'Except maybe for Mary,' she added, and a glint returned to her eyes. 'Who may or may not be dead meat, depending on whether you're a believer, or… '
'Loreen doesn't know beans.'
'If Mary is going to meet a bad end, I wish it'd happen soon so we can stop all this dawdling.'
Clint scowled down at Em. She laughed and bumped her shoulder against his side.
'Such a scamp,' Clint said.
'I'm glad somebody's enjoying themselves,' Mary called from behind them.
Em let go of Clint's hand and turned around. Walking backward, she said, 'How're you doing?'
'Horrible.'
'Is there anything can do for you?'
'Yeah, turn around and leave me alone.'
'Well, that's a sweet thing to say.'
'How much longer is this going to take, Clint?'
He looked over his shoulder at her. 'We're almost to Sunset.'
'Oh. Just great. Loreen'll be happy about that.'
Clint saw Loreen and Caspar walking side by side, probably fifty feet behind Mary. They were facing each other, gesturing and moving their mouths.
'Nothing is going to happen at Sunset,' Clint said. 'If you don't count me getting killed.’
'Including that.'
'Like, you're gonna save me.'
'Like, nothing's gonna happen. Stop worrying about it, okay?'
'You'd be worried, too, if some fucking gypsy bitch said you were gonna die at Sunset.'
'Nobody's gonna die at Sunset,' Clint said.
'We'll see about that.'
A few minutes later, Sunset Boulevard came into view. Em tightened her grip on Clint's hand, and halted.
'Let's keep going,' Clint said, trying to keep his voice steady. m shook her head. She made a high-pitched humming sound, not quite a moan, not quite a whine.
'It's all right,' he said. But he knew it wasn't all right. Not at all. He knew why Em wanted nothing to do with the intersection ahead, and why she was making such a frightened noise. He had a quick urge, himself, to squeal, 'Let's get outa here!' and whirl around and run away. It was the first major thoroughfare they'd encountered since Ventura Boulevard on the other side of the hills. Like Ventura, every lane was jammed with traffic. But the other boulevard had been alive. Not Sunset. Here, the vehicles didn't try to inch forward. None moved. Some had been turned onto their sides, others upside-down.
Many were smoky, smoldering husks.No horns honked. There was nobody to honk them. Most of the cars and trucks and vans looked abandoned, as if their drivers and passengers had thrown open the doors and run for their lives. Many hadn't made it. There were bodies. Fifteen or twenty of them, at least, that Clint saw from where he stood looking down on the scene. Some bodies were slumped across car hoods. Most of the others were sprawled on the pavement, just this side of the road as if they'd been slaughtered while trying to flee toward Laurel Canyon. Mr Gooey must be the one that got away, Clint thought. But he didn't exactly get away, did he? They took what they wanted from him, and let the poor guy go. Who the hell could've done all this? Clint wondered. He saw nobody down there roaming among the cars. Nobody at all who didn't look dead. Mary staggered to a halt by his side. She didn't say anything. She stared straight forward and trembled. Soon, Caspar and Loreen arrived. Everyone stared at Sunset Boulevard.
After a while, Loreen muttered, 'Blood on the face of the day. So much blood. saw…'
'Stop it,' Clint said.
'There's a police car,' Em said, pointing.
Clint nodded. Like the patrol car at the other end of Laurel Canyon, this one had been parked broadside - stationed there to prevent vehicles from turning off Sunset onto the closed boulevard. Clint remembered the two cops at the other end. A young man and woman. They'd been friendly and helpful. He hoped they were still all right. These cops were probably not all right. Probably among the dead. None of the bodies scattered on the street near the patrol car wore uniforms. None wore much of anything. At this distance, the figures seemed to be made of bare skin and blood. Clint could see that some, at least, had been scalped. Several had been dismembered to one extent or another.
'Shoot 'em full of arrows,' he muttered, 'and it'd look like an Indian massacre.'
'We can't go down there,' Mary said.
'I have to,' Clint said. 'Not me.'
Em squeezed Clint's hand. 'I go where you go.'
'Whatever happened,' Clint said, 'it looks like it's over. Whoever did this might be long gone, by now.'
'They're waiting for us,' Loreen said.
Clint scowled. 'Don't say it if you don't mean it.'
'Don't say it, anyway,' Mary told her.
