After Midnight

Hooking a finger under the right cup of my bra, I stretched aside the flimsy red fabric, freeing my breast.

Murphy stared at my naked breast and moaned.

“Go ahead and feel,” I said.

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t think, just do,” I said. With that, I took hold of his wrist, pulled his hand away from my blouse and pressed it against my breast.

His hand felt smooth and cool.

He had a look on his face like a teenage kid who’d never done anything like this before. Embarrassed, confused, astonished, thrilled, grateful.

I was giving the guy a real treat.

Maybe giving myself a treat, too.

“Now what’re you gonna do?” I asked. I had a little tremble in my voice that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Staring into my eyes, he squeezed my breast gently and then let go and put his arms around me. He pulled me toward him and touched his lips softly against mine. With one hand, he took off his glasses. He set them on the back of the couch, then kissed me again, this time pushing firmly against my open lips, his mouth open slightly, his breath going into me.

I started feeling soft and lazy inside. As if the kiss was sapping my strength away. And my worries. And my plans. I felt all vague and peaceful. I almost could’ve drifted down into sleep, but I felt a curious eagerness about what Murphy was doing to me and what he might do next.

His phone rang.

We both flinched.

It rang again.

He took his mouth away from me and whispered, “I’d better get it.”

I nodded.

Murphy grabbed his glasses, then got up from the couch.

I untwisted myself and leaned back against the cushion. I felt as if I’d been dragged roughly from a wonderful place and abandoned.

I felt a little better, though, when he sidestepped past my knees and I saw the front of his shorts.

Arriving at the lamp table, he picked up his phone just after the fourth ring.

“Hello?…Oh, hi, Harold…No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

He turned toward me, made a face that made me smile, and ogled my exposed breast. Then his eyes lowered to my belly as if drawn by my injury down there. I knew how awful it looked, but I didn’t try to cover it. He frowned at the bruised and gouged skin, then met my eyes with a look of concern.

I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

Brightening up slightly, he said into the phone, “Yeah. Sure I’ve heard of him…Yeah, I saw those movies…He does?…” Looking me in the eyes, he suddenly grinned. “The most exciting book he’s read all year? Cool…Uhhuh…Sure…Yeah, maybe we’ll at least get an option out of it…Right, can’t hurt…Five copies? Geez. I guess they think I get ’em free…Yeah, I know…Today? They can’t get them today. Don’t they know I’m out here in the boonies? Where are they, in L.A.?…Oh. Same difference. Anyway, I don’t care who they are, I’m not driving to Culver City. Not today. It’s about a six-hour drive, and I’ve already got plans.”

He gave me a smile.

I flexed a muscle to make my breast hop, and his eyes got very wide.

“I don’t care,” he said into the phone. “The best I can do is send them overnight express, and I’m not too sure about that…Well, they’re always like that. They want everything yesterday, and then you drop everything to get the books off and you end up never hearing from them again anyway…I know…Well, let me have the address. I’ll get the books to them as soon as I can.”

He couldn’t seem to find a pen or paper on the lamp table.

Leaning forward, I snatched a ballpoint and the TV Guide off the cluttered table in front of me. Then I twisted around and reached them over to him.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He dropped the TV Guide onto the lamp table and started to write on its back cover.

“Got it,” he said, and read the address back to Harold. Then he listened and nodded and said, “Okay. No problem. And thanks. You never know, maybe this’ll turn into something…Right. Take it easy. Bye.”

He hung up the phone and said, “My agent.”

“Sounds like he had some good news for you.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Well, sort of. Some bigwig movie producer’s all hot for The Dark Pit. I’m supposed to drop everything and…”

“I heard.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“They want to make a movie out of your book? Sounds like a big deal to me.”

“These things usually don’t go much of anywhere. These movie people…They’ll tell you it’s the greatest book in the history of the world, then they’ll offer you about three hundred dollars for an option.”

“Three hundred? You’re kidding.”

“That’d just be for rights to fool around with the book for six months or something. And then you’d get maybe a hundred thousand if it goes into production.”

“That’s a lot.”

“But you never get it, because nothing ever gets that far.”

“Some stuff must.”

“Yeah. But not much. It’s mostly a big waste of time. I don’t jump through hoops for those guys anymore.”

“I would, if I were you.”

He smiled and said, “You being you, you might.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not me standing here looking at you right now.”

“I’ll keep,” I told him, and drew my blouse shut to hide my breast. “You shouldn’t pass up a fabulous opportunity like this.”

“I know,” he said, and leered.

“I don’t mean me.”

“I do,” he said.

He held out a hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. I stepped around the end of the coffee table. When I was standing in front of him, he let go of my hand. With both his hands, he slipped my blouse off my shoulders and down my arms. It drifted to the floor behind me.

“What’ll you do about the books?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe call Federal Express.”

“You don’t want to deliver them today?”

“I’ve got better things to do,” he said, and slid his gaze down my body.

Blushing, I said, “I could go with you.”

“It’s an awfully long drive.”

“I don’t mind. I could tell you my story on the way.”

“We’ll see.”

“If I can stay awake.”

“Maybe you can take a nap while I go to the bank. You do still want your money, don’t you?”

“Darn right,” I said.

“And I can’t go get that till after I’ve raped you?”

“Darn right again. So you’d better get to it.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?”

“You bet.”

“You’re awfully banged up. What happened to you? All these bruises and everything?”

“Rough night.”

“Were you in fights?”

“Sure. Fights, falls, collisions. You name it, it happened. But don’t worry. I’m fine.” Bending down, I raised a foot and started to pull off my shoe.

Murphy put a hand on my shoulder to hold me steady.

“Thanks,” I said. I tossed the shoe toward the couch. It landed on the floor with a thump. “They’ve gotta be artfully arranged,” I explained.

He shook his head. “Of course.”

I shifted to my other leg, pulled off my other shoe, and tossed it across the room. Then I stood up straight and smiled at him.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Just be a little careful around my stomach.”

“What happened there?”

“Nailed by a tree branch. Walked right into it in the dark. But maybe I’ll tell you all about it in the car. If we ever get there.”

“I guess you want me to get on with it.”

“Good guess, Sherlock.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Surprise me.”

With a silly smile on his face, he put his arms around me and drew me forward. His mouth came at mine. I slapped him. The blow sent his glasses flying off his face. He looked startled and hurt.

“None of that kissy stuff,” I said. “Get rough. This has to look good.”

“Why does it have to look good? Nobody’ll ever know it happened.”

“They will if you double-cross me.”

“I’d never…”

“You’re a guy. Guys do stuff like that.”

“Not me.”

“Guys’ll stab you in the back, lie…”

“Not me.”

“But I don’t know that for sure, do I?”

“Guess not,” he admitted. Then he started to unhook the back of my bra.

And I suddenly realized that I still had the miniature cassette tape from Tony’s answering machine hidden inside my panties. If this went much further…

“Rough!” I snapped and shoved him away.

As he came back at me, I tore the bra off, myself, and threw it to the floor. “Take me to your bedroom,” I gasped.

He grabbed my arm, but I pulled free.

He looked confused.

“My God, do I have to draw you a picture?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“Pretend it’s a game.”

“But…”

I whirled around and ran from him.

Instead of coming after me, he went hunting for his glasses. So I stopped. With my back to him, I quickly slipped a hand down my skirt and plucked the cassette out of my panties. It was wet and slippery.

What’ll I do with it?

My purse was on the couch, all the way across the room. No way of getting there without Murphy seeing me and wondering what I was up to.

I had no idea where to hide the cassette, so I kept it in my hand. I wiped it against the back of my skirt as I turned to face Murphy again.

He didn’t seem to know where his glasses had landed after I’d knocked them off his face.

“There on the table,” I said, pointing.

“Ah.” He found them, picked them up, checked them out, and put them on his face. “Thanks,” he said.

“Now come and get it,” I blurted, and ran.

This time, he chased me.

All right!

He probably could’ve caught me if he’d tried, but he stayed a stride or two back. I made straight for the doorway of his bedroom and lunged through it.

Murphy close on my heels, I raced across the floor and leaped onto his bed.

Luckily, his curtains were shut.

I stopped in the middle of his springy mattress. Bouncing, I turned around to face him.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and gaped up at me, his face strange with perplexity and delight.

“What’re you staring at, big guy?”

He didn’t answer, just watched.

Even though I wasn’t bouncing very hard, my breasts were flying around like crazy. And he was gazing at them as if mezmerized by how they jumped and lurched.

“What’re you gonna do now, hotshot?” I asked. “Just gonna stand there gaping at my boobs?”

Bending over, he reached out and grabbed my ankles and pulled.

I let out a squeal and landed on my back.

He jerked my ankles wide apart. My left leg came out of the slit in my skirt, and was bare all the way up to my hip. “How’s that?” he gasped.

“Shut up and fuck me,” I said.

34

THE ART OF SEDUCTION

Off came his Bear Whizz Beer T-shirt. He pulled it up his torso and over his head. While his eyes were behind the T-shirt, I stuffed the cassette tape underneath the pillow.

As he tossed the shirt aside, I braced myself up on my elbows so I could see him better.

He was slim and nicely built, and had a good tan.

Still in his shorts, he planted a knee on the mattress and got ready to climb up.

“Why don’t you get rid of the shorts?” I said.

“Huh?” he asked.

“And how come you’re wearing swimming trunks? You don’t even have a pool.”

“They’re comfortable.”

“Well, take them off.”

More flustered than usual, he said, “I don’t…I’m not wearing any…you know, underwear.”

“Good. Take off the trunks and get up here.”

“You gonna look?”

“Of course I’m gonna look.”

“Do you have to?” he asked.

“You’re some rapist.”

“I’m not a rapist.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” he said. “It’s just that…we hardly even know each other.”

“You’ve already seen plenty of me,” I informed him. “And you’re about to see the rest. So let’s have a look at you.”

“Well…”

“When do you plan to stop blushing?”

“Sometime next year, I should imagine.” Bending over, he pulled down his trunks. When he stood up straight, they were out of sight. “There,” he said.

“Wow,” I said.

He gave me a twitchy, embarrassed smile.

“Get up here,” I said.

“Just a second, I’d better grab a condom.”

“No, don’t. You’re raping me. I need your semen for evidence. You can’t use a rubber.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“It’s the whole point.”

He looked hurt.

So I said, “Well, it was the whole point, anyway. Before you got me all worked up like this.” Squirming a little and staring him in the eyes, I undid both the buttons that held my skirt together at the hip. I spread the skirt open. I still had my panties on, but nothing else. There was about as much to my panties as a pirate’s eyepatch. The band and patch were red like my bra. “I’ve still gotta have the evidence,” I explained.

He gaped at me for a while, his mouth hanging open. Then he said, “We really need to use protection.”

“I won’t get pregnant. You don’t have to worry about that. I just finished my period.” A fib, but so what?

You should’ve seen him go red. Guys really hate to hear about your period. Normal guys, anyway. Perverts are a different story. I knew this pervert named Jack, and he used to keep track of my time of the month so he could…Never mind. I can’t tell every story I know, or you’d never find out what happened between me and Murphy. Anyway, believe me, you don’t want to know about Jack. He was mental.

Murphy, still on the subject of condoms, said, “It’s not just about you getting pregnant.”

“I know. You’re worried about diseases.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any?” I asked.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“I still think we’d better…”

“Don’t you believe me?” I asked. “You think I’m lying?”

“You might be. Hell, you’re afraid I’ll turn you in the minute I get alone. Why can’t I be afraid you’ll give me AIDS and kill me?”

“I haven’t been with a guy in about five years,” I told him. “I don’t shoot up drugs. I haven’t had any blood transfusions. And I’ve had annual check-ups. I’m not gonna give you any disease.”

“Five years?” he asked.

“I’ve been saving myself for you.”

He smiled and said, “Right.”

“By the look of things, it was well worth the wait.”

“Thanks, but I still want to use a condom.” He turned away and walked toward his dresser.

“Come on, no. I want to feel you in me.”

As he pulled open a drawer, he looked over his shoulder at me.

“You wear one of those,” I said, “it’s like getting fucked by a balloon.”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s not much better from this end, believe me.” Then he started searching through the drawer. “Maybe after we’ve known each other longer…”

“Next time, I’ll bring a note from my doctor. If there is a next time.”

“I hope there will be,” Murphy said.

I said, “Me, too.”

Then I pulled the skirt out from under me and pushed it aside until it fell to the floor. On my back, I brought my knees up to my chest and peeled my panties off.

Murphy found what he was looking for, turned around and came back toward the bed with a foil packet pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Would you like me to do the honors?” I asked.

“Like what?”

“If you have to wear it, I might as well get the fun of putting it on you.”

“Okay. If you want to.”

Sitting up, I swung myself around. I sat on the edge of the bed, my feet on the floor. “Right here.” I spread my knees and patted the side of the mattress.

Murphy stepped in between my legs.

“Man, look at that thing.”

He glanced at it and shrugged.

“Looks like a cannon.”

Blushing deep red, he muttered, “No it doesn’t.”

“Hope it doesn’t go off by accident.”

“Hey.”

“Might blow out my eye.”

“Jeez.”

I grinned up at him. “What?”

“Do you have to talk about it?”

“Just admiring the equipment.”

“Do you have to?”

“I don’t have to.”

“It’s just…sort of embarrassing.”

“Okay. I’ll stop talking about it.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Me and my big mouth,” I said.

“That’s all right.”

“But are you sure you want to cover this baby up with a nasty old rubber?”

“That’s the only way I’ll…yeah. I’m afraid so. Sorry.”

“Okay. It’s a shame, but if you insist…”

“I do.”

“Okay. Well, give me that thing.”

He handed the packet to me. I tore it open and pulled out the condom. It felt warm and slimy. “Yuck,” I said. “I really want this in me. What is it, used?”

“Just pre-lubricated.”

“I know, I know. I was kidding. But yuck. I mean, really.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, and placed his hands gently on my shoulders.

“Don’t have to use the rubber?”

“Not if we call the whole thing off.”

I looked up at him. “Do you want to call it off?” I asked.

“Do I look like it?”

“Hardly.”

He started to rub my shoulders. And kept rubbing them as I leaned forward.

But it wasn’t the condom I put on him.

It was my mouth.

He gasped and arched his back and squeezed my shoulders. But he didn’t complain or try to pull back.

Dropping the condom, I clutched his buttocks. I dug my fingernails in, drew him closer to me and slid my lips down his thick shaft, taking him into my mouth until no more could fit in.

He stood rigid and moaned.

I pulled slowly back, sucking as I went.

He shuddered.

I squeezed his buttocks and went down again, my lips a tight, sliding ring.

“Don’t. Uh. Y’better stop.”

Up again, pulling at him, sucking.

“Ahhh!”

Down, taking him in deeper and deeper.

“No, y’gotta…I’m gonna…!”

I jerked my head up suddenly and he popped out of my mouth with a wet slurp. I tugged his ass. As he stumbled toward me, I shoved at the floor with my feet, springing up from the mattress and wrapping my arms around his back.

He fell forward, trapped between my thighs. I fell backward, pulling him down on top of me.

On the way down, he prodded my right thigh so I shifted a bit to take care of the aim.

My back hit the mattress.

And in he went.

He was awfully big, but I was juicy.

Pre-lubricated.

He went sliding in all the way. It felt huge, but I liked how it filled me and stretched me. I hugged him tightly and clamped my legs around him.

Grunting, he tried to push himself off me.

For about two seconds.

Then, with a moan, he kissed me and shoved his tongue into my mouth and jammed a hand in between us and grabbed one of my breasts and thrust at me with his hips and throbbed deep inside me, spurting.

“So much for condoms,” I whispered.

I held him hard against me.

The moment he finished pumping, though, he started to struggle so I let him go. He didn’t have any mattress under his knees. As he squirmed backward, he no sooner got out of me than he slid off the edge of the bed.

Raising my head, I found Murphy on his knees. He was red and gasping, and had a dazed look in his eyes.

He still had his glasses on and they’d gotten knocked crooked.

I gave him a cheerful smile.

“That was a…lousy trick,” he said.

“I thought it was a good trick. Hell, so did you. You loved it. You went nuts.”

He shook his head, glanced between my legs, then turned his head away and straightened his glasses.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I told him. “I didn’t give you anything—expect maybe the quickest, hottest fuck of your life.”

“I wanted to use a condom.”

“I didn’t. And you didn’t need one.”

“I sure hope not,” he said, and stood up.

He was sticking straight out as if pointing at something across the room.

“Wanta do it again?” I asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

He glanced at me, looked away, then turned to me again and stared at my sprawled, naked body.

“How about it, big fella?”

Though he frowned as if angry at me, he was rising. “You’re a real piece of work,” he said.

“Yep.” Writhing, I rubbed my breasts and licked my lips. “How about another piece?”

His smile broke out. “Don’t you think I’d better get to the bank?”

“Don’t you want to rape me again?”

“Who raped who?”

I laughed. “You loved it. And you’d love to do it again, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t you want me to get the money?”

“Yeah. Sure. I want the money, but…”

“Then I’d better go.”

“Okay. But first you have to tie me up.”

“Tie you up?”

“Of course. I’m your prisoner.”

“That’s crazy.”

“If you call the cops on me, I want them to find me naked and tied to your bed.”

“I’m not going to call the cops.”

“This’ll be my insurance. Now, go find some ropes or something, okay?”

35

TIED

“How’s that?” he asked.

Stretched out spread-eagled on his bed, I strained at the ropes. They creaked a little, but held. “Excellent,” I said.

He stood near the end of the bed and stared down at me. He was a little out of breath. And hard. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

“Climb on.”

“Don’t you want the money?”

“Yeah, I want it.”

“Then you’d better let me leave, don’t you think?”

“You’d better put some clothes on first.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

I watched him go to the closet and take out a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. When he had them on, he sat at the end of the bed to put on his socks and shoes. “Any last minute instructions?” he asked.

“Small bills.”

“How small?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But that’s what the gangsters always want. Small bills.”

He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. “My gal, the crime wave.”

My gal?

He’d said it in a kidding way, but I liked it.

“Anyhow,” I said, “big stuff is hard to spend.”

“Let’s at least get most of it in hundreds and fifties,” he suggested. “Otherwise, you’ll have an awful lot of cash to lug around.”

“I guess that’ll be okay.”

He turned away and finished putting on his shoes. Then he stood up and faced me. He looked good. “Any other orders, Vito?” he asked.

“One more. You’d better gag me so I can’t cry out for help.”

“Why on earth would you want to cry out for help?”

