Any time at home when I hear a dog start barking after dark, I get into my black “nightfighter suit” and go out hunting. Sometimes they’re strays, but usually I find them fenced inside a back yard. I never use a gun. I’ve used just about everything else, though. I’ve shot them with arrows, hit them with spears and poison darts and boomerangs. I’ve pounded some to death with a baseball bat or hammer or rock. I’ve strangled some. I’ve hacked some with hatchets, meat cleavers, and machetes. Butchered some with knives. Killed plenty with my feet, kicking and stomping.
I could go on and on about dogs.
We have a very special relationship.
Anyway, I saw a lot of people walking their dogs, so it was mostly a question of choosing which to take. I wanted something like a toy poodle. You know, a sissy type of thing. A woman’s dog.
The nearest I could come was a little white Maltese. It had a pink bow in the hair on top of its head. It was prancing along at the end of a leash, stopping at every tree and bush. Such a cute little thing. But not half as cute as its masters.
They were a matching set, slim and pushing forty, with hair as short as Marines. One had a mustache and one didn’t. They both wore tan walking shorts with cuffs turned up. And sandals. One wore a fishnet shirt. You could see his hairy chest through its netting. The other didn’t wear any shirt at all. He had a pierced nipple with a gold ring in it.
Of course, I didn’t see all this from the car. At first glance, all I noticed was the little Maltese being walked by a couple of fruits. I didn’t get a good close look at them till after I’d driven around the block, parked and got out and met them on the sidewalk.
I squatted down and intercepted the dog.
He liked me. He wagged his tail and licked my hands. “Oh, he’s such a little cutie,” I said. I smiled up at the boys. “What’s his name?”
The one with the shirt answered, “Henry Wadsworth Long-fellow the Third.”
“Well, hello, Henry, hello.” I rubbed him under the chin.
They both watched me. They looked wary.
I picked up the dog and cradled him against my bosom and kept on petting him. “My name’s Simone,” I told the boys.
Ring-in-the-tit folded his arms across his chest, made muscles and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Isn’t it a trifle early for Halloween, guy?”
“Are you looking for tricks or for treats?” the other one asked me. Then he smiled at his friend. “What do you think?”
“Most assuredly straight.”
“Straight but definitely warped. More than slightly askew.”
“A cop?” asked Ring Tit.
“Oh, don’t I wish. I adore cops. He’s not one.”
“No, I’m sure you’re right. He doesn’t have the eyes. Cops have such marvelous eyes. So cynical, and yet amused.”
“You boys are funny,” I said.
Ring Tit lowered his arms but kept his muscles bunched. “Put Henry down now,” he told me. “We’ve got to be on our way.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” said Net Shirt.
“Me neither. I’ll pay you for Henry,” I said. Holding the dog against me with one hand, I reached into my purse.
“He’s not for sale.”
“You’re giving him to me? Why, thank you so much!”
Ring Tit reached behind his back. His hand came forward with something in it that turned out to be a flick knife. The skinny blade snapped out and locked.
“There’s no need for that,” I said, and looked around. Nobody was nearby.
“Put down Henry right this instant,” Ring Tit warned.
Out came my Colt. I jammed it at his chest and pulled the trigger. Man, you should’ve heard that gun go off. A huge BOOM, and down he went. He hit the sidewalk flat on his back and skidded. His pal in the net shirt had time to look shocked and let go of Henry’s leash before I put a slug in his chest. He flopped on the sidewalk, too.
They were stretched out next to each other, and Net Shirt had enough oomph left in him to take hold of his buddy’s hand. How very touching.
I shoved the pistol into my purse and bent down and helped myself to Ring Tit’s ring. It wasn’t so much that I wanted the ring. It was just something I wanted to do, you know? I slipped my finger through the hoop and pulled. You should’ve seen how it stretched out his nipple before the flesh split open and let it go.
People gotta be careful what they go around and pierce.
