Flesh (16 page)

Jason grabbed the blanket off the backseat and hurried after her.

She waited for him at the door of the Oakwood. After taking a drink, she handed the bottle to him. “Ladies first,” she said in a trembling whisper. Then she opened the door. Taking hold of Jason’s elbow, she led him inside and shut the door. “Oh God, dark in here.”

“I’ve got matches,” Jason whispered. His heart was sledging.

“We don’ need no steenking matches,” she said with a Mexican accent.

“Don’t you want to see wh—?”

“I like zee dark.” Her left arm went around Jason. He let
the blanket fall. He put his arms around her, the champagne bottle in his right hand pressing against her back.

She felt warm, but her body shivered. When they kissed, he realized that even her chin was trembling. Her tongue went into his mouth. Her right hand caressed his rump while her left untucked the back of his shirt and went under it and roamed his back.

He eased his mouth away from her. Her face was a vague pale shape with black holes instead of eyes and a mouth. He didn’t like seeing it this way. “I’ve gotta get rid of the bottle.”

“Polish id off.”

“I don’t want any more.”

“Give.” He brought it to the front. Her hand covered his, then took the bottle. A moment later, he heard her swallowing. He reached through the darkness to the area below her dim face. One hand found a shoulder, the other an armpit. Once he knew what he was touching, he had no trouble locating her breasts. He took them in his hands. Celia stopped swallowing and moaned. She took a quick breath when he gently squeezed her stiff nipples.

The champagne bottle thunked to the floor, startling Jason. He flinched. Celia gasped sharply, “Ah!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Never mind.”

A hand pressed the front of his pants. He squirmed against it, aching. He felt a small pull, then heard his zipper clicking downward.

He wished he could think. He wanted her. But not here. He wanted to get her out of here, but he wanted to feel her cool fingers on him and he wanted to put his hand through the open side of her gown and follow the smooth warm skin of her thigh upward. And then we’re naked and we spread the blanket and it’s not supposed to be this way. It’s not the plan.

We’re here now, we should go by the plan.

She didn’t reach in. She tugged at his belt, instead. He could hear her breathing heavily as he rubbed her breasts.

“Wait,” he gasped in a husky whisper.

“Wha’?”

“I’ve gotta use the john.”

“Lemme have the matches. I’ll ged the place ready.”

“I’ll need one to find the john.” He took the matchbook from his pocket, peeled out a match and struck it. The brightness hurt his eyes. Celia squinted against the glare.

He gave the matchbook to her, then headed for the alcove at the far end of the bar where the rest rooms were located. He stepped around the card table. The match was hot on his fingertips, so he shook it out. Hands in front of him, feeling the air, he made his way slowly forward.

Behind him, a match snicked. He hurried the rest of the way to the alcove, then looked back. Celia was standing midway between the front door and the corner of the bar, straddle legged, looking down at the blanket. She staggered and almost fell when she bent over to pick it up. With one hand, she shook the blanket open. Very slowly she raised the match and puffed it out. She vanished.

Jason stared into the darkness, waiting for another match to flare. It didn’t happen. Finally, he turned around and felt his way along the wall. He found the door to the men’s room. He turned the handle, stepped inside, and flicked the light switch.

Roland, sitting on the toilet, grinned up at him.

“How’s it going?” Roland whispered.

Jason shook his head.

Roland pointed at his open fly. “I assume, from that, that you’re not alone.”

“She’s here.” He pulled his zipper up and fastened his belt. Then he leaned back against the rest room door. He took a deep breath. He rubbed his face. “I’ve got my doubts, Ro.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a nice girl. This seems like a rotten way to use her.”

“You want to help Dana, don’t you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. But it’s a stupid idea, anyway. What are the chances that the guy’ll come back tonight?”

“He was here last night,” Roland pointed out. “And he made a good catch. So why wouldn’t he come back and try for another?”

“It’s crazy.”