“Because you’re holding me prisoner.”

“But I’m not holding you prisoner.”

“I know that, you know that, but the cops won’t know that, will they?”

“The cops again.”

“Just find a handkerchief or something and tie it around my mouth.”

“You might suffocate.”

“Tie it loose.”

He smirked and shook his head, then turned away and went to his dresser. I heard a drawer open. A minute later, he said, “I don’t think my handkerchiefs are big enough.”

“Well, find something.”

He left the room. I heard his quick footsteps, a drawer sliding open and shut, then more footsteps. He came back with a white dish rag.

“How’s this?” he asked.

“Perfect.”

Kneeling beside me on the mattress, he wound the towel into a thick strip. I lifted my head off the pillow and opened my mouth. He stuffed the towel in. Then he knotted it behind my neck.

“Okay?” he asked.

I said, “Uhhh,” into the rag.

Grinning, Murphy said, “I should’ve done this to you a long time ago.”

I said, “Haw haw.”

“Will you be okay like this?” he asked.

If I don’t get a stuffed-up nose.

I nodded.

“I’ll get back as fast as I can,” he said. Bending down, he kissed me on the forehead.

Then he hurried away. I heard his footsteps as he wandered around the apartment. I didn’t know what he was doing, but figured he was probably getting his keys, wallet, checkbook, that sort of thing. Then he took a leak. He flushed the toilet. He washed his hands. Finally, the front door thudded shut.

I was alone.

Tied up and gagged.

And I liked it.

The mattress felt good underneath me.

I could breathe okay through the dish towel.

The room was hot, and everything had a yellow hue because of the sunlight seeping through the curtains. A breeze was gently lifting the curtains. It smelled of flowers and mowed grass. Every so often, I felt the air sneak softly over my body.

It may sound strange, but I actually liked the feel of being pulled by the ropes. My whole body felt lean and taut.

I thought of Judy hanging by her wrists in the firelight, and how fine she’d looked.

Is she still there? I wondered.

Maybe she’d already managed to work her way loose. Or maybe someone had found her and set her free.

Maybe she’s still there, just the way I left her.

She’s there and I’m here. We’re both naked. We’re both tied and helpless. We have our wounds, but we’re beautiful—stretched taut and lean.

While thinking about her, I must’ve slipped off into sleep.

Soon, she came walking over to the foot of the bed. The red bandana hung loose around her neck, and that’s all she wore. She held a knife in her right hand. “Well, well, well,” she said. “Look at you.”

“I’m sure glad to see you,” I said, and wondered vaguely how I was able to talk through my gag. Then I realized that the gag was gone. “I’ve really missed you, Judy,” I said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said.

“How did you manage to get free?”

She raised her left arm and showed me the rough, bloody stump at her wrist. “Had to gnaw my hand off,” she said.

“My God.”

She smiled sweetly and shrugged. “Ah, it wasn’t so bad. You do what you’ve gotta do. Looks like you’re in a predicament, yourself.”

“Not really.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. This is just to look good in case Murphy gets the cops on me.”

“He won’t do that.”

“You never know,” I said. “Guys’ll stab you in the back.”

“Not this one. He loves you.”

“He loves me? Do you think so?”

“Sure. He’s head over heels.”

“I don’t know.”

“Trust me,” Judy said.

“I sure hope you’re right.” I hoped so badly that she might be right. It made me feel excited and sad and warm to think that Murphy might actually love me.

It made me feel a little like crying.

“I know he loves you,” Judy assured me. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll come back and untie you.”

“Oh, he will.”

“Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. Do you want me to cut you loose, just in case?”

It didn’t seem necessary. After all, I was sure that Murphy would soon be back. But I liked having Judy in the room with me, and wanted her to come closer.

So I said, “Yeah, maybe you’d better.”

Smiling, she strolled over to the bed. She climbed onto the mattress, swung a leg over me, and sat on my belly. Then she leaned forward. Her left breast looming over my face, she started to saw at the rope around my right wrist. Her breast shook with the quick movements of her arm.

Then it stopped.

She’d quit trying to cut through the rope.

I pulled, but my arm was still tied down.

“Why are you stopping?” I asked.

“I changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll cut you loose, after all.”

“Why not?”

“Just remembered something.”

“What?” I asked, with a bad feeling starting to chill my stomach.

“You didn’t cut me down.”

“I know, but…”

“Why should I cut you down, when you left me hanging in the woods?”

“I had to,” I said.

“And I had to chew my hand off, or I’d still be there. You know what? It hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You oughta be.”

“I am.”

“Prove it,” Judy said.

“How?”

“Kiss me.”

Her breast hovered low over my face, swaying slightly, looking golden in the soft sunlight coming in through the curtains. Her nipple was just above my mouth.

Opening my mouth, I raised my head off the pillow.

I flicked her nipple with my tongue.

“Not there,” she said, and thrust the gory stump of her wrist into my mouth.

“Eat it!” she yelled.

Shocked awake, I cried out—into my dish rag—and tried to sit up.

The ropes held me down.

I struggled to fill my lungs, but couldn’t get enough air. Not with the gag in my mouth. Murphy had left some slack in it, though. Rubbing my cheek against my shoulder and shoving at the rag with my tongue, I quickly got my mouth clear and took deep, quick breaths.

As I calmed down, I started thinking.

First, I’d caught a mouthful of water in the bathtub.

Now this.

Both times, I’d fallen asleep dreaming of Judy, then gotten startled awake, only to find myself suffocating.

Maybe she’s trying to tell me something.

What am I supposed to do, go back and cut her down before she has to gnaw her hand off?

Maybe she’s already done it!

Hell, she couldn’t chew her hand off even if she wanted to. It was too high above her head.

I realized that I wouldn’t be able to chew mine off, either.

What if we’re both stuck?

Don’t worry about it, I told myself. For one thing, I can probably get free if I really have to. For another, I won’t have to. Murphy should be getting back pretty soon.

How soon?

I had no idea how long he’d been gone. I’d fallen asleep almost right away, but how long had I been under? It didn’t seem like very long. Ten or twenty minutes?

He’ll be back any time now, I told myself.

How do you know?

Where’s his bank?

He hadn’t told me, but it had to be somewhere in town, probably no more than a ten-minute drive from here.

Ten minutes each way. That makes a total of twenty. And there might be a line inside the bank. So give him another ten minutes for the line.

That adds up to half an hour.

But maybe the line is really long.

Or they give him trouble about making such a large withdrawal.

Or he decides to take care of another errand or two before coming back.

Or his car breaks down.

Or he has an accident.

Or the bank gets robbed while he’s there.

And the bank robbers take him hostage.

Or shoot him.

Or he drops dead of a heart attack.

Or an aneurism.

HE’S NOT DEAD, DAMN IT! HE CAN’T BE! HE LOVES ME!

Calm down, I told myself. For one thing, he’s not dead. For another, he doesn’t love me. That was Judy saying that. In a dream. Has nothing to do with reality.

Like I said before, dreams stink. They’re no good for anything. They only exist to torture you any way they can.

He doesn’t love me, I told myself.

But he will be back.

The bank didn’t get robbed while he was there. That’s nonsense. Paranoia.

He’ll be back any minute.

Sure he will.

But maybe with cops in tow.

Maybe he’s been lying to me from the start and right now he’s telling the cops all about me.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

No matter what story he might tell the cops, he’d be in a world of trouble the moment they found me tied to the bed. A naked woman, roped down, with numerous minor injuries and his semen inside.

Before you know it, they’ll be thinking he killed Tony and abducted Judy and me.

For a while, I tried to come up with a good story to explain how it all worked. Maybe the four of us went to the park together on a double-date. I was Tony’s date and Judy was Murphy’s date. But then Murphy decided he wanted both of us, so he killed Tony, chopped him up and put him in the trunk…

How does Milo the Killer Slob fit in?

Maybe Judy escaped from Murphy, only to be grabbed by Milo—a thrill-killer lurking around in the woods in search of victims. He jumps her and takes her to his camp…

Awfully far-fetched.

Keep it nice and simple.

I could just say Judy ran off into the woods and I don’t know what happened to her after that.

But what about Tony’s car? I’d have to explain how it ended up back at Judy’s apartment building—with his body in it.

That’d be a good trick.

It’s probably not the only problem, either.

What about the tape from Tony’s answering machine? If the cops showed up and cut me free, they would be sure to find it under the pillow.

Murphy put it there.

Simple.

But how could I possibly come up with a sensible story that explained everything?

Claim amnesia.

Good idea.

Tell the cops I don’t know how anything happened. Last I remember, I was walking back to my garage after watching the television in Serena and Charlie’s den.

That should work.

At least until Judy spills the beans.

If she talks, I’m screwed.

I should’ve killed her when I had the chance.

Maybe it’s not too late.

I suddenly had an urge to get free, run out to Judy’s car and speed over to Miller’s Woods, find the camp and finish her off.

Do it now. Get out of here before Murphy comes back.

But the ropes held me down.

I strained at them with my arms and legs. They were nothing but pieces of old clothesline, and seemed to stretch as I pulled. They also tightened around my wrists and ankles. I kept pulling, anyway. For all I knew, Murphy might’ve done a lousy job tying the other ends around the legs of the bed. Maybe something would give, down there. Or maybe I could break the ropes by sheer strength.

They held, but I didn’t give up.

I pulled, jerked, kicked, squirmed and bucked. Soon, I was out of breath and pouring sweat.

I quit struggling, and rested.

The ropes had tightened so much that they’d cut off my circulation. My hands and feet were numb. The pillow case and sheet underneath me felt soaked.

Gasping for air, I blinked sweat out of my eyes.

And thought, Maybe I can’t get loose.

I can! I will!

Just give me a minute to catch my breath.

While I was waiting to make my next try, someone rang the doorbell.

36

INVADER

At any time of the day or night, I hate the sound of a doorbell. It almost always means someone has shown up uninvited.

An intruder is barging into your life.

Invading.

No matter what, it’s annoying and a little scary.

But just try having the doorbell ring when you’re naked in the bedroom of a guy you hardly know, you’re tied down, and your legs are spread apart about as far as they’ll go.

When I heard that doorbell, I felt as if someone had shot a hose full of ice water up my bowels.

I froze.

The bell rang again.

Nobody’s home! Go away!

What if it’s the cops?

So what if it is? I told myself. Cops can’t come into a place without being invited. Not unless they have a search warrant.

They can’t possibly have a search warrant.

Can they?

The bell rang again.

GO AWAY!

Calm down, I told myself. Whoever it is, they can’t get in. Sooner or later, they’ll give up and go away.

Again, the bell rang.

Persistent…

What if it’s burglars?

They do that. They pick a place that looks deserted. But before they break in, they ring the doorbell to make sure nobody is home. If someone comes to the door, they have a little story to tell. “Is Doug there? No? Oh, I must have the wrong address.” But if nobody answers the doorbell, they figure the place is empty and safe to rob.

In they come…

And find me like this.

Should I call out?

And say what? I’m here, but I can’t come to the door right now! Like I’m on the john, or something. Could you come back in a few minutes?

No, I thought. Don’t do it. Keep your mouth shut.

The little town of Chester has its share of crime. I mean, what place doesn’t? But the odds had to be slim that the doorbell was being rung by a burglar. Especially when you consider that, since just after last midnight, I’d run into a weirdo flasher and a serial killer. On top of all that, a burglar? Not likely.

Not impossible, either. But…

Someone used a key on the front door. I heard its quiet ratchety sound as it slid into a lock, heard the latch click back, heard the knob rattle, heard a sigh of hinges as the door swung open.

Shit! Now what?

A man’s voice called out, “Murphy? Yo, Murph? You home? Helllllo? It’s only me from across the sea!” He waited a few seconds, then said, “Yo ho ho, guess you’re not home.”

I heard the door shut, but I didn’t know whether he was inside or out.

Until I heard his footsteps on the carpet.

Great! I’m gonna get found!

Some creep I don’t even know is gonna see me like this.

He must be Murphy’s best friend or brother or something. You don’t give a spare key to just anyone.

This guy is about to have the surprise of his life.

I heard the television come on. It sounded like CNN’s Headline News.

That’s right, I thought. Sit down in the living room and watch some TV news. Just stay put. Don’t move. Murphy’ll be home pretty soon. He’ll figure a way to steer you out of the place, and you’ll never be the wiser.

From the TV came a nifty British voice talking about tribal massacres in some African country. Zaire or Rwanda or some damn place.

Suddenly, during a pause in the broadcast, I heard footsteps again. These were quiet, as if the intruder had taken off his shoes.

What’s he doing?

Going into the kitchen for a beer?

The only route to the kitchen—or just about anywhere else in the apartment—would take him past the open bedroom door.

Maybe he won’t look in.

Fat chance.

I shut my eyes and went limp.

The footsteps suddenly stopped. The intruder said, “Whoa!”

I kept my eyes shut and tried to keep my breathing shallow and slow.

Let him think I’m out cold or dead or something. I sure didn’t want to strike up a conversation with the guy.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he muttered, and came walking slowly into the room. “Lady?” he asked.

I didn’t stir.

He said, “My God, what’s Murphy done?”

He sounded as if he were standing at the foot of the bed. I tried not to think about the view he had. But I could feel myself blushing.

I was blushing, sweating, and my heart was pounding fast. Couldn’t he see any of that?

Not where he’s probably looking.

“Wow,” he said. “Oh, Murphy, Murphy. How’d you land a babe like this?”

Down between my legs, the mattress sank in.

The mattress shook, making me wobble.

What’s he doing?

A hand patted me on the thigh. Very high up on my thigh.

“Hello?” he asked. “Young lady? Can you hear me?”

I didn’t respond.

“Must be out cold,” he muttered.

Moments later, a light fabric fell across my face.

Then two hands were gently caressing my thighs. “What a piece,” he muttered. “Man, oh man. Murph, you lucky dog. No wonder you tied her down. Couldn’t let something like this get away from you.”

His tongue got me. I gasped and flinched with the sudden shock of it, and knew the game was up. With no more need to play possum, I writhed as his mouth stayed where it was and his hands roamed up my body and found my breasts. He caressed them, gently massaged them, squeezed my nipples and pulled while his tongue flicked and delved. Soon, I was panting, thrashing against the ropes.

His mouth lifted off me. “Looks like I’ve awakened Sleeping Beauty. Does this mean I’m a prince?”

It was the same, fake voice.

But this time, I recognized the mind behind it.

“You bastard!” I gasped out.

Opening my eyes, I found a pale blue shirt on top of my face.

Murphy swept it aside and smiled down at me. He was kneeling between my legs, totally naked and erect.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“Good,” he said. Then he came down and planted his mouth on my mouth and pushed himself slowly into me until I had all of him. Then he pulled most of the way out, and thrust in so hard that the ropes bit into my ankles and I yelped into his mouth.

He murmured, “Sorry.”

Then he clutched me by the shoulders to hold me still so the ropes wouldn’t hurt me again.

And went at it.

He went crazy on me, plunging and ramming as if he needed to get someplace where nobody’d ever gone before.

By damn, I think he succeeded.

He blew the roof off the joint, so to speak.

I’d never gone through anything like it. My guess is, neither had he.

When he was done, he stayed inside and settled down heavily on top of me, gasping for air. When he could talk, he said, “Are you okay?”

I answered by flexing some muscles down there.

He said, “Ooooh.”

After a while, I said, “That was a rotten trick, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Faking me out. Pretending you were somebody else.”

“Oh. That. Yeah. Figured I owed you one.”

“Very nice.”

“I enjoyed it,” he said.

“You’ve got a real mean streak,” I told him.

“That makes two of us.”

“So, did you get the money okay?”

“Yep. Everything went smooth as silk.”

I gave him a couple more flexes, and felt him starting to grow.

“How come no condom?” I asked.

“Didn’t see much point. Not after the way you got me before.”

“For which you decided to pay me back by impersonating a stranger and scaring me shitless.”

“Not exactly.”

“No?”

“That’s just…the way it turned out. What I’d planned to do was come straight in, strip naked and jump on you. No tricks. But when I showed up, there was a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses at the front door.”

“You’re kidding. That was a Jehovah’s Witness ringing the doorbell?”

“Yep.”

“Never figured that.”

“I figured you were probably freaking.”

“I wasn’t freaking.”

He laughed. It felt strange and great, the way he shook on top of me and deep inside me while he laughed.

“I might’ve been mildly concerned,” I admitted.

He laughed some more.

“What freaked me,” I explained, “was when some sneaky, rotten son-of-a-bitch unlocked the door and came in.”

“That was me,” he said.

I said, “Duh.”

He laughed again.

“Bastard.”

“You loved it.”

“Not the trick, I didn’t. That really stank.”

“Who did you think I was?”

“One of your horny buddies. Or maybe a brother.”

“Whoever you thought I was, you must’ve liked him. I didn’t hear any complaints.”

“That’s only because I was trying to play possum.”

“If you hadn’t been playing possum, you would’ve seen right away that it was only me. The moment I walked into the bedroom. I didn’t throw the shirt over your face until pretty far along.”

“What if I hadn’t figured it was you?” I asked. “Were you just going to screw me and leave, so I’d go on thinking it was someone else?”

“I knew you’d recognize me. I’m surprised it took you as long as it did.”

“It was the prince crack,” I explained, and had to smile.

“Ah, well.”

“When I heard that, I knew it was you.”

“Not only beautiful, but smart.”

“That’s me,” I said. Turning my head, I kissed the side of his face. Then I asked, “You gonna let me up, now?”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”

“My hands and feet are numb.”

“Oh. Uh-oh.” He pushed himself up and slid out of me. Frowning, he said, “I should’ve untied you first thing. I didn’t realize the ropes were that tight. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine.”

Kneeling over my chest, he leaned forward, reached out with both hands, and started trying to untie my left wrist.

It reminded me a lot of my Judy dream.

Except that Judy’d had breasts and a knife.

Soon, Murphy managed to pluck open the knot. He loosened the rope around my wrist, and I pulled my hand free. It really was numb. I shook it, trying to get some feeling back, while he worked on the knot at my other wrist.

“I shouldn’t have made these so tight,” he muttered.

“Had to make it look good.”

“Not really,” he said. “I came back without any cops.”

“See? It worked.”

He laughed, and kept on struggling with the knot.

With circulation coming back, my left hand began to feel hot and get pins and needles. I kept flapping it around and wiggling my fingers.

“This one’s sure tight,” he said.

“Maybe you should get a knife.”

“Yeah. That might save a lot of trouble.”