This was my first pierced nipple, but I’ve ripped rings out of lots of earlobes, a few out of nostrils, and even an eyebrow once. Can you believe someone piercing her eyebrow? Hell, can you believe a guy piercing his nipple? I’d sure like to find myself a gal with a ring in her nipple. Or a twat ring. I’ve seen stuff like that in pictures, but not in real life. Not yet.
Gives me something to look forward to.
Anyway, I stuck the ring on one of my fingers and ran for the car. I could hear some people yelling.
Needless to say, I didn’t get caught.
Something was wrong with the pooch, though. I knew he was limp even before I got to the car and tossed him onto the passenger seat. While I sped away, I worried he might be dead. Like maybe his ticker had quit on him.
But pretty soon he came to.
The damn thing must’ve fainted when I plugged the pretty boys.
I’ve never heard of a dog fainting. It happens, though. You can take my word for it.
I was a couple of blocks away from the scene of the shooting before Henry came to. A minute after that, a cop car raced by with its siren blaring and lights flashing. The two cops in the front seat didn’t even glance at me.
It’s easy to get away with murder.
I’m telling you, it’s easy.
All you’ve gotta do is leave before the cops show up. And only kill strangers. And try not to leave incriminating evidence behind, like a driver’s license. One, two, three. Rules to kill by.
I know, I know, I’m oversimplifying.
But you know what? Most of the high-tech forensic shit that scares everyone to death (my former friend Tom included) is of damn near no use at all unless the cops have a suspect to match things up with. Which means they’ve gotta know who you are in the first place.
Follow my three rules, and you’ll be home free.
Anyway, the dog was okay and the cops weren’t on my tail, so I went on and headed for Jody’s house over on Castleview. That’s about a twenty-minute drive from Hollywood.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was on a quiet street full of one-story stucco houses that had probably been built in the twenties or thirties. They were kept up, though. This looked like a nice, middle-class neighborhood. Not half as nice as the section where I’d grown up, but not bad.
It was three or four miles from Avalon Heights. Jody must’ve gone to school with shish-ka-sister, and that’s how she knew her and ended up at the house Friday night. Just like I went to school with Tom and spent so much time at his mansion, even though we lived pretty far away from each other.
That’s one of those things about L.A. You don’t make friends with your neighbors. If you’ve got friends, they live five or ten—or maybe thirty—mites away. Which isn’t so bad if you’re a grownup with a car. When you’re a kid, though, it means you spend a lot of time by yourself.
Where was I, anyway?
Oh.
Okay, I was driving past Jody’s house. I did it without slowing down.
In fact, I couldn’t even be sure which house was hers. I caught an address on the block before I got there, then again on the block afterward. So I could tell that I’d gone past it.
I hadn’t slowed down to look for the exact address because I didn’t want to appear suspicious. What I did look for was evidence of cops.
Cars were parked on both sides of the street and in some of the driveways. None of them looked much like a cop car. You never can be too sure, though.
I turned onto a sidestreet and parked at a curb in front of a dark hou
se. Then Henry and I took a walk.
Henry was such a character! He pranced along, all dainty and chipper at the end of his leash, just as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But each time he hoisted his hind leg by a bush or tree, he stared over his shoulder at me. He never peed, just raised his leg and gave me a dirty look before prancing off again.
With all the stops he made, I had plenty of time to check around.
I checked inside most of the cars parked on our side of the street to make sure they weren’t occupied. Also, I watched out for vans or service trucks that cops might be using to stake out Jody’s house.
The area looked safe.
Jody’s house was in the middle of the block. Its porch light was on, but its windows were dark. No cars at all were parked in its driveway or at the curb directly in front. Nobody seemed to be peering out any of the windows.
If the place was under surveillance, though, I was being watched whether I knew it or not.
So I tripped and fell. Henry had to scoot, or I would’ve mashed him. Unfortunately, I went down harder than I’d planned. I’d wanted it to look good, but I hadn’t wanted to crash my damn knee against the sidewalk. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, and I let go of the leash.
