Funland (44 page)

He saw the familiar mischief in her eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “I get it.”

She kissed him again, then said, “We have to go.”

“I was afraid of that. What time is it?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“What happened to the alarm?”

“I shut it off. I was awake anyway.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dave asked.

“Didn’t want to. It seemed like such a waste of time. It was so much nicer, staying awake and looking at you.”

“Voyeur.”

“You got it, pal.”

“You should’ve woken me.”

“Didn’t want to. You’ve had a hard night. You needed your sleep. That’s why I didn’t wake you up sooner.” She kissed him once more. “Okay, now, at ’em.”

She climbed off Dave, taking away her weight and smoothness and heat. He sat up and pulled the blanket to his waist. He watched Joan step into her panties, watched her pull a T-shirt down over her head. When her face reappeared, she said, “Show’s over. You can get dressed now.”

Dave scooted to the edge of the bed. He lowered his feet to the floor, but didn’t stand up.

Instead, he watched Joan slide into one of the dark blue vests he had picked up at the station that afternoon. She fastened it shut around her torso with Velcro straps. “You look like you’re ready to go water-skiing,” he said.

“Wishful thinking.” Squatting beside the grocery bag, she took out a shoulder harness. She slipped into it, and tucked her S&W .38 into the holster below her left armpit. A smaller holster went around her right ankle. She filled it with a chrome-plated semiauto. Still another harness came out of her sack. Dave shook his head as she got into it. She straightened the leather sheath against the right side of her rib cage and slid a long double-edged knife into it.

“God Almighty,” Dave said. “Where do you get your stuff, from
Soldier of Fortune
magazine?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Anything else? Have you got an Uzi in there?”

“This about does it.” When she reached into the sack again, she came out with a pair of gray sweatpants that looked as if they’d been dabbed with shoe polish.

Dave got up from the bed. He took fresh underwear and socks from his dresser and put them on while Joan covered the top part of her arsenal with a baggy sweatshirt. The shirt had rips in it that showed the blue of her Kevlar vest. The tears in her pants showed bare leg.

“My sexy Rambo,” Dave said. Like Joan, he put on a T-shirt to keep the vest away from his skin. Then he got into his jeans and vest and running shoes. He went to the closet for his own weapons: a snub-nosed .38 with a clip-on holster that he fastened to his belt on the right, and a 9mm Beretta with a shoulder harness.

“You don’t travel exactly light yourself,” Joan said, nodding at the Beretta.

“We oughta be able to take on an army,” Dave said.

“Debbie thinks we may have to.”

“You told her, huh?” Dave slipped into a heavy plaid shirt and watched Joan knot a red bandanna around her thigh. “What’s that for?”

“Style. Yeah, I told her. Probably should’ve kept it to myself, but I don’t like to do that. She was not pleased, to say the least. She’s afraid I won’t come back.”

Joan’s words made a cold knot in Dave’s belly. “I don’t blame her,” he said.

“She’s more worried about trolls than the teenagers. Still thinks they had something to do with Mom.” Joan carried her socks and a ratty old pair of running shoes to the bed, sat on its edge, and tried to hunch over to put them on. “Damn,” she muttered, having trouble because of her vest and harnesses.

“Allow me,” Dave said.

“My knight. So chivalrous.”

Kneeling in front of her, he started to put the socks on her feet.

“You’re pretty good at this,” she said, ruffling his hair. “You can be the official sock-putter-onner for our kids.”

He smiled up at her. “Our kids?”

“Or don’t you want any?”

“Of course I do.”

“How many?”

“As many as you want,” he said, and suddenly wished she hadn’t mentioned kids, hadn’t touched him with dreams of the future. A future that might not be there. The night ahead loomed in front of Dave like a black wall, and he feared there might be nothing beyond it.

That’s ridiculous, he told himself.

But they got Gloria.

Gloria was alone. She wasn’t armed. This is a whole different ball game.

He finished tying the shoes, and rubbed Joan’s thighs through the soft fabric of the sweatpants. He slipped a hand inside one of the rips. “Maybe we should check Gloria’s place on the way over,” he said.