He tried for another few seconds, then climbed off me and the bed.

“Back in a second,” he said.

I raised my head off the pillow and watched him stride toward the doorway. His tan stopped just above his rear end, and started again at the tops of his legs. His ass looked pale as cream, and smooth. The firm, round buttocks took turns flexing as he walked.

In the doorway, he turned around.

I liked the front view better.

Leaning sideways, he rested a shoulder against the door frame and smiled at me. “Can I get you anything else while I’m in the kitchen? A glass of water for your Morning Dehydration Syndrome? A Pepsi? A beer?”

“Just hurry, okay? If I’m tied up much longer, something may have to get amputated.”

He raised his eyebrows. “If anything has to come off, may I have it?”

37

IDENTITY CRISIS

“Very funny,” I muttered.

“I’ll take anything. I’m not picky.”

“Every piece of me is precious?”

“You got it.”

“Go!”

He laughed and hurried away.

With my free left hand, I reached under the pillow and grabbed the miniature cassette. I thought about hiding it on my person, so to speak. But what if Murphy decided to have another go at me while it was in there?

So I just slid it between my back and the mattress, where it would be easy to reach.

I no sooner had it out of sight than Murphy came hurrying in with a knife. He carried it in his right hand, down low by his side. Its blade, at least eight inches long, was straight out and pointing at me.

The blade wasn’t all that was pointing at me.

They were level with each other, both tilting at the same slightly upward angle, and one about as long as the other. While the knife swung back and forth at the end of Murphy’s arm, the thick shaft bounced and swayed with each step he took.

“You come well armed,” I said.

He smirked and shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

Stopping beside my right hand, he bent over and eased the blade down onto the rope. He wouldn’t be going for the knot, but for the clothesline itself where it was tight around my wrist. Only the thickness of the rope—less than half an inch—stood between the blade’s edge and my skin. “Don’t move,” he muttered. “I don’t want to cut you.”

The way he was hunkered over with his head down, his hair fell across his brow and hid his eyes. He looked like a big kid with a messy mop of hair.

As he gently sawed the rope, his hair hardly moved at all, but the motions of his arm were enough to shake his rigid penis from side to side.

Finally, he cut me.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” he said, quickly stepping back. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Probably. What’s one more cut?”

“I think that’ll do it, though. Try giving a hard pull.”

I jerked my arm downward. The rope held it for a moment, then made a quiet puh! and let me go.

“I’ll get your feet,” Murphy said and stepped toward the other end of the bed.

I brought my right hand down. It was surrounded by a deep red indentation from the rope. The knife had made a shallow, half-inch slice. Bright red blood was sliding out, streaking my wrist and forearm. I quickly licked the streaks away, then covered the wound with my mouth.

Murphy was watching. “Maybe I’d better get you a bandage,” he said.

“It’s no big deal. Why don’t you go ahead and cut me loose? We can worry about a bandage later. Anyway, we may need several by the time you’re done.”

“I’ll be a lot more careful,” he said. “And this time, I’ll go for the knots.”

“Good idea.”

Bending over my left foot, he started to work the knife back and forth. Its edge made soft, rubbing sounds against the rope.

“I haven’t really had much practice at this sort of thing,” he said.“Not since I was a kid.” He lifted his head and smiled.“In my neighborhood, we were always tying people up.”

“Sounds like you lived in an interesting neighborhood,” I told him.

“I never tied up anyone like you, that’s for sure. But I wished I could. I’ve always wanted to. This was like…” He shook his head and sighed. “Unbelievable,” he said.

“Any time,” I told him.

He grinned, then lowered his head and resumed cutting.

He managed to slice the ropes off both my ankles without drawing any more blood.

When he was done, he asked, “How’s that?”

“Great. Thanks. But I don’t think I can move.”

He picked up my legs and eased them together. Then he sat on the end of the bed, turned sideways, and raised my feet onto his lap. He massaged them with both hands. “Let me know when they’re better,” he said. “I’ll help you into the bathroom and we’ll take care of your cut.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“And I don’t think we should make that drive to Culver City.”

“You don’t?”

“Screw them,” he said. “I’ll FedEx the books. It won’t kill them to wait a day longer.”

“I don’t want to be responsible…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“What if I hadn’t been here?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? But that’s not how it went down.”

“So, if we’re not going to Culver City, what’ll we do?”

“Whatever we want.”

“I want my five grand,” I told him.

He grinned. “I want to hear your story.”

I said, “Okay.” Though I smiled, I suddenly had a bad feeling inside—which must’ve showed.

“Something wrong?” Murphy asked.

Something was wrong, all right.

So far, he and I…we’d been getting along awfully well. I liked him better than any guy I’d ever known. A lot better.

Maybe I was even falling in love with him.

And maybe he had similar feelings about me.

But if I told him my story—the truth—it would probably ruin everything.

I mean, the truth might make me look pretty bad in his eyes. Might even disgust him. Especially when he hears about the way I chopped Tony into pieces, and about some of the things I did to Judy.

I can’t tell him!

We kept looking at each other.

Frowning, Murphy asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“It’s just…I’ve got a little headache. Do you have any aspirin, or…?”

“Sure. I’ll get it for you.” He slid a hand up the bottom of my leg, gave my calf a friendly pat, then lifted my feet off his lap, stood up and lowered them to the mattress. “Would you rather have Excedrin, Tylenol or Bufferin?” he asked.

“You must get a lot of headaches.”

“I get my share. What’ll it be?”

“How about Excedrin?”

Nodding, he took a few steps away from the bed, crouched and picked up his trunks.

“You’re getting dressed?”

“You’ve got a headache.”

“What does one have to do with the other?”

“You mean it wasn’t a hint?” he asked, looking flustered.

“I’m not much for hinting. But if you want to go ahead and get dressed…”

“Well…” He shrugged and smiled. “Maybe we should give you some time to get over your headache before we, uh, do anything too strenuous.”

“Maybe so.”

He stepped into his trunks, pulled them up, then left the room without putting on a shirt.

I reached under my back and grabbed the cassette. Shoving it into my mouth, I climbed off the bed. Then I swooped down and snatched my skirt off the floor. On my way to the door, I swept the skirt around my waist and fastened its buttons. Then I took the cassette out of my mouth. Clutching it in my right hand, I stepped through the doorway.

No sign of Murphy.

From the television came the voice of a man praising the courage of Paula Jones.

From the bathroom came a sound of rushing water.

Walking fast, I crossed the living room. Went straight to my purse near the end of the couch. Bent over it and spread it open.

All I meant to do was drop the cassette inside.

But I gaped at what was in there.

The usual stuff: lipstick, my compact, some tissues, a couple of tampons, my sunglasses, and so on.

Plus two sets of keys—mine and Judy’s.

And the note pad with Tony’s new telephone number.

And my wallet.

My wallet!

With my own driver’s license inside.

With my photo on it.

And my true name.

And real address.

“Oh, my Christ,” I murmured.

My hand trembling, I shoved the cassette down deep into the purse.

I felt sick.

Had Murphy looked?

He could’ve. He’d been out here alone before going to the bank, and then again after returning.

But did he?

Maybe he’d turned on the television so the voices would cover any sounds he might make while searching my purse.

But he’d been busy taking off his clothes.

And probably excited by his plans for me.

His blue jeans were draped over the cushion at the other end of the couch. His socks and shoes were on the floor over there.

“Oh, you’re out,” he said.

I turned around to face him. “Dressed, too.”

“Well, sort of.” He glanced at my chest, then quickly raised his eyes to my face.

“I thought maybe I had some chewing gum in my purse, but I guess not.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any,” he said, “or I’d get you some.” He came toward me holding a glass of water in one hand, a plastic container of Excedrin in the other. “You don’t seem like the chewing gum type,” he said.

“What type is that?”

“Airhead.”

“Keeps my breath minty fresh,” I chirped, and stepped around to the front of the coffee table.

“Nothing wrong with your breath.”

A couple of strides away from me, he stopped.

I reached out for the glass of water, but he pulled it back slightly. “Now, be careful,” he said. “Let’s not spill, this time.”

“If I do, I won’t be getting my blouse wet.”

“Guess not.” Blushing deep crimson, he gave the glass to me.

While I held it, he opened the Excedrin. I put out my left hand. He shook a couple of tablets into my palm. I tossed them into my mouth and washed them down with the water.

He waited until I’d lowered the glass, then asked, “How’s the cut?”

I glanced at it. “Not so bad. See? The bleeding’s stopped.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah. It’s just a nick. I’m fine.”

“We’d better put something on it, anyway.”

“How about your lips?”

He laughed and blushed. A real blusher, that Murphy.

“I was thinking of an antiseptic,” he said. He took the glass from me and set it on the table. He put down the Excedrin bottle, too. Then, holding my hand, he led me across the room. “We’ll touch up the rest of you, too, while we’re at it.”

“I can use a little touching up.”

In the bathroom, he poured some hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball and patted the cut on my wrist. It felt cold. It fuzzed a little on the slit.

After bandaging my little cut, he took out a fresh ball of cotton. He soaked it with hydrogen peroxide and started dabbing at my other injuries—the scratches and nicks and gouges from last night’s accidents. The liquid touched me with coldness. Here and there, it dribbled down my skin.

When it stung the wound on my belly, I gasped and stiffened.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That’s okay. A little pain is good for the soul.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“It feels so good when it stops.”

“Can’t argue with that one,” he said.

“I like how this stuff feels, though. It’s so nice and cool.”

He said, “Hmm.” With a fresh, dripping ball, he gently swabbed my right nipple.

Unaware of any injury there, I looked down. My nipple appeared to be fine. The chilly fluid made it pucker and jut out. “Now you’re treating places that aren’t hurt,” I pointed out.

“Yep,” he said, and moved the cotton ball to my other nipple.

I shivered a little with the good feel of it.

Then I undid my buttons, and my skirt fell to the bathroom floor. “Anywhere else need a touch-up?” I asked.

He squatted down in front of me. “I should say so,” he said. “You’ve gotten yourself banged up pretty good.”

“Do what you can. I’m in your hands.”

Each time he touched me with a wet ball of cotton, I flinched a bit. Not because it hurt, but because it felt so cold on my hot skin.

Down low in front of me, he found a scratch here, a scrape there. He dabbed them. And he dabbed places where I had no injuries at all.

I turned around. He touched chilly balls of cotton to the backs of my thighs and to my buttocks. Then I felt his lips, his tongue. He kissed and licked his way up my back until he was standing.

When he pressed himself against my body, I found out that his trunks were gone. He was smooth and bare all the way down. And I could feel the hard length of him pressing against my lower back.

Nibbling the side of my neck, he reached around me with both hands and took gentle hold of my breasts.

The cotton balls and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide must’ve been down on the bathroom floor with his trunks.

He writhed against my back, sucked my neck and squeezed my breasts. Then one of his hands roamed down my front and slipped between my legs. Moaning, I squirmed against him.

After a while, I managed to turn around so we were facing each other. By then, I was in such a frantic delirium that I hardly knew what was happening.

He slammed me against the door frame.

As he pulled at my buttocks, I climbed his body and wrapped my legs around him.

He thrust into me.

I hugged him with my arms and legs.

He pounded me against the frame as he tried to ram up higher and deeper.

Then suddenly he was throbbing and pumping.

I clung to him, shuddering with my own release.

As our frenzy subsided, we remained clutching each other, my back against the door frame, my feet off the floor, my legs and arms around him. He stayed in me. We both panted for air.

I gasped, “My God, Murphy.”

He gasped, “My God, Alice.”

38

THE SLIP

Every time I remember it, I get the same awful, sick feeling in the pit of my guts.

Murphy saying my name.

My real name.

(Not Alice, by the way. But my real name was on my driver’s license and on a dozen other items in my wallet, and that’s the name that came out of Murphy’s mouth as we clutched each other in the bathroom doorway.)

Alice, not Fran.

He had searched my purse.

He knew who I was and where I lived.

Letting go of his back, I clutched his hair with both hands and jerked his head back, tilting his face toward mine.

“What’d you say?” I asked.

“Huh? When?”

“Just now.”

“Huh?”

“You called me Alice.”

“Huh?”

“Why’d you call me Alice?”

“Did I?”

“You looked in my purse!” I blurted into his face. Then my right hand let go of his hair and I hit him with my fist. Punched him in the cheek so hard it jolted his head sideways.

And then he staggered backward.

Lurched backward, turning as if he wanted to set me down in the middle of the bathroom floor. But he didn’t really have his balance anymore.

He couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t set me down.

It might’ve turned out all right, but too many things went wrong.

For one, Murphy kicked over the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I heard it go over and roll, and heard its liquid gurgling out, slicking the tiles.

For another, Murphy had me clinging to him. Had me spitted on his cock so I couldn’t jump down, couldn’t get free, couldn’t do anything to stop his sudden backward voyage across the bathroom.

Perched high and able to see over the top of his head, I saw what was coming.

“Watch out!” I yelled.

But he couldn’t.

A moment later, the bathtub kicked his legs out from under him.

I flew face-first toward the tile wall on the other side of the tub. Throwing out my hands, I slapped the wall. My arms folded. I turned my face and my cheek struck one of my forearms.

From lower down came an awful thud like a coconut dropped on a concrete sidewalk. I not only heard it, but I felt it. Felt Murphy jolt between my legs and in me.

Suddenly, I felt a quick, sucking pull inside, and heard a slurp, and he was out.

And I was falling.

I threw my legs apart so Murphy wouldn’t land on them.

My bare feet slapped against the bottom of the tub. For a moment, I seemed to be standing, hunched low over Murphy as if looking for a good way to sit on him. It seemed like a long moment. I saw him down there, looking limp and odd. I sure didn’t want to sit on him. But I probably would’ve done it, anyway, if I’d had a choice.

I didn’t.

Because it was only a moment, and I might’ve seemed to be standing, but I wasn’t.

I was just pausing in mid-fall.

Waving my arms, I tumbled backward. My butt slapped against the edge of the tub—between Murphy’s knees. Then my legs flew up and I dropped to the floor.

My back smacked the tile floor.

Then my head thumped it.

And that, as they say, was “all she wrote.”

At least for a pretty long while.

I don’t know what I dreamed about. Probably something bad. Whatever it might’ve been, though, at least I didn’t wake up choking.

Just with a horrid headache.

I was lying on my back with my legs up, calves resting on the edge of the tub. The way Murphy’s feet were sticking out, I figured he was probably in the reverse of my position, and inside the tub.

“Murph?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

Then I remembered the sound and feel of his head striking the wall—and my glimpse of him as I fell.

“Murph?” I asked again. “Are you okay?”

Nothing.

“Are you dead?”

Nothing.

“God,” I muttered.

Then I started to cry.

A word of advice: don’t ever cry when you’ve got a splitting headache. The crying does something to the pressure inside your head. Pretty soon, I felt like I had a team of maniacs chewing and clawing through my brain.

It seemed to get worse and worse. I tore off my wig of red hair and flung it aside. I felt a little better without it, but not much.

The pain still raging, I clutched both sides of my head.

Finally, I figured my position on the floor wasn’t helping matters. I needed to get up. So I drew in my legs. They were pretty numb from the calves down because of how they’d been resting on the tub’s edge. But I brought them to my side of the tub, anyway, and shoved with my feet.

My back slid over the tile floor. As I scooted, the top of my head ran into Murphy’s trunks and pushed them along in front of me. I ended up in the puddle of hydrogen peroxide with the plastic bottle against my shoulder.

For a while, I just lay there on my back, sobbing and holding my head, my legs straight out on the floor.

I knew I should be trying to get away.

But I couldn’t.

And didn’t really care.

I felt too miserable to care about anything.

I’d killed Murphy.

I’d damn near busted my own head open.

Maybe I did!

Raising my head slightly, I explored it with my fingers. My hair was wet—maybe with blood. But I found no gaping fissures, no spilling brains. Just a bump high on the back of my head, as if half a golf ball had been stuffed underneath my scalp.

I looked at my fingers. They were wet, but not bloody.

Pretty soon, I rolled over. I crawled out of the bathroom. Off the tiles and onto the carpet of the living room.

As I crawled toward the coffee table, CNN blared at me about some damn ferry boat sinking in some Godforsaken corner of the world.

Like I could give a shit. I had problems of my own.

The voices made my head throb.

So I took a detour to the television. Kneeling in front of it, I had to squint because of the picture’s brightness. But I found the power button and hit it with a knuckle. The TV suddenly went dark and silent.

Much better.

Turning around, I crawled the rest of the way to the table. I grabbed its edge and pushed myself up. On my knees, I studied the clutter for a few seconds.

I was looking for the Excedrin and the water glass, but the first thing I saw was Murphy’s book. The one that he’d autographed for me. Deep Dead Eyes.

It wasn’t something I wanted to be seeing just then.

I looked away from it fast.

When I spotted the plastic bottle of Excedrin, I reached out and grabbed it. I pulled it over to me, then got hold of the glass.

It was half full of water.

I tossed four Excedrin tablets into my mouth. Then, with a shuddering hand, I picked up the glass. I gulped the water and swallowed the tablets.

They went down fine.

I was still awfully thirsty, though. Holding on to the glass, I struggled to my feet. I staggered into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and filled the glass with cold water. I drank it all. Then I refilled the glass. This time, I sipped it slowly and looked around.

Murphy’s kitchen seemed to double for an office. Its breakfast table held a computer, piles of paper and stacks of books. I could almost see him sitting at the table, rubbing his hair and frowning with thought.

No more books for him.

Starting to feel worse, I turned away and saw a clock above the kitchen’s entryway.

1:25

Early afternoon. A lot earlier than I would’ve thought.

What’ll I do?

I wanted to lie down on a nice bed and sleep. Make my headache go away. Make all this go away. At least for a while.

Lie down in my own bed…

But I couldn’t do that, couldn’t leave, not without taking care of the evidence.

A major clean-up to get rid of every trace of me.

It seemed like a huge, impossible job.

The way I felt…

I filled the glass once more with water, then carried it out of the kitchen and into Murphy’s bedroom.

As I made my way toward the bed, I saw three of the ropes he’d used on me. They lay on the carpet like pale, dead snakes. Each was still tied to a leg of the bed.

I’ll have to take those…

I saw the condom, too. On the floor where I’d dropped it when I took Murphy into my mouth.

The pale white disk looked like a sea creature you might find washed up on a beach, dead.

I’ll have to get rid of it.

But I could do nothing, now.

I set the glass of water on the nightstand, then crawled onto the bed, sprawled myself out on its rumpled sheet, and buried my face in the pillow.