“When he comes, we’ll nab him.”

Jason shook his head. Pushing himself away from the door, he stepped to the sink and turned on a faucet. “Don’t want her hearing us,” he said.

“Where is she?”

“Over near the front door. She was spreading the blanket.” Jason splashed water onto his face, wiped himself dry with the front of his shirt, and stepped backward until he was leaning against the door.

“Did you get her soused?” Roland asked.

“She’s demolished.”

“Great.”

“I feel like a shit.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to her.”

“If the guy comes—”

“We’ll nail him. And he’ll take us to Dana.”

“Celia, she’ll know I used her if the guy really shows up.”

“What do you care? She can’t do anything about it. It’s not like you kidnapped her or something, she came here of her own free will.”

“She didn’t plan to get used for bait.”

“Tough toenails. So maybe she’ll be pissed. But you’ll find Dana. It’ll be worth it, right?”

“I guess.”

Roland stood up. “We’d better get out there,” he said, and turned off the faucet. “Don’t want our madman running off with her while we’re in here gabbing. You go over to her, but be quiet about it. Don’t say anything. If this is going to work, she needs to conk out.”

“She was pretty wired when I left her.”

“Turned on?”

“Yeah, and jittery.”

“If she’s awake, fuck her. That’ll calm her down. Soon as she’s asleep, get back here. She won’t be much of a decoy if you’re right there with her.”

“I don’t know,” Jason muttered.

“You don’t know what?”

“This whole thing. Maybe I’ll just take her home.”

“Don’t be a jerk.”

“Ro, she’s
nice.
I like her.”

“Just going to let Dana turn in the wind?”

Jason twisted his face as if he had a gut-ache. That phrase got him, Roland thought—turning in the wind. “I’ll see how it goes,” he muttered.

Roland waved him away from the door, then flicked off the light and slowly turned the knob. The latch disengaged without a sound. The hinges were silent as he eased the
door open. He grinned. He’d thought of everything. Earlier, after popping open the lock with a simple twist of his knife point, he had sprayed oil on the latch and knob and hinges.

His bare feet were silent on the hardwood floor. He could hear Jason’s footsteps behind him, but they weren’t very loud. Running a hand along the wall, he found the entryway and stopped beneath it.

Jason put a hand on his shoulder.

The light in the bathroom had messed up Roland’s night vision. Except for gray areas near the windows, everything looked black. He listened, but heard only his own heartbeat and Jason breathing close to his ear. Jason sounded like he’d just finished a sprint. His breath smelled of liquor.

Roland turned sideways, his back to the edge of the entryway. He found Jason’s shirt and gave it a slight tug. Jason stepped past him and started through the room.

Going great, Roland thought.

He hoped that Celia was still awake. He hoped that Jason would fuck her. If that happened, he’d sneak up close have a ring side seat. Nothing to see, but plenty to hear. And he’d be able to imagine the rest. He’d looked her over good yesterday at the mall—her and her friend, the cute one.

Could’ve been that one tonight. But this was fine. This was great. The date gimmick might not have worked on Celia’s friend, and he liked the date gimmick. The bait-date. What a laugh. People were so damned fun to manipulate. Mess around some with their heads, they’ll do whatever you want.

So how’s it going Jason, old pal? Ready to pork her?

Pork.

Roland laughed softly, caught himself and pressed his lips together hard.

He heard quiet footfalls.

Jason was coming back.

“She’s zonked,” Jason whispered.

Shit. So much for the good-time show. “Great,” Roland said.

“So where do we hide? We should probably get closer. Maybe one of us should wait behind the bar?”

“Good idea.”

“You got the handcuffs?”

“Right here.” Roland patted a front pocket of his jeans.

“What about my hammer?”

Roland didn’t answer.

“You had it when I dropped you off.”

“I’m thinking.”

“I’m not gonna jump the guy bare-handed.”

“Must’ve left it in the john,” he said. “Yeah.”

