," he warned,
"I'm gonna turn into a pumpkin."
"Then I'll make a pie," she said.
He didn't like how she looked, saying that. He
tried to keep
smiling, but it wasn't easy.
"What do you want to know?" he asked.
"How did you know about Darren?"
Neal felt a sinking sensation.
The very question he didn't want to hear.
"How did I know
what
about Darren?" he asked, trying to stall.
"You said you were a friend of his," Karen explained.
"That's how you got me to let you in. So, if I'm
just a stranger you . .. fell for and followed home,
how do you know anything about Darren?"
"Oh, I picked his name at random."
"Darren?"
"Sure. Everybody knows a Darren."
She didn't seem amused. "Try again."
Neal hesistated, then said, "You don't really
want to know."
"Yes, I do."
"You're going to keep me here till 1 tell you?"
"I'm not moving."
"I could move you."
"If you try, you'll be sorry."
"I thought you wanted to go
out
with me."
"Maybe I do," she said. "You seem ... I
think you're someone 1 might like very much. But I have to
be
able to trust you. There has to be honesty. And there
hasn't been much of that, so far. You got me to open
the door under false pretenses, by
lying
to me. That's no way to start a relationship."
"I know. But 1 just didn't figure you'd open the
door if I told you I was some Joe Schmo off
the streets."
She nodded as if she understood and agreed. But then
she asked, "So how did you know about Darren?"
What the hell.
"From you," he said.
She frowned. "What're you talking about?"
"This is gonna sound crazy, and you'll think it's
another lie. But it's the truth. Honest to God.
I have this gift, this ability. . . Sometimes, I can
tell what someone's thinking. I can read minds."
Karen's face went crimson. "Oh, yes," she
said. "Every day, and twice on Sunday."
"When I came to your door? I concentrated on you.
And I found Darren's name in your mind."
She stared at him. "No. No, you didn't."
"I did."
Her head jerked a couple of times quickly from side
to side. "That's impossible. Nobody can read
minds."
"I can."
"No."
"I had no idea he was your brother," Neal
explained.
And wished, right away, that he could call the words
back.
Karen's lips moved, but no words came
out. She was breathing hard.
Why didn't I keep my
mouth
shut".
"It's all right," he told her. "I'll never
tell anyone."
She looked horrified. "Tell what?"
"About you and Darren. The things you've done together."
"You ... you
know?"
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, God!" Her hands flew to her face. She
dug her fingertips into her cheeks and blurted,
"Oh, God, no!"
"It's all right," Neal said again.
"No!" she cried out.
"Shhh. I'll just leave. Okay? If you'll
move out of the way? You'll never see me again.
I'll never tell anyone."
"Bastard!"
She threw herself at him, squealing, reaching for him with
hooked fingers.
Neal lurched backward. "No!" he gasped.
"Jeez!"
"Bastard!"
He flung his arms up to protect his face. She
raked his forearms. "Ow!" He shoved her away and
glanced at the raw furrows on his arms. "Look
what you did to me! Jeez!"
She came charging at him again. She was sobbing.
Tears poured down her face.
"No!" he snapped.
She kept on coming, hands up, fingers ready for
clawing.
Neal said, "Shit!" Then he braced himself, rammed
his left arm up to block her, and drove his right fist
into her belly. She was soft there. His fist pounded
deep. Her breath exploded out and she folded over
his hand.
As she went down, he caught her under the armpits.
He lowered her gently to her knees. When he
pulled his hands free, she slumped over and pressed
her forehead to the floor. She made noisy sucking
sounds, trying to breathe.
Neal crouched in front of her head. "Are you
okay?" he asked.
She kept on gasping.
"I'm sorry I had to do that, Karen. I shouldn't have
come here. I'm sorry. But as far as I'm concerned,
this is the end of it. It was all a big
mistake, and I'm sorry I found out about your .
.. your thing with Darren. But I'll never tell
anyone, I promise. Your secret's safe with
me. Okay? Just don't call the cops on me.
I'm go
ing. I'm going right now. You'll never see me
again."
1 hope, he thought.
Then he stood up, stepped around her, and hurried
to the door. As he grabbed the knob, he looked
back at her. She was still on her knees, her head
to the floor. Neal expected her white bikini
pants to show, but she didn't have them on anymore.
He glimpsed pale buttocks, a shadowy
cleft, a glistening slit, hair. Looking away
quickly, he jerked the door open.
He shut it gently, silently.
Then trotted down the stairs and ran for the rear gate
of the courtyard.
Chapter Twenty
In Marta's bathroom, Neal used toilet paper
and water to clean
the bloody scratches on his forearms.
Everything just keeps on getting worse, he thought.
How could he explain to Marta about the
scratches? She was bound to notice them. He
couldn't make them go away. Nor could he hide them
by wearing long sleeves, not every minute he was in
Marta's presence, not in July.
How does a guy get his arms scratched in the
middle of the night?
He needed an explanation that didn't involve
leaving Marta's apartment and having a fight.
Tell her I went back to my own place and
tangled with Rasputin?
No!
He'd had enough of lying. Lies had gotten him into this
mess.
Lies, and curiosity.
Never should've gone to see Karen, he thought.
That had been his first mistake. He made a
second mistake when he stepped through her door.
By then, he'd already seen her and confirmed the reality of
his earlier visit. There'd been no need to enter her
apartment.
So why did I do it? he wondered.
He wanted to think that he'd gone in because he felt
sorry for her and hoped to distract her from her
loneliness. That had been part of it, at least. But
he'd also been attracted to her. He'd
liked her mind, while inside it, and he'd liked
her looks.
Hoping to
get lucky?
No, he told himself. It wasn't like that. I
don't cheat on Marta. Hell, I proved that,
didn't I? If I was going to fool around with
anyone, I would've done it with Elise. She was much
better looking than Karen. And willing. But 1
refused.
So why
did
I go into Karen's apartment, if it wasn't to mess with
her?
Just to see what might happen?
Yeah, right. You
wanted to see her in that
T-shirt. And
maybe without it. And maybe you'd get to fool around
with her through no fault of your own.
He had gone in knowing that she was terribly lonely.
Figured you might at least get to hug her.
Maybe cop a
little
feel along the way, all innocent.
Never thought she'd attack.
He remembered punching her. He'd been scared at
the time. He'd only hit her to defend himself, and he
felt a little sick at
the memory of it.
But the punch ... feeling his fist drive into her soft
belly . . . and grabbing her so she wouldn't fall
hard . . . knowing she was naked under the T-shirt..
.
He'd caught her beneath the arms, but he could've
easily grabbed her breasts. Grabbed them, and told
himself later that he'd done it by accident... just trying
to help.
I didn't, he reminded himself. 1 didn't take
any sort of advantage of her.
All I did was look ... a glance back on my
way to the door. Nothing wrong with that. Not my fault
she'd taken off her pants. Besides, I didn't
realty look. It's not like I stopped and crouched
down and
inspected
her. I
left.
Remembering it, he felt aroused and guilty.
And I'm trying to tell myself I didn't
mess with her?
I messed with her, all right. Didn't make love
with her, but
I sure as hell
fucked
her.
And she fucked me, he thought, looking at his ripped
arms.
The scratches stung. She'd raked away strips
of skin from both his forearms: three scratches on
one, four on the other. Some were insignificant.
On each arm, however, were two deep furrows that still
leaked blood.
Her middle and ring fingers had done the main damage.
The wounds looked like exactly what they were.
Nobody was likely to mistake them for scatches from
thorns, a cat, or anything other than human
fingernails.
Marta sees these, Neal thought, and she'll start
thinking maybe I am the guy who killed Elise.
He opened her medicine cabinet to look for an
antiseptic.
And he realized that he'd never been inside this
cabinet before. Its shelves were lined with Marta's
private things: her toothbrush, dental
floss, toothpaste, little plastic bottles of
aspirin, Tylenol and prescription drugs,
cotton balls, tubes of ointments and creams, a
dispenser of birth control pills.
Talk about invading someone's privacy . . .
He didn't want to know what she kept in here.
This is almost as bad as riding someone, he thought.
As
good as.
Embarrassed, he tried to ignore the labels. And
he listened, afraid Marta might arrive home
early for some reason and catch him looking at these
things.
When he found a tube of antiseptic ointment, he
turned his back to the cabinet, twisted off the
tube's cap, and squeezed some goop onto a
finger.
As he spread it onto his wounds, he wondered how
to deal with the
real
problem: not the injuries themselves, but how to prevent
Marta from finding out about them.
He could think of only one solution.
Leave.
Disappear, and not come back until they're
healed.
My God, he thought, that might take a couple
weeks.
It seemed like an awfully extreme way to solve
the problem. But also an attractive way.
As he finished applying the ointment to his injuries,
he
thought of some very good reasons to disappear. Mainly, it
would
save him from Marta's curiosity about the
scratches. Also, however,
it would take him away from his apartment: the place
where he was most in danger from Rasputin.
If I'm not there, he thought, the bastard won't have a
chance of finding me.
Neither will the police. In case they should come looking.
And the same with Karen. Neal was probably the lost
person she ever wanted to see again. But she knew his
real name. If she looked him up in the phone
directory, she would find that he's her neighbor.
For one reason or another, she might come looking for
him.
Nice not to be there, if she does.
He capped the ointment, put it away, then cleaned
his fingertips with toilet paper. He
flushed all the toilet paper that he'd used on his
wounds.
Then he headed for the bedroom.
To pack.
Is there any reason not to take off? he wondered.
Wouldn't miss any subbing jobs, since this was
summer break. As far as he could remember, he had
no appointments set for the next couple of weeks.
Though he had a few screen projects in various
stages of development, no deadlines or meetings
were coming up in the near future. He'd planned
to spend all his time fooling around with some new ideas for
screenplays.
Money shouldn't be a problem, either. He still had more
than five thousand dollars in his checking account-money
left over from the payment he'd received for the first draft
of
Dead Babes.
And another good chunk was due in September, when
primary filming was scheduled to begin on
Depth of Night.
Assuming they don't blow it, he thought.
Can't ever count on a damn
thing with these film jerks.
Yeah,
you can count on something
comt
one way or another the whole, deal will be blown out
of the water so they never get to the primary filming of
anything.
September doesn't matter, he told himself.
I've got the money for my getaway.
Two weeks, probably.
Or until my arms heal. Or until I
figure a great excuse for the scratches.
Before Neal had driven over to Karen's apartment,
he'd put the videotape of his statement, along with the
bracelet and pistol, into the bottom of his overnight
bag. He'd hidden them beneath his toilet kit, gym
shorts, socks and underwear.
They were still there.
He left the videotape where it was, but took out
the bracelet and gun. He slipped the bracelet
onto his wrist. He stuffed the pistol into the right
front pocket of his trousers.
Then he took his bag into the living room. Leaving it
near the door, he entered the kitchen. Marta's old
Royal portable typewriter was still on the table.
Neal rolled a sheet of paper into it, and typed.
Dear Marta,
You've probably noticed that I'm gone. I
decided to take the proverbial "powder."
Don't be alarmed, okay?
Everything is fine, really.
It just seems like a good idea to pull a disappearing
act for a while.
For one thing, I don't like getting you involved in
all this. It might be dangerous. After all, I am
the only living witness to Elise's murder. Not that
I actually saw it happen
comb as good as. Also, I shot the guy and hurt him.
He would probably like to kill me if at all
possible.
If he makes a try for me, I don't want you
to be anywhere nearby.
I don't want him to even
suspect
that you are a person who has anything to do with me.
I don't want him to know that you exist.
1 hate to think what he would do to you.
Anyway, there's less chance of Raspy coming after you
if I take a leave of absence.
Also, I don't want to get you in trouble with the
police. At this point, I don't know where I'll
be heading. Some
where out of town, where I can relax and not have to worry
about either the police or Rasp.
I probably won't get in touch with you. The less
you know, the better.
I'm awfully sorry for dragging you into my mess.
1 would've kept it all to myself, but 1 cared too
much for you, and couldn't lie.
I love you, Marta. I'll be thinking about you, and
missing you. Again, please don't worry. I'll be
a lot safer, hiding out. And I won't stay away
any longer than 1 have to.
Adios
for now.
All my love,
After signing the letter, Neal slipped its bottom
edge into the
rear of the typewriter's roller so that the sheet stood
upright.
Then he picked up his bag, turned off the lights
in Marta's apartment, and left. He went out to his
car. He needed to return to his own apartment and
pack a few things before taking off for anywhere.
Where should 1 go? he wondered as he started to drive.
To a motel or hotel. Outside of Los
Angeles, since he didn't want
to run a risk of bumping into anyone he knew.
Outside Southern California, for that matter. Why
take chances? It's a small world. Try hanging out
at the Disneyland Hotel, for instance, and he very well
might run into someone he knew. San Diego
seemed a little risky, too.
Too bad Disneyland isn't a few hundred
miles from here, he thought.
There's always Disney World.
But that seemed
too
far away. Besides, he'd heard that Florida could be
awful in summer: terrible heat, humidity so bad that
you're never dry, and mosquitoes.
He liked the idea of going somewhere with an amusement
park, though. If he had to run off and hide somewhere,
why not make the best of it? Treat it as a holiday.
He
Uked
amusement parks.
Couldn't get enough of them.
Disneyland and Disney World were great places; friendly and
pleasant and fun and nonthreatening, and full of
cuteness.
Knott's Berry Farm had some reality
going for it. In addition to having plenty of rides and
nifty shops, there were real horses, real museums
full of Old West artifacts, and live performers
doing gunfights in the streets.
Magic Mountain didn't have much to offer except
thrill rides. It was also a favorite hangout for
gang types. Neal wouldn't like to spend much time there.
Besides, Disneyland, Knott's and Magic Mountain
were all too close to home.
He needed to go at least a couple of hundred
miles.
The Santa Cruz Boardwalk was a
possibility. Neal had been born too late for
such grand old parks as the Long Beach Pike and
Pacific Ocean Park in Venice, but the Santa
Cruz Boardwalk still survived. It was one of
Neal's favorite places. He'd been there
five times, over the years.
How about it? he wondered.
Not a good idea. He'd taken Marta there.
That'll be the first place she thinks of, if she
tries to figure out where I've gone.
So how about Funland? he wondered.
Funland, in Boleta Bay, was a lot like Santa
Cruz. A boardwalk amusement park on
the beach-old, tacky, creepy.
Maybe too creepy.
A few years ago, a bunch of people had gotten
killed there. Something to do with an abandoned funhouse.
Indigents had gotten into it and turned it into some
sort of torture chamber, or obstacle course.
Grabbed people off the beach and sent them through. That sort of
thing.
Neal had been to Funland
before
all that. And he'd found it too spooky for his
taste, even then. Take the Santa Cruz
Boardwalk, age it and run it down, fill it with
carny types who looked like they might want to cut
your throat, load the crowd with outlaw bikers and
loving couples like Starkweather and Fugate, and there
you've got Funland.
Not to mention the freak show.
Not actually a freak show, he reminded himself.
Weird stuff.
Jasper's
Oddities.
That's it.
"Shit," he muttered.
He still sometimes had nightmares about what
he'd seen in there.
"Forget Funland," he said.
What's left? he wondered.
He'd heard of a place called The Fort, over in
Nevada. It was supposed to be an amusement park
with an Old West theme. He'd never been there, he
didn't think he'd ever talked to Marta about it, and
it was probably four or five hundred miles from
Los Angeles. Just about the right distance. Though near
enough to reach with a full day of driving, it probably
didn't draw huge crowds from southern
California.
From what he'd heard, The Fort didn't draw
huge crowds from anywhere.
It had opened a few years ago with a lot of
fanfare. But it hadn't caught on.
Hope it hasn't shut down, he thought.
Last he'd heard, it had still been up and running.
Give the place a try, he decided.
Chapter Twenty-one
Neal felt excited about the trip. But he grew
nervous as he
turned into the alley that ran behind his apartment building-
and Karen's.
No
cop cars,
tfwnfe God.
Karen probably hadn't called the police, fearing
that Neal might tell them about her relationship with
Darren.
Must
be terrified somebody'Us, find
out.
Though the alley looked all right, Neal drove
slowly, searching the area beyond his headlights.
He saw nobody. No Creeper, no bums, no
Rasputin.
No Karen.
I'm gonna have to move, he told himself. Can't go
on living here.
But a final decision about that could wait. For now, he
just
wanted to put some miles behind him.
He swung into his parking space and shut down his
car, then wondered if he should use the bracelet for a
quick scouting expedition through his apartment.
And what, leave my body here?
Not a great idea, he thought.
He could feel the weight of the pistol against his thigh.
Hope the bastard is up there waiting for
me.
Sure 1 d.
Nervous, he climbed out of his car and walked quickly.
He looked all around as he hurried through the rear
gate and up the stairs to the balcony. Everything
looked okay. In front of his own door, he
took the pistol out of his pocket. He held it
ready in his right hand, ringer against the trigger guard,
while he used his left hand to unlock and open the
door.
Inside, he flicked a light switch. A lamp
came on. The living room looked okay, so he
shut the door.
Then he walked through every room, gun in hand.
Nobody.
We're in business.
It took Neal half an hour to pack, and another
ten minutes to
study road maps. After figuring out how to reach The
Fort, he
tucked his maps under one arm and carried a single,
heavy suitcase
down to his car. He tossed the suitcase into the
trunk,
climbed into the driver's seat, and took
off.
He drove through backstreets, taking much the same
route he'd used Sunday night on his way
to Video City. Robertson would've been faster,
but the boulevard seemed more dangerous to Neal than the
hidden roads that twisted through this quiet residential
neighborhood.
He didn't want to encounter a car full of
trigger-happy gangsters.
And he wanted to know if he was being followed.
No headlights showed in his rearview mirror. But
he supposed Rasputin might be tailing him without
headlights, so he made
several random turns. A few times, he even
swung over to the
curb, shut off his lights and engine, and waited.
Nothing went by.
At last, he sped up the on-ramp to the Santa
Monica Freeway, fairly certain that he
wasn't being followed. He headed west for only a
couple of minutes before starting north on the 405
Freeway. The traffic was light and there would be no
more turns for about half an hour, so he took a
deep breath and tried to relax.
He felt as if he were starting off on a
holiday trip-but also as if he were a fugitive on
his way to a hideout.
Which is it? he wondered.
Both?
The two feelings seemed to conflict with each other,
yet they each held a place in him.
He'd seen such things in the people he'd entered with the
bracelet: They were packed with contradictions.
Maybe we all are, he thought.
Maybe not.
Neal himself seemed to have conflicting emotions and thoughts
about nearly everything.
At least about the big stuff, he told himself. Like
making this trip.
Leaving Marta ...
He
really
hated to leave Marta behind.
On the other hand, there was a certain sense of
freedom in the prospect of being far away from her.
He found himself daydreaming about their reunion.
He imagined entering her apartment after being gone for a
week or two. She is wearing a T-shirt and
nothing else-the same as Karen. She rushes into his
arms and embraces him. "Oh,
God, Need, 1 was so worried about you."
And he says, "I
missed you so much, Marta."
And he slips his hands under the hanging back of her
shirt and curls his hands over her buttocks. He
feels their cool smoothness.
This is one of those mind-movies, he realized. Just
like Karen had about Darren.
He supposed he'd always experienced such things.
The mind-movies, various internal conversations, the
vague
and wordless notions floating around in his head, plus a
constant
general awareness of his physical sensations and
surroundings-
they'd been part of his life all along, but he'd
never paid any
particular attention to them. They'd simply been the
mixture of
thoughts and feelings that lived inside him. He'd
taken them
for granted, never analyzed them.
Not until the bracelet came along.
He sure hoped his new awareness of the processes
wouldn't end up intruding too much on his own
mind.
Like the way it just screwed up my nice little
reunion with Marta . . .
He focused on where he'd left off in the
fantasy.
They'd been embracing, relieved and happy about being
together again, and he'd been going up underneath the back of
her T-shirt, exploring her smooth bare skin.
He was there again, thinking about it as he drove north
through the San Fernando Valley.
The back of her T-shirt lifted as his hands
roamed higher. Soon, her buttocks were bare. In
front, the shirt climbed above her waist.
He caressed the tops of her shoulders, then slipped
a hand down her back and around her hip and down to the
moist, warm cleft between her legs. He slipped a
finger into her. She gasped and stiffened, the way she
did in real life when he touched her that way.
Must feel awfully good for her, he thought.
Easy to find out. Just pay her a tittle visit
with the bracelet sometime.
No way, he told himself. Tough to look her in the
face again if I'd snuck inside and spied on
her.
Besides, I couldn't do it to her, even if I
wanted to. I can't be in her
and
touching her.
He wondered, though. There were probably ways ..
.
Don't
even think about it.
All else aside, Neal realized that he might
find out things that he didn't want to know. Elise
had been clear in her warnings
about that: Stay out of relatives, close friends and
lovers.
An awfully good way to find out where you stand, though,
he
thought. If there's a problem, better to find out about it
before
you get any more committed to her.
It'd be such a dirty trick.
He was opposed to doing it, but excited by the idea.
Bad
enough,
invading a total
stranger
like that.
He planned to invade plenty of those, as
soon as he reached The Fort.
He could hardly wait. You'll have to wait, he
told himself. No way to go bracelet-hitching
on the freeway.
Unless I
pull over.
Which didn't seem like a great idea.
Just hold your horses, he thought. Wait till
you're inside a nice, safe hotel room.
Just after dawn, with the sun in his eyes, Neal stopped
for breakfast
at Sunny's Cafe

in the town of Mojave. Before leaving his
car, he removed the pistol from his pocket and
slipped off the
bracelet. He stashed the gun in the glove
compartment. He
shoved the bracelet into the right front pocket of his
trousers.
Then he climbed out, stretched, and walked across the
gravel
parking lot to the restaurant entrance.
He was told by a middle-aged woman at the cash
register to sit anywhere, so he picked a
corner booth. It was large enough for four people. The
place wasn't crowded, though, so he felt okay
about sitting there.
A waitress came along. A cute blond
gum-snapper who was probably not much older than
eighteen. The name tag above her left breast
indicated that her name was Sue.
"You all there is?" she asked.
"Just me."
"Coffee?"
"Yeah, please."
"Ya got it." She filled the mug, then handed him
a plastic menu. "Back in a jiff." She
swaggered away with her coffeepot. Her thick
ponytail swished from side to side. So did her
rump.
She wore a very short skirt.
How'd you like to ride her?
Shaking his head, Neal turned his attention to the menu.
After a quick study of it, he decided on the Sunny
Combo 1.
It consisted of two eggs, bacon or sausage
links, hash browns or
home fries, and a choice of toast, an English
muffin, or a bagel.
When Sue returned, he said, "I'll have the
number one combo."
She jotted something down on a small pad.
"How'd ya like yer eggs?"
"Over easy."
She jotted. "Ya got it."
"And I'll have the sausage, the hash browns, and
toast."
Her pencil twitched. Neal could hear its point
making quiet scratchy sounds on the paper. When
her pencil stopped, she said, "Right, ya got it.
What kinda toast? We got yer white, yer wheat,
yet rye, yer raisin, or yer sourdough."
"Sourdough."
She marked on the pad, gave her gum a couple of
chews, and said, "What'd ya do to yer arms?"
"What?" Neal asked, and felt the hot surge of a
blush.
"Yer arms. Yer girl get ya?"
He glanced down at the scratches. "Yeah, she
sure did." He quickly added, "She fell
backward and tried to grab me. We were out on a
boat yesterday and she lost her balance."
"She okay?" Sue asked. "Didn't drown or
nothin?"
"She got a little wet, that's all. But I got
myself torn apart by her lousy fingernails."
He glanced at Sue's hands. Her fingernails were
chewed down
to the quick.
Sue winced. "Musta hurt like shit."
"Yeah."
"Oops!" She pursed her lips and pressed the
pencil against them. "We ain't supposed to curse.
Against the rules."
"Well, I won't tell."
She cast him a wink. "Yer a sweetie." She
tapped him on top of the head a couple of times with the
eraser end of her pencil, then twirled around and
swaggered toward the counter.
Neal found himself grinning as he watched her.
Maybe I should try giving her a ride, he thought.
Must be
pretty strange territory inside a mind like that.
Not necessarily
enjoyable
territory, but strange. And probably interesting.
Ought to do it, he told himself-if only for research.
He wondered about the logistics.
Try it
right
now?
He pictured his abandoned body at the table,
tilting slightly, tilting a bit more, then toppling
sideways onto the seat cushion and rolling onto
the floor under the table.
That'd be
real
neat, he thought. Forget it.
He drank some coffee and looked around. In a
booth across the room from him sat a couple of
Highway Patrol officers.
He felt a kick of alarm.
They were facing each other, one eating and nodding while
the other talked. Neal couldn't hear what was being said.
Must've been fairly amusing, though.
Afraid they might notice him staring, he looked
away and drank some more coffee.
He wondered if he was a suspect yet.
Was there an APB out on him?
An all points bulletin would probably
describe him and his car and give his license plate
number. But he doubted it would include a photo of
him. These officers, if they saw his face, weren't
likely to gasp and go for their guns.
I'd better check the news, he thought.
He didn't
want
to hear about Elise's murder, but he knew that he
should at least turn on the car radio and find out what
was being said about suspects.
Maybe they already got Rasputin.
I'll do it, he decided. Soon as I'm done with
breakfast.
When his breakfast arrived, he saw that the egg
whites were runny.
"Ya all set?" Sue asked.
"Fine," he said.
"Get ya anything else?"
"That's about it."
"Ya got it, then." She winked at him, and spun
away.
He lifted some egg white on the tines of his fork.
The substance
came up, clear and slimy, dangling like mucous.
His appetite
dwindled.
Good thing I'm by myself, he thought. If Mom was here,
she'd make me send it back. Marta probably
would, too.
He didn't like to make trouble, though.
Especially not about a matter like this. In some
places, "over easy" got you fried eggs with
runny yolks and firm, white whites-the way he
liked them. In other places, though, "over easy"
got you a runny yolk and a white like snot.
This wasn't the cook's fault, or Sue's.
Neal should've ordered "over medium."
He went ahead and ate his meal. All except the
egg whites.
Sue came by, now and again, to fill his coffee mug
and to ask if everything was okay.
"Real good," he told her.
Finally, he stopped her from giving him another
refill. "Better not," he said. "I've got a
long drive ahead."
"Where ya goin?"
"The Fort."
"Yeah? The Fort?"
"Have you heard of it?"
"Sure! Never been there, though. What they say,
they got a roily coaster'll knock ya outta yer
shorts. The Pony Express, that's what they
call it. The roily coaster. Sure'd like to try
it. 1
like
roily coasters." She grinned and chomped her gum.
"So do I."
"Say what, how about lettin me come with ya?"
"Come with me?"
"Sure!" She bobbed her head up and down. "How
about it?"
"Are you kidding?"
"Hey, no. Me? What do ya say?"
"What about your job?"
"No biggie. Sunny'll get of' Marge to fill
in for me. I never been to The Fort. This'Have be so
cool!"
This is crazy, Neal thought. Gotta talk her out
of it.
"I might not be coming back this way," he explained.
"I mean, how'll you get back?"
"Easy. I'll juss get me a ride. I get
me rides all the time. Ain't
no one ever says no, not less he's got his wife
with him. So,
how about it?"
"Well. .." He couldn't think of a good excuse.
He didn't want Sue to ride with him. He
didn't want
any
companion. He wanted to be alone. Besides, he
found her a bit strange and scary. She seemed a
little wild and unpredictable.
He also liked her, though. She seemed sweet.
Even in her wildness, there was a certain innocence.
It's asking for trouble, he told himself.
Just
say no.
Yeah, sure. Easier said than done. I'd need
to give her a reason, or she'll just think I'm some
sort of jerk.
Sue slung her hip to one side. "If ya
don't want me, just say so. I ain't one to go where
I ain't wanted."
"No, no. It's just sort of surprising, that's
all."
"Tell ya what, I'll take care of yer meal."
She plucked his bill from a pocket of her apron.
"Meet ya at yer car. What's it look like?"
"It's the blue Ford."
"Catch ya in a jiff," she said. With a wink, she
said, "Save yer tip." Then she swaggered toward the
cashier.
"Holy Moses," Neal murmured.
Chapter Twenty-two
This is about as safe as picking up a hitchhiker,
Neal thought
as he hunted for the men's rest room. I don't know
a thing about
her. For all I know, she might be some sort of a
lunatic.
Inviting herself to join his trip to The Fort was certainly
not the act of a normal, rational young woman.
Should be interesting.
What if she's a scam artist, or something? Even
a thief? Her real plan might be to steal my car.
Maybe she's got confederates who'll tail us for a
few miles, then ...
Neal found the men's rest room. As he pushed the
door open,
the sight of his bare wrist reminded him of the
bracelet.
Of course!
He was glad to see that this was a one-at-a-time
toilet: only a single set of facilities, and a
lock on the door.
He locked the door. Then he used the urinal.
After washing his hands, he put the bracelet on.
He glanced at the toilet seat. It
looked reasonably clean, but he was afraid he
might fall off.
They should came with safety belts . . .
The only safe place was the floor, which looked a
little grubby, but not disgusting. He pulled out a paper
towel and placed it on the floor. Then he sat on
it, leaned back against the door, brought his knees up
and spread his legs, planting his feet on the floor
to brace himself.
He felt like a bit of a fool.
"Okay," he muttered, "let's pay Sue a little
visit." Then he kissed the bracelet.
He drifted up out of his body. No longer felt
the hard floor under his rump or the door against his
back or the stiff scabs on his knees and elbow
or the soreness of his scratched arms. He felt as
light as air.
Let's go find her, he thought.
And zipped through the rest room door and straight into the
body of a Highway Patrol officer.
And stuck.
The cop was slim and fit, but felt swollen and
heavy in the bowels. He obviously needed a
toilet-fast.
Shit! Neal thought.
Aftermost... the cop was thinking. Almost. Just
hang on, old pardner, almost there. What the hell
did 1 eat? Couldn't be the breakfast. Just ate
it, for Pete's sake. Must be the onions in the
chili last
night.
Charming, Neal thought.
The cop reached out, grabbed the knob of the men's room
door, and tried to turn it.
It didn't turn.
Oh, no.
Great. Now what'm I gonna do?
Gonna
shit my pants.
Go to the gals' John?
Why
not?
Any port in a
storm.
Hurrying toward the door to the women's rest room,
the officer pictured himself rushing in and finding himself
face-to-face with a shocked female. She
screams.
He suddenly imagined himself facing a board of
inquiry.
"You
entered the
LADIES' room, Mr.
Jones. In uniform, no kss."
"I'm aware of that, sir. But 1 had no choice.
It was an extreme emergency, sir."
Mr. Jones grabbed the knob of the ladies' rest
room door and tried to turn it. The knob
rattled. Frozen, locked.
Jones made a slight whimpering sound.
He quickly returned to the men's room.
Gonna kick
the fucker down.
No! Neal thought.
Outta here!
Neal crashed out of the cop's body, through the door and
into himself. He leaned forward fast and scooted away from
the door, expecting it to explode open at any
moment.
As he scampered to his feet, he heard a firm
but calm knocking on the door. "Excuse me," the
officer called. "I'm having a little problem out here.
If you could speed things up for me, I'd sure
..."
Neal unlocked the door and jerked it open.
Mr. Jones, looking pale and sick, forced a
smile. "Ah, thank you. You're a lifesaver."
"Sorry I kept you waiting."
As they stepped past each other, the cop said, "No
problem. Thanks a million. Must've been the
onions."
"Chili?"
"Watch out for the stuff," Jones said in a tight,
strained voice, and shut the door.
Neal headed for the cafe's exit.
Lord, he thought. That was sure a close one. For
both of us. I'm lucky Jones showed some
retraint.
Outside, he found Sue in the parking lot. She
stood by his car, leaning back against it, her rump
to the passenger door. Beside her feet was a large
paper bag, folded down at the top.
She grinned when she saw him. "Hey, there ya
are," she
called.
"Yep." He suddenly realized he was still wearing the
bracelet.
Damn!
Too late to do anything about it. Sue couldn't have
avoided noticing the thick coil of gold
around his wrist. If he tried to slip it into his
pocket, at this point, she would only wonder why
he wanted to hide it.
For now, she didn't appear interested in his
jewelry. She picked up her bag and stepped out of
his way.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Neal asked as he
unlocked the door for her.
"Sure. Hey, what sorta name ya got?"
"Neal."
A corner of her mouth slipped high. "Just like in
church, huh?"
"It's N'e-a-1." He opened the door for her,
and stepped back.
"Well, I'm Sue, but I reckon ya know that."
With the tip of her forefinger, she tapped the name tag on
her chest. "That's me. Sue. It ain't the name of
my boob, in case yer wondering."
Astonished, he shook his head.
"I just say that on account of these guys, they get
to thinkin' how smart they are and go and ask me what I
call my other one."
"I've never done that."
"Well, 1 reckon yer a gentleman."
"Wouldn't go that far."
She ducked into the car, sat down, and placed the bag
on her lap. Neal shut the door.
He went around to his own side and climbed in.
"Do you want to ... stop by your place before we
go?"
"Nah."
"You don't want to pack, or ... ?"
"Got all I need." She patted the bag.
Neal started the car and steered toward the road. "You
travel light," he said.
"That's me. All I need's my jeans and stuff.
Generally, I'll change in Sunny's John.
Don't wanna go round town lookin'
like a waitress, do I? First thing ya know, folks
start pesterin' ya
to bring "em burgers and shakes."
Neal laughed. "Wouldn't want that." He stopped
at the edge of the road. "Anybody you need to see
before we go?"
"Nope."
"Your parents, or ... ?"
"Good luck findin 'em."
"Oh. Okay. So you're on your own?"
"Only just the three of us. Me, myself, and I."
"Okay." He turned onto the road, and
headed for the freeway onramp.
"Who you got?" Sue asked.
"Same three."
"No folks?"
"Yeah, but they live in San Francisco. I
live in L.a., by the way."
"Married?"
"My parents?"
"Haw! You! Smarty!" She reached out and poked the
side of his head with her forefinger. "You married?"
"Nope."
"Me either. You got a girlfriend?"
"Yep."
"What's her name?"
"Marta."
"She the gal fell in the lake?"
Fell in the lake? What the hell is she . . .

He suddenly remembered the lie he'd made up
to explain the scratches on his arms. "Yeah, that was
Marta."
"How come she ain't here?"
"She has a job."
Sue's left shoulder made a quick hop. "Me
too, but I ain't gonna let it stop
me, not when I got me a ride to The Fort."
"You sure are eager to go to this place. How come you
waited till now?"
"Needed me a ride."
"You said you can
always
get rides from guys."
"Just so they ain't got no gals with "em. Gals,
they never let
a guy give me no rides. They're generally an
onry lot. Ya ever
happen to notice how onry gals are, in a general
sense?" She
looked at him and lifted her eyebrows high.
Neal noticed how golden her eyebrows were. And
he saw innocence and amusement and wonder in the blue
of her wide eyes.
"You mean, ornery?" he asked.
"Yeah. Onry."
"Well," he said. "I don't know."
"Most fellas, they're all easygoing and friendly.
Seems like, anyways. That's how come I like guys.
They ain't a bunch of bitches."
"I'd say there are plenty of bad men around,"
Neal told her. "I've sure run into a
few. And I've known some very nice women."
"Name two," she said.
"You and Marta."
"Haw! Me? Thank ya very much! So how come ya
think
I'm
nice?"
"Oh, I can just tell."
"Well, I got ya fooled! I'm a shit!
Ask anyone!"
He looked at her and burst out laughing.
It's not
that
funny, he thought. But he couldn't help it. And he
couldn't stop. Tears filled his eyes, streamed down
his cheeks.
Calm down, he told himself.
He took deep breaths. He wiped his eyes.
He was beginning to settle down when his mind replayed
Sue blurting out,
"Well, 1 got ya fooled! I'm a shit"."
And he exploded with laughter again, fresh tears
flooding his eyes.
"Ya okay?" Sue asked after a while. "It
weren't all that funny, ya ask me."
"Well... I'm sorry."
"Ya ain't some sorta moron ... ?"
Neal squealed. He was laughing and crying so hard that
he could barely see the road.
So he pulled over and stopped on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "Can't... help
it." He took deep breaths. "I'll be ...
all right. Just a minute." He wiped his eyes.
After he'd calmed
down, he said, "Don't know what's wrong with me."
"Ya okay?" She looked concerned.
He nodded. After drying his eyes again, he checked the
traffic. He waited for a truck to pass. Then the
road was clear, so he steered onto the pavement and
accelerated.
"Cool bracelet," Sue said.
The words sobered Neal fast.
Here we go, he thought. Just act as if everything's
normal. "Thanks," he said.
"Where'd ya get it?"
"Marta gave it to me. It was a birthday
present."
"What'd she wanna give ya a
bracelet
for? It's girl stuff, y'know?"
Neal shrugged. He smiled at her. "This is a
guy
bracelet. It's actually a replica of an
ancient Egyptian artifact. I'm sort of an
amateur Egyptologist."
Shoveling it now, he thought. Why not? She doesn't
know any better.
Sue, gazing at the bracelet, wrinkled her
nose. "What is it?"
"A replica of an ancient Egyptian
bracelet found in the tomb of King Tut. It was
supposed to protect the young king against snakes in the
afterlife."
"No ki.in'?"
"Nope."
"They got snakes in the afterlife?"
"The ancient Egyptians thought so. They were
worried about asps. That's how Cleopatra died,
you know. An asp bit her on the ass."
Sue laughed. "Now I
know
yer ki.in' me."
Neal let go of the steering wheel and jiggled his hand.
"I haven't gotten snake-bit since I started
wearing this thing."
"Let's see it."
"See?"
When she reached for it, he pulled his hand back and
clutched the wheel.
"C'mon, let me
see.
I ain't gonna
run off
with it. Cripes."
"I've let you see it."
"C'mon." She tapped the bracelet with a
knuckle. "Let's
see
it."
n
What could it hurt? he wondered. As long as she
doesn't kiss
it.
I can't warn
her not to kiss it.
"Just be careful," he said. He released his grip
on the steering wheel and stretched his arm toward Sue.
"Thanks." She slipped the bracelet off
Neal's wrist. "Ooo, heavy. This thing made
outta solid gold?"
"Nah," he said. "It's just gold-plated."
"Looks like the real stuff to me." She put it
onto her own wrist and turned it slowly, gazing at
it. "It's sure a snake, all right. And look
at them eyes. Look at them
jewels.
They're just as green as can be. Ya think they're
emeralds?"
"Just green glass."
"I don't know, buddy. Ya ask me, this ain't
fake. How much she pay for it?"
"It was a gift. People don't tell how much they
paid."
"Ya don't know? Bet it was plenty." Sue
raised the bracelet toward the sunlit windshield.
She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Man,
look at how shiny it is!"
"Pretty shiny," Neal agreed.
"That Marta, she sure must love you."
He blushed a little. "I guess so," he said. He
figured that Marta probably
did
love him, but that wasn't the reason for his
embarrassment. He felt ashamed of himself for telling
such a string of lies to Sue, who seemed so
trusting and sincere.
Still holding the bracelet near the windshield, she
stroked it with the back of her left forefinger. She
made no comment. Neal tried to keep his eyes on the
road, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing over at
her.
She brought the bracelet toward her face.
"Hey!" Neal snapped.
She flinched. "What?"
"What're you doing?"
"Nothin. I just wanta feel it." Giving him an
injured frown, she gently rubbed the bracelet against
her cheek. "Feels good."
She closed her eyes and continued caressing herself with the
bracelet.
"Maybe you'd better give it back to me, now,"
Neal said.
"Okay."
But she didn't stop.
"Sue?"
"Okay, okay. Gee, it's just the smoothest thing ..
." She brushed it softly against her lips.
Chapter Twenty-three
"No!" Neal yelled and tried to snatch the
bracelet away.
Too late.
An instant after her lips brushed against the
bracelet, Sue went limp in the passenger seat
and her arm dropped, taking the bracelet down onto
the cushion by her right thigh.
Neal tried to reach it. His seat belt stopped him.
So did his other hand on the left side of the steering
wheel. For the moment, he could only stretch far enough
to touch the top of Sue's thigh.
He went for the buckle of his seat belt.
Oh, God,
he thought.
She's done it. She's out. Where'd she go?
In me? What if she's in me!!!
Maybe she isn't. She could've gone anywhere.
I'm nearest.
Buckle unclasped, he jerked the belt out of his
way. As he moved his left hand to the top of the steering
wheel, he checked the nearby freeway lanes.
No traffic close enough to worry about.
She'd better not be in me! Better not be! Damn
it! Never should've let her touch the bracelet! My
God, I knew better!
He leaned and reached across Sue's lap.
And, leaning, bumped her with his shoulder.
Not much of a bump, but enough to change her balance. As
Neal reached, she shifted in her seat and slumped
sideways until her right shoulder met the door.
Her head thumped the window.
And her hand tumbled over the seat edge, into the gap between
the seat and the door.
Neal could no longer see her hand or the bracelet.
"Foil
off

."
he commanded the bracelet in his mind. He knew it was
too large for Sue; it ought to slide down her hand and
drop to the floor.
She remained limp.
According to Elise, you return to your own body immediately
if you break contact with the bracelet.
She'd
be back by now.
Obviously, it hadn't dropped off.
Gotta
putt over,
get it
off her quick. My God, my God. "You in me,
Sue? Get out!"
Damn it."
This is what 1 get for being nice to someone! "Get
out!"
Foot off the gas pedal, he saw a wide section
of shoulder ahead. He checked his rearview
mirror. Nothing on his tail.
Sue still didn't move.
"You'd better not be in me! Get the hell out!"
Neal stepped on the brake pedal. As his car
slowed, he eased it onto the hard dirt shoulder of the
road. Pebbles flew up, clattering against the
undercarriage. In the mirror, a cloud of yellow
dust rose into the air.
The car skidded, stopped.
Foot clamped to the brake pedal, Neal let go
of the steering wheel, threw himself across Sue and reached
down into the gap for her hidden hand. He knew he
might be hurting her: digging his left elbow into her
leg, shoving at her belly, mashing her breasts with his
right upper arm. But he didn't much care.
Serves her right,
he thought, not caring that she was probably in his mind and
well aware of the thought.
All he cared about was getting the bracelet away from
her.
Get it before 1 think about the murder!
Oh God,
I
just did.
At that moment, he wrapped his right hand around Sue's
wrist. He hooked a finger underneath the heavy coil
and jerked it forward.
Sue's hand came up out of the crevice. It hovered
beside her leg, supported by the bracelet. It
jumped and shook as Neal
tugged at the solid hoop. When the bracelet
flew clear, her hand
fell and slapped her thigh.
Neal pushed at Sue, trying to shove himself off her.
"Ow!" she gasped. She twitched and squirmed.
"Get off me! Ouch!"
A moment later, Neal was sitting upright. He
slipped the bracelet onto his left hand, where it
would be safe from a sudden grab by Sue. Trying
to catch his breath, he shook his head. "Sorry,"
he said.
"Like fun ya are." Scowling at him, Sue rubbed
her leg. "Ya didn't have to get so rough.
Gripes, 1 was gonna give it back to ya."
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Like I believe
that."
She rubbed her left breast. Just above it, the red
plastic name-plate tilted and wobbled like a raft
on a stormy lake. "Damn near creamed my
tit," she pouted.
"Uh..."
"Ya don't gotta stare."
He turned to the windshield.
What's going on? he wondered. Sue was acting like
a girl who'd gotten roughed up, not like someone who'd
just taken a magic ride to weirdsville.
"We just gonna sit here all day?" she asked.
"I don't know," Neal said. He faced her.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll live," she said. An odd look suddenly
came into her eyes. She turned her head away.
"C'mon, let's go."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
"I could let you out right here, if that's what you
want."
"Why'd I want that?"
"You aren't frightened?"
"Of what?"
"Me."
"I ain't scared of you." She looked him in the
eyes. "Anyhow, Sunny knows I gone off with
ya. She took down yer license plate.
Somethin" happens to me, and yer gonna be in a
whole heap of trouble."
"I wouldn't do anything to you."
"Okay, then. We gonna get a move on?"
Nodding, he waited for some traffic to pass. Then
he pulled onto the highway again and poured on the
speed.
She must not realize what happened to her with the
bracelet, Neal thought. Maybe she figured she
was hallucinating.
Should he come right out and ask her about it?
Better not.
She
had
given him that funny look after saying, "I'll
live." As if she knew he'd already murdered
someone else and might be tempted to do away with her,
too.
If she
thinks I'm a
kitter, she's
acting
pretty cool about it.
She doesn't believe any of it happened, he
told himself. Or, at the very least, she's so confused
about it that she doesn't know what to think.
Nobody
would immediately assume the truth.
She'd slipped out of her own body and taken a
detour into Neal?
That would be about the
last
thing she would figure for the truth.
So if
1 don't confirm it for her . . .
"Sure wish I had
me
a bracelet like that," Sue said.
Neal felt a sinking sensation.
"S'pose to ward off snakes?"
"That's the story."
"How come ya went nuts and grabbed it back? Got
a rattler under yer seat, or somethin?"
"No. I was just worried."
Go
for it!
"The thing is," he said, "you passed out. Right after you
put it to your mouth. I was afraid you might've been
poisoned."
"Huh?"
"Marta warned me ... I thought she must be joking
about it, but... well, she told me that part of the
bracelet's magic comes from snake poison.
That's what the guy told her at the gift shop where
she found it. That it had been dipped in asp venom.
Which is supposed to keep the snakes away. She
said he seemed pretty serious about it. He warned
against getting the thing near your mouth."
"Sounds like a crock to me."
"Well, apparently it's not supposed to be enough
to kill someone. When I saw you pass out, though .
.." Neal shook his head. "You're feeling okay
now?"
He looked at her. She was frowning as if deep in
thought.
"One other thing," he said, "asp venom is
supposed to be hallucinogenic."
"Huh?"
"In small doses, it makes you see and hear
things that aren't there. You know, hallucinate. Like
LSD, or something. Hippies used to use
it, but it fell out of favor after a while. Just a little
too much, and you're a dead duck."
"Really?"
"Really," he said, though he'd never heard such a
thing. For all he knew, the asp that nailed
Cleopatra might've been the last of its
species.
Maybe it isn't a species at all, he thought.
Asp might be nothing but a synonym for snake.
Whatever it is, I'm getting plenty of
mileage out
of it.
Have to Jook it up sometime . . .
He forced himself to smile. "Did you have any interesting
hallucinations from the venom?" he asked.
She was giving him a funny stare again.
"Maybe," she said.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.
1 mean, hallucinations are sort of like dreams.
They're mostly just an expression of your own
worries, obsessions, fantasies. Stuff you
might want to keep private."
"Yer handin' me a load," she said.
"No, I'm not."
"Ya know darn well 1 wasn't havin'
no hallucination. I was in yer head, and you know it."
"No, I..."
"Shoot, ya kept on yelling at me to get out."
He tried to look amused. "Really?
I
was in your fantasy? I'm flattered."
"Weren't no fantasy. 1 got in ya "cause
of the bracelet, 1
reckon. That's how come ya was in such a hot rush
to get it off
me and break the spell."
"There wasn't any spell," he said. "I was
afraid you'd been poisoned."
"Bull-roar. You figured I was in ya, and you
didn't like it one whit. Kept yelling at me with
yer thoughts. Said stuff like, 'Damn it, Sue, get
the hell outta here!" Which 1 figure is
"cause ya didn't want me findin out how yer a
murderer."
"I'm not a murderer," he said.
"Who'd ya kill?"
"Nobody!"
"C'mon, fess up." Sue smiled. Was she
actually amused to find herself riding with a murderer?
"I been in yer brain," she said. "So
c'mon, who'd ya kill? Marta? Did ya kill
her to get yer hands on her bracelet?"
"No!"
"Bet she scratched up yer arms while ya was
murderin her."
"No! That's ridiculous. Marta's perfectly
fine."
"Don't worry, I ain't gonna tell on
ya."
He gaped at her, hardly able to believe he'd
heard her correctly. "No? Not tell on me?"
He was amazed, shocked. "Why the hell not?"
"Yer my ride."
"Aren't you afraid of me?"
"Ya got no call to kill me. Anyhow, like I
said, Sunny got yer license number."
"Oh, that's right."
"So we oughta just keep on goin" to The Fort like
nothin' happened. How's that suit ya?"
"Suits me fine," Neal muttered.
"Good."
"Anyway," he said, "I never killed anyone.
I might be in some trouble because of a murder that happened
a couple days ago, that's the thing. I actually
shot
the guy who did the killing, but it seems that he got
away. So there's a chance I might end up being a
suspect, even though I'm completely innocent.
And the
red
killer is probably after me. Unless he died,
or something. So that's why I've got murder on my
mind, not because I did some
one in. And that's why I'm going to The Fort, just
to stay out
of L.a. and let things blow over for a while."
The way Sue looked at Neal, he might've
been a dog that had just performed a wonderful trick.
"Yer the guy," she said, "that musta killed that diver
champ. Alice Waters?"
Chapter Twenty-four
"Elise," Neal said. "Her name was Elise, not
Alice. And I didn't
kill her. I saved her life."
"Oh, no ya didn't. She's deader than
hell."
"I know. I know, all right. You don't have to tell
me
she's dead. She got murdered after I'd saved
her. The fact is,
she's
the one who gave me the bracelet. Marta never
gave it to me, Elise did. Just before she was
killed. She gave it to me as a reward because I'd
saved her life."
Sue raised her eyebrows. "Really?"
"That's right. Cross my heart and hope to die."
With his right hand, he let go of the steering wheel and marked
an X on his chest.
Sue reached out and knuckled his upper arm as if it were
a door. "Gimme back the bracelet."
"You've got to be kidding."
"I wanna try it again. C'mon. Wanna see
if yer still lyin' to me."
"No way."
"C'mon." She rapped on his arm again. "Give it
over."
Ridiculous. Let her at me
again? Not a chance.
But in another part of his mind, he thought, Why not?
She's already figured out what the bracelet does,
and she already knows about Elise. What harm can it do,
now?
If it'll convince her I'm innocent . . .
"All right," he said. Holding the wheel
steady with his right hand, he swung his left arm across his
body.
Sue reached out and removed the bracelet from his
wrist. She
caret be.
1943aret greater-than
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*f.
Riotard Laymo'ri
disz-
slipped
it over her own left hand. "How do ya make it
work? Rub it on yer face, or ... ?"
"Your lips. Kiss it."
"Oh. Okay." She raised the bracelet,
looked at it, then frowned at Neal. "This time,
don't go ape and start jumpin' all over me,
okay?"
"All right. Before you do it, though, I'd better warn
you about a few things. It can be dangerous. Don't go
anywhere but into me, and . . ."
"Fine, okay." She kissed the bracelet.
"Hey! I'm not..."
She sagged limp in the passenger seat, hand
and bracelet flopping onto her left thigh.
"I wasn't done with the warnings," he said, knowing she
could hear him-not with her own ears, but through himself.
If she's in here,
he thought.
She probobfy is. So
weird,
though, not being able to tell. "Hello in
there, Sue. Are you in? Never mind. Don't try
to answer. There's no twO'way communication. You
can't get in touch with me while you're in there.
Not
even if it's a matter of Ufe and death. You can't
tell
me anything, can't make me do anything. You're just a
passenger along
for the ride. We can
discuss it later."
What's she doing in there?
he wondered. Exploring
around? This could be awfully
embarrassing. Better watch what I think about.
No, no no. Don't go
down that road or you'll
start thinking about
exactly what you
don't want to think about.
He looked over at Sue's body, and his eyes
settled on the rise of her white blouse beneath the name
tag. He could see her white bra through the fabric.
And the roundness of her breast rilling the bra. Nost
Stop it."
He jerked his gaze forward.
Don't think about
her!
(damn good thing I didn't try to take a peek
up
her
skirt.)
Even as he thought the thought, he imagined the shadowy
view he might obtain by peering between her knees.
Shit! She's gonna think I'm a pervert!
THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE!!!
Elise. Think about Elzse. That's
why Sue's doing this, right? To
*
"*?
*.v

Body Rides
*"," be-was" **
find out what "happened. To find out if I'm the guy
who lulled her.
"Hey
in there, sorry
about thinking the nasty stuff. These things happen you know?
They can't necessarily be helped. Anyway,
I'll try to make myself have
memories
of what happened on the night of the murder. Okay?
I'll, Uke, imagine it the way it happened. You
just sit tight. By the time I'm done, you'll know
everything."
Everything, all right. Including the size of my
cock.
OH, MY GOD! I CANT BELIEVE I
THOUGHT THATFF.8."
"Sue," he said aloud, "I think I'll try
talking to you. You can just sit back and monitor my
thought processes, or whatever. You'll see that
I'm not lying. Okay? Here goes.
"It all started on Sunday night. Marta was over
at my place, and we watched a couple of
videos. They were rentals. So after Marta left for
her job-she works at LAX, the
airport-I decided to return the videos. You
know, to avoid paying a late charge?"
Why don't 1 just show her the tape we made?
Yeah? How? Where do we get our hands on a
VCR?
Besides, the tape doesn't prove anything. I could
be lying on the tape. This way, she can tett . . .
"It was about eleven-thirty," Neal said, "when I
got in my car and headed for the video store . . ."
He told his story in much the same way that he'd
told it last night to Marta and her camcorder. As
he spoke, he found himself reliving it all in his
mind. He was there again, going through it all.
He supposed that Sue was probably viewing it like
a film.
A
film noir with a
voice-over: a running commentarii,
but not by
Marlowe or
Mike Hammer or Sam Spade . . disbyme,
Neal
Darden.
All we need's the lonely growl of a saxophone in
the background.
Though Neal had continued the verbal narration, he
realized that his thoughts had interrupted the memories-and
must've put a halt to Sue's movie as if the
projector had broken down.
And now
she's picking up this.
This? Everything.
Terrific.
"Hello in
there. Sorry about that. Where'd we leave off?"
"I didn't want a reward," Neal said. "When
a dame's getting
carved, a reward's not why you go in. You go in because you
have to, because a dame's getting carved and a man's
got to stop
it."
A fair imitation of Bogart's voice.
But then he felt ashamed of his performance.
This isn't
some damn movie, it's Elise and the bastard that
killed her.
Into his mind slammed a picture of Elise in the
bathtub. A close-in color photo, the blood
so bright red it seemed like a mocking exaggeration.
Sue, in the seat beside him, gasped. Then
she was panting hard for air.
Neal looked at her. She sat rigid and
trembling, her mouth wide open, her eyes shut.
A moment later, her eyes jerked open.
She stared at him. She had droplets of sweat under
her eyes, a shiny mustache of sweat speckles
above her mouth. She breathed hard.
"Sorry about that," Neal said.
With the back of a hand, she wiped the sweat from her upper
lip. Grimacing at Neal, she said, "That was
her?
Elise?"
"Yeah. That's how she looked after ..."
"Judas H. Priest."
"But I didn't do it."
She nodded. She seemed worn out. "I know." She
held up her wrist as if to show him the bracelet.
"It works."
"I know."
Shaking her head, she lowered her arm and pulled the
bracelet off. "Here, take the thing."
She gave it to Neal, and he put it onto his
wrist.
"Reckon ya ain't no killer, after all."
"I wish I'd at least killed
Rasputin."
"Well, it ain't like ya didn't try. Ya musta
hurt him pretty bad, though."
"Not nearly bad enough. He was still in good enough shape
to do that to Elise." Sue made a face as if the
memory of it hurt her. A few mo-
ments later, she said, "Yer gonna have to finish the
job ya
started."
"What do you mean?"
"Ya gotta kill him."
"I'm hoping maybe he'll just go ahead and die on
his own, but. .."
"What in hell are ya goin to The Fort for, when ya
got a guy like him that needs killin"? That's what
I wanna know."
"Maybe I'd better tell you the rest of it."
"How about ya just
tell
me, this time. I ain't inclined ta jump in ya again
right now. Not that it weren't an eye-opener."
Neal blushed. "Well. . ."
"Ya got yerself a dirty mind, Neal
Darden."
He winced.
Sue grinned and shook her head. "Not that I ain't
flattered," she said.
"I'm sorry. Really."
"I got panties on, by the way. They're white.
And, yeah, I got me a good idea just how big yer
thing is."
He felt as if his face might erupt in flame.
"Wonderful," he muttered.
"Well, I wouldn't go
that
far." After a pause, she said, "Do ya know it got
sorta funny and stiff when ya started checkin' out
my tits?"
"Did not."
Had
it?
Wouldn't
surprise me.
"Sure did." Sue beamed at him. "Reckon
1 turn ya on, huh?"
"Oh, man."
"Aw, don't fret. I like ya. I like ya even
more, now I been inside ya. It's mighty
exhaustin', though. So why don't 1 just sit back
and listen? 1 wanna hear the resta yer
story, only from the outside, this time."
So he told her, picking up his story at the time
he'd first entered Elise's house.
He told her about receiving the bracelet as a reward
for saving Elise from Rasputin by the freeway
embankment. He recounted a bit of the bracelet's
history-as much as he'd been able to
learn from Elise. He explained the warnings. And
then he told
Sue about his trial run, when he'd kissed the
bracelet and gone
into Elise.
None of this was on the videotape he'd made for
Marta.
He'd kept the story of the bracelet to himself-and
therefore hadn't been able to tell the whole truth about
what had happened the night of the killing.
To Sue, he was able to tell the story as it had
truly occurred.
How, after leaving Elise's house, he'd returned
to look for Rasputin's body.
How he'd used the bracelet, first in a futile
attempt to locate the body, then to make a long
flight back to Elise's house, fearing she might
be in danger.
How he'd been inside her.
Unable to warn her.
Powerless to help when she was attacked.
How he'd escaped from her body, returned to his
own, then raced back to her house in a panic,
only to arrive too late and find her dead in the
tub.
Sue listened, watching him, often making faces,
sometimes commenting or asking a question. She seemed very
interested in all that he had to say. Almost as if
she
were going through the experiences.
Neal felt that he'd found a real companion.
Someone he could truly confide in.
As he spoke to Sue, he wondered why he hadn't
been able to confide this way in Marta.
Easier to tell secrets to a stranger, he
supposed. He'd always heard that. Maybe it was
true.
No particular consequences, telling things to a
stranger- someone you probably won't have to face an
hour later, or the next day, or for years to come.
Like writing your tale in sand.
Say anything; it'll soon be gone without a trace.
He had a feeling, however, that Sue might
not be gone very soon.
He was certain to be stuck with her for the next few
hours. At least until they reached The Fort. And
he doubted that he
would have an easy time getting rid of her then.
Maybe 1 don't want to get rid of her.
What is this? You get smitten by every gal you meet?
Control yourself. She's sort of nifty, but she's not
someone you want to get involved with. Too young. Too
goofy. The only reason you're
pouring out
your life story is because she accidentally latched
onto the truth about the bracelet.
That, he realized, was probably true. He
shouldn't be making such a big deal of the fact that he was
confiding in her; he would've told the whole truth
to Marta, if Marta had stumbled onto the secret
of the bracelet.
He wished he
had
confided in Marta.
But how can you tell someone you've got a magic
bracelet that lets you climb into other people as if they
were carnival rides?
He never would've told Sue: She'd
found out on her own.
He never would've told anyone.
He was glad Sue knew about it, though. Glad to have
someone to whom he could speak the truth.
So he kept talking, not stopping with the murder, but
going on about what happened afterward.
How he hadn't been able to find the business card
he'd given to Elise, and assumed the killer must have
it.
How he'd returned to his own apartment, figuring that
he might be the next victim. How he'd kept his
gun handy, frightened but also hoping Rasputin might
show up-so he'd have a chance to kill the bastard.
When he told of Marta's arrival the next day,
he was glad Sue was no longer inside him; she
would've gotten a chance to watch Marta sucking him,
and she'd be feeling how the memory aroused him.
He didn't tell Sue about that episode. But he
told her the rest of it: how he'd explained his
situation to Marta, explained the danger he was in-from
Rasputin and maybe from the police- and how she'd
insisted that he spend the night at her apartment, where
nobody should be able to find him.
He told about the videotape they'd made together.
A tape tarnished by lies because he'd been
unwilling to speak
of the bracelet.
Finally, he told Sue about his letter to the police.
"Marta took it with her when she left for work. She
was going to mail it on the way. I guess the
cops'll probably get it tomorrow. Maybe even
today."
"That how come ya hit the road? Scared they'd be after
ya?"
He shook his head. "The letter was anonymous. We were
careful not to touch it, too. I don't think there's
any way for them to find out who it came from."
"So how come ya took off, then?"
"Because of the scratches." He nodded toward his right
arm.
Sue stared at his forearm. "These the ones ya
didn't
get when
yer girlfriend was fallin' off a boat?"
"These are the ones."
"Who
was
it scratched ya?"
"A woman named Karen."
"Ya saw a gal name of Karen last
night? After Marta went off to work? Gripes,
I'm gonna need me a scorecard, you and all these
gals. Marta, Elise, now this Karen. .. and
me."
Neal shook his head. "Karen's no big deal. You
can forget about her. She's just someone I visited with the
bracelet. Things got weird, so I paid her a
visit in person and she ended up scratching me.
That's all there is to it."
"What'd she wanna scratch ya for?"
"Doesn't matter. We had a little misunderstanding,
that's all."
"Ya didn't attack "r or ... ?"
"No. Well, not exactly. I had to defend
myself. I didn't hurt her, though. Not seriously.
The thing is, I didn't know how to explain the
scratches to Marta. I mean, they weren't there when
she left for work. And I couldn't tell her the
truth. Not without telling her about the bracelet. So
I left her the note, and took off. I figured
I'd stay away until they've had a chance
to heal."
"That's gonna take a
week
or two. Jeezle-peezle. Ain't you a
writer?"
He frowned. "Did I tell you that?"
"I was jammed inside ya for five, ten minutes.
Found out plenty."
"Did I think about my job?"
She shrugged. "Not sure. Anyways, it's
somethin" I picked up. You
are
a writer, what I'm gettin' at-so ya shoulda been
able to come up with a good lie."
"Maybe so. I didn't want to lie to her again,
though. And I guess ... I figured it'd be
better for both of us if I just vanished for a while."
"Now ya got me, ya can unvanish any time ya
want."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, I'll let on as how I'm the gal that
scratched yer arms for ya. Then ya can just leave out
Karen. We'll tell Marta how we both just
happened to be at The Fort, and how ya saved my
life when I almost fell outta the roily coaster.
That'd make a pretty good story, huh?"
"Only one problem," Neal said. "Look at your
fingernails."
She raised both hands in front of her,
palms out, like a mime pushing at an invisible
wall. "I could scratch ya with "em."
"They're awfully short."
"Well, they're bound to grow. Give "em a few
days. What I'll do, I'll lay off bitin'
"em while we're at The Fort. Then they'll be
all ready for when we show 'em to Marta."
"Ah," Neal said.
He tried to smile.
What's
she
planning to
do, move in with me?
Chapter Twenty-five
When Neal stopped for gas, Sue said, "I'm
gonna see a feller
about a dog."
"Huh?" he asked.
"Gonna go and take a
pee.
Ain't you s'pose to be a writer? Don't ya know
what it means when someone's goin" to see about a
dog?"
"I guess not."
"I don't wanna be castin' no dispersions
on yer intelligence,
or nothin, but
jeezle!"
She reached down between her knees to
pick up her sack. "See ya in a shake," she
said as she opened
the door. She climbed out of the car and headed for the gas
station's minimart, swinging the sack by her side.
Neal, still behind the wheel, slipped the bracelet off
his wrist and put it into a pocket of his trousers.
Then he reached out to turn off the ignition.
He suddenly imagined himself driving off. Right now.
Without Sue. By the time she realized what was
happening, he'd be gone.
Why would 1 want to do that? he wondered.
Because she knows about the bracelet.
But she also knows about my involvement in the murder,
he reminded himself. And she knows who 1 am, and where
I'm going.
The bracelet's going to be a real problem.
She'll
be wanting to use it oRather the time. Maybe she'll
even try to steal it.
He never should've let her touch it.
I could ditch
her
right now.
She
might not
know my last name.
I
could change my destination . . .
"Yeah, right," he muttered, and pulled the key and
climbed out of the car.
No matter how much trouble might be saved by ditching
Sue now, Neal knew he wasn't capable of such
a thing.
Leave her stranded at a gas station in the middle of
nowhere?
He supposed that Sue would probably get along
just fine. Probably be stranded for all of five
minutes before finding a ride with someone else. But he
couldn't do it.
He studied the gas pumps, trying to find a sign
that might tell him to pay before pumping. He didn't
see one. Not unusual. Away from places like
Los Angeles, gas stations often let you pay
after
filling your tank. They trusted people more, out in the
boonies. Not as much experience dealing with
barbarians.
Pleased, Neal took down a nozzle and started
to pump.
Maybe 1
should just
let Sue use the bracelet as much as she
wants, as long as
she's with me. Take her back to Mojave in a
few days and drop her off at Sunny's. After that,
I'll
have the bracelet all to myself again.
Unless
she
steals it.
Might
even want to kill me for it.
No, he told himself. Not Sue.
Though she apparently found the bracelet
interesting-and a useful tool for getting to the truth-she
didn't act
enthralled
by it. Considering the magic of the thing, which she'd
experienced twice, she seemed quite nonchalant.
Might be an act, Neal thought.
1 need to get into her head with it.
Sue hadn't returned by the time the nozzle clicked
off. Neal hooked up the nozzle, made sure
to put the cap on his gas tank, checked the pump
number and price, and headed for the mini- mart.
After paying at the counter, he went into the men's
room. As he locked the door, he realized he was
alone.
He could use the bracelet, pay a visit
to Sue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "It went so well, last
time."
If he hadn't tried to use the bracelet in the
rest room at Sunny's, it would've been in his
pocket when he went back out to his car and Sue
wouldn't have seen it.
He left the bracelet in his pocket.
When he was done urinating, he washed his hands and
studied himself in the mirror. He looked okay
except for his mussed hair. He ran a dry comb
through it, then left.
Stepping out of the minimart, he saw Sue in his car.
Not in the passenger seat, though. In the driver's
seat.
He opened the passenger door and peered in.
Instead of the white, short-sleeved blouse
of her waitress costume, she now wore a blue
chambray work shirt. It was faded and its sleeves
had been taken off at the shoulders. It wasn't
tucked in. It hung down past the waist of her
skirt. The skirt looked like black leather. It was
tight and very short. Her white socks and sneakers were
all that remained of her waitress outfit.
She watched Neal stare at her. After a few
moments, she said, "Want me to drive for a while?
Ya been at it a long time."
"Sure. Okay. Thanks." He climbed in,
being careful not to step on her big paper sack-which
now, he assumed, held her waitress costume.
"I see that you changed."
driver's license and everything, don't you?"
"Don't know about
everything,
but I got me a license. Wanna see it, just
open up the bag and look in my purse."
He looked down at the paper sack.
Maybe I should, he thought.
"Do you mind?" he asked.
"Help yerself. I got nothin' to hide."
As Sue drove away from the pumps, Neal picked
up the bag. He opened it on his lap and
looked down into it. Except for the denim strap, her
purse was out of sight under the clothes. Reaching in,
he pushed aside Sue's skirt and blouse. And
her bra.
Don't think about it, he told himself.
OK, man,
she.
took
her bra off when she changed.
Who cares, he told himself. No big deal. I'm
not interested.
Good thing
she isn't
in
me now.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled out Sue's
purse and set the sack on the floor. The zipper
across the top of the purse was shut. "You're sure
it's all right for me to look?"
"Snoop all ya want."
He looked at her. She grinned at him.
He unzipped the purse. Spreading it open, he
glimpsed a folded wallet, a hair brush, a
couple of tampons, an emery board, packs of
gum and mints, lipstick ...
He took out her wallet, then quickly zipped her
purse shut.
God
knows what else she's got in there.
Neal didn't want to know. He felt as if he'd
invaded a private place-like Marta's bathroom
medicine cabinet-and he was blushing.
He considered putting her wallet away.
"Go on," Sue told him.
A very thick wallet, red leather, worn at the
corners.
"What've you got in here?"
"All kinds of stuff."
Neal opened it.
"There's my license." Sue reached over with her right
hand and tapped it.
comrr tilde
"Appears to be."
"It is me. Who else'd it be?"
"Says it's Barbra Sue Babcock."
"I don't let nobody call me Barbra. I
think it stinks. But I reckon I'm stuck with it,
so I just been goin' by Sue."
"Ah," Neal said.
The license gave a Mojave address for
her.
After making sure the license hadn't expired yet,
he glanced at her date of birth.
"You're only eighteen."
"Gonna be nineteen this time next month."
"Jeez."
"So ya got a problem with that?"
"You're just... so young."
"So what're you, ninety?"
"Pretty near."
She laughed.
"Anyway," Neal said, "I guess you're a
legal driver."
"What'd I tell ya?"
He shut her wallet and unzipped her purse.
"Don't ya wanna look through the whole thing?"
"No, that's okay. I just wanted to make sure about
the li' cense." He slipped the wallet into her
purse and quickly shut the zipper again. Then he lowered
the purse into her brown paper bag on the floor, and
folded down the bag's crumpled top.
She smiled at him. "I'm a good driver, too.
Ya noticed?"
"Well, I noticed you haven't crashed yet."
"I aim to get me a brand-new car all
my own, one of these days. I been savin' up.
Gonna get me one of them Jeep Cher okees
with the four-wheel drive, and go all over the whole
country in it. On all the back roads, much as I
can. Can't see nothin' on these dang freeways.
Gonna try out all the back roads, and stop in and
visit folks."
"Relatives?"
"No! Gonna drop in on folks I don't
know. Just to say howdy and see what they're like. Chat
with "em, ya know? Then I'll
just move on, and they'll watch me drive off and
say, 'That was
a nice girl. Wish she coulda stayed." his
Neal stared at her.
She frowned at him.
"Well?
What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing." He shook his head. "Nothing at all."
She stared forward for a while. Then she sighed. "That's
if I ain't a broken-down of" cripple by the time
I scrape up enough to buy me that Jeep."
"I guess you don't make much at Sunny's."
"Nope." She looked at him and knitted her
eyebrows. "I been considerin' a life of
crime."
He laughed.
"You think I'm ki.in'?"
"I
hope
you're kidding."
"Well, I am," she said, as if annoyed at
herself. "I ain't no Bonnie and Clyde. Ya
ever see that movie?"
"Yeah."
"Ya see how of' Bonnie "n Clyde got
perferated, there at the end?"
"Yeah. In slow motion."
"It's
always
slow motion, ya ever notice that? Same goes with
of" Thelma and Louise when they went off the Grand
Canyon. Slow motion. Always slow motion.
Anyhow, I don't aim to end up like none of them.
Ya get into the life of crime, yer just as likely
to get yerself killed, and where are ya then? Dead.
What's the gooda havin' a four-wheel drive
Jeep Cherokee if yer dead?"
"Not much," Neal said.
"Anyhow, who'm I gonna rob? Where'm
I gonna find someone to rob, that I ain't gonna
end up feelin' sorry for? "Cause it'd really
be
their
money, ya know? I got no right to it. It'd just
make me feel bad."
"If you feel that way," Neal said, "you might as
well forget about a life of crime."
"I know. It's disgustin"."
"You're a good, decent person, that's all. Nothing
to regret." "Well, can 1 regret I ain't
likely to land my hands on a four-wheel
drive Jeep Cherokee till I'm older than
Methuselah?"
"Yeah, I guess."
After that, Sue stopped talking for a while. Lips
pursed, she
moved her head and shoulders slightly as if she had
a tune in
her head.
Neal was about to reach for the radio, but she suddenly
spoke up again. "Ya know that bracelet?" she
asked. "I'll bet there's a whole lotta money
ya might make off somethin' like that."
"I'm not really planning to sell it,"
Neal told her.
"No, I don't mean sell it. I mean . ..
it'll getcha into people's
heads,
ya know? Ya thoughta that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Gotta be a
hundred
ways to make money outta that. Ya know? We're
gonna be in Nevada. They got gamblin' there.
What if we can figure a way so we can win at
somethin'? Ya know? By being in somebody's head."
"Are you serious?"
She cast him a look as if she questioned his sanity, and
made a loud
peoplefffff!
sound with her lips.
"You are serious," Neal said, as if translating.
"You betcha."
"If we
could
figure a way, wouldn't that be theft?"
"It'd just be winnin'."
"But cheating."
"Well..." She shrugged.
"Besides," Neal said, "I'm not sure there's even a
way to do it. You couldn't have any effect on things like
the slots. Not on roulette or craps, either. ..
nothing that relies completely on chance, or
machines. 1 don't even know how Iceno works, but
I doubt if being able to read someone's mind would make
you able to win at it. The only . .. card games.
Blackjack, poker, that kind of thing. You might be
able to win at some of those with the bracelet. It'd still be
cheating, though."
"I don't mind cheatin'. It ain't the same as
robbin' people."
"You draw fine distinctions."
"How "bout you?"
"Basically, I'm opposed to anything like that."
"You don't never cheat?"
He shook his head. "No. Not really. I
have
cheated on a few things-like on my French homework
back in college-but I
felt so rotten about it... I always try to play by the
rules, now."
"How 'bout helpin"
me
cheat?"
"With the gambling?"
"Yeah. Wouldn't be the same as doin' it for
yerself."
He looked at her. She grinned at him. He
hated to refuse her.
I'd look like a self-righteous stick-inthe-mud.
"The thing is," he said, "I don't think there's a
way
to win at something with the bracelet. I mean, it might
be possible in theory ... if we knew which cards were
being held by the dealer, or something ... The problem
is, one of us would have to be physically present at the
table,
playing
the game. That'd have to be me, since you're underage.
So you'd have to be in the dealer's mind, with your body
somewhere else. You wouldn't be able to affect what he
does. All you could possibly do is communicate
stuff to
me . .
. which cards he's holding. To do that, you'd have to leave
him, return to your own body, and . .. signal
me, or something."
"Sounds good to me."
"It would never work. You'd need to be
someplace where I could see you, for one thing. You'd have
to jump back and forth between the dealer and yourself. And there's
surveillance.
These casinos have security cameras all over the
place. You'd be caught in about two minutes if you
tried to signal me from across the floor."
"Ya sure "bout all that?"
"Pretty sure."
"That ain't a good way to try, then."
"No, it isn't"
"Gotta be a way, though. Ya know?"
"Gambling?"
"Well... by gettin" in a head."
"I'm not sure there is, not if you exclude out-and-out
theft. If you didn't have scruples, I suppose
you could use the bracelet to get your hands on certain
information. The combination to a safe, for instance."
"Yeah!"
"Or where a person might have some valuables stashed.
You
know, like cash or jewels they've hidden in their
house. That
sort of thing. But then you'd have to
steal
the stuff."
"Yeah, well, don't wanna do that. But cripes,
there's gotta be
some
way to make a fortune off this thing. A way where ya
ain't gotta rob nobody."
Sue scowled out the windshield, apparently hunting
for a solution.
A solution already known by Neal.
He wondered if he should mention it to her.
Probably not.
"S'pose we
charge
folks?" Sue blurted. "Let "em use the
bracelet for maybe half an hour? How much ya
s'pose they'd pay? Fifty bucks? A
hundred?" She turned her face toward Neal, her
eyes and mouth wide open like someone struck with
astonishment. "Just thinka that! We get us ten people
to try it, a hundred bucks apiece, we'll
make us a thousand smackaroos!"
"How much is that Jeep you want?" Neal asked.
"Well, all depends. Say 'round twenty-five
grand."
"Then we'd need to get two hundred and fifty people
to try the bracelet at a hundred
dollars a pop."
"Maybe all I need's enough for the down payment."
Neal shook his head. "It's a fine idea, but
it'll never work. For one thing, nobody would pay us a
dime to ride the bracelet without proof of what it
does. And if people actually find out that it works,
they'll try to take it from us.
Nobody's
supposed to know what the bracelet does. Nobody
except the person who has it. You're not supposed
to know. You just found out by accident. We can't go around and
tell
anyone
what it does. Some people would probably be happy
to kill us for the thing."
Sue stuck out her lower lip and blew. The gust of
air lifted her bangs off her forehead. "Don't
see why they'd wanta kill for some bracelet when
ya can't even make no money off it."
Just let her go on thinking that, Neal told himself.
Better if she doesn't have a clue.
She resumed frowning. After a while, she said,
"Gotta be a way. Something like this, gotta be a
way to make yerself a fortune."
"If you think of it," Neal said, "let me
know."
Then he reached out and touched the radio's on
button."
Static hissed and crackled through the speakers. He
touched the
search button. The radio began to hunt for a strong
signal, and
soon found a station playing the golden oldie, "I
Fall to Pieces."
"I just love of" Patsy CL-INE," Sue said.
"Me, too," Neal said.
He looked at Sue. She mouthed the words to the song
in silence, a sad and wistful look on her face.
God, she's so young.
Young and cute and sweet and vulnerable, full of odd
notions and simple dreams.
A tightness came to Neal's throat.
And he thought that maybe he should help Sue get the
money for the four-wheel drive Jeep Cherokee.
Chapter Twenty-six
At the top of the hour, the music was interrupted by a
news
update.
The third story dealt with Elise.
"Though police are so far without suspects
in the murder of former Olympic diving great,
Elise Waters, her husband, actor Vince
Conrad, held an early morning news conference today
to announce a reward of fifty thousand dollars for
information leading to the arrest and conviction of her killer,
or killers. Conrad, who returned yesterday from
Hawaii upon the news of his wife's death, told the
press..." In a sound bite from the actor's news
conference, Conrad said, "The world lost a rare
treasure when Elise was slain. But 1 have every
confidence that.. ." His voice broke, and Neal's
eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "I just hope that
the animal who did this to her is caught and .. .
brought to justice."
The newscaster's voice returned. "In other
news . .."
Sue turned the radio off. "Reckon they ain't
after you. Not yet, anyhow."
"Younever know," Neal said. "The police keep a
lot of stuff
to themselves."
"S'pose they'd hand over the reward to me if 1
turned ya in?"
"Maybe," he admitted, feeling a little sick.
"They'd have to convict me, though. And I
didn't do it."
"Well, don't worry "bout it, I ain't
gonna blow the whistle on ya."
"Thanks." He wondered if she was telling the
truth.
was 'Sides," Sue said, "I think her husband
done the dirty deed."
Neal gave her a look.
"Yup," she said, and bobbed her head.
"I know who did it, and it wasn't Vince Conrad.
It was the guy I shot. Rasputin."
"So who's to say Conrad didn't like
hire
yer Rasputin to do it?"
"There's no reason to think he did," Neal told
her.
"Ya hear how he talked?"
"He sounded upset."
"Well, he's an
actor.
Guy like that, I betcha he can turn it on and off like
a faucet. Anyways, I thought he sounded real
phoney. Ya know? Like he was too sad."
"She was his wife."
"Yeah, but they was separated, right? Gonna
get divorced?"
"Apparently."
"Well, there ya go." She gave Neal a quick,
decisive nod, as if she'd just proven her case.
"People get divorced all the time," Neal pointed out.
"Only sometimes they just go and slit their wife's
throat, instead."
"That's fairly rare," Neal said. "Even in
Brentwood."
"Sure's convenient, of" Vince just
happeniri
to be in Hawaii when she got herself murdered. I
mean, ya can't find yerself much of a better alibi
than that."
"Doesn't prove anything."
"Ya ever see him in the movies?"
"Conrad? Sure."
"Makes my skin crawl." As if to prove her
point, she grimaced and writhed.
Neal saw goosebumps rise on the back of her
right forearm.
And as he looked, he noticed the mellow tan of
her arm, and
how it had a fine layer of golden, downy hair.
Sue let go of the steering wheel with one hand,
and rubbed the arm as if trying to make the bumps go
away.
"Ya ever see him in that
Dead Eyes
movie?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Didn't he just give ya the worst kinda
creeps?"
"He was supposed to. He's an actor. It was
just a role he was playing. Look at all the
creeps Karloff played, but everyone says he was the
greatest guy ... a real gentleman, sensitive,
kind . . ."
"Well, Conrad ain't no Karloff. He's just a
weird creep, ya ask me."
"Which doesn't make him a killer," Neal said.
"How come
yer
stickin up for him?"
"I just don't see any reason to think he had a
hand in it. You should
see
this Rasputin character. 1 mean, I hope to God you
never do, but... he sure didn't seem like someone
who'd been hired. He's a sadistic
degenerate."
"Now that there's a reward, we gotta get him."
Neal stared at her.
"Ya know?" Letting go of the wheel with her right hand,
she reached out and gently rapped Neal on the upper
arm. "How 'bout it? We can split the reward
fifty-fifty."
"Twenty-five thousand each," Neal said.
"That's a brand-new four-wheel drive Jeep
Cherokee for me. How 'bout you? What'll ya get
yerself?"
Neal shrugged. "I don't know. I'd probably
put it in the bank, save it for a down payment on a
house."
"There ya go! A nice, big of" house fer you and
Marta. Ya gonna marry her?"
"Eventually, I guess."
"Whatcha waitin' on?"
"My career to take off, I guess. I can't
marry someone when she's making more money than I am.
I'd have to be able to support her."
"Well, first ya get the reward for this Rasputin
guy, then ya write up a movie about it, and yer
gonna be rollin' in dough."
"It's a thought," he admitted.
"How "bout we turn this buggy 'round right now, and
head on back to Los Angeles .. . ?"
"What about The Fort?" Neal asked.
"If we wanna get that reward, we gotta act
quick 'fore somebody else beats us to the punch."
"I don't know how we'd go about finding him,
anyway."
"Well, he's gonna come after
you
ain't he? Ya said how he's got yer address.
What we gotta do is be there, all set to catch
him when he shows up."
"There's no telling
when
he might decide to come after me," Neal pointed out.
"Since he didn't do it right away . .. My
guess is, he's probably laying low somewhere,
too badly hurt to worry about me. So it might be
... who knows? A few days ... even weeks . .
. before he drops in on my place."
"Well, we wanna be there when he does."
"Right now," Neal said, "we're only a two-or
three-hour drive from The Fort. It'd take us six
if we went back to L.a. So why don't we just
go on ahead? I mean, I want to see
The Fort. Don't you?"
"Well, sure."
"We can
do
the place, find a motel or something and spend the
night, then worry about all this other stuff tomorrow. How
does that sound?"
"Well, okay."
"Good." He yawned. "Now let me get a little
rest. I'll take over the driving in a while."
"Okeydoke."
He settled down in his seat, shut his eyes, and
yawned again. He felt as if he'd been worn out
by so much talking to Sue.
It's going to be a long day, he thought.
Everything's gotten so complicated.
All he'd wanted to do was get away from Los
Angeles and his problems about the murder-go off and
hide from the police and Rasputin .. . even from
Marta.
A few days, a week maybe. Solitude and
quiet so he would have a chance not only to recover from his
wounds, but to figure out what he should do next.
A chance to play with the bracelet, too.
So much for all that, he thought.
Maybe we
should go
back and try to nail
Rosfmtin.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Or the day after. No big
hurry.
In a vague and tired way, he wondered if he
should try to get separate rooms for the night.
Better, he thought. Stay in the same room,
what'll I tell Marta?
Even if we don't sleep together . . .
Neal fell asleep.
He woke up suddenly when the brakes screamed and
he was thrown against his safety harness.
He couldn't see what the trouble was.
"Sorry 'bout that," Sue said.
"Jeez! What happened?"
"Some of" kitty cat run out. Thank God 1
missed him." She glowered at the rearview
mirror.
"Scared the hell out of me," Neal said. His heart
was still slamming.
"Well, I'da hated to just squish the thing. I
like
kitties."
Neal inhaled deeply and tried to calm down. "I
didn't know what was going on."
"Anyway, I was wantin' to wake ya up. I'm
starvin