39

SO LONG, MY SWEET

Most of my headache was gone when I woke up.

I was still facedown on Murphy’s bed, as if I hadn’t moved at all during my nap.

I’d drooled all over his pillow.

The sheet underneath me was sodden with my sweat.

I thought how nice it might be to take a shower, but then I remembered that Murphy was in the tub.

Dead.

I’d killed him.

I hadn’t meant to, but that didn’t count for much: he was just as dead, either way.

And here I was, sprawled on his bed like Goldilocks.

What if somebody shows up?

I’ve gotta get out of here.

So I rolled over, twisted sideways until my legs fell off the edge of the mattress, and sat up. I groaned. My body felt ruined. I was sore and stiff and achy almost everywhere. But at least my head no longer burned with pain.

I could think again.

I could function.

I could, but didn’t.

Not for a while, anyway.

For a while, I just sat on the edge of the bed, my head hanging, my back bent, my elbows on my thighs, my feet on the floor.

Almost like that statue, The Thinker.

But if anyone did a statue of how I looked then, he’d have to name it, The Wasted.

I knew that I needed to get off my butt and destroy every trace of my presence in Murphy’s apartment and go home. But I couldn’t bring myself to get started.

What’s the point?

I felt as if nothing mattered anymore.

Why not just stay here?

Sooner or later, somebody would show up and find me, find Murphy, call the cops.

Who cares?

Why not go to the phone and call the cops, myself? Tell them everything. Put an end to all this.

But doing even that would’ve taken too much effort.

So I just kept sitting there.

Finally, I had to get up. It was either that, or flood the bedroom. Gritting my teeth, I made it to my feet. But I couldn’t stand up straight. Hunched over slightly, I hurried to the bathroom. I slipped on the wet tile floor, but didn’t fall. With my eyes fixed on the floor just in front of my feet, I found my way to the toilet and sat down without looking at Murphy.

I kept my head low while I went.

Stared at the floor.

But I could see him, anyway. That peripheral vision thing. The tub was a short distance over to my right. Even with my eyes down, I could see its long, white side. And Murphy’s legs sticking out over the edge. And his face. He seemed to be peeking at me from around the side of his left knee.

Finally, I looked at him.

His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing me.

He wasn’t exactly Murphy, anymore. Whatever’d been Murphy was gone. The thing in the tub was just a fair likeness, that’s all. Somebody might’ve dropped by while I was asleep, snatched his body and replaced it with a dummy from a wax museum.

A dummy that didn’t quite get it right.

Which was a good thing, I guess. I couldn’t have stood it if my Murphy’d been in the tub.

But he wasn’t.

When I finished on the toilet, I flushed and stood up and walked across the wet tiles to the side of the tub.

I stared down at the body.

And wondered what to do with it.

Leave it just as it is.

Sure. Why not? I didn’t have the strength or desire to take it anywhere.

Besides, what could be accomplished by moving it?

I might try, if I had a good reason.

In spite of the difficulties and risks, I could probably haul Murphy’s body to the parking lot of Judy’s apartment building, or into Tony’s apartment, or even over to Miller’s Woods. But why? How could his body fit into the rest of it in any logical way?

I didn’t see how.

No matter where they find him, it’ll just add to the confusion.

If they find him just as he is, I thought, it’ll look like an accident. While getting ready to take a shower, he somehow slipped and fell backward and bashed his head on the wall beside the tub.

Which had the advantage of being almost true.

Unless I did some major clean-up, however, they would also figure out that he’d been having sex with a woman just before his accident. And they might suspect she’d had a hand in his death.

If they got that far, they would look for samples of her hair, fluids, etc.

I’d have to make the clean-up effort.

I started with the bathroom. Taking care of the worst part first, I climbed into the tub, straddled Murphy’s body and wiped the wall where I’d hit it with my hands. I didn’t like standing there. Not one bit. I knew that he wasn’t under me, but something was. Not a wax dummy, either—a naked stiff. It made me nervous. Like I half expected a spook of some sort to take over the body and make a grab for me. Or lurch up between my legs and give me a bite.

Me and my imagination.

I got a good case of goosebumps, but I was okay as soon as I’d climbed out of the tub.

Next, I put away the package of cotton balls and the hydrogen peroxide—which wasn’t completely empty. (Naturally, I wiped the plastic bottle to take care of my prints.) Then I found all the used cotton balls on the floor and in the waste basket. I flushed them down the toilet.

Then I mopped the bathroom floor.

I wiped the toilet seat and the flush handle.

That was about it for the bathroom. For now. I’d be back again, but not until just before time to leave.

After putting away the mop and bucket, I went into the living room for my purse. As I headed for the couch, though, I saw a brown leather attaché case standing beside the front door. Though it must’ve been there before, this was the first time I’d noticed it.

Right away, I knew what must be inside.

I crouched beside it, set it down flat on the floor, snapped open its latches, and raised the lid.

The case was loaded with money.

Neat packets of one-dollar bills, fives, tens, and twenties.

He’d gotten it for me in small bills, just as I’d asked.

Murphy’s idea of a joke, I guess.

I would’ve thought it was pretty funny if he’d been there to enjoy the gag with me.

But he wasn’t.

I smiled for about a second, then fell apart.

This was the worst yet. You’d think I’d never seen anything as heartbreaking as those five thousand dollars in small bills. I bawled. Tears poured down my face and spasms wracked my body. I ended up stretched out on the carpet by the door, crying onto my crossed arms.

When I finally ran out of tears, I felt empty and lazy. I was dangerously close to falling asleep, so I pushed myself up. Leaving the attaché case by the door, I hurried into the kitchen. I jerked a couple of paper towels off a roll by the sink, and used them to cover my hands while I pulled open a few cupboards.

I found Murphy’s stash of grocery bags. The paper bags were folded neatly in a row inside a cupboard. I took out two, stuffed one inside another for double thickness, then returned to the living room.

Squatting over the attaché case, I double-bagged my cash.

Then I carried Murphy’s empty case into the kitchen, set it down by the table where he used to work, and wiped it carefully with a paper towel.

I’d planned to do the bedroom next, but suddenly had an urge to take care of my kitchen chores. So I made a couple of trips into the living room to gather the beer mugs, bottles and water glass. I washed and put away the mugs and glass. I wiped the bottles and dropped them into Murphy’s recycling bin.

Back in the living room, I saw the bag of pretzels on the coffee table. I had not only touched its cellophane bag, but I’d reached into it. My fingerprints might actually be inside the bag. So instead of trying to clean it, I decided to take it with me. It went into the grocery sack along with the money.

Well, I’m beginning to see that it might take me all day to describe every single step in detail. And who really wants to read about all that stuff, anyway? So I’ll just summarize the rest of it, if that’s okay with you.

Here’s what I did—pretty much in order—before leaving Murphy’s apartment.

1. Placed my autographed copy of Deep Dead Eyes in grocery bag.2. Put bottle of Excedrin in my purse.3. Untied ropes from all four bed legs and tossed them into grocery bag.4. Found knife Murphy had used to cut the ropes (and me), washed it in the kitchen, and put it away.5. Flushed condom and condom wrapper down toilet (and again wiped handle).6. Removed pillow case and sheets from bed, stuffed them into grocery sack.7. Put clean sheets on bed, fresh pillow case on pillow.8. Artfully arranged Murphy’s trunks and Bear Whizz Beer T-shirt on bed mattress as if flung there in haphazard manner.9. Took five copies of The Dark Pit from box, wrapped them for mailing, and labeled package with address Murphy’d copied onto the back cover of TV Guide (and his return address).10. In bathroom, turned on shower so it sprayed down on Murphy.11. Left shower curtain open and shower running.12. Gathered my clothes and shoes, got dressed.13. Put wig on.14. Rearranged contents of grocery bag so that package of books went in on top of money.15. Set grocery bags and purse near front door.

That’s pretty much all I did. It took a while—especially getting the books ready for mailing. I had to find tape and scissors, cut up a grocery bag, and be careful not to leave prints on any of the books or wrapping materials. A major chore.

I felt pretty good about doing it, though. I’d killed the poor guy, but at least he might get his chance at a movie deal.

Finally, all dressed and ready to go, I made the rounds one more time. I picked up a few odds and ends that shouldn’t be left behind, and gave a quick wipe to whatever I might’ve touched but couldn’t take with me.

I didn’t go into the bathroom, though. The floor was too wet from the shower, and the air was so thick with steam that I couldn’t even see Murphy in the tub.

Returning to the front door, I tossed a few things into the grocery bag with the money, books, etc. I didn’t think I’d be able to manage two bags, so I mashed down the one holding the dirty sheets and pillow case, and stuffed it into the other bag. Then I slipped my purse strap onto my shoulder. I put on my sunglasses and picked up the full bag.

It was pretty heavy. With my right arm, I hugged it against my chest. I used my left hand—wrapped in my skirt—to open the door.

For a few seconds, I stood there and looked out through the screen door. Nothing seemed to be going on outside.

From one of the nearby units came the noisy whine of a vacuum cleaner. I also heard television voices coming from somewhere.

But I saw nobody.

So I stepped out, pulled the main door shut, and walked briskly toward the sidewalk. I was several paces away from Murphy’s unit by the time its screen door bammed shut.

40

LAST TASKS

Eyes turned toward me as I entered the post office. Mostly belonging to guys, of course. Scoping out this flashy redhaired babe with the body to die for, the slit up her skirt and her blouse half open.

I recognized nobody.

I don’t think anyone looked high enough to see my face.

But I had my sunglasses on, just in case.

Holding the wrapped books low in front of me to keep the view of my cleavage clear, I walked straight over to the waiting line. There were ten or twelve people ahead of me.

I planned to send the books First Class.

I’d considered Overnight Express Mail, but it was after four o’clock by the time I reached the post office. I thought that might be too late in the afternoon for guaranteed nextday delivery, so why go to the extra expense?

Besides, if I sent the books Overnight, I would have to stand around and fill out a special label. I didn’t want to fool with that.

First Class would get the books to the producers soon enough.

If not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow.

While I stood in the line, I set the package down on the floor in front of my feet. Then I took a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse. I also took out a couple of tissues.

Squatting down, I casually used the tissues to wipe the outside of the parcel where I’d touched it. (Cops can lift fingerprints off paper, you know.) I didn’t pay attention to who might be watching, and didn’t really care. A person’s got every right to clean off a package before mailing it, right? It’s nobody’s business why, and who would ever guess I was doing it to ruin possible fingerprint evidence? Nobody, that’s who.

Keeping a tissue in one hand and my twenty in the other so that my fingertips didn’t touch the package, I picked it up again.

Then I just waited in line for my turn at one of the windows.

I kept my head down. Nobody talked to me, and I spoke to no one. It was a pretty long wait, though.

People are amazing. They’ll go to a place like the post office, and half of them don’t seem to have a clue. They’ll step up to the window with a box that’s still open, for instance, and ask to borrow some tape. Or when it comes time to pay, they’ll have to spend five minutes hunting for their checkbook. Amazing.

Not to mention, the postal workers were in no hurry to set any speed records.

Finally, my turn came anyway.

I set my package on the counter, smiled, and said, “Good afternoon,” to the clerk.

She gave me back a friendly smile, and said, “What can I do for you, honey?”

“I’d like to mail these books,” I told her. My parcel was too large to fit through the slot under the panel of bullet-proof glass (or acrylic, or whatever), so she opened the panel like a door. I slid the package toward her, leaving the twenty on top, and said, “I’d like it to go First Class, please.”

Nodding, she shut the panel. When she set the parcel on a scale, its weight and cost appeared on a computer screen. After slapping on some stickers, she pushed my change under the window and asked if I would like to have a receipt.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be needing one. Thanks.”

“You have a nice day,” she said.

“Thanks. You, too.”

I turned away from her window.

“Next in line,” she called.

The line had dwindled. Only three customers were waiting. Two women—one in her twenties and the other at least seventy—and a young guy probably no older than eighteen. Guess which one was looking at me.

He gaped at me, his jaw drooping.

But I doubt that he saw my face at all.

I walked on past him and out the door.

Just so the flashy redhead who mailed Murphy Scott’s books would not be connected directly to Judy’s car (on the slim chance that an investigator might actually look into the situation), I had parked her car a block away from the post office and around a corner.

Nobody followed me around the corner.

I climbed in and drove away.

I had no more chores to run. Only one thing still needed to be done: ditch Judy’s car.

Abandon it somewhere, and walk home.

Walk home carrying the grocery sack loaded with my pretzels, my personally inscribed and autographed copy of Deep Dead Eyes, my souvenir pieces of rope, a pair of used bedsheets and a pillow case, and my five thousand dollars in small bills.

It wasn’t terribly heavy, now that I’d gotten rid of the five hardcover books.

But heavy enough. I didn’t care to trudge five or ten miles with it.

There was, of course, a simple solution to the problem. Why not drive straight home, park in the garage and haul the sack up to my room, then take off again to find a distant dumping-spot for the car?

Simple, but not for me.

I just didn’t have the guts to go driving Judy’s car brazenly all over creation. Even the trip from Murphy’s neighborhood to the post office had nearly undone me. Too much time had gone by since leaving Judy, Milo and Tony. Too much might’ve happened. What if Judy had already been reported missing? What if somebody had stumbled upon Milo’s camp? Suppose Judy had escaped from the woods and told the cops all about me? What if Tony’s body had already been discovered in the parking lot of her apartment building?

If anything of the sort had happened, every cop in Chester might be on the lookout for her car.

I wanted to be far away from it.

The sooner, the better.

Even if it meant a tough hike home.

But I couldn’t just leave it anywhere. For one thing, I didn’t want people to notice me getting out. For another, it really should, if possible, be abandoned in a place where nobody would pay attention to it for a while.

I came up with one idea after another, but found flaws in all of them.

Until I thought of the perfect place.

The mall!

The vast, indoor shopping plaza over by the highway was surrounded by acres of parking lots with probably more than a dozen entances and exits.

There was no parking fee, which meant no gates or cashiers.

With a steady flow of cars coming and going, one more would hardly be noticed.

I would hardly be noticed, entering, parking, walking away with my bag.

To top it all off, the lots were never completely empty. Even after the mall’s closing time, plenty of vehicles remained because of people parking there, then walking over to nearby establishments. Scattered all around were minimarts, restaurants, bars, and fast-food joints. There was even a supermarket. Some stayed open late, while others (including the supermarket) stayed open always.

In short, the mall’s parking lots offered anonymity.

I could anonymously drop off Judy’s car and walk away.

Her car might anonymously sit there, day after day, night after night, lost among the others.

Delighted, I headed for the mall.

About halfway there, I swung onto a little sidestreet. I pulled over and stopped the car in front of a house that had a For Sale sign on the front lawn. The house looked empty. Across the street was a vacant lot. Looking all around, I saw nobody.

So I grabbed one of the legs that I’d cut off Tony’s jeans last night and climbed out of the car. With the denim leg, I wiped the exterior door handles and everywhere else that I might’ve touched.

Then I climbed in and did the interior.

Then I double-checked the whole car, inside and out, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Judy’s purse was still on the floor, partly hidden under the driver’s seat. Fine. It could stay there.

Satisfied that I’d removed every trace of myself (to the extent that it can be done in a few minutes with a rag), I tossed both the legs into my grocery bag, started up the car again, and drove the rest of the way to the mall.

Plenty of other cars were coming and going.

I entered a parking lot over on the Macy’s side of the complex, found an empty space, pulled in and shut off the engine.

Just for the heck of it, I left Judy’s key in the ignition.

I wiped off the keys and key case, the shift handle and the steering wheel.

My purse and grocery bag were on the front passenger seat. Leaning sideways, I grabbed them.

I climbed out of Judy’s car. Purse hanging by my side, I set down the bag. Then I looked around. Several people were in sight, some heading toward mall entrances, others returning to their cars. None paid any attention to me.

With one of the denim legs, I cleaned the interior door handle.

Then I flopped the leg back into the sack, hoisted the sack off the pavement, stepped out of the way, and flung the door shut with my knee.

Even as the door thunked, I realized that I’d forgotten to lock it.

I’d meant to lock it.

But this is better.

Leave it unlocked, key in the ignition.

With any luck, some creep might come along and steal the thing.

Walking away from Judy’s car, I couldn’t help but smile.

41

GOING HOME

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to fear.

As soon as I walked away from Judy’s car, I felt hugely, enormously, wonderfully free.

I was done!

I’d severed my last major connection with the series of accidents and/or crimes that had started last night when I killed Tony. Sure, I still had possession of a few items such as the money and autographed book, but nothing that could draw me in as a suspect.

I was, as they say, “home free.”

But several miles from home.

I started to hike across the parking lot, the grocery sack clutched to my chest. It was heavy enough that I needed to hold it with both hands.

Gonna be a long hike.

I hadn’t walked very far, though, before I noticed that many of the kids roaming across the lot were carrying book bags on their backs.

Just what I needed!

Instead of striking out for home, I made a detour into the mall.

It was good to be in such a familiar place. Rarely a week ever went by that I didn’t visit the mall at least once. I would spend a couple of hours there, just wandering, browsing through the stores, having a nice lunch at the food court. It was a quiet, pleasant place—and just about the only place in town worth going to, except for the cineplex.

Wandering the mall, a person can pretty much stay anonymous.

Pretty much but not completely.

If you visit the same shops or food stands time after time, certain employees will start to recognize you. They have no way to learn your name unless you introduce yourself or pay with a credit card or check, but some are bound to know your face.

Some might even know it well enough to wonder how come, today, I was wearing a bright red wig.

So my first stop, after entering the mall, was the ladies’ restroom.

As I understand it, California has a law against security cameras in toilet cubicles. You can’t blow your nose in this state without breaking the criminal code, but this is one law I really go for. I mean, you don’t want some horny degenerate of a security guard watching you on TV while you’re doing your stuff, if you get my meaning.

They’re allowed to spy on you with hidden cameras just about everywhere else, but not when you’re in a stall.

So that’s where I went.

First, I availed myself of the toilet since it happened to be there anyway and it didn’t look hideous. Unbelievable as this may seem, the last person using this public toilet had actually flushed it. Not only that, but (hold on to your hat), she hadn’t left a puddle—or worse—on the seat! I was impressed and grateful.

Shit, I wanted to meet her!

Never mind.

With my purse hanging from a hook on the door and my grocery sack down on the floor, I hoisted my skirt, pulled my panties down around my ankles, and hovered a couple of inches above the seat. (Even if the seat looks clean, you sure don’t want to sit on it. You don’t even want to think about what’s been on it.)

