The light came on, almost blinded me.
“Very interesting,” I muttered.
Had Tony loosened it? Had someone else? Or had the bulb simply worked its way loose all on its own, with nobody’s help? (Light bulbs do that, you know. Almost as if they’re living creatures unscrewing themselves for sport or for reasons we’ll never guess.)
I left it screwed in.
All the better to see by.
Here’s the deal: I wasn’t worried about anyone noticing Tony’s body on the lawn. That could only happen if a person came down the driveway.
Not likely to happen at this hour of the night—or morning.
His body couldn’t be seen from the street because a thick, tall hedge stood in the way. Hedges also ran along both sides of the lawn.
In addition to that, we had no neighbors.
None close enough to worry about, anyway.
There were vacant lots to the right and left, and a string of vacant lots across the road. The nearest house, a couple of lots to the left, was empty and up for sale. The nearest occupied house stood about a quarter of a mile to the right, and on the other side of the road.
We were pretty much alone out here.
It couldn’t hurt to leave the light on. But then I thought, why take the risk? I wouldn’t have any use for the porch light until I came back from the garage.
As I reached up for the bulb, though, my eyes strayed over to Tony.
I hadn’t really seen him before. Not in halfway good light, anyway.
From the chin up, he was a horrible wreck.
You wouldn’t recognize him as the guy in his driver’s license photo.
He looked like a nightmare.
Considering the gory ruin of his head, I was surprised to notice how clean his clothes seemed to be.
With the light still on, I went over to him and checked more carefully. His shirt had a few spots of blood on it, but nothing obvious. His jeans seemed fine.
Why not?
First, I took the purse off my shoulder and removed my robe. I left them on the dry concrete of the front stoop.
Then I crouched over Tony and stripped him. It wasn’t easy, especially because the night was so hot. Even though I’m in pretty good shape, I ended up out of breath and sweaty.
When I was done, I slipped into his loafers. They were a little too big for me, but I could walk in them okay. I carried his jeans and shirt over to the stoop and dropped them.
Then I stretched out naked on my back for a rest.
The concrete felt cool and nice.
Too nice. I could hardly force myself to get moving again.
Finally, though, I stood up to put his clothes on. I started with the shirt. It was very large, and hung halfway down my thighs. But it would do just fine. Next, I slipped his shoes off and climbed into the blue jeans.
They were way too big. When I had them all the way up around my waist, my feet were still inside the denim legs. Also, I had a huge amount of spare room inside the waistband. Looking down the gap, I could see all the way to my knees. I fastened the belt, anyway. It had enough holes to let me cinch it tight and keep the jeans from falling. With that taken care of, I bent over and rolled up the legs. The cuffs reached almost to my knees. I looked like I was wearing waders.
The jeans felt too hot and too heavy.
I needed them, though. I wanted the pockets; otherwise, I could’ve gotten rid of the jeans and just worn the shirt like a dress.
What I finally did was use the saber to cut the legs off. I took the legs off very high, then slit the sides almost up to the belt.
After that, the jeans felt light and airy.
What was left of them.
I returned all of Tony’s belongings to the pockets where I’d found them. I also slipped my own key case into a pocket.
Then I unlocked the front door and went back inside the house, but only long enough to put my purse and Charlie’s robe in the living room.
I left again.
Reaching up, I unscrewed the porch bulb. It was pretty hot by then, and made my fingertips smart.
7
CLEAN UP
Ever try to carry around a dead guy?
Let me tell you, it isn’t easy.
So I left Tony sprawled on the lawn, right where he’d fallen, and went hiking up the driveway without him.
On the road, just to the right of the driveway entrance, a car was parked at the curb. It was the only car in sight.
The driver’s door was locked, but one of Tony’s keys did the trick. I climbed in and tried a key in the ignition. The engine started. Keeping the headlights off, I swung away from the curb, did a U-turn, and drove into the driveway.
When the trunk seemed to be even with Tony, I stopped the car. I got out and opened the trunk. It looked pretty empty except for the spare tire. Leaving it open, I went over to Tony.
I picked up his legs by the ankles, turned him, and started dragging him toward the driveway. The grass was still wet from the sprinklers. The wetness helped his body slide, but also made my footing tricky. A couple of times, my feet flew out from under me and I landed on my butt, which didn’t feel too swift.
By the time we reached the edge of the driveway, I knew we had a problem. Not to be too graphic about it, his split head had left a trail across the grass. The stuff on the grass wasn’t what worried me, though. Most of it would go away after the automatic sprinkling system had gone through a few cycles. Birds, ants, and so forth would take care of the rest. The problem, for me, was whatever might get on the driveway. I didn’t want to wake up in the morning and find bloodstains on the concrete. They’d be hard to get rid of.
At first, the only possible solution seemed to be a plastic bag over Tony’s head to catch whatever might want to slop out.
But I was in no mood to run around hunting for a bag.
Finally, I came up with a simple answer to the problem. All I had to do was turn the car sideways so its rear jutted out over the grass.
So that’s what I did. The driveway was wide enough to make it fairly simple.