, and we're coming to a town pretty soon. Wanna
stop and get us some lunch, maybe?"
"Sure, I guess so. How long was I
asleep?"
"Oh, I reckon maybe ten minutes." She
grinned at him. "Do ya feel refreshed?"
He laughed. "I'm wide awake, that's for
sure."
A few minutes later, they stopped at a place
called Yosemite Slim's Cafe

in the town of Lee Vining. Neal wasn't terribly
hungry, so he ordered a plate of hot wings.
He wanted a beer to go with it. He figured he would
soon be driving, though, so he went for a Pepsi,
instead. Sue asked for a bacon-cheeseburger,
chili fries, and a Pepsi.
Their drinks were brought right away. While they sipped
and waited for the food, Sue glanced around at the other
customers.
"Ya got the bracelet on ya?"
"In my pocket. But we're not going to use it
here, if that's
what you're thinking."
"Just for a second, okay? Kid over there's got
himself a milkshake. I wanta see how it
tastes."
"You could've ordered one."
"Ya got any notion the
calories
in a shake?"
"Y'got any notion the calories in a
bacon-cheeseburger and chili fries?"
Sue laughed. "Well, ya gotta draw the line
someplace, or ya turn out fat as a blimp.
C'mon. Reach it to me under the table."
Again, Neal hated to seem like a stodgy old
stick-inthe-mud. If they were sitting in chairs . .
. but they weren't; they sat across from each other in a
booth.
Neal couldn't think of a good reason to refuse her
request.
If she wants to do it, why not let her?
"Okay," he said. As he took the bracelet out
of his pocket, he told her to lean against the
wall and brace herself. "You don't want to fall
under the table."
He reached out beneath the table, and felt Sue pluck the
bracelet from his fingers.
"Thanks," she whispered. Grinning, she wiggled her
eyebrows at him. She scooted sideways a
bit, and leaned to the left until her upper arm met
the wall.
"Here goes," she whispered.
Neal felt like a conspirator, a partner in crime.
His heartbeat quickened as Sue lowered her head.
"Coast clear?" she asked.
Neal glanced around. Nobody seemed to be
approaching or watching. "Yep."
Sue raised her right arm. She was wearing the
bracelet. She brushed her wrist across her lips
and suddenly went limp. Her arm dropped out of
sight.
She looked as if she'd fallen asleep.
Trying to appear casual, Neal sipped some
Pepsi up through his straw.
Sue started to sink.
Oh,
my God!
Though she still leaned against the wall and seat
cushion, she
was going down-her rump sliding forward, slipping out from
under her.
Neal flung his right leg sideways and blocked her
knees.
She stopped sliding.
But she was already dangerously slumped. Her breasts
were level with the table's edge. Neal supposed that
half her rump must be off the seat. The pressure
against his leg seemed to be increasing.
Turning his head, he spotted the kid with the
milkshake. The boy sat at a table with his
family, his right side toward Neal.
No way to catch the boy's eye.
Never should'
ve let her do
this.
Get back here!
he shouted in his mind.
The kid took a big bite out of a hot dog.
Is
that even where she went? Maybe she decided on
someone else. Maybe she's
in
me. "Sue? You in here?
Hello?
If you're in here, get the hell out.
Right
now! You're falling under the damn table!"
Neal's leg, all that held her up, was starting
to tremble from the awkward position and the strain of her
weight.
He coughed loudly.
Several people glanced at him. Even the kid's mother.
Not the kid, though; he was blithely stretching his mouth
open wide for another bite of the wiener.
Neal wondered if there might be a way to pull the
bracelet off Sue's wrist.
No. Her right arm hung at her side. Though he
couldn't see the bracelet, it was obviously down
beside her hip-the table in the way. No way to reach it
without drawing all sorts of attention.
Get back here. Sue!
Damn it!
The kid was now picking up his milkshake.
The mother noticed Neal glaring at the boy.
He smiled at her and looked away fast.
This is
what I get!
Sue!
He jerked his leg upward, freeing it from the push of
her knees.
She slid fast.
Too fast.
Neal tried to stop her, but couldn't.
He blurted, "Watch out!"
The edge of the table clipped Sue's chin so hard that the
table shook, the silverware rattled, and ice cubes
clinked inside their Pepsi glasses. The blow
knocked her head backward. A moment later, she
vanished under the table.
Everybody
looked.
Including the kid.
Ducking, Neal peered under the table. Sue was
scrunched in the narrow space, her back against the
booth, one knee up, her other leg shoved
sideways at an awkward angle as if she'd
fallen in the act of trying to kick Neal in the shin.
Her panties were white.
Her throat was red with blood.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Neal opened the car door for Sue.
She muttered, "Thanks," and climbed in. He
shut the door.
As he strapped himself into the driver's seat, he
looked at her. She met his eyes with a hurt,
accusing stare.
She wore a bandage on her chin.
The blue of her chambray shirt was still dark in
front with moisture from the washing she'd given it in the
rest room. With the help of the waitress, she'd
apparently been able to get out most of the blood.
"I'm really sorry," Neal told her.
He'd already said it a dozen times during their meal-and
been answered by a stare. Though they'd both eaten,
Neal hadn't been able to enjoy the taste of his hot
wings; he'd felt too sick with guilt.
"I thought ya was s'pose to be a
nice
guy," Sue said.
"I usually am," he told her through the tightness in
his throat.
Shaking his head, he started the car. As he drove out
of the
parking lot, he said, "I don't know why I did
that to you. I was
angry, and ... I didn't mean for you to get
hurt."
"Well, I
did."
"I know." His eyes stung. Not for the first time since
letting her fall. "I just wish there was some way
to take it back."
"There never is. I been hurt by guys before, and
they're always so sorry later on. But that don't
make it go away."
"It wasn't like I beat you up," he protested,
annoyed at finding himself lumped in with others. "I just
got tired of holding you up. It was your own fault
just as much as mine. You were only supposed to be gone
for a minute. If I hadn't been so quick to act, you
would've fallen under the table right away."
"Yer real good at savin' gals fer a
little
while."
"Oh, thank you. Very nice."
She turned her head and looked out the passenger
window.
Down the hillside from the road was Mono Lake,
California's version of the Great Salt Lake.
Neal had seen it many years ago, but didn't
remember it being so large.
"That's Mono Lake," he told Sue, hoping
to take her mind off the incident at the
restaurant.
"I know."
"Pretty, isn't it?"
"No. It's spooky lookin". Like it oughta be
someplace on the moon."
"Would you like to go down for a closer look? I think
there's an access road just ahead."
"No."
"It's salt water, you know. It's so salty that it
won't let you sink."
"I ain't aiming to swim in the thing. If I
was
aiming to swim, I wouldn't wanna go in, anyhow,
"cause of my cut chin."
"I sure wish I could remember what Mark
Twain wrote about it."
"What, my chin?"
"Mono Lake. He wrote all sorts of stuff
about it in Roughing X. I read the book
a
couple of years ago, but..."
"I shouldn't of said it," she interrupted, turning
to face him.
"Shouldn't have said what?"
"That about.. . not savin" gals. It was a
low-down, dirty crack. I'm sorry."
"Well, thank you."
"Anyhow, reckon I
did
stay in that kid too long. Sorry "bout that,
too."
She's trying to
make up. This is great!
"How was the milkshake?" Neal asked.
A corner of her mouth lifted. "Never got more than
a sip. The dang thing was so thick, the poor little
snot couldn't hardly get it up his straw. Thought
he was gonna suck his eyeballs in. It sure was
a tasty hot dog, though. Flame-broiled, ya
know, so its skin was all crispy. Mmmm."
"Glad you enjoyed it."
"Not sure it was worth gettin" my chin split
open."
Neal took a deep breath. "We both need to be
a lot more careful about when we use the bracelet."
She grinned. "We sure raised some commotion,
though, huh?"
"God almighty," Neal muttered, shaking his head.
"That fat guy was bound and determined to call the
paramedics."
"How 'bout that little girl started bawlin" her head
off?"
"You think that's funny?"
"'Didn't amuse me at the time," she said, and
laughed.
"In retrospect, however," Neal pointed out,
"there's not much that's funnier than making a little girl
cry."
Sue laughed harder. Then she winced and cupped a
hand against her chin. It seemed to take a few moments
for the pain to subside. Then she said, "Ya know what
the
really
bad part was? Being down there kinda trapped like that,
and everybody gawping down at my drawers."
"Your
drawers?"
"My undies. My panties."
"I know what drawers are. I'm just surprised you
do. Only not very. Where'd you pick up a word like that?"
"It's what my pappy called "em."
"Ah."
"Anyhow, ya don't exactly feel like the Queen
of the Hop
when yer down on yer back like that showin" off
yer skivvies to
every dink in ten counties."
"They looked fine," Neal said.
Blushing, Sue said, "Well, thank ya very much."
Ahead was the turnoff that led to the shore of Mono
Lake, so Neal said, "Are you sure you don't
want to go over to the water? We have plenty of time.
As it is, we'll probably reach The Fort before
two o'clock. You usually can't check in to a motel or
anything before three."
Sue lifted her eyebrows and the corners of her
mouth. "Ya gonna tell "em I'm yer wife?"
she asked.
"We don't have rings."
"Well, that didn't stop ya back at
Yosemite Slim's."
"I had to tell them something. They were starting to think
I'd kidnapped you."
"We could get us rings at a souvenir shop," Sue
said. "Or we could tell 'em I'm yer sister."
Neal suddenly thought about Karen and Darren.
"Lord, no," he said. "The
last
thing I'd want is to have people think I'm shacking up with
my sister."
"Well then, I'll just go ahead and be yer wife."
"That'd be better. Or we could get separate
rooms."
"No! 1 don't wanna stay all by myself at some
of" motel. I'd
hate
it. Anyhow, it'd cost twice as much. Thanks but
no thanks. I'll be yer wife, thanks all the
same. Nobody's gonna care, anyhow, if we
ain't got rings. Shoot, ain't nobody gonna
care if we're even married or not."
"You never know about that. If we have to check in with some
prudish old hag .. ."
"We'll stay someplace else. Hey, I've
spent nights in cars. We can always do that, ya know."
"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"There went the road to the lake," Sue pointed out.
Neal glimpsed it in the rearview mirror. "I
could turn around."
"Don't do that. Let's just go on and get where
we're goin."
Reaching The Fort was going to take longer than Neal
had
expected; he hadn't known that they would be spending the
last
fifty miles on a narrow, curvy mountain road
instead of a highway.
The road cut their speed in half. It would add an
hour to
their arrival time-if it didn't prevent them from
arriving at all.
One wrong turn . . .
He felt a little giddy and sick every time he glanced
past the side of the road.
A long, long way down.
Now and again, they drove past crosses planted in
the dirt.
"Reckon that's where someone kicked it," Sue said
at the sight of the first cross.
"No wonder The Fort never hit the big time,"
Neal said. "All the potential customers bit the
dust trying to reach it."
"Why is it way up here?" Sue asked.
"There used to be a mining town. After the mines played
out, they tried to make a go of the place as a ghost
town, but nobody came. Probably because it was too
close to Virginia City. So they figured to bring
in tourists by turning it into The Fort."
"It weren't never a real fort?" Sue asked.
"Nope. It's just somebody's grand idea
for a theme park."
Soon, they began to come upon colorful, wooden
signs that stood at the roadside, intermixed with
several more white
crosses.
THE FORT
Fun! Souvenirs! Rides! Authentic Western
Relics
Great Eats! twenty miles dead ahead
HOTEL CASINO
Slots! Video Poker! Blackjack! And much,
much more!
Top Payoffs!
THE APACHE INN!
(a short block from The Fort)
RIDE THE PONY EXPRESS!
Death-Defying High-Speed Roller Coaster
THE THRILL OF A LIFETIME!
AT THE FORT! ten miles up the road
FOOD, LODGING, GAMBLING!
Satellite TV in every room.
Swimming pool and sauna!
Low prices! Clean rooms! THE APACHE
INN
III Yum Yum Scrumptious III
EAT AT WILLY'S Best vittles in
Nevada! coma tomahawk throw from Apache Inn-
AUTHENTIC WESTERN ARMY STOCKADE
Museums! Memorabilia! Food! Crafts!
Rides Galore! Daily Shootouts!
  the fort!
six miles
CLIMB ABOARD THE "STAGECOACH"
WORLD-FAMOUS FERRIS WHEEL
Fun for the whole family!
WHERE IS IT?
AT THE FORT!
just round the next bend
THIRSTY?
we got margaritas!
to ice cold!
strawberry! banana! regular!
to to drink "em up by the pitcher!!
don't miss our world-famous
golden margarita at
  puncho viva!
(just before the fort)
"I could go for one of those," Neal said.
"Same here," said Sue.
"Too bad you're underage."
"Oh? Well, ya didn't see my
other
license."
"You've got a false ID?"
"I got
lotsa
stuff."
Moments later, they rounded a bend and came upon a
small settlement: a gas station and minimart; a
drive-in restaurant, a souvenir shop, a
motel called The Wigwam that appeared to have gone out
of business; Willy's Eatery; the Puncho
Viva bar; and the Apache Inn.
"They got a vacancy," Sue pointed out.
"We're in luck," Neal said.
As he drove toward the three-story brick
casino, he said, "Looks like it's left over from the
old mining town."
"Hope it don't fall over on us."
"It's been standing this long."
"Reckon they ain't got earthquakes in
Nevada."
"They're few and far between."
"Where'd everybody
come
from?" she said.
Neal shook his head. Until rounding the bend, they'd
only seen two or three cars for the past fifty
miles. Here, however, there was actual traffic on
the street. Cars, pickup trucks, vans and
RV'S were parked in every available space. Along with
all sorts of four-wheel drive trucks:
Cherokees, Broncos, Range Rovers, Land
Cruisers . ..
"There's one of them four-wheel drive Jeep
Cherokees, right there!" Sue pointed at a red one.
"Wouldn't you rather get a Range Rover?"
"Cost too much," Sue said.
"That's 'cause they're better," Neal told her.
"I'll get me a Range Rover if
you'll
throw in another ten grand outta
yer
end of the reward loot."
"Ah. Well. Hmm." Neal doubted that either of them
would ever see any reward money, but he didn't
want to dash Sue's hopes so he kept the
opinion to himself.
A short distance beyond the Apache Inn, both sides
of the road appeared to be parking lots for The
Fort. They were far
from full: more vehicles, it seemed to Neal, were
parked along
the main road through town.
The Fort looked wonderful, though.
Its huge stockade fence had guard towers at both
the front corners. Its main gate was flanked by a
couple of howitzers. Neal glimpsed the tops of
several rides in the distance. Then he turned and
drove into the Apache Inn's parking lot.
"I think we'll go ahead and check in first," he
said.
"I'm gonna be yer wife?"
"I guess so." He stopped the car, shut off its
engine and removed the key. "In fact," he said,
"why don't you just wait here while I register?"
"You say so." She reached out and rapped on his arm.
"Let me use the bracelet."
"What for?"
"Why not? C'mon. I ain't gonna lose it.
Anyhow, it'll help take my mind off all the
pain." She tilted back her head to show him the
bandage on her chin.
"Yeah, okay." Neal handed the bracelet to her.
"Just stay out of me. And don't go anywhere.
I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Take yer time."
Chapter Twenty-eight
chapterng into the Apache Inn, Neal found that he
needn't
have worried about whether to identify Sue as his wife.
The
desk clerk asked how many were in his party, then gave
him a
choice of rooms: He could have either a queen-size
bed, or a
queen and a double. He chose a room with two beds.
The registration form requested no information about
traveling companions. After filling it out, he slid
it across the counter and handed a credit card to the clerk.
As he signed the credit card slip, he wondered
if he should've gotten a separate room, for
Sue.
I'll have a lot of explaining to do, he thought, if
Marta ever
finds out.
I did
get the
room with
two beds.
He imagined Marta smirking and shaking her head and
saying, "Oh, well, in
that
case. Whew! I'm so relieved."
Then he was trying to defend himself. "We didn't
do
anything, Marta."
"How many room keys would you like, Mr. Darden?" the
clerk asked, interrupting his daydream.
"Two, I guess."
She passed the keys to him, told him the room's
location, then asked if he would need help with his
luggage. Neal shook his head. "Thanks, but
we'll be able to handle it." He frowned. "I
would
like to make a call before I go up to the room. Is
there a public phone?"
She pointed. "Just past the end of the bar, near the rest
rooms."
"Thanks."
Heading in the direction she'd pointed, he entered the
hotel's casino area. This was very different from the big
casinos he'd seen in such places as Las
Vegas, Lake Tahoe, Reno and Laugh- lin.
This looked more like a saloon from an old
cowboy movie: dimly lit, smoky, with a low
wooden ceiling and chandeliers.
It sounded like every casino he'd ever been in, though: a
quiet chaos of jingling and clattering coins, slot
machines getting cranked, voices, bells going
off because someone was hitting a jackpot.
It smelled of cigarettes, perfume and booze.
The bar stretched along the wall to the right. With only
a few customers sitting at its stools, Neal could
see several painted panels along the front: a
rugged, snow-capped mountain peak; a brook curling
its way through shadowy woods; surf smashing itself
to froth on the rocks of a desolate seashore.
The bar was a work of art. Neal wondered if, like so
many other relics of the Old West that had found their
way into boomtown bars, it might have been created in
Europe and shipped 'round the Horn to San
Francisco.
A panel near the end showed a pudgy,
pink-nippled nude
admiring herself in a looking glass.
As Neal walked by it, he glanced at her groin.
Not much to see there. Just a hint of pale hair.
But it triggered a memory of Karen: seeing her from
behind, down on her knees after he'd punched
her. The hair. The fleshy, glistening slit.
Too
bad Sue had her "drawers" on when she fell under
the table. Would've had a great view . . .
What if she's in my head!
He suddenly felt hot and sick with embarrassment.
Shouldn't
have let her have the bracelet.
Stupidst
For some reason, at the time she'd asked for it, Neal
had assumed she wouldn't use it on him.
She probably isn't, he told himself.
No
way to be sure.
When he found the bank of pay phones, he considered
hurrying out to the car and taking the bracelet from her.
But then what?
The hell with it.
"If you're in
me,
Sue, get out. I don't want you listening in on
my call to Marta. I'll consider it a major
invasion of my privacy, and I'll never let you
use the bracelet again. Got it?"
"And don't think I
won't know," he added.
Yeah, right. She's too smart to fall for that one.
Shaking his head, he took out his wallet. He found
his telephone calling card, stepped up to one of the
phones, and read the instructions for making a
long-distance call. Then he dialed.
He knew Marta's number by heart. When he
heard ringing, he grimaced and glanced at his
wristwatch.
A quarter to four.
Her phone rang twice, three times.
Probably
waking
her up.
This seemed like the best time to call, though-while Sue
thought he was busy checking them into the hotel.
Unless . . .
"Hello?" Marta asked. Her voice sounded
huskier than usual.
"Hey," Neal said. "It's me. Did I wake
you up?"
"It's all right." A pause. Neal heard a sound
like a quiet yawn.
"I didn't think I'd hear from you," she told
him.
"Well... I missed you."
"Some fugitive you are. Can't even be away for a
day without calling in."
"Yeah."
"Wish you were here."
"Same here," Neal said.
"I suppose you don't want to tell me where you
are."
"I'd better not."
"I mailed the letter, by the way. The cops'll
probably get it tomorrow."
"Anything going on?" Neal asked.
"Have you been listening to your radio?"
"Not much.
"Elise's husband offered a big reward."
"I did hear that."
"Fifty thousand bucks."
"Yeah."
"That's a lot of money."
"Gonna turn me in?"
Marta laughed softly. "Just might, babe."
"Have to find me, first."
"You know,
you
probably stand a better chance than anyone
of actually cashing in on that reward. I mean, you were
there. You've seen the killer. Hell, you even shot
him. Maybe you should think about dumping the Dr.
Kimble routine and coming back to look for the killer."
Where've I heard that before?
"Maybe I should," he admitted. "I don't
know. Anyway, I've already got a room for tonight,
so ..."
"In a Nevada casino."
"What makes you think so?"
"Just call me Sherlock."
"The sounds of the slot machines?"
"I'll never tell."
"So much for hiding out," he said.
"I still don't know what town you're in."
"I
could
be in Atlantic City."
"Not likely. You would've had to fly, and I don't
think you'd want to risk running into me or one of my
friends at the airport."
"Could've flown out of Burbank or Orange
County."
"Nope. You get
lost
every time you try to drive in those places."
"You sure know a lot about me."
"More than you'll ever know," she said, her voice
teasing.
"That sounds ominious."
"Why should it?" she asked. Neal could imagine the
smile on her face. "You feeling guilty about
something?"
"No." When he heard the sound of his "No," he
wished he could take it back. It had sounded all
wrong.
"What is it?" Marta asked. She wouldn't be
smiling, now. Neal could imagine her big, blue
eyes studying him.
He didn't want to lie to her. Not again. He'd
already told her far too many lies.
I can't tell
her about Sue.
No
way.
But if I don't, and she finds out later . . .
Neal realized that she was almost certain to find out about
Sue. The girl seemed determined to stay with him,
intending to accompany him back to Los Angeles and
be his partner in the hunt for Rasputin.
Marta obviously planned to be his partner in the
same quest.
This might
get sticky.
Unless he could figure out a way to ditch Sue ..
.
He didn't want to ditch her, though. He liked
her. He wanted to help her.
Better cut my losses
right
now. Let her know I'm not trying to hide anything.
"I don't want you taking this the wrong way . .
." he started, and realized immediately that it was a lousy
choice of starts.
"Oh, boy," Marta said.
"There's this girl with me. She wanted a ride."
"So, naturally, you obliged her."
"Yeah. Well, she's a nice kid. Anyway,
one thing led to another, and ..."
Any way I put it, this is gonna end up
looking
bad.
"Don't stop now," Marta told him. She sounded
as if she were
still trying to keep it light, but having
difficulty.
"It's just that she knows all about Sunday night. About
me and Elise and the murder. And about you, too. The
thing is, we heard about the reward, so now she has this
idea in her head that we should try to collect it."
"We?"
"She wants to split it with me, fifty-fifty."
"You picked up this
total stranger,
told her your life story- including your involvement
in a murder-and agreed to go in halvsies on the
reward for Rasputin?"
Neal grimaced. "I guess it
sounds
kind of funny."
When Marta spoke again, all traces of humor were
gone from her voice. "Well," she said. "Hey.
It's your life." After a long pause, she asked,
"So, how do I fit into all this? Or don't I?"
"Of course you do."
"Have you fallen in love with her yet?"
"No!"
"You sure about that? You fell in love with Elise
Waters in about two minutes .. ."
Never should've told her . . .
"And you've been with this girl how long?"
"Most of today, I guess. But we're not. . .
I'm not in love with her. She's just a twerp.
She's an eighteen-year-old gum-snapper with
hardly a brain in her head. My God, you should
hear her talk-it's like she strayed off the set of the
Beverly
HiUfciJI-IES."
"And where's she going to spend the night?"
"I got her a separate room."
So much
for telling the truth.
"Well," Marta said. "Whatever. Like I said,
it's your life."
"I love
you,
Marta. 1 don't care at all about this girl.
She's a good kid, though. I can't just dump her by the
side of the road."
"Doesn't she have a home?"
"No. Not really."
"What
are
you going to do with her?"
"Nothing!"
"That's not what I meant. Of course, maybe it's
none of my business."
"Of course it's your business. I don't know what
I'm going to
do with her. Maybe bring her back to Los
Angeles. That's what
she wants."
"Cool."
Neal groaned. "Look," he said, "I'll try
to get rid of her. I might not be able to, though.
I mean, she's
really
pushy. But I'll do what I can. You've got no
idea what a pain in the ass she's been. I'd like
nothing more than to get rid of her. But I feel
sorry for her, too. I mean, she's got no
one."
"She's got you," Marta said.
"In a way. But not.. ."
"I have to go."
Neal grimaced. "Oh, man," he muttered.
"I'm sorry. I'd like to be big and understanding about
everything, but-was Her voice broke. "I've gotta
go. Have fun. Bye." She hung up.
Shit!
Neal hung up, and stared at the phone.
She thinks I'm having a fling with Sue! Damn
it! Didn't she listen? It isn't fair!
He picked up the phone again and called Marta
back.
He listened to the ringing.
Come on, 1 know you're there. Pick up. Damn
it!
"Okay," he muttered as the ringing continued.
She wants to play games, she can play them without
me.
He hung up.
He was breathing hard, his heart pounding. He hurt
inside. He felt as if he'd lost her.
Lost her, but for no real reason.
Just
for being nice to a person.
He realized that his fists were clenched. He wanted
to slug the telephone.
Or Marta.
He opened his hands and shook them by his sides.
It'll be all right, he told himself. She just
doesn't get it.
What
makes you
think she'll
ever get
it?
"Who cares," he muttered.
Let her think what she
wants.
If she isn't gonna listen to the truth,
anyway, the hell with her.
He turned away from the telephone and started walking
back through the casino. He'd been away from Sue
too long.
What'Have
she
think? he wondered. Maybe she'll figure
I've been in the backroom boffing the desk clerk.
Women!
Never
should" we
told
Maria about
her. That was the big mistake. Trusting her to understand.
Just because she'd been okay about EU-SE . . .
Who says she was okay about EU-SE?
Maybe that had been an act.
Besides, by the time I made that bonehead
confession about failing for Elise, she was dead.
Hardly in any position to steal me away from
Marta.
Whereas Sue is alive and well and a threat.
Striding across the hotel's parking lot, he could see
her through the rear window of his car. She seemed to be
slumped sideways against the passenger door.
Neal went to the opposite side. As he climbed
in behind the steering wheel, she sat up. She looked
at him. Though she smiled, her eyes were wet and
red, and she had tear streaks down both sides of her
face.
"So," she said, "we all set?" She wiped her
eyes with the back of her hand. "Ya git us a
room?"
He stared at her.
He knew why she'd been crying.
Shaking his head, he muttered, "Great.
Terrific."
"Huh?"
"You were in me, weren't you?" he asked. "The whole
time."
Without being asked, Sue slipped the bracelet off
her wrist and
gave it back to Neal. "I'm awful
sorry," she said.
"How could you
do
that to me?"
She lowered her head. "I'm a shit."
"You're damn right you're a shit! 1 trusted you!"
"I know."
"Damn it!"
"I aimed to He and let on I'd gone off in
someone else, but then ... I ain't never lied to ya,
Neal. Didn't seem like a good time to start, right after
ya got yerself in such a jam by tellin" the truth
to Marta."
Recalling things he'd said about Sue, he felt a
sickening rush of shame. "It wasn't all the
truth," he told her.
"Ya mean like how I'm a teenage lame-brain
gum-chompin' hillbilly?"
He grimaced. "I was .. . exaggerating."
Sue raised her head and gave him a crooked
smile. "I know that, pal. I was in yer
head,
remember? In the resta ya, too. I got me a
purty good notion
exactly
what ya thinka me. How ya
feel
"bout me, too."
"You think so?"
"I know so." With that, she clapped him on the thigh.
"C'mon, let's get up to the room."
Sue had only her paper sack for luggage, so she
helped Neal by carrying his overnight bag while he
hurried along with his suitcase.
He knew that he ought to be furious with her. Bad enough
that she'd snuck into him with the bracelet, but she
hadn't gotten out when he told her to.
Knew everything ...
But it was hard to be furious with someone, knowing that she was
aware of all those terrible things he'd said about her.
Especially when she'd seen beyond the words and
recognized
the truth: that he hadn't really meant them, that he'd
said them
to mislead Marta about his true feeling for her.
They must've hurt her, anyway.
She'd been in tears.
In his own limited experiences with the bracelet,
Neal had discovered that his body had reacted in
certain ways, even though
abandoned-apparently responding to things that happened
on the "ride." He'd returned to find it sweaty,
breathless, agitated . . . even aroused.
What had he thought, or said, to make Sue cry?
The insults? Something else?
Asic
her.
Maybe same other time.
Following him through the dim and smoky casino, Sue
said, "There's that nudie gal."
He glanced at the painted panel near the end of the
bar, and blushed.
"She looks sorta lumpy to me."
"Yeah," he said, and wished she would drop the
subject.
"She ain't gotta you-know-what, either." Sue
flashed a grin at him. "But 1 reckon ya already
noticed."
"Very funny."
The elevator was just beyond the pay phones. Sue
pushed the button. As they waited for the elevator
to arrive, she said, "Hasn't."
"Hasn't what?"
"Hadn't gotta you-know-what."
The doors slid open. They stepped
inside. As the doors shut, Sue said, "It's
room four-twenty?" She hadn't yet seen either of the
keys; she apparently knew the room number because
she'd
been in Neal at the front desk.
"Yeah," he said.
She set her bags on the floor and pushed the
button for the fourth floor. The elevator started
upward.
"Hey, look at us!" she blurted.
Looking around, Neal realized there were mirrors on
three
sides of the elevator, and on its ceiling. The
glass was flecked
with gold. "Fancy," he said.
In the mirror to his left, he gazed at the
reflection of Sue standing beside him. She was leaning
forward slightly, studying the same images, a
look of amused curiosity on her face.
They could not only see themselves in the mirror, but also
its reflection of the mirror to their right, which showed them
and the mirror to their left, which showed them again and .. .
"We just keep on goin" and goin'," Sue
whispered.
Neal saw her frown at herself, saw the
back of her head with its thick blond ponytail,
then her frowning face deeper in the mirror, then her
ponytail again, then her frown again, still smaller and
farther away. "S'pose we go on back like that for'
ever?" Sue asked.
"More than likely," Neal said.
She laughed and bumped her shoulder against him, and
Sue's bumped Neals deep into the mirrors.
The elevator stopped and its doors slowly slid
open. Neal and Sue picked up their bags and
stepped out. The corridor was deserted.
Sue hurried on ahead of him. When she found the
door to their room, she leaned back against the wall and
crossed her ankles. "Ya gonna take all
day?" she asked.
"What's the big hurry?"
"Wanna see what we got."
In front of the door, Neal set down his
suitcase. He dug into a pocket and took out the
two keys. "You want one?" he asked.
"Sure," she said. Her hands were full. She bared
her teeth and clicked them together.
"I'm not putting a key in your mouth. It's
probably filthy."
"My mouth or the key?"
"I was speaking of the key, but..."
"Well, good. I try and not swear any more than I
have to." She grinned. "Ya gonna let us in,
or ain't ya? Aren't you."
Neal looked at her, amazed. So
that's
what she'd meant by the "hasn't" downstairs: she'd
been correcting herself. Unlocking the door, he
said, "You don't need to improve your language
on my account."
"Well, it isn't exactly flattering to go around and
get yerself
called an ignerunt twerp."
"I just said it so Marta wouldn't... I didn't
mean it. You know that. You were in me."
"Well, ya meant it, all right. Only thing is,
ya still like me anyhow. Spite-a how ... in
spite of
the way I talk like a dope."
"You're fine the way you are," he said, and opened the
door.
Sue stepped into the room. "Look at this!"
Neal scanned the room. He'd been in plenty of
motel rooms, and the rooms of several good hotels.
Never in one this large, though. And never in
one this old-fashioned. The wallpaper, the paintings,
the dresser, the lamps and chairs, the rugs spread
here and there on the dark and glossy hardwood
floor-all looked like real antiques. Even the
four-poster beds looked as if they might've been
around in the days of the gold rush.
Sue dropped her bags onto the smaller of the two
beds, then hurried into the bathroom. Standing in the
doorway, she said, "Get a loada this." She
sounded more wary than impressed.
Neal put down his suitcase and joined her.
"What'n tar is
that?"
Sue asked, nodding at the toilet.
The white porcelain water tank was up near the
ceiling above the toilet, not down behind the seat. A
chain with a wooden handle dangled from the bottom of the
tank.
"I guess they wanted to keep things authentic,"
Neal said.
"Ya think it works?"
"I imagine. There'd probably be a mess if it
didn't."
Sue nudged him with her elbow.
"Besides," he said, "it looks like new
piping." "Hmm." She wandered past the sink and
mirror, past a full-length
wall mirror that was flecked with gold like those in the
elevator, and halted near the side of the tub.
The large, claw-footed boat of a bathtub stood
away from the walls. A shower curtain hung behind it
on a curtain rod that curved around, just below the
ceiling, like a suspended racetrack. "How ya
s'pose to use it?" Sue asked.
"For a shower?"
She frowned over her shoulder at Neal. "Yeah."
"Just pull the curtain around on the rod. Make
sure it hangs
inside the tub."
"Looks mighty all-fired queer to me. It'd
likely get on ya. Maybe I'll just have me a
bath, "stead .. .
instead of
a shower."
"Now?"
"Sure. It'll perk me up."
"What about The Fort?"
"Don't ya wanna rest up awhile 'fore .. .
before
we go over there r
"Wouldn't be a bad idea. I'm pretty tired.
I could use a little nap."
"Good. So you take yerself a nap, and I'll
take me a bath. Then we'll head on over to The
Fort in maybe like an hour?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Ya better go first."
He raised his eyebrows.
Sue nodded toward the toilet. "I know ya
gotta."
He grimaced, and she laughed.
A few minutes later, lying on the bed with his shoes
off, Neal heard the water start to run. Quickly, he
pulled the bracelet out of his pocket. He
slipped it onto his wrist.
Why not? Turnabout's fair play. She did it
to me . . .
When Neal heard the door open, he lifted his head
off the
pillow. Sue stepped out of the bathroom. She was
barefoot but
wearing her black leather skirt and her sleeveless
blue shirt. Both
her hands were busy rubbing her hair with a towel.
Her gaze flicked to the bracelet on
Neal's wrist. A corner of her mouth curved up.
"Where
you
been?" she asked.
Neal sat up on the mattress, and crossed his
legs. "Just sleeping," he said. He gave her a
smile that he hoped looked good and smirky.
Standing near the foot of the bed, Sue continued to rub
her hair with the towel as she stared into his eyes. "So
ya slept, huh?"
"Yep."
She smiled as if she knew better. "I know good
an" well ya was in me.
were
in me. And you know I know."
"How would I know that?"'
"You know how."
"Tell me."
"I told ya in my head, and ya know it," Sue
said. "We had us a fine, long talk."
"Must've been rather one-sided."
"Ya know dang well.. . I"
He shook his head.
Somehow managing to frown and smile at the same time,
Sue draped the towel over her shoulders and
crawled onto the mattress. On hands and knees,
she stared into Neal's eyes. "Admit it.
C'mon."
"No."
"Come on. It ain't no big deal."
"Isn't," he said.
Sue rolled her eyes upward. "I
knew
ya were gonna do it. I
planned
on ya doin it. That was the whole idea. Ya know?
Cause I owed ya. And I wanted ya to know how
I feel. . . about you. From the inside."
She gazed into his eyes.
"Ya know all that," she muttered. "Ya were in me,
so ya know everything."
He shook his head.
"Like all "bout the grand tour."
He smiled. "Grand tour? of what?"
"Ya know dang well."
"Of you?"
Her mouth dropped open again. She gaped at him.
"Damn! I missed it."
Shaking her head slowly from side to side, Sue
muttered, "Judas H. Priest on a
rubber crutch."
"I slept," Neal said.
"Ya slept."
"Honest to God. The fact is, I almost paid you a
visit. I put the bracelet on. I sure
wanted
to jump inside you and ... I mean, my God,
everything else aside, you were taking a
bath."
"Ya better believe it."
"I just figured ... you know, there's Marta."
"Ya were't aimin" to tell her?"
"Even if she never found out about it," he said,
"I'd know. It would've been like cheating on her."
"Ya aren't married to her."
"No, but... It wasn't just because of Marta. I
didn't want to use you that way. Invade your
privacy. Spy on you. It seemed wrong. Besides,
it's against the rules to use the bracelet on some'
one you ... care about. That was Elise's first warning.
You might find out things you shouldn't."
Sue, still on her hands and knees in front of him,
still gazing into his eyes, was now slowly moving her
head up and down. "You'd of found out plenty," she
said.
"Well..." Neal shrugged.
Sue raised her right hand off the mattress and
pointed her forefinger at him. "Ya got no idea
what ya missed, buddy," she said. Smiling
gently, she pressed her fingertip against the end of his
nose.
He tried to smile.
"But ya sure win points for honor." She put
her hand down and crawled backward. As she lowered
her legs off the end of the mattress, she said,
"Betcha was a Boy Scout."
He blushed. "Yep. A Baptist, too. But that
was all a long time ago."
"Well, some stuff sticks."
"It's pure hell, being virtuous."
Laughing, Sue tugged the towel off her shoulders.
"Ya got yerself a long ways to go before they start
puttin' ya up fer sainthood. Ya got that
honor, but ya also got a dirty mind and a mean
temper."
The words shocked him.
"Temper? What temper?"
"Ya let me fall and hit the table on purpose,
back at lunch. I also happen to know all "bout
how ya slugged that Karen gal in the belly
last night."
"I had to do that."
"Didn't have to like it."
He started to protest, but realized it would be
pointless. Why try to deny it? Sue had been
inside his head when he saw the
nude painting on the bar and remembered punching
Karen. She
knew the truth.
Hot with shame, he muttered, "I'm not perfect."
"Nope. But y'ain't too bad, taken
all-round."
"Thanks. You ain't, either."
"Aren't." She grinned.
Chapter Uirtf
As Neal put his shoes back on, Sue said,
"We could save us
some money if only just one of us goes in The Fort."
"Save even more if
neither of
us goes in," he told her.
"How I meant is like, I go in normal, and
you
go in by the bracelet. Ya know? Ridin me? That
way, we get in for half the price."
He looked at her, and was tempted.
But the temptation had been far greater when she'd been
taking her bath. He'd resisted that; he could resist
this blatant offer.
"You sure are eager to get me in you," he pointed
out.
She shrugged. "I got nothin" to hide."
"So it would seem."
"Anyhow, ya know?" She wiggled her shoulders and
hips, moving her hands slightly up and down in
front of her like a juggler. "I'd be like yer host,
ya know? It'd be my job to show you a good time. I'd
go on all the rides, and chow down on snacks, and
just do
everything.
It'd be great, ya know? You just stay here in the room,
and I gain all the weight, and if the Pony
Express crashes or somethin' when I'm on it,
I'm the one that cashes in her chips, and yer home
free."
"That's a pleasant thought."
"Well, I... I'm not lookin' to get killed.
Only if it
did
happen, you could just bail and stay all nice
and safe."
"Very thoughtful of you."
"Well, it'd save us the money, too."
"Why do we want to save money? Before you know it,
we'll
have fifty thousand dollars."
"Well, that's still sort of iffy, ya know?"
Neal got to his feet and said, "Let's both go
over to The Fort. I came all this way; I'm not
about to stay in the room and try to get all my fun from
in
you."
"It'd be
more
fun from in me."
"Maybe."
"Ya don't know what yer missing."
"Oh, I can imagine. But I need to go myself. For
one thing, I'm hungry. Getting to enjoy
your
snacks won't quite do the trick."
"Okeydoke," she said. "Just thought I'd make the
offer."
"You ready to go?"
"Almost." She returned to the bathroom and
shut the door.
While she was gone, Neal wondered what to do with the
bracelet. He thought about putting it into his
overnight bag with the pistol, but was afraid that it
might get stolen if he left it in the room. So
he took it off his wrist and stuffed it into a front
pocket of his trousers.
Sue came out of the bathroom with her denim purse
swinging by her hip. She was wearing her white socks and
sneakers. The towel no longer draped her shoulders,
but it had left dark patches of moisture on the
blue of her shirt. Her hair, still damp, had been
combed or brushed backward. It swept behind her ears
and hung like a thick yellow banner down her back.
She looked pale and fresh and wonderful.
"Do I look okay?" she asked.
"Great. Ready to go?"
She peered down at herself, then stepped over to a
mirror and studied her reflection. "I look great
to me, too," she finally said, and laughed.
Able to see her front and back simultaneously,
Neal was struck by the bareness of her arms and legs.
No sleeves at all, hardly enough skirt to mention
...
"You aren't afraid you might get cold?"
he asked.
"What am I gonna do? This is all I got,
less ya want me goin' over there lookin like a
waitress."
"I have some extra clothes in my suitcase."
"I'll be fine," she said. Then she came over
to him, took hold of his arm, and led him to the door.
They passed nobody in the corridor. After a
brief wait, the elevator arrived. It was
empty, the same as last time. They stepped inside.
Again, Sue seemed fascinated by the mirrors.
"It's like yer disappearin' in "em," she said. "Ya
keep on gettin tinier and tinier, and then it's like yer
just
gone."
She grimaced. "Kinda gives me the creeps."
Her hand tightened its grip on Neal's arm.
"They need to have a mirror on the floor," he said.
"You!" Without letting go, she bumped him with her
shoulder.
"I just said that to cure you of the creeps."
"You'd just
love
to have a mirror down there, and then ya could look up
my skirt."
"Nah," Neal said.
The elevator stopped for no one else. They
stepped out at the casino level, walked through the
smoke and odors of booze and perfume and noises
of clanking coins and ringing jackpot bells, walked
past the registration area and out a door into a late
afternoon of sunlight and quiet, and a fresh, warm wind.
"Ooh, this is niiitce," Sue said. Hurrying
ahead, she raised her arms as if she wanted
to embrace the sunlight or wind. After a few
strides, she whirled around. As she turned, Neal
glimpsed the pale skin of her armpit and side through
the gaping hole where her sleeve had been removed.
Then she was walking backward, smiling at him, her
arms still high. The wind, coming from behind, blew her hair
forward past the sides of her face.
My God,
look at
her.
Neal felt a sudden sharp sadness and longing and joy.
He shook his head.
I can't be falling for her, he told himself. She's
a kid.
An
airhead. A nuisance.
A nitwit.
An
angel.
Knock it off! Remember Marta.
Sue lowered her arms, but kept on walking
backward. "What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"Ya look like ya got a pain,"
"Just you."
"Ain't
you
sweet," she said, then laughed, came back to walk
beside him, and took his hand.
With the town behind them and nothing except The Fort ahead,
they left the sidewalk and strolled up the middle
of the street. Soon, the pavement ended. A smooth,
yellow dirt lane led between the twin fieldpieces
to the stockade entrance. Just beyond the main gate, they
came to a row of ticket booths. Of the dozen
cubicles, only one was open. Seven or eight people
waited in front of it, standing in line to buy
tickets.
The admission price, announced on large signs
above every booth, was twenty dollars per adult.
Closing time was midnight on Fridays and
Saturdays, but 10:00 P.m. every other night.
This was a Tuesday.
"Holy cripes!" Sue blurted.
"What?"
"Twenty bucks! That's gonna be
forty!
Told ya we oughta use the bracelet."
"Still cheaper than Disneyland," Neal pointed out.
"We ain't gonna pay all that!"
"I'm paying," Neal said. "It's fine. It's on
me. Don't worry about it."
"Forty bucks!"
"Take it easy."
She shook her head. "It's robbery."
"A drop in the bucket," Neal told her.
"We'll have that fifty thousand in a few days."
"Oh, sure thing."
In spite of Sue's protests, they remained in
line. The admission price didn't bother Neal,
but he
didn't
want to use up that much cash, so he decided to pay
with a credit card. The card would create a plastic
trail. That shouldn't matter, though; he didn't
think the cops were after him.
How could they be?
They might've found his business card in Elise's
house, but
he doubted it. He was nearly certain that Rasputin
had taken
the card.
And Rasputin apparently hadn't paid him a visit
at the apartment, so it hardly seemed likely that the
guy would try hunting him down by checking on his
credit card purchases.
A guy like that might not even have the capability.
But
suppose he does? Suppose he's feeling
better now, and figures it's time to pay me back,
shut me
up ...
Neal slipped the MasterCard back into his
wallet, reached for some cash, and suddenly remembered
that he'd already used the credit card to pay for their
room at the Apache Inn.
The damage
is
already done.
There probably isn't any damage, he told
himself. It had been a mistake, though,
using the credit card for the hotel. At the time, he
hadn't even considered that Rasputin might be able
to locate him from it.
Don't worry
about it. Even if he's one of
those
guys who knows how to find out everything about you on that
information
superhigh
way,
he'd still have to deal with the concrete highways. Take
him eight or nine hours to get here.
Neal did some mental arithmetic, counting hours from
the time they'd checked into the Apache Inn.
The bastard could be here by midnight!
But he won't be, Neal told himself. Not unless
he magically recovered from his gunshot wounds.
Nobody would put himself through the torture of driving
a car five hundred miles when he has two or
three bullet holes in him.
If he's not nuts
comor
dead
-
he won't do
anything
for the next
couple
of weeks except stay in bed.
Neal went ahead and used the MasterCard to pay for
their admission tickets. Which he soon handed to a
fellow dressed in a blue calvary uniform, who
tore them in half. Stubs in hand, Neal led the
way through a turnstile.
On the other side of the turnstile, Sue took
hold of his hand. They stood side by side, looking
around.
In front of them was a broad, open area that
appeared to be The Fort's parade ground. A
pretty good crowd had gathered, up ahead. The
spectators seemed to be watching some sort of
performance by a squad of mounted soldiers. The
soldiers had
their sabers drawn.
The parade ground was surrounded by log buildings that
appeared to house a variety of shops and
restaurants. All the rides, and whatever else
The Fort had to offer, seemed to be located beyond the far
end of the grounds. People were wandering through a broad opening
at the rear of the stockade fence. Neal could
see the tops of the rides in the distance.
"Where do you want to start?" he asked.
Sue shrugged. "Don't wanna miss
noth-anything. Wanta start over there, and work our
way "round?"
"The time-honored counterclockwise method of
amusement park perusal."
She contorted her face at him. "What?"
"This way," he said, and pointed.
They crossed the dusty parade grounds, walked behind
a couple of horses at a hitching post, then
climbed onto an elevated wooden walkway and
entered the first shop.
It specialized in western wear. They wandered around
for a while, admiring the cowboy hats, boots,
fancy shirts, blue jeans, leather vests,
buckskin jackets, silver belt buckles and
bolo ties. "If you see anything you want,"
Neal said, "just let me know."
Sue made a face, shrugged, and shook her head.
"I love that stuff," Neal confessed after leaving the
shop. "Only problem is, you go around dressed like a
cowboy in L.a., and somebody's likely to beat you
up. Or shoot you."
"Ya oughta move."
"I don't know." "Why not hit the roads with me?
We'll go off in my four-wheel
drive Jeep Cherokee, and see the country. Ya
can wear the whole nine yards-chaps and a ten-gallon
hat and spurs that jingle. 1 won't even beat ya
up or shoot ya."
Neal knew that she was joking around.
But he also suspected that she meant it.
As they roamed from shop to shop, Neal thought about how it
might be, traveling the country with Sue. It
seemed like a fantasy, not a real possibility.
He had a living to earn, his career to build. And
what about Marta? He couldn't just dump her.
Hell, he didn't want to dump Marta. He
loved her. He'd supposed
that, before long, he would probably ask her to marry
him.
He probably still wanted to marry her.
But now there was Sue.
What
if it turns out that she loves me and she really
wants
me with her?
Then you've got a
problem,
buddy. You'll have to choose
between
the two of them.
How ironic that would be, he thought. Suddenly having
to make a choice between two women, when he'd gone so
long without any. Before Marta, there'd been about ten
years of nothing.
A girlfriend now and then, but nothing serious.
He'd gotten serious about a few of them, but they
hadn't shared his enthusiasm. Most of them seemed
to be looking for "the big kill"-a guy who was already
rich, or well on his way toward major bucks.
Neal never quite filled that bill.
He had made his first and only marriage proposal
at the age of twenty-one to Judy Fain, a
classmate at U.s.c. She'd responded,
"I dearly love you, Neal. You're so sweet.
But I'm afraid that you'd never be able to support
me in the manner to which I intend to become accustomed."
The money issue had never come up with his first love,
Sammi Wyatt. But she'd moved back East when
they were both seventeen. They'd kept in touch for about
nine months, but then she'd told him on the phone
about a guy named Keith ...
It had all been downhill after that, in the
woman department.
Until Marta.
She didn't seem to mind that he wasn't on the
road to riches.
Loves me for myself.
By the time he'd met Marta, however, he'd already
sold one screenplay and had a few other
projects in various stages of development.
I wasn't a
complete loser anymore.
"Are you starvin"?" Sue asked, interrupting his
thoughts.
"Sure am," he said, and found himself standing with her at
the door to the Mess o' Ribs Mess Hall.
Sue tipped back her head. Eyes half shut,
she breathed in
deeply through her nostrils. "Sure smells
fine," she said.
The air coming through the doorway was rich with aromas of
wood fires, sizzling meat and barbecue sauces.
"Let's go in," Neal said.
"Might cost an arm and a leg. Maybe only just
one of us oughta really eat, and . .."
"Don't worry about it. Get on in there."
She hesitated.
Neal swatted her gently on the rump. He meant
it only to encourage her to move, so he was
surprised by the way he noticed the soft warmth of
her leather skirt and the firm, bouncy feel of her
buttock.
Seated across from each other in a booth near the back
of the
Mess o' Ribs Mess Hall, they both ordered
margaritas.
The waiter asked to see Sue's ID. Smiling
pleasantly, she took out her wallet, searched through
its fat bill compartment, and came up with a driver's
license.
The waiter studied it for a moment, then said, "Thank
you, Miss Taylor." After he left, Neal said,
"Isn't your name suposed to be Babcock?
Barbra Sue Babcock?"
She grinned. "My drinkin' name's Elaine
Taylor."
"You're a criminal."
"Yup."
"What else do you do?"
"Not much." Leaning forward and looking him in the eyes,
she said, "Is it breakin the law if ya go and sit
in a rib joint without yer drawers on?"
Neal gaped at her. "You're kidding," he
muttered.
Grinning, she sat up straight, wiggled a bit, and
said, "Nope."
"What're you trying to do?" Neal asked.
She shrugged.
"I'm ... involved with Marta."
"I know. But that don't mean I gotta wear
drawers.
Doesn't."
The waiter arrived with their drinks. When he was gone,
Sue
lifted her cloth napkin off the table, shook it
open, and spread
it across her lap.
Neal opened his napkin, too.
"Make sure ya don't drop that on the floor,"
Sue told him. "The way yer lookin, ya wouldn't
never have the guts to bend down and pick it up."
Neal laughed, and some of the tension eased out of him.
He calmed down more while they talked, sipped their
margaritas, joked around, and studied the menus.
They both ordered dinners of honey-glazed barbecued
pork ribs, corn on the cob, and french fries.
When the waiter was about to leave, Neal asked
for another round of margaritas.
"So," Sue said, "are ya fixin to marry Marta?"
"Maybe. Not necessarily."
"She seemed real nice, from what 1 heard."
Neal frowned for a moment, confused.
How did Sue . . . his
"Oh, that's right."
"Forgot I was in ya?"
"It had slipped my mind."
"I don't wanna go and butt in on yer business,
but..."
"But you're going to do it?"
"Well. .." She frowned. "Thing of it is,
seems like ya sorta
scared
of Marta. Ya know? I saw that without ever usin' the
bracelet. Ya never told her "bout the
bracelet, for one thing. For another, ya ran off just
cause-a them... the scratches on yer arms. See
what I mean? Then on the phone, only reason why
ya told her 'bout me was 'cause ya figured
she'd find out sooner or later, anyhow. Ya
figured it'd go easier if ya fessed up at the
start."
He stared at Sue. He took a deep
breath.
This is
what I get for letting her use the bracelet.
Is
there anything she doesn't know?
"So?" he asked.
"I'm not sayin ya oughta dump her or nothin".
.."
"Or anything."
"Right. I'm not sayin' that."
"Well, good."
"I'm not sayin' there's somethin'
wrong
with her, either. I'm
only sayin' ya ain't even married yet, but she's
already got ya
towin' the line and scared ya might do somethin' to piss
her
off."
"I love her," Neal said.
And felt as if he'd spoken the words too
easily.
"If you say so," Sue said. "Only thing is, I
figure ya love
me
more than ya do her."
"You're nuts. I hardly even know you."
"Don't forget, I been in yer head."
Enunciating each word carefully as if venturing
forward with a new language, she repeated, "I've
been ... in ... your head."
Chapter Thirty-one
Done eating, Neal paid the bill with his credit card.
As they
walked out of the restaurant, he checked his
wristwatch.
Ten till seven.
"Late for a date?" Sue asked.
"The park closes at ten," he said.
"What we oughta do," she suggested, "is maybe
hurry right on over to the rides and leave the resta the
shops and stuff for later. Think so?"
"I think so," he said.
"I think so, too." Smiling, Sue took hold
of his hand. "Thanks for the dinner. It sure hit the
spot. Those ribs, they were slip- smackin'
good."
"They were good, all right," he said.
"Did I say that okay?"
"You said
it
fine."
"Catch how I didn't call "em them ribs?"
"I noticed."
"They sure were delicious," she said, speaking with
care.
"Yes, they were."
Neal, at dinner, had noticed only vaguely how
sweet and tangy the ribs tasted. For the most part,
he hadn't been able to
focus on the food. His mind had been spinning-not so
much
from the margaritas as from Sue. His heart had gone
thumping
along
too
fast. He'd had an achy, tight feeling in his
throat and,
throughout the meal, an erection of varying stiffness in his
pants.
It hadn't helped at all, being told she was
drawerless.
Nor had it helped, watching the way she ticked and
sucked the sticky barbecue sauce off her fingers,
sometimes moaning with pleasure and rolling her
eyes.
This is what
did
help.
Shortly before the food's arrival, Sue had
turned the conversation into a direction that had nothing to do
with women or drawers. "It isn't that I
don't
know sorta how to talk right. Just that I never done it
much. Never had no call to. How 'bout ya point
out where I'm goin" wrong?"
"Are you sure you want to be bothered with it?"
"Sure. 1 don't wanta go "round being an
embarrassment to ya, soundin" like Jed Clampett.
Shoot, you're a big of' movie writer."
Neal laughed. "Not that big. Maybe someday."
"Anyhow, I gotta learn me how to talk right."
The way she grinned, saying that, she'd known it was a
doozy.
"Well," Neal said, "let's start with double
negatives. They're not no good."
Sue grinned.
After that, when they weren't drinking margaritas, chewing
food or trying to lick sauce off their fingers, they
were talking about how Sue might improve
her verbal skills.
Being Sue's teacher had helped Neal. He'd been
able to focus on language, and nothing else, for
moments at a time.
But he'd never been able to free himself from the knowledge that
Sue was aware of how he felt about her.
She
knows
I've fallen far her.
She's got no panties on.
By the time they walked out of the Mess o' Ribs
Mess Hall, he felt exhausted. He looked
at his wristwatch. The park would close in three
hours.
"Late for a date?" Sue asked.
Neal and Sue walked hand in hand toward the opening at
the
rear of the stockade fence.
The sun had just gone down behind the mountains to the west.
The ridge blocking it was edged with blinding gold, which
vanished as they passed beneath the rustic branch sign
that read, UNTAMED TERRITORIES.
"Well, now," Neal said.
Sue squeezed his hand and grinned at him.
"This is the real thing," he told her.
"Real what?" she asked.
"Carnival."
Though the sun had barely gone down, all the lights
in the Untamed Territories burned brightly,
filling the dusk with reds and greens and yellows.
Dozens of brilliant colors, it seemed
to Neal.
And
noise.
Carny noise.
The tooting tune of a calliope, somewhere a strumming
banjo, the clatter and roar of a roller coaster,
shouts and squeals, the spiel of a barker, the bam
bam
barn
from a shooting gallery, bells clanging ... other
sounds, too many for Neal to separate or identify.
Carny noise.
And the camy smells of cigar smoke, cotton
candy, popcorn, booze, perfume and suntan
lotion ...
And the people.
Not the mobs that would normally be found at Disneyland,
Magic Mountain or Knotts Berry Farm, but a
great many more people than Neal expected to find
at a place like The Fort. They couldn't all be
locals. Neal supposed that some must come from Reno,
Sparks, Truckee, Lake Tahoe ...
They looked like cowboys, truckers, carpenters,
waitresses, students, mountain hikers taking a
break from the wilds, schoolteachers, middle-aged
hippies, and spritely retired folks. There were
young married couples. Babies in strollers and
backpacks. Little kids running around shouting.
Clusters of teenage guys trying to look cool and
tough. Clusters of teenage girls snapping gum,
smirking, whispering and giggling. And teenaged couples
roaming around hand in hand, looking enthralled by each
other.
Not a gangsta in sight, Neal noticed.
He saw cowboy hats, tight jeans and boots.
No baggy trousers hanging at half-mast, no
bulky shirts or overcoats worn to hide the
bulges of a 9 mm semi-auto, a sawed-off
shotgun or an Uzi.
"Well, Toto, we ain't in L.a.
anymore," Neal muttered.
"Aren't," Sue told him. "And I never have been.
In L.a. But yer gonna take me there tomorrow,
right?"
He smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. I just
might want to stay here where it's nice and safe."
"S'pose it's safe on the Pony Express?"
"I doubt it," Neal said.
The enormous, white framework of the roller coaster
loomed above all the other rides and attractions at
the far end of the midway. It looked like a railroad
bridge built by a madman, the tracks climbing
into the dusky sky then swooping down, steep as a
cliffside, banking into hairpin turns and climbing
again.
All of it festooned with lights like a Christmas
tree.
As Neal stared at the distant structure, a train
of half a dozen cars crested its highest summit
and plunged straight down. He saw many of the riders
raise their arms high as if surrendering. He heard
faint, faraway screams of terror and delight.
"Lordy," he said.
"Still wanna go on it, don't ya?"
"We owe God a death."
"Nobody's gonna die." They started walking
toward the distant ride. "If yer scared," Sue
said, "ya can always stay behind on a bench, or somethin,
kiss yer bracelet and go along on the
ride with me."
"I'm not scared."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire."
"At least I'm
wearing
pants."
She bumped him gently. "Ya don't have to tell the
whole world."
"You there!"
Neal turned his head.
A guy in a cowboy hat and a red apron, standing behind
the
knee-high counter of a game booth, held up a
softball. He
seemed to be staring straight at Neal.
"Yeah, you! Step right over here! Win the little lady
a fabulous prize! One ball for a dollar!
Knock over all three bottles, and win! Step
right up, duke! Show her what you've got!"
Neal smiled sheepishly, shook his head, and kept
on walking.
"Don't ya wanna show me what you've got?"
Sue asked, grinning.
"I'm not much good at games like that. Would