“Well, go find it. Christ.”

Roland made his way back to the rest room. He entered and quietly shut the door. He turned on the light. The claw hammer was propped against the wall beside the toilet. He had placed it there, out of sight, intending to return for it once Jason realized he was without a weapon.

He picked it up. It still had a price sticker on its handle. They had bought it that afternoon at a hardware store for Jason to use against the fabricated maniac.

Roland pushed its wooden handle under his belt.

He popped open the snap of his knife case, removed the knife, and folded out the blade. It made a quiet click as it locked into place.

Facing the rest room door, Roland flipped off the light. He opened the door. “Jase?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“Find it?”

“Yeah, but come here.”

He listened to the shuffle of Jason’s shoes on the floor.

“What?”

“Come in here a minute, we’ve got to talk.”

Jason stepped inside and shut the door. “What is it?”

“I’m getting scared.”

“Oh, for Christ—”

“No, really. He reached out with his left hand, found Jason’s shoulder, and gripped it. “I never really believed the
guy’d show up, but I don’t know anymore. What if he does, and we can’t handle him? I mean, he might kill us all.”

“Calm down, Ro. My God. There’s two of us, and we’ll have the element of surprise, and besides which, he isn’t gonna show up anyway. We’ll wait for a couple of hours, then I’ll take Celia home and—”

Roland punched the knife into Jason’s belly. The impact slammed him against the door. Roland twisted the knife hard, pulled it out and shoved it in again. Jason grabbed his wrist. Roland jerked the knife back, freeing his bloody hand from Jason’s grip. Before he could strike again, a blow to his chest knocked him backward. He staggered through the darkness and started to fall. The edge of something—the sink?—pounded his rump. His feet slid forward on the wet tiles. He was going down. Throwing back his arms, he caught the sink with both elbows and braced himself as he struggled to get his legs under him. His feet kept sliding away.

The light came on.

He saw Jason on his knees, a shoulder against the door. The wall around the light switch was smeared with bloody handprints, as if Jason had found it essential to get the light on, to
see
what was happening. Jason turned his head and looked at Roland. His face was the color of dry ashes. His eyes were bugged out, his mouth so wide open that the corners of his lips had split and blood trickled down the sides of his chin.

Most of the floor between Jason and Roland was coated with a spreading red puddle. Roland, legs stretched out, had his heels in it. Still braced, he bent his knees and drew in his legs until they were directly beneath him. Carefully, he stood up. With his left hand on the sink, he held himself steady.

Jason clutched the doorknob and started to get up. His feet slipped away. He landed on his rump with a quiet splash of blood.

Roland switched the knife to his left hand. He pulled the hammer from his belt and started forward slowly, not daring
to lift his feet, sliding them instead, skating over the slick tiles. Jason gaped at him and raised a hand to ward off the blow. Roland swung, hammering the back of his wrist. The arm flopped aside. He brought the hammer down with all his strength on top of Jason’s head. It went in only half an inch. Lifting it, he saw a quarter-size indentation with matted hair inside. Blood began to fill the hole. He pounded once more, trying for the same place. The hammer, slightly off target, nicked a half-moon of skull off the edge of the original hole, smacked up a quick spray of blood and sank in deep.

Roland left the hammer embedded. He slid himself backward to admire his work. Jason was seated on the floor with his back against the door, his legs stretched out, his arms hanging at his sides. His pants and the lower half of his shirt were sodden with blood. His head, streaming blood, hung forward, chin against his chest. He wore the hammer like a weird party hat.

Though Jason didn’t move, the amount of blood spilling out from under the hammer meant that he wasn’t dead yet.

Some folks don’t die easy, Roland thought.

The thought surprised him. After all, Jason was only his second victim and Dana hadn’t been a problem.