“What’s the point? She won’t be there, we both know that.”

“Couldn’t hurt to check one more time. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Her eyes darkened. “I don’t want to go in there again.”

“You can wait in the car,” Dave said. They’d driven over after dinner. Joan had gone in with him, and the experience had obviously upset her. She’d walked stiffly through the house, clutching Dave’s hand, a grim look on her face. He couldn’t blame her. It was the home of his former lover, a woman who had probably been murdered last night, whose ruined body had likely been discarded in some lonely place where the killers hoped she would never be found.

When Dave started showing Gloria’s cast-off clothes to her, she’d shaken her head sharply, blurted, “I don’t want to see that stuff,” and nearly dragged him out of the house.

It was no wonder she didn’t want to go there again.

“I’ll make a phone call instead,” Dave told her.

“If you want.”

He went to the telephone on the nightstand and dialed Gloria’s number. After three rings the line opened. “Hello. This is Gloria.”

Dave’s heart jumped.

“Gloria?” he asked. He saw Joan’s head snap toward him, stunned surprise on her face.

“I’m not home right now, but if you’d like to leave a message…”

“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s her answering machine.” He’d probably left messages on the damn thing a hundred times. How could he have let it fool him, lift his hopes?

Joan’s face was slack with disappointment.

“…I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Right, he thought. Sure you will.

Dead.
She’s dead, and talking to me just as if nothing is wrong.

Her machine beeped, signaling him to leave his message.

He remembered how she used to complain about hang-ups.

He remembered how she often talked to him, home after all, once he’d identified himself.

“It’s Dave,” he said.

Joan’s lips curled. She looked sick.

“If you’re there, for Godsake pick up the phone.”

He listened to distant, empty sounds.

“Gloria? It’s Dave. Are you there?”

I’m talking to a dead woman.

He hung up.

Joan came to him and put her arms around him.

“We might as well get it over with,” he muttered. He hugged her tightly, feeling her stiff vest, the gun and knife, but also feeling the warmth of her legs, the softness of her cheek. He kissed her. “If I lose you because of this…”

“We owe God a death,” she said.

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

“’Tis not due yet.” She gently swatted his rump and stepped away from him.

He watched her reach into the paper bag, pull out a stocking cap, and drag it down over her head until only a fringe of blond hair showed around its edges.

She raised her eyebrows. “Am I devastating yet?”

“Gorgeous.”

She picked up the bag, which still had something in it.

“You
do
have an Uzi.”

“Just an old blanket,” she said.

“What’s that for?”

“More style.”

In the living room Dave waited while she opened her purse. She took her badge out of its leather case. “Can’t forget this,” she said. “Have you got yours?”

He patted his wallet.

Joan lifted her sweatshirt and pinned the shield to a strap of her shoulder harness. Then she picked up her bag again, and they left the house.

Dave locked the door with his house key, found the ignition key, and walked beside Joan toward the driveway, where his car waited.

Waited on flat tires.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

He walked around the car. All four tires were mashed against the pavement by the weight of the car. Joan, he saw, was heading for the street.

She looked back at him. “Mine too,” she said.

“You’re kidding.” He caught up with her. Joan’s car, parked at the curb, rested on four flat tires. “I’ll be damned.”

“Looks like somebody decided to sabotage our mission,” she said.

“That’s crazy. It was probably just some kids.”

“One kid in particular. My sister.”

“Debbie? You think she did this?”

“She must’ve. It can’t be just some weird coincidence. God, she must be a lot more upset than I thought.”

“Does she know where I live?”

“You’re in the book, partner. She just looked you up, hiked over here, and had at ’em.”

“Well, good for her!”

“The little beast. Wait’ll I get my hands on her.”

Dave tried to force the smile off his face, but didn’t succeed. “She’s a spunky kid. Must run in the family.”

“I’m gonna strangle her.”

“She just did it because she loves you.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna draw and quarter her, the rat.” Dave laughed.

“Yeah, yuck it up. Right.” Turning away from him, she crouched beside the front tire.

“It isn’t slashed, I hope.”