like to try it?" he asked.
"Me? I wanna go on the Pony Express."
So they kept on walking down the dusty lane between
game booths, snack shops, souvenir stands, a
variety of rides and fun- houses-looking
but not stopping. With every step Neal took, the Pony
Express seemed to grow higher.
By the time they reached the far end of the midway, it towered
above them-a colossus of rickety, white-painted
beams strung with colored lights.
They took their place at the rear of the line.
Sue tilted back her head, shook it from side
to side, and said, "She sure is a big booger."
"There's no law that says we
have
to ride it."
"Sure there is. Sue's Law. "Don't
worry 'bout it, just do it.""
"That law could get a person into loads of trouble."
"I've done okay by it."
"Well, I imagine we'll probably
survive."
As the line became shorter, however, Neal started
to imagine otherwise. He pictured a whole string
of cars leaping off a high stretch of
tracks and flying out over the park-himself and Sue in the
front car.
Plunging through the night, crashing through trees . ..
It's not going to happen, he told himself.
But what
if there's an earthquake
. . . his
Or a mad bomber blows
up a
section
of
tracks . . . his
"Ya okay?" Sue asked.
"Fine. Just a small case of the jitters."
"Ever been on any roily coasters before?"
"Oh, sure. Lots of them."
"Not me," Sue said.
He couldn't believe his ears.
"You've never been on a
roller
coaster?"
"Nope. Never been to a place that had one, till
now."
"You've
never been to an amusement park?"
She grinned. "Ain't I amazin'?"
Neal shook his head. "It's awful," he said.
"Well, it ain't the enda the world. I'm here now,
right?"
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah," he said.
"You're here now. And if we miss anything tonight,
we'll come back tomorrow."
And when we get back to L.a., he thought, I'll
take her everywhere. Disneyland, Knotts, Magic
Mountain, Universal Studios...
Universal was a motion picture studio, not
exactly an amusement park. He wanted to take
Sue there, anyway.
And the Venice boardwalk.
The Hollywood Walk of Fame.
The L.a. County Fair, though it wouldn't come
along until September.
The Gene Autry Museum .. ,
Take her everywhere, show her everything, share her
delight.
Maybe
not
the Venice boardwalk, he thought. Might have to spend
the day dodging bullets and knives.
Don't want our
fine time wrecked by one of us getting killed.
And what about Marta? he wondered.
She'Us
come, too.
We'll
be a threesome.
Marta and I, we'll
be the
couple. Sue and I we'll
be like brother and sister.
Like Karen and Darren?
"What's the matter?" Sue asked.
"Huh? Nothing."
"Ya just sighed and shook yer head like yer pet dog
got run over and squished."
Neal couldn't help but smile. "Actually, I was
wondering how Marta's going to react when she meets
you."
"She's gonna be charmed outta her socks."
Neal laughed. "You might be right."
Suddenly, they were at the front of the line. A worker
in a
cavalry uniform beckoned them forward. Neal
followed Sue
through a turnstile. As they walked across the
wooden platform,
they were told by a girl in a fringed buckskin outfit
to stand at
number one.
The numbers were painted near the edge of the platform
floor.
Lower numbers to the left.
It came as no surprise to find that number one was
the first number.
To Neal, however, it came as a shock to find that they
would be sitting in the front seats of the lead car.
He groaned.
"What's the problem now?" Sue asked.
"We're first."
"Cool!"
"Aye-yiyi."
Laughing, she squeezed his arm.
The Pony Express hadn't yet arrived. Neal
could hear it, though. He heard its clatter and
rumble, heard its passengers shrieking. He felt
the platform tremble and shudder under his feet.
Oh, God, I
don't want to do this!
It's gonna crash!
He felt as if his insides were falling and
shriveling.
No reason to be scared, he told himself. Nothing
is going to go wrong. It's a
roller coaster.
It's a
ride.
It's not really dangerous at all. It's
moke-believe danger.
His legs felt weak. Goosebumps crawled all
over his skin.
Just
tell her you don't want to do it. She can go by herself.
And look
like
a chicken?
I faced
Rasputin! Shot the bastard! I can't
be scared of a stupid
roller coaster.
Which suddenly arrived.
It lurched to a halt, the front seats of the lead car
just below the edge of the platform in front of Sue.
After the safety bar swung forward, a man and a
small boy started to climb out the other side. The
boy, no older than ten, wore a grin like
Dr. Sardonicus.
"Oh my God," Neal muttered, "it drove the
little bugger mad."
Sue squeezed his arm. "How safe is this thing?"
Amazed by Sue's unexpected nervousness, Neal
felt slightly less frightened, himself. "If it went
around crashing," he said, "it wouldn't be here."
The answer seemed to reassure her. "Yeah,
reckon yer right."
"We'll be fine," Neal said, feeling even
better.
"Okay."
She went first. Neal followed. All too soon,
they were seated side by side and the safety bar swung
in toward their chests.
"Are you ready?" Neal asked.
"I don't think so!" Grimacing, Sue clutched
the bar with both hands.
The roller coaster jumped forward and immediately began
to clitter-clatter its way slowly up the main
slope. It climbed higher and higher. The steep
angle pinned Neal against the seat cushion at his
back. Ahead, the tracks seemed to rise forever.
"I don't
litiike
this," Sue sang out.
"The fun hasn't even started yet," Neal told
her. "Just wait till we get to the top."
"I'm scared!"
"You're supposed to be."
As they neared the top, Sue began muttering, "Oh
jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez!"
They reached the crest.
Neal couldn't see the downhill side. He could
see nothing straight ahead except distant
mountains.
"Here we go!" he shouted.
"Shit!"
Sue yelled.
They both clutched the safety bar to brace themselves
for the plunge.
It didn't come.
The ride jerked to a sudden stop.
They went nowhere.
"Uh-oh," Neal said. He felt sick. He
sat rigid in his seat, half
expecting the odd stop at the summit of the ride's
first and
highest hill to be followed up by another
surprise: maybe the
whole structure would topple.
Sue turned her head toward him and bared her teeth.
"This isn't s'pose to happen?"
"I'm afraid not."
"What's it mean?"
"A malfunction?" Neal suggested.
"Oh, dear."
"I'm sure they'll have it fixed in a minute or
two."
Except that maybe everything's already
starting
to collapse , . .
"Weren't them lights on before?" Sue asked, nodding
toward the low wooden railing a few feet to the left
of the tracks.
A strand of colored lights was wrapped around the
railing.
The lights no longer glowed.
Neither did the lights that were strung around the railing
to the right.
Neither did the thousands of lights adorning the
Stagecoach Ferris wheel at the other side of the
park.
Neal spotted the upper stories of the Apache Inn
way off in the distance. All its windows were
dark.
Keeping his tight grip on the safety bar, he
leaned to the left and peered down. The park below them,
earlier so gaily lit, was cloaked with the gloom of
late dusk. He saw people hurrying about, down there.
And groups standing motionless, their heads back, staring
up at the stranded roller coaster.
Most of the carny noise was gone.
He heard alarmed voices, a few faraway shouts
and screams, birds .. .
Facing Sue, he said, "It's gotta be a power
outage."
"Oh, boy. How'd
that
happen?"
"I don't know. An accident at a power station
somewhere?"
"What'll we do?"
"Wait, I guess." Neal saw a wooden
walkway at the edge of the structure. A walkway
with a railing two-feet high, and a godless drop at
the other side. It apparently became a stairway
just ahead, where the tracks sloped down.
M right-brace
God, what a stairway that's gotta be!
Neal had heard that it was a common practice at
amusement parks for someone to walk the roller coaster
tracks before the first run every day. To make sure
everything looked shipshape.
What kind of nut would walk on that?
Such a narrow walkway. Such steep slopes.
Nothing really to hold on to. Such a long way
down ...
The very sight of it made Neal feel giddy.
The idea of using it as an escape route
horrified him.
Maybe as a last resort.
I'll stay
right
here and starve
in
my seat, if it comes to that.
"We're awful high up," Sue said.
She had a tremor in her voice.
"It's all right," Neal told her. He unfroze
his right hand from the safety bar, slipped his arm across
Sue's shoulders, and snuggled her in against his side.
She was shaking. "It'll be all right," he said. He
caressed her upper arm.
She hunkered down lower against him and tried
to bury her face in his chest.
"If you think
we've
got it bad," he said, "how would you like to be in one
of the cars behind us? At least we made it to the top."
"They still there?"
Keeping his arm around Sue, Neal twisted himself
toward her as much as the safety bar allowed, and gazed
over his right shoulder. The second car hadn't reached
the top of the grade. He couldn't see it at all.
"Hello back there!" he called.
"Howdy," a woman called. She sounded elderly,
and had a cheerful voice.
"Everyone okay back there?" Neal asked.
"So far. And how about yourselves?"
"Okay."
"It's a grand view of the sky," called a man.
From the sound of his voice, Neal figured he was
probably sitting beside the woman-likely her
husband.
"Does this happen often?" the woman inquired.
"I don't know. We're just. .."
"Attention," boomed a voice through a megaphone.
"M less-than ry I have
your
attention, please?"
"Ya got it, ya got it," Sue muttered.
Neal turned forward. Looking over the side, he
spotted a husky man far below, head tipped
back, a battery-powered megaphone at his mouth.
"We
are experiencing a temporary loss of
electrical
power. We regret any
inconvenience
or discomfort
this
may be
causing
you.
However,
you are in no
danger whatsoever. I repeat,
you are perfectly safe.
So long as
you
remain seated. Please remain in caret our seats.
Do not attempt to exit the ride. The situation will
be rectified
shortly, and right-brace out will
be
returned safety to terra
firma."
"Terror firma?" Sue asked. "What the
hell's he talkin about?"
"The ground."
"How come he didn't just say so?"
"He wanted to be fancy about it, I guess."
"Think we're really safe up here?"
"Sure."
If
nothing else goes wrong.
"It don't
feel
safe. Feels high."
Neal turned toward her as much as he could. The side
of his right leg pressed against the side of her left
leg. She put a hand on his thigh and rested her
face against his chest. He reached
across with his left hand and stroked her hair.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Just scared," she said. Her mouth was touching his shirt
front, and he could feel the heat of her breath. "I
don't like gettin' stuck this high up in the air. I
just don't."
"There's a way out," Neal said.
"Like what?"
He dug the bracelet out of his pocket and showed it
to her.
"Put it on, kiss it, and take off. You can be
safe on "terror firma"
in about two seconds."
"I reckon I could," she said. Then she gave his
thigh a couple of playful smacks with her open hand.
"Tryin

to get rid of me?"
"We might be stuck up here for hours. I know how
scared you are. So, really. Go ahead and use it.
There's no good reason for you to suffer though this. Just
take off and have a good time. Visit some of the folks
down on the ground. You could even go on back to the
hotel and find yourself someone having a nice meal or
some drinks at the bar ..."
"I could find me a gal gettin' laid."
Neal blushed and let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah.
Or that."
Sue raised her face from his chest. Even in the near
darkness, he could see her smile. "You ever done that?
Gone in somebody
doiri
it?"
"Nope."
"How come?"
"Just hasn't come up. I've hardly had a chance
to
use
the thing. Besides, I'm not really big on sex with
strangers."
"Ya could make it with
anybody.
Any old time ya felt like it. There's likely
somebody doin' it someplace
all
the time. Just have to catch "em at it."
"I suppose that's true," Neal said.
"Don't tell me ya ain't thought about it."
Though blushing, Neal had to smile. "I guess
it's crossed my mind."
"Ya wouldn't even need to worry about catchin
AIDS, or nothin', either."
"I'm not all that worried now."
"How come?"
"I'm careful who I sleep with. Nobody but
Marta since my last physical."
"Might catch it from her."
"Nope. She's perfectly healthy."
"Think so?"
"I know so."
"What if she fools around?"
"Marta doesn't fool around."
"What makes ya so sure? Use the bracelet
on her?"
"No. Of course not. And I have no intention of using
it on her."
"I'll do it for ya."
"You will not."
Sue's grin spread. "Scared I'll find out
she's got another fella?"
"Why don't we just leave Marta out of this?"
"Okay. Jess tryin' to help. 1 mean, 1
sure don't want ya to get sick and die, that's
all. If she's steppin' out..."
"She's not stepping out."
"If you say so."
"I say so. Now look, do you want to use the
bracelet and get out of here?"
She was silent for a little while, apparently thinking it
over. Then she said, "Nah. I'm doin better.
It ain't so scary ... isn't so scary
when we're talkin like this, ya know?"
"It does seem to help," Neal admitted.
"So we better keep on talkin', huh?"
"I guess so," Neal said.
"Let's go back to Marta."
"Well... how about if we don't, and-was
"Do ya use rubbers on her?"
"Sue!"
She laughed. "Sorry! Never mind! All I'm
sayin', if ya aren't a hundred percent sure about
her, ya better take precautions."
"Fine," Neal said. "Let's talk about something
else."
"I don't use "em, myself. Never have."
He blushed fiercely, and felt a quick rush of heat
in his groin. "You should," he said.
"Last time I got myself boinked ..."
"Sue. ('eez."
"Well, it was six years ago."
"You were
twelve

."
"Yup." She put her head down on his chest again.
"They was five guys in the school
John."
"My God."
"Don't reckon they woulda put on rubbers even
if I'd asked "em."
"Did they hurt you?"
"Yeah. Sure did."
Neal's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears.
Just a little kid. Innocent
and
helpless. What sort of bastards could do that to her?
My poor Sue.
"I'm ... so sorry," he murmured.
"Me, too. Bled like a stuck pig, and couldn't
walk straight for a week. But I come through it okay.
Least I didn't catch some disease or get
knocked up."
Neal sniffed and took a deep, shuddering breath.
He wiped his eyes. "What happened to the guys who
raped you?" he asked.
"Huh?" She lifted her head. "Oh! They
didn't
rape
me. I got 'em to do it. They were my buddies."
"What?"
"Sure. Only problem was, it was too
many all at once and we were too young. Not to mention
we got caught at it. The whole gang of us got
expelled."
"My God," Neal muttered.
Sue laughed. "Anyhow, that was my first and last try
at gettin" laid."
"Never once ... ?"
"Come close a few times, and there's always guys
wantin" to. I've even had the urge, myself, a
few times. But mostly, the guys I know aren't much
good so I been savin' myself."
Saving
yourself for
someone like me?
Neal didn't dare ask.
"Also, there's my problem," Sue said.
"Problem?"
He felt her head nod against his chest. "The time when
1 did it with all them ... those guys ... they
sorta ruined me."
Her words gave Neal a tight, sick feeling.
Should he ask
how
they'd ruined her?
She probably expected him to ask, but
he was afraid.
"Put that away and gimme yer hand," she said.
Neal stuffed the bracelet into his pocket. Then
Sue took him by the wrist and pulled his hand over
to her. Her head and
curtain of hanging hair blocked the view, so he
couldn't see
what she was doing.
Her left leg shoved his right leg aside.
On his hand, he felt smooth, warm skin.
Then the feathery brush of soft curls against his fingers.
Sue guided his hand lower. He felt skin on both
sides and knew he was between her thighs.
"Here's what they done to me," Sue said. "Feel
there? Right there?" She slid his fingertips over soft
folds of flesh and in between them, into a split that was
hot and slick. "See how they left me gashed
wide open?" Sue asked.
Neal could only answer with a groan.
Still holding his hand down there, Sue lifted her head
and kissed Neal on the mouth. He felt as if his
breath were being sucked away. Her tongue pushed between
his lips. As he delved deeper into her with his fingers,
she released his wrist and caressed the side of his
face.
She groaned and squirmed.
I shouldn't be doing this, he thought. Shouldn't be.
Can't
help it. Feels too good.
But it was not just the wonderful slippery tight feel of
her, it was the knowing that she wanted his fingers there,
wanted him there. Trusted him enough. Liked him
enough. Loved him?
A
very weird trick to get me there . . .
"See how they left me gashed wide open?"
Yeah, right.
She'd told the truth, at least, about her drawers.
This
is so ...
fantastic!
Unbelievable!
What about
Marta?
Marta never has to know, he told himself.
Sue writhed on his hand, grunted into his mouth,
stopped caressing his cheek and ran her hand down his
chest and belly. She tugged at his belt buckle.
He wanted a breast. Her left breast felt good
the way it pushed against his chest, but he
wanted one in his hand. His right arm was already stretched
across her back. Lowering it slightly, he went in
beneath her armpit and slipped his hand through the hole where
her sleeve had been removed.
He felt her smooth, bare side. Stretching
farther, he touched
the side of her breast.
Tried to reach to the front, but couldn't.
Couldn't get to her nipple.
Almost, but...
Sue slipped his zipper down. He felt the
front of his trousers go loose. The elastic
waistband of his shorts went away.
He groaned when Sue's hand curled around his
erection. He felt huge, hard and heavy, ready
to explode.
Her cool, smooth hand glided slowly down, then
up ...
With a sudden jerk, the Pony Express lurched
forward.
Neal and Sue both flinched rigid and gasped
into each other's mouths.
Eyes leaping open, Neal saw the Christmas tree
lights brightly aglow along the railing.
The seat seemed to drop out from under him.
And down they roared-a train plunging off a cliff.
Behind them, people screamed and clapped.
Sue's hand leaped away from his penis. In her haste
to turn forward and brace herself, she trapped his hand
between her thighs.
"Hey!" Neal yelled.
"Ha!" she squealed, and spread her legs.
Neal retrieved his hand. He clutched the safety
bar and braced himself with his feet as the roller coaster
kept on rocketing downward.
The warm night air rushed around his erection.
Great time for the power to come back.
Look on the bright side
-
we're not stranded anymore.
What am 1 gonna AoJust
At the bottom of the monster slope, the Pony
Express sped into a right-hand turn, the tracks
rising into a thicket of white beams. Daring
to release his panic grip on the safety bar,
Neal dropped both hands to his lap and shoved himself
back into his undershorts.
One task at a time, he wiped his slippery left
hand dry the best he could on the front of his shorts,
shut the zipper of his trousers, buttoned his
waist, and fastened his buckle-finishing
with five or ten seconds to spare before the roller
coaster stopped
at the end of the ride.
The safety bar automatically moved away from them.
On shaky legs, Neal stood up and stepped onto
the platform. He turned around. Sue, on her
feet, looked flushed and unsteady. Meeting his
eyes, she hoisted a corner of her mouth. Neal,
with a breathless laugh, reached down and gave her a hand
onto the platform.
Side by side, they staggered toward the exit.
He glanced down at himself. His shirttail hung
out.
So did Sue's-but hers was always that way.
A couple of her buttons had come undone.
We
must look like
we've been wrestling.
As they neared the exit gate, a red-haired guy in
a cavalry uniform looked them over and said,
"Sorry about that problem."
"No problem," Neal told him.
"Are you both all right?" he asked.
"Fine and dandy," Sue told him. "Best
roily coaster ride I ever had."
It had left them both sticky, though.
Soon after leaving the ride, they found rest rooms.
The doors were marked BRAVES and SQUAWS.
"S'pose anybody'll care if we go in the same
one?" Sue asked.
"We'd probably get arrested."
"Yeah. More than likely." She squeezed his hand.
"Ya aren't gonna disappear on me, are ya?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I feel so dang fine, seems like it's gotta
end real soon, that's all."
"It won't," he said.
For Neal, matters had been settled at the
summit of the Pony
Express. Doubts had been removed. He
didn't know what to do
about Marta yet, but he knew how he felt about
Sue.
After coming out of the rest rooms, they didn't talk about
returning immediately to the hotel.
The hotel, and what was sure to happen there, could
wait.
They went on with their exploration of The Fort, walking
slowly side by side, holding hands, often
laughing at little things. There were strangely long
silences, sometimes. And when they were standing still or
sitting, they always found themselves staring into each other's
eyes.
At a game booth, Neal threw darts at
balloons, popped three, and won Sue a pink
stuffed kitten not much larger than her hand. She named
it Dart. At another booth, she sank a
basketball and won a small, stuffed green
dinosaur. "It's for you," she said, presenting it
to Neal. "What're ya gonna call it?"
He gave the matter some consideration, then answered,
"Spielberg."
Sue laughed and hugged him.
Neal stuffed the prize animals into the deep,
loose pockets of his trousers. Putting Dart in
his left-hand pocket, he felt the bracelet down
there.
The smooth, warm feel of the gold made him
smile.
Our
fabulous bracelet. None of this would've happened
without it.
Sue had used it and misused it, invaded his
privacy with it, infuriated him. In the
process, however, they had stopped being strangers.
Thank you, EU-SE. Thank you, thank you. You
didn't just give me the bracelet, you gave me
Sue.
Holding hands, they continued wandering the midway.
They played a few more games, but didn't win.
They rode the Wagon Wheel, a tilt-a-whirl
ride that swung
them round and round, throwing them against each other.
They ate cotton candy-flossy pink fluff
swirled around paper cones. When they were done, they
returned to the rest rooms to wash the stickiness off
their hands.
They waited in line for the Crazy Horse
Rapids, Sue with her back to Neal, her
buttocks pushing against him, Neal with his arms around
her belly. During the ride, they sat with four other
people on a rubber raft that lurched and twisted and whirled
and bounced its way down a flue of churning water.
It rushed beneath bridges, passed under waterfalls,
and plummeted off small cataracts. By the end of the
ride, Neal and Sue were soaked.
They climbed out of the raft, dripping.
The water on their skin and clothes seemed to turn the
night chilly. They walked bow-legged,
laughing, hunched over in their clinging shirts.
Neal led the way to a nearby souvenir stand. He
bought two big, blue sweatshirts. On the front
of each sweatshirt was a pair of golden, crossed
sabers. The backs read, THE FORT, NEW
HOPE, NEVADA.
Standing in shadows to the side of the midway, Neal
removed the sweatshirts from the large, plastic sack
that they'd come in. He and Sue used them like towels
to dry their hair, faces and bare arms. While
Sue wiped her legs, Neal took off his clinging
shirt and pulled the new sweatshirt down over his
head. It was dry and soft on the inside. Sue
frowned at him.
"One of the good things about being a guy," he said.
"I reckon."
"If you don't want to put it on over your shirt,
we could head on over to the Johns again."
"Heck with it," Sue said. Keeping her wet shirt
on, she pulled the sweatshirt down over her head.
But her arms stayed out of its sleeves. The crossed
sabers bulged and writhed. She looked as if she
had a couple of squirrels racing around inside her
sweatshirt. Her empty sleeves swung by her
sides. Then one of her hands reached down out
of the bottom and tucked her wet, blue
shirt between her knees. Moments later, her arms
slipped into
the sweatshirt sleeves.
But her hands didn't appear. She flapped her
cuffs at Neal, then shoved the bulky sleeves up
around her forearms.
They tossed their sodden shirts into the plastic sack
that had come with the sweatshirts. Then Neal tossed in the
stuffed animals, Dart and Spielberg.
"Feels so nice "n cozy," Sue said, rubbing
herself. "Like being all wrapped up in a big, warm
blanket." She gave the bottom a tug with both
hands, and her black leather skirt vanished under the
sweatshirt. "Looks like I lost something!"
Laughing, she raised the sweatshirt high enough to show a
few inches of her skirt. "Oh, there it is!"
When they moved on, Sue carried the bag. Neal
kept his right arm across Sue's back. By sliding his
hand, he could feel her skin through the soft thickness of the
sweatshirt.
The next ride they came to was the Stagecoach
Ferris wheel, a mammoth affair with its
individual cars designed to look like Wells
Fargo stagecoaches.
Neal and Sue got into line. She stood in front
of him, leaning back slightly against him like before. He
wrapped his arms around her. The position was more
snuggly this time because of the sweatshirts. Sue caressed
his wrists. They both watched passengers disembark from
the Ferris wheel, new passengers climb aboard.
After each new set of passengers climbed in, the
door of their coach thumped shut and the enormous wheel
turned a bit, swinging them up and forward while lowering
the next coach to the platform.
Neal and Sue watched the wheel turn and stop.
Turn and stop. Each time it stopped, all the
coaches teetered wildly back and forth. And then,
instead of stopping, it began to spin fast, hoisting the
coaches high into the night, dropping them.
"Judas H. Priest," Sue muttered.
"What's the matter?"
She turned around and looked up at him. "How
'bout we go on somethin" else, okay? 1 mean,
I'll
do
it if ya really wanna, only ... I got me the
squeamin' jimmies on the roily coaster,
and I just don't think .. . this here Ferris wheel's
high."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure it's high."
"You're sure you won't mind missing it?"
"How "bout you?"
"I don't mind."
"Then let's not, and say we did."
"Fine with me," Neal said, and led her out of the line.
Once they were back on the midway, he shoved up
his sleeve and checked his wristwatch. "The park's
going to close in about half an hour. Maybe we
should start heading back."
"I think we done most of it, anyhow."
"We've done most of it," Neal said.
"We've done. We. H. Done."
"Very good."
"I don't reckon I'll ever get the hang of
it."
"You're doing fine. Would you like some ice cream or
popcorn or something?"
"We haven't got a lotta time."
"Half an hour."
"How 'bout we go in there?" she suggested, and elbowed
him gently in the ribs. "Custer's Spookhouse."
The entire facade of the funhouse was a mural
depicting cavalry soldiers and Indians
sprawled dead on a grassy hillside, ghosts
rising like gray smoke from their torn and bloody
corpses.
"Talk about tacky," Neal muttered.
"Ya don't wanna?"
He grinned. "I didn't say that. The tackier,
the better. Let's
go."
As they approached the entrance, however, he felt
compelled to explain, "The Battle of the Little Big
Horn didn't even happen in Nevada, you know.
That was Montana. Probably a thousand miles from
here."
"I don't mind," Sue told him.
"I guess I don't either, actually. It's just
funny, that's all. But Nevada did have the Pony
Express."
"Best roily coaster in the world."
Neal gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Sure was the
best
time
I've
ever had on one."
Then they entered Ouster's Spookhouse.
As they walked through its maze of dark
corridors, displays of mayhem suddenly appeared
with noise and red lights. The first few times, Neal
felt Sue flinch a little. Then she seemed to take
the displays in stride.
They mostly consisted of mannequins that weren't
realistic enough to fool anyone: an Indian brave
hanging from a noose, his tongue protruding; a
cavalry soldier on his back, half-a-dozen
arrows jutting from his chest, his hair getting lifted
by a leering, painted warrior crouched over his head; a
frontier woman in a torn dress, tied to a
stake, kindling piled around her feet; a brave, still
on his feet in front of a saber-wielding soldier,
his head split down the middle; a gory cadaver,
rib cage and guts exposed, with a couple of
turkey vultures pecking at it.
"Look," Sue whispered. "That one's got his
eye."
Neal saw one of the corpse's eyeballs clamped
in a buzzard's beak. "Cool," he said.
Sue elbowed him and laughed.
They walked on. After they'd gone a few steps, the
red lights of the display went out, leaving them again in
darkness.
There seemed to be a thick carpet or pad
under their feet, silencing their shoes.
"It don't get much darker than this," Sue
whispered.
"No, it doesn't."
"Doesn't." She squeezed his hand. Then she
came to a halt. "It's quiet, too."
They both went silent, and listened.
Neal heard laughter, giggles and shrieks. Though
they sounded muffled and far away, they seemed to come from
somewhere inside the spookhouse.
"How come we haven't seen nobody?" Sue
whispered.
"I don't know."
"Let go a second. I gotta tie my shoe."
He released her hand, and heard soft crinkly sounds
when she set down the plastic sack.
"Apparently," he said, "this isn't The Fort's
most popular at
traction. Also, it's almost ten. Maybe we're the
only people
weird enough to save this place for last." Sue
didn't comment,
so he asked, "Did you ever see that movie
Funhouse? These kids
decide to spend the night in the funhouse of
this creepy carnival
that comes to town. So they hide until after closing
time. The
thing is, there's this monster lurking around, knocking them
off
one by one."
Probably not
easy to tie a shoelace in
the dark.
"Think there might be a monster in here?" he asked,
smiling.
She didn't answer.
"Sue?"
She didn't answer.
Very cute. She
thinks
she
can scare
me with a gag
tike this?
"Hmmm," he said. "Where'd she go?"
Bending over, Neal swept a hand through the darkness.
Sue was not crouched beside him, tying a shoelace.
What'd
she do, sneak off?
She has to be all right, he told himself. This is just
a game she's playing. Made up that story about
needing to tie her shoe so I'd have to let go of her
hand.
"Are we playing a little hide 'n seek?" he
asked.
Still, no answer came.
Majbe something did haf greater-than from greater-than
enough to
her.
That's crazy, he told himself. She was right here beside
me. I would've heard ...
Unless it was something silent.
Like what? he wondered. She certainly couldn't have
been attacked ... nothing like that.
She's just fooling around.
"Well," Neal said, "I don't know about you, but
I'm leaving. Are you coming?"
No answer.
"Okay. Bye-bye. So long. Adios. Been
good to know ya. It's been real. Cheerio."
Something in the black of the corridor wrapped its
arms around him from behind. He flinched and gasped. He
grabbed the wrists at his chest, ready to fight. But a
voice whispered, "You ain't goin nowhere,
buddy."
He let his arms fall to his sides. "Very
funny," he said.
"Scared ya."
"Yes, you scared me. A little."
"Made ya jump." Though she spoke in the softest
whisper, Neal could hear the glee in her voice.
"I knew you were just trying to trick me," he
explained. "But then I started to worry about you,
anyway."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"That's sorta nice," Sue said.
Her arms were loose around him, so he turned around.
Though facing her, he could see nothing except pitch
black. "I'm just maybe a little too sensitive
about losing people," he said.
"Glad ya didn't lose me?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm glad." He raised his hands and put
them on her sides and felt bare skin. Sliding them
downward, he felt the slopes of her hips, the
smooth cheeks of her buttocks. No clothes, just
skin. "Uh-oh," he said.
"Uh-oh, yerself."
Moving his hands upward, he caressed bare
skin all the way up to her armpits.
He swallowed hard and whispered, "You're out of your
mind."
"Just wanted to give you a little surprise."
"You're full of surprises."
"Yup."
He brought his hands forward and curled them over her
breasts. He rubbed his palms against her stiff
nipples.
A shiver seemed to pass through Sue.
Bending his knees, Neal kissed one of her
nipples. He pressed it between his lips, then opened
his mouth and drew it in, tasting it, exploring it with his
tongue. Sue, moaning, put both hands on the
back of his head. She pushed her fingers through his
hair, and urged his mouth harder against her breast.
He slid his hand up between her thighs.
"Eeeeww, look at that!" A little girl's
voice.
Sue's hands froze against Neal's scalp. He
pulled his head
back. Her breast came out of his mouth with a wet
sucking
sound.
Turning his head, he saw a very faint red
glow down the corridor.
"Crap on a cracker!" Sue gasped in a harsh
whisper, "What're we gonna do?"
"Where're your clothes?"
"In the sack."
Where's the sack? Neal wondered.
Too
late, anyway.
"It's just pretend, darling," said a woman.
"Is not," said a boy. "What do you think they used
their swords for, to toast marshmallows? No, sir.
They used 'em to chop up injuns."
"Native Americans," said a grown-up man.
Shit! A
family of four!
A few moments later, the red glow vanished.
The next attraction for the family would be the
buzzards feasting on the corpse.
How far away? Neal wondered.
Not nearly
far enough.
"What'll we do?" Sue asked.
Neal flung his arms around her, lifted her off her
feet and rushed forward, hugging her to his body. After
three quick strides, he rammed her against a
wall. Though the wall was
apparently carpeted, she grunted from the impact.
Neal grimaced with unexpected pain from the
scratches on his forearms.
"What was that?" asked the little girl. She sounded
scared.
"Ghosts and ghouls," the boy said. "They're coming for
you."
The girl made a squealy sound,
"That's enough of that, young man," said the man Neal
assumed to be the father.
"I heard it, too, Tom," said the wife.
"Crazy Horse wants to scalp you, Molly."
"James!"
"Ooooooooooohhh!" From James.
"Oooooooooohhh-caret eeeeahHhhhWi!" From
Sue-a trite and car
toonish ghost "ooh" twisting and rising into the demented
shriek
of a banshee.
Both the kids erupted with terrified screams. Through
their screams, Tom the father blurted, "Shit!" and the
mother snapped, "Children! Get back here!"
Sue let forth a mad, witchlike cackle.
"Assholes!" the father yelled.
"Tom!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Like to get my hands on those
assholes ... I"
Gazing over his shoulder, Neal saw a dim red
haze fill the corridor in the distance: the kids,
fleeing, must've run through the sensor that activated the
lights for the saber-inthe-head exhibit.
"Fucking assholes!" the father shouted-
sl
parting shot as he gave chase to his retreating
clan.
"Is he talking about me?" Sue whispered.
"I believe so."
She tittered softly. Neal felt small, warm
puffs of her breath on the side of his neck. Her
chest shook against him through his sweatshirt.
"Kids!" the mother yelled. "Stop running! Kids!
Damn it! Wait for us!"
A few seconds later, the distant red glow
vanished and the corridor returned to blackness.
"We'd better get while the gettin's good,"
Sue whispered.
Neal gave her a quick kiss. In the dark, his mouth
found a peculiar part of her face. He didn't
know what he'd kissed. "Where'd I get
your" he asked.
"My eye."
"What was it, open?"
"Yeah. I think ya blinded me."
"Hope not," he said. "Where's the stuff?"
"I don't know."
"Okay. No problem. Stay put for a second."
He turned away from Sue and hurried in the
direction where he'd seen the red glow. He shuffled
along with his arms out, expecting to crash,
but was still on his feet when he triggered the lights of the
buzzard exhibit.
He glanced to the left.
No sign of the angry father or anyone else.
He checked to the right.
In both directions, the corridor vanished
into darkness.
He turned around. Sue, prancing forward naked
except for her shoes and socks, waved a hand at
him. Her skin was rosy in the crimson light. Her
breasts jiggled. Her nipples looked purple.
She halted over the big plastic sack, dipped
down and snatched out her sweatshirt. She flung it
high and seemed to dive up into it. An instant
later, she was shoving the sleeves up her
forearms. She bent down and grabbed the sack.
"Let's go!"
She went to the right.
"Where's your skirt?" Neal asked. The sweatshirt
hung only to her waist, leaving her naked from there
down to the tops of her socks.
"I got it in my bag," she said.
"Gonna put it on?"
"No time." As she said that, the sweatshirt shook
free from around her hips and dropped the rest of the way
down-falling low enough to cover her buttocks.
Neal hurried after her. The lights went out.
"Wait up," he said.
Moments later, they found each other in the darkness.
Neal took hold of her hand.
He hardly noticed the remaining attractions of
Ouster's Spookhouse. He was too nervous and
excited-too stunned by Sue's wild behavior.
Amazed by her audacity.
Enthralled.
An angry-looking man was waiting on the midway
just outside
the spookhouse exit. No sign of the wife or
kids, but Neal supposed
this had to be Tom.
He was bald on top, wore glasses, and had a
soft look about him as if he never got exercise.
An expensive-looking Minolta
camera hung from a strap around his neck, and rested
on the
slope of his belly. He glowered at Neal and
Sue as they strolled
down the ramp. His fists were clenched by his sides.
Terrific, Neal thought. The guy's going to cream
us. And then we'll probably get arrested for
disturbing the peace, or something.
Neat play, Sue.
Worth it. Man! She's fabulous! Nuts but
fabulous!
Sue suddenly clutched Neal's arm. "The
bastards!" she blurted, and looked up at him with
hurt and rage in her eyes. "We oughta call the
cops on "em. Bastards! What'd they think
they're doin", jumpin out and yellin' like that! Scared
the pants offa me!"
Tom's scowl faded as they approached him. "Did
somebody bother you in there?" he asked.
Sue nodded, her lips pursing out. She looked like
a kid about to burst into tears.
"Us, too," Tom said. "They scared the
hell out of my kids. I'm gonna grab them when
they come out and fix their wagons. Did you see what
they looked like?"
Sue shook her head. "Too dark. All I know,
there was six of "em."
"Six of them?" Tom didn't appear to like the sound
of that.
Neal shook his head at Sue. "I thought more like
five."
"Nope, six. I counted."
Tom grimaced. "Well... thanks for the information."
"Yer welcome," Sue said.
He glared toward the exit, then shook his head.
"Aah, I can't wait around all night for them."
He turned around and walked off.
Sue tugged on Neal's arm. "Now what?" she
asked, grinning up at him.
"I think we've done enough here."
She laughed. Then she asked, "What time is it,
anyhow?"
"Five after ten."
"Guess we better get, 'fore they throw us out."
This time, of all times, they weren't alone in the
elevator.
The whole way back to the Apache Inn after
leaving Ouster's Spookhouse, Neal had been
conscious of little else except Sue walking near
him in the bulky new sweatshirt, a sweatshirt that
hung down just barely to the tops of her thighs. She
hadn't put her skirt back on. She wore
nothing at all under the sweatshirt, and Neal couldn't
get it out of his head.
In the elevator, he intended to slide the
sweatshirt up to her waist.
M right-brace turn
to get a
little
wild.
In the elevator mirrors, they would see repeated
reflections of Sue-back and front at the same
time, over and over, receding.
She'll get a kick out of it, too, Neal thought.
Hell, she'll probably pull the sweatshirt off
completely.
In his fantasies as they walked through the night, they
both ended up naked in the elevator, making love
surrounded by their reflections.
But as they stepped into the elevator, a couple of
women came rushing out of the casino area toward the open
doors. Women with tall, stiff hair,
too much makeup, western shirts bulging across their
busts, big silver belt buckles, and blue
jeans so tight that neither woman could walk properly.
Or maybe it was the cowboy boots that made them
walk funny. Or maybe their intoxication. Or a
combination.
They each carried a big plastic tub of coins in
one hand, a clear plastic tumbler of beverage in the
other.
"Hold that door friend me there, darlin"!" called
the woman in the lead. Her enormous fluff of
hair was snow white, with pink highlights.
Sue thumbed the button to make the doors shut.
They began sliding. "Shoot!" Sue blurted.
"I pushed the wrong button!"
The pink-blonde sidestepped in. One foot
inside the elevator,
one foot out, she rammed her ass against the door behind
her.
Both doors stopped closing. She stayed where she
was, running
interference for her friend, but stumbled backward as the
door
retreated from her rump. Though she managed not
to lose any
coins from the tub she carried, her other hand leaped,
flinging
a glassful of ice and cocktail into her own face.
"Bwah!" she
gasped.
Neal took one of her arms, pulled, and helped her
stand up.
As the doors slid shut, she said, "Thank
y'there, darin'. Yer a gennleman "n a
scholar."
"Glad to help."
"Name's Myrna," she said, and winked at Neal.
"This here's m'pal, Lola."
Lola, her brunette pal, pushed the button for the
fourth floor, then gave Neal a little salute.
"Whatever Lola wants," she said, "Lola
gets."
"Ain't she a hoot?" Myrna asked as the
elevator started to rise.
"Did y'all win much?" Sue asked.
"Nah," Myrna said. "The more y'win, the more
y'lose. Ain't that so, Lola?"
"I done all right," Lola said. "I play that
electric poker?" she said, her voice rising at
the end as if she were asking a question. "Takes
some smarts, but y'got better odds 'n the damn
slots. Them slots, they're the shits."
"I like "em," Myrna said.
"Then y'oughta not complain 'bout losin" all the
time."
"Well, y'win a few "n y'lose a few."
Myrna tried to take a drink, found her tumbler
empty, and frowned. "Where'd m'vodka 'n tonic
go to?"
"Up yer nose, the most of it."
"Well, poopy!"
The elevator stopped at the fourth floor, and the
doors rolled open.
Sue pressed the button to keep them that way.
Lola stumbled out.
Myrna scowled into her empty plastic tumbler.
"I reckon I'll go on back down 'n get me
a refill."
Sue and Neal looked at each other. Sue
smirked. Then they
both stepped out of the elevator, into the hallway with
Lola.
The doors shut.
Lola gave Neal and Sue a lopsided smile,
said, "See y'laters, alligators,"
then strutted-stumbled her way down the hall. She
turned a corner and vanished.
"Lordy," Sue muttered.
"Relatives of yours?" Neal asked.
She blurted out a laugh, and elbowed him. "Shame
on you," she said.
They walked toward their room, Sue holding his arm
with one hand and swinging her sack with the other.
"I had big plans for inside that elevator,"
Neal told her.
"You and me both."
Stopping in front of their door, Neal said, "The
best laid plans..."
"Least we won't have nobody trippin" over us
when we're in here."
"Sure hope not."
As he entered the room, Neal turned on the light.
Sue came in, swung the door shut, leaned
back against it, and dropped her sack to the floor.
"C'mon over here," she said.
He stepped closer.
She clutched the front of his sweatshirt and tugged
him against her, wrapped her arms around him and kissed
him on the mouth. Her mouth was open and wet.
Neal's hands roamed up and down her
sides, feeling her warmth through the thick fabric of
her sweatshirt. Then he lowered his hands to her bare
legs. He moved them up the backs of her legs,
under the hanging sweatshirt. Her buttocks filled
his hands, firm and cool, smooth as satin.
She raised one of her legs as if she wanted
to climb him. He ran his hand under it. Just when he was
almost to the back of her knee, she hopped and brought
up her other leg. Hugged between them, Neal clutched
her buttocks.
She was heavier than he expected.
What am I supposed to do now? he wondered.
Get
her to the nearest bed before you drop her.
He began to stagger backward.
Sue broke contact with his mouth-almost. Her
slippery lips moving slightly against his, she
whispered, "Giddyap, horsey."
"Navigate for me?" he asked.
"Just keep on goin' back."
He kept on going back. "Say when," he told
her.
"Keep goin'."
He kept going, but suddenly his legs were stopped by the
bed. Gasping with surprise, he toppled
toward the mattress. Sue rode him down. She
didn't mash him, though; she caught herself with her
hands and knees. Looming over him, she smiled.
"Yer a good ride," she said. "Wanna do it again?"
"You were supposed to say when," he pointed out.
"When." She bent her arms, leaned down and kissed
his
mouth.
As they kissed, Neal rubbed and squeezed her
buttocks, then made his way up her back,
sliding her sweatshirt higher and higher. Sue
stopped kissing him and pushed herself up slightly
to let him work the sweatshirt over her shoulders and
head.
When he had trouble getting the sleeves off her
arms, she knelt above his belly, raised her arms,
freed them from the sleeves and tossed the sweatshirt
off the bed.
Neal gazed up at her.
She smiled down at him. "Whatcha starin at?"
"Y."
"I'm kinda scrawny."
"You're beautiful."
"Thanks." She lowered herself onto him again and
kissed him.
The feel of her breasts and belly and groin were
muffled by Neal's sweatshirt. But she was all bare
skin on top. He savored the warm sleekness of
it, his hands sliding down the curves of her back and
rump, then up along her hips and sides, and over
her shoulder blades.
She lifted her face enough to talk. "Looks like
I'm the only one butt-naked "round here."
"So far," Neal said.
"Reckon that's a good deal for one or the other of
us."
"I can't take my clothes off with you on top of
me."
"Well." She raised her head a little higher and
studied Neal's
eyes-glancing from one to the other, back and forth.
"I'll take
'em off ya," she said.
"Okay."
She kept studying his eyes.
"What's
wrong?" he asked.
"Just... nothin"."
"What?"
"I just... I've got me a case of the
squeamies, that's all."
"The squeamies? What's that? Diarrhea
7'
She made a mock scowl. "No! I'm fine.
I'm
scored,
that's all."
"Scared?"
"Last time ... I got hurt. I got hurt
pretty good."
"When?"
"When those guys done me ... when I, you know, like
I told ya on the roily coaster. The five
guys in the school John."
"Huh? That really happened?"
She suddenly sat up and frowned at him. "Did
ya think I was
lyin!"
"No!" he blurted, confused. Then he said, "I
don't know. Not at first. But then when you had me touch
your
wound
and it turned out to be your ... you know ... I just
figured maybe the whole thing was a story."
"It was a
true
story. And it
was
my wound I had ya touch. Ya shoulda seen all the
blood.. .."
"I thought you were playing a trick on me. You know,
joking around to get me to touch you there."
Both corners of her mouth tilted up. Her slender
bare shoulders hopped up and down. "It was that,
too." Her smile vanished. "I mean, I was
havin some fun with ya, but... All the rest of it was
the honest t'gdness truth. I haven't.. .
nobody's, you know,
done
it to me since then. I haven't let "em,
'cause of how they hurt me that time."
"And you're afraid I'll hurt you?"
Nodding, she lowered herself onto him again. She pushed
her face against the side of his neck, and he caressed
her back.
"We don't have to do it," Neal told her.
"But I wanna."
"We don't have to."
"I wanna. It's just, I'm scared a little. I
don't like pain very much."
Neal's throat tightened at the sound of those words, and
his eyes grew hot.
still
don't tike pain very much.
Like something you might hear from a frightened child.
His mind suddenly jolted him with a picture of
Elise dead on the ledge of the tub, arms out,
wrists tied, head drooping- mutilated and
bloody, and a bar of soap in her mouth.
He squeezed Sue tightly against him.
She groaned. "Yer squishin me."
He released her. "I'm sorry."
Her head lifted and she kissed him on the mouth.
Then she pushed herself up, crawled backward and
climbed off the end of the bed. She stood there,
Neal's knees hugged between her legs.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. "What do you
want to do?"
"I aim to get on with it," Sue said.
"Are you sure?"
In answer, she leaned forward, reached down, and
unbuckled his belt.
Moments later, his trousers were open. Sue tugged
them down to his knees, then stepped back. Neal
raised his feet off the floor.
"Thanks," she said, and pulled off his shoes and
socks. When his feet were bare, she finished removing
his trousers. Then she stepped forward, leaned over
him, and slipped her fingers under the elastic waistband
of his shorts.
Neal clutched her wrists.
"You're just going to yank them down?" he asked.
"I don't guess I gotta
yank,"
she said.
When he let go of her wrists, she lifted the
elastic band straight upward, then drew it toward
her, freeing his erection.
She stared.
She pursed her lips.
"Oh, boy," she muttered. "It's s'pose
to feel
good,
gettin a thing like that shoved up yer wuzzitz?"
"I don't gotta shove," Neal said.
The look on Sue's face was a cross between a
grimace and a smile. Shaking her head, she
slipped his shorts the rest of the way down. She
tossed them aside.
Then she took a couple of steps
backward, away from the bed. While Neal watched,
she balanced on one foot, brought up the other and
pulled off its white sneaker. Then she started
to lose her balance and stayed up by hopping as she
tugged off the sock. When that foot was bare, she
stood on it and worked on her other shoe and sock,
hopping, her golden hair bouncing, her small
breasts leaping up and down.
When both her feet were bare, she ducked out of
sight.
"What're you doing now?" Neal asked.
"Nothin"."
"Ah. Okay. While you're doing nothing..." He
sat up and shucked off his sweatshirt. As he
flung it to the floor, he glimpsed Sue's
back. She was down on her hands and knees.
"Anything 1 can help you with?" he asked.
"Nope. Thanks all the same."
"Okay." On hands and knees, himself, Neal
pulled down the bedcovers. Then he stretched out on
the bottom sheet. He squirmed on his back,
enjoying the feel of the sheet against his skin.
As he stuffed a pillow under his head, Sue stood
up.
Wearing the gold bracelet around her upper
left arm.
"Oh, no," Neal muttered.
She frowned at him. "I think it looks nice."
"I
love
how it looks," Neal assured her. "Especially
how it complements the rest of your ensemble."
She laughed and looked at the bracelet, herself.
"Fits nice up here, too," she said.
"And it's conveniently located," Neal pointed out.
High on her arm, the bracelet was within easy reach
of her lips.
"Are you planning to
use
it?" he asked.
Sue shrugged. Then she climbed onto the bed and
crawled forward, Neal between her hands and knees. She
halted when
she was directly above him. Staring down into his
eyes, she said,
"I won't use it if ya don't want me to."
"Why would you want to use it?"
"To get out, case it starts hurtin'."
"If it starts hurting, I'll stop."
"Don't want ya stoppin'."
"Why not?"
She shrugged. "Because. I been in yer head. I know
how bad ya want me."
Neal reached up under her breasts, and held them
gently. Moaning, Sue shut her eyes.
"Just tell me if I hurt you," he said.
"Just don't stop," she murmured. "No matter
what."
"If you bug out with the bracelet. .."
"Just keep goin'."
"Where'full
you
be?"
"In you."
"While I'm .. . his Jeez, I don't know."
"If ya don't want me to, just say so."
They gazed into each other's eyes. Sue, he
realized, was moving her body just enough to make her
breasts drift about within the loose cups of his hands,
caressing him with their smoothness, stroking him with their
stiff nipples.
"It's okay," he whispered. "You can come in if you
want."
"Thanks," she whispered.
She remained braced above him, her breasts
in his hands, and Neal didn't notice her changing
position, at first. He noticed only the change in
her face-how she made sort of a trembling smile
and caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Then he felt a soft pressure against the tip of his
penis.
He felt a snug, slick hole push itself onto
him.
Sue sat down slowly, ever so slowly, slowly
taking him into her.
He squeezed her breasts.
She threw back her head, her mouth hanging open,
and kept on slowly easing herself down. He went up
slowly into her slippery, hugging warmth. Up higher,
up deeper. Higher and deeper until her body
pressed on him. Seated, she could go no farther.
She gave a sigh, and smiled down at him.
Neal took a deep, trembling breath. "Are you
okay?" he asked.
"Real fine," Sue whispered.
"Didn't hurt?"
"Mmmm. Nope."
Lifting his head, Neal saw her sitting on top of
him, her legs splayed apart. Her groin was joined
so tightly to his that nothing showed between them.
He was in her completely.
"Lordy," Sue said. "If I'd known it'd be like this
.. . Does it feel this good to you?"
"Maybe better," Neal said.
"Don't go away, 1 wanna see for myself." With a
slight tuck of her head and a lift of her arm, she
kissed the bracelet.
Chapter Thirty-five
She did it!
And went limp as if she'd suddenly passed out.
Her eyes shut. Her head drooped. She started
to drop forward.
Neal shoved against her breasts to hold her off, his
open hands mashing them almost flat.
"This
isn't
any good,"
he told her in his mind. "I can't . . .
damn it! . . . Doesn't it hurt?
Sit up. I don't want to Kurt
you! Stop, okay?
Just stop?"
But she didn't stop. She kept bearing down on
him as if determined to crash her forehead into his
face.
"Sue!" he gasped. "Somebody's gonna get
hurt!"
He continued to brace her above him, giving her time
to return to her own body.
She didn't.
"Okay,"
he thought to her.
"You're gonna play this out, huh? Okay. Here
goes!"
With a lurching buck, he flung Sue sideways.
He stayed with her as she tumbled, wrapping an arm
around her, clutching her to him, rolling, staying between her
legs. When they were both
on their sides, he almost came out of her. But then
her back
met the mattress and he was on top and he plunged
down into
her again all the way.
So deep.
So rigid and deep into her snug center . . .
Neal tried to hold back.
Sue, with a sudden gasp, thrust her pelvis up
against him.
Shuddering, he throbbed inside her, throbbed and
spurted, his semen pumping into her,
spurting, flooding her as he throbbed and grunted.
When he could breathe again, Neal stayed inside her but
propped himself up with his elbows. She smiled
languidly. He kissed the tip of her nose, and
said, "You came back."
"Wanted to be here for the big finish. Not that it weren't
a thrill a minute in
you."
Her hands rubbed their way down his back and squeezed
his buttocks. "Holy smokin' mackeral."
"I didn't know what to do with you," Neal said.
"Sure ya did." She squirmed a little and sighed.
"Only thing is, it got over awful quick."
"Sorry about that."
"Wasn't yer fault. Shoot, I know that-I was in
ya." Smiling up at him, she said, "I'm just way
too excitin" for ya."
"You can say that again."
She squirmed some more. "I sure do like how ya
feel in there."
"I like how
you
feel in there."
"I know. I drive ya crazy."
Blushing, Neal said, "You didn't happen
to notice that I was ... a little angry?"
"Ya had a right to be. Hell, I came droppin'
down on ya like a safe."
"Well, you're not exactly a safe."
"Probably woulda knocked yer teeth out."
"I was worried about your ..."
"My titties. I know. Ya had "em squished
flatter than flapjacks."
"Are they all right?" Neal asked.
"Feel fine. How they look?"
Neal pushed himself up until his elbows looked.
Braced above
her, he studied her breasts. "They aren't
flapjacks anymore," he
said.
"Wanna taste 'em and make sure?"
Her words sent a sudden rush to his groin.
"Whoa!" she gasped. "What did that?"
"You said that about tasting them."
"Maybe ya better just
do
it, then."
"What?"
"Taste "em."
"Now?"
"Just do everything ya feel like, okay? Whatever
turns ya on. I'm gonna be right in there to see
what happens."
"With the bracelet?"
"Unless ya don't want me to. Only thing is,
I know ya like it."
"I'm not so sure."
"Just say no." She lifted her eyebrows.
Neal tried to think about it, but he found thinking
difficult under the circumstances. And denying her
request would be even more difficult. "Whatever you
want," he said. "If you want to come in me again...
I'd be glad to have you."
"Thanks." Smiling up at him, she said, "This
time, I'll ride ya to the end."
She turned her head and raised her arm. The moment
that her lips met the gold coil of the snake
bracelet, she went limp. Her arm flopped to the
mattress.
As if she'd passed out.
"I don't know about this," Neal muttered.
She's all right
with it.
It's
her idea.
"Wouldn't you rather stay in yourself?"
he asked her in his mind.
"We can do
this
like normal people."
We can do it like normal people some other time, he told
himself. Not every day you get a chance like this...
Do
whatever I want.
She wants me to do whatever I want.
Man, oh man!
"Okay, Sue. Look, here's the deal.
I'll sort
of . . . fool around with you. I mean, that's what you
want,
rightst"
It's what I want, that's
for
damn sure.
"Sue? Look. If I
start doing anything
you
don't like . . . anything at all ...
just stop me.
Please.
If you don't
stop me, I'll
figure it's okay.
Okay?"
Oh, God. Here goes.
Shaking slightly, Neal crawled backward, eyes
on Sue's limp, sprawled body. After sliding
out of her, he sank back on his haunches. He
stared at her.
Sleeping Beauty.
Don't think corny shit like that, she'll think you're
a whacko.
And she knows you just thought that, dork.
This is so weird!
Better do something, or she'll think you're not
interested.
No, she won't. She knows damn well I'm
interested. She's in me right now.
Just
pretend she's not.
Yeah, right.
"Hello, hello. It's only me
from across the sea . . ."
She is in me, and . . . it's a ride.
I'm gonna
disappoint her if 1 don't do something. Do
what? Kiss her tits,
for
starters.
Taste them. Suck them. Gnaw on them.
"How'm I doing, Sue?"
Forget her.
Do it. Do it to her. She wants it and I want it.
She wants to know how I
feel
when I suck on her tits ...
Neal lowered his mouth onto her left breast, kissed
it, caught the nipple between his lips. And as he
took the breast into his mouth, he fondled her other
breast with his hand.
"How's this? You like this, Sue? I like this."
Oh, man.
He could feel himself getting harder and harder.
Oh, God, she's so smooth. So smooth all
over here and here, and then Wee
rubber here. Nipples like rubber.
"I don't mean that
as an insult, Sue. I love them
stiff
and sticking up like this."
She knows that.
But as if to reassure her, he chewed gently on the
one while he gently rubbed the other between his thumb and
forefinger.
She squirmed. A moan slipped out.
Neal thought she must be returning to herself. When she
remained limp with her eyes shut, however, he
figured that her body must simply be reacting to the
stimulation. She was still in him.
Her body feels it
all,
anyway.
And she gets the whole
works
from inside me.
It's more than just experiencing my sensations, he
realized. She gets all that-how turned on I
am, and everything. But she's also getting to see
herself,
feel herself, taste herself- through me.
She's my eyes, he told himself. She's my hands
and fingers. She's my mouth and tongue, my nose.
She's my cock, too.
And she's in my head, knows I'm
thinking
all this
right now.
Thinking about
my
cock.
Neal realized he didn't feel embarrassed.
He thought he should be blushing with shame. Instead, he
felt daring and excited and even more aroused.
"How
do you
like having a cock?" he asked her with his mind.
She actually knows how it feels
to
have a cock. Not just having one
stuck
inside her, but how it feels to have one of her own, and
how it feels when it slides into
her ...
Next
time someone tells her to go fuck herself . . .
Terrific.
"I'm sorry, Sue. I think
things. I can't
help
thinking things."
It's all right, he told himself. She's not going
to hold it against me. Probably amused.
Or turned on.
She was writhing, gasping and moaning on the mattress
as if trapped in a frantic dream.
Neal parted with her breasts and slid himself down her
body, caressing her, kissing and licking her along the
way. Moving slowly downward. Pausing to look.
For himself, but also for Sue.
Very aware that she was his passenger.
They were touring her together, exploring her.
Sue couldn't make requests, so everything was up
to Neal.
She was the tourist
and
the locale being explored.
Me, too.
We're both getting explored here. Both
tourists, and getting
toured.
Make it memorable.
Don't
miss a
single marvel.
Don't hurry.
No hurry at all. Just (inger
and enjoy.
"And here," he whispered, "we have the famous
Babcock Cavern. Also known as the Tunnel of
Love."
Corny corny corny.
He raised his head and looked at her face. No
smile. No smirk.
Humor doesn't carry
over.
What humor?
He lowered his face again. "The famous Babcock
Cavern appears to be flooded at the moment."
Maybe she doesn't appreciate me making fun
. . .
Nothing so
funny about it.
Nothing
funny at all.
"Neal Darden," he whispered, "world renowned
speleolo" gist . . ."
Later, much later, he rolled Sue over.
Together, they slowly toured her back.
Her back and buttocks and legs glowed with a sheen of
sweat. And Neal dripped onto her as he
roamed.
He caressed her, squeezed her, probed her,
tasted her.
She squirmed under him like a restless sleeper,
sometimes sighing, sometimes gasping for air.
He mounted her.
Finally, exhausted, he crawled off Sue and
flopped onto his back.
Sue turned onto her side.
Neal turned his head.
"Howdy," she said.
"Howdy yourself. Welcome back."
She stretched out an arm and lay it across his chest.
Her left arm. The one with the bracelet wrapped
around it.
Neal caressed her forearm.
"Wanna try it?" she asked.
"You've got to be kidding."
"You oughta."
"I'm wiped out."
"You and me both. Lordy."
"How was it?" Neal asked.
"Can't tell ya."
"Sure you can."
"Nope. It was too ... I don't know
.. . too big and strange. It wasn't like
samplin' a kid's milkshake. Ya gotta try
it yerself. Get in me, and try it."
"Not tonight. Okay?"
"Ya sure?"
"I'm sure."
"All tuckered out?"
"Sure am."
"Me, too." Her arm slid down. She fingered his
penis. "My little buddy," she said. "All tuckered
out. He ain't dead, is he?"
"Probably in a coma."
Her fingers fiddled. "Bet I can wake him up."
"That's all right. He's had enough excitement for one
night."
"Didn't know these things could go off so many times,"
Sue said.
"Neither did I."
"Didn't know I could go off so many times, either."
"You really did, huh? I thought so. I wasn't
sure . . ."
"Well, I don't go squirrin' all over the
place," Sue said. "Not like
some
folks I could mention."
"But you actually had orgasms . . . your body
did . .. while you were in me?"
"Had "em both places."
"What do you mean?"
"In you
and
in me."
He nodded. "You mean, you experienced mine."
"Sure did! But that ain't what I meant.
Isn't. I had my own
both places at once.
The part of me that was in you . . . my soul or
whatever... it came the same time my body did.
It's like we're wired up together. Like switches were
gettin" thrown over where I was in you, and they-was
"Lit you up."
"Yer being funny again."
"Not very."
"Yer right," she said, and laughed.
"I
think yer funny. Sometimes. I reckon I mighta
cracked up a few times, only I was too horny
and outta breath. You had some
mighty
odd thoughts."
"You didn't have to stay," he told her.
Instead of answering, Sue gave him a calm,
lazy smile and scooted closer. Then she pushed
herself up, crawled onto him and lay down, her
face close above his face, her breasts pushing against
his chest, her legs together on top of his legs.
He supposed it was no accident that she held his
penis between her thighs.
"That's better," she said, and wiggled a bit.
Neal moaned. He said, "Much better."
"Now, where were we?"
"Me and my odd thoughts."
"I loved every one of "em."
"You did?"
"I did. That's 'cause I love ya, Neal.
If ya don't believe me, just kiss the
bracelet and come on in and see for yerself."
"Elise warned against that sort of thing."
"I done it to
you."
"Right. And you found out I'm a filthy-minded pig."
"Yer a real
sweet
filthy-minded pig." Lowering her head, she kissed
him on the mouth. Kissed him gently and for a
very long time.
He woke up. The bedroom lights were on and Sue
still lay on
top of him. The room felt chilly. Neal was warm
where Sue
covered him. Her legs had fallen to the sides,
however, so they
no longer gave her heat to his groin and the tops of
his legs.
He glided his hands slowly down her back and up the
slopes of her buttocks. Her skin felt cool.
Oughta get up, he thought.
But he really didn't want to move. He liked the
feel of Sue sleeping on top of him.
Oughta
at least get up and go to the John. Brush my
teeth. Wash up. Turn off the light. Make
sure the door's secure.
He was fairly sure that the door, like most hotel
room doors,
locked automatically when it was shut. But he should
make certain.
And he should also fasten whatever chain or bolts ...
What time is it?
Turning his head, he looked at the clock
on the nightstand.
3:36 A.m.
He felt a sudden tremor of fear. For a few
moments, he didn't know why.
Then he remembered Rasputin.
The bastard
could, be here by now.
Could"
ve been here hours ago,
snuck in the room and killed us both.
Hell,
he isn't
coming. No
way.
Not the sort of
guy who'd go
around checking to
see where
I used
my
credit cards.
Probably.
Anyway,
I shot him full of holes.
From Neal's position under Sue, he
couldn't see the door. But he knew for certain that it
wasn't secured from the inside by any sort of bolt
or chain. Hours and hours ago, Sue had shut it,
leaned back against it.. disthen Neal had carried her
to the bed and neither of them had returned to the door.
I should at least lock it from this side.
And
get my gun over here where
I can reach it.
Just in case.
And take a leak.
Turn off the lights.
Pull some covers uf greater-than over
us so we
don't freeze ... or turn off the air
conditioner. Probably fine in
here
without the air conditioner.
But he couldn't get up and do anything.
Not without waking Sue.
Not without ruining the perfect feel of her sleeping on
top of him.
No big hurry, he told himself. If she gets
cold enough, she'll probably wake up. She's
bound to wake up sooner or later. I'll
just wait.
Waiting, he gently caressed her.
He wondered if this had been the best day and night of
his
whole life.
And decided there was no doubt about it.
A perfect day, a perfect night.
If only
I
hadn't dropped her at
lunch. God, I wish I
hadn't done
that. It was
such a mean, nasty
thing to do. Shit! How could I do a thing like that to her?
Split
her
chin
open . . .
He began to cry.
He wrapped his arms around Sue's back and held
her tenderly as he sobbed. Tears trickled down
both sides of his face. On the left side, they
were stopped by Sue's head. On the right side, they
dribbled into his ear and tickled.
I'll never hurt her again, he promised himself.
I'll never let anyone hurt her. I'll stay with
her forever and protect her from harm.
Like I frrotected Elise?
He pictured Elise dead.
Again.
And then his mind, going off as if on a whim of its
own-to torture him-made a few changes in the
horrible picture. The mutilated corpse on the
ledge of the tub became Sue.
No! Isn't going to
happen.
No wabby.
He held Sue gently. He felt her heat and
weight, her heartbeat, her breathing. And he felt
the crushing loss of her.
Whatever else happens, he thought, we'll never have
another time like this. This was the best. You, aren't allowed
repeats.
"Who the hell says so?" Sue whispered.
Neal thought for a moment that he had imagined her
voice. But then she raised her head and stared into his
eyes.
Her eyes were shiny and red.
"We are too gonna have more good times," she
said. "We are, too. Repeats
are
allowed."
Then her eyes flooded and she began to shudder and
sob.
"What do you want to do about Mojave?" Neal
asked. It was
five o'clock in the afternoon. They'd been on the road
since
shortly after one, having stayed in their room at the
Apache
Inn until the noon checkout time, then eaten lunch
at the Pun- cho
Viva restaurant and spent a while exploring the
town, buying
souvenirs and some snacks.
"What about Mojave?" Sue asked, frowning
slightly.
"What do you want to do when we get there?"
"Like what?" she asked.
"It's where you live," Neal pointed out.
Looking at him, she raised her eyebrows.
"Well, I reckon ya could let me off there and go
on without me."
Her words gave him a sick, sinking
feeling. He knew she was joking around, but...
Reaching over, she squeezed his thigh. "Not that it
hasn't been swell, George."
"It's Neal," he told her.
"Well, shoot! How'd I go and forget yer name?"
Smiling, relieved, he lowered a hand from the steering
wheel and pressed Sue's hand against his leg. "The
thing is," he said, "we'll be passing through. We should
probably stop, don't you think? Don't you want
to tell someone where you're going? Don't you have some
stuff you'd like to pick up?"
"Nope," she said.
"What?"
"I told "em I was goin" for good."
"What?"
"Yup."
"No, you didn't."
"Yup, I did." She gave Neal the wildest,
most gleeful and disarming smile he'd ever seen her
make. "I says to Sunny, 'I'm
runnin" off with that fella over at table number
five." Sunny,
she says, 'What?"' like I lost my marbles. I
go, "He's my dream- boat
.. . takin" me away forever." his
Neal gaped at her.
"Better watch the road, honey," she said.
He faced front. "You're making that up. You never
said any of that."
"Wanna bet? If ya don't believe me, we
can drop in on Sunny. You can ask her yerself.
Better still, just use the bracelet on me. Hop
on in, and you'll find out if I'm lyin or not."
Neal shook his head. "That's all right," he said.
"I'll take your word for it."
"Good. 'Cause that's sure what 1 told
Sunny."
"But you didn't even
know
me."
"I had me a feelin"dis"
"My God, you
are
nuts."
"Think 1 was wrong?"
"No, but..."
"I
mighta
been wrong, but I wasn't. So, anyhow, we
don't gotta stop in Mojave.
Nobody's expectin' me back."
"What about all your things?"
"I told Sunny to keep "em."
"That was generous."
"Well, she was rentin" me a room. It was all
her furniture. I didn't have nothin . . .
anything
much in it "cept some duds, and they weren't much
to write home about. She's got a daughter my
size . .." Sue shrugged. "I just went ahead and
told her to keep everything."
"Don't you have keepsakes, or ... ?"
"Nope."
"Nothing?"
"Nope." A corner of her mouth lifted. "Now,
I got Dart. Dart's a keepsake, I
reckon. All the other stuff ya gave me, too.
They're keepsakes."
Neal suddenly felt awful for her. He shook his
head. "How
could you
not
have anything? You're . . . eighteen?"
"Depending which ID I use."
"I'm serious," he said.
"Yer also a guy that takes stuff hard, and I
don't wanna make
ya cry again."
"Oh, jeez."
"Well? It's the truth."
"You were supposed to be
asleep
last night when that happened. 1 didn't know you were
spying on me."
"I wasn't spy in" on ya, I was on a tour
of yer
marvels."
"Ha ha."
Sue laughed for real, but softly, and rubbed his leg.
"Anyhow, 1 used to have all kinds of good stuff.
But it all got burnt up in the fire. All my
keepsakes, all my clothes, my dog Sparkle,
my sister Betty. My folks, too."
Neal turned to her, half smiling-she had to be
pulling his leg.
He saw the way she was trying to look cheerful but had
a frantic look in her eyes.
"Oh, my God," he muttered.
"It's all right," she told him.
"Your ... whole family?"
"My cat Fraidy survived. But then he got
squished a couple weeks later on the interstate.
Him ... He and I, we hit the road together.
Only he didn't last. That's cause cats're
generally not real bright. That's a little-known fact. They
like to
pretend
they're regular little geniuses, but mostly they're
dumb as dirt. That's how come they always get themselves
stuck in trees and trapped in places and
squished."
Neal, eyes wet and a lump in his throat before hearing
about Fraidy, had been cheered up somewhat by Sue's
denunciation of cats. He took a deep breath,
"Ya okay?" Sue asked him.
"Yeah. It's just..."
"Shit happens. Ya ever hear that saying?"
"Yeah," Neal said. "I've probably said it
myself."
"Well, anyhow, I'm okay now. Sorta. 1
mean, what're ya gonna do? Crawl in a hole
and die? Not me."
"You hit the road?"
"Yup. Me and Fraidy cat. Only he
didn't last, and 1 did."
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen?
My God, that. . . it's so young to be on your own."
"Well, they were gonna throw me in an
orphanage. 1 didn't have no use for that."
"What about school?"
"Never went back after the fire." Grinning, she
said, "But I reckon it don't show."
"Only when you open your mouth."
"Haw!" she blurted, and slapped his leg. "I'm
gettin' better, and you know it."
"I know."
"I'm workin' on it." She narrowed an eye at
him. "Betcha never even noticed I quit chewin'
gum."
She was right. "You stopped? When?"
"I gave it up yesterday. Haven't stuck so much
as
one
piece in my mouth ever since yer call to Marta."
"Really?"
"When ya called me a gum-snappin' twerp with
hardly a brain in my head?"
Neal winced. "I didn't really mean. .
."
"Don't worry "bout it. 1 know ya were just
tryin" to put her off the scent. But I know ya
sorta meant it, too. So I'm reformin' myself."
"You don't have to . . ."
"I wanna make ya happy."
"I won't be happy knowing I forced you to quit
chewing gum."
"Well. .." She shrugged. "Maybe I'll get
back to it sometime."
"Let's get back to
you,"
Neal said. "How long have you lived in Mojave?"
"Pretty near a year, now."
"And there's nothing at all that you want to pick up
on our way through?"
"Nope."
"No money or jewelry, or ... ?"
"I've got my money with me, all that isn't in the
bank. I've got my checkbook. I don't have
any jewelry."
"A TV, a radio, books?"
"Sunny owns the TV. It's my radio, only
I don't have any
more use for it." She knuckled the radio
on Neal's dashboard.
"You got one. I reckon ya got plenty of
books, too."
"You're right about that."
"You being' a writer."
"Do you have any friends?" Neal asked.
"That s'posed to be a crack?"
"I mean in Mojave. Anyone you want to visit
on the way through?"
"Hey, guess what. I'm on my way to Los
Angeles, I ain't
dyin'.
I don't gotta give no last farewells to every
Tom, Dick and Harry I ever said "boo" to.
Anybody I get to missin', I'll just call
"em on the phone or come back and visit. LA.
ain't Mars. I might just be headin" back on my
own pretty soon, anyhow, if ya dump me."
"Dump you? I'm not going to dump you."
"Who's to say?"
"I'm to say. I love you."
"I know ya do. But things change. Yer gonna be
seem' Marta when we get to L.a. Ya might just
figure I don't stack up real well.. ."
"You know better than that; you've been
inside my mind."
"Yer mind can change. Ya figured Marta was the
true love of yer life till ya met me. So
maybe you'll go back to her, or run into some
new
gal... Then I'll be on my way back
to Mojave, more than likely."
"That won't happen," Neal told her.
"Well, I hope not."
"It won't."
Sue was silent for a while, then said, "I don't
s'pose Marta's just gonna vanish on us."
"I doubt it."
"What'll we do about her?" Sue asked.
"I don't know. I don't think we'll be getting
into L.a. before ten or eleven tonight, though. She
doesn't know when we're coming back and she has to be
at work by midnight, so we probably won't see
her till tomorrow."
"Where we gonna go, to yer place?"
"I'm not sure. It might not be safe."
"Maybe that guy ya call Rasputin'll be there
waitin for us, and
we can nab him."
"He might be. You never know."
"I'll tell ya
one
thing I know."
"What?" Neal asked.
"We've gotta split the reward with Marta when
we get it. That's the only fair thing. I mean,
even if ya dump her as yer girl, she has to get
her share. She has to get half."
"Why is that?" Neal asked. Even though he agreed
with Sue, he was curious about her reasons.
"For one thing, I like her. She's nice. I don't
wanna see her get cheated. Besides, she was there for
ya after the murder. She took yer side and helped
out."
"Yeah, she sure did."
"I reckon she probably loves ya."
"I suppose so."
"Also, she's a pretty sharp gal. I got a
feelin' she might be smarter than
either
of us."
"You might be right about that."
"So what we've gotta do is work together, the three
of us."
Neal nodded. "We'll make a great
team," he said. "Marta's brains, your guts, and
my gun."
"Only problem is," Sue said, "she probably
hates me already."
"I doubt if she hates you. Yet. Right now,
she's just feeling a little nervous. You're sort of a
vague threat to her."
"Well, ya made me out to be an imbecile."
"Wait till she meets you."
"Then she'll
know
I'm one."
"No. She'll see, right away, that you aren't the
brain-dead teenybopper I made you out to be on the
phone. She'll see ... the real you. But she'll
figure out right away that we ... you know, have a
thing
going."
Sue grimaced at him. "Think she'll know we
did the nasty?"
"The minute she sees us."
"What'll happen then?"
"I don't know."
"She's gonna hate me, that's for sure."
"Probably hate us both."
"That don't sound like much fun."
"No, I'm sure it'll be terrible for everyone
involved."
was "Specially for poor Marta."
"Yeah."
"She won't kill us, will she?"
"I don't think so."
"Ya know what?" Sue asked.
"What?"
"We got lotsa time on our hands. What we oughta
do is think real hard and figure out how to make it
happen different."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Make it so she doesn't find out
we're in love, and everything."
"How do you propose to accomplish that? Shoot her?
Blind her?"
"Maybe if I hide out. If she never meets
me . .."
"Stash you away in a hotel somewhere?"
"Yeah, there ya go. I could be yer silent partner.
Just tell Marta I got run over and squished on
the interstate."
"I'd hate to lie to her."
"That's a real problem, then. Ya can't
fool
nobody
if y'ain't willin" to lie."
"I'd rather not. She'd catch me at it, anyway,
if I tried. She knows me too well."
Sue frowned in silence for a few moments. Then she
said, "That's okay. I don't much wanna get
stuck away in some hotel, anyhow. Not unless yer
with me. What I
really
think we oughta do is stick together."
"What about Marta?"
"We'll figure out somethin'."
They arrived in the alley behind Neal's apartment
building fifteen
minutes before midnight. Nobody seemed to be
lurking
about. He saw nothing to arouse his suspicions. But
as he neared
his parking space, he said, "Let's keep going.
I want to look
around."
"What kinda car does Marta drive?" Sue
asked.
"A green Jeep Wrangler."
"A four-wheel drive Jeep?"
"Yep."
"Wow!"
"I don't think it's around here, though. She ought
to be getting to work about now."
"What days off has she got?"
"Thursday and Friday nights."
"This is what, Wednesday?"
"For a few more minutes."
"So she doesn't work tomorrow night or the next."
"Not unless they had a shift change she didn't
tell me about."
He suddenly realized they were nearly to Karen's
building.
What
if she sees me?
She won't.
Not unless
she comes out to dump her garbage, or something.
Nobody seemed to be in the alley.
"What's the matter?" Sue asked.
"Just watching out for an old friend," he said.
"Karen? The gal that scratched yer arms?"
Did I
tell her about that?
Oh. Right.
Anything Sue
doesn't
know about me?
"The one I punched. Yeah."
"She sure lives awful close."
"I may move."
"On account of her?"
"On account of a lot of stuff."
Neal stopped at the end of the alley, waited for a car
to
pass, then turned onto the road. He quickly
made another turn, and drove past the fronts of the
apartment buildings.
"Everything looks okay," he said.
"I didn't see no Jeep Wrangler."
"Neither did I," he said, and stopped at the end of the
block.
"I didn't see no Rasputin, either."
"Any," Sue corrected him.
"Any
Rasputin."
He stretched an arm over to her side of the car,
slipped a hand under her ponytail, and rubbed the
nape of her neck. Then he took his hand
away, turned and headed for the alley.
"We gonna go in this time?" Sue asked.
"Probably."
"I sure hope so. Gotta see the man about a
dog."
"Guess we'd better quit dawdling." He
swung into the alley and picked up speed. "We'll
leave our stuff here," he said. "Except for the
gun."
Moments later, he pulled into his parking space.
He stopped, killed the lights and engine, and threw
open his door. He opened the back door. His
overnight bag was on the floor. Bending down, he
unzipped it. He felt around for the pistol.
Sue came to his side of the car. She stood behind
him, but didn't say anything.
As if she simply wanted to be near him.
He found his Sig down at the bottom of the bag and
pulled it out.
"So that's yer gun," Sue said, when he turned
around.
"This is it," Neal said. He shut the door.
"Let's go."
Sue stayed close to him as he led the way to the rear
gate. "It's all loaded and everything?"
Sue asked. "Yer gun?"
"Yeah." Afraid someone might see him with it, he
slipped it into the right front pocket of his trousers.
But he kept hold of it.
"Don't go and blow off yer dingus," Sue
whispered.
"It's not cocked."
"Neither will
you.
be."
Neal shook his head. He saw the white of Sue's
teeth. In the
dark, he couldn't tell whether she was smiling or
grimacing.
With his left hand, he opened the gate. It squawked
on its hinges.
Sue followed him through, then eased the gate shut.
Coming up beside him, she whispered, "Ya got a
swimmin' pool."
"Yeah."
"I love swimmin' pools."
He nodded. He started walking toward the stairs.
The pool was dark, the courtyard deserted. Lights
glowed above several of the apartment doorways, but most
of the windows were dark.
At Neal's apartment, no lights showed.
He stopped.
His windows facing the balcony were dark. So was the
bulb above his doorway.
"What's the matter?" Sue whispered.
"My porch light isn't on. It has one of those
sensors so it comes on automatically after dark."
"Uh-oh."
"Maybe it just burnt out," he said. But he felt
shaky inside.
"We're still goin' up, aren't we?"
"I guess so."
They started to climb the stairs. As Neal climbed,
he listened. He heard the wheeze of air-conditioning
units, some distant traffic, a helicopter that
sounded as if it might be circling a few blocks
away, his and Sue's footsteps on the stairs.
When they reached the balcony, he whispered,
"Maybe you should wait here. I'll go in and make
sure everything's okay."
"What if everything isn't okay?"
"Run for it."
"Run for it, my butt. Think I'm gonna run
for it while yer gettin" knifed to death, or something?"
"I've got the gun."
"Ya got me, too. Now, let's go "fore I
wet my drawers."
"You aren't wearing any."
"That's besides the point," she said.
"At least let me go first."
"Be my guest."
As they walked along the balcony, Neal slightly
ahead of Sue, he pulled the automatic out of his
pocket.
They walked past his picture window.
The curtains were drawn. Neal could see nothing through
them.
What if
he's in
there?
He's not.
Might
be.
Maybe
you got away just in time, and he's been inside
waiting for you ever since.
Unscrewed the
light bulb . . .
The bulb probably just burnt out, Neal told
himself.
He switched the pistol to his left hand and reached
into his pocket for the keys.
"Give "em to me," Sue whispered. "I'll
unlock the door, and you get ready."
"No. You stand over there." He nodded toward the far
side of the doorway, where there was stucco wall instead
of window.
Sue stepped past him and took the position.
Neal unlocked the door. He pushed it open,
leaving his key in the lock. As the door swung his
keys into the darkness, he switched the gun back
to his right hand. He stood there, gazing in.
Saw nothing but shadows and motionless shapes.
Heard nothing.
After a few moments, he stepped inside. With his
elbow, he brushed the light switch up. The lamp
came on.
Nobody in his living room.
It seemed to look the same as when he'd left for
The Fort.
While he scanned the area, Sue came over behind
him. "Is it okay?" she asked.
"So far. Wait here."
Leaving her in the doorway, Neal hurried through every
room, turning on lights, checking to make
sure all the windows were locked and intact, glancing
into places where someone
might hide: behind furniture, under the bed, inside
closets. Even
before he finished, he grew certain that there'd been no
intruder.
He returned to the living room.
Though the front door was still wide open, Sue had
come into the room. She stood facing the entryway, her
left arm stretched out to the switch panel.
The switch nearest the door was tilted upward: It
was the one Neal had hit with his elbow to turn on the
living room lamp. The switch on the other side of
it was down.
"Yer light didn't burn out," Sue said.
"Nobody unscrewed it, either. Looky here." She
pinched the down-slanted switch and jerked it up and
down a few times. The outside light flicked on,
off, on, off, on, off, on. "Wasn't turned
on."
"I always leave it on," Neal said.
"Did ya leave it on when ya left for the trip?"
"I never turn it
off.
The switch stays up all the time, and the
light goes on and off by itself."
"Somebody
turned it off."
Shaking his head, Neal shut the door and snapped the
dead bolt into place. He stared at the light
panel. Sue had taken her hand away. Both
switches pointed upward. "I don't know," he
said. "I don't have a specific recollection of
whether it was up or down when I left for the trip."
"A
specific recollection?"
"You obviously haven't watched much of the O.j.
trial."
Sue shook her head. "Just seen stuff on the
news. I been workin" at Sunny's."
"I watched it every day for the first couple of months,
till it started driving me nuts. Anyway, those
scumbag defense attorneys were always whining about
whether people had a "specific recollection" of this
or that. I don't have a specific recollection of
how I left the light switch."
"So maybe
you
didn't leave it on."
"Possible. I don't think so, but it's
possible. Anyway, nobody's here now. And I
didn't find anything weird. As far as I can
tell-except for the porch light-we didn't have any
visitors."
"So ya figure it's safe?"
"I guess so. Anyway, this is like the fourth night
since the
murder. If Rasputin hasn't been here yet.
.." Neal shrugged.
"No reason to think he'll suddenly pop in on us
now."
"So we're gonna stay?"
"Might as well."
"Okay. Hang on just a sec. I'll hit the
John, and then we can go on down to the car and get our
stuff."
Neal almost suggested going down for the luggage by himself,
but he knew that Sue would want to stay with him. He
said, "Okay, I'll wait here. The bathroom's
through there." He pointed at the hallway. "The
light's on."
"Back in a jiff."
He watched her stride away, her ponytail
bouncing and swaying. She wore her sleeveless blue
shirt. Its tail hung down, draping her
rump, hiding most of her black leather skirt.
Even though she wasn't very tall, her slim legs
looked long. And very bare.
She disappeared into the hallway.
A few seconds later, Neal heard the door
shut.
A few seconds after that, he heard it open.
"Neal?"
She didn't sound alarmed. Not exactly.
"Yeah?" he called.
"Ya wanna come here? Ya better take a look
at this."
He didn't much like the sound of that.
He found Sue scowling down into the toilet bowl, a
look of distress on her face.
Someone hadn't flushed.
But the mess in the water wasn't excrement.
Blood and adhesive tape, pieces of bandage
wrappers, wads of toilet paper, bloody
pads.
Sanitary napkins.
"Yuck," Neal said.
"It wasn't me," Sue told him. "I just
picked up the lid and there it all was."
"And there it all is," Neal muttered.
"Ya aren't s'pose to throw "em in the toilet like
that. Used pads."
"I didn't do it," Neal explained.
"Who ya think did?" From the look in her eyes,
she already
had a pretty good guess.
"Him."
"Rasputin?"
Feeling weak, Neal leaned back against the sink.
"So, he has been here. That stuff in the
toilet... He must've changed his bandages."
Sue glanced around. "He was mighty
tidy
about it."
"Yeah. Looks like he cleaned the place up when
he got done. Probably didn't want me to know
he'd been here."
"Just shut the lid and forgot he hadn't flushed?"
Sue suggested.
"Yeah." Neal slipped the pistol into his
pocket, turned around and opened his medicine
cabinet. Right away, he saw that things had been
rearranged-slid this way and that to close gaps. It
took him a while to figure out what was missing: a
bottle of aspirin, a tube of
antiseptic cream, a tin of adhesive bandages,
a big roll of gauze and a spool of adhesive
tape.
He shut the cabinet, faced Sue and told her
what was missing. "Maybe some other stuff, too,"
he said. "I don't know."
Sue bared her teeth. She looked as if she were in
pain. "Well, at least he ain't here now. Is
he?"
"No."
"Ya sure?"
"I'm positive. I looked everywhere."
Sue glanced into the toilet. "Ya can stop
worryin" about who found yer business card."
"Yeah. He knew where to come."
"So when he comes back to try again, we can nail his
sorry ass."
"Or he'll nail ours."
"Nothin" sorr caret i about ours." Sue reached
back and patted her own rump.
A little too upset to smile, Neal shook his head.
"In the meantime," Sue said, "we gotta do somethin
about this. If ya try to flush with them
pads
and stuff in there, it's all gonna get
clogged up, more than likely."
"I know."
"And I still gotta go."
"Okay. Hang on a minute." Leaving her in the
bathroom,
Neal hurried to his kitchen. He found a pair of
tongs in the
utensil drawer. In a cupboard under the sink, he
found the plastic
bucket that he used now and then when he mopped the
floor
or washed the car. He emptied the bucket of some
old sponges,
detergents and rags, and returned to the bathroom.
"Tongs?" Sue asked.
"I'm not gonna stick my hand in there."
Resting the bucket on the toilet's rim, he bent
down and dipped his tongs into the bloody water. He
stirred some cloudy wads of toilet paper out of the
way, spotted a gory pad, and clamped it with the
tongs.
"Where ya think he got them things?" Sue asked.
"Maybe Elise's house."
The pad came out of the water, dripping. Neal
dropped it into the bucket. It hit the
bottom with a spashy thump.
"One down," he said, "three to go."
"How many times ya shoot that fella?" Sue asked.
"I don't know." He fished out another sodden,
bloody pad and dropped it into the bucket. "I
got him once for sure in the head. I don't know
how many body shots. Maybe three." He
clamped another pad between the tongs and lifted it out.
"And there might or might not be exit wounds. I
guess he could have as many as eight wounds, altogether, if
every slug went in and out."
"Gotta be four, anyhow," Sue said.
"At least. It looks like he ran out of... these
things." He lifted out the final pad and dropped it
into the bucket. "Had to make a few bandages out of
gauze and tape."
"How come he ain't dead, shot up that bad?"
"That's why 1 call him Rasputin." Poking
around, Neal found clumps of gauze and tape. He
removed them with the tongs, then hunted down several
strips of tape, clamped them and took them out.
Nothing seemed to remain in the bloody water
except toilet paper and several small bandage
wrappers. Nothing likely to cause a clog.
"That should do it," Neal said. He dropped
the tongs into the bucket, reached up and pushed down on
the handle.
The toilet flushed, sucking down the mess, filling
the bowl
with clean water.
"Ya did it!"
"Yep." Neal stood up. Lifting the bucket,
he said, "It's all yours."
"Right in the nicka time, too."
Neal hurried out of the bathroom. Sue quickly shut
the door.
Wandering into the kitchen, he wondered what to do with the
contents of the bucket. He could toss it in the trash,
throw it out with the garbage.
It's
blood evidence.
Evidence of what? he asked himself. What could it
possibly prove? Just that Rasputin's been here.
And that he's the same guy who bled in Elise's
house.
What'tt that
left-brace wove?
Maybe nothing, Neal thought. But I'd better
keep it, just in case.
A few minutes later, Sue came into the
kitchen and blurted, "What in tarnation are ya
doing?"
Neal smiled over his shoulder at her. "What does
it look like?"
"Looks like ya lost yer marbles."
A large paper grocery bag was spread across his
counter. He had arranged the four sanitary napkins
on it, side by side. Dangling from his tongs was a
wad of blood-stained gauze and tape. He placed
the wad on the paper.
"I'm just laying this stuff out to dry."
"Aimin" to
reuse
it?"
"Let's not get gross," Neal told her.
"Too late."
"Actually, I'm just trying to preserve the blood
evidence. It should stay good longer if it dries out."
"Ya learn that watchin' the trial, too?"
"Yep."
"What's it gonna prove?"
"I don't know. I just think we need to save it.
Maybe it'll come in handy, somehow."
"Well, if you say so."
When the bucket was empty, he carried it
to the sink. With
hot sudsy water, he washed the bucket and tongs.
Then he put
them away and dried his hands. "All done," he said.
"What're we gonna do now?" Sue asked.
"Would you like a beer?"
"Sure."
As he took a couple of cans out of the
refrigerator, Sue said, "It don't bother ya,
me being' under age?"
"I guess you'll have to drink the beer as your alter
ego. What's her name? The older one?"
"Elaine Taylor?"
"That's the one." He tossed a can to her, and she
caught it.
In the living room, they sat down beside each other on
the sofa and popped open their beers.
"Here's how," Neal said.
"Chug-a-lug," said Sue.
They both drank. The beer was very cold. Neal
drank a lot of his before coming up for air. Then he
said, "Do we stay here or not? That is the question."
Sue lowered her cann. She wiped her mouth with the back
of her hand. "I say we stay."
"He has been here."
"Yer tellin' me."
"He'll
probably
come back. Maybe even tonight."
Frowning at Neal, Sue nodded. "If he don't
come back, how'll we ever catch him? 1 mean, he
knows who
you
are, but ya don't know him from Adam. So he's
gotta come after us. If he don't, we're out the
fifty grand."
"You're right about that," Neal told her.
"So we gotta stay right here till he comes."
Neal drank some more beer. "I guess so," he
said. "But... you do realize he intends to kill me.
1 mean, that's the only reason he came over here.
I'm not just a lose end, either. I'm not just some Joe
Blow who might be able to identify him. I'm also the
guy who nearly killed him. I'm responsible for
all those bullet holes in him-God only knows the
pain I've caused him. And I'm sure he
wants to pay me back in full."
"We won't let him," Sue said.
"If you're with me ... the things he'll do to you . .
."
"He won't do nothin' to either of us, Neal. We'll
surprise him
and nail him."
"Maybe he's
better
at surprises than we are. Maybe
we'll
be the ones who get surprised and nailed."
"Naw."
"This isn't a movie, Sue. There isn't any
rule that says
we
end up winning. He might win. He's won before.
He won against Elise." He gazed into Sue's
eyes. "At the very last, just before I got out of her,
she was thinking ... you know, like it was a movie. Like she
would survive, somehow. Because she was . . . the star,
and the star always makes it, one way or the other. But
she didn't. He killed her. He won."
Sue looked more somber than he'd ever seen her
before.
"I know how much you want the reward money," Neal
said. "But do you want to risk your life for it?"
Sue took a deep breath. She blew it out
loudly, then took a drink of beer. "I
want it," she said. "Sure I do. I mean, our
half of fifty grand ... But it's not just the money.
If it was only just the money, maybe I'd say
forget it. But if we don't stay, we'd have to run
away and hide. We'd have to keep on hidin',
too. Till Rasputin's either dead or jailed."
"I guess so," Neal admitted.
"So what I still think is, we oughta stay right here and
lay for him."
Chapter Hty-eight
"What's wrong?" Sue asked.
Neal set down his empty beer can. "I don't
know. I'm not sure. Maybe I scared myself with that
talk about him winning. I just... I don't like it
here. I think maybe we'd better not stay."
"How come?"
"Just because he was here, I guess."
"But he's gone."
"Probably."
"Ya looked around .. ."
"That doesn't make it a hundred percent certain
he isn't here. Maybe he found a
really good
hiding place." Neal found his gaze wandering the
room, studying the curtains, the dark
corners . ..
"Yer givin me the squeamies," Sue said.
Wrinkling her nose as if bothered by a foul stench,
she looked over one shoulder, then the other.
"He's probably gone," Neal told her.
"Or he might be watchin' us, huh? Might be
hearin' every word we say."
"It's not likely."
"If he's here," Sue whispered, "how come he
ain't jumped us yet?"
"Scared I'll shoot him again?" Neal suggested.
"He might want to bide his time, wait until
later, come out after we're asleep."
"Oh, jeezle." Looking pained, Sue hugged her
chest and rubbed her upper arms.
They were bumpy with gooseflesh.
"We could search the place
really
carefully," Neal said. "But even if he's not here
.. . and he probably isn't... he might be
nearby. Maybe he broke into someone else's
apartment. He might be right next door, or .. ."
"Y'on a mission to scare the pee outta me?"
"I'm sorry. I don't want to scare you. I'm
just trying to explore some of the
possibilities."
"Maybe he just went on home."
"That's a possibility, too," Neal said.
"Or maybe he took off and went lookin' for ya
someplace."
"He'd have no idea where I went."
Unless he traced the credit card, Neal thought. But
that seemed awfully farfetched.
If he did trace the card, he'd end up in
Nevada, a good, safe distance away from
-
"Any chance he knows about Marta?" Sue asked.
Her question stunned Neal, put a hard cold place
in his stomach. "No."
But even as he denied it, he realized Rasputin
might have followed him when he drove to Marta's
place Monday night. Or
Marta might've stopped by here for some reason,
yesterday or
today. Or Rasputin might've found her name in
Neal's address
book.
There must be fifty names in it. He'd have no way of
knowing who . . .
Neal jerked his head sideways and stared at
his telephone.
His answering machine.
From where he sat, he couldn't see the tiny red dash
that might be blinking to indicate new messages.
He stood up and stepped toward the phone.
And saw the blinking red light.
He tapped the panel marked new messages.
"Neal?" Marta's voice. "It's me. Are you
back yet? Hello? Guess not. Anyway, I
just thought I'd give you a call. I was hoping you
might get back before I had to head off for work.
Did you decide to stay another night, or something?
Anyway, I miss you. Let me know as soon as
you get back, okay? This is Wednesday night,
elevenish. Love you. Bye."
The machine beeped.
No more messages.
Neal blew out a long breath. Then he saw Sue
staring at him. "I was afraid she might say her
name," he explained. "Then Rasp could've looked
her up in my address book and gone over to pay her
a visit."
"Ya think she's okay?" Sue asked.
"Well, she was fine when she made the call.
Elevenish. She should've left for work
pretty soon after that. So unless . . ." Neal
shook his head. "I'm sure she must be fine."
"Yer not, either. We better make sure."
How? Neal wondered. A quick visit to her apartment,
either by car or bracelet, wouldn't prove much.
Unless she's there. Dead.
Or
captured by the bastard.
Maybe he's working on her, torturing her, trying
to make her talk. . .
Has her tied up naked . . .
Cutting
her . . .
"I'd better get over there," Neal said, and started
for the door.
"Use the bracelet," Sue said. "It'll be
quicker."
He shook his head. "Have to go in person."
"Wait for me," Sue called. She hurried after
him and switched off the light.
Out on the balcony, Neal paused long enough to watch
her shut the door.
In the car, he said, "She's probably fine."
He backed out of the parking space and sped up the
alley. "It's just that 1 can't go
by bracelet. If the bastard's got her, I'd be
useless. 1 found that out the hard way."
"How far away does she live?" Sue asked.
"Just a couple of blocks. Keep an eye on
things, okay? Make sure we aren't being
followed."
"Roger dodger."
"She's probably fine," he said again. "I mean,
she was okay when she made the call, and she should've
taken off for work right after that. She didn't give her
name, either. Even if Rasp was in my place and
listening, he wouldn't have known where to find her."
"Maybe he picked up the phone and talked to her."
"What?"
"After she gets done leavin' her message, maybe
he picks up and says, "Ah! Don't hang
up! I'm here." Pretendin' to be you."
The suggestion made Neal squirm inside.
"Marta's too smart to fall for a lame trick like
that," he said, and hoped so. "For one thing, she'd
recognize my voice."
Unless
the guy's
realty good.
"Or maybe he tells her he's a cop
..."
Neal grimaced at Sue.
"Sorry," she muttered.
He reached over and rubbed the back of her neck.
"I sure hope she's okay," Sue told him.
"Me, too."
Moments later, he swung around a corner and
Marta's apartment building came into sight. He
sped closer. Her parking space was empty. No
sign of her Jeep.
Neal blew a long breath. "She must've gotten
away all right. Her car's gone."
"Ya better check inside her place, anyhow."
"Yeah." He drove nearly to the end of the block
before finding
an open stretch of curb. After parking, he faced
Sue. "Let's take
our stuff up. I've got a set of keys.
We'll stay there tonight."
"In Marta's.