The toilet paper dispenser, of course, turned out to be empty. Always prepared, I used some tissues from my purse.

Then I flushed the toilet.

I’ve possibly done some lousy things in my life, but I’ve always flushed after myself.

Anybody who doesn’t is nothing short of a pig.

After flushing, I pulled up my panties, stood in front of the toilet, and let my skirt drift down around my legs. Then I took off my gaudy red wig and stuffed it into the grocery sack.

Anything else I should do while I’ve got some privacy?

Of course!

It wasn’t easy to do in the confines of the toilet stall, but I bent over, reached down deep into my sack, and pulled out a few packets of cash. I transferred some denominations back and forth. Finally, I ended up with about three hundred dollars, mostly in twenties and tens. I put that money into my purse.

Then I crumpled down the top of my sack so nobody would be able to see inside. I picked it up, took my purse off the hook, unlatched the door, and stepped out of the stall.

I stopped in front of a mirror. The redhead was gone. I looked like myself again. Almost.

Nobody else was using the restroom, just then, so I set down the bag, took a brush out of my purse, and spent a couple of minutes working my hair into shape. When I was done, it still wouldn’t win any prizes. It no longer looked frightful, though.

Now that I was resuming my own identity, I fastened the upper buttons of my blouse. I also took off my big, hoop earrings and tucked them away in my purse.

All set, I picked up my grocery sack and walked out of the restroom. I strolled the length of the mall, entered J.C. Penney’s, found myself a nice green book bag (or backpack, as the case may be), and bought it with cash.

Right in front of the clerk, I removed its tags and stickers, stuffed my grocery sack inside, then swung the pack onto my back and slipped my arms through its straps.

On my way out, I wondered if I needed anything else before leaving the mall.

How about supper?

Wong’s Kitchen in the food court had great orange chicken, barbecued pork, fried wonton, etc. I was tempted. But on the other hand, remaining at the mall would increase my chances of running into someone who knew me.

Get out now.

Go home.

I went straight to the nearest exit and walked out into the heat and glare of late afternoon. My sunglasses helped against the glare. After putting them on, I paused long enough to stuff my purse into the backpack.

Then I was off.

I started with a brisk pace, but couldn’t keep it up for long. Though a breeze sometimes stirred against me, the day was too hot for hurrying. And I was in lousy shape from too little sleep, too many injuries, too much prolonged stress, and the ungodly amount of stenuous physical activity I’d gone through since the start of my problems last night.

Soon, I was short of breath, my heart was racing, and sweat was pouring out of me.

I slowed down.

Slow and steady gets the job done.

Before long, I was feeling a lot better.

I knew from my many trips to the mall, however, that it was six miles from home. At my usual pace, I could walk more than four miles per hour. This was probably half that speed.

Six miles at two miles per hour.

I did some tricky math.

A three-hour hike?

Dismayed by the idea of not making it home until about eight o’clock, I decided to pick up my pace as much as possible.

I must’ve been an interesting sight for the motorists as I hurried down the sidewalk. Even without the wig, I was conspicuous in my bright yellow blouse and flowing green skirt. Not to mention, as we all know, I’m built like a brick shithouse. Plus, my bra hadn’t exactly been designed for maximum support, so my quick and bouncy strides made for a lot of bust action—which was exaggerated still more by the backpack. The pack’s weight thrust my chest forward, while its straps drew my shoulders back and pulled at the front of my blouse as if trying to rip it open. If that weren’t enough, every stride sent my bare leg swinging out through the slit in my skirt.

Every now and then, guys in passing cars tooted at me, whistled at me, or called out. Because of traffic noise, I couldn’t really hear what they were yelling. Probably a combination of compliments, critical remarks, suggestions and offers—all crude.

When guys shout at you from car windows, they never say anything that isn’t crude.

Before too long, the inevitable happened.

A car passed me, then slowed down, pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

I felt only a slight sinking sensation. This was no cause for alarm—just a nuisance. Probably some jerk hoping to get lucky.

I kept walking, but picked up my speed as I neared the car.

When I came up alongside it, the passenger door swung open. Not even glancing in, I started to step around the door.

“Alice?”

A man, and he knew my name.

Instead of my name, it might’ve been the squeak and crackle of ice beginning to break under my feet—if I were standing on a frozen lake a mile from any shore.

This can’t be good!

I lurched to a halt, ducked, and peered in through the open door. Nobody in the passenger seat.

The driver looked familiar, but…I suddenly recognized him, and the ice froze solid again.

I felt so relieved that I was almost glad to see him.

“Elroy?” I asked.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

The same old Elroy.

“I’ve got room for two in my buggy,” he said.

“Are you offering me a ride?”

“Hop right in.”

So I took off my pack. Holding it in front of me with both hands, I climbed into Elroy’s car. Then I leaned out and pulled the door shut. “This is really nice of you,” I said.

“Just call me Mr. Nice Guy.”

In the past, I had generally called him Dork-head, but not to his face.

A couple of years earlier, he and I had worked in the same law office for about six months. We were both employed as secretaries. I couldn’t stand him, but I’d always treated him okay, and he’d apparently liked me quite a lot.

“Buckle up for safety,” he said.

Realizing that he probably wouldn’t start driving until I’d complied with the rules, I brought the seatbelt down across my chest and latched it.

“I just couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it was you,” he said, and checked the side mirror. “I said to myself, ‘Elroy, that woman bears a striking resemblance to our Alice. Is it possible?’Well, then I kept watching you and saw that it was not only possible, but factual.” He found an opening in the traffic and steered us onto the road. “I’m so glad to see you again. You’re looking utterly splendid.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re looking great, yourself.”

So I’m a liar.

The one way Elroy did not look, and never would, was “great.” A skinny little guy with slicked-down black hair, big ears and a pointy nose, he looked mostly like a rat. A dapper rat, he nearly always wore a white shirt and blue bow-tie. He didn’t seem to have changed much—including his outfit—since I’d last seen him.

“I must say,” he said, “we’ve missed you at the office.”

“They can’t be missing me much. Hell, they fired me.”

“I miss you.”

“Well, thanks.”

“You always…cheered the place up.”

“My manic charm.”

“The other girls…they’re all such snotty bitches. You were always nice to me.”

“Well…thanks.”

“It’s so good to see you again. I just can’t believe we’ve run

into each other this way. I thought you’d left town.”

“No such luck,” I said.

“I’m sure someone told me you’d moved to El Paso.”

“Someone’s wishful thinking,” I said.

“Are you still living above that garage?”

“Still there. But you don’t need to spread the word around at the office.”

Giving me a sly glance, he said, “Mum’s the word.”

“Thanks. Let them keep on thinking I’m in El Paso.”

“It’ll be our little secret.”

“How is my old friend, Mr. Heflin, by the way?”

“Oh, Mr. Heflin. Polite. He is very polite to all the ladies. And he keeps his hands entirely to himself.”

“Glad to hear it. And how is he around stairways?”

“Careful. Very careful.”

“Has he made a complete recovery?”

“I shouldn’t say ‘complete.’ No. Hardly complete. He limps. I suspect he’ll always limp.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said.

Which brought a squeaky laugh out of Elroy. He said, “Oh, Alice, I love it. You haven’t changed a bit. Not one smidgen. You’re such a terror.”

“That’s me.”

“So, where can I take you?”

“Where would you like to take me?” I asked.

42

THE INVITATION

“Oh, my,” Elroy said.

I gave him the eye and asked, “You didn’t go and get married, did you?”

Fat chance.

But you never know. It’s amazing, some of the losers who end up getting married. All they need to do is find someone who’s an even bigger loser.

“Nope,” Elroy said. “No ball and chain for yours truly. I’ve gotta have my freedom.”

“Going with anyone?”

“Aren’t we inquisitive?”

“I wouldn’t want to get you into hot water with your sweetie.”

“Hot water? How?”

“By having you over for dinner tonight. I happen to be house-sitting for my friends, this week. I’ve got their whole house all to myself. We could have cocktails by the swimming pool, and I’ll barbecue some steaks on the outdoor grill. How about it?”

I’d been watching his face go through changes. The way I read it, he was shocked and delighted by the invitation, but afraid I might be trying to embarrass him with a phony offer.

Casting me a smirk, he said, “Surely you jest.”

I tried to look hurt. “I thought you said you were glad to see me.”

“I am,” he insisted. “It’s just that…You aren’t serious about…what you just said about dinner. Are you?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“Well, it sounds lovely, but…”

“Turn right at the next light.”

“Why?”

“It’s how we get there,” I explained, smiling.

“No, I mean…I’d be happy to just drop you off. You don’t have to make dinner for me.”

“I don’t have to, I want to.”

“That’s the part I don’t get.”

To be frank, I didn’t quite get it, myself.

Until running into Elroy, I’d only wanted to get home as soon as possible and be alone. Have a drink, have a meal, take a nice long bath, and go to bed. And sleep and sleep and sleep.

However. Being given the car ride would save me at least two hours of hard walking. I owed Elroy for that. Besides, I could spend an hour or so treating him to dinner, and still be ahead of the game timewise.

Another thing. I needed a chance to figure out whether or not Elroy was a threat to me. If asked, he could testify as to the time and place he’d picked me up. But did it matter? If it did matter, I needed to figure out how to prevent him from talking.

And. This may seem odd, considering. For one thing, I’m pretty much of a loner. For another, I’d always figured Elroy for a dork. But I actually liked the idea of having him around when I got home.

Life is strange.

I don’t know why anything happens. Why did I really ask Elroy to have dinner with me?

Maybe it was in my genes to invite him. Or in the cards. Or in the stars. Maybe I was programmed to do it by the Great Computer. Or moved by the Master of Games. Maybe God made me do it. Or the Devil.

If you want the truth, though, I guess the main reason must’ve had to do with Murphy.

It was Murphy, more than anything, that made me reluctant to be alone.

Too bad it couldn’t be him instead of Elroy keeping me company.

But Elroy would be better than nobody.

I supposed.

“What are you scared of?” I asked him in a teasing way.

“Me?” Elroy asked. “I’m not scared.”

“You seem awfully nervous.”

“Do I? I’m just…surprised, that’s all. We haven’t seen each other in ages, and all of a sudden you’re inviting me over to your place for dinner.”

“My friend’s place. Anyway, it seems like a fine idea to me. I always felt that we should’ve gotten to know each other better.”

“I asked you out, remember? You turned me down.”

I remembered, all right. He’d asked me out three different times, and I had always politely refused, claiming to have prior commitments.

“I had a rule against dating anyone at work,” I explained. “But now that I don’t work there anymore, I don’t see any reason for us to stay away from each other. Do you?”

“Me? No. I never did.”

“Then you’ll have dinner with me?”

“I’d be most honored.”

“Good deal.”

After that, I gave him directions now and then, while he filled me in on doings at the office, gave me a summary of his own recent activities (dull as mud), and asked about mine. I didn’t want to admit much of the truth, so I told him that I was now a mystery writer.

“Oh, how exciting! Have you had anything published?”

“Just one book, so far.”

“But that’s spectacular! I’m so excited for you.”

“Thanks.”

“The big bad girl makes good!”

I smiled at him. “Watch it, buddy.”

“So, what’s the title of your book?”

“Depths of Darkness.”

“Excellent! It’s so…evocative! And is it published under your own name? I do hope so. You’ve such an absolutely luscious name for a mystery writer.”

“Think so?”

“Oh, indeed,” he said. “But did you? Use your own name?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, good for you!” He spoke my name slowly and dramatically, so it almost sounded like poetry. (My actual name, not Alice.) “It’s so perfect, I just bet everyone must think it’s a pen name.”

“Maybe so,” I said, starting to regret the fabrication.

“ ‘She writes with a poison pen.’ ”

“Good one,” I said.

“I can’t wait to read it. It isn’t about intrigue in a law office, is it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Am I in it?”

Throwing him a mysterious smile, I said, “You’ll have to read it and find out.”

“Oooh. This is so exciting.”

“I’ll give you a copy if I can ever manage to get my hands on some.”

“You don’t have any?” He sounded shocked and appalled.

“Not at the moment. I only had twenty to start with. By the time I gave copies to my relatives and a few friends…and sent half a dozen to this film producer in Culver City…I’m trying to get more, but it isn’t easy.”

“That’s awful.”

“Well, it’s ridiculous. Seems like everybody has the book but me.”

“You don’t even have a copy for yourself?”

“Not at the moment. I loaned my last copy to a friend. But don’t worry about it, I’ll send you one the moment I get a new shipment.”

“I can hardly wait. Now, tell me about the movie version.”

This is the sort of crapola one gets into, on occasion, when one lies.

So I kept making up more lies, sometimes telling him to make turns, until finally we reached Serena and Charlie’s house.

“And here we are! Just go ahead and pull into the driveway.”

He slowed his car, made the turn, and the house came into sight.

I nearly panicked.

What if I missed something?

I’d done my best to clean up the place and get rid of every trace of Tony, but I suddenly wasn’t at all sure that I hadn’t overlooked something.

A gob of brain on the front stoop…

I should’ve kept my mouth shut, let Elroy drop me off at the curb, told him thanks and goodbye—not invite him in!

Better yet, I never should’ve gotten into his car in the first place.

Thanks for the offer, Elroy, but I’m not allowed to ride with strangers—and I don’t know anyone stranger than you.

“This is an absolutely lovely house,” he said, and stopped his car. “I can’t wait to feast my eyes on the interior.”

“It’s pretty nice,” I admitted.

Gosh, Elroy, you know what? I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden.

It wouldn’t be a lie.

Would you mind terribly if we didn’t do this tonight? Why don’t I give you a rain check? Better yet, why don’t you give me your phone number, and I’ll call you?

Very cute.

Only two problems with it. First, I would look like a creep. Second, I didn’t really want to get rid of him.

I did a fine job of cleaning up. He won’t find anything.

And if he does?

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No. Are you kidding? This’ll be great.” With that, I opened the car door.

“Wait,” Elroy said, opening his door. “I’ll come around to your side and give you a hand.”

“No, that’s…”

He leaped out.

Clutching the backpack against my chest, I burst from the car. I made it to my feet about two seconds before Elroy arrived.

“Here,” he said. “Allow me to take that.”

“I’m fine.”

He reached for my pack, anyway.

“No!” I snapped, and whirled around to put my back in the way. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying it myself.”

“Whoa! Jeezle-peezle! Okay! Sorry.”

“That’s all right,” I said, and turned around to face him.

“What do you have in there, the Crown Jewels?”

Terrific. Now I’ve made him curious.

Grinning, I said, “Curiosity killed the Elroy.”

He laughed. “You are such a stitch, Alice. You haven’t changed a single whit.”

“I’ve changed my underwear once or twice.”

His face went crimson.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Of course you meant to embarrass me. It’s part of your charm.”

“Really?”

“Such a naughty girl.”

“That’s me,” I said, and stepped around him. “Let’s go this way.”

He stayed by my side as I walked down the driveway. When we came to the rear corner of the house, I quickly scanned the pool area, the back yard and the edge of the forest. I saw no one. Everything looked fine.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable over by the pool?” I suggested. “I need to trot upstairs and take care of a few things, then I’ll be right down and make us some drinks.”

“Fine and dandy,” he said.

But as I headed for the garage, he kept walking beside me.

“Is this your garage?” he asked.

“It’s where I live. I just rent the upstairs.”

“I’d be curious to see what it looks like.”

I was beginning to remember why I’d formed such a strong dislike for Elroy.

“Maybe some other time,” I told him.

“I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Why don’t you just wait over there by the pool?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to carry your pack up the stairs for you? You could go up first and unlock the door.”

“No, that’s fine. I can take care of it.”

“I’d be more than happy to help.”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said, hurrying forward.

This time, he stayed put.

I started trotting up the wooden stairway.

With the pack clutched against my chest, I couldn’t see the steps in front of my feet.

So, of course, I fell.

43

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Rammed myself down on my pack.

It contained my purse and the grocery sack with an open bag of pretzels, four lengths of rope, two denim legs, two sheets and a pillow case, my autographed copy of Deep Dead Eyes, and most of my five thousand dollars in small bills. None of which did much to soften my impact with the stairs.

I slammed down hard on top of the pack, mashing my breasts, pounding my ribcage and belly, knocking my wind out.

From the sound of things, I instantly pulverized the pretzels.

From the feel of things, a corner of Murphy’s novel tried to punch its way through the gouge in my stomach.

I let out a cry of pain.

A split second after impact, I began skidding down the stairs feet first, knees bumping, thighs scraping, arms being pummeled as they hugged the pack.

The first thing I heard from Elroy was a gasp of, “Oh, dear me!” Then I heard him charging up the stairs below me.

Suddenly, he grabbed the backs of my legs, clamping down hard on them and stopping me.

“I’ve got you,” he gasped. “Don’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Just don’t move.”

I had little intention of moving—at least until I could breathe again and the pain subsided. Even after that, I wouldn’t be able to move until he let go of my legs. He had a firm grip. And his hands were way up there, almost high enough to touch my butt.

“Don’t get fresh,” I told him.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“I guess I should’ve…let you carry the pack.”

“I’m not one to rub it in.”

Oh, sure you are.

“But I did rather expect something of this sort,” he added.

I should’ve expected it. I’d had so many falls lately, I was starting to feel like a river.

With Elroy still holding me, I pulled my arms out from under the pack. They seemed to work okay. I placed both hands on a stair to brace myself, then said, “Why don’t you sort of ease off my legs, and I’ll try to get up?”

“Be careful,” he warned.

“Get ready to grab me again, just in case.”

When he let go, I pushed at the stair, raising myself off the pack. But suddenly I started to slip.

I gasped.

Elroy grabbed me by the hips.

But I only slipped an inch or two before my knees settled onto a lower stair, stopping me.

“There,” I said.

“Okay?”

“I’ll be fine now. But I can’t get up till you’re out of the way.”

“Okay.”

A true gentleman, he let go of my hips without giving me so much as a squeeze or a pat, and descended the stairs. I got to my feet. With a hand on the railing, I turned halfway around and smiled down at him. “Thanks for catching me,” I said.

“Glad to be of service, ma’am.”

“See you in a while.”

“Are you sure you won’t be needing me again?”

“I’ll be all right. I’m not due for another fall until about sixthirty or seven.”

He laughed. “You fall a lot, do you?”

“Lately. I need to start being more careful.” With that, I turned away, climbed up to my pack, bent over it, and lifted it by the straps. It came swinging back and bumped gently against my thighs.