I lined the car up with Tony, backed up until the rear tires almost went off the edge of the driveway, then climbed out and looked at him.
Loading his body into the trunk was going to be a bear.
And messy, too.
But it couldn’t be avoided.
Before getting started, I took off the shirt and cut-off jeans and tossed them onto the driver’s seat. For one thing, I didn’t want them to get gory. For another, the night was too hot for clothes, especially if you’re doing hard work.
I stepped out of the shoes and left them on the driveway.
Then I walked onto the slippery wet grass, straddled Tony’s hips, bent down, clutched his wrists and straightened up, pulling him. His back came off the ground. But then, instead of continuing to rise, he slid on his butt and went scooting between my legs. I scurried backward, trying to stay with him, and bumped into the rear of the car.
“Shit!”
He was up to his waist beneath the car like a grease monkey going under to make repairs.
Hanging on to his wrists, I waddled forward to drag him out. He just lay beneath me, staring at the show while I hobbled over him, my breasts lurching from side to side between my down-stretched arms.
By the time I’d left his head behind me, I was doubled over like a contortionist, my arms straining backward between my legs. At last, he started to slide.
I shuffled onward, pulling him.
He finally cleared the car. By then, I was huffing and sweaty again.
I sat down on the rear bumper.
“Should’ve minded your own business,” I muttered. “You wouldn’t be dead, for one thing. For another, you wouldn’t be putting me through all this shit.”
He didn’t answer.
He probably figured, though, that I didn’t have much room for complaining. I was still alive, after all, whereas he wasn’t. I was inconvenienced, but he was toes up.
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“This is more than a little inconvenience, buddy,” I told him. “This is a major pain in the ass.”
The night was way too hot for such work. Sweat was pouring down my body. It made my eyes sting. It tickled my sides and back.
How nice it would’ve been, just then, to go around back and jump in the pool.
Thinking about the pool, I remembered the prowler. A funny thing, though. The thought of him didn’t frighten me, disgust me, thrill me—nothing. He’d lost all his powers to intimidate or fascinate me. Probably the moment I put the saber through Tony’s head.
His fault.
All his fault.
True enough, I thought. That bastard got Tony killed as sure as if he’d been the one swinging the sword.
I oughta kill his ass for doing this to Tony and me.
If I went swimming, he might show up and give me the chance. I should take the pistol or saber with me, just in case.
But which?
I couldn’t exactly swim with either weapon.
Forget it. Forget which weapon to take, forget having a swim. Time’s a-wasting.
Tony had to be dealt with.
I tried again.
This time, I straddled his head instead of his hips. Bending down, I jammed my open hands underneath his shoulders and grabbed his armpits. When I lifted him, he started to slide away. Instead of letting him go, I hauled back on him, pulled him against me and hoisted him up.
His full weight shoved against my chest.
Instead of rushing forward and throwing him headlong into the trunk, the way I’d figured, I found myself suddenly staggering backward. I fell, and he came down on top of me. His split-open head mashed against my face.
I wanted to scream.
But you can’t scream with your mouth shut. God knows, I kept it shut. If I hadn’t, it might’ve ended up full of Tony’s brains or whatever.
So the scream only happened in my mind.
Twisting and bucking, I threw him off me.
I crawled away from him. Still on my hands and knees, I lost my steak supper on the grass. The steak, and then some. I couldn’t stop vomiting. After a while, nothing came out except slobber.
Finally, I did stop. I crawled away from the glop, stayed on all fours while I tried to catch my breath, then struggled to my feet. Bending over, I put my hands on my knees. I stayed that way for a few minutes.
I felt stuff sticking to my face.
When I had the strength to move again, I wiped my face with both hands, then squatted and rubbed my hands against the damp grass.
I wanted to take a shower.
I wanted to scrub Tony off me.
His blood and goo.
But that would have to wait. First I needed to deal with his body.
I wandered over to it, being careful where I stepped with my bare feet.
“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” I asked.
“That’s your problem,” he seemed to tell me. “You should’ve thought of that before you split my head open, you dumb bitch.”
He was sprawled face down, the way he’d landed after I threw him off me.
I grabbed the elastic waistband of his skivvies, hoisted him to his knees and started dragging him backward. We made it about halfway to the trunk of the car before the elastic gave out. The shorts tore away, and he flopped.
I tossed the useless rag into the trunk, straddled his butt, grabbed him by the knobs of his hipbones and hauled him up.
It seemed to be working.
I reared back, bringing him higher and higher.
Then my hands slipped off his hips. I wasn’t ready for that. Not at all. I flew backward, slammed the rear of the car and tumbled into the trunk with my feet kicking at the sky.
It hurt so much that my eyes filled with tears.
He was dead, but beating up on me.
And defeating me.
“Bastard!” I shouted at him.
I could almost hear him laughing at me.
Crying, I twisted my body around and crawled out of the trunk.
Tony was sprawled on the grass.
“Think you can beat me?” I asked him.