his
"It'll be safer for everyone. We won't have
to worry about Rasputin popping in on us."
"Won't have to worry about catehin' him,
either."
"We'll get him. We'll figure out a way.
The thing is, I want us to end up on top. I'm
just afraid he'll nail us if we stay at my
place."
"Okay. But ya don't s'pose Marta's gonna
mind?"
"We'll see. Come on."
As they unloaded the car and walked back toward
Marta's building with their bags, Neal turned his
head constantly, on the lookout for approaching cars.
"I don't think we got followed," Sue told
him.
"Probably not," Neal said.
"This ain't the movies, ya know." She grinned at
him.
"What do you mean?"
"Yer say in' how we might get killed, as this
here's real life? Well, Rasputin, he's real
life, too. Works both ways, is what I'm
sayin."
"I'm still not sure . .."
"He's not a
movie
monster. Even if ya
did
hang a funny name on him, he ain't... he
isn't Freddy Krueger or Jason or that
Halloween
guy, whatever his name was."
"Michael Myers."
"Yeah, him. Those guys, they show up anywhere and
everywhere for no reason at all. I mean, they're
chasin' after ya one second. Then the next, they
pop up in front of ya. They always turn up in
places where they got no reason to be. But that's the
movies. Rasputin's real, so he's not gonna
turn up where he shouldn't be. See what I
mean?"
"I think so."
"If he was at yer place, only he didn't
hop in a car and chase after us, then he isn't
gonna turn up here. Not just yet, anyhow."
Unlocking the gate, Neal grinned at her.
"You're absolutely
right." He held the gate open, then followed her
into the courtyard.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "He
doesn't have a hitchin' bracelet, does he?"
"A hitchin' bracelet? No. 1
don't think so."
was "Cause if he did, he might be inside you
or me right this very second."
"There's only one, as far as I know." He patted
his pocket, and felt the shape of the thick, coiled
snake.
"A thing like that," Sue said, "it'd be dangerous in the
wrong hands."
"It's dangerous in
any
hands, if you ask me."
"Gosh, look at this swimmin" pool. They keep
gettin' bigger and better. S'pose we'd get in
trouble if we took a dip?"
"At this hour? They'd probably shoot us."
"Only if we woke "em up."
Neal, smiling, shook his head. "I don't think it
would be a good idea."
"Chicken."
"That's me."
He led the way up the stairs to the balcony. In
front of Marta's door, he set down his
suitcase. He pulled the pistol out of his
pocket. Holding it ready in his right hand, he
quietly unlocked the door with the key in his
left.
Her apartment was dark.
Neal reached inside and found a light switch.
Everything looked okay.
In a hushed voice, he called Marta's name a
couple of times. Then he turned to Sue. "I'll
take a look around," he whispered.
"Make sure and look in the John."
He did.
He found nothing in the toilet bowl except clean
water.
He found nothing in any of the rooms to suggest that a
stranger had visited.
"Everything's fine," he told Sue. Then he shut
the door and latched its dead bolt.
In his wallet, he found the scrap of paper on which
Marta,
months ago, had scribbled her home and work
numbers. He took
it over to her phone.
"Gonna call her up?"
"Yeah, I'd better."
"Good idea."
He tapped in the work number.
"Hope she's there," Sue muttered.
"Hoffburg Travel," said the man at the other
end.
"Yes," Neal said. "I'd like to speak to one of your
agents, Marta Wheaton."
"Who may I say is calling?"
"Neal Darden."
"Just a moment please, I'll page her."
He met Sue's eyes. "I think she's in."
Sue looked relieved.
"They're paging her. Might take a while."
"Gonna tell her I'm here?"
"I guess so. She'll find out, anyway, when she
comes home in the morning."
"I could be gone by then."
"It'll be all right."
"Neal?" Marta asked.
"Hi, yeah, it's me. I'm back. Sorry I
had to bother you at work."
"No problem."
"I got your message."
"Good. I was a little worried about you, that's all. I
thought you'd be getting back earlier."
"We had a late start," he explained.
"We, huh?"
"Sue and I."
"That's the girl you were telling me about? Sue?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you said she's a pain in the ass and you were
going to get rid of her."
"Well... I couldn't."
"Terrific." Marta sounded only slightly
annoyed. "Now you've brought her back with you?"
"Yeah, but..."
"Terrific."
"She's going to help us get the reward."
"Do we need her help?"
"I don't know," Neal said. "She might be
useful. Besides, going for the reward-it was sort of her
idea in the first place. We really do need to keep
her in on it."
"Hmm. Well. It's up to you."
"The main thing is, I had a visitor."
"What?"
"Our friend."
"Rasputin?"
"Yeah."
"What happened? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, we're fine. He was gone by the time we
arrived."
"Thank God for that. What did he do?
Did he break into your apartment?"
"He got in somehow. Nothing seemed to be broken.
Maybe he picked the lock, or got himself a key
that fits?" Neal shook his head. "We wouldn't have
even known he'd been here, but he left some bloody
bandages in the toilet."
Marta was silent for a few moments. Then she said,
"You'd better get out. Go on over to my place.
You have the keys, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Go on over. Right away. And be careful.
He might be hanging around, waiting for you, you know?"
"I know."
"You've got your gun?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, good. Jeez. So 1 guess he did
find your business card."
"Looks that way."
"Bad news."
"Well, we sort of expected it."
"You'd better get the hell out of there," she said.
"Sue's here, too."
"I know."
"Okay if I take her with me?"
"No, leave her behind at your place so
Rasputin can take her
apart. Of
course
take her along. Are you nuts?"
"Just wanted to make sure it was all right with you."
"It's fine. It's dandy."
"Okay. That's great. We'll go on over."
"I'll give you a call in ten minutes to make
sure you got there all right."
"What if we haven't?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll call the cops."
"Shouldn't be necessary. Ten minutes oughta be plenty of
time."
"Okay. Get going. And watch out."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Bye." She hung up.
Neal hung up and smiled at Sue. "That worked out
nicely. She invited us over."
"Yer a tricky fella."
"She just assumed I was calling her from my own
apartment, and I... chose not to disabuse her of the
notion. Anyway, we're now her official
guests. She's going to call back in a while
to make sure we arrived safely."
"Hope we do."
ChapterChapter Thirty-nine
Exactly ten minutes after hanging up, Marta
called back.
"You made it," she said.
"No problem."
"Thank God. I was afraid he might... you
know, jump you on the way to your car."
"No sign of him so far."
"Thank God," she said, her voice breaking.
Neal suddenly felt a hot flood of guilt.
"Everything's fine," he told her.
Sounding shaky, Marta said, "Anyway. Be
careful. There's no
guarantee that he won't show up at my place.
I mean, who
knows? So keep your eyes open."
"I will."
"I'll be back around nine in the morning."
"Fine."
"You guys ..." She sniffed. "Just make yourselves
at home. Plenty of food and stuff to drink. Have
yourself a party, or whatever."
"I think we'll probably turn in. It's been
a long day."
Marta sniffed again, then said, "Okay.
Well. There're clean towels and wash cloths in the
linen closet. Blankets," she added.
"Sheets."
"Thanks. And don't worry, okay? About
anything."
"Easier said than done, buddy."
"See you later."
"Night." She hung up.
Neal hung up and looked at Sue. "She was
scared to death we wouldn't get here in one piece."
"That's cause she loves ya."
"I know." He sat down on the sofa. "I don't
want to hurt her, Sue."
"Well, maybe ya can have the both of us."
He gave her the smirk that she seemed to expect.
"Anyway," she said, "y'aren't gettin" me
anymore. Not while we're stayin' here. Wouldn't
be right."
Neal sighed, then nodded and muttered, "That's
probably for the best."
"Yep. I'll take the sofa. You can have her bed."
"You should sleep in the bed," Neal protested.
"No way. It's Marta's, and she isn't gonna
want a stranger in it. You get the bed, and I'll
sleep on the sofa here."
"We'd be in different rooms."
"Ya want her walkin' in and findin' us in the
same
room?"
"What if Rasputin shows up?"
Sue grinned. "I'll scream. You run in and
shoot him."
"I mean it."
"Me, too."
"I've got a better idea," he said. "You
take the sofa, and I'll
take the chair." He nodded at Malta's big,
stuffed recliner.
Sue frowned at it. Then she smiled and said,
"That's a good place for ya."
"I'll sleep in my clothes, too," he said.
"Just in case."
"In case of Rasputin or Marta?"
"Both."
When he came out of the bathroom, the living room was
dark
except for a single, dim lamp beside the padded chair.
Sue was
stretched out on the sofa, her head on a pillow, a
powder blue
blanket covering her almost to the shoulders.
"Okay if I kiss you good night?" Neal asked.
"Marta will never have to know."
"C'mon over here."
He went to her. In the vague light from the lamp
across the room, he could see that her shoulders were bare.
He knelt beside the sofa. "What're you wearing?" he
asked.
"What I got on."
"What's that?"
"My blanket."
"And that's oil?"
"What else I need?"
"What about Marta?"
"Yer keepin'
yer
duds on. We don't both gotta." Smiling,
she slipped a bare arm out from under the blanket and
caressed his cheek.
"What about Rasputin?"
"He the jealous sort?"
"Do you want to be naked if he breaks in?"
"Won't matter. Yer gonna shoot him dead."
"Then what about me?"
"What about you?"
"How am I supposed to fall asleep in the chair
over there when I know you're right here naked?"
"Just put it outta yer mind," she said. Her smile
faded a little. "Thing is, I can't sleep at night
if I'm wearin' stuff."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. I toss and turn too much. If I
got somethin' on, first
thing ya know I'm all wrapped up and gettin'
twisted half to
death. Can't stand it."
"Really."
"Yup."
"I think you made that up."
"Nope. Ya gonna give me a kiss?"
"Mmm-hmm." Bending over, he kissed her on the
mouth. Her hand curled over the back of his head and
stroked him through his hair.
She made no protest when he crept a hand beneath the
blanket. He glided his hand over the rises of her
breasts, down her rib cage and belly. Hand
sliding lower, he felt her bare skin against the whole
length of his arm. She was long and smooth and warm.
She moaned a little and squirmed.
Turning her head to break away from his mouth,
she whispered, "Whatcha tryin' ta do?"
"Nothing."
"Coulda fooled me."
He brought his arm up and out from under the blanket.
"Sure felt good, though," Sue said, and kissed
him again.
After the kiss, Neal whispered, "Guess I'd
better return to my corner."
"Reckon so."
He left her and went to his chair. Standing in the
lamplight, he pulled off his shoes and removed
everything from his trouser pockets. He set the
bracelet and pistol on the lamp table, then turned
off the light and sat down. After covering himself with a
blanket, he tilted back the chair. Its
footrest popped up, lifting his feet off the
carpet.
"How's the chair?" Sue asked through the darkness.
"Comfy. How's the sofa?"
"Lonely. Only don't get no ideas "bout
comin back over, okay! I'd love to have ya, but it
wouldn't be right."
"I know. I agree."
"Night," she said.
"Night."
He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and tried
to relax. But he couldn't get Sue out of his mind.
He thought about how she
was stretched out beneath the blanket, all bare and warm.
And
how it would feel to be under the blanket with her.
Forget about it.
We should've stayed at my place, he thought. If
we'd stayed there, this wouldn't be happening.
But then we'd be scared of Rasputin busting in on
us.
Better this way, he told himself.
Not that Marta would
find out if we . . .
"Neal?" Sue said from across the room.
The sound of her voice made his heart quicken.
She's changed her mind. She's gonna invite me
over.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Wanna come here with the bracelet?"
"You want the
bracelet?"
he asked.
"I don't mean that.
You
wanna use it? C'mon over here and get in me?"
"A bracelet ride?"
"Yeah. Be glad to have ya."
"I'd much rather ride you in person."
He heard a soft huff of laughter. Then Sue
said, "Smarty."
Reaching out, he fingered the tabletop until he found the
bracelet. He picked it up and slipped it onto
his right wrist. Then he raised it above his face and
stared at it in the vague, faint glow that came through the
curtains.
"You're not supposed to use it on someone you love,"
Neal said.
After a moment, Sue said, "That's nice."
"What?"
"Sayin

ya love me."
"Well. .. you already knew that."
"Nice to hear it, anyhow. I love you, too. So
how "bout comin" on over here?"
"In the flesh?"
"Keep yer flesh in the chair."
"I'd... I really don't want to do it with the
bracelet."
"It'll be great. Just wait and see what.. ."
"It's against the rules."
was "Cause ya love me."
"That's right."
"Well, I used it on
you.
"You also
i
fake ID. That doesn't mean I should do it."
i carry :
"Chicken?"
"No. I just don't think it would be such a good
idea." He knew that she would want a reason.
After giving the problem a few moments of thought, he
said, "What if 1 get in, and find out 1 don't
like you?"
"That ain't likely."
"But who knows? Maybe your head's such a jumble of
crazy thoughts and atrocious language that I'd
want to scream and run for the hills and never see you
again."
Sue laughed softly from her sofa.
"Anyway," Neal said, "we won't stand a chance of
pulling off this abstinence thing if I get into your head.
So ... we'd better forget it, okay?
Maybe tomorrow night we'll be back in my own
place. Then we can do whatever we want."
"Well, it's up to you."
"I think we'd better try to sleep," he said.
"All right. Night."
"Night."
"Sleep tight," she said.
"You, too."
"Don't let the bedbugs bite."
Neal couldn't sleep. The chair felt soft and
comfortable, but he
kept thinking about Sue on the sofa. He was tempted
to go to I
her. He was also tempted to break Elise's rule
and visit Sue with
the bracelet.
He imagined how it might be.
Many times, he thought about Marta.
Had he stopped loving her? He didn't think so.
Then how could he fall in love with Sue?
Did he want to lose Marta?
She'll
hate me
comthe minute
she figures
out about
me and Sue.
He pictured her raging: "You bastard! How could
right-brace out do this to bar
me?"
Of course, she had never behaved that way before.
No telling how she might react: betrayed,
outraged, pleading,
snide, martyred, indifferent, brave, forgiving . .
.
No matter what, Neal thought, it'll be bad.
1 could keep her if 1 dump Sue.
I'm not dumping Sue.
He thought about her sleeping only a few yards
away. He
wanted to go to her.
He knew that he wouldn't, though.
He also knew that, with his mind in such turmoil, he
would probably remain awake most of the night.
Finally, to escape, he kissed the bracelet.
As he touched his lips to the serpent's head, he had
no idea where he wanted to go. But somewhere. Away from
here. Away from the temptations and guilt and
worries.
A moment after his lips met the warm gold
of the bracelet, he floated up out of his body. As
he rose toward the ceiling, he saw Sue's head
and bare shoulders-gray in the gloomy light that
seeped through the curtains above the sofa.
If I try going out that way, I'll end up
inside her.
To avoid her, he aimed himself in the opposite
direction. He passed through Marta's special
framed print of a bayou scene, signed by the artist,
Robert Malcolm Rucker; through the wall; through a
kitchen cupboard stacked with plates and bowls.
Drifting
below the kitchen ceiling, he saw horizontal
stripes of black and light across the room. He
rushed at them, raced through the open wooden blinds and
glass and found himself outside.
Suddenly high above an alley, he panicked for a
moment, expecting to drop.
Too long since I've done this, he thought.
Thanks to Sue. Haven't used the thing since she
got her hands on it.
When was the last
time.

The trip to Karen's? Was that redly the last?
Monday night?
That didn't seem right.
Then he remembered sitting on the men's room
floor at Sunny's Cafe, kissing the
bracelet with every intention of checking Sue, then
slamming smack into the Highway Patrol officer
on the other side of the door. The guy with the trots.
That was the last time. Such a miserable failure that it
almost
shouldn't count.
Why am 1 even doing this? he wondered.
Thinking back, it seemed that all of his bracelet
trips had been disasters of one kind or another.
Except the first.
The experimental trip into Elise.
That had been wonderful, spectacular.
But they'd been lousy ever since.
Maybe I
should go
back
to Maria's
place and . . .
He felt a sudden pull, a tug of the invisible
connection, as if the controller of such things was starting
to pull him back.
No! I didn't
mean it!
This is
fine".
He resisted the pull, and found himself gliding forward
again
through the night. Uncertain where he was, he studied
the layout of the buildings and streets below him.
Familiar territory.
Without making any conscious choice about his destination,
he must've headed straight for his own neighborhood.
Let's just make sure 1 don't end up at
Karen's, he told himself.
Why not? As long
as I'm not there in the flesh ... It
was a
kick being in
her.
"Forget it." He heard his comment in his mind, but not in
his ears.
Back in Marta's living room, had he muttered
"Forget it" in his chair?
Maybe. Tuesday night at the Apache Inn, when
Sue had been inside him, her body had
squirmed, moaned, gasped, groaned and
sighed. She hadn't spoken, though.
Maybe words can't make it through.
Or maybe they can.
Hope.
I didn't
wake her up.
Seeing his own apartment building below him, Neal
wondered what to do. Visit one of his neighbors?
Hou greater-than about Miss Universe?
That's just what I'd need, he thought. I've got
problems enough without jumping inside some gorgeous
bimbo. She's probably asleep, anyway.
Everyone's probably asleep.
Not everyone.
From high above the building, Neal could see a lot of
activity: a helicopter in the sky near Century
City; some airliners heading into LAX, probably
ten miles away, their landing lights pushing beams
into the darkness ahead of them; cars and delivery
trucks here and there, gliding silently along pale,
uncrowded streets; a black-and-white police car
stopped on Pico, swirling the area with blue and red
flashes as two officers climbed out and walked
toward a pale van. He saw a few people, widely
scattered, walking dogs. He saw a
cat scurry across a road and vanish beneath a parked
car. In various directions, he saw lighted
windows, some with moving shapes behind them: possibly
janitors cleaning offices in high-rise
buildings; people in upper stories of homes, condos and
apartment houses who were still up and around for whatever
reasons, and hadn't bothered to shut their curtains.
From some windows came the glow of televisions.
No shortage of people to choose from, Neal thought.
Go on a hunt
for someone
interesting?
You'd better make it good, he warned himself. You
only get one shot per trip. Don't want to end
up in a dud.
Why not? Why not
experiment?
I've got
oil night-at least what's
left of it.
I could

hop back and forth, try out half a
dozen people . . .
Below him, the courtyard and swimming pool of
his own building looked deserted.
He wondered if he should make a quick pass through his
rooms.
And realized that he hod to, now that he'd thought about
it. Otherwise, the failure to check would gnaw at
him.
So he swooped down, passed through the balcony
railing and through the stucco wall into his bedroom. He
whipped like a gust of wind beneath his bed, rushed into the
closet and through its wall to the bathroom. Nobody
in the tub, nothing in the toilet bowl.
On he went, curling around corners, seeping through
walls and furniture, searching the darkness everywhere for
signs of an intruder.
Coast is clear.
He flew out through the front door and softly crashed
into a man and screamed.
Chapter Forty
Rasputin!
He stood just outside the door to Meal's apartment,
hunched over and working with a couple of slender steel
tools buried deep in the keyhole of the lock.
Neal had no chance to see him.
Simply collided with a dark mass on the other
side of his door, and shrieked with fright.
Inside him, Neal knew him at once.
He felt the hot aches of bullet wounds.
And he felt a trembling tightness in the man-part
fear, mostly excitement.
An icy tremor in the bowels.
A stiffness in the penis that made it push against the
front of his trousers.
A wild, raging strangeness in his mind.
"Come on, come on. Baby.
Come. Open up
for Papa."
The
fucker
better be here this time. Ooh, it's gonna be
sweet.
Better be
here this time.
"Come on, baby."
As the silent monologue went on, his mind played
a memory-scene
of a stranger, a dark and undefined shape standing yards
away in the darkness of the trees, aiming at him and
shooting. Even as fire spat from the muzzle and the
booms crashed through
the stillness, his mind flipped to a new
scene-a naked man nailed to a floor, screaming and
writhing. Rasputin pictured himself kneeling between the
man's spread legs, reaching forward with pliers ...
Is that supposed to be me? Neal wondered.
The guy in the dark with the gun was
definitely
Neal shooting
at Rasputin on Sunday night. The guy on the
floor about to get
worked on with pliers, well lighted in Rasputin's
fantasy, was
Neal's size but the hair and face were wrong.
It's
me. They're both me. He just doesn't really know
what I look like.
That's what he
wants
to do to me.
Neal didn't want to watch what was about to happen
with the pliers.
Get the heU. out of here!
No!
Bug out
and I might lose him. Who's to say he'll
still be
here by the time I can get back . . .
Back with my body and my gun . . .

might
never get another chance like this. Find out who he is,
where he lives.
Find out enough, and he's MINE.
So is
the reward.
When Neal's attention returned to Rasputin's
mind-movie, the guy nailed to the floor was bucking
and screaming . . .
Neal saw what the pliers were doing.
He felt himself shrivel.
Rasputin was so wrapped up in his fantasy that his
mind had gone voiceless and he seemed unaware of his
own hands. But through his fingers, Neal suddenly felt
something give inside the lock.
And so did Rasputin.
Yah! "Here I come, ready or not, you cocksucking
piece of shit! You better be here this time!"
He slipped the lock-picking tools into a soft
leather case, folded the case and stuffed it into a
pocket of his trousers. Then he pulled out a pair
of thin rubber gloves. He snapped them
onto his hands.
The fingertips of the gloves felt strange
to Neal-stiff, not flimsy. Had they been painted with
something-maybe fingernail polish or glue-as an
extra precaution against leaving latent fingerprints?
This guy's careful, Neal thought.
As Rasputin shoved the door open, he pictured
Neal standing
in the darkness, waiting with the gun, blasting him
pointblank
in the face. A cold wind of fear swept through him.
The bastard's scared of me, Neal realized.
Good!
But the fear was a lone gust that blew through him and left
him behind-gone as soon as Rasputin stared into the
darkness of the room and didn't find Neal facing him.
Looking in
the wrong place, asshole. I'm not in front of
you, I'm inside you.
Rasputin stepped over the threshold and silently
shut the door. Then he stood motionless, listening.
"Oh,
you better be here."
I'm here all right, Neal thought.
Rasputin seemed to sense that the rooms were
deserted. But he didn't want to admit it to himself.
Not yet. He didn't want to face the
disappointment, the frustration ...
He suddenly detected an aroma.
So did Neal.
A vague, sweet scent...
What's that? Rasputin wondered. His mind switched
to a memory of his previous visit. He
remembered himself standing in much the same place, trying
to detect.. .
This odor was new.
Beer!
Neal felt himself shrivel again.
He
knows!
Excitement swelled in Rasputin.
He doesn't know about Sue, Neal realized. He
thinks it was just me drinking the beer . .. He thinks
I'm still here.
Now I gotcha'. Now I gotcha!
Ohhhh.
Rasputin surged inside with a brew of rage and
glee and lust that made Neal want to scream and
bolt.
STAY! he commanded himself. This bastard can't
hurt me, can't touch me, doesn't even know I'm
here. I'm perfectly safe.
But he sure didn't feel safe.
Rasputin started creeping across the living room.
"Here I
come, ready or not.
Ooh hoo hoo. Oh,
how
I'm going to
make you
scream!"
Back he went to his fantasy of Neal naked,
hands and feet
nailed to a floor.
Neal turned his attention to Rasputin's body. The
man was tall and extremely thin, but had muscles
like strips of iron. He wore heavy, snug
boots. Leather trousers that were tight and very hot
inside-so hot that Rasputin was dripping sweat all
the way down from his waist and the leather felt slimy
against his buttocks and cock and legs. No underwear.
Several objects in his trouser pockets-something in
the right front pocket that might be pliers. A
belt cinched around his waist. At his left hip, a
weight that Neal suspected might be a
sheathed knife.
Above his waist, a snug shirt with long sleeves.
Under the shirt, bandages and wounds.
These bandages didn't seem to be made from the odds
and ends Rasputin took from Neal's medicine
cabinet. They wrapped his torso, shoulder, and the
top of his head as if someone had tried to make a
mummy of him.
Rasputin had apparently found medical care.
They're supposed to report bullet wounds.
He'd probably gone to a crooked
doctor-plenty of those in L.a.
How do you find a crooked doctor? Easy. Just
ask your crooked lawyer.
All patched up and rarin' to go.
He doesn't have a hammer, Neal suddenly
realized. Rasputin's only weapons seemed to be
the pliers and the knife.
How does he expect to nail me to the floor if
he didn't bring his hammer and nails?
Borrow
mine? He'd have to find them first.
Maybe that's what he's looking for.
Because Rasputin hadn't gone directly to the
bedroom, where he was sure he would find
Neal sleeping.
Pay attention, Neal told himself. What's the
bastard up to?
Relishing the anticipation.
And wanting to make sure nobody would pop in from
another room and take him by surprise.
"Are we aRather by ourselves tonight, Neal? No guests?
Lonely boy?
1'Us give greater-than out some company.
Yoo-hoo! Leslie Glitt, at beyour service.
Less is more.
And all
that glitters isn't gold."
He pulled the knife from its sheath and stepped into the
kitchen.
Leslie Glitt, Neal thought. That's his name?
Leslie?
Walking through the kitchen, Rasputin considered taking
his boots off. He couldn't walk quietly in them,
not on the linoleum floor. But he decided against
it. The struggle to take them off would fire up the
pain in his wounds. Besides, he would need to put them on
again in the bedroom.
Needed to be wearing them when he took Neal.
He imagined himself sneaking to the side of the
bed, bending over and pressing the knife to Neal's
throat. "Woke
up, sleepy' head
-Leslie's come
over to play."
He imagined Neal waking up, startled and
terrified, gasping. "Remember me? You shot
me, you
fucking cocksucker." He pictured himself jabbing
Neal a few times with the knife. "Didn't kill
me, though. Too
bad,
so sod. Didn't save the slut, either. Did
comy

.
Thought caret you'd saved her ass, big hero. No
no no. Wrong. So sad. You should've seen what
I did to her. You should've heard her scream."
All the time, poking Neal with the knife. Not really
shoving it in, just poking him with it, making him flinch and
bleed. "But
she
died
easy.
Wait'II
you see what I do to you.
Now get
up."
Neal hesitates, so Leslie gives him a
slice across an eyeball.
"Get up,
now. We're going on a trip. I'm taking
right-brace out to a
very
special
place."
A place with a wooden floor, Neal supposed.
Rasputin, shivering and hard, stepped through the bedroom
door and halted and stared at Neal's bed. Neal
stared at it with him-saw it as he did.
In the gray glow filtering in through the curtains, the
bed looked like a flat, unwrinkled plain.
Nobody was sprawled on it. The blankets
covered no telltale landscape of humps.
No! Imfxjssible! He's here! He has to be
here!
Rasputin flung out an arm and flicked the light
switch. The sudden light hurt his eyes. He
squinted.
The bed was empty, neatly made.
He rushed to the closet and flung open its door.
No Neal.
"You're
here! 1 know you're here! You've
GOT to
be!"
He hurried to the other side of the bed, sank to his
knees and, pain crushing through him, bent and peered
underneath the bed.
No Neal.
"Where
ARE
you?"
"Right here inside you, Lesss'ley,"
Neal told him.
Rasputin hunted for him.
He stomped through every room, turning on lights,
knife clutched tightly in his right hand, teeth
clenched. He looked in the bathtub. He looked in
cupboards and closets. He looked behind
furniture. He looked behind doors. He no
longer shivered with excitement. He no longer had an
erection. He ached not only from his bullet wounds but
from disappointment.
An agony of frustration and regret.
"Where the fuck are you? Where
ARE
you, you slimy cocksucking shit? I know you're
here!"
He's not here.
He's not.
Oh,
the
dirty fuck!
Where is he?
Done with the frantic search, Rasputin turned his
back to the front door and scanned the living room.
Okay, okay, calm down. He's not here. Big
deal. What's the
hurry?
He lives here. He'll be back.
He already came back. Came back since 1 was
here last, and had a beer. Two beers.
Rasputin scowled at the two beer cans. They had
not been on the table during his earlier visit
to Neal's apartment.
They stood side by side . ..
Ha!
Just look at them!
Not close together, as if Neal had polished off one,
then the other. Two feet apart, as if set down on
the table by two different people sitting side by side.
"You
drank with a friend, didn't you? A beer for you, a beer
for ... him or
her?"
Rasputin sniffed the air, but detected no hint of
perfume.
Asti, I
do hope it's a she. A pretty she. I do love
she's. The pretty
ones.
Pretty ones like Elise.
He groaned aloud as his mind played a memory
... not a whole scene ... a clip ... a peek
. .. two or three seconds ... Elise in her
bathtub while . ..
For a moment, Neal wasn't sure what he was
seeing.
Then he cried out "NOST.