“Debbie wouldn’t go that far. I’m sure she just let the air out.” Joan rubbed her hands on the side of the tire. Standing up, she rubbed her face, then lowered her hands. Her brow, cheeks, and chin were smudged with grime that looked gray and smoky in the streetlights.

“I know,” Dave said. “Style. Does this mean we’re still planning to go?”

“I am.”

“Great,” he muttered. “Should I go in and call a cab?”

“Let’s just walk. It’s not that far.”

“All right. Hang on a minute, though. I want to get my flashlight.” He walked toward his car, feeling strangely cheerful. Nothing was about to stop Joan, but the flat tires would certainly slow her down. A hike to the beach should take the better part of half an hour.

A reprieve.

Thank you, Debbie. Thank you very much. I owe you for this.

I’ll buy her an ice-cream cone, he thought, and grinned.

He unlocked his car, took the flashlight out from under the driver’s seat, then ambled back toward Joan. “Let’s take it slow and easy,” he said. “God forbid one of us should turn an ankle.”

Forty

“How’s it going back there?” Tanya asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Fine,” Jeremy said. His own voice sounded strange to him—a little whiny, but mean. “Just fine.”

The girl was stretched across the backseat, pinned down by his weight on her belly. He bounced on her, and heard a gush of breath that pleased him.

They passed a streetlamp. Its light swept briefly across the girl’s bare chest. He took off his gloves. He pinched her again, and felt her flinch.

It made him feel good to hurt her, but it didn’t turn him on.

He felt cheated.

Could’ve been great, back here sitting on the bitch. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her shirt was open. She was
at his fucking mercy.

She might as well have been a guy, for all the lust he felt.

He slapped her. She winced. He slapped her again. “You ruined me, you cunt!”

“Hope so,” she muttered.

He made her cry out.

“Take it easy,” Tanya said.

“What’m I gonna do?” he asked. “You see what she did to me? How’m I gonna go home with my face like this? What’m I gonna tell my mom?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“God, I can’t go home.” Gingerly he fingered the torn flesh of his chin. Touching the wound brought fresh tears to his eyes.

“We’ll think of something,” Tanya told him.

“Everybody’s gonna know I was in on this. All they gotta do is look at me.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Tanya said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say. It’s not your face.”

“It’s my ass. We’re in this together, Duke. It’s all right. I’ll take you home in the morning and tell your mother that a dog attacked you on the beach. I’m a lifeguard. She’ll believe me.”

Yeah! That might work. He felt a little better. He’d have to come up with a story to explain why he’d left the house without telling her, but that shouldn’t be too hard.

“What about Nate?” he asked.

“He’s deader than shit.”

A horrible keening noise burst from the girl. She began to writhe and buck under Jeremy. He rammed his fist down, smashing her just below the rib cage. The blow made her sit halfway up as her breath exploded out. Then she slumped down again, wheezing loudly.

“She won’t be in any shape to talk either,” Tanya said. “We’ll make sure of that.”

“I’ll
make sure of that.” Jeremy twisted sideways and worked on her. She flopped and jerked, shuddering with pain, and he knew she’d be screaming if she had any air.

“Not yet, for Godsake. Everybody gets a crack at her. We don’t want to cheat the others out of their fun.”

“I’m not killing her.” He glared down at the girl. Her head was flying from side to side, lips peeled back as if stretched by fingers trying to rip her mouth wider. “Am I killing you?” he asked her. “Huh? Naw. Maybe just hurting you a little bit. Maybe just a little bit. How’s
this
feel, huh? And this?”

He felt the car stop.

“Okay,” Tanya said. “We’re here.”

She climbed out and opened the passenger door beyond the girl’s head. Reaching in, she grabbed her under the armpits. Jeremy lifted himself up, and watched Tanya drag her from the car. He crawled out after her.

He shut the door quietly. The girl was on her back, Tanya straddling her and fastening the buttons of her shirt. “Get her legs,” Tanya said.

The girl thrashed, trying to kick him, but he got her legs apart and hugged them tightly against his sides. Tanya raised her shoulders. Together they lifted her and carried her up the stairs. They passed beneath the grinning moonlit face of the clown. In the entryway, shadows closed over them.