“Think it?” I could hear him taunt me. “I know it! You’re too weak to get me in the trunk. I’m too big, and you’re too weak. I’ll still be lying here tomorrow when the sun comes up. I’ll still be lying here next week when Serena and Charlie come home.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” I said.
But he was right in a way.
Not about me being too weak. I was in great shape, and I probably could’ve lifted him if everything hadn’t been so wet and slippery.
He was right about his size.
He was too big.
I took care of that with the saber.
He lost ten or eleven inches very quickly.
I figured his head wouldn’t make that much difference, though. It probably didn’t weigh more than ten or fifteen pounds. So after tossing it into the trunk, I removed both his arms. They didn’t come off as easily as his head. I couldn’t just whack them off with a couple of good blows, but had to really work at it. And the arms were easy compared to his legs.
This was very rough work for a hot night.
When I had Tony down to his torso, I stuck the sword in the ground, got down on my knees, wrapped my arm around his chest, and picked him up.
At that point, he was still pretty heavy.
But manageable.
His torso shook the car when I dumped it into the trunk on top of his other parts.
I slammed the trunk shut.
By then, I was really tuckered out.
Not to mention filthy.
So exhausted I could hardly walk, I stumbled away from the driveway, found a clean place on the lawn, and flopped. The cool, wet grass felt wonderful. I lay on my back, panting for air, sweat pouring off my body.
In my mind, I was floating on the cool water of the pool.
That’s how I’ll spend tomorrow, I told myself. This whole mess will be over by then, and I’ll do nothing all day except float around in the pool and drink ice-cold cocktails and sunbathe.
Something in the grass under my back started to bother me. A stone or a twig, probably. It had been pushing against me from the start, but I’d been too worn out to care.
Now, I rolled over to get away from it.
Flat on my stomach, I crossed my arms under my face. They were sticky, though, and didn’t smell very good, so I got them away from my face and spread them out. With nothing for a pillow, I lowered my head onto the lawn.
But I didn’t like having my face in the grass.
The grass tickled. Especially where it brushed against my eyelid and lips. Also, I wondered what sort of bugs might be under me. I didn’t want ants or spiders crawling on my face, getting into my nostrils, my mouth, my eyes.
For that matter, I didn’t like the idea of bugs crawling on me anywhere.
I wondered what might be drawn to me by the smell of Tony’s blood.
Before you know it, I felt tiny creatures scurrying all over my bare skin. Most of them were probably just in my mind, but they seemed real enough.
That ended my rest period.
I got to my feet and staggered across the lawn. At the front of the house, in the space between a couple of bushes, was a coiled garden hose. Charlie used it, every so often, to wash the car in the driveway.
I used it to wash me.
The first water to blast out of the nozzle was warm from cooking inside the hose all day. I aimed the hard stream at my hands and forearms. It hit me with such force that it hurt, but it sure knocked the blood and filth off me.
Even before I finished hosing off my arms, cold water was shooting out. I adjusted the nozzle. The rough, narrow rod of shooting water spread out and became a spray. I could’ve made it a gentle, light shower, but I kept it powerful enough to do the job.
Raising the nozzle, I aimed down at the top of my head. The water drummed my skull, froze my sca
lp, matted my hair, rushed all the way down my body. I flinched under the frigid attack. I cringed and shuddered. After the first shock, though, it didn’t feel so horrible. The spray was no less cold, but I must’ve been getting used to it. Pretty soon, it seemed pleasantly cool.
I moved the nozzle around, spraying myself straight in the face, under my arms and down my sides, and so on. When the water hit certain areas—where I was still especially hot—it again felt ice cold.
Soon, I was as clean as I could get without soap and hot water.
I felt human again.
But thirsty. Afraid of choking if I shot the water straight into my mouth, I aimed the nozzle sideways in front of my lips, darted my head forward and took bites out of the spray. It worked pretty well. But sometimes I didn’t get away quickly enough. Then, the water pelted the inside of my cheek, making quick hollow tapping sounds, and flooded my mouth. I ended up choking a couple of times, but nothing serious.
After taking care of my thirst, I went on spraying myself.
Why stop?
For one thing, it made me feel so much better after all that hot, dirty work.
For another, I deserved a treat. I’d gotten Tony safely stowed inside the trunk of his car, so the worst part of the job was over. Now, it was just a matter of driving him away.
But to where?
Until I could figure out a good place to leave his car, there was no reason to quit enjoying the hose.
Just take it somewhere far away, I thought. The farther away, the better.
Oh, really? How do you think you’ll get home?
How far away is his place? I wondered. Not the old place, but the new one. Which street was it on?
I tried to picture the writing on the slip of paper in his wallet.
Little Oak Lane!
Not far away, at all.
Well, four or five miles, but I could walk a distance like that in about an hour.
What if I drop the car off—with him in it—right where he lives?
Perfect!
They might not find his body for days.
And when they do, they won’t have a clue as to where he went to get himself killed.
That matter solved, I dragged the hose across the lawn, being careful not to step in anything nasty. Along the way, I stopped and gave the saber a long, hard squirt. It was planted half a foot deep in the earth, and vibrated as the water struck it.