to was so loudly that he thought his voice might explode
Rasputin's mind.
It did nothing.
"How
could you do that to a person?"
Neal raged. "How
could you even
THINK
of a thing like that? What kind of sick bastard are you?"
Rasputin was becoming aroused again.
Have to try that on the drinking buddy. Hope she's a
she. A pretty one. Try that one on her and see
how she likes it. Do it in front of Neal, so he
can enjoy it, too.
That might be tricky. How'll I manage two of
them?
Easy.
Get them one at a time.
The buddy first. Beer girl.
Next time they come by, track them when they leave.
Follow them, find out where they're hiding . . .
Neal, sobbing inside him, blurted,
"You're never
gonna touch
her! Never! I'LL KILL YOU!"
Rasputin suddenly wondered how long ago they'd
left.
He picked up one of the cans. It left
a wet circle on the table. He couldn't tell much
about the can's temperature, thanks to his rubber
glove, so he pressed it against his cheek. It had
no coolness to it. He shook the can near his ear.
Though he heard no sloshing sound, he put the can
to his lips and tilted it high.
Some lukewarm, sour-tasting beer dribbled into his
mouth.
He concluded that several hours had probably gone
by since Neal and his friend had been sitting on the sofa,
drinking the beers.
Earlier tonight?
Late this afternoon?
Maybe
they'll be back tomorrow. Ooh, 1 do hope so.
Hope she's
a pretty one.
Might
be a guy.
Fine, too, if he's pretty.
Tomorrow, when they come . . .
Shit! Fuck! Not tomorrow
nightst
The money.
Wait. Yeah.
Sure I can. Don't
have to be there till two.
If I get over here good and early . . .
Can't let them know 1 was here. Don't want
to spook the little critters and scare them off.
Rasputin set the beer can down on its own wet
circle. After that, he made his way through every room,
checking to make sure he was leaving behind no token of
his presence, then turning off the lights.
Finally, he opened the front door. He leaned out,
glanced around, then stepped onto the balcony and
silently shut the door. Hurrying toward the
stairway, he pulled off his gloves and tucked them
into a pocket of his trousers.
As he started down the stairs, he tried to remember
where he'd left his car.
He remembered.
Yes! Neal thought. We're going to his car!
This is it."
Chapter Forty-one
Rasputin, turning the corner, saw several cars
parked along the
curb.
What kind
of . . . ah, sure. A white
something. A
Subaru, or . . . there!
It's not his own car, Neal realized. Probably
stole it.
Rasputin didn't search for the keys as he
approached it.
Of course not, Neal thought. He doesn't
have
keys. Must've popped the ignition. . ..
The driver's door wasn't locked. Rasputin
opened it and
climbed in, reached out to the steering column and started
the
car.
With the key. Which was already in the ignition.
The engine turned over and ran smoothly,
quietly.
Rasputin thought, Not a
bad
little car.
Maybe
I'll
keep it.
He laughed, then frowned.
Where's
the
headlights? I
had them on
coming
over
... Ah
yes.
Cute.
The twin bright beams leaped forward. Rasputin
stepped on the gas and swung away from the curb.
"And awaaaay we go!" he proclaimed aloud.
Get me a
real car with
the loot. How about a
Lincoln Continental, or
one of those
Towncars? Or,
hey, why not a
Ferrari? What's something like that cost, anyhow? Not
half a mil, that's for sure.
Half a mil, I could buy a
fucking airplane.
Yeah, sure. I can't
buy shit. Get back to
Kingman and
lay low, keep a good low profile till I heal
up.
If I do heal up.
That cocksucker, he'll wish. . . .
Wait'II he sees what I do to his
beer buddy.
A little taste of what he'll be getting for himself.
Teach him to blow holes in me ...
Rasputin imagined Neal nailed to a wooden
wall. Not to a floor, this time, but to a wall.
Naked, the same as before. His arms stretched out and
nailed at the hands, but his legs together. His feet in
a green plastic bucket.
The bucket, Neal supposed, was meant to catch his
blood and whatever other bodily fluids .. .
Clever, he thought, feeling sick.
At least this
guy
doesn't look like me.
For that matter, the victim in Rasputin's
fantasy didn't even resemble his previous
mental version of Neal. This fellow was older than the
other, a little flabby, and had a neatly trimmed
black mustache. Not at all the handsome blond chap
he'd pictured last time.
He can't keep straight what I'm supposed
to look like, Neal thought.
And he obviously had no idea what Sue looked
like.
Thank God for that, Neal thought.
The woman was nailed to the wall across the room from
Neal.
So that they were facing each other. So that he could watch.
Like Neal, her arms were stretched out and she was standing in
a green bucket.
She must've been forty years old. In good shape.
Slender, with very large breasts.
This is
what he
thinks
my beer buddy looks like?
She didn't resemble Sue or Marta. They were
both a lot younger than that. Neither of them had breasts
like those, and both had blond hair.
A lot less hair, too.
Neal had never seen such a hairy woman in his
life: thick black tresses hanging over her
brow and flowing down both sides of her head; heavy
black eyebrows that nearly met above her nose; a
huge thicket below her navel.
Rasputin smiled over his shoulder at his imaginary
Neal, walked up to the woman and lit her pubic
hair on fire. It flared as if bathed in
gasoline. She writhed against the wall and danced
inside her bucket, her huge breasts leaping, her
skin orange and gleaming in the firelight.
Rasputin, caught in his fantasy, was hard again.
Do that to his
girlfriend, he might wish he hadn't been so quick to
shoot
me, the fuck.
Do that to her for starters, and make him watch. Make
him watch everything till she's dead. Before I even
start on him.
Maybe we can make it interactive.
"Where would you like me to make the first incision, Neal?
Pick an eyelid.
Pick a
nipple. Pick
..."
Suddenly recognizing the house, he was jerked out of
his fantasy. He hit the brakes and swung into the
driveway. His headlights brightened the broad,
white door of a garage.
Gotta catch the address, Neal told
himself.
"Come on, Rasputin, look at the house! Come
on, Leslie! Damn it! Look!"
Instead of looking toward the house, Rasputin lowered
his eyes to the passenger seat. He picked up a
small, pale device- the garage door opener.
He pointed it out the windshield.
We're going in the garage? I'll never get the
address!
The garage door started to rise.
The car started toward it.
"Look at the house,
you bastard"dis"
He didn't. He kept his eyes on the rising
door.
All Neal could make out, through Rasputin's
peripheral vision, was a single-story stucco building
with some bushes in front.
Then Rasputin shut off the headlights.
The house went dark. It seemed to have no lights
on, at all: none in the windows, none over the
front door, none in the garage.
Rasputin drove slowly into the black, wide mouth
of the garage.
"Home, sweet home," he said.
He shut off the engine. When he thumbed the
remote, the garage door began to rumble down. He
stayed in his seat until it was completely shut.
And wondered what he ought to do, now that he was home.
Go straight to bed?
He probably should turn in, but he felt too
edgy and excited to sleep.
Anyway, I can
sleep all
day tomorrow.
Nothing to
do till after dark.
I
might as well
stay up for a while and have some fun.
Rasputin, feeling a delicious tremor of
excitement, climbed out of the car. He made his way
through the darkness, walking carefully with his arms
outstretched.
He found the door to the house.
He didn't open it, though.
He touched the knob only to orient himself. Then he
found the door frame. And then the light switch.
He flicked the switch up.
And squinted in the brightness.
And turned.
Neal glimpsed a man against the wall, arms
outstretched, feet in a bucket, head drooping.
Rasputin looked at the man for only an instant
before turning and walking across the garage toward the
woman.
Slender, with very large breasts.
But no black tresses, no heavy black
eyebrows, no thicket below her navel. Where all
that hair had been-in Rasputin's fantasy-this
woman had bare, scorched skin.
Neal knew, at once, that it had been no
fantasy.
Not a fantasy, a memory.
She lifted her head and her eyes opened.
Neal shrieked.
Gotta get
outta . . .
No! I
didn't mean it!
Too late.
He was plucked out-instantly free from Rasputin's
trembling, tense body and foul mind. Gone was the
feel of his bullet wounds, his trembling
excitement, the hot and slimy lick of his
leather trousers, the hard ache of his erection. Gone
was the jumble of his memories, fantasies,
contrivances and commentary.
Neal was suddenly himself again.
Like a hooked fish, he was flung up through the garage
beams and roof and into the clear night sky.
He looked down, but already he'd been hurled high
and far away from the house. Below him was a rushing blur
of moonlit roofs, treetops, gray streets,
bright puddles of light, parked cars...
He tried to slow down, but couldn't.
The bracelet was reeling him in fast, as if an
angler feared he might slip the hook and escape.
It swung him down from the heights and flipped him
through the front window of Marta's apartment. A lamp
was on. He glimpsed Sue. She was crouching beside his
chair, her blue blanket hanging down her back.
Her head was in the way. He struck it with his hip,
but it felt like air. A moment later, he landed
inside his own body.
His heart pounded hard and quick. He was gasping for
breath. His hair was soaked with sweat and his clothes
stuck to him.
Opening his eyes, he met Sue's gaze.
She looked jittery. "Yer back," she
said.
"Thank God," he said.
She looked so fine.
So alive and safe.
So sweet and beautiful.
Her hair was mussed, tangled, golden in the
lamplight. Her shoulders were wrapped by the
blanket.
"I reckon ya went on a bracelet ride,"
she said.
"Yeah."
"Musta been hell on wheels." Her right arm came
out from under the blanket. It lifted the blanket
away from her breast and side as she reached up and
caressed Neal's face. "Are ya okay now?"
"Getting better." "Ya screamed yer head off a
couple times. Scared the squirm-in'
jaspers, outta me."
"I'm sorry," Neal said.
"Nothin' to be sorry for," she said, her voice
gentle, a gentle look in her eyes, her hand
stroking the side of his head as if she were trying
to calm a spooked puppy.
"I guess 1 woke you up, huh?"
"That's okay," she said. "I'm just glad
yer back,"
His eyes followed her outstretched arm to where it met
her blanket-hooded shoulder, then drifted down
to her breast. It seemed casually, innocently
exposed by the disarray of the blanket. It was hazy
bronze in the lamp shadow. It moved slightly with the
motions of her arm.
"I was real tempted to pull ya back," she said.
"Take yer bracelet off. That woulda done the
trick, right?"
"Yeah."
"Thought so."
"Why didn't you?"
"Figured it oughta be
yer
call, when to come back. Didn't seem right for me
to interfere."
"So you stayed by my side and watched?"
She nodded. "I wanted to keep an eye out, case
somethin' mighta gone realty haywire. Anyhow,
1 like watchin you. Only it was sorta painful,
cause 1 could see ya were havin a bad time."
"Putting it mildly."
"Shoulda gone in me," she told him.
Neal met her eyes. "How do you know that
1 didn't?"
"Only about fifteen ways. For one, ya didn't
have a smile on
yer face."
"I found him."
Sue's hand dropped to Neal's shoulder. "Him?
Rasputin?"
"Yeah."
"Holy smoke." Her eyes were wide, her head
shaking slightly back and forth.
"But his name isn't Rasputin, it's Leslie
Glitt."
She made a face. "What?"
"Leslie Glitt."
"That's a girl's name, Leslie."
"Leslie Howard, he was a guy."
"Never heard of him,"
"He was great.
The Petrified
Forest? With Bogart?"
Sue shook her head.
"And he played Ashley Wilkes in
Gone With the Wind."
"I seen that one," Sue said. "So what happened,
anyhow?"
"His plane was shot down in World War Two."
"Not that other Leslie, this Leslie. What'd ya
say his last name is?"
"Glitt."
"Sounds dirty."
Neal shook his head.
"So, what happened?" Sue asked. "Did ya
ride him?"
"Yeah, 1 sure did."
"No wonder ya kept screamin'."
"It was only twice, wasn't it?"
"Well. .. maybe. 1 got woke up by one of
"em, maybe a half hour ago. Figured ya were
havin a nightmare, there at first. But ya kept on
squirmin and gaspin" . . ."
"Did I say anything?" he asked.
"Ya sorta mumbled some stuff, only I couldn't
make out what. Mostly, ya just gasped and whimpered.
Anyhow, I got up and came over to see what was
goin' on. When 1 turned on the lamp, that's when
I saw the bracelet and figured ya'd gone on a
trip."
"I had to get out of here," Neal explained. "I
couldn't sleep. 1 was going nuts."
A smile lifted the ends of Sue's
lips. "Hope it weren't...
wasn't.... my fault."
"It was mostly your fault."
"How come?"
"I wanted to go to you."
"That's nice."
"But we'd decided against it."
"That was drivin' ya nuts, huh?"
"Yup."
"Wish ya'd come on over to
me
with the bracelet."
"Me, too. My God, if I'd had any
idea... It was like.... crawling through a sewer. Being
in him."
"Wanna tell me all about it?" she asked.
"There's a lot to tell."
"Ya got an appointment?"
"Yeah. In Samarra."
She raised her eyebrows. "Huh?"
"Nothing. A bad joke. A literary bad
joke."
She narrowed her eyes and went, "Hmmmp." Then
she pulled her arm back. As she stood up, she
drew the blanket shut. "Why don't you
get on outta that chair? Nobody's gonna
sleep for a while, anyhow. C'mon over here."
She turned away and glided toward the sofa.
Neal climbed out of the chair. The blanket he'd
used earlier was rumpled on the floor. He picked
it up and tossed it onto the chair.
Sue, wrapped from her shoulders to her ankles in the
other blanket, sank down onto the sofa, leaned
back and rested her bare feet on the coffee table.
Neal stretched and groaned.
As he walked toward Sue, she crossed ankles
and said, "Y'oughta give me some books to read.
I'll read "em all, and then I'll know what yer
talkin" about when ya go and get literary on me."
"All right." He sat down beside her.
"We can even read to each other."
"I'd love to have you read
True
Grit to me."
"Jess grab me a copy, and I'll do it. Now,
tell me all "bout
what went on tonight with you and . . . Leslie
Glitt."
Neal slipped an arm around the back of her
shoulders. The blanket felt soft and
nice. He supposed it must feel very good for her to have
it wrapped around her body.
She leaned against him. "Don't leave nothin" out,"
she said.
"Anything," he corrected her.
"Don't leave anything out," she said. "Or better
yet, how about if I get in yer head for the story?
Like in the car yesterday."
Yesterday? Was it only yesterday that he'd let
Sue kiss the bracelet and get inside him?
To
prove I didn't Ml EU-SE.
It seemed like so much longer ago.
It
was the day 1 met
Sue. Right
after she kissed the bracelet and got in me
by accident. Yesterday? On our way to The Fort. .
. .
Tuesday. That was Tuesday. We only spent one
night
there, left
the
next day. . . . Wednesday. Arrived at my
place, then came over here. This is
Wednesday
night.
More like Thursday morning.
He looked at the bright red numbers of the clock on
Marta's video player.
3:56 A.m.
Thursday
morning, all
right.
"Maybe you should just listen," Neal said.
"Please?"
"I'm not sure you want to be in there. It gets
awfully bad."
"I can take it. Come on."
With a sigh, Neal took his arm back.
As he slipped the bracelet off his wrist, Sue
said, "But tell it to me, anyhow. The story.
Don't just think it. Tell it to me like ya did in the
car."
"I'm not sure about this."
"I am. It'll be the best way." The front of
her blanket bulged and parted, and her right arm came
out. It pushed against the side of her breast as she
reached across herself and offered her hand to Neal.
He slipped the bracelet onto her
wrist.
"You're sure about this?" Neal asked.
"Sure I'm sure."
"If it gets too rough, just bail out."
"It'll be fine," she said, then raised her hand to her
mouth and kissed the head of the serpent.
She went limp. As her arm fell, it shoved the
blanket aside. The back of her hand slapped
against her bare thigh.
Neal saw that the entire right side of her body was
naked- except for a flap of blue blanket that still
covered her right leg from the knee to the ankle.
Oh,
beautiful. Look at that. "Hi, Sue.
Lovely. But how am
I
supposed to concentrate on . .
.
his
his
I could cover
her.
He didn't want to cover her. He wanted
to stare. And touch.
Didn't we
do enough of that earlier?
You can never do
enough
of that.
He sighed. Then he reached over Sue's body,
lifted the blanket, and covered her.
"I'm such a gentleman," he said. "Anyway,
here's what happened. I was feeling really restless in
the chair. Sleep was out of
the question. So I kissed the bracelet and took off."
Chapter Forty-two
Neal was shocked awake by the
snick-clack
of the dead bolt.
Oh, no.
Brilliant daylight hit his eyes as the front
door swung open. Marta stepped in and shut the
door. The room stayed bright, but was no longer
blinding.
Marta walked quietly as if she didn't want
to disturb her guests. She wore her uniform. A
large leather purse hung from her shoulder. Stopping
at the other side of the coffee table, she lowered her
purse to the floor. Then she turned and stood
motionless, staring at Neal and Sue.
Neal mouthed the word, "Hi," and tried to look
innocent.
Sue continued to sleep.
They were both seated on the sofa, leaning against each
other,
their legs stretched out, their feet on the coffee
table.
Neal had planned to return to his chair before
falling asleep. He had planned to set an alarm
clock so that he and Sue would wake up in plenty of
time to be ready for Marta.
He had fully intended to make sure that Sue was
properly dressed.
He looked at her.
Some of the blue blanket was pinned between her arm and
Neat's. None of it covered her. All she wore
was the bracelet around her right wrist.
Neal grimaced.
Facing Marta, he shook his head and shrugged and
tried to look perplexed.
She stared at him. Her eyes seemed a little
glazed. Her mouth hung open.
She seemed surprised, confused, wary . . .
Her eyes went to Sue.
Studied her.
Checking out the competition? Neal wondered. Seeing
how she stacks up?
Thinking, I lost him
to
this skinny
kid?
This bitch? I'm twice
as
pretty as she
is!
My figure's ten times better!
But she must be ten years younger.
The dirty
bastard
traded me in for a new model.
Neal saw her composure begin to slip. Her face
reddened and she started breathing harder.
Contemplating double homicide?
She tossed a glance at Neal, then picked up her
purse and walked off.
Never scud a word.
Oh man, Neal thought. How could I let this
happen? How could I do this to her? I
love
her, damn it! She loves
me.
And I dump her for the first stranger I meet. ..
Sue's no stranger.
Not anymore, he told himself, but she was sure a
stranger Tuesday morning when I stopped for
breakfast. How could I let this happen?
I'm such a shit.
But I fell in love with Sue, he told himself.
What was I supposed
to do, get rid of her?
This sticks. This sucks so bod.
"Go to her," Sue whispered.
He turned his head. Sue's body remained
stretched out naked beside him, but her head swiveled and
tilted slightly. She opened one eye.
"You're awake," Neal whispered.
"Yeah. Now, go on. Get her cheered up. Lie
if ya gotta."
Neal nodded and struggled to his feet. He felt
shaky, frightened, ashamed.
The lost thing I ever wanted to do
was
hurt Marta.
But you did, he told himself. Demolished her. It
didn't show, but she's crushed inside.
He walked quietly down the hallway to her
bedroom. The door was shut. He gave it a few
taps with his knuckles.
And waited.
He was about to try knocking again, but she said, "Come
in."
His hand was sweaty. It made the knob wet and
slippery. But he turned the knob and pushed the
door open. He stepped into the bedroom, then
quietly shut the door.
Marta was standing at her closet. After hanging up
her blue blazer, she turned around and met Neal's
eyes. "So," she said. "I guess that was Sue."
She didn't sound snide or indignant or
angry-just a little breathless, agitated.
She doesn't know what to make of this, Meal thought.
Or is she struggling to control herself?
"We fell asleep talking," Neal said. He
took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. About all
this."
Marta frowned. "How'd your arms get scratched
up?"
"Some woman."
"Sue?"
"No. It was just a little misunderstanding with
someone. It'd be a long story."
"Do they hurt?"
"Not much. They're getting better. It happened a
couple of nights ago."
"You've been busy."
"I still love you, Marta."
Her eyes on Neal, she moved her head very
slightly up and down a couple of times. She started
to untie the blue and gold silk scarf around her
neck. Her hands were trembling.
"Sue's a beautiful girl," she said.
Neal nodded. "So are you," he said. A corner of
her mouth turned up. "Didn't you call her a
gum-snapping
twerp? A brain-dead hillbilly?"
"Something like that."
"Now you're in love with her." She wasn't asking.
"I think so," he admitted.
Marta started to unfasten the buttons of her white
blouse.
Neal couldn't believe she was doing it in front of
him.
"And you've slept with her, haven't you." It
wasn't a question, either.
He nodded. Then he managed to swallow.
Then he said, "She gave up the gum-snapping."
Marta didn't seem to find it funny. But she
finished with the buttons, and started to untuck her
blouse.
"She's a very nice person," Neal said. "I mean
... in other circumstances ... if you just happened
to meet her someplace .. . you'd like her. You couldn't
help but like her."
"I can see why
you
did." Not even that came out sounding snide.
Marta took off the blouse, walked to the corner of
her room, and tossed it into her hamper. Standing at the
hamper, her back to Neal, she took off her bra.
She dropped it in.
Still facing the hamper, she asked, "What about me?
Should 1... consider myself dumped?"
"I wish you wouldn't."
"You think you're ... in love with both of us?"
"Seems that way," Neal said.
"Does Sue love you?"
"Apparently."
"I do. You know that, don't you?"
"Even now?" Neal asked.
"Even now. 1 guess I must be
crazy." She turned around and
walked slowly toward him. Her black leather shoes
were silent
on the carpet. She wore pantyhose and her
straight, blue skirt.
Bare above the skirt, she somehow seemed more naked
than the times when she wore nothing at all.
Her eyes looked a little frightened.
"You're so beautiful," Neal whispered.
She halted in front of him, reached out with both
hands, and started to unbutton his shirt. Her breasts
were pushed together between her arms, making her cleavage a
straight, tight slot.
Neal stood there, staring at her as she opened his shirt
and pulled it off and tossed it aside. When she
took hold of his belt, she flicked a glance at
his eyes.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
"Sure."
Standing face-to-face on the carpet near the foot
of the bed, they undressed each other. First, Marta
finished with Neal. Then she took off her own shoes,
but she let Neal pull down her pantyhose.
Staying crouched in front of her, he drew her
panties down. She stepped out of them.
As he kissed her soft mat of hair, he suddenly
thought of the woman in the garage. Rasputin's
crucified plaything, his burnt toy.
Nothing I could do.
I should've at least
tried
to find my way back. I might' we
recognized the house.
What
if he does it to
Marta
or Sue? What if he nails them to a wall and
sets them on fire?
I'll kill him. I'll rip him apart.
"Watch the teeth," Marta whispered.
Neal felt as if he'd been in a daze. Her
hair was a wet tangle in his mouth. He kissed
her gently, then stood up. She gazed into his
eyes. He felt her breasts against him. And he
felt a couple of hairs in his mouth.
Smiling slightly, Marta picked them out.
He ran his hands down her back, and squeezed her
buttocks. They felt large after Sue's, but just as
firm and smooth.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Neal
whispered.
"I'm sure."
"A lot has changed."
"Not how I feel about you," she said. "I'll always
love you, no matter what."
"I'll always love you, too," he told her.
And was pretty sure that he meant it.
"What about Sue?" she asked.
"Do you want me to dump her?"
Marta shook her head, which surprised him. Then she
said, "That isn't what I meant. Are you going
to feel guilty about it if we make love?"
"I don't know."
"I hope not."
"You had me first," Neal said. "Besides, I don't
think she'll mind."
"Most women would."
"She knows how I feel about you."
Curling her fingers lightly around his penis, Marta
asked, "Would you dump her if I asked you to?"
He didn't have to think about it.
"I'd hate to do that," he said.
"Good thing I'm not asking," Marta said.
They went to Marta's bed. Bending over it, she
pulled down the blanket and top sheet.
They lay down together.
The sheet under Neal felt smooth and cool at first.
He stretched out, relishing the feel of it. Then he
rolled onto his side. Marta, on her side,
scooted closer to him until the tips of her breasts
touched his chest, and his penis pushed against her belly.
She gazed into his eyes.
"So here we are," she whispered. She put a hand out
and rested it on his hip. "It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be here."
"I was so worried about you. I was so afraid I'd
never see you again-that he'd find you, somehow.
Rasputin. And kill you." Tears suddenly
shimmered in Marta's eyes. "Even if I lose
you to her ... to Sue ..."
"I don't want to lose you," Neal whispered.
They moved in snug against each other. Marta was all
soft
and smooth. When she opened her mouth, she was wet.
And
Neal was wet and slick against her belly.
The feel of her mouth was familiar to him. Every part of
her body was familiar, and so were the sounds she made,
and the ways she touched him and how she moved. All of
her, familiar and safe and like going home.
Chapter Forty-three
When Neal woke up, he sensed that he'd been
asleep for hours.
He was sprawled on his back, hot from the sunlight
that filtered
in through the curtains above Marta's bed.
He could hear her sleeping beside him, softly snoring.
He pushed himself up on his elbows.
She was curled on her side, facing away from him.
Her hair was a tangle of mussed gold. Her
skin look tawny in the mellow light. Her left
arm rested on top of her side. Its hair was very
fine and nearly invisible on her upper arm, thicker
below her elbow. Neal wanted to run his lips along
the length of her arm and feel the downy hair.
But he didn't want to wake her. Looking beyond her
shoulder, he saw the clock on the night-stand.
3:18 P.m.
Marta hadn't fallen asleep until almost eleven
that morning.
So Neal didn't touch her. He stared at her for a
while longer, savoring the light and shadows on the
curves and rises and slants and creases of her
body. He wished she weren't asleep. He would
love to touch her, to explore every bit of
her, caressing and kissing and tasting .. .
Like I
did. to Sue.
Sue.
She'd been deserted for hours.
Neal carefully made his way to the edge of the bed,
swung
his feet to the floor, and stood up. Marta didn't
stir. She sounded
as if she were still asleep.
He stepped around the clothes scattered on the
carpet, then eased open the door and stepped into the
hallway. He shut the door.
As he walked silently toward the living room, he
wondered if Sue was asleep.
He wondered if she'd ever gotten dressed.
What
has
she been doing? he wondered.
And who was she in,
Marta or me?
He knew her well enough to be sure that she'd used the
bracelet on one or the other of them; she had been
present, a mute participant in all that had
happened in Marta's bedroom.
It didn't bother him, though.
He hadn't given the matter any conscious thought at
the time, but he must've wanted Sue to be with them.
Otherwise, he could have taken the bracelet from her.
She might be in me right now, he realized.
"Hello? You in here?
How was
it?"
Even as he put the questions to Sue inside his mind,
he stepped into the living room and saw the empty
sofa. Both blankets were neatly folded, stacked
at one end, the pillows piled on top of them.
Sue was not in the room.
Take it easy. She's probably around here
someplace.
Neal hurried toward the bathroom, but changed
directions when he saw its open door, and entered the
kitchen. The linoleum felt smooth and warm under his
bare feet.
No Sue.
She's
gone!
What if
Rasputin got in,
somehow, and . . .
Took her to that garage . . .
Nailed her to
the
wall
. , .
Neal was just starting to cringe inside when he saw the
piece of paper standing upright in the middle of the kitchen
table. He snatched it up.
The note was printed in pencil.
Dear Neal and Matta,
Gone shopping. Back before you know it.
Luv,
Me
Neal took a deep breath, and sighed. "Thank
God," he mut tered.
Then he wondered where she'd gone.
Heading for a store seemed like an odd thing for her to do,
especially since she'd never been in Los
Angeles before. How would she even know where to go?
She's not exactly
shy.
Probably
asked
someone.
Neal did some exploring. He discovered that
Sue's leather skirt and sleeveless blue shirt were
gone, along with her panties, bra, socks and
shoes. Her purse was missing, too. So were
Neal's keys.
She took
my carl
For a moment, he was annoyed. Then amused by her
audacity at taking his car without asking. Then pleased
that she'd felt no need to ask. Then worried.
What
if
she gets lost?
Gets in an accident?
Gets jumped
by
Rasputin and taken . . . his
"She'll be fine," he said quietly.
But he wished she were here.
He wondered how long she'd been gone.
What if she doesn't come back?
Lighten up, he told himself.
Had she taken the gun? He turned his eyes to the
lamp table beside the chair. His pistol was there.
Beside it, the bracelet.
At least she's not in
me
or Marta
now.
Neal went into the bathroom to take a shower. He
needed a shower; he was hot and sweaty and sticky. And
it would help to pass the time.
Take a good long one, and
maybe
Sue will
be back when I
get out.
We could've gone shopping together, he thought. Maybe
if I'd gotten up the minute Marta fell
asleep ...
But he'd felt so tired and comfortable.
If anything
happens
to
Sue ...
She'll be fine, he told himself.
Then he was standing in the hot spray, surrounded
by aromas that reminded him of Marta.
This is all so unreal, he thought as he slicked his
body with a bar of Marta's soap.
It's
crazy, that's what it
is. You can't
get away with
having two women.
And what
the hell
kind
of a problem is
this to
be
worrying about when
you've got a guy like Rasputin out there? Leslie
Glitt.
He pictured the crucified, scorched woman in the
garage. Raising her head and opening her eyes. But
when her eyes opened, she was suddenly Elise on the
ledge of her tub, arms spread, a bar of soap in
her mouth.
He yelped at the rumble of the shower door.
Jerked his head sideways.
Saw a smudged figure through the frosted glass
until the glass slid out of the way and Marta stood
there. She had a mild look on her face. "May
1 join you?" she asked.
"Are you kidding?"
She climbed in, rolled the door shut, and
embraced him. As they kissed, Neal slid his hands
up and down her back. She felt slippery and
wonderful.
When they were done kissing, he said, "Did I wake
you up?"
She shrugged. "I don't want to sleep my life
away." She took the bar of soap from him and began
to slide it on his body. "Where's Sue?"
"I guess she went shopping. She left a note
in the kitchen."
"Did she know where to go?"
"I don't know."
"You don't think she left because of us?"
"I doubt it. She probably went to buy some
clothes. She doesn't have anything."
"I noticed that. She'll probably cause quite a
stir at the store."
"You're causing quite a stir yourself," Neal said.
"I noticed." She set the soap aside, and
caressed him with her slippery hands.
He picked up the soap and used it on her.
"We'll both be squeaky clean," she said, her
lips moving against his.
Later, they found that the tub was too small
so they made love standing up, Marta's back to the
tile wall. She clung to him and grunted as he
thrust up into her.
Later still, they stood on the mat and rubbed each other
dry with thick, soft towels. They wrapped the
towels around their waists before leaving the steamy
bathroom.
Marta, in the lead, headed for the kitchen. "When was the
last time you had a meal?" she asked.
"I don't think 1 can remember back that far,"
Neal said. "Last night, actually. We stopped
at a Denny's around eight o'clock."
"Nothing since?"
"We had beer at my place."
As they entered the kitchen from the hallway, Sue
entered from the other end. She wore her usual blue
shirt and black leather skirt. Smiling, she
raised
a
hand and said, "Howdy."
"You're back," Neal said.
"Yup." She came toward Marta with brisk
strides, extending her hand. "Hi, I'm Sue."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Marta." Though blushing,
she didn't try to hide her breasts.
After shaking hands with her, Sue said, "Nice
towels."
"We didn't know you were back yet," Neal said.
"No problem."
"I'd better go change," Marta said. She
turned around and headed for the hallway.
"Me, too," Neal said.
"Ya look good in a towel," Sue said. "Both of
ya."
Marta, in the doorway, looked over her shoulder and
smiled slightly. Then she turned and walked out of
sight.
"Go on with her," Sue said.
"I need my suitcase and stuff."
Sue went with him into the living room.
He saw a few shopping bags on the sofa.
"Did your trip go all right?" he asked.
"Yeah! I went to that Westside Pavilion?
Never seen nothin'
like it."
"You didn't get lost?"
"Nope."
Bending down, Neal picked up his suitcase and
overnight bag. Then he met her eyes. In a
whisper, he asked, "Did you use the
bracelet on us?"
"I went to the mall."
"Before you went to the mall."
A slight smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
"I knew it. Which one of us?"
Her smile grew. "That's for me to know and for you to find
out."
"Bitch," he whispered.
She laughed. "See ya later, alligator."
Shaking his head, he turned away from Sue. He
carried his luggage down the hall to the bedroom.
Marta had left the door open. Walking in,
Neal found her already wearing a pair of old, cutoff
blue jeans. She turned to face him, a
T-shirt in her hands. "How does grilled
cheese sound?" she asked, putting her arms inside
the T-shirt.
"Great."
Her breasts lifted when she swung her arms and the
T-shirt overhead, then shook as she pulled the
shirt down.
"No bra?" Neal asked.
"Too hot. Besides, it's a little too late for
modesty around here." She stepped up to Neal,
slipped a hand behind his head, kissed him
gently on the mouth, then said, "I'll see if
Sue's had anything to eat yet."
When she was gone, Neal plucked off his towel and
tossed it on the bed. He got dressed in a pair
of gray hiking shorts and a loose, short-sleeved
shirt. Then he picked up both the damp towels and
carried them out of the bedroom. He planned to hang
them in the bathroom, but the door was shut.
He found Marta in the kitchen.
"What do you want me to do with these?" he asked.
"Sue must be in the John."
"Yeah. She asked if she could take a shower.
Care to join
her?"
Neal blushed. "I've already had mine," he said.
"If you want to ... don't let me stop you."
He shook his head. "No, thanks. But what about the
towels?"
"Just hang them over
a
chair." She nodded toward the kitchen table.
Neal draped them over the back of a chair. "Can 1
help?"
"Feel free to sit and watch."
He pulled out the middle chair, turned it
around and sat down, but didn't lean back against the
towels.
Crouching, Marta took a skillet out of a
cupboard. "We don't have to wait for Sue, by the
way. She ate at the mall. How about a beer?"
"Sure."
Marta took two cans out of her refrigerator,
brought one to Neal, and kept one for herself.
A moment after Neal popped open his can, he heard the
sound of water running; Sue had started her shower.
He imag' ined how she must look standing under the
spray-then felt guilty about it.
Marta popped open the other can of beer. She took
a sip, then set it down on the counter and looked at
Neal. "I like her," she said.
"You do? You've hardly even met her."
She shrugged. "You get a feeling about people. I do.
I can usually tell right away whether I'm going to like
someone."
"First impressions."
"Mine are usually right."
"So you're not going to throw her out?"
"Nah. Wouldn't do that even if I hated her. Which,
by the way, it surprises me I don't."
"I'm glad you don't."
"We'll just have to work things out, one way or another."
It took Marta only a few minutes to prepare
the sandwiches. Then she brought them to the table on paper
plates.
After she was seated, Neal picked up his sandwich and
bit into it. The crisp, grilled bread crunched in
his teeth, and his
mouth suddenly filled with the flavors of melted
butter and
cheddar cheese.
Marta picked up her sandwich, glanced at it, then
looked at Neal. "Now," she said, "how do we
get our hands on the reward money?"
Caught with a mouthful, Neal shook his head and continued
to chew. When his mouth was almost empty, he drank some
more beer. Then he said, "Things have changed. I
don't know. Maybe we'd better wait for
Sue."
Chapter Forty-four
Finished with their sandwiches, they went into the living
room
and sat down on the sofa. A while later, Neal
heard the bathroom
door open.
Sue came striding in, barefoot, wearing
a pleated white miniskirt and a bright yellow knit
pullover with short sleeves. "What do ya think?"
she asked. She spread her arms and twirled, the
skirt floating up higher.
"Very nice," Marta said.
"Yeah," Neal agreed.
"I got me a bikini, too, and some other stuff.
Never seen a mall like that. Wow! Anyhow, what's
up?" She dropped onto the recliner, raised her
left foot and hooked it under her right thigh. Then she
glanced from Marta to Neal, her eyebrows raised.
"We need to figure out a few things," Neal said.
"About tonight."
"Did ya tell Marta what happened?"
He shook his head.
"What?" Marta asked.
"I found out some things about Rasputin," Neal
explained. "He showed up back at my place."
"At your place? When?"
"Late last night, I don't know. Three o'clock,
around then."
Marta scowled. "You went bock?"
"Yeah. Sue was asleep and 1 wasn't tired, so
I headed over to my place and he was there. 1 saw
him picking the front door lock. He
got inside and looked around, then left."
"What did
you doThat'
Marta asked.
"Watched. 1 was hiding, and ..."
"My God! What if he'd caught you?"'
Neal shrugged.
"Did you have your gun?"
"No, but..." He saw the strange, intense way
that Sue was staring at him from her chair.
Marta looked at Sue, then back at Neal.
"What's going on? Something's going on. You're not
telling me something."
"I think y'oughta tell her," Sue said.
"What's it gonna hurt?"
"Tell me what?" Marta asked.
Neal groaned. "Jeez, Sue! Nobody's
supposed to know about it but me. Not even
you
comand now I'm gonna have to tell Marta?"
Marta, looking hurt, said, "You don't have to tell
me anything. 1 don't want to bust into your little
secrets ..."
"It's not that," Neal said. "Nobody's supposed
to know about it. Sue only found out
by accident."
"Then don't tell me," Marta said. "Simple
as that."
"I've got to, now."
"No, you don't."
"Ya better tell her," Sue said.
He sighed. Then he said, "It's the bracelet."
Sue reached to the lamp table, picked it up, and
raised it. "This," she said. She untucked her
leg, stood up, crossed to the sofa, and handed the
bracelet to Marta.
As she returned to her chair, Marta looked at the
heavy gold snake. She held it in her hand and
turned it slowly. "Nice," she said, then turned
to Neal and asked, "What's the big secret?"
"It's not exactly a normal bracelet," Neal
said.
"Is it real gold?" Marta asked.
"I think so."
"Are these real emeralds?"
"Probably."
"I'll say it's not normal. It must be worth a
ton of money."
"That isn't the main thing about it," Neal said.
"Just give it a kiss," Sue suggested.
"Kiss it?"
"Yeah. That's how ya get it to work."
"It
works?
What do you mean, 'works"?"
"It's magic."
Marta frowned at Neal. "Is she nuts?"
"Yeah, but that's beside the point."
"Hey!" Sue blurted.
"She's right about the bracelet," Neal said.
"It's magic," Marta stated, staring him in the
eyes.
"Right."
"Right," she said.
"Go on and kiss it," Sue suggested.
"Some kind of a Blarney Stone thing?" Marta
asked.
"More of a mind-reading thing," Neal said. "When you
kiss it, you. .. sort of take a trip out of your
own body and into someone else."
"Right," Marta said.
"Try it," Sue urged her.
Marta cast her a smirk. "Don't think so."
"Sue did it by mistake," Neal explained.
"That's how she found out about it. I never
would've told her. Or anyone. It's supposed
to be a complete secret."
"It came with instructions?" Marta asked.
"It came from Elise Waters."
Marta's face suddenly turned solemn.
"She gave it to me as a reward for saving her
life," Neal said.
And then he told her about it: how Elise had
presented him with the bracelet, allowed him
to experiment with it by entering her, shared the little she knew
of its history, and given him the warnings about its
dangers.
He told how he'd used the bracelet later
to learn that Rasputin's body had vanished from the
place below the freeway embankment where he'd left
it for dead. And he told of his return
to Elise-how he'd been inside her when she was
attacked in her house, but could do nothing to help her.
"You can't
do
anything while you're in there," he explained.
"That's the problem. You can't even warn a person.
.. You're
helpless. You're just an observer."
"Ya
feel
everything, too," Sue added.
"Yeah," Neal said. "It's as if you
become
the person, except that you can't have any effect.
You're a passenger taking a ride in someone
else's body."
"It's really somethin' else," Sue said. "Ya
gotta try it."
Leaning forward, Marta placed the bracelet on the
table. Then she settled back in the sofa, shaking her
head. "Thanks, but no thanks."
"Yer not gonna?" Sue asked.
"Right."
"How come?"
"A, 1 think it's hogwash. B, it's
nonsense. C, it's bullshit."
"Yer gonna change yer tune if ya try it."
"I'm not going to try it."
"It don't hurt or nothin," Sue assured her.
"Neither does taking a spin around the galaxy in a
flying saucer. Or chitchatting with the ghost of
Eleanor Roosevelt. That doesn't mean I'm
going to do it."
Sue made an odd face at Neal and
said, "She don't believe us."
"I wouldn't, either," he said.
"Well, we ain't
lyin'."
"I'm not accusing anyone of lying," Marta said.
"I'm just not interested in fooling around with some
bracelet that's supposed to transport me
into someone else. I mean, give me a break.
It's impossible, for one thing. But if it did work,
I'd realty want to stay away from it. The last thing
I'd like to do is go floating off into someone else and
eavesdrop on all their private thoughts and
feelings. I wouldn't do it if I could. And
nobody'd better do it to me, either."
"Too late," Sue said.
Marta's eyes went wide. "What?"
"I paid a little visit to ya."
Marta stared at her. "Bull," she said.
"I did."
"With the bracelet?"
"Yup."
"You got in me."
"Yup."
"No, you didn't."
"Yeah, I did."
"No way."
"If you wanna say so."
"When?"
"After ya got here."
"This morning?"
Sue nodded.
"No, you didn't."
Sue shrugged.
"Maybe we'd better try to figure out what to do
about Rasputin," Neal said, hoping to change the
direction of the conversation.
Marta ignored him. "Where were you?" she asked
Sue.
"Out here."
"Where was I?"
"In yer bedroom."
"With Neal?"
"Well, ya were in there with him pretty near the whole
day."
"What were we doing?"
Sue wiggled her eyebrows up and down.
Marta's face went scarlet. She shook her
head. "It wouldn't take any magic bracelet
to figure out what we were doing in there."
"I was in you," Sue said. "Not for real
long-figured to let ya have some privacy. But I was
in ya for a spell, there."
"Bullshit. Nobody can kiss some damn
bracelet and go flying into people."
"Yeah, ya can."
"Prove it."
"All ya go.a do is kiss the bracelet,"
Sue told her.
"Not me. If you were in me this morning, prove it."
"Nah."
"Ha! That's because you can't."
"Ya don't want me to blab stuff, do ya? With
Neal sittin' right
there?"
"I've got no secrets from Neal."
"I can think of a couple things," Sue said.
Marta suddenly looked shaken. "Like what?" she
murmured.
"I'm not tellin'. I wanna be yer friend. I'm not
gonna go and tell stuff yer tryin' to keep a
secret."
"Now you've got
me
curious," Neal said to Sue.
"Well, yer just gonna have to stay that way."
"I want to know," Marta said. "What are these big
secrets I'm supposed to have?"
"Let's you and me leave the room for a minute."
Nodding, Marta got up from the sofa. Sue climbed
out of the chair, and Marta followed her into the
hallway. When they were out of sight, Neal heard their
bare feet on the carpet. Then a door bumped
shut.
Must be
some
secrets, Neal thought.
He felt a little amused at first. Then annoyed.
Left out.
He saw the bracelet on the coffee table, within
easy reach.
No.
Staring at it, he folded his arms.
Let them have their little secrets. I won't stoop
to spying on them.
He sighed. He waited.
What's
taking them so long?
At last, he heard the door open, then their
footsteps. Sue in the lead, they walked into the
living room.
Sue cast an impish smile at him.
Marta, frowning, sat down on the sofa. She
watched Sue climb onto the chair. Then she
turned her head toward Neal and said, "Okay. She
convinced me. I guess maybe the bracelet works,
after all. But I'm not going to try it. You two can go
around spying on people's private lives if you're
into that sort of thing, but not me. I think it's a
rotten thing to do. I want nothing to do with it. If you
ask me, you oughta get rid of the bracelet-or at
least stop using it that way. It'll get you into nothing
but trouble."
"You're probably right," Neal said.
"Looks to me," Sue said, "like it's gonna get
us into half a
million bucks."
"What?"
Marta asked.
"Tell her "bout it."
Neal nodded. Facing Marta, he said, "You know how
I was starting to tell about last night? How I'd
gone over to my apartment and run into Rasputin?
Well, that is what happened, but I wasn't there in
person. I'd kissed the bracelet and left my
body here."
"Here," Sue said, and patted the arm of her chair.
"Terrific," Marta muttered.
"Sue was asleep, so I took off. And I ran
into Rasputin picking my lock. Literally. And
found myself in him. He'd come back to look for me
again. This made two nights in a row he'd paid a
visit, apparently. The first time, he threw his old
bandages into the toilet and forgot to flush. This time,
he found out I'd been back. And he figured out that
I'd been there with a friend. He saw our beer cans
on the table. So now he's planning to return again
tonight. He's hoping he'll finally get a chance to lay
his hands on me."
"And me," Sue added.
"He wants to... murder us, basically. To get
back at me for shooting him."
"Jesus," Marta muttered.
"Well, it's pretty much the way we figured."
"I guess so."
"The thing is, he has to make a pickup later
tonight. In a parking lot somewhere. Half a million
dollars."
"You're kidding."
"I was in his head. Somebody's going to pay him
half a million bucks, and he gets it
tonight. At two in the morning, actually."
"Who would be paying him half a million
dollars?" Marta asked.
"I don't know."
"Has to be Vince Conrad," Sue said.
"Elise's husband."
"That's just a guess," Neal pointed out. "Sue and
I talked about it for a while last night after I got
back. It might not be him, but it'd stand to reason.
Elise was going to divorce him. If
it went through, she would get half his property. The
house
alow
is probably worth a couple million dollars,
at least. And who
knows what else he might've lost if they'd
gotten a divorce."
"So you think he hired Rasputin to murder her?"
Neal nodded. "While he was off in Hawaii
getting himself a
suntan and a perfect alibi. Probably
instructed Rasputin not to
kill her in the house: he didn't want it turned
into a crime
scene .. ."
"Didn't want his nice home to get all mucked
up with blood," Sue suggested.
"He probably told Rasputin to take her
somewhere and really work her over-torture her, rape
her, make it look like she was grabbed by a serial
killer."
"Which he is," Sue pointed out. "Huh?" Marta
asked.
"Looks like he really is a serial killer,"
Neal said. "Rasputin." "Leslie Glitt,"
Sue said. "That's his real name. Ya believe it?"
Marta cast an amazed look at Neal. "You found
out his name?" "Yeah. Sure did. At one point,
he thought about himself in the third person-by name."
"Leslie Glitt," Sue repeated. "With a G."
"Have you tried looking him up?" Marta asked.
Neal and Sue glanced at each other.
"Not yet," Neal said. "I can't imagine he'd be
listed, though." "Never know till you try."
"And I know for a fact that he isn't staying at his
own place," Neal added. "He took over a
house. 1 was there. I went... back with him after he
left my place. He had a man and woman ...
the woman wasn't dead yet. But they were in the
garage. He'd been torturing them."
Marta met his eyes. "Where? Where's the house?"
"I don't know." He shook his head, grimacing.
"I just don't know. 1 wasn't paying attention
to directions on the way over. And neither was he.
All of a sudden, he swung into this driveway. 1
didn't even get a good look at the house before he
pulled into the garage. 1 don't even know what
street it's on, much less the address. If I
had any idea, 1 would've gone back to the place
with my gun last night and .. . put an end to it there
and then."
Marta reached over and gently rubbed the back of his
neck.
She said nothing. Sue watched, a slight smile
on her face.
"I just don't know where he is," Neal muttered.
"But we know where he's gonna be tonight," Sue said.
"We'll get him then, and we'll grab us half a
million bucks, too."
"Let's just see if he is in the phone
directory," Marta said. She stopped rubbing
Neal's neck, stood up and left the room. A
couple of minutes later, she returned with the hefty
book. She sat down beside Neal, spread it open
on her lap, and started leafing through its
pages. "That's G-L-I-T?" she asked.
"Two Ps," Neal said. A moment later, he
said, "Actually, I'm not sure. I haven't seen
it spelled out. But when he said it to himself, 1 got the
impression that it was GL-1-TT."
"And here it is," Marta said. "I. Glitt."
"His address there?" Sue asked.
"Yeah."
"Holy smoke. Let's go and visit."
"He won't be there," Neal said.
"Let's go anyhow!"
"Might be a waste of time," Marta said. "Let's
call first and see what happens." She hunched over
the book for a few moments, then put it on the table,
stood up and walked over to her telephone. After
tapping in the number, she said, "We'll just see who
answers."
Sue whispered at Neal, "Told ya she's
smart."
Marta, raising a hand for silence, said, "Hello.
This is Doctor Irma Klein, calling from the
emergency room of Westside Medical Center.
We have a Mr. Leslie Glitt who was just brought
in for treatment following a motor vehicle
accident." She listened briefly, then
said, "Leslie Glitt." She listened again, this time
nodding and frowning. "No, he didn't have any
identification. He told me ... 1 really can't
describe him very well-he was heavily bandaged. But
I would say that he's approximately six feet
tall, very thin, with black hair ... Hard to say.
just from his voice, I'd guess maybe thirty,
forty?... Uh, huh .. . No, I looked it up
in the phone directory ... In surgery ... Why
do you say that?"
A few seconds later, Marta made a face as
if she'd just sat
down in something wet and sticky.
"I see," she said. "You're sure about that?...
Uh-huh. Well, then this
must
be someone else." She shook her head. "I have no
idea why he might be using your brother's name ...
1 will. I'll look into it... Really? Why the
police?"
She listened for a long time, nodding and saying very little,
often shaking her head, glancing from Neal to Sue.
Finally, she said, "Don't worry about anything,
Lois. I'm sure this can't be your brother. But I
will notify the police, and have them look
into the matter." Marta made a frustrated face.
"Let me just ask you one thing. 1 did notice
something else about this man. Did your brother have webbed
feet?. .. Webbed feet... No, it's a somewhat
rare anomaly-what we used to call a birth
defect. 1 happened to notice because this patient was
brought in barefoot. He has a cutaneous
membrane between the toes of both feet... He
didn't?"
Marta beamed a smile at Neal and Sue.
"Well, then the man we have here is obviously not
your brother. This really does confirm it. All 1
can figure is that the name must be a coincidence ...
It is a very unusual name, but there's no way that your
brother could've developed webbed feet later in
life. A person is either born with the condition, or
not... Right, still dead. I'm sorry for disturbing you
over this situation. I didn't mean to ruin your day .
. . Well, thank you. And thanks so much for your
help, Lois. Bye, now."
Marta hung up, tilted back her head, took a
deep breath, and blew air at the ceiling from her
pursed lips.
"Wow," Sue said.
"You ought to be a detective," Neal said.
Marta returned to the sofa, flopped on it, and
swung her feet up onto the coffee table. "I
feel like a jerk for lying to the poor woman. Not
to mention, I scared the crap out of her."
"She's Leslie's sister?" Neal asked.
"Yeah. Lois. According to her, Leslie's dead. And
she wants him to stay that way."
Neal had guessed as much from Marta's side of the
telephone
conversation. He could hardly believe it, though.
"His sister
thinks he's
dead?"
"He is officially among the deceased. He shot it
out with the cops in San Francisco seven years
ago."
"Then how could this guy be him?"
"They lost his body. Apparently, he was struck
by gunfire as he was climbing over the rail of the
Golden Gate Bridge. And down he went."
"Off the Golden
Gate?"
"Yeah. And into San Francisco Bay, where he
was never seen again."
"Maybe this isn't the same guy," Neal
said.
"Name's the same. And her brother had the same
build."
"Did her brother have the webbed feet?" Sue
asked.
Marta stared at her, eyebrows rising. "No," she
said.
"Well, then ..."
"I made it up about the webbed feet."
"Did ya?"
"I didn't want Lois to know her brother's still
alive. She's terrified of him. She didn't
tell me what, but I got the impression that he
used to do some pretty horrible things to her. On top
of which, the cops thought he was this guy called 'The
Beast of Belvedere.""
"My God," Neal muttered. "You're kidding. The
Beast of Belvedere?"
"You've heard of him?"
"Sure. He was breaking into homes on Belvedere
Island ... It's one of those very exclusive
neighborhoods .. . Up in Marin County, just
across the bridge from San Francisco. Woodsy
hills, narrow little streets, a lagoon, houses that
cost a small fortune ... This guy got
into four or five of these places and murdered anyone
he found in them. Whole families, in a few
cases. Tortured the people. Mutilated them. Raped
them. Never left any survivors. The press
started calling him the Beast of Belvedere. I knew
all about it at the time, but... it
was
seven or eight years ago, I guess. From what
I remember, they never had a suspect. And 1
don't recall anything about a police shoot-out on
the Golden Gate. The killings just ended,
suddenly."
"Apparently when Leslie got shot off the
Golden Gate."
"I can't believe anyone could survive a thing like
that," Neal
said.
Sue met his eyes. "Yer the guy that calls him
Rasputin."
Chapter Forty-five
"It's about four-thirty now," Marta said after a
glance at the
clock on her VCR. "The money pickup isn't
till two tonight, so
we've got plenty of time to figure things
out."
"You
do
have tonight off?" Neal asked.
"Right. Thursdays and Fridays."
"I guess we could go on over to my place any
time," Neal said. "Glitt probably won't show
up till sometime after dark, but the earlier we get
there, the better."
"Is that what you have in mind?" Marta asked. "We
wait for him to show up at your apartment?"
"I guess so."
"Then what?"
Neal shrugged. "We grab him."
"Make him tell us where to go for the money," Sue
explained.
"Or I'll get into his mind with the bracelet,"
Neal said, "and find out that way."
"Okay." Marta nodded her understanding. "We learn
whatever we need to know. Then what?"
"Go and get it," Sue said.
"What about Glitt?" She looked at Neal.
"You're saying we grab him inside your apartment,
make him talk ... whatever. Then do we leave him
there? Take him with us?"
Neal realized he hadn't actually given much thought
to the matter. "Well," he said, "I guess that
depends. Would all three of us be going to the
pickup?"
"We don't wanna leave
anybody
behind to stand guard on him." Sue said. "I wouldn't do
it, not even if we had him hogtied "n blinded."
"It'd be too dangerous," Marta agreed. "And
we can't exactly
let him go." Eyes on Neal, she asked, "Would
you want to kill
him?"
"Maybe. 1 mean, yeah. He has to be killed,
I think. I've always figured I would kill him.
But not in my apartment. If 1
did
do it there, we'd have to haul out the body. We couldn't
just
leave
him. And somebody might see us."
"Dead or alive," Sue said, "we can't just let
him stay in yer rooms."
Neal shook his head. "No. And either way, it'll be
a major problem."
"Not to mention," Marta said, "the whole idea of
trying to 'grab" him in your apartment when he shows
up to kill you tonight. How do you plan to manage that?"
"Stick my gun in his face."
"What if he puts up a fight? If you have
to shoot him, we'll never find out where to go for the
money."
"I'll try to just wound him."
"He can't get killed anyhow," Sue pointed out.
A single side of her mouth lifted. "Right?"
"It almost looks that way," Neal admitted.
"But even if you only wound him," Marta said, "your
neighbors will hear the shot. One of them might phone
the cops."
"Nobody in L.a. calls in about gunfire,"
Neal said.
"I bet they do when the shots come from their own
building. Or if not call the cops, they might do
some checking around on their own. Which they might do if
there's
any
sort of major disturbance-shouts, a struggle ..."
"I gotta hunch y'ain't keen on the big
plan."
"It seems to have some big problems."
Nodding, Neal said, "Maybe we need to jump him
outside, huh? Right after he leaves his car. Before
he gets to the building."
"And then what'll we do, interrogate him on the
sidewalk?"
"Well..."
"Ya want my plan?" Sue asked.
They both looked at her and nodded. "Here's what
1 think," Sue said. "I think Marta's already
fig
ured out how to get the job done and we oughta do it her
way."
Marta grinned. "How did you know?"
"Oh, I know more than I think."
Neal turned to Marta. "Let's hear it."
She grinned. "We don't wait for Glitt to show
up at your place tonight. Instead, we make a
preemptive strike."
"A
who?"
Sue asked.
"Means we beat him to the punch," Neal explained.
"We go out and nail him before he comes for us."
To Marta, he said, "Only one problem with that. We
don't know where to find him. That house last
night, I haven't got the slightest idea ..."
"We don't know where to find Glitt, Rasputin,
the Beast of Belvedere. But I'll bet we can find
Vince Conrad."
Neal stared at her. He suddenly felt a little
shaky. "Pay him a visit?"
Marta nodded. "He's the guy with the money. If
he's planning to hand over half a million bucks
to Glitt tonight, he probably has it in his house
right this very minute."
"You're probably right."
"When'll we go?" Sue asked.
Marta grinned and said, "Now?"
"Haw! That's the ticket!"
"I don't know," Neal said.
"It's perfect," Marta said. "This way, we find
out whether he really did hire Glitt to kill
Elise. If he's got the payoff money, we
find out where it is. That's where your bracelet should come
in handy. You get inside him and find out whatever we
need to know. If we're lucky, maybe we can
take it from him."
"Yeah!" Sue blurted. "We swipe the bundle
right out from under his nose!"
Neal moaned.
Still grinning, Marta said, "Then here's poor old
Vince minus the half a million bucks he owes
Glitt. Comes two o'clock in the morning, what's he
going to do?"
Sue gleefully threw in, "What's Glitt
gonna do?"
"Not the sort of chap I'd like to have mad at
me,"
Marta said.
Neal took a deep breath. He felt trembly
and sick, but excited by the plan. "In other words,"
he said, "we steal the money from
Vince. He can't make tonight's payoff. Glitt
gets pissed off at
him and all hell breaks loose."
"Beautiful?" Marta asked.
"Brilliant," Neal said. Wrinkling his nose,
he added, "Now if we could just hire someone to do it
far
us."
"You got no reason to be scared," Sue told
him. "Yer gonna be all safe and sound in the
bastard's head. Anybody gets hurt, it's
gonna be me or Marta."
"Maybe that's
why
I'm scared."
"We'll be safe," Marta said. "Vince didn't
have the guts to kill Elise-had to
hire
someone else to do it. So he's not about to try anything
with a couple friendly babes like us."
"Anyhow, yer gonna be in his head. If he
takes on any funny ideas, just get back in yer
own self and come to the rescue."
"You're kidding," Neal said, when they returned to the
living
room. They both wore suntan oil that made their
skin glisten,
swimsuits that showed most of it, and nothing else.
Neal had seen Marta's suit before. A skimpy,
two-piece affair the color of butter, its
imitation leather was cut in a shaggy style that made
her look like some sort of Hollywood jungle
woman- Tarzan's Jane or Raquel Welch in
One Million Years B.c.
Sue wore a shiny black bikini. Smiling, she
raised her arms and twirled around, modeling it for
Neal.
"You're not wearing that over to Vince*ness,
are you?"
"Sure am."
"We're going there to distract the guy," Marta
pointed out.
"Well, you'll distract him all right. Both of you
will. If your naked breasts don't..."
"They are not naked," Marta said.
"As good as."
"A gal's decent long as her nips don't show,"
Sue explained. "Marta's don't and mine
don't..."
"Your ass shows."
"A dang nice ass it is, too," she said, and
gave one of her bare buttocks a soft slap.
"A lot of people wear thongs these days," Marta
explained. "I've thought about getting one, myself."
"jeez." Sighing, Neal shook his head. "Don't
get me wrong,
okay? You both look ... great. But can't you wear
some clothes,
or something? At least on the way over?"
Smiling at Marta, Sue said, "He just don't
want anyone
else
to get an eyeful."
"Terribly selfish of him."
"I'll say. Here he gets to have the both of us, and
he don't want nobody else to even look.
Doesn't want
anybody."
Keeping a straight face, Neal said, "If people
start looking, they'll start crashing. Might even
crash into ms. I'm only concerned about your safety,
ladies."
"Well, he's got a point," Marta said.
"I hate to hide my new bikini from the world,"
Sue said.
"If you don't put on something," Neal told her,
"you'll burn your butt on the car seat."
Marta and Sue started shaking their heads and laughing.
Neal suddenly realized they had intended from the start
to wear clothes over their swimsuits. Without a word
more, they headed back for the bedroom.
"Very funny!" he called.
"We thought so," Marta called back.
At Sue's request, they used Malta's Jeep
Wrangler. They agreed
to let her ride in front, so Neal took the
backseat. Which was
fine with him, even though the space was so
narrow that he had
to sit sideways. The car had no top-only a
windshield and roll
bar-so the rear seat was a great place for catching the
late
afternoon sunlight and wind.
Neal also had a wonderful view of Marta and
Sue. They sat side by side in the bucket
seats, their hair blowing behind them, gold in the
sunlight. He could see the right side of Marta's
face and neck, the left side of Sue's. They
both wore sunglasses. They both wore
sleeveless tops. Marta's right arm was out, bent
slightly at the elbow, her hand on the steering wheel.
It gleamed with suntan oil all the way up to her
shoulder. The soft golden hairs were slicked down.
Sue's arm hung by her side, elbow resting on the
center console. It gleamed like Marta's, but didn't
seem to have so much hair.
My God, they're both so beautiful.
We
oughta
be
going to
the beach, not . . .
"Hey," he said, speaking loudly to be heard over
the road noises and the wind. "Why don't we skip
Vince's place and head for a beach?"
Marta turned her head and called, "The beaches are
too dangerous. Do you want us to get shot?"
"You think we'll be safer dropping in
unexpectedly on a murderer?" Neal asked.
"You bet."
Sue turned her head and laughed.
Both women had their heads turned toward the middle
and Neal could see the profile of their faces.
They could be sisters, he thought. Marta and her kid
sister, Sue. Marta older, larger, with a lush
body that Sue probably envied. Marta the more
sensible of the two, the better educated, the more refined.
But Sue the wilder of the pair. A tomboy
to Marta's woman. A kid, somehow tough and
vulnerable at the same time.
But both women were very much alike with their fine blond
hair and smooth skin and blue eyes, with their
gentleness, with their mischief, with their passion and love
for Neal.
How could I be this lucky? he wondered.
Can't
last.
Sure it can, he told himself. They
Uke
each other. Hard to believe, but they do.
The best of all possible worlds . . , But somebody
could get hurt.
"Let's not do this," he called.
"What's the matter?" Marta asked.
"I don't care about the money. You know? Not really.
Let's turn back, okay? Before we get ourselves
into some kind of a real mess." Sue looked over her
shoulder at him. "It's half a million
buckaroos,
hon."
"It's not worth dying for."
"Nobody's gonna die," Sue said.
"How do you know?"
Marta's head turned. "What else can we do?"
she asked. "If
we just go back to my place and forget the whole thing,
Glitt's
still going to be looking for you. If he doesn't get
stopped, he'll
kill
you, sooner or later."
"Not if he can't find me. We could all
take off... move away. Maybe to Arizona or
New Mexico, or-was
"That wouldn't guarantee anything," Marta said.
"No matter where we might go ... even if we
change our names ... there would always be a risk of him
finding you. Anyway, you still want to write for the
movies. You almost
have
to live in L.a. for that."
"Wouldn't have to."
"The thing is, as long as he's alive, Glitt's
going to be after you. You shot him full of holes.
He isn't going to forget that. He's going to keep
hunting you. Eventually, he'll find you."
"Not to mention me and Marta, we'll more than likely
be with ya when he does. Ya don't want him
gettin us, do ya?"
Neal started to remember what Glitt had done
to Elise... started to see it in bloody color on
the screen of his mind. To stop the images, he quickly
said, "We could go to the police and tell them everything.
Then
they
could take care of the whole mess."
"They haven't taken care of much so far,"
Marta pointed out. "Glitt's still in the world. Vince
is still a free man. Last I heard, he isn't
even a suspect. And if the cops
do
grab them, who's to say there won't be a team of
slick attorneys come along and get them both off
the hook with a bunch of lies?"
"I know," Neal said. "I know."
"This is Los Angeles."
"I know."
"You want these guys to get away with murdering
Elise?"
"No, of course not."
Sue called over her shoulder, "We gotta take
these assholes down. If we don't, who's
gonna?"
Marta nodded. "We'll never be safe, the three of
us, until they're both dead."
"I know you're probably right," Neal said. "I'm
just scared, that's all."
"Tell ya what," Sue said to him. "Quit
lookin" on the dark
side of stuff and start thinkin' about half a
million smackeroos."
"I'll try," he said.
He realized they were now rushing along San
Vicente and bearing down on Greenhaven, the road
to Vince Conrad's house.
If we
just
don't make the
turn,
we'll be at the beach in a few
minutes . . .
With no instructions from Neal, Marta made the
turn.
Chapter Forty-six
"I'm surprised the place isn't crawling with
reporters and gawk ers,"
Marta said as she drove slowly up Greenhaven.
From here, they could see a fair distance ahead. There were
no news vans, no crowds.
"This guy ain't exactly O.j.," Sue pointed
out.
"Still, he is an actor and Elise was an
Olympic star."
"What kind of coverage has it been getting?"
Neal asked. "We've mostly tried to avoid it."
"Fairly big. A day doesn't go by that it
doesn't get some kind of coverage.
Elise's funeral was yesterday. That was one of the top
stories."
"Vince attended?" Neal asked.
"Oh, sure. How would he look if he
didn't?"
"Has there been anything about my letter to the cops?"
"Nary a word."
"It obviously didn't do much good, since . . .
here we are. This is it on the right."
Though Neal had never seen the place in daylight,
he recognized the heavy foliage bordering the
road, the small entrance gate and the larger gate at
the driveway. Through its iron bars, he glimpsed
the garage door.
"No car in the driveway," Marta mentioned.
"Maybe he's not home," Neal said.
"Easy way to find out," Sue said.
A few feet past the driveway gate, Neal
said, "This'll be a
good place to park."
"Shouldn't we go farther away?" Marta asked.
"Just so we can't be seen from the house. I want to be
near enough to get inside fast if there's trouble."
Nodding, she slowed the Jeep and eased it to the right.
The side tires dropped slightly. They
made crackly sounds crunching the leafy ground
cover. Then bushes squeaked against the door.
Marta stopped and shut off the engine. She and Sue
both turned to look back at Neal.
"I guess we're really going ahead with it," he
said.
Marta nodded. "How long will it take you to go in and
scout around?"
"With the bracelet? A minute or two,"
"And you'll come back right away if there's a
problem?"
"Yeah."
"If there isn't a problem," she said, "just go ahead
and... enter him, or whatever you do with that thing. We'll
get ready. If you aren't back in four or five
minutes, we'll assume everything is okay and
we'll go to the door."
Neal took a deep, trembling breath. He blew
it out slowly. He shook his head. He muttered,
"Oh, man."
"Relax," Sue told him. "Yer makin' me
nervous."
"Everything'll be fine," Marta assured him.
"Okay," Neal muttered. "Okay." He
settled back in the seat, leaning to the side
and stretching out his legs.
"Maybe you should get lower," Marta suggested.
"I don't want to seem like I'm trying to hide.
You know, if someone comes by. This way, I'll
look like I'm taking a little snooze while I
wait for my friends to come back."
"Better not stay out for very long at a time," Sue
told him. "Check on yerself every so often."
"We'll see. With any luck, Vince won't
even be home."
"Don't say that," Sue said. Thrusting her arm
though the gap between the seatbacks, she gave his leg a
gentle slap.
"Be careful," Marta told him.
"You, too. Both of you. Just remember, I'll be
inside him. If
he decides to pull anything, I'll bail out and
come after you as
fast as I can."
He could feel the pistol against his thigh, and patted it
through his pocket.
"Hope it's loaded," Sue said.
"It's always loaded," Neal told her. He sighed
again. "Guess that's it, unless .. ."
"If everything goes all right," Marta
said, "just give the horn a couple of toots when
you're ready to leave. We'll try to make a
graceful exit so we don't arouse his
suspicion."
"It'll get aroused damn fast when he finds out that
his money's gone. So use fake names. Try not
to give him
any
way of figuring out who you are."
"We'll be amazingly cagey," Marta said.
"Just watch and see."
"I will. One more thing .. . While you're busy being
so cagey, see if you can bring up a subject
that'll make him think about the payoff. But be subtle
about it."
"Will do," Marta said. "Ready?"
"Not really."
"Let's get this show on the road."
"All right. Good luck. So long. Be careful."
He took another deep breath, then raised his arm
and kissed the serpent's head.
He felt himself rise weightless.
Looking down, he saw his body sprawled in the
rear of the Jeep.
Marta and Sue unfastened their seatbelts,
swung the straps out of the way, and pulled off their
shirts. Then, staying seated, they started to remove
their shorts.
Neal wanted to stay and watch-a very strange and
wonderful view from up here, looking straight down
at them as they struggled with their clothes-but he felt
guilty. He had a job to do. If he wasted time
here, the gals might end up walking into trouble.
Better get a move on.
The mere wish was enough to send him speeding off. He
rushed over the top of the brick wall, through the
branches of
a tree, across the driveway and over the front
lawn, then
through the front door of the house.
Before he even had a chance to start his search, he
spotted a man through a sliding glass door at the
other end of the living room.
It has to be him!
The way the man sat, however, Neal could only see
his bare legs stretched out on the green pad of a
poolside lounge.
Take it easy.
Don't
rush in. Wait till you're sure it's
him.
Wary of entering the man by accident, Neal veered off
to the right and passed through the glass wall a good distance
away from him. Then he drifted out over the swimming
pool and turned around.
The man on the lounge was Vince Conrad, all right.
Neal recognized him from a couple of dozen
movies. Early in his career, Vince had played the
leading man in a few films that never quite made it.
He possessed the handsome features of a lead, but
lacked something. Character? In spite of his ru)i
features and well-toned muscles, there was a
simpering weakness to him that couldn't be disguised.
Unfit to be cast as the protagonist, he'd quickly
found himself getting steady work as a heavy. For the past
decade, he'd been the sly, sleazy villain of
nearly every film in which he appeared.
He looked the part now, sprawled on his lounge by the
pool wearing sunglasses and a skimpy white
Spandex swimsuit, his dark skin gleaming with
suntan oil, a cocktail on a tray by his
side, a cordless telephone in his hand.
Time's wasting! Go
for it!
Neal plunged into the man.
Whoa! What's going on
here?
Sunbaked, sweaty, mellow, half tanked and
half erect.
And feeling great. Way too great, Neal thought, for a
guy who buried his wife yesterday.
And who's this on the
phone?
"Just relaxing here by the pool," Vince explained.
"Having meself a cold toddy."
"All by your lonesome?"
"Just lonely me. Mourning the loss of my beloved
spouse.
Attempting to drown my sorrow."
"Shame, shame."
Though Vince was well-soused, it was the woman on the
phone who sounded loopy. She had a breathy drawl
as if she were trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe.
Give her half a
blink,
she'll start angling to come over.
Vince thought. Not
today, sweet stuff.
"I wish you were here, Pamela," he said.
"That might be arranged."
"I'd
love
to have you here. You know that, don't you? But it's too
soon. What'll the coppers think if a sweet
bit of stuff like you trots over to play?"
"They aren't watching your house, are they?" She
sounded appalled.
"Might be. Might be. One never knows about such
things. For that matter, they might be eavesdropping
on this very conversation at this very moment."
"Do you think so?"
"They might be. Coppers are a tricky lot."
Vince grinned, amused by himself.
"They better not be listening!" Pamela snapped.
"Hello? Cops? If you're listening in on us, you
oughta be ashamed- persecuting an innocent man this
way. You know good and well he was all the way over
in Hawaii. He couldn't
possibly
have murdered Elise. Haven't you ever heard of an
"airtight" alibi? Well, that's exactly
what Vince has. Airtight. So you shouldn't be
pestering him. Why don't you just hang up the phone
right now and go and fuck yourself!"
Vince chuckled.
What a
moronic
twit,
he thought.
Why do I put up with her?
Vince answered his question with the mental image of a
tawny woman climbing naked out of his pool,
walking toward him. She had sleek black hair
cut short like a pixie. She had a tan everywhere.
She looked familiar to Neal. An actress? he
wondered. A model? He thought that maybe he'd
seen her not long ago on Letterman.
"How was that?" she asked.
"You gave them an admirable piece of your mind,"
Vince told her. A
piece you can ill afford to loose, you gorgeous,
nincompoop.
"Why should they even care if I come over?" she
asked.
"It'll look bad, my sweet. That's all."
"I don't care. I miss you, Vincent. I
miss you so much, I can hardly stand it."
"I miss you, too. Every moment. But it won't do
either of us any good if you're seen-was
"I don't care. I want to be with you.
I don't care-was
"Perhaps in a few days."
"I can't stand this! You didn't kill her. It
isn't fair that they won't let you live your own
life."
"We'll simply have to keep our passions
bridled-was
The sound of the doorbell chimes stopped Vince's
voice. He felt a quick flutter of anxiety.
"I have to hang up, now. Someone's at the door.
I'll phone you later. Au
revoir."
Without waiting for a response, he thumbed the power
off switch.
He swung his legs off the lounge and slipped his
feet into a pair of flip-flops.
Who the fuck? Cops or reporters. Bastard
fucks, why don't they leave me alone?
He set the phone on the tray. Then he stood
up.
Don't
they
know I'm in mourning.

He picked up his slippery, cold
glass and took a sip.
Vodka and tonic.
It tasted to Neal exactly like the drinks he'd had
with Elise.
He felt a sudden ache of loss.
My ache or his? he wondered.
Must be mine.
Because Vince, walking toward the nearest glass
door, seemed to be thinking of other matters. I'm
not
exactly decent.
He gazed at the front of his white swimsuit.
Look at that boner. I should put something on. No
telling who'As be at the door.
Homicide dicks? A
crew from
Hard Copy?
Chuckling, he rolled open the door and stepped into the
living room. The air inside felt cool on his
hot, sweaty skin. The swimsuit was clinging to him like
a rag of clammy skin.
Fine just
the way 1 am. If they don't want a peek at
Vincent
Conrad in his natural habitat, fuck
them. What you see is what you
get.
As he slid the door shut, the chimes rang again.
What
if it
is
the
cops?
He imagined himself opening the door ...
And there stand a pair of middle-aged and tired-looking
L.a.p.d. homicide detectives-the heavy
one with the stacked silver hair and the wiry bald
one-Van
Ness and Long, dial's them-
and they stare at him with their weary see-all eyes and
Van Ness says, "Vincent Conrad, we're
arresting you for murder. You have the right to remain
silent..."
Feeling suddenly all shrunken and cold inside,
Vince stopped in the foyer and gazed at the door.
They haven't
got anything on
me. Impossible. It has to be some' body else.
Who?
He swung open the door.
And stood there gaping out at Marta and Sue.
To Vince, they were strangers.
Strangers who were not Van Ness and Long.
Who were, instead, a couple of beautiful females
in sunglasses and scanty swimsuits.
But
who the fuck are they?
"May I help you, girls?" he asked.
The larger of the two, smiling, stuck out her hand and
said, "I'm Tracy. You must be Vince."
Nodding, feeling a bit confused but pleasant,
Vince took hold of her hand. "Very nice to meet
you," he said. Shaking her hand, he watched her
breasts wobble slightly. They were tanned and shiny.
Her leather top didn't hide much. He could see
down between them.
Neal felt Vince's penis start to rise again.
Damn it! Marta's turning him on!
She's
supposed to,
he reminded himself.
The rotten bastard doesn't have to look at her that
way.
"And this is my cousin ..." Marta said.
"Katt," Sue broke in. "With a K.
And two Ts."
"Katt," Vince repeated. Smiling, he took
her offered hand.
"Very nice to meet you, too." When he shook her
hand, her
breasts didn't wobble.
Oh,
they're so nice and
small
and firm. By God, what is she, sixteen? Look
at those
nipples! Look
at them!
Vince imagined himself lifting the black patches of the
bikini top away from her breasts and taking one of her
nipples between his teeth. Squeezing it between his teeth.
Neal could feel it in there, long and rubbery. He could
taste it.
He could also feel Vince growing even larger, pushing
out against the front of his clingy damp swimsuit.
Had Marta or Sue noticed
that?
Neal couldn't tell; not with their eyes hidden behind the
dark sunglasses.
Still holding Sue's hand, Vince said, "Do
1 know either of you?"
"I'm just Tracy's cousin from Sacramento," Sue
said.
"Elise invited us over to swim in the pool,"
Marta said.
Holy shit, Neal thought.
Vince's mind seemed to be reeling, stumbling about
at a loss for coherence, wondering what sort of
game these two gals might be trying to play, hoping
they were for real-Don't
they know she's dead for God's sake? They been on
Mars?
comwanting to invite them in-
"Glad you stopped by! Sure, sure, you're
welcome to use the pool. I was about to go in for a dip
myself
comb who are they
really?
I don't care who they are.
The one's too young to be a cop, anyway.
I want to see more of her, whoever she is. More of the
other, too. Tracy and Katt.
"Come in," Vince said. "Please, come in." Still
holding Sue's hand, he stepped backward and drew
her across the threshold. "I wasn't
expecting company." Marta entered. Releasing
Sue's hand, Vince closed the door. "But you're
certainly welcome to use the pool. May I offer
you two girls a drink? I do believe the sun's
over the yardarm. How about a vodka and tonic?"
"That'd be great," Sue said.
"Sure," said Marta. "I could go for that."
"Right this way, girls." Vince wanted to walk behind
them
for the rear view, but figured he really needed to lead
the way.
So he walked in front. They followed him into the
den.
It looked familiar to Neal.
Like a room from a wonderful, sad dream: here the
sofa where he'd stretched out and tried the bracelet;
here the place where Elise had stood when he entered
her; there the bar stools; there the bar where they'd had their
drinks, where later she'd taken the aspirin and
Alka-Seltzer just before starting the walk back to her
bedroom with Neal's card in the pocket of her
pajama shirt, stiff against her nipple ...
And now it's sleazy Vince behind the bar, making
drinks for my women after he's killed his own.
Chapter Forty-seven
Marta and Sue perched themselves on the high stools in
front
of him. Vince, behind the counter, stole glances at them
while
he made the drinks.
Perhaps someone hired them to cheer me up. A
Strip'O-gram sort of deal.
Who would do such a
thing?
Bill?
Unless
they are cops. No, no, not cops. Reporters?
Who cares? They're fabulous stuff. Just gotta
do what comes
naturally.
Toss in a good
load, loosen them up.
He dumped an extra shot of vodka into each of the
three ice-filled
glasses.
"Is Elise around?" Marta asked.
She really doesn't know? Or is this a trick?
Better play it like a trick, just to be safe.
Shaking his head and trying to put a sorrowful
expression on his face, Vince poured
tonic water into the glasses. Then he said, "You
haven't heard?"
"Heard what?" Marta asked.
Sue shrugged her fragile, tanned shoulders.
"This last Sunday night, someone broke into the house
and ..." Vince's voice cracked. He brought
tears into his eyes. He thought,
Excellent,
He's a pretty good actor, after all, Neal
decided.
"Elise is dead," Vince said, and lowered his head
and clasped a hand across his eyes as if to hide the
shame of his tears.
Maybe he's not so good, Neal thought.
"She was .. . brutally murdered."
"Oh, dear God," Marta said. "I'm so
sorry."
"Who done it?" Sue asked.
Vince, still covering his eyes, shook his head. "We
don't know." His mind flashed a picture of
Glitt's gaunt, bearded face.
That's it." Neal thought. Gotcha,
you.
bastard! You did it! You hired him!
"I was away on a trip at the time,"
Vince said.
"I just can't believe she's dead," Marta
muttered, very convincingly disturbed by the news. "I'm
so sorry. This is terrible. We never would've come
over ..."
"It's quite all right." Vince rubbed his wet eyes,
then cast a brave smile at her. "I'm glad you
came. Both of you," he added, and turned his
grief-stricken smile on Sue.
"We was on a campout since Friday," Sue
told him. "We only just got back this mornin".
Must be how come we missed the news. Not as how I
knew
Elise myself, but Tracy's told me lots and
lots about her."
Lots and lots? What does Tracy
know?
Who the
fuck is
she? What
if
Elise told her about our fights ... the breakup?
"How long did you know my wife?" he asked
Marta.
She shrugged, which drew Vince's eyes
to her breasts. "Six months or so, 1 guess."
"But I've never met you," he said.
"We got together for lunch quite a lot. Also, you
weren't around very often. I've been over here to the
house . . . oh, 1 don't know ... ten or
twelve times, probably. You were always away. The
fact is, Elise made a point of never asking
me over when you were home."
Ah. Little
wonder.
Didn't want me lading
my eyes on a babe
like-
"You weren't actually supposed to be home
today,"
Marta went on. "Elise told me you'd be in
Hawaii."
"And so I was. But..." He managed to choke up
again. "I came back early . . . Because of...
I'm sorry." He shook his head and wiped his
eyes.
"I'm really sorry we came along and disturbed
you," Marta said, climbing down from the stool. "We
had no idea. This is so awful. We never would've
come if we'd known."
"You're not leaving?" Vince managed to ask.
"We'd better," Marta said. "I mean, dropping
in on you at a time like this ..."
Sue, giving him a somewhat forlorn look as if she
hated to go, swiveled around and slid off her stool.
For the first time, Vince saw her from behind.
His gaze latched on her buttocks-naked except
for the slip of black fabric up her crack. Lust
slammed through him. He went almost breathless. His
heart pounded. His penis grew rigid, tilting
upward. He felt it pushing at the flimsy
fabric of his swim suit.
"Don't go," he said. "Please. At least stay
for a while, enjoy your drinks, have a swim. I
insist."
"We really shouldn't," Marta said.
"No, please. Elise wouldn't have wanted you to run
off. I'm sure of that. She would've insisted that you
stay and enjoy yourselves. Please. For her sake. And for
mine. You two... you're like a breath of fresh air.
Truly. Ever since I came back, it's been
nothing but tearful well-wishers trying to console me.
And reporters. And police. I'm so ... so
weary of it all. But you two ... a couple of
lovely, cheerful young women who came here
at Elise's invitation simply to enjoy yourselves...
Stay. Please. You do my heart good."
When he said that about his heart, he clapped a hand
to his bare chest.
Marta and Sue looked at each other.
"Please. Stay."
"Fine by me," Sue said.
"Well," Marta said, "all right." To Vince, she
said, "If you're
sure.
"I'm absolutely, one hundred percent sure."
He sighed. With all the fuss, his passion had
subsided somewhat. Instead of urgent lust, he now
felt proud of himself for convincing them to stay. He also
felt a certain quiet thrill of anticipation.
They're mine now. Get them nice and soused, and
we'Us all
go in
far a little
swim.
He imagined himself with them, cavorting with them in the
pool, all three naked and gleaming.
"Not
a chance, asshole."
Vince, unaware of Neal's remark, cut
wedges of lemon and squeezed them into the drinks
while he imagined himself wrenching off Marta's
swimsuit top and setting her breasts free.
He gave each drink a quick stir with the blade of his
paring knife.
"Shall we take them out to the pool?" he suggested.
He watched the two women step forward and pick up
their glasses. Then he lifted his own glass. He
stepped around the end of the bar, slid the door open, and
said, "Girls first."
They filed past him, almost brushing against his body with
their smooth, oiled skin.
Look at
them! Mggi God!
Tracy and Katt.
He wanted them both. Badly. And knew that he
would succeed. If not this afternoon in or by the pool, then
tonight. He would ask them to stay for dinner.
He isn't suspicious of them anymore, Neal
realized as he observed the plans forming in Vince's
mind.
Plans for grilling steaks on the barbecue, keeping
their glasses loaded with vodka and tonic, eating
outside by candlelight. Later, after a leisurely
dinner-including a nice cabernet sau
vignon-they
would be good and soused and ready for a night swim. Get
them to take their suits off.
"It
feels so much better that way. You feel so free.
The water slides over your skin like a lover's
caress." They always
go
for that
line.
They always want to be naked in the pool. And they
want me to see them naked. All of them. Always.
And after the skinny-dipping, they always want
to ...
Fuck!
I've got
the fucking dropoff tonight! Gotta take that fucking
ma-nine
his money.
The thought of it made Vince feel squirmy
inside.
He's terrified of Glitt, Neal realized. Why
the hell did you hire Glitt if you're scared
to death of him?
Because he's the best man for the job? If you
want a sadistic rapist to take care of your wife
for you ...
Stop it! Neal warned himself. You're missing stuff.
Pay attention.
. . .
get there by two . . . Leave around one-thirty?
Drink in hand, Vince stepped outside. That
oughta do it, can't take more
than
half an hour. Why'd he pick a place so far
away?
Vince started to close the door, sliding it slowly.
I'd better get there early. Good and early.
Don't want to run into
that
fucking beast. Just drop it off and get my ass out of
there.
So what tim@l?
Maybe one at the latest.
The door bumped shut.
Try
to fuck these babes and get rid of them by midnight.
Midnight
at the latest.
Should
be easy.
Neal snarled into his mind, "You'll
fuck these babes when hell freezes over,
dirtbag."
Vince turned away from the door. Marta had already
set her drink on the round, glass-topped table.
Sue stood at the other side of it.
"Is this all right?" Sue asked.
"Wonderful," Vince said.
They all sat down on patio chairs around the
table.
"Sure is nice out here," Sue said, turning her
head and gazing at the pool. "Sure wish I had
me a place like this."
"You're welcome to come over any time," Vince
said. "Both of you."
"Thanks," Sue said. "That's awful nice. Know
what? Ya fooled me. I figured you'd be sort
of a creep."
They know aUs about me!
"Yer always such a mean stinker in yer movies."
False alarm.
She smiled at him. "I never been
to
a movie star's house, before."
M right-brace
lovely, sweet
darling!
"Oh, I'm not what one would call a star."
"Sure y'are. 1 seen bunches of yer movies."
"We're both fans of your work," Marta added.
"Why, thank you."
"Ya know my favorite?" Sue asked. "It's the
one where you hire this guy to knock off yer business
partner."
Nodding as if he appreciated her praise, he
tried to figure out which film she meant. In several,
he'd paid men to murder people who were causing him trouble.
"I can't recall the name of it," Sue said,
frowning.
"Neither can I," Vince admitted. "I've been in
so many. Do you remember the cast?"
"There was you."
He chuckled.
"I don't know. Was it Chuck Norris?"
"I haven't appeared with Chuck Norris."
"Well, must've been somebody else. Anyhow,
how it ends, yer in this parking lot, all set to hand
over a million bucks to the killer . .."
Vince suddenly stopped trying to figure out
which film she was trying to describe.
He saw himself swinging his car into a parking lot at
night.
Tonight? Neal wondered. What is this? A memory?
Or is he thinking about tonight?
The scene was continuing in Vince's mind. He was
climbing out of his car in a brightly lighted parking
lot. The lot of a Video City store; Neal could
see the big, neon sign in the background.
Vince carried a wrinkled old grocery sack
by his side. Its top was crinkled down, its
bottom swollen.
M caret God, that's it! The money's in the bag!
That's
the payoff!
You did it, Sue! You did it!
"... only instead of him showing up for the payoff, the
killer!
... it's the guy he was s'pose to've murdered.
Who was that?
Could've sworn it was Chuck Norris."
"Van Damme?" Marta suggested.
"Nah."
"That Steven Seagal?"
Vince, his mind-film rolling, sees himself
stuff the grocery sack inside a garbage container
beside Video City's front entrance. As he
releases the sack, a voice from behind says, "The
joke's on you." He whirls around. Elise is
striding toward him, very alive, dressed in her blue
satin pajamas. The pajamas flow against her
body, purple in the lights of the parking lot. She
carries a bloody meat cleaver in one hand. In her
other hand, swinging by its hair, is the head of
Leslie Glitt.
"That movie doesn't sound at all familiar
to me," Marta said, pulling Vince's mind out of the
awful fantasy.
He picked up his glass and took a drink.
"Frankly," he said, "it doesn't ring a bell
with me, either."
"I coulda
swore
it was you," Sue told him.
"I don't believe it was."
Sue shook her head, and took a drink.
"Well," she said, "don't I just feel like a
prize shit?"
Vince chuckled, "No call for that."
"Katt's always sticking her foot in her
mouth," Marta told him. "I think she must enjoy
the flavor."
"Yer's, they're so big they don't fit in
nobody's mouth."
"Let's not fight, girls," Vince said, enjoying
himself.
"Show him yer big feet," Sue taunted.
"Settle down, Katt."
"They're so big, she can't fall down. Just pops
right on up again. She can't drown, either. It's as good
as wearin' flippers. She's safe anywhere."
"Ha ha," Marta said. "You're hilarious."
"Yer so safe, I'd hide my jewelry in
ya-if I had some."
Vince laughed.
"If you ever did that," Marta told her, "I
wouldn't give you the combination."
"What combination?" Sue asked.
"To open me up and take your jewelry out."
"I ain't got no jewelry."
Laughing, Vince shook his head.
Come on,
come an,
Neal thought. Your
safe.
Think about
your safe and
combination. It's the least beyond can
do, these two
jumping through hoops
for you
this
way.
"If 1 had some jewelry," Sue said, "last thing
I'd do with it is to stick it in you. Less maybe
I shove it where the sun don't shine."
"Girls, girls."
Marta sighed and shook her head. "I have
to apologize for my cousin. She's not usually this
way. I imagine it's the vodka. She's not
actually old enough to drink, you know."
"I am too old enough. I was old enough when 1 hit
nine."
Vince, surprised and amused, raised his
eyebrows. "You started drinking at the age of nine?"
"Yup. That's when I figured out how to lay my
hands on Daddy's booze. He kept it locked
up, "cause of Mom being a lush. There was this
lock on the cabinet. The combination kind! Well,
Daddy had him a real bad memory, so
he wrote the combination numbers on a piece of
paper that he kept in his billfold. So one night
when he was sleepin", 1 snuck a peek at it and
copied it all down. I got away without him
catchin' me, went straight to the booze cabinet and
squatted down and started workin' on the lock. It was
a left this way, a right that way, and then a left.
Like that. Took me eight or nine tries. All that
left and right stuff, and do ya pass the number once
or stop at it right off the bat-hard to keep it all
straight. But then I finally got the thing to unlock for
me. I opened it up and there was ten different sorts
of booze all lined up in rows. I had me a sip
from every bottle. Time 1 got done, ya never seen a
girl so drunk. It's a miracle I made it
back to bed." She sighed. "Anyhow, 1 didn't
touch another drop for about five years after that."
While Sue was telling her story, Vince had let
her words become moving images in his mind. He'd
watched her sneak through a house at night, find the
numbers in her father's wallet, then squat in
front of a cabinet and struggle with the combination lock.
In Vince's version, however, she did not appear
to be nine
years old. She looked as she looked
now.
Except that her bikini was gone.
In his mental film, Vince had viewed Sue from the
front, as if his eyes were in the door of the liquor
cabinet, level with her breasts as she tried to work the
combination lock. Her skin had looked like bronze in
a shimmering, ruddy light. Her knees had been
wide apart, almost touching the cabinet door.
Squatting that way, she'd soon opened the door.
And Vince had been inside the cabinet, watching her
reach in and take out bottles, remove their caps,
take swigs.
While listening to the story and living it inside his
mind, Vince had grown hard again.
But he never gave a thought to his own safe or to the
numbers of its combination lock.
He hasn't got a safe, Neal thought.
So
where's the money hidden?
Somewhere in the house, ready to go. Already in a grocery
sack, maybe.
Let's find out.
Chapter Forty-eight
Neal wished they'd parked in the shade. He found
himself in
the rear of the Jeep, sunbaked and streaming sweat, his
clothes
sodden. Feeling as if the sun had drained away
half his strength,
he reached up and grabbed the roll bar and pulled himself
to
his feet.
He stood there, hanging on to it.
Marta's purse and clothes were piled on the
driver's seat, Sue's on the passenger seat.
Never should've
let
them do this.
The slimy, scheming bastard and his fucking
hard-ons . . .
Neal stepped up onto the side of the Jeep. From
there, he
jumped to the pavement. Leaning over the top of the
driver's
door, he reached for the steering wheel.
"Put a stop to this shit right now," he muttered, and
shoved the wheel's hub.
He expected a blast from the horn.
He got silence.
He pressed the wheel's center again, felt
its give, but heard no horn.
"Great," he muttered. "Terrific."
Why the
hell
didn't
Marta tell
me
her horn's on the frit?.