Loreen shrugged her thick shoulders. 'I only tell what I see.'
'Well,' Clint said, 'please don't. Unless you literally spot someone down there. Did you actually see someone?'
'With the eye of my mind.'
'Then we don't want to hear about it,' Clint told her.
'When Loreen sees something "with the eye of her mind' Caspar said, 'it's usually there. We'd better turn back.'
'No!' Loreen blurted. 'We cannot turn back. Going back is far worse than going forward. This, I know.'
'Terrific,' Mary said. 'We can't go forward, we can't go back, where the fuck are we supposed to go? Not that it matters a hell of a lot, far as I'm concerned, seeing as how I've been pronounced dead already by this fat tub of…' She cut off her words and eyed Caspar. 'This delightful psychic,' she added.
'I only tell what…'
'Knock it off!' Clint snapped at Loreen. To Mary, he said, 'I know you're scared. We're all scared. I don't wanta go down there any more than you do. But my home is on the other side of Sunset, so I'm going across.'
He reached into a front pocket of his pants and pulled out the paring knife he'd taken from Em's kitchen. 'Time for these,' he told Em. As he drew the blade from its cardboard sheath, the girl lifted the hanging front of her T-shirt and removed two butcher knives from the pockets of her shorts.
'Give me one,' Caspar said.
She shook her head. 'I don't think so.'
'You don't need the both of them.'
'One's for Mary. If she wants it.'
'That makes no sense,' Caspar protested.
'I hate to say this, Mr Blotski, but I'm not sure you're someone I'd trust very much with sharp objects, if you know what I mean.'
'Me?' Eyebrows leaping up in shock, he pounded an open hand against his chest. Shiny waves of red silk rippled the front of his blouse. 'Me?' he blurted again. 'You don't trust me?'
'You've made some threats,' Clint explained.
'Besides which,' Em said, 'Mary was with us first. And she's the one Loreen says is in the most trouble around here, so she oughta have something she can use for defending herself just in case things get hairy.' She held one of the knives out toward Mary. 'You can have it if you want it,' she said.
Mary looked from the knife handle to Em's face. 'Thank you,' she murmured. 'You… You really…, want me to have it? After everything '
'Sure.'
Mary's chin trembled. Tears spilled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. 'Thank you.' She took the knife.
'You're so nice to me. I don't deserve…'
'You don't deserve!' Caspar assured her.
Pounding his chest again, he gaped at Clint. 'I am a man. I should have a knife!'
'Go find one,' Clint told him.
'This is outrageous! This girl, this child, she has no right to decide who gets what! Are you mad?'
'They're her knives,' Clint pointed out.
'Fool!'
'Settle yourself down, Caspar,' Loreen said, and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Look at you. And you wonder that little Em doesn't want to give you a weapon?'
'She's a child. She knows nothing.'
'Child,' Clint said, 'rip the tape off your blade. You too Mary. Then try to keep your knives out of sight when we go on. With any luck, you won't need to use them. If you do get attacked, though, don't
let your assailant see your knife. Let him feel it before he sees it. Shove the blade in as hard as can, then twist it, rip with it. Do as much damage as as fast as you can.'
Mary nodded and sniffled.
'Where'd be the best place to stab somebody?' Em asked 'Wherever you can get to. Just get that knife into him fast and hard as you can. And don't worry…, either of you, I'll be there to help.'
'What a mensch,' said Caspar.
Clint faced him. 'We'll all help each other. There're five of us. We oughta be able to take care of trouble.'
'I go first,' Loreen said. 'What?' Casper blurted.
'You heard me, Papa. The madness cannot touch me. My aura will act as my shield. Those who would do us harm will be struck numb with awe. Thus will settle the turbulence and make the passage safe for you who follow.'
Em wrinkled her nose, glanced at Clint and rolled her eyes. Mary made a snorting sound. Casper said, 'I forbid it.'
'No harm will come to me,' Loreen told him, smiling with gentle confidence.
Maybe she knows something we don't, Clint thought. Or maybe she's just nuts.
'No,' Casper said. 'Let them go first, the Three Stooges. We'll wait and see what happens to them. If they get to the other side without…'
'My way is best,' Loreen said.
She took a step, and Casper blocked her way. They both stood motionless. Casper glared into her eyes, but slowly his fierceness faded and vanished. He moved out of her way, then turned and watched her walk past him. When he started to follow her, she raised her hand. He halted. She kept on walking, her peasant skirt swishing from side to side with the sweep of her broad rump.'Loreen!' Caspar called.