You know how it feels to bang your knee? It hurts. It’s almost as bad as catching a shot to the nuts. Well, maybe that’s going overboard. But it’s sure no picnic.
So I rolled onto my back and grabbed my knee with both hands.
Even with all my pain, there was a part of me that was glad I’d taken such a bad fall. It was bound to do the trick. If cops were watching, they would’ve seen this gorgeous blond babe strolling along the sidewalk with her cute little dog. Maybe just when they were starting to worry about her—it being after midnight, after all, and no place in L.A. is safe for anyone, much less a sweetie like me, all alone late at night—just when they were starting to worry along those lines, they would’ve seen me stumble and nail my knee. Then would come a delicious view of my bare legs and panties while I’m squirming on my back.
Cops are all a bunch of horny bastards.
They also think they’re God’s gift to the safety of mankind.
I’m a beautiful babe and in need of help. In other words, for any normal cops, I’m irresistible.
They’d have been on me like Boy Scouts on a blind cheer-leader stumbling across a freeway.
But nobody came to my assistance.
While I was still on my back, Henry came sniffing up to my face. It seemed very sweet of him. I was touched. I thought to myself, This dog is all right.
Then the fucker bit my cheek and ran like hell, his little leash dragging behind him.
I’ll kill him if I ever get my hands on him. I’ll gouge out his eyes and chop off his little feet and skin him alive and barbecue him and eat him.
I would’ve shot him on the spot, but that would’ve been stupid. By then, I was pretty sure no cops were watching me. But firing off my Colt would’ve blown any chance of getting my hands on Jody.
Anyway, my face was bleeding!
The fucking little faggot dog broke my skin, would you believe it?
Blood was getting all over me.
I sat up and held on to my cheek and had a real strong urge just to limp on back to my car and drive to the motel and forget about Jody. Call it a night, you know? Maybe hit the road tomorrow for parts unknown, the hell with Jody, the hell with Lisa, the hell with Tom and the guys.
It’s hard to care about much of anything when you’ve just bashed your knee and gotten bit in the face. All you want to do is quit. Quit and go home.
I no sooner made it to my feet, though, than I suddenly realized the dog had given me exactly what I needed—an excuse to go to Jody’s door!
I’d thought for sure that a cop or two would come running out when they saw me fall, and I’d take it from there—either talk my way into the house or shoot them down, then run in and snatch Jody. Maybe use her family car for our getaway.
But no cops had shown up.
Which meant none had seen me fall or get bitten.
Which meant Jody and her family weren’t being guarded at all.
Which meant all I had to do was go through the door.
Who could resist opening the door to a woman with blood all over her?
Nobody, that’s who.
And nobody is just who opened the door.
I stood under the porch light for about five minutes, ringing the doorbell. I could hear it ringing inside, so it wasn’t broken. But nobody came.
Were they just heavy sleepers, or were they in there listening and lying low?
Maybe nobody was home. They might’ve decided to split after Dusty’s muffed try at sniping the girl. It’d be a natural reaction: somebody takes pot shots at you, you go someplace where maybe they can’t find you.
Anyway, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t about to leave.
There were glass panels on both sides of the door. All I had to do was bash one, reach inside and unfasten the locks. I didn’t do it, though. I didn’t want there to be busted glass right out in front where anyone could see it.
So I went around to the back of the house. It had a nice concrete patio with lounges and a barbecue. On my way to the door, I had to step over some dark gobs. No telling what they were. There wasn’t enough light to see much. I didn’t see the broken glass, so I ended up walking through it. I crunched some pieces and kicked others, making them skitter and clink across the concrete. Made a real racket. A dog started barking, but it was far away and it sounded too big to be Henry.
Walking through the mess, I realized somebody must’ve dropped plates or something back here. The dark gobs were probably food.