Now what? he wondered.
How about going for the money,
stupid.

That's what
you were
supposed to do in the first place, not wimp out and go for the
damn horn. You came here for the bastard's
money.
The gals've been parading around as good as naked in
front of the sick fuck to
where they've got him half
nuts-they've tricked everything out of him, we've
got all his secrets-now all
we need
is the money right-brace and it'll be mission
accomplished. We'll have the cash and he'll have shit.
He'll have his big memories of a cocktail hour
and a hard cock with his dear friends, Trac caret and
Katt.
And he'll have a big empty bag full of nothing
when it comes to pacing Glitt.
Neal stretched out his arm and snatched Marta's
ignition key out of the steering wheel.
Can't have someone driving off ...
Then he opened the car door, leaned in, and stuffed
their purses underneath the front seats.
He shut the door gently, silently, dropped
Marta's key case into a pocket of his shorts, and
ran back along the roadside. He raced past the
driveway with its closed, iron gate.
The smaller gate was shut, but not locked.
He opened it, stepped through, and walked toward the
house.
If I were a bag full of mone caret , where would
I be?
Not outside, that's for sure.
Hidden in the bedroom

Under the bed, ma caret be?
Apparently, the slug hasn't got a
safe.
First things first, Meal told himself. Get inside the
house.
He headed up the walkway toward the front door.
Vince had let the gals in that way. He'd shut it
after them,
but was it locked?
Neal tried it.
It was locked.
Which left the sliding doors.
Neal remembered a total of three sliding glass
doors along the rear of the house: in the living room,
the den, and the master bedroom. Vince had used two of
them while Neal'd been inside him. And he'd
locked neither of them.
Why
should
he? He's
sitting
back there where he can keep an eye on them.
The bedroom door, the one Elise had opened for
Neal on Sunday night, might or might not be
locked.
Neal pictured the position of the glass-topped
table.
Only yards from the den door.
And Vince was seated so that he faced the bedroom
area.
Those two doors were out.
Which left the living room door, not very far from where
Vince sat, but at least behind him.
That's
if nobody's changed position yet.
Neal jogged across the front lawn, then stopped and
glanced around the corner. Nobody. He rounded the
corner and hurried on, walking swiftly through the
shadows of the fruit trees. As he approached the
back of the house, he detected the quiet murmur
of voices.
He peeked around the corner.
They all sat around the table, just as when Neal had
left them. Vince, as expected, was facing away.
His head and bare, tanned shoulders showed above the
back of his chair. Marta sat with her back to the
pool. Neal had a good view of her left side and
much of her front. Sue sat across the table from
Vince, but somewhat closer to the house so that Neal had
a clear line of sight.
She might be looking right at me.
He slowly raised his hand and waved.
Sue nodded and said something Neal couldn't make out.
Vince laughed. Marta turned her head slightly
in Neal's direction. With her forefinger, she pushed
at the bridge of her sun
glasses. Neal wiggled his forefinger at her. She
faced Vince and
reached out and picked up her drink.
Neal was fairly sure that Marta had spotted him.
He wasn't so sure about Sue.
If she hasn't yet, she
will.
He pulled the pistol out of his pocket. Holding it
ready by his side, he stepped around the corner of the
house and began sneaking over the concrete toward the
sliding door to the living room.
Keep him interested, ladies.
Don't
let him look.
Mouth parched, heart thumping fast, Neal raised his
left hand and pressed his forefinger to his lips.
Marta and Sue gave no hint that they saw him.
They both acted as if they were enjoying cocktails
with a fascinating movie star.
Neal kept moving, though he trembled badly.
Soon, he was close enough to understand the words
being spoken.
"No," Marta said. "Not me. 1 broke up with
my fellow almost a year ago."
"And why was that?" Vince asked.
Neal still had such a long way to go-twelve, maybe
fifteen feet.
The handle of the sliding glass door, still so far
away, appeared to be only six feet behind
Vince's back.
I'll
never make it. He'll look around and . . .
"Ah, he thought he owned me. I can't stand
possessive
men. He was so jealous, he went nuts any time 1
so much as glanced at another guy. He even beat
me up one time."
Not me, Neal thought. Who is she talking about?
Somebody beat her up? Who the hell did that?
I'll kill the son of a bitch.
Maybe she's
making it
up.
She'd better be.
"That's awful!" Vince blurted. Reaching out, he
put a hand on Marta's forearm.
Get your mitt off her, you fucking shit.
"Heinous. How could anyone
dare
to harm such a lovely young lady?"
"Comes easy for some of them," Marta said.
"Despicable."
"Well, he didn't get a chance to hit me again,
I'll tell you
that much. It was "So long, pal, been good to know
you." his
"Only not that good, huh?" Sue put in.
"He was a low-down dirty bastard."
She can't be talking about me, Neal thought.
And he finally arrived at the handle of the door.
"Keep
talking, Marta.
He'll hear the
slightest sound."
God, 1 can't believe I'm
standing right
behind him.
Vince turned his head from Marta to Sue. "And how
about you, Kitty Katt? Do
you
have a boyfriend?"
"Not just now," Sue said. She smiled-a smile that
seemed to be aimed over Vince's shoulder and
straight at Neal. "I had me one, only he was
always at me, if ya know what I mean. It ain't
that I don't like that sorta thing much as anyone, only
there's a time and place for it. He just wouldn't ever
leave me alone. I never seen such a lech! Last
time we went out, get this, he tried to boink me on
a roily coaster."
"Tried to what you?" Vince asked.
"Boink me, do me, screw me. Ya know?"
"Ah. I see."
"Almost got us both killed."
Vince chuckled. "I've never heard of anyone
doing it on a roller coaster. Sounds rather
intriguing."
"Don't ever try it if ya value yer life."
Neal reached out carefully and gripped the door
handle. But he didn't dare pull it. Neal could
well imagine the sucking squeak the door would make
as it let go of the jamb.
He grimaced at Sue, then glanced toward
Marta, who was taking a drink.
"Looks as we're all about ready for a refill,"
Vince said. "Can't fly on one wing."
Neal's stomach dropped.
"Not me," Sue said quickly. "Thanks anyhow.
Maybe later. Time for me to hit the water." She
shoved back her chair, sprang to her feet,
whirled around and pranced toward the pool. Vince's
head turned to watch.
Neal watched, too.
She was tawny and shining, bare except for the skinny
black
bands of her suit. Neal supposed that Vince's
eyes must be
locked on the flexing mounds of her buttocks. His
own certainly
were.
This is distracting
the
bastard all right,
but he's
still going to hear
the door . . .
Sue leaped off the edge of the pool. In midair,
she jerked up her legs and hugged her knees. She
dropped rump-first.
Cannonboll!
She struck the water with a heavy, solid
splash-thugg-dump! At the same moment, Marta
yelled, "That-awayt'goKattsy-babe!!!"
At the same moment, Neal jerked the door open.
It let out a loud, squeaking suck, but Vince
didn't turn his head.
Nor did he turn his head to investigate the low
rumble of its sliding. He probably couldn't hear
it through the splatter sounds of Sue's falling
splashwater pelting the surface of the pool and
Marta's voice saying to him, "I'm going in.
Are you ready? You're coming in, too, aren't you?"
Neal stepped through the gap and into the living room.
"Come on," Marta said. Looking back, he saw
her stand up and pull at Vince's arm. "Let's
go. Time to cool off. It'll be great. No time like the
present."
Vince, laughing, allowed himself to be dragged from his
chair.
When they were nearly to the pool, Neal eased the door
shut.
In!
Chapter Forty-nine
Neal stood just inside the glass door, staring out.
Marta didn't release Vince's arm until they
reached the edge of the pool. Then she turned
away from him and dived.
A lovely dive. She soared out low over the water
and knifed in with barely a splash.
Vince dived in after her.
Neal muttered, "Shit."
All three of them were in the pool, and Vince would no
doubt go after the gals, hoping to grope them.
They're earning their take,
that's
for damn sure.
Neal had known, before now, that he loved them both. But
he'd never felt quite so aware of how fabulous they
really were. Where did they come up with such guts and
ingenuity and wit?
They're both nuts.
Fabulous nuts!
As impressed as Neal was with them, he hated to see
them splashing around in the pool with Vince.
The quicker 1 find the money, the quicker we'll be out of
here.
He turned away from the glass door and walked through
the living room.
No sign of a grocery bag.
It isn't going to
be lying around in plain sight.
Why not?
Vince let two strangers into his house, that's
why.
It's
hidden somewhere. Try the bedroom. Try under
the
bed.
But the kitchen was just ahead, and Neal realized that a
kitchen might be just the place for a grocery bag
full of loot.
Hide it in plain sight. "The Purloined Letter."
So he hurried into the kitchen and looked around.
He found several brown paper sacks like the one
he'd seen in Vince's mind, but they were all neatly
folded and tucked into a space between the side of the
refrigerator and a cupboard.
He wondered if Elise had done that.
He pictured her in the kitchen, surrounded
by unloaded groceries, head down, a frown of
concentration on her face as she carefully folded an
empty sack.
She wore a white blouse and tan shorts. The
legs of the shorts were turned up so she had cuffs
high against her thighs. On her feet were white
sneakers.
The image stuffed Neal's throat and made his eyes
burn.
She'd be alive today except for Vince.
Neal hurried out of the kitchen.
Then, halting, he gazed across the living room and out
through the glass.
Vince was standing in waist-deep water, Marta
swimming toward
the deep end, and Sue climbing out near one of the
diving
boards. Vince seemed to be admiring Sue's
backside.
I could kill him right now, Neal thought. It'd be
easy.
He imagined himself striding through the house, shoving open
the door, marching straight to the edge of the pool-Vince
tearing his eyes away from Sue's sleek wet ass
and turning to face the intruder, angry until he
sees the pistol. Then puzzled and terrified.
Raising his arms. Shaking his head. Neal saying,
"This is for Elise," and firing. Blam
blam blam blam
fast as he can pull the trigger, the slugs pounding
Vince backward through the water.
Yes! Blow the bastard to hell
right
now and be done with it.
Neal's hand ached from its hard grip on the Sig
Sauer.
But his fantasy continued. He saw Vince dead in
the pool, all right, floating on his back with his arms
out, bloody craters in his face and chest, the water
pink around him-and the cry of sirens in the air. Marta
and Sue look at him, panic in their eyes.
Oh, God, no. 1 can't. Not with
them here . . . they'd be busted as my accomplices
. . .
Out in the sunlight, Sue climbed onto the low
board.
Vince gaped at her.
Marta, in the water below the boards, hooked an arm
over the side to hold her up. At first, Neal thought
she intended to watch Sue's dive. Then he
realized she was gazing straight at him.
Could she see him?
He doubted it. But she seemed to have a frowning,
anxious look on her face as if she wondered
what could be taking him so long.
Why am I just
standing here?
He turned away. He didn't bother searching the
den, simply scanned it for a grocery sack as he
walked by. Then he glanced into the guest bathroom,
a couple of closets, and the laundry nook where
Elise had washed his filthy clothes on Sunday
night.
He remembered standing behind her while she'd removed
his clothes from the dryer, the way she'd looked
squatting down in
her glossy blue pajamas. And how he'd
accidentally touched her
when she handed over his clothes. He'd apologized,
but she'd
told him, "I'm all yours, remember? You're
free to touch or look
to your heart's content."
He felt like crying again.
Elise's presence was everywhere.
So was her absence.
The settings of her life remained, but she was gone.
She'd been torn out, demolished in a fury of
screaming pain and humiliation and terror, removed
forever.
Hoto
can she be gone from all this?
It seemed impossible to Neal, and horrible. But he
also felt that he might come upon her. As he stepped
into her bedroom,
he half expected to find her standing in front of her
closet. He imagined her whirling around, slightly
alarmed for a moment, then pleased.
"Oh, Neal. It's you. Where'd you come from?"
But it didn't happen.
It never would happen, because she was dead.
He saw nobody in the room but himself-his
reflection clear in a mirror above the dresser.
He scanned the sunlit room. The bed was a
mess, its covers on the floor, a white terry
cloth robe hanging off a corner of the mattress.
It looked like the same robe that Elise had given
him to wear after his shower.
Vince's?
Articles of Vince's clothing were scattered about:
socks and a pair of briefs on the carpet near the
bed, shoes here and there, trousers and a sport shirt
thrown across the chair, a castoff necktie crooked
and twisted on the dresser top surrounded by a litter
of coins.
Neal saw no grocery bag.
He stepped past the end of the bed and looked
out the glass door. Marta, shiny and dripping, sat
on the edge of the pool, her legs hanging into the
water. Sue, apparently on her feet, glided
sideways through chest-high water.
Both of them were facing the house. They had worried
looks on their faces.
He suddenly heard the far-off squeak and rumble of a
door sliding open.
His stomach sank. He stood motionless, listening.
The door slid shut. Probably the den door.
Neal waited.
It's Vince.
Probably just came in
to
make some
drinks, that's all.
He'U. make
them
and go back outside.
Neal glanced at the bracelet on his wrist.
No. One ride in the mind and body of Vince had
been enough for him.
A movement outside caught Neal's eye.
Turning his head, he saw Marta, on her feet,
reach behind her back with both hands. A moment
later, the top of her swimsuit went loose. She
removed it. Tossing it to the concrete, she called
out, "Hey Vince, come on back here. You ..."
Neal missed her next words; they were somewhere beneath the
noise of the den door being jerked open.
"... miss my high dive, do you?"
Vince hurried into view. Halting at the edge of the
pool, he put his hands on his hips. He seemed
to say something to Marta, but Neal couldn't make it out.
Marta, striding along the far side on her way
toward the diving boards at the deep end, smiled and
flapped a hand at him.
M right-brace God, Marta.
Look at
her, look, at her.
Doing this for me.
God, she shouldn't
be letting
Vince
see her this way.
Look at her!
As Neal watched, she began to climb the ladder of the
high dive. He could see her through the spaces between the
rungs: her fine legs lifting, one at a time; the
flap of pale leather angling down from her
hips; her bare belly and ribcage and breasts
glossy in the sunlight; her shadowed throat, her
solemn face, her matted hair the color of wet
straw.
Each time one of her arms reached up, the breast beneath it
seemed to rise slightly on her chest.
Don't just
stand here and stare at her!
Groaning, Neal forced his gaze away from Marta.
He glimpsed Sue standing in the water and Vince
motionless by the edge of the pool with his head turned toward
Marta.
Neal put his back to them.
He dropped to his knees and glanced under the bed.
Nothing but carpet.
Scurrying up, he rushed around the end of the bed.
Something as large as the grocery sack wouldn't fit
into a dresser drawer. Not unless Vince mashed it
flat...
What if it's already in the car?
Of course!
Neal was tempted to quit his search of the house and go
straight for the garage.
If I'm wrong . . .
I'd better look while I'm here.
But he dreaded entering the main bathroom.
He didn't know if he could
stand
to go in there-to walk on the tiles that had been
splattered and puddled with Elise's blood, to step
over the place where he'd found her pajamas,
to look into the bathtub ...
There's no point, he told himself. Vince wouldn't
hide the bag of money in his bathroom. Nobody
would hide a bag of money in a bathroom.
It's in
his car. In the
trunk
of his car. Makes all the sense in the world.
Not in his bathtub, for God's sake.
I'm not going in there.
No
way.
But if nobody would ever think to hide a bag of
money in a bathroom, then maybe that would be a very good
place for hiding it.
I'll have to look. Have to. Just run in very quickly and
try not to think about Elise or what Glitt did
to her . . .
Did Vince pay him to do that?
Probably just paid him to kUl her and make it look
tike the work of a sadist.
Left the details to Glitt.
Neal doubted that Vince was even capable of imagining
such
atrocities as Glitt had committed on Elise.
I can't go in
there.
Have to.
Not just yet. Pretty soon, but not yet. If the
money's in there, it won't go anyplace in the next
minute or two.
I
just need a
little
time . . .
Neal opened the doors of the bedroom closet and
scanned the shelf above the hanger bar. No grocery
bag. He tried to ignore the clothes suspended on
hangers, not wanting to see the array of outfits that
Elise used to wear when she was alive. There were so
many. Neal knew without looking that he had never seen
her in any of them.
Never would.
Vince's clothes filled the other half of the
closet. Neal had no interest in them.
Crouching, he checked the closet floor. He saw
rows of shoes and boots and not much else.
Except for something that appeared to be a brown paper
grocery sack at the far end, nearly hidden behind a
pair of cowboy boots.
Can't
be!
Neal rushed to Vince's end of the closet,
squatted, shoved the boots aside, reached out and
grabbed the crumpled top of the bag. He pulled the
bag toward him. It seemed to be nearly full. It
felt heavy.
Half a
million bucks in
here?
Fat chance.
The bag of money was almost certainly in the garage,
locked in the trunk of Vince's car. And Neal would
almost certainly be unable to break into the trunk. He
would have to give up, somehow signal Marta and Sue
that it was time to leave . . .
A big
fat waste of time.
He pulled open the sack and peered down
into murky shadows and saw bundles of money.
YES YES YES! This is it!
We're rich!
He crumpled the top shut, picked up the sack and
rushed across the bedroom.
Gazing through the glass door, he saw Marta on the
high dive.
Vince still stood by the side of the pool and Sue was still
in the
water, both with their heads toward her.
Marta stood at the very end of the board. Hands on her
hips, she bent over slightly at the waist and
looked down. She shook her head. Then she
straightened up and spoke to Vince.
Neal couldn't make out her words.
Sue, smiling up at her, said something. Vince
spoke, too. Neal saw their mouths move, but
heard only strange murmurs through the closed
glass door.
Marta nodded. She took a few steps backward.
Then she halted and stood as if at attention, eyes
forward, shoulders back, stomach in, arms straight
down against her sides, legs together. She took a
deep breath. Then she marched to the end of the board,
hopped, and came down with both feet-onto
the board. It bent and flung her up. She came
down onto it again, and again it tossed her upward-but
higher than before.
Neal gaped at her.
High above the water, naked except for the
jungle-woman flap of hide below her waist, she
bounced on the springboard as if it were a
trampoline. Her tawny skin gleamed. Her arms,
out away from her sides, moved up and down in ways
that seemed intended to control her balance. Her knees
bent slightly with every landing. Her breasts leaped as if
being punched about by an invisible boxer.
Vince and Sue stared up at her. Their mouths hung
open.
Neal wondered if others could see her, as well; so
high up, she was above the fences and shrubs enclosing the
property. Neighbors might be watching her from their
pools, from the windows of their houses, from the street.
Look."
Up in the sky!
Why doesn't she dive? Neal wondered.
She'll
end up failing!
Maybe not, Neal thought. Her bouncing looked a little
less reckless than earlier. She was no
longer being flung higher and higher with each hop.
Now, she seemed to be keeping a steady rhythm and
height.
Almost as if she planned to continue for a long time.
Till she knows I'm safe?
She'd stripped off her top
to
grab Vince's attention, to pull him out of the house.
She'd climbed the diving board to keep his eyes
glued to her. And now she was holding him at
poolside with the spectacle of her leaps, the
promise of her dive.
A moment after her splashdown, Vince would return
to the house.
Gotta get my ass outta
here!
Neal hated to miss the dive.
He watched one more bounce. Then, clutching the sack
of money to his chest, he whirled around and rushed for the
bedroom door.
Chapter fflj
Before crossing to the foyer, Neal stopped and peered
into the
den. Nobody there. Beyond the glass, Vince stood
by the pool.
Clapping!
Neal raced to the front door, jerked it open,
stepped outside and eased the door shut. He ran
up the walkway and through the open gate. The street was
empty, shrouded by shadows. He ran to Marta's
Jeep and stuffed the paper sack into the narrow storage
compartment behind the rear seat.
Now
all I've gotta do is get the gals out
of there.
Can't signal tvith the horn.
What should I do, ring Vince's doorbell?
Why
not?
Feeling squirmy in his stomach, Neal listened to the
chimes
ringing inside Vince's house.
What
if he
doesn't open up?
He'll open. He'll
be worried
it's the cops. Might
even hope
it's a couple more luscious babes
arriving.
As Neal reached forward to ring the bell again, Vince
asked from the other side of the door, "Who is it?"
"I'm here to pick up Tracy and Katt."
Moments later, the door opened. But not all the
way. It only opened the width of Vince's
shoulders. He stood in the shadowy gap and frowned out
at Neal. A towel, draped over one wrist,
hung like a rumpled curtain from his belly almost
to his knees.
"Are they expecting you?" he asked. He spoke
slowly, as if being careful not to slur his words or
stumble on them.
"Well," Neal said, "I dropped them off a
while ago. They said I should come back in an
hour."
"I see. And you are?"
"Ken. Tracy's my kid sister."
Vince tried to smile, but he suddenly looked
uneasy. "Ah. I see. You're her brother."
"Yeah. She and Katt came on over to swim with
Elise. Are you Mister Waters, Elise's
husband?"
"I'm Elise's husband," he said. But he
didn't say his name or stick out his hand.
"Unfortunately, she and the others-Tracy and what?"
"Katt."
"Ah. Yes. You just missed them. They all went
off to dinner just a short while ago."
"They did?"
"I'm afraid you just missed them. But you might be
able to join them at the restaurant. They were on their
way to . .." Vince frowned and shook his head.
"Some Italian place. Let me think." Still
shaking his head, he nibbled on his lower lip. "No,
I'm frankly not sure. They just decided to take
off on the spur of the moment. I'm sorry you missed
them."
Neal scowled at Vince. "But they knew I'd be
coming over in an hour. I can't believe . .."
"Elise gets these whims. She'll run off at the
drop of a hat- usually dragging along a few
unsuspecting friends. There's simply no stopping
her. But anyhow-be not alarmed. They'll be turning
up back here .. . oh, by midnight at the
latest."
"Midnight?"
"The moment they return, I'll have Elise take
them home. Or I'll return them myself. How's
that?"
"Not good. We have plans for tonight. Are you sure they
aren't here?"
"I'm absolutely, one hundred percent sure
they're not here. They've gone out to dinner. At
Andre's? You might try Andre's."
"Just tell them I'm here, all right?"
"I can hardly do that. And I resent the implication
that I'm being less than truthful. Good-bye, now."
He started to shut the door.
Neal rammed the door open. Vince yelped and
stumbled backward. As he fell, he flung out his
arms. The towel flew. For a moment, he looked like
a dancer trying to squeeze himself under the limbo
stick. Then his bare back smacked the marble floor.
He grunted.
Neal flung the door shut. Pulling the pistol out
of his pocket, he rushed to Vince's side. He
crouched and jammed the muzzle down hard midway between
Vince's nipples.
"Don't say a word," Neal told him.
"Please. Don't hurt me."
"That's four," Neal said.
And whipped the pistol straight up from the center of
Vince's chest. It struck him under the chin. His
teeth clacked together. His head must've been
raised slightly; an instant after his teeth
collided, the back of his head thonked the floor.
His eyes bugged out. Then he squeezed them shut.
His entire sweaty red face seemed to be squeezed
into furrows of pain. Blood spilled from a gash on
the point of his chin.
At the sound of a door sliding open, Neal looked
up. Sue leaned into the house. She squinted toward
the foyer. "What's goin" on?" she asked.
"It's me," Neal called. "Time to go. Tell
Tracy."
She called over her shoulder, "Tracy! Let's
get." Then she rushed over the carpet. As she
approached the foyer, she slowed down. She stopped
beside Vince and stared down at him. "He don't
look real good," she said.
His eyes opened. He squinted up at Sue as if
staring into painful sunlight.
"Shut your eyes or I'll shut "em for you,"
Neal said.
He shut them.
Marta came running into the house. She was gasping for
air, dripping. She must've just climbed out of the
pool. She still wore only the pants of her
swimsuit. The top swung in her hand,
flipping and jerking as she hurried through the den.
She stopped beside Sue. Out of breath, she bent over
at the waist and clutched her knees. Water
spilled down her body, dribbled off her chin and
breasts, formed a puddle around her feet.
"Jesus," she gasped. "What happened to him?"
"I did," Neal muttered. "Come on, let's
get out of here."
Sue started to say, "Did ya find . . . ?"
Neal guessed what was coming. He didn't want
Vince to hear it.
The blow from the gun opened Vince's cheek and
knocked his head sideways. He went limp.
"I found it," Neal said. "It's in the car."
"I guess he's .. . out cold," Marta said, still
bent over and breathing hard. "First time I've ever .
.. seen him .. . without a hard-on."
"He's a real ladies man," Neal said. "He
had big plans for you two."
"We oughta get," Sue said, "or else he's
gonna come to and you'll have to whack him again."
"You ready?" Neal asked Marta.
She gave him a quick grin. Her swimsuit top
had fallen to the floor. She dipped down and
snatched it up. Standing straight, she
slipped her arms into the straps, cupped her breasts
in the soggy hide, and reached behind her back. A few
seconds
later, she said, "All set."
Neal opened the door. He watched Vince while the
women rushed out.
No sign that the guy was regaining his senses.
Neal waited until Marta and Sue reached the
road. Then he backed out of the house and pulled the
door shut. He shoved the pistol into his pocket
and ran.
At the gate, he glanced back. The front door
was still shut.
Marta and Sue were already climbing into the Jeep.
Neal fished the keys out of his pocket, then raced
for the Jeep like a
sprinter, the keys jangling. Marta turned in the
driver's seat. She
stretched out an arm. He slapped the keys into her
hand. As he
vaulted the side, the engine grumbled to life.
The Jeep lurched forward and picked up speed.
Neal gazed down the road behind them.
No sign of Vince.
Moments later, they swept around a bend and
there was no more reason to watch the rear.
"I believe we made it," Neal said.
Marta turned her head. "Do you think he'll call
the police on us?"
"No way. Cops are about the lost thing he wants
to see. He's terrified they'll show up and arrest
him."
"So he was involved?" Marta asked.
"Sure was. He hired Glitt to do the murder,
just like we figured."
Sue grinned over her shoulder. "Wait'll he
finds out his money's gone. Ya
did
get it, right?"
In answer, Neal reached down into the storage space
behind his seat. He gripped the bag by its crumpled
top and lifted it into sight.
"All right.""
Marta glanced back. "Hope you looked inside."
"Oh, I did. Chock full of cash."
"Where was it?" she asked.
"In his bedroom closet. I found it while you were
doing your high-dive act. Which, by the way, was
spectacular."
"You watched?"
"Some of it."
She made a face as if she'd tasted something bad.
"Terrific," she muttered. "You weren't supposed
to see that."
"It was great," Neal said.
"It was humiliating. I only did it..."
"I know why you did it."
She scowled. "You were supposed to be looking for the
money."
"I know."
"Y'oughta be flattered," Sue told her.
"I couldn't help myself," Neal said. "You were a
sight to behold."
"Terrific. Glad you appreciated it. 1 just
wish you hadn't watched, that's all. It made me
feel.. . like a slut or something, doing that for a
slimy creep like him. Not to mention, I thought I'd
end up breaking my neck. That board was so damn
high . . . I could see the top of his
roof.
I kept jumping up and down, and I'm thinking any
second you'll honk the horn so I can quit.
I'm praying it honks before I slip and fall and
kill myself. But you're apparently at a window
enjoying the show . .."
"The horn doesn't work," Neal explained.
"What?"
"I tried it. It doesn't work."
Marta beeped the horn.
"That's odd," Neal said. "It didn't work when I
tried it."
"Did you have the ignition on?" she asked.
"No."
"That's why."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. The horn's like the radio. Won't work
when the car's shut off."
"That's stupid."
Looking back at him, Sue said, "Reckon ya
had to ring the doorbell and conk the daylights outta
Vince, all "cause ya didn't know how to work the
car horn."
"I guess so."
"Haw! What a hoot!"
"I thought you knew that about the horn," Marta told
him. "Why do you think I left the key in the
ignition?"
"I needed to turn it?"
"Yeah. Like for the radio."
"Well.. ." Neal shook his head.
"You'll be danged," Sue supplied for him.
He laughed.
Staying off main roads as much as possible, Marta
picked turns
at random. They made their way slowly, sometimes
taking out
of-the-way detours, but generally moving closer to her
apartment
building.
Even most of the side streets were thick with traffic.
Guys in nearby cars stared at Marta and Sue.
Some hooted, whistled, called out remarks and offers.
Marta ignored them. Not Sue. She smiled at
some of the guys. Waved at others. But then a laughing
teen with friends in the bed of a pickup truck curled
one hand into an O and poked his finger in and out of it.
"Ain't that charmin," Sue muttered, and flipped her
finger at him.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Marta blurted. She
swung out a hand and smacked Sue's upper arm.
"Don't do that! You're in L.a., for God's
sake. You'll get us killed."
"Ya see what he done?"
"It doesn't
matter
what he did." Marta swerved to a curb and stopped
the car.
Neal watched the pickup truck continue on up the
road.
Marta faced Sue.
"Ya gonna kick me out?" Sue asked.
"No, of course not. Just don't do anything like that
again. It doesn't matter u greater-than hat
someone does, just ignore it from now on. Okay?"
"Well..."
"Malta's right," Neal said. "The city's full of
nutcases who are just looking for a reason to blast
you."
"Me?"
"Anyone."
"So the last thing you want to do," Marta said, "is
antagonize a stranger."
"You know," Neal said, "it'd probably help the
situation if you both put your shirts back on."
"We're sitting on them," Marta told him.
"Had to leave in a hurry," Sue added,
"We're stopped now," Neal pointed out.
Sue grinned at Marta. "He just don't want
all the other fellas getting a load of us."
"Selfish bastard," Marta said.
They both laughed.
"Comedians," Neal said.
Still laughing, they unlatched their seatbelts,
squirmed,
shifted, scooted upward, and managed to tug their
shirts out
from under their rumps. Then they leaned forward and put them
ori.
"Thank you, ladies."
"Yer welcome," they said in unison.
During the remainder of the drive, there were no more shouts
or whistles, hoots or remarks or obscene
gestures. But the guys in nearby cars still turned
their heads and stared.
Chapter Fifty-one
Neal placed the sack of money on top of the coffee
table in
Maria's living room. Then they stared at it for a
while, sometimes
glancing at each other.
"Should we look at it?" Marta asked.
"It's ours," Neal said.
"Can ya'll hang on till I take a leak?"
Sue asked.
"No hurry," Neal told her.
"None at all," Marta said. "In fact, why
don't we call an official time-out for five or
ten minutes? I want to get out of this wet suit,
myself. Soon as I'm into some dry clothes, I'll
make a batch of margaritas. We can have a little party
and count the take."
"My kind of gal," Neal said.
Sue glanced at him.
He wasn't sure what to make of the look, but he
said, "You, too."
Sue and Marta looked at each other as if they
shared an amusing secret.
"What?" Neal asked.
"It's just. .. ya don't gotta do that."
"What?"
"All that 'y, too" stuff."
"And all that "both of you" stuff," Marta added.
"It's kinda silly."
"I'm just trying
to
be nice."
"Ya don't gotta be that nice."
"We aren't going to flip out if we don't receive
equal treatment."
"Right," Sue said. "I ain't. .. I'm
not jealous of Marta, and she's not jealous of me."
"We've got an understanding," Marta said.
They grinned at each other.
Then they headed off together.
Neal felt strange: relieved but curious, and a
bit as if he were the odd man out. He realized that
he'd been feeling that way, off and on, ever since
Marta and Sue had first encountered each other.
No, not from the very first.
It had started after Sue's confession that she'd gone
into Marta with the bracelet; to prove the bracelet
worked, she'd taken Marta out of the room and revealed
a couple things. Secrets that Marta had
supposedly been keeping from Neal.
What the hell sort of secrets?
Can't be anything really major, he told himself.
But the gals hadn't been the same, since. They'd
developed a bond of some kind.
Neal wished he could be in on it.
Just
be
thankful
they
haven't turned into raving, jealous dogs.
Lucky
thing.
It isn't luck, it's a miracle.
Marta and Sue sat on the sofa. They had both
changed out of
their swimsuits: Marta into a white, oversized
T-shirt and Sue
into her white pleated miniskirt and yellow knit
pullover. They
were both barefoot. They sat close together, their
knees at the
edge of the coffee table. Each held a margarita, but
hadn't taken
a drink yet. The salt was thick and white around the
rims of
their glasses.
Before sitting down, they had cleared off the table. Now
there was nothing on it except Neat's drink, down
near the end in front of Marta.
Neal stood across the table from the women, holding the
grocery
sack. "Ready?" he asked.
"Let 'er rip," Sue said.
He leaned over and upended the sack.
The money spilled out. Bundles of bills, bound
by rubber bands, dropped from the ragged mouth of the
bag and tumbled toward the table. Thick stacks and thin
stacks, they cascaded out and fell, flopped onto
the table, whapped the wood surface like notepads
tossed onto a desk, thumped it like paperback
books.
After a few seconds, they no longer pounded wood;
they landed instead on stacks and bundles of money,
hitting with softer sounds. The final few packs, after
hitting, slid silently down the gray and green
slopes.
When the sack was nearly weightless, forty or fifty
loose bills floated out and drifted toward the
heap. A broken rubber band fell out. And then a
foot-long, curled strip of white paper with rows of
blue ink.
As it slid down the slope of money, Neal caught
it. He stretched it taut between his hands and looked at
it.
"A grocery receipt?" Marta said.
He nodded. The receipt was dated July 6,
1995. Only a few days before Elise's death.
The purchases were itemized.
Neal didn't want to know what she'd bought. Bad
enough to be reminded of her, still alive, pushing a
grocery cart down a supermarket aisle
.. . Alka-Seltzer. She'd bought
Alka-Seltzer.
Memories rushed into him.
Elise in her blue satin pajamas.
The feel of the foil packet in her shirt pocket.
The way he'd felt breathless while she was gulping
down a glassful of the fizzing medication.
How she had been, that first time, when she'd let him
come over from the sofa and enter her. How nervous she'd
felt, and embarrassed, and excited. She had never
allowed anyone to do that before. Neal had been the first.
And the only.
"Y'okay?" Sue asked.
She and Marta were both staring at him.
He shook his head. Crunching the receipt in his
hand, he
said, "It made me think about Elise, that's all."
"Well, don't go and get sad on us. We're
trying to have a party, here."
Marta, looking solemn, gestured with her glass and
said, "We should drink to her."
"A toast," Sue said. "Neat idea."
Neal stepped to the end of the table, picked up his
margarita, and returned to the middle. Across the table
from him, Marta and Sue got to their feet.
"To Elise," he said. "I wish they hadn't
killed you. But since they did .. ." He struggled
to keep control. "Wherever you are- 1 hope to God
you're up in heaven if there is such a place- may
you be looking down on us with a smile tonight." Voice
trembling, he said, "I couldn't save you. I let
them kill you, but. . . we're making them pay ..
." He swallowed hard. "They'll pay big for
what they did to you."
"Big time," Sue muttered.
Marta nodded. "Big time."
"This is the first installment," Neal said. "This is where
they paid in green. The next installment, it'll be in
red."
"Fuckin A," Sue said.
Neal stretched his arm out. As he held his margarita
glass above the money pile, Marta and Sue both
reached forward and clinked their glasses against his.
Crumbs of salt, knocked off, sprinkled down
on the cash.
"That's sure a heap of money," Sue said.
Nodding, Neal held his glass steady while Marta
refilled it from the blender's pitcher.
"Five hundred thousand dollars," Marta said.
Done pouring, she headed for the kitchen.
"I wonder if it's all there," Neal said.
"Do we want to count it?" Marta asked over her
shoulder.
Sue frowned at the pile of cash. "It'd take us
halfway till Christmas to count all that."
Neal set his glass on the table and picked up one
of the bundles. It was about an inch thick. He
flipped through it with
his thumb. "This one's all twenties," he said.
He tossed it onto
the pile and picked up another. "Fifties."
Sue, inspecting a bundle, said, "This one's
only tens."
"Glitt must've wanted some denominations that'd be
easy to spend."
Sue delved into the pile, spreading the stacks around
as if she were looking for a dark sock in a load of
laundry. After a while, she said, "Well, a
lot of 'em's hundreds."
Marta came into the living room, a platter of
tortilla chips in one hand, a bowl of salsa in the
other. "So, have you got it all counted yet?"
"Has hell froze over yet?" Sue asked her.
Marta set down the snacks at the far end of the
table. "I don't see any big reason
to count it. If it's actually the payoff money ..."
She looked at Neal and raised her eyebrows.
"It almost
has
to be," he said.
"How do you know for sure?"
Neal set down his drink. "First off, I saw
Glitt's face in his mind." He crossed the
room and grabbed a straight-backed chair. As he
carried it toward the table, he said, "That was right at the
start of things, when you two were at the bar and Vince was
making the drinks. He'd just told about Elise being
murdered." Neal placed his chair near the chips and
salsa, and sat down. "One of you .. . Sue ...
asked who'd killed her. When he said he didn't
know, his mind flashed a picture of Glitt."
"Fantastic," Marta said. She dipped a chip,
poked it into her mouth, then passed the chips to Sue.
Sue pulled out a handful, i "Salsa?" Marta
asked.
bar Sue shook her head and asked Neal, "How'd
ya find out about were the money?"
"That movie you asked him about."
"Haw! Thought so!"
"The million-dollar payoff in a parking
lot. Chuck Norris."
Sue beamed.
"It was
inspired,"
Marta told her. "And so subtle!"
Narrowing her eyes, Sue nodded. "Did ya catch
on how I
changed it to a
whole
million. Tricky, huh? Didn't wanna
make
him suspicious."
Neal and Marta burst out laughing. Sue watched them
laugh. She looked quite pleased with herself. She took
a sip of her margarita, then raised the handful of
tortilla chips to her mouth and grabbed a chip with her
teeth. She chewed, watching them laugh. After
swallowing, she said, "Just call me a genius."
A little while later, Marta asked, "What movie
was that, anyway?"
"Made it up."
"Thought so."
"It sure worked," Neal said. "It made him start
thinking about the payoff." To Marta, he said, "You know
how people imagine things? It's like a mental
movie?"
"Sure," she nodded. "Daydreams and things."
"Right. Well, 1 got to see his. 1 saw him
park his car at Video City and take out a
grocery sack. He was planning to leave it there for
Glitt." Neal nodded at the pile on the table.
"So I went hunting through his house for a bag of
money."
"Did ya find it in his safe?" Sue asked.
"He doesn't have a safe."
"Huh?" She looked as if she'd been cheated.
"Yer ki.in"."
"No safe."
"Crippled Judas! After 1 got him to think all
about his combination?"
"You
might've,
if he'd had one. It was an admirable attempt."
"I'm so safe," Marta said, "she'd like to hide
her jewelry in me."
Sue smirked at her. "Up yer kazoo."
"A hell of a show," Neal said.
Grinning and shaking her head, Marta told Sue,
"That was a terrific story about breaking into your father's
liquor cabinet. Nine years old?"
"Brilliant," Neal said. "Vince might've
pondered every turn and number of his combination lock-1
could've run straight to his safe and opened it up
slick as a whistle. No doubt about it."
"That's how 1 had it figured," Sue said. She
shrugged. "Ain't my fault if he didn't have a
safe."
"You're amazing," Marta told her.
"Well.. . thanks. Sometimes I'm more amazing
than at other times. You ain't a slouch, yerself."
"Thank you."
Sue nodded and took a drink. Then she frowned.
"The tricky part was how I worked the combination lock
into the story. That's what took the genius.
"Cause there weren't no combination lock on that
cabinet where he kept his booze. It took a key
Daddy wore on a chain. He wore it around his
neck, there with his little gold cross that he always wore
on account of he worried about vampires. So 1
had to sneak the necklace off him that night while he
was snoozing."
Marta and Neal stared at her.
"What?" Sue asked.
"It was a
true
story?" Neal asked.
"Not the part about the combination. All the rest, though,
yeah, I reckon it was."
"Sounds like you've had an interesting life," Marta
said.
"Mostly not," Sue told her. "I reckon
I've had some adventures, but they mostly been
bad things. The best stuff, it's all happened
since I run into Neal. Minute 1 laid eyes
on him, I knew he was the fella I been
waitin" for. I figured to head off with him, if
he'd take me. I fell in love, that's the thing.
Never figured on gettin' messed up with a magic
bracelet or a murder- or heistin' half a
million bucks. Or meetin' you, either, Marta.
It's all been pretty wild."
"I'm glad things turned out this way," Marta said.
"I was a little upset at first, but..."
"To know me is to love me. Ain't that right, Neal?"
"You're modest, too," he said.
"Anyhow," Sue continued, "I just feel like the
luckiest girl ever was, fallin' in with you two
desperados." She hoisted her glass and drank.
"You can afford your own Jeep, now," Neal told
her.
"You want a Jeep?" Marta asked.
Sue lowered her glass. "Yup. A Jeep
Cherokee. Leastwise, I
Hd
want one. I'm not so sure, anymore."
"What do you mean?" Neal asked, dismayed. "That was
your
dream. To have a brand-new four-wheel drive Jeep
Cherokee
and drive all over the country, seeing all the
sights, stopping to
visit with strangers.. . Now you don't
want
to anymore? Now
that you're rich? Now that you're free to really
do
it?"
Marta frowned. "If we split the take three
ways," she said, "you'll end up with more than a
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. You could buy a
ton of jeeps."
"Well, I'd only need one."
"What's the problem?" Neal asked.
With a sad look on her face, Sue said, "I
don't wanna go off and break up the team.
I mean... ya know? I'd like the three of us to stick
together. If I went off by myself-or even with just you,
Neal-I'd feel like a part's not there."
"Yeah, me," Marta said, and tried to smile. But
her smile faltered. "You can't leave
me
behind, for God's sake."
"Wouldn't think of it," Neal told her.
"No way," Sue said. "Ain't no way in
tarnation we'd leave
you
behind."
"I should hope not. After all, I'm the one who's
pregnant around here."
Chapter Fifty-two
Neal gazed at her, stunned.
Marta stared at him over the top of her glass.
"Let's just say I might be."
"You might
be
pregnant?" Neal asked.
"That's one of her two big secrets," Sue
explained, grinning like an imp.
"What's the other?" Neal asked.
"Still a secret," Sue said.
Marta set down her glass. "It's not definite
yet. 1 shouldn't even have mentioned it, but. . . I'm
pretty late, and .. ."
"We're gonna buy one of them home pregnancy
tests tomorrow," Sue said.
Marta gave her an uneasy look. "I shouldn't
have said any thing
till we'd made sure."
"It don't matter. I betcha a thousand bucks
yer knocked up.
Ten
thousand-there for a second, I forgot I'm rich."
Neal tried to think of something to say. Finally, he
managed to ask Marta, "You really think .. . ?"
"I'm pretty sure." "Not only that," Sue
said, "but Marta figures it's at least
fifty-fifty
odds that yer the father."
"Sue!" Marta blurted, and laughed. To Neal she
said, "If I am, you are."
"Good thing."
"You're the only one-was
"... she'll admit to."
They both looked at Sue.
"Okay. Okay. Sorry." She held
up her hands. "I'll butt out. Fact is, I
oughta get outta here for a while and give you two some
privacy." She set her empty glass on the
table, then stood up. "I'll just take me a little
walk and come back in maybe an hour."
"You don't have to," Marta said.
"Yeah, that's okay." Sue gave them a wave as
she headed for the front door.
"You don't have to go," Marta said again. "Really."
Hand on the doorknob, Sue looked back. "You
two gotta have a while . .."
"Don't," Marta said. "Just stay here. Please.
I don't want you going outside . .. not alone.
Not until all this is over. You tell her,
Neal."
"It might not be safe," he said. "You'd better
not-was
"I don't wanna be in the way."
Probably better if you
are,
Neal thought. He wasn't so sure that he looked
forward to being alone with Marta just now. What would they
talk about? The future? Commitments? And what if
she wasn't completely happy about the situation?
Neal wanted a baby. He supposed that
he'd always hoped to become a father, someday. But this
seemed like a very odd and inconvenient time to spring such
a thing on him.
If we can just put it
off
till after Glitt
and
Vince . . .
"You won't be in the way," Marta told Sue.
"Glitt's out there someplace," Neal said.
Sue smiled slightly. "Where do ya think he was
when 1 went to the mall this afternoon?"
"Sue!" Marta snapped. "Please!"
"Y'oughta be alone together." With that, she swung open
the door.
Marta lurched to her feet and rushed at her,
blurting, "I mean it! Damn it! Don't go out!
I'm not letting you go out there and get yourself killed."
Neal stood up. But he stayed put, uncertain
what to do.
Sue, turning to face Marta, raised both hands and
shook her head. "Okay, okay! Whoa! Calm
down!"
Marta halted, put an arm out to bar Sue's way,
and pushed the door shut. She fastened the
dead bolt. Then she leaned back against the door.
She was breathing fast. Her eyes looked a little
frantic. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I just.
. . I'm sorry. Everything's ... I'm a little
scared, okay? Everything's ... going too well."
She glanced toward Neal, then back at Sue.
"You know? We put over such a big one on that
prick Conrad. We're suddenly rich. 1 mean,
it's a ton of money. And I'm probably going
to have your baby, Neal. We'll have a little boy or
girl. We'll be a family. And there's us. The
three of us. We're all... we make a great
team, like you said, Sue. The three of us. So the thing
is, I just can't stand the idea that it might all
suddenly go down the tubes. 1 want us to stay together
and be safe." Her mouth twisted crooked and tears
shimmered in her eyes. "Okay?"'
"Okay," Sue said.
"We'll be fine if we stick together." Her wet
eyes swung to Neal. "You know?"
"I know," he muttered through a tightness in his
throat.
"You know?" she asked Sue.
Ml 111
1 know.
"If something happened to either of you ... it'd kill
me." Sue went to her. She pressed her face
against the white of
Marta's T-shirt, just below the shoulder. Marta's
arms went
around her.
They held each other and wept.
Neal watched. He was glad Marta had talked
Sue into staying, but the closeness between them bothered him
more than ever.
What's going on? What about me?
He glanced down at the gold serpent wrapped around
his left wrist.
No. I won't. Not with them.
They can have their secrets.
I don't
want to know.
Can't
invade them, k'd be
wrong, and I won't do it, no matter what.
"Neal," Marta said.
Mouth against the white of Marta's T-shirt, Sue
said, "Get yerself over here, hon."
"Me?" he asked.
"Yeah, you," Marta said.
"Okay," he said.
As he neared them, Marta met his eyes. She
opened her arms and reached out beyond Sue, stretching both
arms toward Neal. He moved in gently against
Sue's back. He felt the heat of her body through
her knit top. He felt the curves of her
back, the firm mounds of her buttocks.
Marta's hands caressed his sides. Reaching past
Sue, he put his hands on Marta's hips. He
slid them upward, feeling her smoothness through her
T-shirt.
He pushed his face into the soft warmth of Sue's
hair.
Reaching behind herself, Sue curled her hands around the
backs of Neat's thighs. Her hands roamed higher
and clutched his buttocks.
He kissed the nape of her neck. The hair
tickled his face. Close to her neck, it felt
moist.
"I feel like the meat on a sandwich," Sue
murmured.
"The meat's the lucky part," Marta said. "You get
to have us on both sides."
"Reckon so." Sue squirmed, rubbing herself against
them. "Only thing is, ya go.a unwrap
me."
Neal noticed that nobody was crying anymore.
He fingered the bottom of Sue's knit pullover.
It was partly tucked into the waist of her skirt. He
plucked it loose, then
lifted it. She raised her arms. He slid her
shirt all the way up
and off.
Instead of lowering her arms, she kept them high and
eased them forward against the door. Elbows straight,
she pressed her open hands against the wood some distance
above Maria's shoulders. She tilted back her
head. Marta's face angled down toward her.
It occurred to Neal that they were kissing.
It also occurred to him that it seemed like a perfectly
fine idea, and he wondered vaguely why he
didn't feel shocked or offended or jealous.
Pressed to Sue's back, he glided his hands from the
waist of her skirt up her naked sides. When he
felt her rib cage, he slid his hands forward and
cupped her breasts-soft, smooth hills, springy,
with rigid nipples that thrust against his palms.
Curving his hands over the tops of Sue's breasts,
he met the soft undersides of Marta's breasts.
She still had her T-shirt on, but no
bra. Neal had known all along that she'd put on
nothing except the T-shirt after coming back from
Vince's. No bra and no panties. It had been
obvious from the way the T-shirt draped her body.
Pushing upward, he lifted her breasts. They were
heavy against the backs of his open hands. He moved his
hands to the front, still lifting. He felt her
nipples rub against his knuckles. Spreading his
fingers, he trapped the stiff juts of flesh. He
squeezed them through the T-shirt. Marta let out a
shuddery breath.
Moments later, Sue's hands came up from somewhere
below. They collided with Neal's hands, knocking them
away from Marta's breasts. He thought she'd done it
to interfere. Then he realized she was lifting
Marta's shirt. He helped. Marta raised her
arms. Neal pulled the shirt off them and flung it
aside.
Now she was entirely naked, Sue in nothing
except her pleated white miniskirt.
Both women seemed to become aware, at the same
moment, that Neal remained fully clothed. Marta,
reaching past Sue's bare sides, plucked out his
shirttails. Sue, still pressed against Marta,
reached behind her own back and unfastened
Neal's belt.
An awkward way to go about things.
Neal almost suggested that they break up their sandwich and
move to the bedroom.
Are you nuts? Keep your mouth shut
-
you could ruin the whole deal. Interrupt a thing Uke
this, might be the end of it. Somebody gets a case
of the guilts . . .
And you might never get a chance like this again.
Don't blow it.
He said nothing. He helped by taking off his own
shirt. While Marta caressed him, Sue worked on
his shorts. He let Sue open them and pull them
down his thighs, along with his briefs.
A hand encircled his penis.
He didn't know whose hand.
It glided lightly up and down.
At the same time the mystery hand went away, Sue
used the heel of one foot to shove Neal's pants
the rest of the way down to his ankles. He stepped
out of them and used his own feet to pry his shoes off.
Then he slid his hands up Sue's legs and under her
pleated skirt.
She wore nothing under there.
Neal was not surprised, but he was very pleased. He
curled his hands around the fronts of her thighs. As
he brought them slowly upward, someone removed
Sue's skirt. It stopped brushing against the backs
of his hands.
He was vaguely aware of Marta and Sue clutching
and exploring each other, kissing and moaning.
A hand that he thought might belong to Marta squeezed
one of his buttocks, fingertips digging at his
crack.
He squirmed, rubbing himself against Sue's sweaty
back. He slipped fingers into her. She gasped.
She writhed on his hand. Soon, she was thrashing about,
making whimpery sounds. And so was Marta. Neal
didn't know what was being done to Marta, or who was
doing it, but she seemed as frantic as Sue.
Someone took his hand.
It was pulled forward, leaving Sue, and lifted and
shoved up between Marta's legs. She let out a
cry. Not a cry of pain, but of surprise and
delight.
Sue must've been the one who'd moved his hand.
Nice
of her to share.
With his other hand, he went for Sue's left
breast. But a hand was already there, so he found his way
above it and took hold of Marta's breast.
One of Sue's hands reached around behind her back.
Reached for Neal and found him.
Marta, writhing frantically, blurted, "Stop it!
Stop it! Let go! Everyone ... let go."
She shoved his hand away.
Sue stopped moving.
"What?" Neal gasped.
"Let go. Everybody ... let go. Step back."
Knew this was too good to last.
Sue let go of him. He took a couple of steps
backward. The air felt cool against his sweaty
skin where he'd been pressed against Sue. His penis
stood erect, so hard and straining that it seemed ready
to explode. His right hand hung by his side,
dripping.
Sue freed herself from Marta and stepped backward
slowly. Her hair was matted against her head with
sweat. Her back gleamed.
Neal moved to the side so he could see past Sue.
Marta stood with her back to the door, arms raised
and legs apart. Strands of wet hair clung to her
face. She was panting for air. Her skin dripped.
'Tokay?" Sue asked her.
Marta nodded, her mouth hanging open. "Neal," she
gasped. "You want... one of us?"
Breathless, he nodded.
"Shoot, 1 reckon he wants . .. the
both
of us."
"I reckon you're right," Marta said.
"Right," Neal said.
"Can't have us both."
Oh, shit! Here it comes! I knew this was too good
to ...
Marta's eyes went to Sue. "Your turn," she
said.
"Ya sure
you
don't wanna go first?"
"Come here, honey," Marta said to Neal.
He went to her. She pulled him tight against her
hot, sweaty
body. Hands roaming up and down his back, she
kissed him.
Her tongue pushed into his mouth. She squirmed,
sliding herself
against him.
And suddenly she wrestled him.
Shoved him and turned him around and wrapped her arms
around his chest and hugged him tight. He felt her
strong embrace, her breath on the side of his
neck, the push of her breasts against his back, the
tickle of her pubic thatch against his rump.
"Come and get it, honey," she said to Sue.
A grin spread across Sue's face.
She had to jump.
Neal caught her. Hands cupping her slick
buttocks, he lifted her. He eased her down
onto him. He did it very slowly, and watched. As
he felt himself slide into Sue's hugging tightness,
he saw his penis vanish.
Marta stopped hugging Neal's chest. Reaching out, she
clutched Sue by the sides, just beneath the armpits.
Sue came forward. Breasts pushing against Neal's
chest, she kissed Marta over his shoulder. Then she
kissed him. Then Marta nibbled his ear.
Then it all became a little wild.
Everybody groped and panted and squirmed. While
he thrust, buried in Sue, Marta rammed her
pelvis against his ass. He had Sue's tongue in
his mouth. Later, he had her breast in his mouth while
he held her high and she kissed Marta and then the
breast popped out when he brought her down and
then he rammed her down onto him and he plunged
up high into her and she cried out and shuddered.
At some point, they fell. They landed on the carpet
in front of the door, Neal still embedded in Sue, and
Marta must've been on all fours behind him while
he continued. She made him squirm and wiggle.
He came so hard that he thought he might never be able
to move again.
For a long time, they all lay sprawled on the
floor.
The carpet felt scratchy under Neal. The room was
nearly dark. A soft breeze blew in, stirring
the curtains, drifting like fingertips over his hot,
wet skin.
He was almost asleep when something brushed against his
lips.
He opened his eyes. In the murky light, he saw
a breast looming
down in front of his eyes. It was too large to be
Sue's. It swung
slowly from side to side, its nipple grazing across
his lips.
His penis, limp against his thigh, began to rise.
It rose into a moist, round hole with a tongue
inside.
He sucked Malta's nipple into his mouth.
At the other end of him, Sue sucked.
Neal couldn't believe it.
"What are you doing?" he asked after a while.
"We're having our way with you," Marta said.
"How's it so far?" Sue asked.
"Not bad."
Chapter Fifty-three
When Neal woke up, the bedroom was dark. The
curtain above
him drifted up and wavered, letting in moonlight
and a breeze.
The breeze roamed over his skin. It was mildly
cool, and felt
wonderful.
Someone's arm lay across his chest.
His head was elevated as if resting on a high,
firm pillow. A hard knob pressed against the
back of his neck. A hip bone?
Turning his head, he felt skin against the side of his
face. Inches from his eyes was a tangle of
moonlit, silvery hair. Beyond the hair was empty
space, thighs on both sides. This close up, the
thighs looked like huge, snow-covered slopes
stretching off into the distance. But maybe darker
than snow. Maybe sand dunes washed in
moonlight.
They seemed to end at the knees.
That was where the mattress ended.
She was lying crosswise, her legs-knees
to toes-hanging off the bed.
Fingers fiddled with Neal's hair.
"You awake?" Malta's voice, a familiar
whisper.
"Yeah."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"This is nice."
"Yeah."
The arm across his chest glided downward. Its open hand
patted him a few times, stroked his hip, caressed
his belly, slid lower and squeezed him.
Neal looked down at his own body. The hand belonged
to Sue.
She lay on her back beside him, a dim shape,
darker than the white sheet. She looked as if she
might still be asleep-motionless, feet apart, her
left hand curled on her belly, her right arm
angled out and resting on Neal.
But she had to be awake, or her hand
wouldn't be doing that to him.
He raised his head for a better look at her.
Sue's face was just above Marta's shoulder, the top
of her head touching the left side of Marta's
face.
What if they were connected that way? Neal thought. Like
Siamese twins, joined
at
the head.
The notion made him smile.
I wouldn't
have
to
worry about being one guy in love with two women
-
there'd only be one of her. One fabulous
creature.
I'd need a name for it.
The
Marta-Sue?
How about
the
Two-she?
He laughed.
The Two-she came apart, Sue turning
her head to look at him and Marta lifting her head
off the mattress. Sue's hand released him.
She made a "Mmmm?" sound.
"Nothing," Neal whispered. "The way your heads were
together like that, 1 thought for a second you might be a
Two- she."
Marta laughed.
"A tushy?" Sue asked.
Marta laughed harder.
"A
Two-she"
Neal said. He lowered his head onto Marta. Her
laughter made it bounce. Grinning, he gazed at
the ceiling. "A tushy is something altogether different."
At that, Sue cracked up.
They were both laughing like a couple of nuts.
Neal felt as if he had a trampoline under his
head.
When the bouncing stopped, Marta took a deep
breath and sighed. She said, "So what is a
Two-she?"
Sue laughed some more.
"A fabulous mythological creature," Neal
explained. "Two gorgeous Greek goddesses,
joined at the head."
"With
two
tushies," Sue said.
The bouncing resumed.
Afraid he might get a headache, Neal sat
up. He turned around and knelt on the mattress.
Marta and Sue, still laughing, stayed where they were,
their heads together, their bodies stretched out at right
angles to each other.
"Two tushies, two pussies, two everything,"
Neal said.
"Four titties," Sue corrected him.
"This is certainly taking a turn for the vulgar,"
Marta commented.
"Yeah, Sue, watch your language."
"You watch yers, fella!"
"Children, children," Marta said.
Neal dived for Marta. Even before he got to her,
she cried out, "No!" and started to bring her knees
up. Then she squealed as he shoved his wide-open
mouth against her belly and blew hard. Joining her
squeal was a loud, fartlike blast.
"Gross!" Sue yelled. "Who cut one?"
Marta shoved Neal. His mouth broke away from her
belly with a noisy, squelching suck. As
he teetered on his knees, Sue attacked him from
the side. He landed on his back, knees in the
air, his head and shoulders hanging off the end of the
mattress. Sue climbed onto him.
She seemed to be trying to say something, but she was
laughing too hard to speak.
Neal wanted to warn her that he was slipping off the
mattress.
He couldn't talk, either.
She bounced on him.
The slipping continued.
"Hey," he gasped.
"Hey, hey!" Sue bounced on him, her rump
slapping his belly.
"Hey!" Marta blurted.
Neal's feet flew up.
And were grabbed at the ankles by two hands. Grabbed
and tugged. As he was jerked back from the rim of the
mattress, Sue almost tumbled off him. He reached
up fast and caught her around the waist. She stayed
aboard.
Then they were both sprawled on their backs, gasping
and laughing. Marta, the rescuer, knelt between them,
down near their feet. She had her hands on her
hips. She was shaking her head.
"This is what happens," she said, "when people get
carried away. You could've broken your necks."
Sue reached out and slapped Neal's chest. "Look
at her, she's already actin" like a mother and she ain't
even had the baby yet."
"Mama Marta," Neal said.
Marta waded in on her knees and shoved Sue off
the side of the bed. As Sue yelped and thudded,
Marta turned to Neal.
"Hey!" he gasped. "I give! Spare me!
I'm the father of your child!"
"Tough tacos," she said. Kneeing and shoving him,
she rolled Neal off the mattress.
He hit the floor.
He heard Sue gasping and laughing from the floor on
the other side of the bed.
"Now," Marta said from above, "everybody calm down
before you get me evicted."
"We've got half a million dollars," Neal
pointed out from the floor.
"Smackeroonies," Sue added from her distant
section of floor.
"That's no reason to get carried away," Marta
explained.
"Seems like a plenty fine reason to me,"
Sue said.
"Can we come back up?" Neal asked. "It's
lonely down here.
And the floor's hard."
"Okay, but no more roughhousing."
"Rough-housing?" Sue said.
"You're right, Sue," Neal called. "She's
turning into a mother before our very eyes."
"Eat me," said Marta.
They lay on the bed, side by side, Marta in the
middle. It had
taken a while to stop laughing and calm down. Though
Neal
was no longer breathless, his body still ran with sweat.
The
breeze from the window felt wonderful.
"Ya know what?" Sue asked from the other side of
Marta.
"What?" Marta asked.
"This is... it's just the greatest."
"Yeah," Marta said.
"Yeah," Neal said. "My God."
"I never had nobody like you two," Sue said.
"Ya know? It's ... I love ya so much it
hurts."
"Yeah," Marta said. "It hurts, but it sure
feels good."
"And we won't never split up," Sue said.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Marta
whispered.
"How "bout you, Neal?" Sue asked.
"I'm the luckiest guy in the world," he said.
Marta squeezed his hand. "You damn bet you are.
You were the luckiest guy when all you had was me. Now
you've got both of us, a baby on the way,
and
half a million bucks."
"And Vince don't."
"Doesn't," Neal corrected.
"All he's got is the shaft," Marta said.
"Reckon he's the unlucldest guy in the world."
"Unless," Neal said, "he can come up with another
half a million before two o'clock."
"How would he do that?" Marta asked.
"How did he get the first?"
"We only stole it from him a few hours ago,"
Marta pointed out. "He hasn't had time
to replace it. The banks would've all been closed
. .."
"Maybe he has a wealthy friend with a safe
full of cash. Maybe
he
has a safe full of cash. Just because he didn't
think about it
while I was in his head . . ."
"I doubt it," Marta said. "I think we've got
his money. And I think there's gonna be a very
pissed-off Leslie Glitt when two o'clock rolls
around."
Sue sat up. Twisting sideways, she braced
herself on a stiff arm and looked over her shoulder at
the clock. "It's twelve after twelve," she
announced.
"I don't think Vince is planning to show up before
one," Neal said.
"If he shows up at all," Marta said. "Which I
wouldn't, if I were in his shoes."
"He'll probably show up and drop off something,"
Neal said.
"An apology?" Marta asked.
"Maybe an IOU."
"If I was of" Vince," Sue said, "I'd put
a bomb in a sack and blow Glitt to smithereens."
"I'd love to see that," Neal said.
"When we gonna go?" Sue asked. Not
waiting for an answer, she said, "We don't
wanna miss nothing. Maybe we oughta get goin'
right now."
"It's still pretty early," Neal told her.
"I'll take my camcorder," Marta said. "At
the very least, we oughta be able to get some video of
Glitt showing up to look for his money. If we're
lucky, we might get both of them. That'd
prove
there was a conspiracy."
"Prove to who?" Sue asked.
"The cops. A jury."
"I'm the jury," Neal said.
"Think you're Mike Hammer?" Marta asked.
"Yeah. Except he used a .45, and all
I've got is a measly .380.
Marta rolled onto her side. She swung a
leg across his thighs. Rubbing his chest, she squirmed
closer. He felt the smoothness of her body against
him, the tickle of her pubic hair, the weight and
heat of a breast on top of his arm. She nibbled his
shoulder. "Let me be your Velda?" she whispered.
Sue gave Marta's rump a smack.
Marta flinched. "Ow!"
"Time's a-wastin, gang. We gotta
move it or lose it." The mattress wobbled as
Sue scurried off the bed. Neal watched her rush
across the moonlit room. She stopped at the
doorway and reached out.
The sudden brightness hurt Neal's eyes.
Marta groaned and pushed her face against his chest.
"Let's go!" Sue called out, grinning.
"We've got plenty of time," Neal said.
"We ain't the first ones there, no tellin what we
might miss. C'mon, let's move it!" She
clapped her hands. "Let's go, let's go! Time's
a-wastin!"
With another groan, Marta rolled off Neal and
sprawled on her back. She flung an arm across
her eyes to block out the light.
By the time Neal could force himself to sit up, Sue was
gone. He swung his legs off the bed. Then sat
there, head drooping.
"I don't wanna move," Marta muttered from behind
him.
"Me either."
"Why's she so damn perky?"
"Part of her charm," Neal muttered.
Sue came prancing into the room.
Neal raised his head. She was grinning,
naked, and had clothes clutched to her chest: her own
white pleated skirt and yellow knit pullover,
Malta's T-shirt, Neal's shorts.
"Here ya go, got yer duds for ya." She tossed
the shorts at Neal. They almost hit him in the
face. Just in time, he shot a hand up and caught
them. "Get up, get "em on, we gotta get
outta here."
"Settle down," Marta muttered.
Sue threw the T-shirt at her.
Neal looked over his shoulder. Marta was on her
back, propped up with her elbows. She regarded
Sue with narrow eyes, but made no attempt
to protect herself. The T-shirt opened up in
midair and fell, dropping over her head, draping
her entire face, covering one shoulder and one breast.
She let it stay.
The fabric showed the general shape of her face.
Neal could
see the curve of her brow, slight indentations over
her eyes, the
rise of her nose, the slopes of her cheeks. He
could see where
her lips were. Her mouth seemed to be closed and
unsmiling.
"Extremely amusing," she said, lips and chin
moving the fab" ric.
Neal suddenly pictured her dead, face covered
by a sheet.
He turned away, stood up and stepped into his
shorts. As he pulled them up, he said, "We
don't all have to go. Why don't you two stay here?
I'll drive down and take care of things."
"Yer ki.in'," Sue said, fastening her skirt.
"We're not staying behind," Marta said.
The T-shirt no longer shrouded her face. She was
sitting up in the middle of the bed, scowling at Neal,
the shirt heaped in her lap.
"All I'm going to do is park and watch what
happens," he explained. "And I'll use the
camcorder. I'll get everything on tape. And
maybe I'll use the bracelet on Glitt
to see where he goes after he finds out he's been
stiffed. It won't take three of us to . .."
"I wanna watch," Sue protested.
Seated cross-legged on the bed, Marta put her
T-shirt on. When her head reappeared, she
gazed at Neal and said, "I know what's going on in
that mind of yours."
"Probably," he admitted.
"You're afraid one of us'll get hurt."
"That's right, 1 am. You don't know Glitt.
He's ... the things he would do to you .,."
"So you think we'd be better off-safer from
Glitt-if you go away in the middle of the night without
us? Leaving us alone and unarmed?"
"He doesn't know where you are," Neal said.
"How do you know?"
"I don't know for sure," he admitted, "but..."
"Wasn't Glitt planning to visit your apartment
again tonight?"
"Yeah."
"Over in your apartment, is my address written
down anywhere?"
"Yeah, but-was
"And you still want to leave us here for a couple of hours,
all by ourselves, without the gun?"
Neal grimaced at her.
"If you go," Marta said, "we all go."
"Fair's fair," Sue added.
"Everything else aside," Marta said, "you might
need us. If you do go on a bracelet trip, we
should be in the car to keep an eye on your body."
"We'll be yer bodyguards," Sue said. She
stood by the bed in her white, pleated
skirt, casually twirling her knit blouse by the
side of her leg. Her hips shifted slightly from
side to side. Her skirt swayed, its front
brushing across her thighs.
She looked like a cheerleader who'd decided to go
native.
And Neal suddenly knew that he didn't want to go
anywhere without her.
Without her or Marta.
"We'll make sure you're safe and sound,"
Marta said, "while you're riding Glitt
to God-knows-where."
"Who'll guard
you?"
Neal asked.
"Any sign of trouble," Marta said, "and we'll
drive off."
was "Sides," Sue said, "we'll have yer gun. It
ain't. . . isn't a thing ya can take with ya on a
bracelet trip."
"We'll be fine in the car," Marta told him.
Neal glanced from Sue to Marta. They both had their
eyebrows high, impish looks on their faces.
They knew that they'd won.
He supposed they would
always
win.
Two against one.
The Two-she versus me.
Could be worse, he decided.
Just, please, God, don't let anything happen
to them.
Neal knew that he should've made them stay behind. But
he
was glad they were with him. It was very good to be in the back
seat of the Jeep, both of them in front of him,
close enough to
touch, their hair blowing.
Marta drove. She and Sue sometimes turned their
heads and said things that Neal couldn't hear.
If anything happens to them . . .
He wondered if he was risking them, allowing them
to come. Or would they have been in more danger, left behind?
This way, he thought, at least we're together. I'll
be here to protect them.
Which, he suspected, was more an excuse than a
reason. The real reasons were probably more selfish
than that: He
wanted
them to be with him. Partly because he was
afraid, deep down, to go out by himself at this hour of
night, on this sort of mission. But mostly because, at
least for now, he felt as if parting with either of them would
be too painful.
But I'm taking them to Giitt. He might've
never found us, and here we are,
going to him.
Suddenly, the insanity of it seemed so vast that Neal
imagined himself leaning forward between the seatbacks and
saying, "Turn it around. We're going home."
He wanted to do that.
But he couldn't.
Tonight, and only tonight, Glitt would be making a
rendezvous with a paper sack in a garbage container in
front of Video City.
Miss him,
and he'll still be out there. But we
won't
know where.
Sooner or later,
he'll find us. But we won't know when.
Back out now, he'll nail us for sure.
They had started their trip at Marta's apartment. From
there,
any of several routes would've led them
to Video City. But Neal
soon noticed that they were traveling on the very same
backroad
that he always took to the video store.
The same road that he'd used Sunday night.
They would soon be coming to the freeway underpass.
They stopped for a traffic signal at National
Boulevard. Turning in her seat, Sue looked
back at Neal. "How ya doin'?" she asked.
"Okay."
"Sure you are," Marta said. He could never fool
her.
"I've been better," he admitted. "Just scared.
I wish we were back in bed."
"Well, it'll all be over in a couple of
hours."
"That's what he's scared of," Sue said.
"I know we have to do this," Neal explained. "But 1
don't like it."
"I sorta do," Sue said.
"You
what?"
"Like it. I feel like when we was about to climb aboard
that roily coaster at The Fort. The Pony
Express? All sorta trembly and
excited."
"Wish I'd been there," Marta said. The traffic
signal turned green, and she drove through the
intersection.
"The dang thing busted on us," Sue told her.
"We was stuck way up there at the tippy-top.
Scared the squeamin' jimmies outta me. But it
turned out fine. This here, it's gonna turn out
fine, too."
Listening, Neal had half-expected Sue to tell
Marta what they'd
done
while stuck at the summit of the roller coaster.
He was a little surprised that she left it out.
"After this is all over," Marta said, "we should go
to Disneyland."
"Yeah!"
"Now that we've got half a million bucks,"
Neal said, "we might be able to afford it."
Marta turned her head slightly, and Neal saw the
side of her
face smiling. "The baby's gonna
love
Disneyland. After it's born,
we'll have to go two or three times a
year."
"And we'll
all
go, right?" Sue asked. She sounded as if she
wanted to make very sure that she wasn't being
eliminated from Marta's visions of the future.
"We'll make you push the pram," Marta told
her.
Neal realized that they had already gone through the freeway
underpass. He hadn't noticed it at all, hadn't
given a moment of thought to the gangster threats