Without looking back, she waved him forward. Caspar hurried after her. He gained on her for a few moments, then slowed his pace. He stayed about twenty feet behind her as they made their way toward Sunset.
'Let's do some catching up,' Clint said. Holding the knife inside his right pocket, he gestured Mary forward with other hand.
She started to hobble.
With her left hand at her chest, she held her top shut. She carried the knife in plain sight.
'Better hide the knife,' Clint reminded her.
Without argument, she swept it upward. The knife and hand that held it disappeared inside the front of her top.
'Move it along, now,' Clint said. 'Come on, you can do better than that. Pick it up, pick it up.' Mary quickened her pace. 'Em, you go now.' Em hurried past him.
Her right arm, bent at the elbow, hitched up the back her T-shirt so high that some bare skin showed above top of her shorts. Clint felt a sudden ache, glimpsing the skin. Not exactly lust. Partly that, but more a strange mix of desire and of loss. And a great, awful tenderness. Can't let anything happen to her. Can't. No matter what. She's what's best in the world, girls like her and girls like Barbara. Have to take good care of her. He had a thickness in his throat, but he smiled about the back of Em's Roadkill T-shirt. The cloth was so thin and clingy that it took on the shape of her forearm, her fist, and the broad tapering blade upright over her spine. The point of the knife was between her shoulder blades. The knife's almost bigger than she is, he thought. Such a toughie. And damn it, she shouldn't have to be going around in this world with a knife in her shirt like some sort of pint-sized Saint Joan.
***
'What're you doing?' Sheila asked.
'Nothing,' Stanley told her. He had exhausted himself earlier by hoisting the remains of Crash out of the tub. Breathless, drenched in sweat, heart slamming, he had sat down in his favorite place beyond the foot of the tub. It only taken him a few minutes to recover. But he'd stayed where he was, sometimes mopping himself with the towel while he stared at Sheila.
'Are you just going to sit there?' she asked.
'I guess so. It's a nice view. And this way you can't get your hands on me.'
'Sure,' she muttered.
'You look like you're sweating blood. All shiny red, dripping. Do you want to rub it off?' He raised his towel 'Please.' She lifted a hand to catch the toss.
But Stanley laughed and draped the towel over his shoulders. 'Nah. You look beautiful just the way you are. You look like a wild woman. A gorgeous, naked, wild woman.'
'You wanta do more than look, Stan. You know it and I know it.'
He grinned. 'But what are we going to do about it? asked.
'You have to finish sawing through this beam.’
'Uh-huh.' He bobbed his head. 'But what happens to me when you're no longer pinned down? There's the rub, so to speak. The sad fact is, you're not only gorgeous but extremely tough. Muscles, muscles, everywhere. If I set you free, you'll try to take me apart.'
She stared up at him. Her face was bloody. In the shade of the beam above it, the whites of her eyes had a pale blue tint. 'Maybe we can make a deal,' she said.
'What sort of a deal?'
'You help me get out of here, and I won't do anything to you. I won't try to hurt you.'
'Will you let me fuck you?'
She pressed her lips into a tight, straight line, and nodded.
'Yeah,' she said. 'Okay. If that's what it takes to get out of here.'
'No fighting? I get full cooperation?’
'Yes.’
'Promise?’
'I promise.'
'Liar, liar, pants on fire! Woops! What pants?'
'I'm not lying, Stan. Quit the games. Just let me out of here. I'll do anything you want.'
'Why is it that I don't believe you?'
'Believe me.'
'Maybe if you hadn't grabbed my ankles when all I wanted to do was play a little footsies with your tits… '
'I'm sorry. That was a mistake.'
'A big big big mistake.’
'What do you want me to do?'
'There might be something.'
'What? Name it.'
'Because, the thing is, I've got half an inclination to just leave you down there, call it a loss, and wait around to see who else shows up. Maybe your husband, for instance. But do you know who's bound to show up sooner or later? Barbara. I'll bet she's on her way home right now. I've seen her in a bikini. She's got a sweet, young body. Is she a virgin? she is. I'll bet she has a…'
'You don't want her,' Sheila said. Her dry, husky sounded fairly calm, but Stanley heard a tremor in it. 'I'm the one you want. She'd be a lousy substitute, and you know it.'