I stayed on my feet.

At the top of the stairs, I set it down, opened its flap, and took out my purse.

Elroy stood at the foot of the stairs and watched me.

“Go on over to the pool,” I said. “I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to invite me up?”

“Don’t make a pest of yourself, Elroy.”

“You can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

“Don’t count on it.”

With a smirk on his face, he winked an eye, pointed a finger at me, and said, “Later.”

Which would’ve been truly cool coming from Paul Newman or John Travolta. Coming from Elroy, it was sort of sad and funny, but mostly annoying.

As he swiveled around and started swaggering toward the pool, I took the keys out of my purse. I unlocked the door, opened it, then picked up my pack and went in.

I made sure the door was locked.

Then I hauled the pack over to my closet, pushed my way through some hanging clothes, and set it down on the floor. There, it was basically out of sight. You could only spot it by squatting down low and peering in under the clothes. You couldn’t spot it that way, either, after I’d shut the closet door.

Good enough.

I wasn’t trying to hide the stuff from Sherlock Holmes. My only concern, just then, was Elroy.

Not that I had any intention of allowing him into my room. You can’t be too careful, though. Elroy might seem harmless and easy to control, but guys like that will sometimes go nuts on you. I wanted my pack to be out of sight—out of mind—in case he flipped out and came barging in.

Or in case I went nuts and brought him in, myself.

Fat chance.

With the pack nicely hidden, I spent a minute or two inspecting my latest injuries. I found minor scrapes on my arms, shins and knees, but no new damage anywhere else—not even where the corner of Murphy’s book had jabbed me in the belly. Nothing needed treatment.

I decided against changing any of my clothes.

In the bathroom, I took a few minutes to “freshen up.” Which means I washed, brushed my hair and dabbed on a bit of Tropical Nights perfume.

I wouldn’t be needing my purse, so I stuck it away inside a dresser drawer.

With nothing except my key case, I stepped outside. Elroy waved at me from a lounger beside the pool. I waved back, then made sure the door was locked before I started down the stairs.

I reached the bottom, still standing.

Elroy got to his feet as I walked over to him.

“Ready for the Happy Hour?” I asked.

“The sun’s well over the yardarm,” he said.

“Let’s go in and concoct something. And I’ll see what I can do about finding a couple of nice, thick steaks for dinner.”

The sliding glass doors were all locked from inside, so I led Elroy around to the front of the house. Along the way, I kept watch for any telltale signs of Tony.

Everything looked fine.

I unlocked the front door and entered the house. Elroy stepped in after me. I shut the door.

The house felt hot and stuffy.

It was very silent.

I’d left all the curtains shut, so the rooms were filled with murky, yellow light.

“Hang on a second,” I whispered. “I’ll turn on the air conditioning.”

As if nervous about being here, Elroy stayed in the foyer and looked around while I hurried down the hall to turn on the air.

I flicked the switch and heard the blower start.

The sound was good to hear. I hadn’t liked that silence.

“Things’ll cool off fast, now,” I said, returning to the foyer.

“Are you sure it’s all right for us to be here?”

“Sure I’m sure. I have the keys, don’t I? Come on,” I said, and headed for the kitchen. “What do you like to drink?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“How about margaritas?”

“Are we going to use their stuff?”

“Sure.”

“Is it all right to do that?” he asked.

“Would I be doing it if it weren’t?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, would you?”

“Nope. Not me. I ain’t no thief.”

In the kitchen, I went straight for the cupboard where they kept the liquor. I opened it and took out a bottle of tequila.

“The deal is,” I explained, “they like me to use their stuff when I’m staying here. They even stock up on my favorite foods and drinks and things. They want me to live it up. They’re on vacation, and they want this to be like a vacation for me.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I just don’t want to get into any trouble,” he said.

“Relax. Everything’s fine. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Elroy’s face contorted. He blurted, “Oh, my God. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

I burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny. I’m leaving.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. The owners are my best friends. I’ve got the run of the place. You’re not going to get into any trouble. If they walked in the door right now, they’d be delighted to find us here and they’d make the drinks for us.”

“Honest?” Elroy asked.

“So help me.”

After that, he seemed to be all right. He even helped me. Soon, we had a blender full of margarita. While Elroy salted the rims of our glasses, I studied the meat situation.

It came as no surprise.

Except for some hot dogs and salami in the refrigerator, everything else was frozen. The freezer compartment was full of goodies: steaks, pork chops, lamb chops, chicken breasts. But they were as solid as bricks.

“If you don’t want grilled weenies,” I explained, “we’ll have to thaw out something.”

“I thought we were having steaks.”

“We still can have steaks.”

“But they’re frozen?”

“I’ll just nuke ’em till they thaw.”

“That’ll be tasty.”

“Well, we could thaw them out naturally, but that might take a few hours.”

“I’m not in any hurry,” he said, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Well, let’s see how it goes.” I opened the freezer compartment again. “We can have anything in here. Would you rather have lamb, or…?”

“You promised me a steak.”

For a guest, Elroy seemed awfully damn insistent.

“Then a steak you shall have,” I told him, and took out a couple of T-bones.

What is it, anyway, with people and slabs of beef? Hey, I like the things, too. But I’m not wild for them. Steaks aren’t the be-all and end-all. If you ask me, lamb and pork have more flavor. And chicken is usually more tender. Besides, steaks are tricky devils. If you don’t cook them just right, they get all dry inside. And sometimes, for reasons I’ve never figured out, you cook up a perfectly good steak and it ends up tasting like liver. I just don’t see what the infatuation is.

Anyway, I ripped the butcher paper off the T-bones. Serena was in the habit of freezing her meat in pairs, so the steaks were not only as solid as slabs of concrete, but also stuck together.

I didn’t even try to part them.

Smiling at Elroy, I hammered the counter a couple of times and said, “Dinner will be a while.”

“No problem,” he said.

“These can at least marinate…”

“Marinate?”

“You know, maybe some teryaki sauce.”

“No. Perish the thought. Do you want to ruin them?”

Figures!

“Let’s not marinate them,” I suggested.

“Just a dab of salt and pepper before they go on the fire,” Elroy said.

“Excellent. I’ll let you take care of it.”

Looking very pleased with himself, he said, “Happy to oblige.” Then he turned away. He gave the blender a quick buzz that swirled the margarita concoction, whipped it to froth and sent it climbing the sides of the pitcher.

As he filled our glasses, he asked, “Do we have anything to nibble on?”

I thought of Murphy’s pretzels.

“What would you like?”

“Tortilla chips, if you have them.”

“I’ll see if Serena has any,” I said, and headed for the cupboard where she kept various bags of chips.

“Who is this Serena?”

“She owns the joint. She and her husband.”

“Our out-of-town hosts?”

“Right.”

“Let’s see what they’ve got,” he said, and joined me in front of the cupboard.

There were plenty of nibbles to choose from. Elroy decided on a bag of lightly salted, fat-free, taste-free corn tortilla chips.

“Shall we take it all outside and enjoy it by the pool?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Elroy said.

Carrying the bag of chips, I left the kitchen. Elroy followed with the drinks.

Wanting to avoid the den—I’d never gotten around to cleaning its glass door—I started across the living room. My plan was to open the drapes and let us out through the sliding door.

But along the way, striding by the fireplace, I turned my head to take a look at the saber.

What if it’s wet?

What if it’s dripping blood?

What if Elroy gets curious and takes a close look…?

But I didn’t need to worry about any of that.

The saber was gone.

44

ADAMANT ELROY

Yeah, I thought. Sure it’s gone.

I looked away and kept moving.

Where’d I leave it? I wondered. In the den?

I opened the curtains, then stepped over to the sliding door. As I unlocked it, I recalled having the saber with me when I took my bath early that morning. Had I left it in the bathroom?

No.

I slid open the glass door.

Didn’t leave it in the bathroom. Wanted everything back in place.

Could’ve sworn I hung it back over the fireplace.

I DID.

I remembered, now. After breakfast, I’d put the saber on its hooks where it belonged.

So where it is now?

Very quickly, I stepped outside. In my mind, I imagined myself letting out a squeal, flinging my sack of tortilla chips at the sky, and running like hell.

But I simply walked over to the table. From the other side, I watched Elroy step out of the house, a margarita in each hand. He didn’t have a hand to spare for closing the door, so I hurried over and rolled it shut.

Elroy placed the drinks on the table, then pulled out a chair for me. I thanked him and sat down, even though the chair put my back to the door.

He dragged one of the other chairs around the table, and sat down beside me. Then he handed me a margarita and took the other for himself. “Shall I propose a toast?” he suggested.

“Toast away.”

“To you and me, and lucky encounters.”

“Lucky, huh?”

You’d change your tune if you knew what was going on.

“It most certainly was lucky,” he said.

“Maybe so,” I muttered.

We clicked our glasses together, then drank.

Lowering his glass, Elroy said, “Imagine the odds against me just happening to drive by just the right place at just the right time…not to mention recognizing you. I call that lucky. I usually don’t even pay attention to people on the sidewalks. For that matter, I wouldn’t have been there if my wristwatch hadn’t died on me this morning. It’s not my usual route home. Our paths wouldn’t have crossed at all except for the fact that I had to make a stop at the mall for a new watch battery.”

“I was at the mall, myself.”

“Ah! I should’ve known. We were only a few blocks away when I spotted you.” He drank some more of his margarita, then asked, “Are you in the habit of walking to the mall and back? It’s a good, long distance.”

Nodding, I said, “About six miles each way. It’s my chief form of exercise. I try to do it a couple of times a week.”

“You certainly dress well for your hikes.”

“Well, I like to look good at the mall.”

“Aren’t you at all…nervous about it?”

“About what?”

“Walking that far by yourself. There are so many psychos in this world.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Doesn’t it make you the least bit nervous?” Elroy asked.

“A little. But I don’t let it stop me. Besides, I’ve been known to be dangerous, myself.”

Elroy let out a laugh. “You can say that again.” Then he tore open the bag of tortilla chips and turned it toward me.

I took a handful.

“It didn’t occur to me until just this moment,” he said, “but look at the irony we’ve just encountered. You fell down the stairs. You, who pushed Mr. Heflin down the stairs. Isn’t that just marvelously ironic?”

“Oh, yeah. Marvelously.” I popped a chip into my mouth and crunched down on it. It was thin and nearly tasteless.

Do you know what else would be marvelously ironic, Elroy? If our “lucky encounter” ends with both of us getting murdered by a saber-wielding maniac.

I drank some more of my margarita.

And wondered if I should warn him.

I wouldn’t need to tell him the whole story, just explain that somebody must’ve broken into the house sometime today and stolen the saber.

And might be anywhere.

He’ll say we should call the cops.

Obviously, that was out of the question.

So what can we do?

Flee.

“This is a lovely place,” Elroy said. “It must be fabulous to live here.”

“It’s nice, all right.”

“I should imagine that some of our furry friends must wander out of the woods now and again.”

“Sure. We get all sorts of critters. Deer, raccoons, squirrels…”

Midnight swimmers.

“I’d love to see some deer come out,” Elroy said.

“Stick around, there’s no telling what you might see.”

He leered at me. “Is that so?” he asked.

“You never know.”

“Well, well.”

“But you know what?”

“What?”

“I think we oughta go out for dinner tonight.”

“Out? We are out.”

“I mean like to a real restaurant.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m serious. If we have to wait for those steaks to thaw out, we won’t be eating till eight or nine. I just don’t think I can wait that long. I’m already starving.”

“Have some more nibbles.”

“It’ll be my treat. And you can pick the restaurant. Anywhere you like.”

“I like it here. It’s so peaceful and pleasant. Of course, I’m sure you’re used to it. You live here. But I live in an apartment house. I don’t have any lawn at all, much less a swimming pool and a beautiful forest. You want to take me away from all this? I can eat in a restaurant any old time.”

“I’m not trying to cheat you out of the barbecue. Why don’t we just postpone it till tomorrow. That way, I’ll have time to prepare for it. We won’t have to worry about frozen steaks. You can even come over early, and we’ll make a day of it. How does that sound?”

“Lousy.”

“Lousy?”

“You promised me cocktails and barbecued steaks by the swimming pool. Tonight, not tomorrow. If you’d said tomorrow in the first place, that’d be different. But you didn’t, so you got me all set to expect it. We can go to a restaurant tomorrow, if you want. But tonight, I want my barbecued steak like you promised.”

“When I made the promise,” I said, “I counted on being able to thaw the steaks in the microwave.”

“Well, you can’t do that. They’d be ruined.”

“But it was my plan. You can’t hold me to a promise if you won’t let me follow my plan.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t fair of you to promise me a barbecued steak by your swimming pool, and get me out here, and then say, ‘Oh, dear, I don’t want to do this, after all. Let’s go to a restaurant.’”

“I’m starting to think I don’t want to eat with you at all.”

“Oh, isn’t that just dandy?”

“I’m trying to be reasonable, Elroy, but…”

“It’s either your way or the highway, is that it?”

“I just think you should cut me a little slack, that’s all. This barbecue thing isn’t working out, so let’s do it another time. For tonight, why don’t we just try to make the best of things and go to a restaurant?”

Elroy let out a deep sigh. Then he raised his glass and drained it. Staring into his empty glass, he muttered, “You said it’d be okay to wait for them to thaw. Remember? In the kitchen? We talked about the fact that it’d take a few hours, and you said it wouldn’t be a problem. Only now it is a problem. Why do you suppose that is?”

“I never said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Maybe not in so many words. But you were all ready to go along with it. You even wanted to marinate them.”

“I can still get steak teryaki if we go to a restaurant.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Is that what this is all about? Because I wouldn’t let you ruin the steaks with teryaki sauce?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what is it about? Why have you suddenly turned on me?”

I stared into his eyes.

“I haven’t turned on you, Elroy. Though I do think you have a cruddy attitude about all this.”

“You promised me, and now you want to take it away.”

“There’s something going on here that you don’t know about.”

With a wary look in his eyes, he said, “Such as?”

Don’t tell him!

“Somebody was here,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

Leaning over close to him, I said quietly, “I think someone might’ve broken into the house while I was gone. There’s supposed to be a Civil War saber hanging above the fireplace. It was there when I left to go to the mall this afternoon. Now, it’s gone.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Take a look for yourself. You don’t even have to get up.”

Twisting in his seat, he peered over his shoulder.

I took a sip of my margarita.

“And where is this saber supposed to be?” Elroy asked.

“You see the fireplace?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a framed citation above it?”

“I see that.”

“That’s where the saber is supposed to be, but isn’t. I think somebody must’ve broken into the house and taken it.”

“Hmm.”

“For all I know, he might still be in the house. Hiding somewhere. Maybe just waiting for a chance to jump us. That’s why I think we oughta get out of here.”

Elroy turned toward me. “Instead of running off to a restaurant, shouldn’t we call the police?”

“No!”

He smirked slightly. “And why not?”

“Because.”

“Excellent reason.”

“Because if he’s already gone,” I said, “the cops won’t do any good, anyway. If he’s not gone…well, all the phones are inside the house. I don’t want to get chopped up trying to call the cops, do you?”

Elroy’s smirk grew. “Don’t you have a telephone in your suite above the garage?”

Damn it!

I gave the matter some thought, then said, “Yes, but I can’t get to it without my keys. Which I left on the kitchen counter.”

“Ah, you have an answer for everything.”

“I’m telling you the truth about this, Elroy.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“You think I’m lying.”

“Far be it from me to call you a liar.”

“Well, thank you one hell of a lot for believing in me.”

“I tell you what,” he said. “Just to prove how much I believe in you, I’ll go inside, myself, and make the call to the police.”

With that, he scooted back his chair.

Grabbing his arm, I said, “Don’t you dare.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Okay,” I said. “I admit it.”

“You admit what?”

He hadn’t believed me, anyway. Some people just don’t listen, even when you’re trying to help them.

“There never was any saber,” I said. “I made up the whole business about the break-in.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“I just wanted to go to a restaurant, that’s all.”

He gave my shoulder a squeeze and said, “Maybe tomorrow night.” His hand tightened its grip. “But from now on, no more stories. Save them for your books.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” he said, and released my shoulder. “Looks like we can both use refills.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Why don’t I bring out the whole pitcher?”

“Good idea. And while you’re in there, see if you can pry the steaks apart. They’ll thaw out a lot faster that way.”

“Your wish is my command, my dear.”

“Oh, and would you mind bringing out my keys? They should be on the counter near the blender.”

“My pleasure.” Grinning, he said, “Now, are you sure you wouldn’t like me to go ahead and dial up the cops?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Thought not,” he said, and stepped out of sight behind me.

I heard him slide open the door and enter the house. But I didn’t hear the door shut, so I got out of my chair to do it, myself.

As I rolled it shut, I saw Elroy striding across the living room. He didn’t so much as glance at the place above the fireplace where the saber should’ve been.

If he’d bothered to take a close look, he would’ve seen the hooks.

He could’ve at least looked, the bastard.

So damn sure of himself.

So damn sure that I’m a liar.

“The hell with him,” I muttered.

But I was afraid of what I might see if I kept peering in through the glass door, so I turned away from it.

I strolled over to the side of the pool.

The early evening sun made the surface of the water glare and flash. Even with my sunglasses on, I had to squint. A warm breeze was blowing. It stirred softly against my face and arms, and drifted my skirt against the fronts of my legs. I felt a bead of sweat dribble down my spine.

Elroy’ll be fine, I told myself.

45

WHERE IS ELROY?

Or maybe not.

As the minutes went by, I kept expecting to hear the door slide open. But no sounds came from the house.

What’s he doing in there?

Playing games, probably.

Payback games. He’s staying inside, wasting time, trying to scare me.

I turned my back to the pool and stared at the living-room door. From where I was standing, though, the glass reflected too much. I could barely make out any details of the dim room.

I should probably just go in and see what’s keeping him.

Yeah, sure, I thought. That’s what he wants me to do. So he can jump out and scare the…

What if he’s dead?

He isn’t dead, I told myself. Whoever took the saber is probably long gone. You don’t rob a house, then stick around. You get out as fast as you can.

Unless maybe it’s not just a robbery.

Maybe the whole idea is to use the sword on me.

Who would want to do that? I wondered.

Judy. She got away, somehow, and now she wants revenge.

But she couldn’t possibly know where I live. She knew nothing about me, certainly not my address or my real name.

Maybe my midnight swimmer came back for another try at me.

Get real, I told myself. A guy like that isn’t going to show up in daylight. Or any other time, probably, since he had to figure I’d called the cops on him.