scribbled on its walls, hadn't felt its
menace.
They'd left it behind while talking of Disneyland.
"Can I name it?" Sue asked.
"The baby?" Marta asked.
"Yeah."
"No!" Marta blurted, and laughed.
The Jeep jolted as she drove across the old
railroad tracks. Then she turned left.
"I suppose we might listen to your suggestions,"
she relented. "But Neal and I will have the final
say."
"Well, sure. Fair's fair."
Head turned, Neal gazed out across the
field. The wasteland. In the gray of the moonlight,
he saw bare dirt, gravel and scruffy bushes,
scabs of pale litter, vague shapes of discarded
junk.
He remembered his charge across the no-man's-land and
into the trees.
There.
Right
there.
Right in
there is where the bastard had Eh'se.
There in the narrow wilderness between the field and the slope
of the freeway embankment. An area made for dark
hiding, for playing games dreamt up in nightmares.
There, he thought. Right there.
I could've saved her. If only I'd finished him
off.
Should've crouched down over him and stuck the muzzle
in his mouth.
Boom!
And one to die on.
If only, if only . . .
The main thing to remember is this, he told himself:
Don't
make the same mistake again. This time,
kill him dead.
Leaning forward, he said, "Over there, that's where I
almost saved Elise. In those trees over there."
Marta and Sue turned their heads. They gazed
toward a place in the trees below the freeway. But
not the correct place. Neal hadn't spoken fast
enough. The correct place had been left behind.
"That's where you did save her," Marta corrected
him. "Not almost."
"No. I only gave her a reprieve. A
short one."
"It ain't yer fault," Sue said.
"I know. It's
their
fault. But I had a chance to get in the way
and keep her alive. And I blew it."
Blew my chance to save the gal in the garage, too,
he thought. But maybe there'd never been much chance
to save her. Even if I could've found the place
again .. . Such awful burns.
She must be dead by now.
But if I get into Glitt's head, maybe I can
find out where the garage is. It'd be worth a try.
There's a chance that she's still alive ...
Slim to
none.
But I should try, he told himself. I
have
to try.
Marta turned right and drove slowly up the last
road to Video City.
Sunday night on this very road, Elise had been
hiding in the backseat of Neal's car, injured and
bloody, naked except for Neal's shirt and
Glitt's shoes.
Rasputin's shoes, he reminded himself.
The Beast of Belvedere.
"I wonder how Vince met him," Neal said.
"Met Glitt?" Marta asked.
"Yeah. Where do you go to find a guy like that?"
"Look under rocks," Marta suggested.
Neal saw the bright lights of Venice Boulevard
ahead.
Almost
there!
God!
He suddenly felt breathless and sick.
"That's it on the corner," he muttered.
Light spilled out from display windows along the side
of Video
City, washing over the walkway by the edge of the road.
"Is it open?" Sue asked.
"Should've closed at midnight," Neal said. "I
think they leave the lights on like that all night."
"The more light," Marta said, "the better."
"Speaking of which," Neal said, "you'd better kill the
headlights."
She shut them off. Their bright tunnels disappeared,
but the night was still pale with the glow of streetlights and the
full moon.
"Where should we park?" Marta asked when they were
adjacent to the building.
"Not in the parking lot," Neal said.
"How "bout this street?" Sue asked.
"Yeah," Neal said. "Maybe over there. You could
U it here."
Slowing almost to a stop, Marta eased the car toward the
curb on the right. Then she swung it to the other side
of the road. With the tail of the car toward Venice
Boulevard, she straightened out beside the curb. Then
she slowly backed up.
Across the road, the Video City seemed to slide
out of the way.
When they had a clear view of the entire parking lot,
she stopped. "How's this?" she asked.
Neal checked over his shoulder. "Back up some more.
There's a big shadow behind us."
Marta did as he asked. The shadow from a tree
crept over the Jeep.
"Here."
She stopped and shut off the engine.
"Beautiful," Neal said.
Though the shadow failed to hide them completely, at
least it kept away the direct brightness of the full
moon and the nearest streetlight.
From a distance, they probably looked like vague,
dark shapes-if anyone should notice them at all.
The eyes of a stranger might simply sweep past
this section of road, notice that a vehicle seemed
to be parked in a patch of darkness, and move on
to brighter places.
That was Neal's guess, and his hope.
Close up, he could make out the dim features of
Marta and Sue. They both had their heads turned
to the left. Both seemed to be studying the
well-lighted parking lot across the road.
He wished they'd worn dark tops. He hadn't
thought of it
until now, though.
There'd been no discussion of what to wear;
they'd simply gotten dressed in what Sue had
brought in from the living room-as if they were about to run a
little errand in the middle of the night, had no plan
to leave the car, and figured nobody was likely
to see them, anyway.
Which had been fine with Neal.
Even if he'd thought of dark clothes, he supposed
he would've kept quiet for fear of ruining a good
thing. It was nice to know that Marta wore nothing under
her T-shirt, that Sue was naked under her knit
top and pleated skirt. He wore nothing, himself,
except his shorts and sneakers.
Why
didn't
we get dressed? he wondered.
He supposed it had to do with comfort andwiththe good feel of
keeping a bit of sexual tension in the air. More
than that, however, it seemed like a way to deny that they were
going on such a risky mission.
Dress as if you're stepping out for a few
minutes-maybe to return a video.
With a gun in
my pocket.
It felt strange to wear nothing under his shorts, but
to have the pistol resting on his thigh. The
pistol was cool and heavy through the thin fabric of his
pocket.
Marta turned sideways and looked over her
shoulder at him. "Wanna hand me the camcorder?"
He picked it up and passed it forward.
As Marta opened its leather carrying case, Neal
turned his attention to the parking lot. Five or six
cars were scattered about, but the area was so large that it
seemed nearly deserted. He saw nobody. The
parked cars appeared to be empty, and he couldn't
see anyone moving around inside the store.
The only activity was behind them on Venice
Boulevard. There, a few vehicles were rushing by,
making sounds like wind.
Somebody in one of them had a radio playing too
loudly, the
bass blasting out booming noises that hid any sound
of music.
"I hope there's enough light," Marta said.
Neal looked at Video City's glass doors,
the walkway in front, the night return slot,
and the round concrete garbage container where the money was
supposed to be dropped. Light flooded out through the
store windows. A harsher light fell on the area from
the standards that surrounded the parking lot.
"It seems pretty bright," Neal said.
Marta raised the camcorder to her eye. "Looks
good," she said. There was a buzzing sound when she
zoomed in. "Oh, yeah. This'll be great."
"Now," Sue said, "if somebody'll just show up."
"What time is it?" Neal asked.
"Twelve thirty-five."
"We shouldn't have long to wait. Not for Vince,
anyway. He planned to get here good and early."
"Last thing he wants," Marta said, "is a
face-to-face with Glitt."
Sue chuckled. "Now that he's shit outta cash."
"If
he's shit outta cash," Neal said.
"He couldn't have possibly scraped up another
half a million," Marta said. "Not this fast."
"Anything's possible."
"It might already be there," Sue said.
"What?" Neal asked.
"The bag. Whatever's in it. Vince coulda come and
gone already, ya know?"
"Or maybe he won't come at all," Marta
said.
Sue flung open her door. "Back in a sec,"
she said and hopped out of the Jeep.
"What are you doing?" Marta asked.
"Gonna take me a look in the garbage," she
said, and broke into a run.
"Don't!" Neal called. "Get back here."
Halfway across the road, Sue grinned over her
shoulder. "Don't worry none. Just gonna have me
a peek." Then she faced forward and picked up her
speed, bare feet striding out, her pleated white
skirt lifting and prancing around her thighs.
"Look at her go," Marta said. She sounded
impressed.
"The idiot." Neal couldn't take his eyes off
Sue. She was really flying-already past the corner of the
building and sprinting up the front walkway. "If
Vince shows up now ..."
"Wouldn't
he
be surprised?"
"Say that again."
"It's still early," Marta said.
Neal suddenly imagined one of the cars in the parking
lot roaring to life and racing toward Sue. It
slams into her. Rips her off her feet. Folds
her in half. With Sue sprawled over the hood, it
crashes through the plate glass and plunges
on into the store.
So far, however, all the cars remained motionless.
Sue stopped at the garbage container. Putting her
hands on both sides of its lid, she bent over at
the waist and lowered her face toward the hole.
A few moments later, she straightened up.
Shoulders swiveling, head turning, she scanned the
parking lot.
"What's she looking at?" Marta asked, worry
in her voice.
"I don't know."
"Maybe she heard something."
"I don't see anything wrong," Neal said.
He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out the
Sig Sauer. He rested it on top of his thigh.
Sue was again bent over, peering into the trash barrel.
"She's sure taking her time," Marta muttered.
"I'd like to honk."
"Don't," Neal said.
She made a small, quiet laugh. "I won't.
But I'd like to."
"I'd like to swat her ass."
Turning her head, Marta grinned at him.
"We'll take turns."
"The damn bag's either there or it isn't.
If Vince shows up
while she's there . .."
He quit speaking as Sue shifted sideways a
bit and reached an arm down into the hole.
"She's going for something," Marta whispered.
Face twisted away from the hole, Sue reached
deeper and deeper.
At the far end of the parking lot, a pair of
headlights swept in from a side street.
"Shit!" Neal gasped.
Burger Boy was down there. For a moment, Neal
hoped the car might be heading for its drive-through
lane. But he suddenly remembered that the place no
longer stayed open past midnight. After the kid had
gotten shot there last month.. .
The car drove straight into the Video City lot.
And rushed toward Sue.
Neal's stomach dropped.
Clutching the automatic, he leaped over the side
of the Jeep.
"Be careful!" Marta gasped.
As he rushed into the road, he saw Sue, bright in
the headlights of the approaching car, come up quickly out
of the trash barrel, a white sack in her hand. She
faced the car and squinted into the glare of its
lights.
The lights slid off to her side. The car kept
coming, but slowed down. Then it stopped, its front
bumper still a few yards from Sue.
The car was a black Cadillac.
It didn't look familiar to Neal.
The driver climbed out. Leaving the door open, he
made his way toward Sue. A big guy, so heavy
that he seemed to have trouble walking. He wore a
tank top and enormous blue jeans. His black
ponytail swished from side to side as he waddled
along.
He carried a videotape. Just one. He held it
off to the side, swinging it this way and that as if using it
to ward off an invasion of his right flank.
Neal, at the corner of the store, slipped the pistol
into his pocket but held onto it.
Sue smiled at the stranger. Then she opened the
paper bag,
glanced in, muttered something, wadded the bag and
tossed it
into the garbage container.
"No luck?" he asked her. He had a
high-pitched voice that sounded girlish.
"Nope," Sue said. Still smiling, she
stepped off the walkway and extended a hand. "I'll
drop it in for ya," she said.
"Much obliged," the stranger said, and handed the tape
to Sue.
She started to turn away.
"Wait," he said.
She faced him.
He removed a wallet from a back pocket of his
jeans.
"Hey, no," Sue said. "I ain't lookin for no
handout. Honest."
He pulled out a bill and held it toward her.
"I'm sure you can put this to good use. Please. I
want you to take it."
Sue shook her head. "I got more money than I
know what to do with already," she told him.
"I saw what you were doing in the garbage. Looking for
scraps ..."
"Naw. J. .." She snatched the bill from his
fingers and said, "Thanks, mister."
He waved a pudgy hand at her, then turned around
and began slogging his way back to his car.
Sue hurried over to the night return slot. She
popped his video in, then looked down at the money
in her hand. Whistling softly, she shook her
head. She glanced toward Neal, shook her head
again, then turned toward the man. "Thanks a real
lot," she called. "God bless you."
His door thudded shut.
Neal turned to a window. Staring in at the shelves of
videotapes, he waited for the stranger to drive
away. While he waited, Sue walked over
to him.
"Look at this," she said. "The fella gave me a
fifty. Ya believe it? Look." She thrust the
bill at him. "Nobody
never
gave me no fifty before."
"Let's get outta here," Neal said.
They started walking side by side. Sue held the
fifty dollar
bill in front of her and gazed at it. "Never got
me a tip this big
when 1 was waitin" tables at Sunny's."
"He must've felt sorry for you," Neal said.
"Saw you rooting through the garbage."
"Well.. ."
"And how
skinny
you are."
"He sure was a nice guy. Too bad I
didn't run into someone like him back there in the days
before I got rich." Reaching behind Neal, she patted
his rump. "Thanks for runnin' to my rescue."
"That might've been Vince, you know."
"Mighta been, but wasn't. Anyhow, I didn't
find nothin' in the trash can. Just some trash. So I
reckon we got here first."
They crossed the road and climbed into the Jeep.
"Look what that fella gave me," Sue said, and
held the fifty out for Marta to see.
Marta didn't seem impressed. "You could've
gotten yourself killed," she said.
"Coulda, but didn't."
"I don't think it's funny. There was no good
reason to go running over there like that. You were just showing
off."
"Was not."
"It turned out okay," Neal said. "And at least
we know that Vince hasn't been here yet."
"He might've watched the whole episode,"
Marta pointed out. "He could be in one of those cars
over there . .. anywhere. Just keeping an eye on
things. The same goes for Glitt. Anybody with
half a brain would show up good and early for
this sort of a deal. And if they're here, they know
we're
here." She looked at Sue.
"Sorry," Sue muttered, and shrugged. "Didn't
mean to cause trouble."
"It's no big deal," Neal said. "If they got
here this early to keep an eye on the situation, you can
bet they probably watched us arrive."
Marta was silent for a moment. Then she said, "That's
probably true."
Sue turned sideways and said to Neal, "Why
don't ya try a
bracelet trip? Take a run through them parked
cars, and...
Duck!"
As Neal dropped across the backseat, he heard an
engine. The sound came from the rear.
Just behind them, a car seemed to be making a right turn
onto their road from Venice.
Could be anyone, Neal told himself.
After all, they'd chosen a place that was directly
across from the main entrance to Video City's parking
lot.
But
how many people return tapes at this hour?
"Coast is clear," Sue announced.
Neal lifted himself up. Looking across the road, he
saw a Toyota pickup truck. It sped through the
lot and veered toward the front of the store.
Marta and Sue were both sitting up, watching it.
Marta held her camcorder just below her chin as if
ready for action.
The pickup braked to a quick, skidding stop.
The passenger door flew open. A woman jumped
out. She wore a red bathrobe. Her hair was up
in curlers. Carrying a videotape in each hand,
she trotted toward the deposit slot.
"She dressed up for the occasion," Marta said.
"Just like us," Neal pointed out.
"I'd never go
anywhere
in curlers."
Shaking her head, Sue commented, "She don't look
at
att
like Vince."
They watched the woman hurry back to the pickup and
climb aboard. As she swung her door shut, the
truck backed up. Then it lurched forward and raced
for the exit at the far end of the lot.
"Why're
they
in such a god-awful rush?" Sue asked.
"Probably afraid of being bushwhacked by gang
bangers," Neal said.
"If they're scared, they oughta stay home."
Marta shook her head and lowered the camera.
"What's with all these people, returning their tapes at
this hour?"
"They probably stayed up late watching the things,"
Neal suggested. "I've done it, myself."
"But this is after closing time. Why don't they just
wait till
morning?"
"Next one comes by," Sue said, "y'oughta hop
in with the bracelet and find out why."
"Thanks anyway," Marta said. "Not me."
"I'll do it," Sue volunteered. "Then I'll
let ya know what I find out." She smiled over
her shoulder at Neal. "Here, let me have it."
He shook his head. "Not till this is over. I have
to use it on Glitt when he shows up."
Sue sighed. "Have it yer way. Poop."
Neal reached forward and gave her ponytail a quick
tug.
"Ow!"
"Look over there! It's him!"
As Marta raised the camcorder and pointed it across
the road, Neal jerked his head to the left. The parking
lot still looked empty except for the scattered cars
that had been there all along.
"Where?" he whispered.
"There," Sue said. "See him?" She pointed past
Marta's face.
Neal heard the buzz of the camcorder zooming in.
And then he saw the man.
Vince Conrad, all right. Though he was still a good
distance away, Neal recognized him immediately. He
was striding along the walkway in front of Video
City with a quick step. He looked fit and somewhat
jaunty. Dressed in a dark warm-up suit, he
might've been someone out for a night of exercise.
Except for the bag he carried.
A large brown grocery sack was clutched to his
chest.
"Where'd he come from?" Neal whispered.
"Over by Burger Boy?" Marta suggested, her
eye to the camcorder's viewfinder.
"You getting him?" Neal asked.
"Yep."
"I wonder what he's got in the bag," Sue
said.
Raising her voice slightly, Marta said for the
benefit of the tape, "What we're seeing here is
Vince Conrad, husband of Elise Waters, on his
way to drop off a bag of cash for the man he hired
to murder Elise. The killer, Leslie Glitt,
also known as the
Beast of Belvedere, is supposed to come along at
about two
o'clock this morning to pick it up."
Off in the distance, Vince walked briskly up to the
trash container. Without any hesitation at all, he
dropped the sack through the hole in the lid, turned
around, and walked the other way.
"There he goes," Sue whispered.
Reaching out, Neal clamped a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, hey, take it easy. I ain't goin
nowhere."
"We sit tight and see what happens."
"I know. 1 know."
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then
let go.
Marta lowered the camera. "If nothing else," she
said, "at least we've got evidence of
Vince's involvement."
"We won't need any evidence," Neal said.
"When Glitt finds out he got stiffed, he'll
probably kill the bastard. And if he doesn't,
1 will."
"What if the bag's got half a million
smackeroos in it?" Sue asked.
"Vince could not have come up with that much money," Marta
insisted. She sounded slightly annoyed, as if she
might be getting tired of repeating herself on the
matter.
"Couldn't hurt to take a look," Sue said.
Neal clamped her shoulder again. "It could hurt
plenty. Stay put."
For a while, nobody spoke. Neal kept his hand
on Sue's shoulder, and they all studied the parking
lot. Then Sue said, "If the bag's full of
money, we oughta grab it "fore Glitt shows up."
"It's not full of money," Marta insisted.
"Ya never know."
"I know."
"No, ya don't. Just let me run on over there
for a sec."
Neal shook his head. "That might be exactly the
"sec" when Glitt shows up. If he
catches you ..."
"If he catches me, shoot him. That's what ya
wanna do anyhow, isn't it?"
"No. What I want... I want Glitt to go
after Vince. That's the whole idea. 1 mean, this is
not a guy you want to cheat out
of half a million bucks. What he'll
probably do is head straight
over to Vince's place and take him apart. That's
what 1 want. I
want him to work on Vince the way he worked on
Elise ... the
way he'd
like
to work on all of us. And I'd like to be inside him
while he's doing it, so I won't miss a thing."
"Well, if that sack's full of money, of'
Glitt'll go off happy."
"I'll ride him, anyway. Whatever happens,
we need to know where he goes. Once I find out,
I'll come back and we'll go take care of him."
"Whatever might be in the bag," Marta said, "we can
take it then."
Sue frowned over her shoulder at Neal. "Don't
ya want Glitt to take apart Vince?"
"I'd love it. Nobody could ever hurt him the
way Glitt could. And it'd be so ...
appropriate. He can't cough up the dough to pay
Glitt for butchering Elise, so Glitt butchers
him. That's
justice."
"If he butchers Vince," Marta said, "he'll
never get the money."
"He'll at ieast torture the bastard."
"He might not do anything."
"Oh, I think he'll do plenty. I have loads of
faith in my beast."
Sue chuckled softly, then said, "Ya want
Glitt doin' the dirty work, then we'd darn sure
better find out what's in the bag. And take it, if
there's money."
"I guess you're right," Neal admitted. He
pressed down firmly on Sue's shoulder.
"You
stay here. I'll take care of it."
Chapter Fifty-six
"Hurry," Marta urged him as he left the
Jeep.
Neal shook his head, quickened his pace slightly, but
didn't break into a run. If he ran,
it might draw attention to him.
Inside the pocket of his shorts, his right hand
clutched his pistol.
Shouldn't worry about Glitt, he told himself.
It's way too
early.
Neal felt awfully vulnerable, though, as he
walked along in front of Video City. It was so
brightly lighted. He was out in the open, in plain
sight, nothing between him and the traffic on Venice
Boulevard. People in passing cars could see him. He
felt as if people
everywhere
could see him.
It didn't help, being half naked.
Nobody would know, by looking, that he wore nothing under
his shorts. But
he
knew. He could feel the air in there, the pleasant
sensation of swinging free. It felt good, but it made
him feel exposed.
Mostly, he wished he was wearing a shirt.
Guys were allowed to go shirtless in public, but you
didn't see it very often. Not unless you were at the
beach, or maybe a construction sight.
Who's gonna care? he asked himself. Who'll even
notice? It's the middle of the night. It was a
really hot day ...
1 didn't have my shirt on the
night I
came here with Elise.
He'd given it to her because she had no clothes of her
own.
He remembered how she'd looked in it, her legs
long and bare.
Then he pictured her dead in the tub.
Think
about something else!
Think about the money. What if there's another half
a
million?
Fat chance.
He walked past the front doors of Video
City, past the night deposit slot, and stopped
at the garbage barrel. Leaning forward, he peered
into the lid's opening. The grocery bag was a dim
shape in the shadows, about halfway down.
He considered taking a quick look around.
Don't, he warned himself. Just grab it and go.
He left the pistol in his pocket,
twisted sideways a bit, reached down through the hole
and clutched the crumpled paper top.
He lifted the bag.
It felt nice and heavy.
M caret God, what if there is
money in here?
He wanted to take a look, but fought against the
impulse.
Just get out
of here.
Get
back to the gals.
No. No.
I'd better check. What if it's
something dangerous?
Maybe Vince put a bomb
inside. Or rattlesnakes.
Neal suddenly wasn't so sure that
he
wanted to open it.
Taking a step backward away from the garbage
barrel, he jostled the bag. It seemed to have about the
same feel as the bag of money he'd taken from
Vince's house.
He set it at his feet, crouched down, and
unrolled the crumpled top. He leaned away so his
face wouldn't be directly above the opening. Then, with
both hands, he spread the edges.
Nothing sprang out.
Easing forward, he gazed inside.
Slam the Big Door.
By John D. MacDonald.
The Killer Inside Me.
By Jim Thompson.
My Gun Is
Quick.
By Mickey Spillane.
He reached into the bag and pushed some of the top books
aside to see more.
His Name Was Death.
By Fredric Brown.
The Long
Goodbye.
By Raymond Chandler.
And more. Many, many more old paperbacks. Rummaging
through the bag, Neal figured that twenty or thirty of
them had been thrown in.
To give it the proper heft. To trick Glitt.
And maybe to give Vince a smirk by paying
Glitt off with tales of treachery and
murder.
Must've been Elise's books, Neal thought.
Whoever had put together such a collection in the first
place was not a person who would use the books this
way.
I
never knew she was into this stuff.
Hell, I never knew much of
anything about her.
And
now the
bastard's ripping
off her h'brary
. . .
A car honked. Not a loud, urgent blast, just a
beep-like a stealthy warning. Neal knew that it must've
come from the Jeep.
He looked back, but couldn't see it. A car was
on the road, in
the way, blocking the Jeep from his view.
It looked like it might be a white Subaru.
Can't be Glitt, Neal thought.
Why
not?
The car turned onto the parking lot and
came forward.
Just
somebody
bringing bock a
video or two.
Has to
be. Because it
can't
be
Glitt showing up now while I'm right
here
squatting over his
bag.
Can't
be!
Not
even
close to
two o'clock yet. He
wouldn't
come this early.
He can't be showing
up while
I'm right
here.
No
way!
But a different part of Neal's mind was certain that this
was Glitt, indeed, showing up not only early but at
almost the worst of all possible times. Blowing
everything.
It figures, he thought.
Then he told himself that nothing was blown. Not yet.
As Neal stood up and turned to face the car, its
headlights swung toward him.
They stayed on him, white and glaring, while the car
rolled closer.
It stopped at an angle, several yards away,
its lights still fixed on Neal.
The driver's door opened and Glitt stepped out.
Rasputin.
Even with the top of his head wrapped in a white
bandage, he looked like the mad monk. His eyes
glared at Neal from the caverns of their sockets. His
face was dead white, but little of it showed. Most was
hidden under his wild growth of beard.
He wore his usual outfit: long-sleeved black
shirt, black leather trousers and black boots.
At his left hip was a large, stag- handled
knife in a black leather sheath.
His gloves were missing. His hands were empty.
He showed his teeth through a hole in his beard.
"Where'd you get the bag?" he asked.
"In the trash. Somebody threw it away."
"It's mine."
"Finders keepers," Neal told him. And slipped
his right hand
casually into the pocket of his shorts. And wrapped his
fingers
around the grips of his .380 pistol.
Glitt shook his head. "It was left here for me."
"What makes you think so?"
"I watched the man deliver it. He's an
associate of mine."
Neal stomped on the bag, crushing down its top
against the books piled inside. He kept his foot
on it. "Tell me what's inside."
"You know what."
"But do you? Identify your property, and I'll
let you have it."
"Sure you will."
"What are you expecting?"
"Money," Glitt whispered. "Lots of money."
"Wrong. It's full of books."
"Liar."
"Good ones, too." Neal tried to grin. "If you were
expecting money, mister, you got cheated."
Glitt lurched forward, stiff and grimacing.
"See for yourself," Neal said, backing off.
Glitt dropped to his knees and tore open the
bag. The brown paper split and gaped, exposing the
paperbacks. Some of them spilled out. Glitt
gazed down at them.
"FUCK!"
he bellowed.
"If you don't want them, I'll take them."
As if he couldn't believe the money wasn't there,
Glitt shoved the books with both hands, dug through
them, spread them until he'd exposed the bottom
of the bag.
Then he tilted back his head as if to howl at the
full moon, and cried out,
"That fucking cocksucker,
I'll
kill him!"
"That sounds a bit drastic," Neal said.
Incredible, he thought. It's gonna work.
Groaning, Glitt struggled to stand up.
"Can I have the books?" Neal asked.
"Fuck you," Glitt said.
And started to turn around.
Neal noticed the distant
boom boom buh-boom boom
of a loud car radio off in the distance, over on
Venice Boulevard, prob-
ably .. . and suddenly a quick
bam tilde bam-bam'bam.8bam
that
sounded a lot like rapid gunfire.
Glitt dived to the pavement.
He thinks someone's firing at us?
Neal looked out across the parking lot and saw, sure
enough, a car rolling by on Venice Boulevard with the
front and back windows down, with guys leaning out.
Guys with dark guns going
bam-bam-bam
muzzles flashing.
What the heUs they got there, Uqs?
AK-47'S?
Looks
like a pack of fucking gang bangers.
Looks like a bad movie.
He supposed that Vince must've sent them to gun
down Glitt. Not a bad idea. Smart man.
I'm
here, too! They're
shooting at ME."
Neal wished he'd been as quick as Glitt to dive for
cover.
Something zipped past his face.
Shit."
He jerked the Sig out of his pocket.
Sidestepping, he pointed at the car and started
to pull his trigger. The pistol bucked, blasting out
fire and slugs.
Screw this, he thought. I oughta hit the deck .. .
dive behind the trash can ...
Bullets whacked him in the chest, pounded across him,
knocked him backward. He tried to stay on his
feet. Then he was falling into the store through an
avalanche of shattered glass.
Marta and Sue
They watched from the Jeep.
When the slugs smacked a line of dots across
Neal's bare chest, he looked as if he'd been
struck by a burst of wind. His hair blew. His
cheeks shook. He flung out his arms, threw his
pistol away, and stumbled backward. Behind him, the
plate glass window was breaking apart and falling even
before he stumbled through it.
Sue shrieked, "NO!"
She flung open her door, but Marta grabbed her
hard by the upper arm. "Don't!"
"I've gotta . . . I"
But Sue's voice stopped and they both gaped at the
car of the gunmen. It was leaping the curb at the edge of
Venice Boulevard.
"Yes!" Marta cried out. "Go!"
She could see the vague shape of a man in the right
rear window of the airborne car. But nobody at the
window in front of him.
Nobody at all seemed to be in the front seats!
No passenger, no driver.
Neal got them?
The car smashed down, bounced and wobbled on its
tires, then roared straight for Burger Boy.
"Go!" Sue yelled.
It crashed into the front wall. Burger Boy
windows exploded.
The wall crumpled. The car stopped with a shock. A
body came
up out of the passenger seat. Its head and shoulders
punched
through the windshield and stayed there.
"He got "em!" Marta yelled, but could
barely hear her own words through Sue's wild,
strange scream of agony and glee.
She wiped tears from her eyes. As she reached for the
ignition key, the white Subaru suddenly lurched
forward. Its driver-who
had to
be Glitt-must've survived the storm of gunfire.
Of course he made it through, Marta thought.
Rasputin always makes it through.
Not
always.
The white car squealed through a tight turn and raced
across the parking lot, heading for Venice Boulevard.
Marta started the Jeep.
Glitt's car hopped off the curb, skidded for a
moment, then sped west on Venice.
Marta steered across the road and entered the parking lot.
A
whump!
like a muffled explosion pulled her eyes to the
Burger Boy.
The car of the gunmen was wrapped in fire. The body
stuck in its windshield didn't try to get out.
Nobody did. But someone in the back seat seemed
to turn very slowly, gaze out through the flames
at Marta and Sue, and raise an arm as if asking
for help-or waving goodbye.
"Adios,
fucker," Marta muttered.
Then she veered toward the shattered front window of
Video City.
Saw Neal sprawled on his back inside the
store.
And felt as if a thug was stomping on her heart.
"Neal!"
Sue cried out.
He lay motionless on a bed of shattered glass.
Don't do this to us, Marta thought. Move. Get
up. At least for God's sake raise your head.
Show us you're okay.
But she knew that Neal was not okay. He didn't
move at all. He looked as if he'd been
hosed with blood.
The Jeep was still rolling when Sue leaped out and ran
for Neal. Marta had to wait. She had to stop the
Jeep, make sure it wouldn't get away ...
She shut off the engine, jerked up on the emergency
brake
lever and climbed out. Sue was already squatting
by NeaPs left
side, pulling at one of his arms. "C'mon,
honey," she gasped.
"Ya gotta get up. Yer gonna be okay."
His head wobbled, and Marta thought that he was
responding.
But maybe the wobble was only because of Sue tugging his
arm.
She hurried to his other side.
The glass clinked and clattered under her bare feet,
and cut her. She knew she was being cut. She
didn't care. Standing over Neal, she gazed down
at the bullet holes.
Seven or eight of them.
Pulpy, raw-edged craters brimming with blood.
Connect the dots . . .
Connect them, and there's a straight line crossing his
ribcage at a slightly upward angle from under his
right nipple to above his left.
A line crossing directly over his heart.
Sue gazed up at Marta, her face red and
twisted. "Help!" she blurted. "We gotta
get him outta here! Grab an arm! C'mon,
don't just stand there! Gotta get him to a
hospital."
Too late, Marta thought.
Can't
teUs that to Sue.
So she crouched and took hold of Neal's right upper
arm. It was coated with blood. When she pulled at
it, her hands slipped down to his elbow. And
suddenly she found herself crying out of control. And
sinking. Sinking to her knees and feeling the bite of the
glass, then dropping across Neal, holding his face
in both hands, kissing him.
Blood washed into her mouth. Blood soaked through her
T-shirt. She wanted to feel him breathing under
her, wanted to feel his heartbeat against her chest. But
there was no heartbeat, no movement at all, not even
the twitches from Sue jerking him by the arm.
Someone was shaking her by the shoulder.
"Marta!" Sue gasped. "Sirens."
Yes. She could hear them. Sirens. Far-off
cries.
Coming
here?
You
bet your ass they're
coming
here.
"C'mon," Sue said, shaking Marta's
shoulder some more. "We gotta get him outta here.
Cops're gonna show up. Please! Get up!"
As Marta pushed herself up, the front of her
T-shirt peeled away from her body, clinging to the
blood on Neal's chest and belly. Then it peeled
away from Neal. It returned to Marta and stuck
to her as she got to her feet.
"Grab him! C'mon!" Sue's face streaked with
tears.
Marta shook her head. "He's .. . better off
here. They'll.. ." She struggled to gather her
thoughts. "He'll get taken care of quicker."
"Think an ambulance is corning?"
"Firetrucks first. But they . .. they'll take
care of him. They'll know what to do. The firemen.
They're trained . .."
Who am I trying to kid?
He's dead.
Sue sniffed and wiped one of her eyes.
"Let's get out of here," Marta said. "If the
cops catch us ... they'll have us till morning.
We've gotta. .. finish what we started."
"Huh?" Sue asked, but she was already backing away
from Neal, limping slightly in the glass.
"We've gotta take down Glitt and
Vince," Marta explained.
"They didn't have nothin" to do with this."
"They had
everything
to do with it. Vince sent those motherfuckers to kill
Glitt. He didn't have the payoff money-
we
took it-so he sent killers. Only they missed
Glitt and got Neal."
"Yer outta yer. .." Sue went silent.
Suddenly, a look of pain and rage filled her
wet eyes. In a voice that seemed very quiet, she
said, "Let's get "em."
She ran for the passenger side of the Jeep.
Marta rushed up the walkway toward the trash
barrel, ducked and snatched Neal's pistol off the
concrete. The slide was back. She muttered,
"Shit." But she kept the gun and raced for the
Jeep.
Sue was already in the passenger seat. Marta jumped
in behind the wheel, clamped the pistol be
tween her thighs, cranked the ignition, and shifted
to reverse.
Backing away, she watched Neal on the floor just
inside Video City become smaller,
smaller. She felt as if she were viewing him through a
zoom lens that was pulling back, pulling away,
letting him retreat into the distance.
Then she turned for the exit.
As they sped out of the parking lot, Sue asked, "Do
ya think he's dead?"
"I think so."
Sue gave out a high-pitched squeal. The noise
made Marta think of a pig stabbed by a pitchfork,
though she'd never heard or seen such a thing.
She reached over and squeezed Sue's hand.
Both hands were wet and sticky with Neal's blood.
With only her left hand on the steering wheel, Marta
drove down the side street away from Venice
Boulevard.
In a shaky, broken voice, Sue asked, "Where
we goin'?"
"To Neal's."
"Huh?"
"We can't go after those guys with an empty gun."
"Empty?"
"He used up all his ammo on the bastards who .
.. shot him."
"He had an extra one of them gizmos."
"A magazine?"
"Yeah. I saw one someplace." Sue sniffled.
"He had it with him ... in his bag. Ya know?"
"His black overnight bag?"
"Yeah."
"That's at my place. He didn't bring the
magazine with him, did he?"
"Tonight?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe it's still
over at yer place."
"Well, I
know
he keeps a box of ammo in his bedroom. I
might need more than what's in the other magazine,
anyhow."
"So we're goin to his apartment?" Sue asked.
"Right. It's not far. Won't take ten minutes."
"Go on and do that. Get the ammo. Then come on over
and
meet me at Vince's. I'm goin' on."
Going on?
What does she mean by that?
Planning to
walk?
Marta turned her head, frowning, just in time
to see Sue raise her right arm and press her lips
to something just below the sleeve of her knit shirt.
Something that gleamed in the moonlight.
The bracelet!
"Don't!" Marta gasped.
Sue's left hand went limp. Her right arm
dropped and she slumped sideways until her
shoulder shoved against Marta.
Chapter Two
From overhead, Sue saw the Jeep make a sudden
stop. Marta
shoved Sue's body sideways, then leaned across
her.
She's gonna take off my bracelet.
"Don't do it!"
As Sue drifted a little higher, she saw that Marta
was pulling the safety belt down across Sue's
chest.
That's all. That's
real nice. She don't want me gettiri
hurt.
Sue wondered if Marta even
knew
the trick about taking off the bracelet.
Did we tell her?
She couldn't recall herself or Neal explaining it
to Marta.
It don't matter.
She didn't
pull it
off me, and that's what
counts.
Marta started the Jeep moving again.
Sue swung around and climbed, heading back toward
Video City.
Moments later, high above the parking lot, she saw
that fire trucks and police cars had already arrived.
Some were in the lot. Others had stopped on Venice
Boulevard, blocking traffic. The night was gaudy
with orange flames and flashing red lights, blue
lights, yellow lights. The car of the gunmen still
burned, but
now Burger Boy was also engulfed in flame.
Firefighters scrambled
about in their helmets and yellow coats. Some were
hitting
the flames with cloudy white blasts from fire
extinguishers while
others struggled to free the men from the car.
Hope the dirty rotten asshoks are
cooked.
Though afraid of what she might see, Sue
looked down at the group directly below her-the
cops near the front of Video City.
A couple of uniformed officers were standing by the open
door of a patrol car, talking to each other.
Another was behind the trunk of a nearby
black-and-white, removing a huge roll of yellow
"crime scene" tape from its trunk.
They gotta get him to a hospital!
Sue swooped down. Careful to stay clear of
everyone, she glided past the demolished display
window and looked in.
She saw Neal.
He still lay sprawled on his back in the broken
glass, arms out.
A cop standing near Neal's body was talking to a
fireman, but Sue couldn't make out his words. Too
much noise, and she was too far away. She started
drifting closer to him.
But backed off fast.
Any closer, and she might end up inside the guy.
Besides, she didn't
want
to hear what was being said.
It don't
matter.
Neal's
dead. If he
wasn't,
they'd be workin'
on him.
They're just waitin for the homicide cops to show up,
or the coroner, or something.
But what if they just think he's dead? she asked
herself. What if they're wrong?
She started moving toward Neal.
J'JI
just take me a
little
peek inside him.
Marta was just pulling away from a stop sign when
Sue blurted,
"Aaaah!"
Startled, she slammed on the brakes. The Jeep
jerked to a stop in the middle of the intersection. No
other cars were coming, though. She couldn't even see any
headlights in the distance. These were very quiet, empty
streets. Letting the car stand where it was, she stared
at Sue.
And wondered what had made her cry out that way.
Is
she all
right?
Oh, God,
what if something happened to her?
What
can
happen to her? Marta asked herself. Her body's
safe
with me.
Slumped back in the passenger seat, Sue was
gasping for air. She squirmed a little. If Marta
didn't know otherwise, she would've thought Sue was
simply asleep and having a very bad nightmare.
What if something
did
happen and she never comes back?
What if her
comsoul
or whatever it is
comstabbys
gone?
And I don't even know where to go looking.
Or how to get it back.
She glimpsed a future for herself without Neal or
Sue, and it looked vast and lonely and frightening. She
stepped on the gas. The jeep lurched forward, out of the
intersection, and gained speed as it rushed up the
curving road.
"Screamininin Judas!"
Marta jumped. She jerked her head sideways.
Sue turned her head and said, "Howdy."
"You're back!"
"Had me a close one."
Marta swung over and stopped at an empty
stretch of curb. The house beyond the lawn was dark
except for a porch light. She reached out and
squeezed Sue's shoulder. "You're all right?"
"Musta cut up my feet..."
"We both did."
"Just noticed. Ya come back after. .."
"What happened? You yelled. It scared the hell out
of me."
"Oh, jeez, yeah, I had me a good scare.
Went back to Video City, you know . . ."
"I thought you were going to Vince's."
"Just got sidetracked some. Anyhow, there's cops
and firemen all over the place back there. Burger
Boy's on fire. Looked to me like that
whole sorry carload of bastards bit the big
one."
"Good," Marta said.
"But they ..." Her voice broke. She looked
away. Marta rubbed her shoulder.
"You saw Neal?"
With her face still turned away, Sue nodded. "He
was just layin' there. Nobody was workin on him, or...
They weren't takin him to no hospital."
"It's all right," Marta whispered.
"No, it ain't." Sue faced her. In the glow of the
streetlights, the tears running down her cheeks
looked silver. "Nothin's all right."
"We're
all right. Sort of. I was afraid you might not come
back."
"Almost didn't. Maybe. Don't really know.
What happened .. ." She took a deep breath.
"I figured I'd check to see if Neal...
to see if he was still alive, or not. Ya know?
"Cause I wanted to find out for sure. So I was
gonna go in him. It's against the rules. Yer
s'pose to stay shut of dead folks. But I was
gonna do it anyhow, 'cause I needed to find
out.
Anyhow, I didn't wanna think he's dead, ya
know?"
"I know," Marta murmured.
"So I was on my way, maybe no more than a
foot or two short of poppin" in on Neal, when
all of a sudden I got this awful feelin' inside like
I suddenly knew he was gone, dead as a carp, and
I was about two blinks from endin' up stuck in him.
That's when 1 yelled. I knew I wouldn't never
get out. I'd be stuck in him ... forever. While
he rotted away . .."
"Stop it, Sue. You're talking about Neal, for
God's sake."
"Well.. . Anyhow, it all just suddenly knocked
the squeamies outta me. I yelled and sorta
flung myself to get away from him and ended up inside
this cop that was standin' there. Didn't wanna be in him,
either, so that's how come I'm back here."
"Glad to have you back," Marta told her.
"Me, too. I sorta needed to ... How in
tarnation do I
get
to Vince's place, anyhow?"
Marta released her shoulder, returned her hand to the
steering wheel, and swung away from the curb.
"Stick with me," she said, "and I'll drive you."
Sue shook her head. "Might all be over and done
with by the time we can drive there. Glitt's got a
mighty big headstart. Which way's that Pico
street? I reckon I can find my way from Pico
if 1 just go like we went this afternoon."
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. It's Pico to Bundy to San
Vicente to Greenpeace."
"Greenhaven."
"Whatever. I'll know it when I see it."
"Pico's basically straight ahead," Marta said.
"Meet ya at Vince's."
"Be careful."
"You, too. And don't let nothin' happen to my
better half." Reaching across herself with her right hand,
Sue patted her own left shoulder. Then she
kissed the bracelet.
Chapter Four
Sue climbed above the treetops and pointed herself in
the same
direction that Marta had been heading in the Jeep.
She passed over blocks and blocks of
housetops, lawns, backyard swimming pools,
walkways, parked cars and roads. She
saw only a few people wandering around. There was almost no
traffic
at all. The narrow, winding roads were often hidden
beneath
overhanging trees.
It seemed very peaceful and pretty.
She wished she could enjoy it.
She wished
Neal
could enjoy it, but he would never enjoy anything again.
He can't be dead. How can he be dead? We were
oil gonna
have us such a great life.
Then below her was a broad, brightly lighted river of
pavement.
Pico.
She swung left and poured on the speed.
Chapter Five
Marta slowed down as she approached the row of parking
stalls
behind Neal's apartment building. All the slots were
full except
for the one where Neal usually kept his car. She swung
into it,
stopped and killed the headlights.
She looked at Sue.
And felt abandoned.
Damn
it, you should've stayed with me. We should've stuck
together.
But she realized that Sue was probably right; by the time
they could drive to Vince's house, it might all be
over. Apparently, bracelet travel was very fast.
How fast? Marta wondered. Is she already there?
She isn't
here,
that's for sure.
She seemed all right, though. She looked as if she
were sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat. No
gasping for air, no moans or outcries. Wherever
she might be, things were apparently going fine, so
far.
"Back in a minute," Marta whispered.
She pulled out the ignition key. Holding the key
case in her right hand, she opened the car door with her
left, then took the
pistol from between her thighs and climbed out. She kneed
the
door shut.
As she stepped out of the gloom of the carport,
she looked down at herself. Gun in one hand. Arms
streaked with Neal's blood. Sodden T-shirt
clinging to her. Her thighs smeared a bit with Neal's
blood, but her cut knees dark with her own, which had
run down her shins.
Anybody sees me, they'll call the cops for
sure.
She glanced up and down the alley. No cars were
coming. She saw no people, either-though she supposed that
anyone
might be lurking in some of those dark places.
Too
many dark places.
She turned her eyes to the Jeep. The carport was
fairly dark; unlikely that anyone would notice
Sue in the passenger seat.
Can't
take her with me, that's for sure.
Marta turned away and hurried toward the rear
gate of Neal's apartment building. Before opening it,
she gazed into the courtyard. She couldn't see much: the
passageway on the other side of the gate, most of the
swimming pool, and the front gate area beyond the far
end of the pool.
Both sides of the courtyard were out of sight.
She didn't like the idea of walking in with a gun in
her hand.
So she clamped the key case between her teeth. With
her right hand, she tugged the neck of her T-shirt,
stretching it down. Then she slipped the pistol through the
neck hole. She tucked it, barrel first, beneath her
right armpit and lowered her arm to hold it in place.
The handle pushed against the side of her breast.
The pistol felt heavy and slightly cool.
She wished it was loaded.
Take care of that in a few minutes.
She took the keys in her hand, went through the gate,
and walked quickly into the courtyard.
Lights glowed above many of the front doors, but all
the doors were shut. Most of the windows were dark.
Scanning the lower and upper levels, she saw
nobody looking out at her.
You
never know.
She kept the pistol tucked under her armpit as she
silently
climbed the stairs.
The light above Neal's door wasn't on.
He always keeps it on at night.
Maybe Glitt turned it off, she thought.
Had
he been here? Very likely. He'd been planning
to come:
over tonight before going for the payoff.
We could've been here, waiting for him. Nailed him
when he showed up. If we'd done that, Neal might
still . . .
Neal's dead.,,
Dead.
I
Impossible. There has to be some mistake.
Or this
is some sort of
bar were
really horrible, vivid nightmare."
I'd sure tike to wake up.
Please, let me wake up. Let it aU. be a
dream. We're aEvery still fast asleep on my bed,
and I'll wake up and Neal will be there with his head on
my hip, Sue with her head by my shoulder. We're
the in-
li
famous TwO'she
...
But she knew she wouldn't wake up.
This was real.
I'd give anything if we could aUs go back.
Start over again.
This time, stay away from Video City.
He/i,
stay away from Vince.
Let him keep his damn money.
Go back and do
any
of it differently, and Neal'd
still
be alive right now.
It didn't seem right, not being allowed to go back.
It seemed hugely unfair.
What's
the matter with you, God? My God, have
a
heart! What'd Neal ever do to hurt anyone? You
want his kid to grow upfatherkss?
Anyhow, I
loved him." What's
the
matter with
you!
I'tt tell you what the matter is
-
you don't give a rat's ass!
She was in tears by the time she reached the top of the
stairs. Walking along the balcony, sniffing and
sobbing quietly, she searched through her leather key
case and found the key to Neal's door.
Don't blame it on God, she told herself. We
got ourselves into this mess.
Ourselves his Fuck
that! Put the blame where it belongs
comon Vince
and
Glitt
and the assholes who gunned down Neal.
She reached down the neck of her T-shirt and
pulled out the pistol. Then she unlocked Neal's
door. She pushed the door open. There were no
lights on.
Nothing to worry about, she told herself. Nobody's
here. Glitt's on his way over to Vince's house.
Probably.
He must be. Vince not only cheated him out of half
a million bucks, but hired a carload of
gangsters to blow him out of his socks.
But
they got Neal!
Don't think about him, she told herself. Don't.
Gotta hold it together and take care of business.
She stepped into the dark room, reached out with her elbow
and flipped a switch up. Behind her, the light came
on. She hit the second switch, and a lamp
suddenly filled the living room with light.
Everything looked fine.
Marta shut the door.
Better look around.
Be quick about it, for God's sake!
She hurried across the living room. As she entered the
dining area, she glanced back. Her cut feet had
left faint, reddish scuffs on the gray carpet.
She supposed that she'd probably made a trail
through the courtyard and up the stairs, as well.
Doesn't matter. I don't care.
The sight of Neal's word processor sent a sudden
thick wave of sickness pushing through her.
He'll
never write another screenplay. Never make it
big. Never anything.
She spun away from the word processor and hurried
through the kitchen.
Fine, fine, fine. Nobody here. Get
on with it.
She rushed into the bathroom and flicked on a light.
Fine,
fine . . .
She saw herself in the mirror.
It was no surprise to find her face bloody;
she'd been able to feel the stiffness of the drying blood
on her cheeks and chin and
around her mouth. But this was so much worse than she'd
imagined.
"Carrie at the prom," she muttered.
All of it from throwing herself onto Neal's body and
kissing him.
Unlike Carrie, Marta had little or no blood
in her hair. But her face was a red mess, and
blood had dripped down her neck. Her
T-shirt, all the way down .. .
She set the pistol and keys on the edge of the sink,
then shut the bathroom door and thumbed down its
lock button. With both hands, she grabbed the
bottom of her T-shirt. She lifted and the shirt
came unstuck from her skin. She pulled it over her
head.
I don't have time for this, she thought. Haven't checked
the rest of the place yet, either. What if
someone's in the bedroom?
"Screw it," she muttered.
It felt good to be rid of the gory T-shirt. She
wadded it and tossed it to the back of the bathtub. Then
she climbed into the tub, pulled the curtain shut and
bent over the faucets.
Make it quick, make it quick! Just to get the blood
off.
The water came rushing down on her back, cold.
She yelped and flinched. Not waiting for it to grow
warm, she stood up straight. The cold spray
wet her hair, then hit her in the face.
Eyes shut, lips tight, she kept her face in
front of the shower.
This'Us get most of it. Forget soap, I'd have
to waste time
rinsing.
She rubbed her face with both hands, rubbed her neck
and shoulders, her arms and breasts. Her skin was
rumpled with goose bumps. Her nipples were hard
and jutting.
I'll never feel Neal's hands. Or his mouth.
Don't think about him!
The water was no longer quite so cold.
As she stepped back, the spray descended
her body. Warm, it pelted her breasts. It grew
fairly hot against her belly. By the time it reached
her groin and thighs, it was too hot. She bent down
quickly into steamy, stinging water and twisted the faucets
off.
Standing up, she wiped her eyes clear. She looked
down at herself. Her skin looked flushed and shiny.
The goose bumps
were gone. So was the blood. The cuts on her knees
didn't seem
to be bleeding anymore.
She swept open the shower curtain and stepped out.
Quick all
rigstx.
The mirror didn't even steam up.
She jerked a towel off its bar, quickly rubbed her
head with it, then draped the towel over her shoulders and
opened the bathroom door. She grabbed her pistol
and keys. Dripping, she hurried into Neal's
bedroom and elbowed a light switch.
The lamps came on.
Nobody.
She started toward Neal's bed, thinking she might
drop to her knees and check underneath it.
Don't waste your time. If the
boogeyman was here, he would've nailed you in the
shower.
She turned to the dresser. In the mirror above it,
she saw herself set down the pistol and keys. Her
hair was a dark tangle. She was dripping.
She considered pulling the towel off her shoulders and
drying herself with it.
Why waste the time? Who cares if I'm wet?
She tugged open the top drawer where Neal usually
kept his ammunition. There, hidden under some socks,
was a flat brown box labeled .380 auto.
Standing on one foot, then the other, she inspected the
cuts on the bottoms of her feet. Nothing really
major. Most of the bleeding had stopped. She
didn't want to waste time with bandages, so she took
out a pair of socks and put them on. They felt
thick and good on her feet.
She took the box of ammunition from the drawer,
opened it, and slid out the clear plastic rack that
held the cartridges.
Water trickled down her body. Some of the dribbles
made her skin itch.
Ignore it.
The rack was about half-full. The cartridges
stood upright: rows and rows of disks that
looked like golden wheels with dull iron hubcaps
in the center of each.
She picked up the pistol. Its slide was back,
indicating that it was empty.
She studied it for a few moments.
Neal had taken her to a shooting range back in
April. She'd used the Sig, and he'd shown her
how to reload it. But the lessons seemed like ages
ago.
Something trickled into her left eye. It made her
eye bum. Sweat? She blinked, then rubbed the eye
with the back of her slick right hand.
The rubbing did little good.
"Terrific," she muttered.
Forget it. Get the pistol loaded and get the hell
out of here!
She tried thumbing the small lever just forward of the
hammer. It didn't seem to do anything. Then she
tilted the pistol and studied the bottom of its handle
where the magazine was inserted.
She found a black, ribbed switch at the back of the
magazine.
A bit of memory returned.
That's it!
She shoved it with her thumb. It moved. It
clicked. The magazine lurched downward a bit.
All right!
She slid the magazine all the way out and set down
the pistol.
With her free right hand, she jerked the towel off her
shoulders. She quickly mopped her dripping face,
her chest and breasts and sides and belly. Then she
pressed the towel between her thighs, where it would be easy
to reach.
She plucked a cartridge out of the plastic rack.
Holding the magazine with her left hand, she braced
its bottom against the top of the dresser. With her right
hand, she pushed the cartridge down against the top of the
spring-loaded slide.
The spring seemed awfully powerful.
But it gave a little, then gave a little more.
Water and sweat dribbled down her back, down her
sides, down her buttocks, down the backs of her
legs. She ached with tickles. She wanted to drop
everything and flop onto Neal's carpet and squirm
around to make the itching stop.
Finally, shoving down as hard as she could with the tip of
her thumb, Marta jammed the cartridge into place.
"Christ!" she gasped.
She glanced at the end of her thumb. It was
red and deeply
dented.
One down, five to go. Or six? I'll be lucky
if I can fill the damn thing!
She snatched the towel from between her legs and
frantically wiped herself dry from head to toe, front
and back.
Then she stuffed it between her thighs again.
She picked up the magazine and the second
cartridge, took a deep breath, and started back
to work.
Chapter Six
Sue swung off San Vicente at treetop
level and raced for Vince's
house.
Where the hett'd it
go?
Most of the houses below had backyard swimming
pools. Several even had tennis courts. But
Sue couldn't find a house with a pool area that
looked like Vince's.
It's gotta
be here someplace. Didn't just get swallowed up.
She overflew the narrow road once more.
Where in tarnation . . . 1
She aimed for the full, white moon. It looked
huge. The Man in the Moon had a surprised
look on his face.
Here I come, ready or not.
She wondered how high she
could
go. Could she get up there all the way to the moon?
No
way.
There was a pulling sensation, as if she'd already gone
about as far as possible and something wanted to drag her
all the way back to where her body was.
Anyhow,
this
oughta be high enough.
She gazed down. For a few moments, she was staggered
by her height. Her stomach dropped. She wanted
something to hang onto. This was way worse than being
on top of the Pony Express.
Nothin to be scared of, she told herself. Ya can't
fall.
From up here, she could see the Pacific Ocean.
And the airport,
maybe ten miles down the coast. And several
clusters of
tall buildings: some nearby; a much larger group of
skyscrapers
a few miles to the east. She supposed that the larger
group was
downtown Los Angeles.
The ocean mostly looked black. So did the
range of hills that seemed to start almost below Sue and
stretch along the side of the city. She could see a
few roads through the hills, and a scattering of
lights. But away from the hills, the basin itself was
almost as bright as the Video City parking lot.
A few cars were creeping around on the roads. They
looked tiny.
Sue wondered if she might be able to see
Glitt's Subaru.
San Vicente was easy to recognize; it had
lots of lanes and a center strip that was wooded and
grassy like a city park. Right now, it looked
deserted except for two or three cars coming up from
the coast. Nothing at all was approaching from the east.
Glitt's
probably already at Vince's. If I don't
hurry and get there . . .
She gazed down at the area where she'd been searching
for Vince's house.
Where is the dam . . . his
Suddenly, she noticed a thread of poorly lighted
road just to the east. It ran into the broad, bright
lanes of San Vincente exactly where
Greenhaven was supposed to be.
Even before locating Vince's house, she knew she
would find it. In her rush to get there, she must've
simply overshot Green- haven.
She dived.
On the way down, she spotted Vince's house.
It was the only house without lights.
All
its lights seemed to be off. None shone at the
porch or street or driveway. None spilled out
from windows. The pool area was dark.
But Sue could see it all in the pale glow of the
moon.
None of the other houses had such large pools. And this
pool had two diving boards at its north end.
As she neared the pool, she saw the tremendous
height of the high-dive. She remembered Marta up
there, bouncing. Bouncing
and bouncing. Her breasts hopping up and down, all
to keep
Vince's attention while Neal searched for the
money.
She'd sure looked dandy up there.
Too
bad a dirty pig like Vines had to put
his
eyes all over her. But he would've
caught
Neal, maybe,
i/marta
hadn't . . .
Too bad he didn't catch Neal.
Wish he had.
If we'd never laid our mitts on his damn
money . . .
Sue suddenly found herself wondering
why
all the lights were off at Vince's house.
He better be there!
She made a low pass over Greenhaven. It was
earless from San Vincente to the front of Vince's
house. No sign of Glitt's Subaru.
Vince's driveway was empty, his garage door
shut.
Inside the garage, Sue found a white Mercedes.
It made quiet linking sounds of the sort that
cars usually made for a while after they'd been driven
somewhere.
Vince had probably gotten home only minutes
ago from dropping off the sack of paperback books.
Glitt would be coming along soon.
If he comes.
He'll
come, all right. Only he won't be comin just to
ask
where the money is.
He's gotta
know the drive'by was meant for him.
Marta
figured it out and so will he.
Leaving the Mercedes behind, Sue glided into the house.
She found herself in a dark hallway. No lights
came from either direction.
He's gotta be tryin to
hide.
Unless maybe
Glitt got
here and shut off the power.
The thought of Glitt in the house made a chill
scurry up her back.
I ain't
even got a back.
In the car, I do.
She wondered if her body, in the passenger seat of
Marta's Jeep, had goose bumps all over it.
More than likely.
Marta might notice and figure she was cold.
I ain't cold. Just got
me a case of the jitterbugs,
thanks to Glitt.
Vince didn't scare her, but Glitt sure did.
She hated to think
that he might be creeping through the house at this very
moment.
He
jumps out,
I'll likely pitch a coronary.
He can't hurt me, she told herself. Shoot, he
can't see me or touch me or even know I'm here.
Besides, he really shouldn't be here yet.
Though Sue wasn't sure about the distances involved,
she figured that Vince's house must be eight or ten
miles from Video City. In spite of Glitt's
head start, and in spite of her own problems locating
the house, Sue figured that she might've beaten him
here by a few minutes.
Unless he drove Uke a bat outta hell.
He ain't gonna speed, Sue told herself. Not
that
much, anyhow. He'd be scared the cops'll pull
him over.
So
where's Vincel
Come out, come out, wherever y'are.
She made a pass through the bedroom, its long
closet where Neal had found the money, and its the
bathroom. No Vince.
Where ya hidin',
chicken-ass?
Under the bed? It didn't seem likely, but she
went for it anyway. She slipped into the dark space
between the box springs and the floor, scooted through, came
out the other side and sped on through the glass door to the
pool.
No sign of Vince out here.
But the
puUs
felt stronger than ever.
She knew why; she was too far away from her body.
And maybe she'd been away too long without landing in
someone.
Better find him quick, or yer gonna get jerked
back.
Fighting against the pull, she swerved toward the den
door. She slipped through.
Nobody here.
Not even any good places to hide, except behind the
bar.
She didn't expect to find Vince there, but
figured she might as well check. Besides, she could
just continue on through the cupboards and wall-a short
cut into the living room.
Going in low, she rushed through the legs of a bar stool.
Then she entered the wooden front of the bar counter,
slid through as if it were air, and collided with someone.
She yelped with fright.
But it only took a moment to figure out that she was
inside Vince Conrad.
He was frightened, trembling.
He hadn't taken time to change his clothes after
returning from Video City. He still wore the
warm-up suit. He was sweating inside it. Sweating
and shaking.
He held a revolver in one hand.
He was sitting on the floor, knees up, inside
the nook behind his bar. Such an obvious
hiding place that it seemed a little pathetic to Sue.
This the best ya could do?
But she realized that he was too scared to think
straight.
You
never know,
he was thinking.
Maybe they've got phone troubk. Damn cell
phones. Maybe the stupid assholes didn't have
it turned on.
Yeah, maybe that's it. I shouldn't have tried.
Should've just waited
for them to call me, like we planned.
Vince glanced at the luminous face of his
wristwatch.
1:16 A.m.
What am 1 scared oft Leslie
isn't
even supposed to show up till two.
But he won't wait for two. Not my Leslie.
Bet he watched me drop the bag in. Maybe
waited a minute or two just to be safe, then came
right along to pick it up. At which point my pah
performed their tittle drive-by number.
Should've happened ten, fifteen minutes
ago.
Sue figured that ten or fifteen minutes ago was
probably when Vince had started to panic. He
would've been in his car, hurrying home. So he
must've been expecting the call on his own cell
phone.
For
all 1 know, Leslie hasn't even shown up
yet.
Sure wouldn't be his style, but . . .
Delays happen. I
shouldn't panic.
Maybe he decided to play by the rules for the first time
in his life . . .
Sure.
They didn't get him, that's the thing. Stupid
assholes missed him.
"Oh,
yeah, man, no sweat, we blow his fuckin head
off." Yeah,
right, sure.
Who the hell knows if they even
tried? Took
my money and went home and laughed. "Yeah, man,
we sure pulled one on that dumb ass."
Shit.
I'll kill their asses, that's what I'll do.
Think the caret you can
fuck with me.
In a mind-film, he saw himself facing the four men
at night in an alley. He's pointing his
revolver at them. They're shaking their heads, waving
their hands and pleading, "Hey, it's cool. Chill,
man. Please! Hey, now. It's cool."
"Not cool," Vince tells them.
On a different level, one that seemed somewhat
vague to Sue, Vince considered "Not cool" to have
been a very cool thing to say to these guys.
Pleased with himself, he opens fire on them.
The revolver jumps in his hand and spits out fire.
His bullets smack the four men, throwing them
backward. Slammed against the brick wall, they
jerk and prance as each new slug punches in.
He pumps more and more rounds into them.
Fifteen, twenty.
The magic revolver keeps on firing.
"Nobody fucks with me!" he yells.
When all four men are sprawled on the alley
pavement, he walks over to them, bends down and
gives each guy a slug in the head.
That's
what I'll do to them,
he thinks.
But Sue knew he had no intention of doing any such
thing. He had never fired a real gun at anyone in
his entire life. He would
Uke
to blow them all away, but he's too frightened. He
hopes that he will never see them again.
Even though the shoot-out was nothing more than a
fantasy, it seemed to make Vince feel better,
for some reason. He wasn't quite as frightened as before.
Teach them to fuck with me,
he thought.
But his fear returned in a cold rush at the sudden
image of
Glitt floating like a black shadow into the den.
Noh,
nah, nah.
He'll
have to break in, first. I'll hear it. Then
I'll
know where he's
coming from. He
won't stand a chance.
Vince imagined himself standing up very suddenly behind the
bar, surprising Glitt.
Don't
say a word to him, just blow him away.
That's
the
mistake
they make
in all the movies-talking. You always gotta give
a fucking speech, explain everything. He
right-brace , you're gonna kill the bastard any
way,
why
not spill
your
guts for five minutes, tell him everything
you know?
Meanwhile, you lose your chance and he nails you.
This is all a movie to him, Sue thought. He's
playing the bad guy in a crummy film.
Screw the chitchat. Wait till he's good and
close, then pop up and blow him out of his fucking
shorts. Boom boom boom, end of story. Call
the cops. "This is the guy that
butchered my wife.
Know who he is? The Beast of Belvedere?"
Shit, don't say that. They'll wonder how come I
know.
Another mind-film rolled. In this one, Vince
saw himself at night, leaning over the stern of a
powerboat and pulling a man out of the water. A
skinny, naked man with two bullet holes in him
and a knife clamped in his teeth.
Don't tell the cops anything. Not about who he
is,
anyway. They're gonna figure it out anyway
comprobably run his fingerprints.
What if the caret i also find out I had a
houseboat in Sausalito back in those days?
Shit.
Gotta make it so
they can't identify him.
Wreck his face, smash his teeth. Maybe cut
off his fingertips and put them down the garbage
disposal.
Long as
they can't
ID him, they'll never figure things out. All those
years ago. It's not exactly something they're
gonna guess- nobody goes off the
Golden Gate and lives.
Only reason he made it ...
Maybe he won't kill me. Shit, you don't
kill the guy who pulled you out of the drink. I saved
his fucking life, that's what I did. Nursed him
back to health. Hid him out for a whole month.
Vince felt a surge of hope, but it didn't
last long.
Only
thing is, he said
we're even. Way back when he did Jackie
for me.
Vince saw Glitt standing in front of him,
smirking, saying, "That
makes us even,
Vincent. Her
life for mine. No more favors. From now on, you
want me to take care of a problem, you pay."
Sue was astonished. She could hardly wait to tell
Neal and Marta all the news. Then she remembered
that she wouldn't be able to tell Neal. Her eagerness
suddenly crumbled. She felt like crying.
"I
hope Glitt
does get
ya!"
she shouted inside Vince's mind.
"Hope he nails yer ass!"
. . . have sent those guys to hit him.
Should'
ve just told him the truth. He
might've given
me an extra day or two to come up with the money.
While Vince was telling that to himself, Sue found
something else going on in his mind. There seemed to be
a distant observer who was thinking that the loss of the
money had been nothing more than an excuse for hiring
the gunmen. Vince had wanted, for a long time, to have
Glitt killed. He'd been putting it off, but
he'd wanted to get it done.
Dead men tell no tales to the D.a.-tales that
could put Vince on death row. And dead men don't
get pissed off and come after you.
He
might've
knocked me around some.
Wouldn't
have killed me,
though. I
mean, shit, it wasn't my fault those
fucks came along and stole . . .
Those fucks, Sue thought. He means us.
You don't kill
the goose that lays die
golden
egg.
But you sure as shit kill the goose that arranged
to
have you whacked.
For
that . . .
I oughta call it
off!
Tel! those assholes to
keep the five grand and go home.
Leslie'!! give
me a break.
He looked again at his wristwatch.
1:19 A.m.
Still might
be time! He's not
supposed to
be there
rill
two, damn it!
Plenty of time to
coll it
off . . .
If their
phone's working, this time.
Though part of Vince seemed eager to call off the
hit, he remained in his hiding place behind the bar.
Because another part of him figured he wouldn't be able
to get through, anyway. And another part was certain that his
hired gunmen had already made their attempt, but
failed. And still another part wanted very much for the gunmen
to go ahead with the ambush-if they hadn't already done
so-if they could do it right.
But
if they don't try to kill him,
he might
take it easy on me.
But if they try and succeed, he'll be out of . . .
Bells and shrill beeps erupted throughout the house.
Vince jumped as if kicked by the sudden noise.
Even as the shock blasted through him, however, he
realized that the chaos of alarms came from his various
telephones.
Relief surged through him.
It's
them! They nailed the son-of a-bitch!
He looked again at his wristwatch.
1:20 A.m.
Still
early. It worked!
Just
like I planned! Took a few minutes longer,
that's all.
Relief changing to elation, Vince scooted out of the
noqk and stood up. As he hurried around the end of the
bar, Sue felt a strange, tight giggly sensation
inside his throat and chest.
He crossed the den at an angle, heading for the
nearest telephone. He couldn't see the phone in the
darkness, but he knew exactly where it should be: on
top of the lamp table just past the end of the sofa.
A stride or two away from the phone, he
squealed, "Yes! They gotcha! Ha!"
He switched the revolver to his left hand, wiped
his sweaty right hand on the leg of his warm-up
trousers, turned his back to the den and picked up the
telephone.
"Hello?"
No answer.
All he heard was an empty hiss.
It's
their car phone, all
right!
"Hello?" he asked again. "Are you there?"
"I'm here," Glitt said.
The voice entered Vince's right ear from the
telephone. It
entered both ears from behind him.
He suddenly felt as if the floor had dropped out
from under his feet.
He whirled around.
There stood Glitt, close enough to touch, blacker
than the darkness of the room, a cellular phone
pressed to the side of his shaggy black beard.
Chapter Seven
By the time Marta had finished shoving five more
cartridges into
the magazine, her hands were shaking from the struggle, the
livid tip of her thumb looked as if it were dented
into the bone
and her body was pouring sweat. The sweat made her
eyes sting.
Everywhere else, it ticked. A hundred dribbles
seemed to be
sliding down her skin, and every one of them
made her itch like
crazy.
She couldn't ignore them, but she refused to deal with
them.
If only she hadn't taken the shower . . . that's
what had made her so hot in the first place.
What was I supposed to do, drive around in the
right-brace eep for all the world to see looking like
Carrie after the prom?
It didn't help matters that Neal's room was so
hot.
Get it done and 1 can go outside where it's cool.
Get back to Sue.
Left her alone way too long.
And God only knows what's going on wherever she
went with that bracelet.
At last, Marta shoved the magazine up the handle
of the pistol. It stopped without clicking into place, so
she pounded it home it with the heel of her hand.
"There!"
She smacked the pistol down on top of the dresser.
Hands
free, she wrenched the towel from between her thighs. She
furiously
wiped the sweat off her body.
This is
all
taking
way too long!
She flung the towel aside, shut the dresser
drawer, sank to a crouch and opened the bottom
drawer. She'd seen Neal go there for swimming
trunks, for different kinds of shorts.
She wanted pockets.
She found a pair of gray hiking shorts and shook
them open. They had very large pockets in front.
She put them on. They were so large that, even with the
zipper up and the waist button fastened, they barely
touched her anywhere.
Holding them up, she hurried over to Neal's
closet. She found some belts on a hook.
Spreading her legs to keep the shorts from dropping,
she slipped a black leather belt through the loops.
Then she jerked the belt tight and fastened its
buckle.
She pulled a plaid shirt off a hanger.
On her way back to the dresser, she shoved her
arms into the short sleeves. In the mirror, the
shirt was wide open, trailing behind her. Her breasts
gleamed and bounced.
Neal'd love to see me tike . . .
Dead. He's dead.
He'll never . . .
Don't think about him!
She slapped her hand down on the pistol, snatched
it off the dresser and shoved it into her right front
pocket. A few rows of cartridges still remained
in the plastic rack from the ammo box. She upended
the rack into her hand, then dumped the cartridges
into her left front pocket.
Grabbing the keys, she rushed out of the room. She
fastened a few shirt buttons on her way to the
front door. Moments later, she was outside. The
night felt cool and wonderful.
She rushed down the stairs, then ran as fast as she
could for the rear gate. Her pockets swung with the
weights of the pistol and ammo. They bumped against her
thighs.
Switching the key case to her left hand, she used
her right to open the gate.
She raced into the alley.
tilde @at
Body Rides