'But she hasn't got your muscles. If she fights me…'
'I won't fight you. I'll do anything you say.'
'Will you? We'll see about that.’
'You'll see.'
'At the first sign of resistance, it's over. You're history and I nail Barbara.’
'I won't resist.'
'And you'll do exactly what I tell you to do.’
'Exactly.'
'Very good. We'll see how it goes.'
With that, Stanley got to his feet. He made his way alongside the hole in the floor and crouched over Eagle's hairless body.
The barbed wire was wound four times around Eagle's waist, its ends twisted together in front. Why on earth anyone would wear a barbed wire belt. Maybe so he'll have some handy, Stanley thought, for occasions like this. Or maybe it's just a fashion statement. After untwisting the ends of the wire, Stanley used Eagle's straight razor to slash the belt loops. Then he nudged the belt higher, past the top of the leather pants, so the four loops encircled Eagle's bare waist. Holding one end, he stood up and stepped to the other side of the body. Then he pulled hard. By the time all four loops had unwound, Eagle looked as if he wore a frayed, red ribbon around his waist. Stanley coiled the wire. It was slippery. There were bits of skin on some of its sharp little points. He stepped over the body and placed the wire on the floor near his saw, scissors and straight razor. Then he climbed down onto the edges of the tub. When he leaned over the middle beam, his leg and back muscles began to tremble. 'Boy,' he said, 'am ever gonna be sore tomorrow.' Sheila didn't open her mouth.
'Okay, now let's see if you're as go
od as your word.'
'I am.'
'Give me your hands.'
She raised her arms from her sides and stretched them toward him.
'Put them together.'
She did, and Stanley watched the way her breasts got squeezed between her upper arms.
'Very nice,' he said. 'Keep them that way.'
He reached out and grabbed the coil of barbed wire. When Sheila saw it, her eyes opened wider. But she said nothing, and held her arms up toward him, hands together. He began to bind her wrists, winding the wire around them, drawing it between them, bending it, twisting it, pulling it tight. Sheila twitched a few times when barbs dug in, but she never protested or struggled. Finally, her hands seemed securely bound together and Stanley had his 'lead' - five or six feet of leftover wire extended from between her wrists.'So far, so good,' he said.
'You didn't have to do this,' Sheila told him.
'Sure, I did. You may now put your hands down, but be careful where you put them. You don't wanta poke yourself. He paid out the lead and watched her. Wrists bound tightly together with the barbed wire, she had trouble finding a new position for her arms. Finally, she swung them up rested them against the edge of the overhead beam. She looked as about to perform a high dive. Sans diving board. Sans swimsuit. Sans pool. Stanley moaned with delight, then set aside his end of the wire and anchored it down with a chunk of plaster. He picked up the saw. Its blade was smeared with Crash's blood. He shook it. The wide blade shimmied and made whangy sounds.
'Shake for me, Sheila,' he said. 'Shake like the saw.' She pressed her lips together. Keeping her arms up, she shook her body from side to side.
'Harder!' He shook the saw harder. 'Hard as you can!'
She shook so hard that sparkles of bloody sweat skittered over her skin. Her breasts flung off a crimson spray.
'Oooo, beautiful. Beautiful. But that's enough.' He quit shaking the saw.
The rough shudders of Sheila's body ceased. Stanley watched how her breasts continued to sway. Then the only movement came from her hard breathing.
Stanley twisted himself awkwardly to the left and fit the saw blade into the cut of the beam. He worked it into the slit until it would go no deeper, then began to pump the saw back and forth. Wood dust began dribbling down into the narrow space between the wall of the tub and Sheila's right thigh. He remembered how she had talked him out of making the cut in the middle. Seemed like years ago. Who's giving the orders now? He glanced at the old cut. Shallow. Awfully shallow. She had stopped him before he'd made much progress at all. I could go back to it, anyway, he thought. Just to show her. Screw that. I'm almost done. But he was winded again, wheezing for breath, sweat spilling down his body. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders and arms, in his back, in his buttocks and legs seemed to be jumping and twitching out of control. He stopped sawing, climbed down backward into the tub, and stretched. With the towel, he mopped his hair and face. He plucked the clinging seat of his pajama pants away from his rump, but it stuck again the moment he let go.