Somebody took the sword.

Probably.

But maybe not. Even though I had a specific memory of hanging it back up—had I taken it down again for some reason?

Maybe I’d done it while concentrating on something else. That sort of thing happens to me, sometimes. I suppose it happens to everyone. Haven’t you ever, say, started off on a trip but then wanted to turn back because you couldn’t recall turning off the stove or locking the front door? Even though you figure you must’ve done it (and you’re right), you just cannot remember the act, no matter how hard you try?

It might’ve been that way with the saber.

Instead of getting all bent out of shape when I saw that it was gone, I should’ve made a quick search of the house. Maybe I would’ve found it in the den or bedroom or kitchen—exactly where I’d left it—and saved myself all this worry.

Why not do that now?

Staring at the shut door, I shook my head. This was about as close to the house as I wanted to get.

If Elroy comes out, maybe I’ll go in for a look around.

If?

He’ll come out, I told myself. Just let him get tired of his little game. He’ll quit as soon as he realizes I’m not going to fall for it.

Never should’ve let him go in there. If he’s dead, it’ll be my fault.

No, it won’t. I told him the truth, and he laughed at me. It’ll be his own damn fault.

Anyway, he’s fine. Probably wondering, right now, why I haven’t come in to look for him yet.

Get used to it, creepazoid. I’m not coming in. You can wait till hell freezes over and our steaks thaw out, I’m staying right here.

Even as I thought that, I realized that it might be a very long wait. Elroy had already shown himself to be childish, stubborn, and inconsiderate. A guy like that would be very slow to quit.

I didn’t exactly want to go on waiting.

For one thing, his absence made me nervous; I just couldn’t help fearing foul play, even though I knew the odds were against it.

For another, I wanted my margarita refill.

“I’ll get you out of there,” I muttered.

Then I turned away and walked alongside the pool. I rounded the corner. Stopping near the diving board, I turned to face the house again. The entire rear of it seemed to be glass. I couldn’t see in. But Elroy could see out, if he wanted to. At least from the living room, where the curtains weren’t shut. Other places, too, if he peeked through gaps at the edges of the curtains.

“Elroy!” I called.

But only once. With the house shut up tightly and the air conditioner on, he probably couldn’t hear anything from outside.

Speaking quietly, to myself really, I said, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Then I started to undo the buttons of my blouse. I began at the top and worked my way slowly downward. Even though I took my sweet time, I didn’t ham it up with any of that stripper stuff you see in the movies. That would’ve been too silly and embarrassing. I don’t mind taking off my clothes, but I’m not going to act like a dork about it.

I slipped my blouse off. I didn’t swing it around overhead, though, and give it a fling. I just dropped it to the concrete at my feet, then unfastened the couple of buttons at my hip and let my skirt fall.

Without looking down, I knew that I was pretty scratched and bruised. But I also knew that there was a lot more to look at than my injuries. My eyepatch panties didn’t leave much to the imagination, and neither did my translucent red bra.

Balancing on one foot, then the other, I pulled off my shoes and socks.

Over at the house, there was still no sign of Elroy. The door remained shut.

I took off my sunglasses, crouched, and set them on my skirt. Then I stepped onto the diving board. I walked out slowly over the water. The board bounced a little with each stride. When I reached the end, I stopped moving and the board settled down.

Still, I didn’t like standing up there. It was like being perched on a ledge. The slightest loss of balance, and I’d fall.

With my record for falling…

This time, at least, I would have a swimming pool underneath me.

I was tempted to go ahead and dive in while I still had control.

Not yet. Just wait. He’s gotta see me up here. That’s the whole point.

So I stayed put, and turned my head to look at the house. Which upset my balance. Not much, but enough to make me start to tilt. I faced forward quickly, bending my knees and spreading my arms. It was iffy for a second or two, but I managed to get steady again.

After that, I knew better than to turn my head.

I also knew it was only a matter of time before I fell off the diving board.

Are you watching, Elroy? Come on out!

Apparently, he hadn’t seen me yet, or he would be hotfooting it out for a closer look.

Maybe he can’t see me.

He’s down on the floor, dead.

Or maybe he’s watching me, all right, but afraid to come out.

Or maybe he’s got his face pressed to the glass, somewhere, and he’s gazing out at me, spellbound, frantic to watch and see what I do next.

I thought about taking off my bra. That would sure give him something to see. But I suddenly pictured Elroy naked and squirming against the glass door, just like the guy last night. Then he became the guy last night.

Enough of this nonsense.

I kept my bra on, raised my arms high overhead, bent my knees and sprang off the board.

I’m not much of a diver. I’m not much of an athlete of any kind, really. But I knew I had to be looking pretty good. Even with the worst diving form in the world—and mine wasn’t that bad—Elroy had to be drooling and erect watching me. If he was watching.

You better be watching, damn it.

I hit the water and went in cleanly and deep. It felt frigid, but only for a couple of seconds. After the first shock had passed, it felt okay. And then it felt just fine, cool and smooth, as I glided along below the surface. When I started to lose power from the dive, I swam underwater until I came to the shallow end of the pool. Then I stood up and turned toward the house.

And found myself looking at the den door.

First, I noticed the pale streaks down the glass.

Then I noticed a gap about ten or twelve inches wide at the door’s edge.

It’s open!

I hadn’t done that! I might’ve misplaced the saber—though I doubted it—but no way on earth had I left the den door unlocked and open.

I hadn’t left the curtains open, either.

But they were open now. In spite of the reflections on the glass, I could make out a few vague images inside the den. Not much, but enough to tell me that someone had opened the curtains.

Elroy must’ve done it.

Maybe he’d decided to give the house an inspection—just to make sure there really wasn’t an intruder. Along the way, he might’ve opened some curtains, opened the den door…

It hardly seemed likely, though.

He wouldn’t go around looking for intruders or signs of a break-in. Not Elroy. He hadn’t even looked to see if there were any hooks above the fireplace.

I suddenly knew the answer.

He did it as part of his plan to freak me out.

The bastard sure holds a grudge.

Or maybe he’s just doing it to amuse himself. Doesn’t mean to really scare me. Sees it as nothing more than a fun diversion, like hide ’n seek. A game to help pass the time while the steaks are thawing.

I called out, “Very funny, Elroy. I know what you’re doing, and I’m not falling for it. Why don’t you stop screwing around and come out?”

No answer came.

Frankly, I didn’t expect one.

But I hoped.

“I know you’re in the den, watching me.”

I knew no such thing.

I only hoped.

Please, let it be a dumb game he’s playing.

It has to be.

“I tell you what, Elroy.” My voice was shaking. “I’ll count to three. If you come out before I reach three, I’ll take my bra off for you. Hell, I’ll throw it to you. But only if you come out by the time I count to three. One.”

Nothing.

I went ahead and reached behind my back, anyway, to show him I meant business.

“Two.”

Nothing.

“Time’s running out. This’ll be your only chance, Elroy. If you don’t pop your head out of that doorway in one second…”

It didn’t pop out.

It rolled.

46

REUNION

Unfortunately, the rest of Elroy wasn’t attached.

His head tumbled out of the den like a lopsided, mutant bowling ball, did a little hop over the door’s threshold, then dropped to the concrete outside. As it dropped, his tongue was sticking out. The concrete clipped him on the chin, and he bit his tongue nearly off. It hung by a string of flesh as his head rolled a crooked course toward the pool—toward me.

He seemed to glance at me each time his face came up.

The stump of his neck flung blood through the air.

His tongue came off.

He bounced and rolled all the way to the pool. By the time he reached its edge, his nose was flat and his front upper teeth were broken out. He gave me a quick, awful grin, then sailed off the edge and plopped into the water about a yard in front of me.

The water went pink around his sinking head.

I waded backward as fast as I could.

Elroy’s head seemed to pursue me.

But I stopped paying attention to it when the den door rumbled open.

Out stepped my midnight swimmer.

He held the saber in his right hand.

He wore nothing but shorts. From face to feet, he was spattered with blood. Except for his left arm, which was sleeved with it.

Somewhere in Serena and Charlie’s house, he must’ve made an awful mess.

If he kills me, I thought, at least I won’t have to worry about cleaning it up.

(You think odd stuff at times like that.)

He walked straight to the edge of the pool, then stopped and rested the point of the sword on the concrete beside his bare foot.

“Hello again,” he said. He seemed serious, but calm.

I didn’t say anything. I was having trouble breathing. Then I flinched as something brushed against the side of my right leg.

“You must’ve known I’d come back for you.”

I took a step backward to get away from Elroy’s head.

“Don’t. Don’t try to get away from me. You can’t get away from me. I’m way too fast for you. And today, I’m the one with the sword. I could kill you in the blink of an eye. Or slice off small parts of you here and there. You don’t want me to do that, do you?”

I shook my head.

“You be my good girl, then.”

I nodded.

“Don’t move,” he said, then raised the saber, stepped off the edge, and dropped into the pool. As water splashed up around him, I took a single step backward. He didn’t seem to notice. But he waded closer to me, and I didn’t dare move away from him again. “You’re very lucky to have a pool,” he said. “I wish I had one.”

Lowering his sword, he crouched down until the water covered his shoulders. Then he swished his left arm around, apparently trying to wash the blood off, and the water around it went pink.

“Your name is Alice, right?” he asked.

(Of course, he didn’t say Alice. He said my real name, which is my secret.)

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I’ve heard.” He dunked his head.

I thought about making a break.

Before I could decide, his head came up, hair matted flat, water running down his face. With his left hand, which wasn’t bloody anymore, he rubbed his face.

“I’m Steve,” he said.

“I’m charmed,” I said.

He smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

“That’s sarcasm, Stevie.”

His left hand smacked me hard across the face, burning my cheek and knocking my head sideways. My eyes filled with tears.

“That wasn’t very nice,” I said.

“Depends which side you’re on.”

“From this side, it sucked.”

“If you didn’t like it, you’d better learn how to behave.”

“Consider me taught,” I said.

He grabbed me through the front of my bra, squeezed my nipple and lifted. Both my hands were free. I didn’t try to fight him, though. Wincing, I went up on tiptoes and kept my hands down by my sides. Instead of begging him to stop, I hissed through my teeth and glared at him.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, keeping his grip. “We’re going to climb out of the pool, then have ourselves a nice party. Margaritas and barbecued steaks. You have my permission to marinate them. Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” I gasped.

“This could be a very pleasant experience for both of us.”

“I bet.”

He pinched me.

I flinched and tears ran down my face.

“You made me do that, Alice. And I enjoyed doing it. Did you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“Then why did you make me do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you like me to do it again?”

“No.”

“I can even do worse. Much worse.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You’ll be my good girl?”

“Yes.”

“My sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Yes.”

He pinched me again. I jerked rigid with the pain, and cried out. He squeezed even harder. Writhing, I arched my spine and threw back my head. Tears spilled down my face.

And I felt his tongue.

Even as he kept pinching me, he licked the tears off my cheeks.

Finally, he let go of my nipple. He put his arm around my back and I sagged against him, sobbing. His hand caressed my back gently.

I thought about taking a bite out of his neck.

I could probably kill him if I did it well.

But he had the sword underwater in his right hand. Even mortally wounded, he could kill me with it in an instant.

Just wait, I told myself. Do everything he says. Be his good girl, his sweetheart, his slave, his whore, his anything-he-wants-me-to-be.

Sooner or later, I’ll get him.

I’ll get him good.

He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

Hasn’t got a clue.

But he’ll find out the hard way.

His hand slid down below the waistband of my panties, and gave my bare buttock a squeeze. “So,” he said, “are we ready to enjoy our party?”

“I’m ready,” I said.

I must’ve said it okay, because he didn’t hurt me.

“Let’s climb out of the pool,” he said. “You go first. I’ll be right behind you. Do everything I tell you to—without hesitation or wisecracks—and we’ll have ourselves a merry time. I might even allow you to live.”

He let go of me, then stepped out of my way and gestured for me to step past him.

As I waded, I looked for Elroy’s head.

I spotted it a couple of yards to my left, hovering just above the tile bottom of the pool, staring straight up as if he were trying to figure the best way of reaching the surface.

Poor bastard.

He’d been a schmuck, but he didn’t deserve this.

I glared at Steve, but kept my mouth shut and waded on past him. At the wall of the pool, I braced myself with both hands and boosted myself up.

Steve swatted me across the ass with the saber.

Crying out, I flung myself over the edge and scurried to my feet. I hobbled away from the pool, clutching my buttocks. They felt as if they’d been lashed, but not slashed. There was no cut. He must’ve used the flat side of the blade.

“Looks count, too,” he informed me.

When I turned around, he was just standing up.

I kept rubbing my butt.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” I said.

“That’s a good one, coming from you.”

I gaped at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“You can’t play innocent with me, honey. I saw what you did last night.”

“What I did?”

“You’re about as cold-blooded as they come.” He smirked. “Maybe that’s why I find myself so strangely attracted to you. Let’s go inside, now. Take me to the kitchen.”

I turned around and saw the trail of blood leading to the den’s open door. “Okay if we go in the other way?” I asked.

“Suit yourself.”

“May I please get dressed?” I asked.

“You may not. I like you just the way you are. Let’s go.”

I led the way alongside the house, stepped behind the table and chairs, and slid open the living-room door. Steve followed me into the house.

Glancing over my shoulder, I asked, “What do you think you saw me do last night?”

“I saw what you did do. Involving the sword and a certain unlucky young man who came to your door.”

“I thought he was you.”

“Isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do?”

“Well, you had me scared.”

Entering the kitchen, I expected to find Elroy’s headless body on the floor. But it wasn’t there. Nor did I see any blood or signs of a struggle.

“Go ahead and marinate the steaks,” Steve said. “I know you prefer them that way.”

“You were spying on us?” I asked, heading for the cupboard where Serena kept her sauces.

“You might say that.”

“Where were you?”

“Trade secret.”

I took down the bottle of teryaki, found a platter, and stepped over to the counter where I’d left the steaks. I tried to pry them apart, but they were still frozen together. “Can you get them apart?” I asked Steve.

“They’ll come apart in the natural course of time.”

“Thanks.”

“That comes perilously close to a wisecrack.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

“Better watch yourself.”

“I will,” I said. I placed the steaks on the platter, drenched them with teryaki sauce, picked them up rubbed them with both hands to make sure they were wet everywhere, then put them back into the platter.

My hands were dripping with the spicy brown liquid. As I turned toward the sink, Steve said, “Wait. I’ll lick them clean.”

So I held out both my hands, fingers open and spread. Steve licked and sucked them.

It seemed like a weird thing to do—like licking my tears off. But I’ve got to admit, it felt pretty good. Especially when he sucked each one of my fingers all the way into his mouth. In other circumstances, it might’ve been a real turnon. For instance, if someone like Murphy had been doing it to me. With Steve, I was too scared to enjoy it very much.

I had a big worry, for one thing, that he might bite one of my fingers off.

For another, I figured he had terrible plans for me, for later on.

As the last finger slurped out of his mouth, he smiled and said, “Yummy. You’re delicious.”

I almost said, “Eat me,” but stopped myself in the nick of time.

Instead, I said, “Thanks.”

“Now you may go ahead and wash your hands, if you like.”

I turned to the sink. I used soap and hot water on them. While I was drying my hands on a dish towel, Steve buzzed the blender a few times.

Then he said, “Get me out a clean glass. I wouldn’t want to use Elroy’s. Might catch something.”

“Like what?”

“I wouldn’t know. But he must’ve been gravely ill. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Hilarious, I thought.

Keeping my mouth shut, I took down a clean glass for Steve. He lifted the pitcher of frothy margarita off the blender.

“Do you want salt on your rim?” I asked.

“I take my rims without.”

“Healthier that way.”

He chuckled. “Do you really suppose I’m worried about my health? With my lifestyle, I’m looking forward to a lethal injection—or perhaps a bullet—but certainly not hardening of the arteries.”

“And what lifestyle is that?”

“I like to think of myself as a ‘thrill-killer.’”

“Charming,” I muttered.

“Now, march,” he said.

“Where?”

“Out to the table. It’s time for the Happy Hour.”

I stepped past him and left the kitchen. On our way across the living room, I asked, “Did you get a thrill out of killing Elroy?”

“Not particularly, though it was amusing. I killed him because he was an obstacle in the way of you.”

“Where is he?”

“Here and there.”

“I know where his head is,” I pointed out. “Where’s the rest of him?”

“Already worrying about clean-up?”

“I just want to know.”

“He’s in the guest bathroom.”

“You killed him in the bathroom?”

“Standing at the toilet, as a matter of fact. Took him completely by surprise. I’m afraid his aim got thrown off when he lost his head. Pissed all over the place. But he finally fell into the tub. Would you like to see?”

“No thanks.”

47

THE HAPPY HOUR

“Remarkable woman,” Steve said as he filled my glass from the pitcher.

“Who is?”

“You, of course.”

“What do you know about it?” I said.

He poured margarita into his own glass, then placed the pitcher on the table. “More than you might think,” he said. Before sitting down, he moved his chair around to the other side of the table.

He lowered the saber and leaned it against the side of his left thigh. Probably so he could go for it quickly with his right hand by reaching across his lap. The sword version of a cross-draw.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, and took a sip. “Very good margarita.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a fine figure of a woman.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And extremely dangerous.”

I smiled sweetly.

“I’ve never run into a woman like you before. And, I must say, neither had Milo.”

“Milo?”

“Alas, poor Milo. We were partners, you know. Well, not exactly partners. Let’s say Milo was my mentor. Until you killed him.”

“Killed him? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” he said. Fortunately, he seemed amused, not angry. “Spare me the innocent routine. I saw you do it.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Where do you think? At our camp in the woods.”

“You were there?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You must really get around,” I said.

A smile spread over his face. “I do, I do. It’s my specialty. Getting around. Coming and going. In a most sneaky fashion.”

“You weren’t very sneaky last night in the pool.”

“That doesn’t count. I wanted you to see me.”

“Sure you did.”

“Watch out, you’re treading close to sarcasm. I may have to hurt you.”

“You’re going to kill me, anyway.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Sure.”

He leaned forward slightly in his chair, and something gouged my leg.

“Ow!” I scooted back my chair and looked down. On the side of my left calf, I now had a small, crescent-shaped wound. Made, probably, by the nail of Steve’s big toe.

“Real nice,” I said.

“Be my good girl and these things won’t happen.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough. When I tell you something, accept it.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I was supposed to see you last night.”

“That’s right. You only see me when you’re supposed to.”

“Okay.”