As she ran toward the rear of her Jeep,
she glanced into the
gloom of the carport. And saw something against the
passenger
door. A clump of blackness. That moved as if it
were alive,
swaying and squirming.
She lurched to a halt.
She stared.
What is it?
The black clump had a shine to it-satin?
Ah, it's
only Count Dracula having a
late-night
snack.
The idea started to make Marta smile.
Then she thought, Shit."
She yelled, "Hey! What're you doing!"
The blackness swirled and broke away from Sue.
No longer black, it rushed Marta. A man,
pale and skinny, a black cape flowing behind him.
Hairless. Naked in front all the way down to the
tops of his black boots.
I don't believe this, Marta thought. We've got
enough troubles without.. .
"I am the Creeper!" he announced.
"Stop!"
He didn't stop. He charged toward her, teeth
bared, hands high and reaching out, penis erect, boots
clumping on the pavement.
"The night belongs to me!"
Marta jerked the pistol out of her pocket. Before she
could bring it up, the Creeper clutched her shoulders
and drove her backward. She jammed the muzzle
into his belly and pulled the trigger.
She heard the hammer clank down.
But no gunshot.
Her back hit the alley. The Creeper slammed
down on top of her. As his penis poked hard against
the crotch of her shorts, his belly struck the
upthrust barrel of her pistol.
His eyes bulged. He grunted, his sour breath
gushing against Marta's face.
She rolled and flung him off. He landed on his
back. Sprawled there, he clutched his belly and
writhed.
Marta got to her feet. She jacked a cartridge
into the chamber
and took aim at his face.
"No!" he gasped. He flung up his arms and
crossed them in front of his face as if
he thought they might keep bullets out. "Don't
shoot!"
"What did you do to her?"
"Nothing!"
"Get up!"
"Please!"
"Now!"
He rolled over, got to his hands and knees, then
stood up and pulled the cape around his body as if
he'd suddenly turned modest.
"Over to the Jeep," Marta told him.
"What for?"
"See what you did to my friend."
"I didn't do anything!" He turned around and
started walking toward the carport. "She was already like
that."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Like she's passed out." He
glanced over his shoulder at Marta. "Is she
drunk, or... ?"
"None of your business. What were you doing back
here?"
"Nothing," he said, and entered the shadows beside the
Jeep.
"My ass," Marta said.
As if suddenly discovering enthusiasm, he
proclaimed, "I was trying to help her. I could
see that something wasn't right. I thought she might need
help."
"Sure."
Now once again a black shape in the gloom, he
stopped beside Sue's door. Marta poked his back
with the pistol.
"Keep moving," she said.
He took a few more steps. Marta halted at the
door and told him, "That's far enough."
"Yes, ma'am."
She hunched over the door. Sue was still seated. She
was breathing hard, as if exhausted or frightened or
excited. In the near darkness, nothing looked wrong.
Marta switched the pistol to her left hand. With her
right,
she felt for Sue.
"I just wanted to help her," the Creeper repeated.
Marta's hand found a roll of fabric bunched a
few inches below Sue's chin. Beneath the roll, she
found bare skin. She touched one of Sue's breasts.
It was wet and slippery.
Not saying a word, she opened the glove compartment and
took out a flashlight the size of a marking
pen. She thumbed the switch. A tube of white
light leaped out.
Sue no longer wore her seat belt. Her knit
shirt was rucked up above her breasts.
"I was ... checking her heartbeat."
Marta didn't say a word.
Sue's breasts had goose bumps. Her nipples
were erect--and
shiny.
The skin around her open mouth was shiny, too.
Her pleated white skirt was torn up the middle and
spread open. Her legs were wide apart. She was no
longer sitting up straight, but looked as if she'd
been dragged forward so that she was halfway off the
seat. Her pubic hair looked wet and sticky.
The lips of her vagina glistened. There were streaks like
snail trails nearby, on her thighs.
Marta switched off the flashlight and dropped it
into a pocket of her shorts.
As she turned to face the Creeper, she switched the
pistol to her right hand.
He had turned around. The cape was wrapped around
him. His face, a pale blur above the blackness,
was moving from side to side, denying.
"You messed with her," Marta said.
"No."
"Slobbered all over her."
"I didn't. She was . .. already like that when I got
here."
"Yeah, sure. Did you rape her?"
"How could I rape her? She's in the car like that, and
. . ."
"All you'd have to do is open the door, maybe drag
her out."
"I didn't. You can see for yourself. . ."
"You would've gotten around to it."
Richard Laymon
"No! Honest!" The cape spread open as he put
out his hands.
He patted the darkness in front of him as if
to calm her down.
"I didn't do anything. Please. Just let me go.
I didn't do anything."
"What
did
you do?"
"Nothing."
Marta raised the pistol and took aim at the dim
oval of his face.
"I
kissed
her, okay? I kissed her and touched her. That's
all. I swear."
"Touched her with what?"
"My hands. Just my hands. I swear! I never even
opened the door. All I did was lean over it."
"And
play
with her. She couldn't stop you, couldn't even tell you
to quit."
"Maybe she liked it."
"I'm going to kill you."
"No. Please. I'm sorry!"
Marta stepped toward him. "Open your mouth."
"What?"
"Open it."
He started to cry. But he opened his mouth.
Marta put the gun in. "Contemplate your sins,"
she said, "and prepare to meet your maker."
He squealed around the muzzle.
Marta shoved the pistol, driving it deep into his
mouth. He choked. He stumbled backward, but
Marta stayed with him, shoving, forcing him back past the
front of her Jeep until he was stopped by the
wall.
He choked and sobbed. He said, "Bleesh!"
"Sue couldn't defend herself, just had to sit there and
take it. Now it's
your
turn."
"Nuh!"
"Any last request?"
He started crying like a kid. A kid with a mouth
full of barrel.
Marta jerked the pistol back. It came out
smoothly, silently, missing his teeth. As she
stepped away, Creeper fell to his knees. He
cowered, head down, bawling.
She pushed the muzzle against the top of his head.
With her other hand, she reached down and ripped the cape
off his back.
"I can't spare a bullet right now," she said. "So
wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes
to kill you."
He didn't move.
Marta hurried around to the other side of her Jeep.
She tossed the cape in. It fell onto Sue's
lap and legs.
She climbed in behind the steering wheel, tucked the
pistol between her thighs, slipped the key
into the ignition, and called, "You'd better be here when
I get back, or I'll hunt you down forever."
She started the engine and put on the headlights.
As she backed out of the carport, her headlights
illuminated the Creeper. Pale and skinny, he was
hunkered down on his knees, his face hidden behind his
hands. He was naked except for his cowboy boots.
He looked pathetic. But Marta didn't feel
sorry for him.

should've shot him for what he did to Sue. And for what
he might do to others, someday. Put a buttet
tsttrougfi
his head.
But it wouldn't have been a good thing to have on her
conscience. Also, it would've cost her a bullet.
She had plenty of ammo in her pocket. Getting
a new cartridge into the magazine would be
difficult, though. Tough on her thumb. Painful.
She looked over at Sue. "How're you doing?"
she asked.
Sue didn't answer. Her body bounced with the
roughness of the alley pavement.
Keeping her left hand on the wheel, Marta reached
over and pulled Sue's shirt down.
When she came to the end of the alley, she stopped the
Jeep. She leaned far over, kissed Sue gently
on the cheek, then grabbed the seat belt and strapped
her in.
Vince, shocked with fright, tried to bring up his gun.
His hand moved no more than two inches before it was
stopped by Glitt's quick, steel grip.
He pulled the trigger anyway.
Just as he fired, Glitt smashed him in the face
with the cell phone.
Pain exploded through Vince's face and head.
Through Sue's, too.
She thought,
Shit!
But she heard Glitt crying out through the roar of the
gunshot.
Did we get him? she wondered.
Vince thought so. In spite of his terror and pain,
he seemed to think he'd wounded Glitt, if only
in the leg. He wanted to pull the trigger again, but
he couldn't find it. He realized that his hand was
empty. He'd dropped the gun.
I'm gonna
die! He's gonna . . .
Glitt pounded the phone against his face again.
Whimpering, Vince fell to his knees.
Sue thought,
Ow!
The floor striking his knees hurt almost as much as the
blows to the face.
I oughta
take a hike before . . .
She felt herself start to slide out.
No! I'm staying." Can't miss
this!
Vince caught a knee in the face. It crushed his
nose and knocked his head back.
His agony was Sue's agony.
Don't
bail out!
Vince toppled backward.
Hang on tight!
Ride "em, cowboy!
He slammed the carpeted floor. Then his head
bounced, and his mind flashed as if a firecracker
had gone off inside.
Sue grunted.
Vince didn't. He lay sprawled on the
carpet, his body limp, his mind vague. He was
no longer aware of Glitt or anything that
had just occurred. His mental commentary was gone. All
that remained was a dreamlike scene in which he struggled
deep in murky water. Something was after him. Something
horrible and merciless that dwelled at the bottom. It
was coming up for him. Gaining on him. He had to reach the
surface. He would be safe there. But he knew that
he didn't stand a chance. Any moment now, it would
grab him by an ankle and drag him down and .. .
Glitt picked his legs up by the ankles.
In Vince's dream, tentacles wrapped his
ankles and started dragging him down.
He cried out.
But he stayed unconscious.
Sue stopped paying attention to his dream, and
focused on what Glitt was doing. She couldn't
see, because Vince's eyes were shut. She could feel,
though. Glitt was dragging him by his ankles.
Out of the den, and up the hallway.
The dragging had rucked up the back of Vince's
warmup jacket. His bare skin rubbed the carpet.
It hadn't felt bad, at first. But now it burned
as if the carpet had turned into a bed of coals.
Not that Vince cared.
Vince, in a dreamworld of darkest horror, was
oblivious of the carpet burns.
No skin off
my
back, Sue thought.
She laughed a little, in spite of the pain.
Ain't
even my pain. It's all his. And I aim
to enjoy it.
"You kitted Neal, you filthy bastard. Now yer
gettin yers."
Vince's body made a turn.
Where we goin"? Sue wondered.
Vince's hip bumped into something. A door frame?
Sue wished he would open his eyes.
Not that she wanted his dream to end. So far, it was a
doozy. The creature kept dragging him down, and
he knew he was
doomed. In the black at the murky bottom, it
would do unthink able
things to him.
Sue tried to figure out what sort of things, but
Vince didn't seem to have any specifics in his
mind. He just seemed to expect the worst, and the worst
was horrible beyond the power of his imagination.
What
does he think it's gonna do, eat him?
Worse than that.
What
could be worse than that?
Sue wasn't so sure that she wanted to find out.
Meanwhile, Glitt seemed to be making some sort
of a U-turn with Vince's body. A few
seconds after that, the carpet stopped. A cool,
smooth surface slid under his back. The smoothness
was broken by strips of narrow cracks.
There was a difference in the air, too.
An empty feeling, a dankness.
We're in the John.
With a mixture of fear and glee, Sue figured out
where Glitt was probably taking Vince.
To the bathtub.
Hey, hey, Vince of' boy. Guess what? Yer
in for it now. He's
gonna
do unto you like he done unto Elise.
This
oughta
be good.
Glitt suddenly let go. Vince's legs
dropped. The heels of his shoes pounded the tile
floor.
The jolting impact saved Vince from whatever
horror awaited him at the bottom of the water.
He gasped, opened his eyes, and immediately knew that
he was lying on the floor of his master bathroom. The
overhead lights were on. He saw Glitt looming
over him, down past his feet.
What's
he doing here?
While Vince tried to piece things together, Sue
studied Glitt.
This was the same guy she'd seen with Neal in the parking
lot just before hell broke loose. She and Marta
had figured he must be Glitt, but they hadn't known
for sure.
The top of his head was bandaged. His thick, tangled
beard made him look like some sort of crazy wino
or hippie.
Looks
nuttier than
Manson.
He wore a long-sleeved black shirt. And
black leather trousers
so tight that they seemed to hug his long, bony legs.
An inch
or so of leather was gouged out of the left
side, just below his
knee. The furrow slanted downward from the front.
Sue could
see raw, pulpy flesh inside it.
Ya got him,
Vince.
A
piece of him, anyhow.
Blood ran down from the wound, coating the leg of his
pants and the side of his left boot, making a
small puddle on the tile floor.
For a while, he did nothing except stand there and
glare at Vince.
Vince had managed to figure things out. He felt
shriveled and sick with fear, but his mind worked fast,
trying to figure a way out.
He'll want his money. That's the thing. Promise
him the money
-
promise him anything!
Why'd he bring me in here? This is where he killed
Elise.
He just
wants to scare
me. He might be a sadistic maniac,
but he's not gonna throw away a chance at half a
million bucks.
"Wanna bet?"
Sue asked him, though she knew he couldn't hear
her thoughts.
"Vincent, Vincent," Glitt said. As he
spoke, he squatted down.
"I thought.. . you were a burglar," Vince said.
"Not me. I'm a killer."
"I mean ... 1 wouldn't have .. . shot you."
"Sure," Glitt said. Reaching down with both hands,
he picked up Vince's left foot and pulled its
shoe off.
Vince's fear surged. "What're you doing?" he
gasped.
Glitt tossed the shoe aside and dropped the
foot. "You didn't come up with the money, Vincent."
"It got stolen. Wasn't my fault."
"No fooling?" Glitt asked, but he didn't
sound interested. He picked up Vince's other
foot and removed the shoe.
"This afternoon," Vince explained. "They robbed me.
Took it all. A guy, couple of cunts."
"Real nice language, buster,"
Sue told him.
"Look what they did? See?" Lifting a hand,
he pointed at his
chin. "That's from the prick's gun. See? He hit
me with it."
"Terrible," Glitt said, and lowered Vince's bare
foot to the floor.
Still squatting, he reached for the knife at his hip.
Vince whimpered.
Glitt pulled the knife out of his black leather
sheath. It had a wide, shiny blade.
Vince's bowels curdled.
"They robbed me, Les! What was I
supposed
to do? The banks were closed. But I'll get more!"
"Really?" Glitt asked, but he didn't sound
interested.
He lowered the blade of his knife between the second and
third toes of Vince's right foot. With his other
hand, he clutched the ankle.
"Leslie? Hey. I'll get you the money.
Honest! I swear to God!"
"When?"
"Monday!" he blurted. "The minute my bank
opens."
"Great," Glitt said, with no enthusiasm.
Then he slowly slid the blade, slicing into the
tissue between Vince's toes.
Ouch! Sue thought.
"No!" Vince squealed in his mind. He tried
to jerk his foot away, but Glitt held on. The
blade kept gliding, slicing deeper. "No!"
Vince blurted. "Please!"
Glitt's eyes were gleeful. Grinning, he inserted
the blade into the crevice between Vince's third and
fourth toes. He pressed it gently against the skin
at the bottom, then drew it very slowly toward himself.
Sue cringed.
Vince, squealing, flinched and shuddered.
Sue began to wonder if she could stand it.
Ain't
my foot.
But she felt every bit of Vince's pain, anyway.
Every bit of his terror.
Gettin'
payback in spades, the bastard.
The knife went away. Sue felt like sighing with
relief.
Vince raised his head and gazed at his bloody
foot. He sobbed. Then he said, "Don't hurt
me anymore. Please!"
"You tried to get me whacked."
"No! Not me!"
"Couldn't come up with the dough, so you hired a carload
of assholes to gun
me
down."
"No! I didn't. Are you kidding? I wouldn't do
a. . ."
"Don't move," Glitt said, and stood up.
"I'll get you the money."
"Really," Glitt said, and moved over to the side.
He climbed down a few steps into something, walked
out of sight, then returned and climbed up to floor
level-with a thick bar of soap in his hand.
"What's that for?" Vince asked. But he knew what
it was for.
"You're gonna be screaming your head off, Vince.
We can't have the neighbors hearing you. Bad enough you
shot your fucking gun."
The mention of the gunshot raised Vince's hopes for a
moment. His hopes sank, however, when he
remembered that he'd shut all the windows and doors
to keep Glitt out.
How
did he get in?
he wondered.
"Like it matters,"
Sue remarked.
"He's in and yer up Shit Creek."
Vince also realized that his nearest neighbors were on
a cruise down the Mississippi.
A good chance that
nobody
had heard the gunshot.
Glitt straddled Vince's chest, crouched, and held
out the soap. "Open up wide and say,
"Ahhh." his
Vince started crying.
He didn't
want
to open his mouth, but Glitt would hurt him if he
didn't.
He opened wide.
He didn't bother saying "Ahhh."
Glitt pushed the soap in.
It felt
huge
inside his mouth. Waxy against the edges of his teeth.
Slick against his tongue.
Real nice,
Sue thought.
The feel and taste reminded Sue of when she was a
kid. A few times, she'd let a bad word slip
out within hearing range of her parents-or a
tattletale. And then her father would take her into the
bathroom and jam a bar of soap into her mouth.
No matter what color, no matter what scent,
they all tasted
pretty much alike.
Vince had never gotten the soap treatment, but he was
aware that Glitt had done this to Elise. He'd
heard about it on the news, read about it in the paper.
And he'd admired Glitt for coming up with such a
handy, effective gag. A washcloth would've
sufficed, but a bar of soap showed
style.
Now, he wished he'd never had such thoughts. They'd
tempted Fate. This was payback for
enjoying
the soap gag when it had been used on Elise.
Because of the soap, Vince could hardly breathe. He was
sucking air in through his nostrils.
Sue feared she might be suffocating.
1 can hang on if he can.
Just
gotta remember to bail out if he starts to crump.
She wondered if she should get out now.
No, no, no! It's
just
startin' to
get good!
Glitt, still squatting over Vince, waddled
backward. As he retreated, he pulled down the
zipper of Vince's warm-up jacket.
Vince didn't like it.
What's he doing that for?
Then Glitt pulled down Vince's warm-up
pants.
No."
What's he doing? Oh, God, no!
Vince grunted into the bar of soap and shook his head
emphatically.
The tile floor felt cool under his back and
buttocks.
He still wore something; Sue could feel straps and a
snug pouch.
"You never impressed me as being a jock," Glitt
said. Reaching out, he hooked his fingers under the elastic
band around Vince's waist. He tugged it upward,
made a couple of slashes with his knife,
then tossed Vince's jockstrap aside.
"Guess you're not real glad to see me," Glitt
said, grinning through his beard.
He fingered Vince's penis.
In his mind, Vince shouted,
"Leave me alone, you dirty bastard!"
But he said nothing. He wept.
He's trying to
make
me
hard, the dirty . . .
The hand went away.
"Let's get you into the tub," Glitt said, "before
we make any more messes."
Chapter Nine
Sue writhed in the passenger seat. Her head
thrashed about. She
panted for breath. A couple of times, she laughed.
Every so
often, she flinched and cried out.
Marta kept glancing at her.
Nothing to
worry about. She's safe here. She
isn't getting hurt.
But the thoughts didn't reassure Marta.
Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that they
ached. She had a tight knot
in her stomach. Every muscle in her body seemed
to be rigid.
She can came back whenever she wants to.
Obviously, she doesn't want to.
Not
yet.
What if she can't? Maybe something's wrong and she
wants to come back but
... his
With a sudden shriek, Sue lurched in her seat as if
trying to throw herself backward.
Marta jumped and gasped, "Christ!"
Then she looked around. No other cars were nearby.
Sue was flinching, jerking, panting for air.
Marta reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Take it easy," she said. "You're all right."
"Ahhh!"
What's going on?
Sue bucked and gasped, "No!"
"Sue?" Marta shook her shoulder.
"No!" A moment later, her body convulsed and she
let out a scream that sent ice up Malta's
spine.
"That's it!" Marta said. Bundy Drive looked
clear behind her, so she hit the brakes and stopped.
With her right hand still on
Sue's shoulder, she leaned sideways and reached for the
bracelet.
She found it high on Sue's right arm.
She started to slide it down.
But stopped when she noticed that Sue seemed calm.
The torments had apparently ended. Sue was still
breathing heavily, but she no longer shuddered or
flinched or cried out.
"Okay," Marta muttered.
She raised the bracelet until it was again snug
around Sue's upper arm, then settled back into her
seat.
"You all right?" she asked.
She got no response. Expecting none, she
stepped on the gas pedal.
Sue turned her head. Eyes wide, mouth
drooping open, she looked stunned.
"You're back?" Marta asked.
"Couldn't take no more," Sue gasped. "Judas
Priest." She turned toward the windshield. "Where
are we?"
"On Bundy, coming up on San
Vicente."
"So ... a couple more minutes?"
"Less than five, probably."
"Lord." She rubbed her face with both hands. Then
she lowered her hands to the black cape that shrouded her
lap and thighs. "What's this?"
"A cape."
"Huh?" She lifted it. "My skirt." She
sounded puzzled, wary.
Marta glanced over. It was still spread open.
"My skirt's torn," Sue said, and flung the
cape over her shoulder into the backseat. "Who went
and tore my skirt?"
"I had to leave you alone for a few minutes while
1 went up to Neal's room. Somebody came
along and did that."
"What?"
"A caped crusader. He thought he'd found himself a
girlfriend."
"Yuck! He tore my skirt? What'd he
do
to me?"
"He didn't rape you."
"Well, there's a blessin" in disguise. What in
tarnation
did
he do?"
"Kissed you and felt you up, I guess." Marta
swung onto San
Vicente. "Let's not talk about it, now. We're
almost there. I'll
tell you everything later. What was going on with
you.?"
Head down, she put a hand between her legs.
"Well, I reckon I was gettin' molested
..."
"Were you in someone?"
"I'm all sticky."
"Sue!"
"Okay, yeah, I got in Vince. It's just like we
figured; he hired them guys to hit Glitt. Now
Glitt's got him in the bathtub, and he's .. .
doin' stuff to him."
"What sort of stuff?" Marta asked.
Sue didn't answer for a few seconds. Then she
said, "I don't wanna talk about it."
"Torturing him?"
She gazed out the windshield and nodded.
"You were inside Vince while he was being tortured?"
"I took it for as long as I could. I
wanted him. to pay. . . Ya know? For gettin'
Neal killed. I wanted to
feel
all the pain he was gettin'. And I kinda liked it
for a while. I mean, he was hurtin' like ya wouldn't
believe. Deserves every bit of it, too. But then
I just couldn't stand it no more."
"I could tell you were suffering."
"Makes me sick, just thinkin' about. .." She
shook her head. "Glitt'll do things to
us,
too." She faced Marta again. "If he gets the
upper hand on us, we're gonna wish we'd been
born dead. I mean it."
Marta slowed down and turned onto Greenhaven.
Almost
there.
"Our gun's loaded," she said.
"Vince, he had himself a gun. But he only got
off one shot, and all it did was scratch Glitt's
leg. And that was it. All she wrote. Vince was as
good as dead, after that."
"Js he dead?"
"Nope. Or he wasn't, anyhow. He was
screamin' his head off when I bailed out.
Glitt's not gonna finish him off any time soon,
either. Havin' too much fun playin' around with him."
Using both hands, she drew the edges of her skirt
together. "Damn pervert," she muttered.
The headlights, pushing ahead, lit the rear of a
white Subaru
parked at the side of the road. Marta's stomach
seemed to fall.
She stopped behind the Subaru.
She shut off the headlights, the engine. Then she
faced Sue. "So, they're both in the bathroom?"
"Yeah. Up till a few minutes ago, anyhow.
And Vince, he ain't goin noplace. He's tied
up in the tub. There to stay. Glitt was standin" in it,
havin' himself a ball. Still there, 1 bet."
"Ready?"
"Never gonna be ready for this."
"I don't think we can just leave," Marta said.
"I know."
"We'll never have any peace."
"I know."
Marta slipped the key case into a front pocket
of her shorts, then drew the pistol from between her
thighs. "Let's go," she said, and opened her door.
They met in front of the Jeep.
"Where did Glitt get in?" Marta asked.
"I don't know."
They headed for the small, front gate.
"Does he have a gun?"
"Don't think so. Vince had that six-shooter,
only 1 think it's still in the den. Glitt's got a
knife. And ... and some pliers. He got hold of
Vince's eyelids with "em, and ..." She
grimaced. "I can't think about it. He's got himself
a screwdriver, too. And a cigarette
lighter-been usin it to heat up the screwdriver ..
."
Marta led the way through the gate. Sue followed,
close behind her.
"He's gonna use that stuff on us, we don't
kill him."
"We'll kill him," Marta said.
"We better. But look, 1 don't wanna get
taken alive. Not by him. So ya gotta promise
to shoot me. Shoot me, and save a
bullet for yerself."
Marta wrinkled her nose. She would've liked
to make a remark about sounding like bad movies-but she
knew that Sue meant it.
Sue had been there.
It made Marta feel ready to throw up.
"Nobody's going to get shot except Glitt,"
she muttered.
"Bullets don't put him down."
"Sure they do. All it'll take is one in the right
place."
"I don't know."
Their voices went silent as they neared the front
door. Marta tried the knob.
Locked.
They turned away and walked through the front yard.
The soft grass felt good to Marta. It was wet,
and the bottoms of her socks were soon soaked.
The front windows of the house appeared to be shut and
unbroken.
"How'll we get in?" Marta whispered.
"Maybe round back," Sue said.
They stepped around the corner of the house, then walked
through the small orchard of fruit trees. Their feet
made no sounds in the grass, but Marta could hear
Sue's quick breathing. And her own.
Though the night was mildly cool, Marta felt
trickles of sweat sliding down her body. The
pistol grips were slippery in her hand.
At the back of the house, she stopped,
leaned forward, and peered around the corner. The
surface of the swimming pool looked black
except for a few shivering silver specks of
moonlight. Nobody swam. The diving boards at
the far end stood abandoned. The concrete surrounding the
pool was gray like a field of dirty snow.
Nobody sat at the table.
Marta saw no one around.
She stepped onto the concrete. After the softness of the
grass, its hardness hurt her feet. She felt as
it were trying to spread open every cut.
She heard Sue wince a couple of times.
When she came to the first glass door, she gazed
into the house. No lights were on. She saw her own
vague reflection as if looking at a black
mirror. And she saw Sue at her side,
slightly behind her.
She could see nothing of the living room.
"Can't see a thing," she whispered.
"The drapes are shut."
Marta almost found it amusing, but didn't. She
stepped over to the door handle, gripped it with her
left hand, and gave it a sideways tug.
She expected the door to stay shut.
But it flew open so fast that it almost leaped
from her hand. She held on and wrenched it to a halt.
Sue eased against her, put an arm across her back,
and whispered close to her ear, "Don't go in.
Hang on a minute. I'll kiss the bracelet
and make sure Glitt's still in the John."
"Don't." Marta turned around. Face-to-face
with Sue, she leaned forward until their bodies
met. "We shouldn't split up," she whispered.
"Stay with me. We'll do it right here."
"But
you'll
be gone, off in Glitt or something. I'll be stuck
alone with your
body."
"Try and take better care of it, this time."
"Very funny. Just forget the bracelet, okay?
Something could go wrong."
"We gotta know where he's at." With that, Sue
put both her arms around Marta and hugged her.
Marta kept the pistol down against the side of her
leg. With her left hand, she caressed Sue's
back. "I don't want to lose you," she
whispered. "You're all I have, now."
"Ya got Neal's baby."
"Maybe."
Sue tilted back her head and gazed up
into Marta's eyes. "And maybe we still got
Neal."
"We don't," Marta said. Her throat was tight,
and her eyes suddenly felt hot with tears. "You
saw him. He's dead. You said they weren't even
trying to save him."
"But what if he kissed the bracelet just before he
died?" In the moonlight, Marta saw Sue's
eyebrows rise. "What about that?"
"Fat chance."
"Might've."
"Did you see him do it?
"No. But he was outta sight after he got knocked
through the
glass. He could've done it then."
It seemed far-fetched. But then,
everything
about the bracelet seemed far-fetched to Marta. She
could hardly believe that such a thing worked, at all.
It sounded like complete nonsense. Obviously,
though, it
did
work. Sue had proven that by knowing Marta's two
secrets. Neal had proven it by finding the
hidden sack of money.
"If he kissed it," Sue said, "he mighta
gotten out and into somebody else. He might be in
somebody right now. That's if he didn't get
sucked back into his own self when I pulled the
bracelet off him. But somebody was gonna take
it, anyhow. I figured we oughta have it. Thing is,
I wasn't thinkin" that he mighta gone off on a
body ride. Didn't think of that till just now. So
I didn't figure it'd make any difference
to him. Anyhow, maybe he was already dead by the time I
took it off."
"What difference would that make?"
"If he was dead, he
couldn't
get back into his own body. He'd
have
to find someplace else to stay."
"Are you sure?" Marta asked.
"I ain't sure of anything, comes right down to it.
I'm just hopin' he got out in time."
"Is there any way to find out?"
Sue shook her head. "I don't know."
"Glitt was right there with him. What if he's in
Glitt?"
"He wouldn't go into Glitt on purpose. I
don't think so, anyhow. But it mighta happened
by accident."
"If we kill Glitt, and Neal's
in
him ..."
"I guess it'd kill off Neal. Or trap him,
or..."
Marta groaned.
"More likely he got in you or me. That's what
I'd do if I was him and knew I was about to go toes
up."
"My God," Marta whispered.
Then, neither of them spoke. They held each other.
Marta felt Sue's warmth, her heartbeat, the
heat of her breath. And she wondered if Neal might
actually be dwelling inside her own body, or
inside Sue.
It didn't seem terribly likely.
But it seemed possible.
If he'd been alert enough to think of the bracelet as the
bullets were hitting him, he
would've
kissed it. Or at least given it a try. Maybe
he'd wanted to kiss the bracelet, but
hadn't been able to bring it to his lips.
But maybe he did kiss it.
Maybe Neal had bailed out-fled his body like a
fighter pilot ejecting when a missle has blown
a wing off his jet...
Maybe he's in me right now.
"Hi, Neal,"
she said to him in her mind.
Or in
Sue.
If he's in Sue, Marta realized, then he is
holding
me
right now. He can see me, hear me. He can feel
my body against him, just as if
he
is hugging me.
Malta's tears returned. "We'll never be able
to know?" she whispered to Sue.
"I don't think so."
"Then . . . we'll have to live as if he is in one
of us."
"I know."
"We'll have to stay together."
"Yeah."
"And we'll have to...
do
things for him. Make it so he has a really great
time. Just in case."
"Yeah. It oughta be great." Sue hugged her very
hard.
Marta tried to stop weeping. After a few moments,
she said, "I just hope he is in you or me."
"I'll bet he is."
"If he's in Glitt. . ."
"We gotta kill Glitt, no matter what.
Neal'd want that, don't ya think?"
"I think so."
"Me, too. But look, I wanna make sure
where the bastard's at, anyhow. So the thing is,
I'll kiss the bracelet and pay him a visit.
Maybe when I'm in him, I'll be able to tell if
Neal's in there, too."
"Is that possible?"
"Who knows? This ain't exactly ever happened before.
Not that I know of, anyhow."
"Just be really careful, okay? And don't stay
away for long."
They parted. As Marta rubbed the tears from her eyes,
Sue took a few steps away. She
sat down on the concrete, then stretched out on her
back. Her skirt was wide open where the Creeper
had split it up the middle. She drew its edges
together and tucked them between her thighs. "Don't go in
till I get back," she said.
"You can count on that. But hurry. Please. I
don't like this much."
"This time, try and keep the perverts off my body."
"I'll try."
"Adios,"
Sue said. She turned her head, raised her right
arm slightly, and kissed the bracelet. Immediately,
her arm flopped onto the concrete.
"Hurry back," Marta whispered.
Chapter Ten
Sue didn't bother with the open door. After rising out
of her
body, she stayed outside the house and sped along the
back wall.
In what seemed like half a second, she banked
hard to the left
and soared through the plate glass door of the master
bedroom.
She slipped through the glass as if nothing was there. As
she rushed over the bed, she saw a strip of
light at the bottom of the bathroom door.
How come it's shut?
She slowed down.
Had Glitt shut the bathroom door while she'd
been in Vince? She didn't think so. Of course,
the doorway had been out of sight the whole time. It
couldn't be seen, at all, from Vince's position
inside the tub.
Glitt
had
disappeared in that direction a time or two.
Don't worry about it, just go on in and make sure
he's there.
As she glided closer to the door, however, Sue had
an urge to turn away.
She had a pretty good idea of what Vince would
look like;
she could live without seeing that. And the last thing she ever
wanted to do was see Glitt again.
She wished she'd never set eyes on him.
Bad enough that Glitt looked like such a spook, but now
she knew a few things about his tastes in perversion.
Until a while ago, she wouldn't have believed that a
person could
think
of such things, much less
do
them to anyone.
Now she knew better.
On the other side of this door .. .
She hovered in front of it, her dread growing.
Do it." Ya can't
chicken out!
Moaning, she glided through the door. On the other
side, the bathroom was brightly lighted. Glitt and
Vince were out of sight; she shouldn't be able to see them
from here-not if they were still in the tub.
Here goes . . ,
She headed for the tub. Along the way, she passed
over a few small puddles of blood, Vince's
shoes, his warm-up suit and his jockstrap.
Then she turned her eyes to the mirror over the
sink.
She saw no trace of herself.
Invisible
girl . . .
But suddenly glimpsed the reflection of a raw red
shape, arms stretched out as if it wanted to hug her.
She jerked her eyes away from the mirror, but not
nearly fast enough. In the moment before looking
away, she saw that the thing had a crusty, hairless
scalp. Pits where its eyes should be. A
screwdriver handle for a nose. Teeth huge and
white because there were no lips.
And in that moment, she also saw nobody else.
Where's Glitt?
Not trusting the mirror, not wanting to believe what it
showed, Sue glided toward the tub. She fixed her
gaze on the floor to avoid seeing Vince again.
A bloody towel on the floor near the tub.
Down at the bottom of the tub, Vince's bare
feet. Some fleshy pieces of him, some meaty parts
of him, and lots and lots of blood.
Nobody's feet except his.
Glitt was not in the tub.
Sue found her gaze sneaking over to Vince,
climbing his shiny red ankles and shins.
Don't". Don't look! Gotta find
Glitt. No
tellin'where the dirty . . .
She veered away from Vince's remains. Rushing through
the wall above the toilet, she suddenly found herself in
the dark garage. There, she swung around and plunged
back into the house. She was in the bedroom again.
No Glitt here.
She swerved through the doorway. The corridor ahead
of her was long and dark.
No sign of Glitt.
He's gotta be down there. But how come he quit
messin with Vince?
At
the time Sue had fled from Vince, she'd expected
Glitt to continue working on him for another half
hour, at least. Maybe even for an hour or two.
Havin' himself a fine of' time. How come he quit?
Hope he don't know we're here.
Maybe it's just "cause Vince up and died on
him. That'd take most of the fun out of it, Vince being
dead.
Maybe, or maybe not.
Sue made a quick detour through the guest bathroom,
then continued down the hallway toward the den.
Anyhow, Vince didn't die on him. Glitt
polished him off, stuck that screwdriver in his
nose.
How come? Why'd he do that when he was havin" himself
such a grand time?
He knows we're here.
Does not. How could he?
Don't matter. Just find him.
In the grayness of the moonlit den, Sue saw the
revolver on the carpet where Vince had dropped it.
But no Glitt.
She wondered if he might be hiding behind the bar, the
way Vince had done.
Not Glitt.
So she didn't waste time checking there. Instead, she
returned
to
the hallway and drifted on into the living room. It
was somewhat darker than the den. The furniture made
black clumps in the gloom.
She saw no Glitt.
Marta looked as if she hadn't moved at all from
her position just outside the glass door. Her
silhouette was black against the pale, moonlit
drapes.
If he ain't in the kitchen, I'd better see if
I can find his car. Can't let him . . .
Marta's right arm came away from her side.
Her pistol looked like a knife.
That's
kinda . . .
Reaching high, Marta used the point of the knife
to sweep the curtain out of her way.
Huh?
That ain't Marta!
Sue hurled herself through the living room, aiming at the
back of the dark figure, and slammed into Glitt as
he took a stealthy step over the threshold of the
sliding door.
He was almost within reach of Marta. Two or three more
steps .. .
"Turn around!"
Sue shouted at her.
But she heard the warning only inside her own mind.
The fingers of Glitt's right hand ached from their fierce
grip on his knife.
"Martast
He's
right
behind you! Turn around! Shoot him!"
Glitt was breathless, his heart thudding fast, his body
oily with sweat, his stiff penis pushing against the
front of his leather pants.
His mind rambled.
Oh, this
is my
night, oh
yes. Whoever she is, she's mine. All
mine. Stick her in the back? Yeah, yeah. That'll
take the starch out of her. Stan with a quick one in the
back, then turn her around and go for the goodies.
Hope she's not a fucking dog.
"MARTA!"
Marta waited, her back to the open door, her
eyes on Sue's body.
Can't
be very comfortable, lying on the concrete like that.
Come on, Sue. Get back here. What's taking
so long?
Had something gone wrong?
Maybe she went into Glitt and found Neal.
God, still
hope not. h'd be better if he never got out of his
own body, than . . .
"LESLIE GLITT!" Sue didn't sit up,
didn't open her eyes, just suddenly yelled it at
the sky in such a loud, rough voice that Marta,
stunned, could hardly believe it had come from Sue.
"Police! Drop the knife, Glitt! Step
away from the woman!"
Marta whirled around, bringing the pistol up from her
side.
She didn't really expect to find someone
behind her.
But she was still in the midst of her turn when she
glimpsed a black shape so close to her that it
might have been her own shadow.
She squealed with fright.
The knife struck.
She fired.
In the next moment, Glitt was staggering backward as
the pistol tumbled toward the concrete and Marta
flung her right hand high.
Black against the moonlit night, her fingers were
hooked like claws. A hunting knife stuck out of the
back of her hand.
She cried out, "Shit!"
Glitt had fallen onto his back. He was starting
to push himself up.
Marta swung her hand down. She only meant
to bring the knife close to her body so she could grab
it with her other hand. But she didn't pay attention and
slapped it against her belly. The knife point,
jutting from her palm, poked through her shirt and stabbed
her.
She yelped. Her hand jumped away from her stomach.
Then
she clutched the knife with her left hand and
jerked the blade
out.
Knife clutched in both hands, she raised it
overhead and dived at Glitt. She landed on him,
her face in his belly, and pounded the blade into the
middle of his chest.
He grunted.
"Marta!" Sue blurted. "Get off him! I
got the gun."
Leaving the knife in his chest, Marta pushed herself off
Glitt and scurried backward away from his legs.
He lay sprawled on the concrete.
He didn't move.
Sue didn't fire. She stood near his feet,
her legs apart, her knees bent, her right arm
straight out but angled downward, pointing the pistol
at him.
"You'd better do it," Marta said.
Sue nodded, but didn't shoot.
Marta got up and stood beside her. She felt
blood spilling down her hand, heard it splashing the
concrete.
Sue glanced at her. "Y'all right?"
"He stabbed me in the hand."
"Looks like ya stabbed him in the heart."
"Shot him, too. Doesn't mean he's dead."
Keeping her eyes on Glitt, she jerked open her
shirt. There were quick, soft popping sounds as several
buttons gave way. She pulled the shirt off,
wrapped it quickly around her right hand, and clenched her
fist to hold it in place. "We'd better make
sure he's dead and then get out of here. Somebody
might've called the cops."
"Call "em for sure if I go ahead and pump
him full of holes."
"We'll be gone."
"We don't gotta bother if he's already dead."
"This is Rasputin, remember?"
"I know. 1 know, all right. But that don't mean we
gotta shoot him. There's quiet stuff we can do."
"Like what?"
"Like cut his head off."
"You're kidding."
"What's he gonna do without his head? If he
did
live through
it, which ain't real likely, he'd be blind as a
bat."
Marta found herself smiling. She couldn't
betieve
she was smiling at a time like this. She looked at
Sue and shook her head. "You're nuts."
"Got a better idea?"
"What would we use, the knife?"
"How about an axe? I seen one in the garage."
"No good," Marta said. "We can't split up.
And if we both go, we'd have to leave him. He
might pull a disappearing act."
"Reckon we'll just have to use the knife."
"If we don't do something quick, the cops are going
to show up and bust us."
"Yeah. They'll run
you
in for indecent exposure."
"They'll run us both in. God only knows what
they might charge us with. And they'll probably end
up searching my apartment. When they do that, they'll find
the money. We'll have a shitload of explaining to do.
Plus, they won't let us keep it."
"They won't?"
"Are you kidding? Not a chance."
"Well," Sue said, "they ain't here yet. We
better do something."
"I wish we had a silencer."
"I've seen "em use pillows and stuff
in the movies. How about if we shoot him through a
sofa cushion? One of us can run into the living room
right there, and . .."
"No splitting up," Marta said.
"Course, if we got us a pillow we wouldn't
have
to shoot him. Just smother him with it."
"Who needs a pillow, then? Why not strangle him
with our bare hands?"
"Better still," Sue said, "we got us a pool right
here. Why not drown him like a rat?"
"Drown him like Rasputin."
"Yeah!"
"Give me the gun," Marta said. "I'll cover
him. You take his boots off."
After passing the pistol to Marta, Sue squatted
at Glitt's feet, tugged off his right boot, and
flung it behind her. Marta kept
her eyes on Glitt, but heard the boot splash
into the pool. A
few seconds later, his left boot followed.
Glitt never moved, never made a sound.
"Put his feet together," Marta said.
While Sue shoved his feet toward each other,
Marta clamped the pistol under her right
armpit. Then she used her left hand to unbuckle
her belt. She spread her legs to keep the shorts
from falling down, and whipped the belt out of its loops
around the waist of her shorts.
"Take this," she said.
Sue looked over her shoulder, nodded, and grabbed the
dangling belt.
"Strap his feet together."
Marta drew the pistol out from under her arm and aimed it
at Glitt while Sue bound his ankles together.
"Okay, now let's drag ..."
Roaring, Glitt pulled the knife out of his chest and
sat up.
Sue yelled, "Ah!"
Marta yelled, "Shit!"
Glitt slashed at Sue. Lurching back on her
knees to escape the blade, she lost her balance.
As she fell backward, Marta fired. A moment
later, Sue tumbled against her shins.
Marta stumbled backward, jerking the trigger again and
again. Her shorts dropped. The pistol jumped in
her hand, quick shots slamming through the silence, muzzle
flashes lighting the night. Bullets punched
into Glitt. He twitched as they hit him, but he was
still sitting up, knife in hand, when
Marta, tripped by the shorts around her ankles,
tumbled backward off the edge of the pool.
Chapter Twelve
Sue, on her back with her knees in the air,
heard a tremendous
thudding splash and knew that Marta had fallen in.
She raised
her head. Framed by the V of her spread legs,
Glitt sat just
beyond her feet. He held his knife high like a
mountain man
about to attack a grizzly. But he didn't move.
Water rained down
on Sue, obscuring her view of Glitt and
drenching her.
A couple of seconds later, the shower stopped.
Sue blinked water out of her eyes.
Glitt still sat there and didn't move.
If
he's dead, how came he just keeps sittin" up?
"Cause he ain't dead. Just playm" possum,
waitin' for a good chance to lay me open.
She bolted up and leaned forward hard, reaching with
straight arms between her legs, stretching, going for the
belt. With her right hand, she grabbed the
buckle. With her left, she grabbed Glitt's right
ankle. Then she flung herself back.
He skidded toward her on his rump.
Yer mine!
She scurried and squirmed her way backward,
dragging him.
All the way, he remained sitting up, motionless,
his knife raised-like some sort of weird, wax
dummy of a wild murderer scooting on his ass
toward a corner of Madame Tussaud's.
The way he looked gave Sue goose bumps.
But she kept on dragging him.
From behind came quiet, splashy sounds. Gasping
sounds of Marta catching breaths.
"Stay back!" Sue yelled.
Feeling the edge of the pool under her rump, she gave
Glitt's feet a last mighty pull and tumbled.
She saw herself facing the Man in the Moon.
He looked pale and astonished.
Marta shouted, "No!"
A moment later, Sue's back smacked the
surface of the pool. The cool water spread open,
took her in, closed down over her. The moon
dimmed and rippled. Then she heard a muffled
splashing sound.
As Sue started to fall backward off the edge of the
pool, her feet
flying up, Marta saw Glitt on the other side
of them. Thinking
he was about to plunge the big knife down and bury it
between
Sue's legs, she yelled, "No!"
But Glitt didn't strike. Just sat there as if
frozen.
At the same moment Sue's back struck the
water, his rump dropped off the pool's edge. He
plummeted. Marta heard a thunk when the edge
caught the back of his head. His head jerked forward as
if kicked from behind.
Then he disappeared into the black water.
Except for his right hand.
He held the knife out of the water. Its dripping
blade gleamed like silver in the moonlight.
Get
that knife away from him!
As Marta went for it, the upthrust hand and knife
turned and began gliding toward the deep end of the
pool. She held off. She stared.
No sign of Sue or Glitt.
Just the hand, cut off at its wrist by the
black surface of the water, taking its knife on
a voyage. The wrist glided silently. Behind it was
a wake of shiny ripples.
He can't be alive! Why doesn't he drop the
knife?
He
must
be alive, Marta told herself.
He doesn't drop the knife because he still has
uses for it.
She pictured Sue down below, towing him by his
feet.
He's just waiting for the right time.
Marta swam in from the rear. Both her hands were
empty; she'd been holding Neal's pistol in her
left, and her stabbed right hand had been wrapped with his
shirt. The pistol and shirt were lost.
She reached out with both hands.
Her right grabbed Glitt around the wrist. Pain
erupted from
her wound. She hissed, but held on.
Her left clamped the top of Glitt's fist and
wrenched it sideways.
It twisted
easily.
It twisted too easily, and too far. Marta
heard crackly sounds.
She opened the limp fingers and took the knife.
He's
dead. Must be.
But what if he isn't?
That's his big trick, making people think he's dead when
he isn't.
Marta let go of Olitt's wrist. His empty hand
glided along, fingers drooping.
She switched the knife to her right hand, gritted her
teeth against the pain as she clenched it, then took a
deep breath and went down.
Under the water, she was blind.
She reached out with her left hand.
When she found Glitt's hair, she grabbed it.
She pulled herself forward. But couldn't find the rest of
him. Not at first. The water beneath his head felt
empty until she leaned backward and brought her
legs up.
She realized that he must still be in a sitting position.
She matched it. Felt his shirt against her breasts,
the slippery seat of his leather pants against her lap,
his leather legs against her thighs.
Sorry,
Sue. I don't mean to scare you.
She spread her legs, raised them, hooked her
feet over the top of Glitt's knees, and thrust
downward.
She met resistance.
But not from Glitt; she was sure of that.
The resistance came from Sue, struggling to keep her
grip on his ankles.
Marta won.
With Glitt straightened out and latched fast against her
body, she punched the knife into his belly. She
split him open from belt to chest. Then she slashed his
throat.
They climbed out of the pool and stood side by side
on its edge.
Water ran down their bodies. Gasping for breath,
they gazed at
the black surface. Its ripples flashed
moonlight.
There was no sign of Glitt.
"Ya think we done him in?" Sue asked.
"If he makes it through this," Marta said, "we'll
start calling him Lazarus."
"We better get goin'."
"Yeah."
But they didn't move. They stayed on the edge and
watched the pool. Marta held the knife in her
left hand. Her right hand dripped blood onto the
concrete by her feet.
"He's a goner," Sue said after a while.
"I'd say so."
"We better get goin'. The cops're gonna show
up."
"Yeah. But 1 dropped Neal's gun in there."
"So?"
"I have to get it," Marta said.
"No, ya don't. What're they gonna do, arrest
him?"
"I just don't want to leave it behind. Anyway, we
might need it some time."
Sue scowled down at the pool. "But
he's
in there. We can't even
see
him. What if he grabs ya?"
"He won't," Marta said, and jumped off the edge.
Water splashed up, then rained down on her. Standing
in the chest- high
water, she began to feel around the tile bottom with
her feet.
"If Glitt grabs ya," Sue said, "don't go
blamin' me."
"I won't."
"Back in a sec," she said, and hurried off.
Marta continued searching for the pistol, wandering this way and
that, sliding her feet around.
Suddenly, the pool lights came on.
Glitt, his bandaged head almost touching her knees,
gazed up at Marta through the clear bright water. His
wild bush of beard swayed gently in the currents.
His teeth were bared as if he'd died snarling, ready
to bite. The ragged red edges of the slash across his
throat shivered as if stirred by a soft wind.
Marta saw bullet holes in the front of his
black shirt. And she saw where she'd sliced him
up the middle-guts bulged out through the split.
Though startled to find him so close to her, she hadn't
screamed. She'd flinched and gasped. Then, unable
to look away from him, she'd moaned.
She didn't scream until his left arm swept
up from under his side and he thrust the pliers up through the
water, their jaws spread.
Screaming, Marta bashed his head with her knee and
flung herself backward.
The steel jaws of the pliers clashed shut
an inch in front of her left nipple.
Then Marta lost her footing. She fell and went
under, but only for a moment. Terrified of Glitt coming
for her, she planted her feet on the pool floor
and stood up fast.
Glitt was down near the bottom, face up, a
couple of yards away.
Sue lurched to a halt on the edge of the pool.
"What happened? Y'all right?"
"He tried for me."
"Good thing 1 turned on the lights, huh? He
might've got ya." Bending over slightly, Sue
stared down at him. "He sure looks crumped."
Marta moved closer to him.
His ankles remained bound together by the belt. But his
arms were now stretched out away from his sides. Both
hands were empty.
The pliers lay on the bottom of the pool. They were
shiny in the lights. They appeared to waver and wobble as
if made of flimsy rubber.
Beside the pliers, also wavering, was Neal's
automatic.
Richard Laymon
"Watch him," Marta said. Then she ducked under the
water
and grabbed the pistol. She came up quickly.
Glitt looked as if
he hadn't moved. She stepped to the pool's edge and
reached
the weapon up to Sue.
As Sue took hold of it, Marta said, "Go to the
garage and get the axe. I changed my mind."
Chapter Fifteen
After they finished with Glitt, they shoved his body
back into
the pool. Water burst up and splashed them. Sue
picked up his
head by its hair. She swung it underhand and let go.
It flew high
over the pool, tumbling.
It didn't splash.
It went too far and landed on the other side, hitting
the concrete with a nasty
thank.
Sue muttered, "Oops."
They both watched the head roll to a stop.
Then they squatted over the pool and washed their hands
in the water.
When they were done, Sue used the front of her shirt
to wipe the handles of the knife and axe.
Marta picked up Neal's pistol and shorts. She
dropped the pistol into one of the big front
pockets. But she didn't bother putting on the
shorts. "Okay," she said.
"Ready?" Sue asked.
"Yeah, let's beat it."
"Aren't ya gonna put "em on?"
"They won't stay up. Let's go."
Marta in the lead, Sue close behind her, they ran
to the corner of the house and through the dark orchard.
So much time had gone by since the gunfire that they
hardly expected to encounter police. But they
worried. They listened. They heard no sirens, no
racing engines, no slamming doors, no
footfalls, no urgent voices.
They heard only their own rough breathing and the quiet
metallic sounds from the pockets of Neal's
shorts: the clatter of
loose .380 rounds clicking against each other and the
pistol; the
tinkling of her keys.
At the front gate, they stopped.
They listened.
Marta stepped out to the street and looked both ways.
"We're okay," she whispered. Then she
raised the shorts in front of her and dug into one of the
pockets. She pulled out her key case. "You
drive, okay?"
"Sure."
She tossed the keys to Sue.
As Sue climbed into the driver's seat, Marta
leaned over the passenger side. She dropped the
shorts and snatched up the Creeper's cape. Standing
up straight, she unfurled it. She swept it behind
her body, wrapped it around her front.
It stuck to her damp skin.
Sue, starting the engine, looked back at her. And
smiled. And said, "Super Marta."
To which Marta sang out in a whisper, "Here I come
to save the day!"
And thought,
Oh God, if only I could've saved Need.
As
Sue thought,
You oughta be here, Need. It ain't fair.
Wrapped in the black cape, Marta climbed over
the top of the door and dropped into the passenger seat.
Sue stepped on the gas. The Jeep took off with a
lurch.
In the days that followed, two major
incidents vied with the
O.j. Simpson murder trial for news
coverage in the Los Angeles
area.
The lesser incident involved
a
shoot-out in which a carload of gang bangers opened
fire on a young man named Neal Dar- den,
who was apparently out late at night returning
rental movies to Video City. In an unusual
twist of events, the victim happened to be armed.
Though fatally wounded himself, his return fire and the
resulting auto crash caused the deaths of all four
of his assailants.
Neal Darden became an overnight hero to many
citizens of Los Angeles. Others considered him
a vigilante and no better than those who had
killed him.
Nobody connected Neal's death to the butchery that
occurred the same night in the nearby community of
Brentwood.
Those killings weren't discovered until the next day
when a young woman dropped by to pay condolences
to Vince Conrad over the recent death of his wife.
Conrad's wife, former Olympic diving
great Elise Waters, had met her own grisly
demise at the same house earlier in the week.
The woman, Pamela Goodwin, an actress
who'd worked with Conrad on the recent film
Dead Man's
Tale, entered the property just before noon on
Friday and discovered the remains of an unidentified
white male in the backyard swimming pool. In
side the house, she found the body of Vince
Conrad. Like the
stranger, he had been horribly mutilated.
The police claimed to be working on several leads.
Pressed for more information, they stated that certain
similarities in the crimes indicated that Vince
and the stranger had most likely been victims of the
same killer or killers who had butchered Elise
Waters the previous Sunday night.
They refused to say more.
But several grisly details of the killings leaked
out.
There was talk of another Manson family on the
loose.
Gun sales in Southern California soared.
Time after time, on radio talk shows, callers
remarked that they'd like to see the
torture-killers run smack-dab into a guy like
Neal Darden.
Chapter Two
Neal's funeral was to take place near the home of
his parents in
Larkspur, some four hundred miles north of
Los Angeles.
Marta and Sue decided to avoid it.
Neither of them had ever met his parents, and this didn't
seem like a good time to introduce themselves.
Particularly since the services were certain to be
mobbed by gawkers and the press.
They were also worried about the police. Rumors
floated about that females as well as males may have
been involved in the Brentwood slayings. Though
nobody seemed to be suggesting a link between Neal and the
homicides at the Conrad house, the police might
be keeping quiet about a few things. Marta and Sue
thought it could be risky to show up at Neal's
funeral.
Especially since pictures were sure to be taken.
Pictures were taken, all right.
CNN carried live coverage. The funeral was
covered on the nightly news by every network. Within a
day or two of the
funeral, A
Current Affair, Hard Copy,
and
American Journal
all
devoted stories to Neal.
Though some of his neighbors were interviewed for the
magazine shows, nobody seemed to know the name of his
mysterious girlfriend who apparently worked for an
airline.
One of Neal's neighbors, a young woman named
Karen who lived down the block, told an
interviewer that she'd known Neal well. "He was such
a sweetheart," she said, blinking tears from her
eyes. "I'm going to miss him."
"That must be the gal he slugged," Sue said.
"The one who gets it on with her brother?"
"Yeah, that's gotta be her. Lyin" through her
teeth."
"Who says she's lying?" Marta asked. "Maybe
she really does think Neal's a sweetheart."
"Reckon it's possible. To know him was to love
him."
Chapter Three
One night, after brushing her teeth,
Marta entered the bedroom
and found Sue crying. The bedside lamp was on.
Sue was covered
to the waist by a sheet. Her back was bare, her face
buried
in a pillow.
Seeing the bracelet on her right upper arm, Marta
thought at first that she might be away on a body
ride. Ever since Neal's death, Sue had been
using the bracelet again and again to escape from her
misery. Maybe she was crying, now, in response
to the grief of a stranger.
Marta lay down beside her, and gently rubbed her
back.
Sue turned her head.
Not
off riding, after all.
"You okay?" Marta asked.
"I'm just sad, that's all."
"Neal?"
"Yeah."
"I miss him, too."
"I hardly even got to
know
him. It ain't fair. Three days.
That's all we ever had. I figured we'd spend
our
lives
together.
But all we had was just three days."
"I know," Marta whispered. "I know." She
glided her hand up the smoothness of Sue's back and
gently squeezed her neck. "At least we'll have
his baby."
"Yer
gonna have his baby, not me."
"Maybe you'll have one, too."
"I ain't gonna hold my breath."
Trying to smile, Marta said, "You might try
holding it till after you get your next period."
"I want Neol."
"Come here," Marta whispered.
Sue turned onto her side, and Marta slid in
against her. As they held each other, Sue continued
to cry. Marta cradled her head with one hand. With the
other, she stroked her back. Sue's tears soaked
through the chest of Marta's nightshirt.
After a while, Marta said, "Maybe he is
inside one of us."
"I sure hope so." Sue sniffed.
"I think about it all the time."
"Me, too."
"I ... I talk to him, you know? In my head. Do
you do that?"
"I sure do."
"But he don't answer."
"I know," Marta said. "But he can't."
"Wish he would, anyhow."
"Wouldn't that be great?"
"Do ya look at yerself in mirrors?" Sue
asked.
"So he can see me? Sure. 1 do a lot of
stuff like that. Thinking maybe he's in there.
Yesterday, I danced naked in front of a
mirror."
"Did ya?" Sue sniffed again. She no longer
seemed to be crying.
"For Neal. In case he's in me."
"What else have ya done?"
Shrugging, Marta felt the wet place on her
nightshirt pull at her breast.
"Fool around with yerself?"
Marta blushed. "Hey."
"I do. Wanna keep him happy."
"I know," Marta said.
"You do it, too?"
"Yeah."
Sue laughed softly. Her breath felt hot through
Marta's nightshirt. "One thing for sure, he
ain't in both of us."
"Not likely."
"So either you or me's goin to a lotta trouble for
nothin'."
"Maybe both of us," Marta told her.
Neither of them spoke for a while after that. Marta wished
she hadn't said it. She held Sue gently against
her.
Then Sue said, "Sometimes, I'd swear he's in
me. I can
feel
him inside. Makes me feel real good, and I
don't even miss him for a spell. Only thing is,
then I get to thinkin' how maybe he ain't in me,
after all-and how I'm just pretendin' he is."
"I know. That happens to me, too."
"Like I'm ki.in' myself."
"Yeah."
"Then I feel just so empty and lonesome ..."
Marta lowered her face down against the tickle of
Sue's hair, and kissed the top of her
head. "It's all right," she whispered.
"It ain't that I don't love
you."
"It's all right."
"It's just... I miss Neal so
bad."
"I do, too," Marta whispered.
"If I only just knew for sure about him ..."
"I'll do it," Marta said.
Sue stiffened slightly, raised her face and met
Marta's eyes. "Will ya?"
"If you're sure you really want me to."
She suddenly smiled. "Yer the greatest!"
"I know."
Letting out a soft laugh, Sue rolled onto her
back and slid the bracelet down from her upper arm.
"Y'always said ya'd never do it."
"I changed my mind."
Sue pulled the bracelet off her hand.
Marta took it and stretched out on her back. She
slipped the
gold, coiled snake over her bandaged right hand.
Sue, turning onto her side, propped herself up
on an elbow. She had a wonderful eagerness in her
eyes.
"Just try not to be too disappointed if I don't
find him in you," Marta said.
"C'mon and do it."
"You haven't found him in me or anyone else
you've tried," Marta reminded her.
"Not yet, but I'll keep lookin'."
"All I want to say is, it doesn't prove
much. Even if he is inside you or me, maybe
it's impossible to detect him."
"Well, see if ya detect him in
me."
"Just... he might be in you, even if 1 don't
find him. Remember that. So don't... abandon your
belief. Okay?"
"I won't, I won't. C'mon and do it!"
"All right. Here goes."
Marta took a deep breath, let it out slowly,
then raised her hand above her face and kissed the
bracelet.
Chapter Four
Sue smiled as Marta's arm flopped to the
mattress.
"Howdy,"
she greeted Marta in her mind. "How
ya like it in here?"
She expected no answer, and didn't get one.
"Any sign of
Nea!.
his
Weil,
take yer time. Scout around.
No
hurry. Just
relax
and enjoy yerself."
See how she likes
this,
Sue thought.
Getting to her knees, she straddled Marta's
hips.
"Look how beautiful y'are."
Maybe they're both in me right now, she thought.
Looking down at Marta with my eyes, both of them
in on everything I think, both of them feeling everything
I feel.
Or
maybe it's only just Marta.
"How ya dain? Have ya run into Need yet? If
yer in there with
her,
Neol,
howdy. Hope yer havin' a good time."
Wish 1 was in there with "em.
Wah, this is better. This way. I'm in charge of the
fun.
It suddenly occurred to her that Marta probably
hadn't found Neal.
Would've come out and told me.
"He ain't in there, is he? Never mind. Just stay
put, okay? This here's yer first body ride, and 1
aim to make it a good one for ya."
She bent down and gently kissed Marta on the
lips.
"How's it
feel to kiss yerself? Weird, huh? 1 was in
Neal one time, he did this sorta thing to me. h'U.
be great. Don't come out. Just
relax and enjoy yerself."
Sue sat up and scooted backward. Kneeling
above Marta's thighs, she grabbed the nightshirt with
both hands and tugged it up. It took her a while,
but she finally managed to remove the nightshirt
entirely. She tossed it aside.
Now Marta was naked under her.
They both were naked.
"Look
at ya now,"
Sue said in her mind, and roamed Marta with her
eyes. She lingered here and there, giving Marta plenty
of time to enjoy the view.
"See how beautiful y'are?"
She bent down, put her face between Marta's
breasts, and pushed them gently against her cheeks. It
was like having her face in a smooth, soft valley.
"Oh, ya feel so good."
I don't have to tell her that
-
she can feel it for her own self.
Turning her face, Sue made her way with
kisses up the side of one breast. At the top,
she took the nipple between her lips. She flicked
it with her tongue.
Marta moaned and started breathing hard.
"Ya
like this? Just relax. Whatever ya do, don't come
back. Not tiUs we're done."
She released the nipple and licked it.
Marta squirmed underneath her.
Sue slid her cheek down the side of Marta's
breast, slid her lips up the other breast
and sucked it deep into her mouth.
And suddenly grabbed Sue under the arms and pulled her
up
and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her tongue thrust
into Sue's
mouth. Her hands roamed feverishly up and down
Sue's back.
She squeezed Sue's buttocks.
Then she rolled over and Sue found herself on the
bottom. Marta squirmed on her, heavy and hot.
Kissed her eyes, her mouth again. After pushing herself
up a little, she slowly crawled backward and kissed
the sides of Sue's neck, her throat, her
shoulders, her breasts. She lingered at Sue's
breasts, brushing them with her lips, licking them and
sucking on them.
Sue thrashed and gasped and pushed her fingers through
Marta's hair.
Marta crawled backward a little farther.
She swirled her tongue around Sue's navel.
And kissed her way down, and down.
Later, still sprawled on her back, Sue gasped,
"Holy smokin"
mackeral."
Marta, sitting across her hips, was
panting for breath. Her hair was a damp tangle,
her skin flushed and shiny. Drops of sweat fell
off the tip of her nose, the end of her chin, and the
nipples of both her breasts. They splashed softly
onto Sue. Her buttocks felt slippery.
Though she looked as if she'd just finished running a
mile or two, she smiled down at Sue and said,
"I've been .. . wanting to do that for ... a really
long time."
"Well.. . Whew!" Grinning, Sue reached out and
picked up a pillow. She used it to mop the sweat
off her face. "Want it?"
Marta shook her head.
"Ya
like
to drip on me?"
"Sure do."
Laughing, Sue tossed the pillow aside. Then her
laughter died. "Reckon ya didn't find Neal
in me," she said.
"Afraid not."
"Well... I didn't really figure ya would,
I guess. But like ya said, it don't mean he
ain't here. Or in you. He's gotta be in one of
us, don't ya think?"
"I'm sure he is," Marta said.
"Oh, well."
"Oh, well," Marta echoed, and smiled
strangely. "So anyhow, how'd ya like being inside
me?" "Not bad." "Not
bad?
Up yers!"
Marta laughed. Then her face grew serious.
Leaning forward, she put her hands on Sue's
shoulders. "You want the truth?" "Naw, just lie
to me." "The truth is, I wasn't in you at
all."
"What?
Ya were
fakiri

.
But I saw ya kiss the bracelet!" "You saw
Marta kiss the bracelet." Sue frowned.
"What're ya talking about?" "I'm not Marta.
Marta's still in you. I'm Neal." "Yer nuts."
A big, wide grin split Marta's face.
"Howdy in there, Marta."
Chapter Five
"Yer
Neal?"
"Yep."
"Sure ya are."
Marta grinned down at Sue and said, "The one and
only."
Sue gaped at her. "If yer playin some sorta
trick on me, Marta..."
"Marta's in
you
right now. I'm in
her
body. I've been inside Marta all the time-ever
since the shooting."
"Ya kissed the bracelet?"
"Just before I died."
"My God," Sue murmured.
"I've been everywhere with you two. It's been ... a
hell of a ride. Marta?" he said as if speaking
to Sue. "You're a terrific host. .. hostess.
I hope you don't mind having me aboard."
"It's really you?" Sue asked, and dug her
fingertips into his thighs.
"It's really me."
"So ... yer
alive!"
"Well, something is. My body's sure as hell
dead. But my new one's just dandy." Grinning down
at Sue, he took hold of Malta's breasts.
He lifted them a little and gazed down at them. He
squeezed them gently. "These are beauts."
"Up yers," Sue told him.
"I love yours, too. I love everything about you.
About both of you. This is all so incredible. And
now..." He shook Marta's head. "I was happy
just to be alive, you know? To survive the ambush. And
1 thought it was pretty great to be inside
you,
Marta. 1 still think it's great. And I'm in here with
my own kid ... with
our
kid. It's all like some sort of fabulous
miracle. The only thing was, 1 hated being stuck
in here without any way to communicate. You've both
been so sad. I just couldn't stand it. I
had
to find a way to get through and tell you I was in here.
But I couldn't. I just couldn't." Tears suddenly
filled Marta's eyes. "Nothing worked. Nothing.
I
prayed
for a way. But I figured it was useless. I
figured I was trapped in here for the rest of my
life-the rest of yours, Marta-which would've been fine
with me, if only I could find a way to let you know
I was here. And then you kissed the bracelet."
"Me?" Sue asked.
"Marta."
Sue laughed softly. "How'm I s'posed to know
if yer talking to me or her?"
A corner of Marta's mouth curled up. "We'll
figure out something. Anyway,
Sue,
are you going to let me finish my story?"
"Sure. Let her rip."
"When you, Marta, kissed the bracelet and went
into you,
Sue,
it was as if I'd suddenly been left alone in a
car. Like the driver had stepped out and left the engine
running. And left
me
at the wheel. All of a sudden, it was as if I owned
your body, Marta."
"Soon as she left it?" Sue asked.
"Yeah." Marta's head nodded, and a very
un-Marta-like silly grin appeared on her face.
"What'd it do, take ya five minutes to figure
out how to run her?"
"Oh, that. The thing is, I was sort of stunned at
first. For a
while, I didn't know
what
was going on. Then the way you were
messing around with me ... I had a hard time thinking
about
much of anything."
"Gotcha goin' pretty good, huh?"
"Yeah. But then I got you."
"That's for sure." She patted Marta's thighs.
"So, the deal is, yer livin in Marta from now on?"
"Far as I know."
"And any time she goes off on a bracelet
ride, yer gonna be left in charge of her body?"
"Looks that way."
"Wow!"
He smiled down at her through Marta's face, and
then the smile changed to a look of solemn
tenderness. "It's me."
"Marta?"
"Yep, I'm back."
"Isn't this great?"
"It's pretty spectacular. My God. He's
really here. I can't believe it."
"Being crumped, he sure looks a lot like you."
A smile broke out on Marta's face. Easing
herself down, she kissed Sue gently on the mouth.
Then she whispered, "He's with us."
"Yer like all of a sudden two people."
"Sort of."
"Three, if ya count the kid."
Marta nodded. "And now that I've been inside you,
I feel as if... I don't know. I liked it in
there. A lot. You're a little bit odd, but. ..
nice."
"Well, hope ya drop in often."
"You can bet on it. I'll probably be going on
a lot of body rides from now on. I didn't
think I'd like it, but... it's pretty neat. I
suddenly want to try out
everyone.
And that'll free up Neal. I think he's got some
writing to do."
"And some other stuff," Sue added, grinning.
"If I leave you two alone together, you have
to promise not to damage the bod. I
don't want to come back and find out that
you've been rough-housing. No scratching or biting
..."
"We'll be good. Won't we, Meal?"
"You're going to start talking to him while I'm here?"
"Why not? He's in ya. Yer both of ya."
Marta stared for a long time into Sue's eyes. Then
she whispered, "Life is going to be very strange, from
now on."
"It's gonna be great! Now, how about givin' the
bracelet another kiss? C'mon over and jump in
me, and we'll check in with Neal."
"Okay. Then 1 think we should all have a big
celebration. Find out what Neal wants to do. I
mean, maybe he wants a cheeseburger, or
something."
"Beer."
"Ask."
"I don't gotta ask. Ya forgettin' he's
inside
ya? He knew ya were gonna ask me to ask him that
before ya even got around to askin' me."
"But
you
don't know he wants beer."
"Betcha a thousand bucks."
"That's pretty steep."
"We got us half a million."
"Okay, you're on. A thousand bucks says the thing
he wants most isn't beer."
"Yer on."
Smiling down at Sue, Marta spoke to Neal in
her mind.
"Now we get to see who's side you're really on.
Back me up, here, pal.
You'il
be
glad

you did."
She kissed the bracelet.
BLOOD GAMES
They meet for one week every year, five young women,
best friends since college, in search of fun and
thrills. Each year they choose a different place
for their reunion. This year it's Helen's choice,
and she chooses the Totem Pole Lodge. Bad
choice.
The Totem Pole Lodge is a deserted
resort hotel deep in the woods with a
gory, shocking past. Helen has a macabre
streak and she can't wait to tell her friends all about
what happened at the lodge and why it's now
abandoned. But Helen and the others are in for a nasty
surprise. The resort isn't quite as deserted as
they think. And not all the gruesome events at the
Totem Pole Lodge are in its past. The worst
are still to come
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NO SANCTUARY
Rick will do anything for his girlfriend, Bert. Hell
even spend his vacation in the wilderness with her, even
though it's the last place on Earth he wants to
be.
But Rick will follow Bert to hell and back-which is
just what he's about to do.
Gillian is on vacation too, but her pastimes are
decidedly weirder than Rick and Bert's. She
likes to break into people's homes and live there while
they're away. Too bad for her she picked the
home of a serial killer-a particularly nasty one
who likes to take his victims out to the wilds so he
can have his fun without being interrupted. Rick and Bert
have no idea how wild the wilderness can be. But
they're about to find out
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
P.o. Box 6640$6.99
US/M$99 CAN
Wayne, PA
19087-8640. 5103"
Please add $2.50 for shipping and handling for the first
book and $.75 for each book thereafter. NY and
PA residents, please add appropriate
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caret
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DARKNESS, TELL US
It starts as a game. Six college kids at a
party. Then someone suggests they try the Ouija
board. The board that Corie has hidden in the back
of her closet and sworn never to touch again. Not after
what happened last time. Not after Jake's death.
...
They are only playing around, but the Ouija board
works, all right. Maybe too well. A spirit who
calls himself Butler begins to send them messages and
make demands. Butler promises them a hidden
treasure if only they will follow his directions and
head off to a secluded spot in the mountains... a
wild, isolated spot where anything can be waiting for
them. Treasure or death. Or Butler himself.
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
P.o. Box 6640.5047-1
Wayne, PA 19087-8640$6.99
US/$8.99
CAN
Please add $2.50 for shipping and handling
for the first book and $.75 for each book thereafter. NY
and PA residents, please add appropriate
sales tax. No cash, stamps, or
C.o.ddds. Prices and availability
subject to change.
Canadian orders require $2.00 extra
postage and must be paid in U.s. dollars through a
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