Then I came to the screen door. It was just an aluminum frame without any screening in it.
I swung it open and blocked it there with my back while I tried the wooden door. You never know about people. Sometimes, they don’t lock up. The knob wouldn’t turn, though. The door felt stout, and had a deadbolt lock, so I decided not to monkey with it.
I went in through a window, instead. None at the back of the house had been left open, so I just picked one at random. I stood on a patio chair. It Was redwood, so it was sturdy enough to hold me up. (Aluminum chairs half the time bend and collapse when you stand on them.) The screen window was attached pretty good. I couldn’t pull it off, so I gave the screening a smack with the butt of my Colt. It gave, and the glass behind it shattered.
More barking from the unknown dog.
Aside from that, nothing happened.
So after waiting a while, I bashed in the screening with my pistol. I basically tore my way through it, ripped it out of my way. The window was double hung. I reached in and unlocked it and slid it up. Then I used one of my shoes to brush the broken glass off the sill. Then I climbed in.
Underneath the window was the kitchen sink. I’ve had to crawl over worse obstacles from time to time. It took a while and a lot of effort, but I finally got myself to the floor.
Then I searched the house. After all the noise I’d made, I was ninety-nine percent sure it was empty. Even so, I kept the gun in my hand, ready for surprises.
I checked inside every room. Just a quick look, but enough to make sure nobody else was around. The last place I checked was the garage, which was attached to the side of the house. You could get to it through a door in the hallway. There were all sorts of tools and appliances inside the garage, but no car. The space where the car belonged was empty.
Which made me fairly sure that Jody and her family had driven somewhere.
It was a relief, but disappointing.
I went into the bathroom, locked the door and turned on the light.
You should’ve seen me.
When I saw myself in the mirror, I didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. My wig was twisted crooked and half my face was a bloody mess. The blood had come from tiny rips in the skin over my left cheekbone. That whole side of my face was smeared and stained with b
lood. It had run off my jaw and down the side of my neck. It had soaked the collar of my sundress and even spattered the front.
The bleeding had stopped by that time.
Later, I went around the whole house and cleaned off every place where I could find bloody handprints or drops of blood.
You can’t get it all, though.
I’ll probably burn the place, sooner or later. But I can’t bum the patio or lawn or sidewalk, so the cops are sure to find my blood.
Thanks a lot, Henry.
It’s almost like he bit me on behalf of all his brother bowwows I’ve dispatched over the years. Payback, you know?
I’d love to get my hands on him.
I guess it doesn’t matter, though. About the blood. It won’t do the cops any good without me. And they won’t get their hands on me. Cops are the least of my worries.
Anyway, all I really cared about right then was fixing myself up. I straightened my wig and washed the blood off my face and neck. Then I checked inside the medicine cabinet. What a waste of time that was. I couldn’t find any sort of antiseptic or any Band-Aids, not even gauze or adhesive tape. Don’t these people ever hurt themselves?
I ended up folding some toilet paper into a pad. I held that against the bite, and taped it there with some magic transparent tape I found on the desk in Jody’s bedroom.
It was definitely Jody’s bedroom, by the way. There had always been the possibility that I’d gone to the wrong house, but her room removed any doubts.
On a shelf were some big wooden blocks that spelled her name. Her name was all over the place, on pencils and stickers and a little fake California license plate, not to mention on pages of school work I found inside a loose-leaf binder. I also found some pictures of her.
There were a few framed photos on top of her dresser and desk. One showed her with shish-ka-sister. They looked maybe seven or eight years old, and were at Disneyland hanging on to the arms of some dopey yellow bear in a red T-shirt. There were also pictures of Jody with her folks. The gal I figured for her mother only showed up in pictures when Jody was pretty young. She’s out of the picture now, so to speak. She either dumped the old man, or kicked the old bucket. Either way, she isn’t in any recent pictures and she doesn’t have clothes in the master bedroom. It looks like Jody lives alone with her father.