But he knew there had been others—some who’d been very tough to kill. No big mystery, he told himself. The memories of the other kills had to be coming from his friend. Smiling, he rubbed the bulge on the back of his neck. He felt it squirm, and a small wave of pleasure washed through him.

Get on with it, he thought.

He skated closer to Jason. Hanging onto the doorknob, he squatted and slashed open Jason’s throat.

He stood up, tugged the hammer free and jammed its handle under his belt. He closed his knife and pushed it into its leather case, but didn’t bother to snap the case shut. Digging a hand into a front pocket of his jeans, he took out the handcuffs.

Jason’s weight was against the door. He tumbled onto his side when Roland opened it.

Roland flipped off the light, stepped out, and shut the door.

At first, his feet were slippery against the floor. But they became less slippery with each step. He stopped beneath the entryway to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

As he stood there, he felt a few tentative beats of pleasure. They came from his friend. Hints of the maddening ecstasy it would blast through him just a few minutes from now. Licking his dry lips, he wondered why it hadn’t given him a good zap for wasting Jason.

He wondered, then he knew. Jason had simply been in the way—an obstacle, not the real target. You just get a little boost for taking him out, the biggy is saved for when you deliver Celia.

Makes perfect sense, he thought, and was rewarded with a small thrill.

You don’t know, he thought. Shit, maybe you do, maybe you do. This is just my thing. I’ve always wanted to pull this kind of stuff, just never had the guts till you came along. I don’t need your zaps to get a charge out of it.

But the zaps are great.

Oh yes, oh yes. And I’ll get one soon.

His heart was thudding, his mouth dry, his breath trembling, his penis growing hard.

It was almost time. He could see a few things, now, in the darkness: the vague shape of the card table with a few bottles and glasses on top, the long flat surface of the bar counter, and a corner of something dark—maybe Jason’s blanket—caught in a spill of gray light from a window.

He couldn’t see Celia.

She had to be there. Asleep on the blanket.

He couldn’t hear her, either. Just his own heart and breathing.

She’s there unless she heard us in the can, he thought.

We didn’t make much noise. Jason hardly made a sound.
There hadn’t been anything to hear except maybe a couple of thuds. If she was good and plastered, she should’ve slept through all that.

Roland touched his knife case. The flap was loose. Beneath it, the brass butt of the knife handle felt gummy. He left the knife inside its case. He wouldn’t be needing it for a while.

He only needed the cuffs.

On the seat of his jeans, he wiped as much blood as possible off his hands.

He held one bracelet in his right hand, letting the other dangle by its chain, and started forward.

His bare feet snicked each time he lifted one off the floor. With each step, his heart pumped harder, his breath grew more raspy. Sweat stung his eyes and trickled down his sides. He walked with a slight stoop to ease the pressure of his erect penis against his jeans. He grinned. He felt so good now, and he wasn’t even getting any new surges from his friend. Those were yet to come.

He halted at the foot of the blanket. He still couldn’t see Celia.

What if she’s gone!

Then he heard her. She was taking long, slow breaths.

Roland crouched. He reached out carefully until his hand met the blanket. He felt something through its softness—probably a leg—and realized that Celia must have covered herself after lying down.

On his knees, Roland moved to her side. He searched with one hand for the edge of the blanket, found it and lifted it. As he uncovered her, she mumbled something but didn’t awaken.

He could see her now, in spite of the darkness. She was naked, and enough light found her skin to give it a vague, dusky hue. She lay on her back. Her legs were slightly apart, bare except for darker wrappings at her knees. Her right arm, inches from Roland’s knee, lay against her side. The wrapped elbow was bent slightly, and her hand rested with
curled fingers just above the jut of her hipbone. Her other arm was high, elbow pointing off to the side, hand beneath her head for a cushion.

Roland stared at the small patch of darkness between her legs. She didn’t have a bush like Dana. She must trim her hair down there, he thought.

He gazed at her breasts. They were dim mounds, tipped with darkness. They rose and fell slightly as she breathed.