Grinning, he said, “Do you know that I spied on you yesterday afternoon?”

“No. Did you?”

“Absolutely. For a couple of hours. And you were completely unaware of my presence.”

“But I’m sure you were there.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Sorry,” I said.

“You were sunning yourself by the pool,” he said. “A vision. That’s when I decided I must have you.” He frowned. “Not me so much as Milo, actually.”

“You wanted me for him? That fat, disgusting slob?”

“He always got firsties. That was our arrangement. I would’ve gotten you after he was done.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Cheer up. He won’t get firsties anymore, thanks to you.”

“Good.”

“I could almost feel sorry for him. He was very much looking forward to you.”

“Is that so? Was he here, too?”

“Oh, no. I discovered you all on my own.”

“Where was Milo?”

“Back at camp with Marilyn.”

Marilyn? Must’ve been the dead woman in Milo’s tent.

The woman he’d been eating.

Had Steve been at her, too? I didn’t want to think about it. “If Milo was at the camp,” I said, “how could he be looking forward to me?”

“Oh, I went back and told him all about you. And, of course, I showed him the photos.”

“What photos?”

“I took Polaroids of you.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not in the least. I always take snapshots of our special gals.” Grinning, he said, “Before and after.”

“After?”

“You know.”

“Jeez.”

“We have quite a striking collection, really. We? Hum. It’s just me, now. I’m going to miss that big galoot. There may be lonely times ahead.” He drank some more of his margarita.

“So you not only spied on me yesterday afternoon, you also took pictures of me?”

“Exactly. I got several excellent shots, too. Close-ups. For a few of them, I was this close to you.”

“How close?”

“As close as I am now.”

Three feet? “No way,” I said.

“Oh, yes way. I’m very good at sneaking about.”

“Those cameras are noisy.”

“I didn’t say you were awake at the time. Let me tell you, your snoring was considerably louder than the camera. You were asleep right there,” he said, and pointed at the nearby padded lounger where I’d napped, off and on, through much of yesterday afternoon. “When you weren’t asleep,” he said, “you were drinking Bloody Marys, reading a John D. MacDonald book called A Tan and Sandy Silence, and…”

“Okay, I get the picture. You were here.”

“You interrupted me.”

“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

“I was about done, anyway.”

“What else did you do while I was asleep?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t…touch me at all?”

“I was tempted. You looked absolutely scrumptious. As you do now. But you might’ve woken up. Anyway, it was my job to reconnoiter, not enjoy. Scout, and return with my findings to Milo.”

“So after you took those Polaroids of me, you ran back to camp and showed them to Milo?”

“He was enthralled. We’re rarely lucky enough to get our hands on anyone as…attractive as you.”

“So then what happened?” I asked. “After you showed him the photos?”

“Plenty. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that. You want to know about my return last night.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, we decided that Milo would stay in camp to keep the home fires burning, and I would pay you a visit shortly after midnight.”

“Which is when I saw you.”

“I let you see me.”

“Okay.”

“I knew you were watching. That’s why I took off my shorts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was hoping to lure you out.”

“What?”

“Lure you out.”

“You’re kidding. You thought I’d come out if you stripped for me?”

“Oh, it’s a tried-and-true technique.” He grinned. “In fact, you were pulling much the same stunt in order to lure Elroy out of the house just a few minutes ago.”

“That was different.”

“Oh, really?”

“For one thing, I wasn’t some stranger. For another, guys are crazy about breasts. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“It doesn’t? I must say, that comes as a surprise to me. In my own experience, the stripping routine rarely fails. Of course, I don’t always get completely naked. That depends on the woman. But I often let myself be seen in various stages of undress. I’m just there, keeping my distance, pretty much minding my own business, as if I’ve shown up by accident. And I allow them to watch me, to spy on me. The longer they watch me, the more intrigued—and aroused—they become. It works most of the time.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. It’s so easy. I don’t have to break in and catch my victims, they come to me. More often than not. But you have to realize, I’ve already checked them out. They’re always women. Always alone. In some cases, it’s obvious that they’re…hungry for romance. You, for instance.”

Feeling myself blush, I said, “You had that wrong.”

“Did I?”

“You’d better believe it.”

“I don’t believe it. It would’ve been obvious to anyone who saw you by the pool yesterday. That bikini you had on, the way you rubbed the suntan oil on your body, the way you sprawled on the lounger…you wanted hands on you. You wanted a man all over you and in you.”

“Wrong,” I said, and squirmed a little.

“I told Milo, ‘This gal’s as hot to trot as they come. I might not be able to keep her off me.’ So, I must say, it came as a shock to find you calling the cops.”

“Couldn’t have been much of a shock, the way you started humping the door.”

He looked confused for a moment, then grinned. “Oh, that,” he said. “Afraid I couldn’t help it. You looked so…ravishing. You were wearing that silk robe. And your breast was out, you know.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Perhaps not.”

“No perhaps about it. It was an accident.”

“Are there any such things as accidents? Freud, I believe, said no.”

“Fuck Freud,” I said.

Chuckling softly, Steve lowered his eyes from my face to my breasts.

“Let me see them now,” he said. “Take off the bra.”

I gave some thought to refusing. But he would’ve hurt me. Besides, my bra was wet from the pool and not exactly comfortable. Also, it was a warm night with a soft breeze.

On top of all that, he had the saber. If he wanted my bra off, it would come off whether I refused or not.

I went ahead and took it off and dropped it to the concrete beside my chair.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Spectacular.”

I picked up my glass, finished the remains of my margarita, and set it down on the table. Standing up, Steve gave me a refill from the pitcher.

When he was seated again, I said, “I wasn’t really calling the police, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“I just wanted you to think I was. It was a wrong number. Somebody called the house by mistake. But you had no way of knowing that. For all you could tell, it was me calling 911. I even turned on the light to make sure you would see me.”

“What a gal. Gorgeous, tough, and tricky.”

“Obviously, not tricky enough. Or as tricky as you. You didn’t really go away, did you? You just wanted me to think I’d scared you off.”

“That’s right. I ran off into the woods, but then I circled back.”

“Weren’t you afraid the cops might show up?”

“Not in the least. If they’d come, I simply would’ve disappeared into the woods. I’m very good at disappearing.” He took a sip of his drink, then looked at me. First at my breasts, then at my face. Then he said, “So who did show up?”

“You don’t know?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Not as smart as you think you are,” I said.

He lurched forward over the table and his hand flew out and slapped me across the face. Then, smiling mildly, he settled back in his chair and asked, “So, who did show up?”

I rubbed my cheek and said, “A guy named Tony. I didn’t even know him. He was the one who’d called. I’d told him about you on the phone, and I guess he decided to come over and protect me. I guess that’s what he had in mind. He never told me anything.”

“He came to save you from me, and you smote him with your sword.”

“I suppose you saw that.”

“Sure did. I saw everything, from the moment you opened the front door till you drove away with his pieces. It was a rather amazing spectacle.” Shaking his head, Steve said, “I could hardly believe my eyes when you started to dismember him. It seemed—so over the top.”

“He was too heavy, that’s all. It was the only way I could get him into the trunk.”

“I was awestruck. And rather smitten with you, I must admit. Not only was your behavior truly extraordinary, but you were stark naked much of the time. A sight to behold.” With a grin, he asked, “Were you naked by accident?”

“I didn’t want to get everything bloody, that’s all.”

“Well, I thank you. It was magnificent to watch you at work, all bare and sweaty. God, how I wanted you!”

“So, how come you didn’t jump me?”

“Oh, that would’ve interrupted your show. I wanted to see it through to the finish.” With a small laugh, he said, “I will be lucky enough to catch the end, though. I’ll be a participant in it. But I regret missing some of the middle parts. I wanted so badly to follow you when you drove away with poor Tony in pieces in your trunk.”

“What did you do, go running back to the woods to tell Milo all about it, show him some more photos?”

“I didn’t have the camera. It’s no good at night. The flash would give me away. No, I stayed at the house. I wanted to be there when you came back. So I waited and waited. I waited an awfully long time. It was just an agony, the waiting, because I longed for you so much. Finally, I decided to call it a night, and try again tomorrow. So I bid your house a fond farewell and hiked back through the woods to our campsite…and who should I find there but you? YOU, my splendid savage, in the very midst of a life and death struggle with my dear demented friend, Milo!”

“And you did nothing but hide and watch?”

“It was a splendid show. All of it.”

“You just…let me go ahead and kill him?”

“Certainly.”

“Why didn’t you try to save him?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Why, oh why? Perhaps because you might’ve killed me? You had that pistol. I’ve never much fancied the notion of being shot. I certainly didn’t want to risk a bullet for Milo’s sake. I’d grown weary of him. He was so bossy. And he always had to have firsties. One gets tired of sloppy seconds.”

A thoughtful look on his face, Steve said, “I suppose I was pulling for you to win. That would be a reason for not trying to save Milo, wouldn’t it? Also, I was enjoying the show too much to join in. There’s nothing like a good fight, especially when a woman is involved. Especially when the woman is you.

“And then, after slaying Milo, you enthralled me with your bizarre treatment of Judy.”

“You watched everything?”

“And heard most of everything. It was wonderful.”

“And then what happened? When I left. Did you follow me then?”

“Ah, no. I gave it some thought, but…I was exhausted by then. So I let you go away, figuring I would stay at camp and take care of loose ends and save you for another day.” With a languid smile, he added, “A day like today.”

“What about Judy?” I asked.

“What about her?”

“What did you do to her?”

“Let me put it this way, darling. I cut her down.”

48

BODY HEAT

Steve stuck a tortilla chip into his mouth and crunched it.

“Uck. These are terrible.”

“They’re healthy chips,” I pointed out. “Low fat, cholesterol free, salt free.”

“Taste like paper.” He took a long drink of margarita to wash the chip down. Then he said, “Are you starving? I’m starving. Why don’t we go ahead and barbecue those steaks?”

“They’re probably still frozen.”

“Let’s have a look.”

“Fine with me.”

Steve and I got up from the table. Holding the saber in his right hand, he followed me into the house. At the kitchen counter, I lifted the T-bones out of the teryaki sauce. They were wet and slippery, and still stuck together. With Steve beside me and leaning forward to watch, I dug my fingertips into the edges where the two steaks met, and pulled hard. Suddenly, they came apart with a sound like ripping cloth.

“Bravo!” Steve said.

I set them down on the platter. “They’re still awfully frozen, but…”

“I’ll thaw them out,” Steve said. Taking me by the arm, he turned me toward him. Then, using both hands, he lifted the dripping steaks off the platter and pushed them against my breasts.

I gasped and flinched with their frigid touch.

“This’ll warm them up fast,” he said, grinning.

“Come on,” I said. “Quit it.”

“Nothing like body heat for thawing out steaks.”

“Please.”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he warned.

I almost grabbed his wrists, but stopped myself in time.

I did back away from him. He came after me, though, grinning and rubbing me with the steaks. Before I got far, my retreat was stopped by a turn in the counter. Steve cornered me and slid the steaks all over my breasts. They felt like slabs of ice. They made my skin burn. My nipples were rigid and aching. My breasts dripped with teryaki sauce, and dribbles ran down my belly.

Finally, he tossed the steaks onto the counter. They thunked the tile surface and skidded a few inches.

Clutching my sides with his wet hands, he crouched in front of me and started to clean the sauce off me with his mouth. First, he licked the dribbles off my belly. Then he slid his tongue over my breasts. He licked and sucked.

After the frigid beef, the heat of his mouth felt good.

It all felt good, especially what he was doing to my nipples with his tongue and lips.

But I worried about his teeth.

What’s to stop him from biting me?

What’s to stop him from eating me?

His buddy, Milo, ate Marilyn.

Maybe they both did.

I clutched Steve’s shoulders, ready to thrust him away in case of trouble.

And stared at the saber.

Needing both hands for his games with the steaks, he’d left the saber propped upright against the counter, five or six feet behind him.

But he was in the way, hunched down, working my breasts with his mouth.

One good shove…

He would land on his back within easy reach of the saber.

If he gets it before I do…

I couldn’t think straight because of what he was doing to me, but I knew this wouldn’t be a good time to risk an attack on him.

Wait till it’s a sure thing.

What if it’s never a sure thing?

Just not now.

He suddenly bit my right nipple. I cried out and rammed my knee up. As it caught him in the chest, his mouth sprang open, freeing my nipple, and I shoved him backward by the shoulders. His back slammed against the kitchen floor.

Just as I figured, he landed beside the saber.

Before he could make a reach for it, I lurched forward between his legs and tried to kick him in the groin. It was a powerful kick. It would’ve knocked his balls into next Tuesday. But his hand shot down and caught my ankle and stopped my kick cold.

He could stop my foot, but not me.

Even as he gripped my ankle, I dropped onto him, driving my knees down hard into his belly.

He had solid stomach muscles. But not solid enough.

The moment my knees hit him, he let go of my ankle. His lips formed an O. He said, “Ooomph!” His eyes bugged out, and his head and shoulders came up off the floor.

For me, it was like kneeling on a raft shooting the rapids. I didn’t stand a chance of staying up. Thanks to the fact that Steve had been clutching my right foot, I’d gone down on him with my body slightly turned—facing the saber. So I fell toward it.

As Steve’s face got jammed with the left side of my ribcage, I reached high with my right hand and got hold of the blade. Then I flung myself over, trying to roll off him. But he hugged me around the rump. I rolled off him, all right, but he stayed with me. I ended up on my back, Steve on top with his face between my breasts.

His breath was still knocked out, so he was wheezing and gagging and not very strong.

He was trying to pull his arms out from under me.

Clutching the saber where I’d first grabbed it—high on the blade—I pounded the top of Steve’s head with the hilt. The blade hurt my hand. That close to the hilt, though, it wasn’t very sharp. I didn’t think it had cut me.

But the hilt clobbered Steve.

I got him with the metal part that curves over to protect your hand during a sword fight.

He grunted and flinched. Then he jerked his arms out from under my ass and I was afraid of what he might do, so instead of worrying about my hand, I hammered him with the hilt about five more times hard and fast. My hand hurt with each blow, but I bashed the crap out of Steve’s head and knocked him out cold.

He lay on top of me as if he’d suddenly fallen asleep.

Blood poured out of his torn scalp, soaked his hair, spilled all over my chest.

Bucking and twisting, I threw him off me.

He landed on his back, and I got to my feet. My right hand hurt like mad. I switched the saber to my left, then checked the damage. Not much. The blade had pressed several deep dents across my hand and fingers, but there were no cuts.

I’d gotten off lucky.

In more ways than one.

In plenty of ways.

I stared down at Steve. He still seemed to be unconscious. His head was lying in a nice puddle of blood.

I was all bloody, myself. I looked as if a small animal had died a messy death between my breasts.

Steve could’ve had a jolly time licking me clean.

I thought about waking him up and making him do it.

But he might bite me again. Or worse.

Over at the counter, I tore some paper towels off a roll and wiped the worst of the blood off me. I would’ve liked to take a shower.

But—as usual—I had too many other things to do.

Steve wouldn’t stay unconscious forever.

Probably.

Right now, I had a choice to make: either kill him, or not.

No, that’s wrong. Letting him live wasn’t a real option.

For one thing, he knew too much. He knew my name and where I lived. He’d seen me kill Tony and Milo. He’d seen me abuse Judy, and had probably made her talk before killing her. If the cops got him alive, he would likely “turn over” on me to get a deal.

For another thing, the guy had murdered Elroy and Judy and maybe Marilyn (the dead woman in Milo’s tent). God only knows how many other people he and Milo had murdered as a team. He’d called himself a “thrill-killer” and he was probably a cannibal, to boot.

Besides, given the chance, he would try to murder me.

So the real choices were between killing Steve here and now, or killing him somewhere else, later.

I was very tempted to do it here and now. Immediately, he would stop being a threat. (Dead men not only tell no tales, they get no tails. They don’t rape, torture, or murder anyone ever again.)

But I would be stuck with Steve’s body on the kitchen floor. And Elroy’s headless body in the guest bathroom. And Elroy’s head in the swimming pool. And various other, more manageable messes.

Quite frankly, I’d had enough of that shit.

He made the messes, let him clean them up!

YEAH!

It would be risky. But I had the saber, now.

While I waited for him to regain consciousness, I wondered about tying him up. Some manner of restraint seemed necessary. But how could he pick up Elroy, and so on, if his hands were tied? How could he carry the body away from the house with his feet bound together?

Pretty soon, I came up with a good solution.

I hurried into the laundry room. Serena had a fifteen-foot electrical extension cord that she mostly used for her iron. I unplugged it, gathered it up, and hurried back into the kitchen with it. Steve looked as if he hadn’t moved.

I set my saber on top of a counter, then took a small knife out of the butcher block knife holder. In Serena’s “junk drawer,” I found some heavy-duty strapping tape. The sort that has threads running through it, so it’s almost unbreakable.

Kneeling by Steve’s bare feet, I tied one end of the electrical cord around his left ankle. I knotted it as well as I could, but cords make lousy knots. You just can’t pull them tight enough. So then I unspooled about a yard of tape and cut it off with the knife. I used the tape to wrap his ankle and the cord. Then used another length of tape, just to make sure.

When I was done, the cord seemed completely secure.

I had fashioned a “foot-leash” for Steve.

I retrieved the saber. Then I put all the sharp kitchen knives into a drawer so they wouldn’t be handy for Steve. When that was done, I picked up my end of the extension cord and gave it a couple of tugs.

“Hey, Steve!” I yelled. “Wake up! We’ve got work to do!”

49

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Perhaps I’d bashed him too hard.

Though I yelled at him and gave him nudges with my foot, he refused to stir.

To make sure he wasn’t faking, I gave the crotch of his shorts a couple of prods with the tip of my saber. He didn’t react, so I was convinced.

Now what?

In his present condition, he was useless. Worse than useless. Not only could he not do any chores for me, but I couldn’t leave his side.

Well, I could leave his side, but not the kitchen.

At any moment, he might come to. I needed to be nearby when that happened, not off somewhere bringing in the margarita pitcher or gathering up my clothes or cleaning Elroy’s assorted fluids off the bathroom floor.

Standing over him, I tried to think…plan my moves.

Top priority was keeping control of Steve, so I crouched down and slid his right leg over against his left, then wrapped the cord around both his ankles. Just a simple precaution to keep him from making any quick attacks.

As an added precaution, I placed a kitchen chair on top of him. The chair didn’t touch him. With its front legs under his armpits and its rear legs beside his thighs, its job was to keep him from getting up fast and silently.