Night screams, p.9
Night Screams, page 9
We passed an ancient loading platform, broken and uneven now, and the pathway widened a bit. I looked back over my shoulder; we were far enough from the street now.
“The building’s right up here,” I said. He slowed his pace, and I pushed the 9mm’s barrel into the center of his back, nudging him forward.
“Damn it, man. Keep me the fuck away from the edge. I can’t swim, I tell ya. I can’t fuckin’ swim.”
Suddenly, a flash went off inside my head. My heart hammered.
I can’t swim.
I pushed him over the edge to see if he was lying.
He wasn’t.
I watched the bubbles until they disappeared.
9
I hate answering machines. The only reason I finally bought one is because I kept missing calls from my bookie. Now I get messages all the time from a Mr. Pony. Clever guy.
I always screen my phone calls, with an emphasis on the always. I pick up maybe one time out of every three or four dozen calls. That’s it. But, and it never fails, the single call I answer in the flesh is always the one I wanted most to avoid.
That’s how Connie finally tracked me down, a week and four messages later. She didn’t ask me why I hadn’t returned the calls, so I didn’t make up a sorry excuse. I had a feeling she knew, anyway.
“Is it over?” she asked, skipping any casual bullshit.
I’d rehearsed this moment over and over again, but my mouth felt dry and sticky. “Yes,” I finally said.
“How are you?”
“Fine,” I lied.
Silence. Then she said matter-of-factly, “I’m expecting my sister and her family tonight, but if you’d like to come over and talk—”
“No, no, that’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on downtown.” Another lie.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Long pause. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what Ray said to you that night.”
“Uh huh,” I said, knowing precisely what she was talking about.
“Well, you know Ray thought of you as a lot more than just a partner. I mean . . . he really admired you. He loved you.”
Her voice was strangled and soft, and I knew she was starting to cry.
“He thought of you as a brother . . . as family. And I think he was saying sorry because he was leaving you alone. He worried about you, you know? He used to talk about it a lot. No wife, no family, not many friends. Just your work. He always told me that if something happened to him, he knew I could go on. I had family members close by, good friends, a job I enjoyed.” She sighed. “You were the one he worried about. I think Ray was apologizing for leaving you alone. That was just like him, wasn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just thanked her after a moment and hung up, knowing that what she’d said was the truth.
Later, I made myself a sandwich and ate it outside on the back porch. I watched the leaves dance across the lawn, and the late-afternoon sunshine and the whisper of a breeze felt good on my face. Autumn was in full swing now, and for the first time since I was a teenager, I remembered that it was my favorite time of year. A season of change.
I sat there for a long time nibbling at that sandwich, thinking about Ray. About his unshakable spirit and outlook on life. About the big mouth that had given me so many headaches during so many workdays—his stupid jokes, his boring family talk, his childhood adventure stories. And I thought about the many times when we’d sat, shared a beer or dinner, and just talked. About nothing in particular, about everything that was important to us.
As the afternoon passed, I could feel the heavy weight of guilt slowly ease away. What we’d done wasn’t right, but it had cleaned the slate. It had allowed us—Ray’s survivors—to survive. And to start over again.
When the sun finally lowered and the chill set in, I took my empty paper plate and went inside. It was the best damn sandwich I ever ate.
10
Later that evening, while reading the newspaper, I found myself staring at the classified advertisements. I turned to the section for household pets and circled a phone number for purebred puppies. I thought about it a bit longer and decided to call in the morning. Someone to keep me company, I thought. One of those shiny gold ones . . . like Cowboy.
I know Ray would’ve liked that.
Good Vibrations
Kim spread her blanket on the sand. She stepped onto the middle of it, set down her beach bag, and pulled off her sneakers and socks. She placed her sneakers at two corners of the blanket in case the wind should pick up.
Then she unbuttoned her blouse.
She wondered who might be watching. The beach was hardly deserted. At least a dozen guys—some playing volleyball, a few tossing Frisbees, others sunbathing alone or with friends or families or lovers—had turned their heads to inspect her as she’d made her way along the beach in search of an empty place to put down her blanket. Some would be staring at her now, eager to watch the clothes come off.
The beach was as warm with beautiful young women in scanty swimsuits, but most of the guys within range would have their eyes on Kim. Because she was the one still wearing a blouse and shorts. And they wanted to watch her strip.
She’d come to the beach often enough to know how they were.
Right now, any number of men were staring at her back, aware that she’d unbuttoned her blouse, waiting for her to slip it off her shoulders. Most, she suspected, hoped that by some miracle of recklessness or mischance she’d left the top of her swimsuit elsewhere.
Sorry to disappoint you, fellas, she thought.
She removed her blouse, dropped it to the blanket, then quickly pulled down her shorts and stepped out of them. That should pretty much end the suspense for her audience. Now, she was just another gal in a string bikini. She hadn’t forgotten to wear a suit, after all. And it wasn’t transparent. And it hadn’t fallen apart to give them a thrill.
The guys could turn their attention to other matters.
Some, of course, were bound to keep on watching. There were always a few of those.
It’s just part of coming to the beach, Kim told herself. You know you’ll be stared at and admired. You know you’ll be getting some guys turned on. Like it or not, that’s the way it is.
Relax and enjoy yourself.
Clasping her hands behind her head, she stretched. She shut her eyes, arched her back, rose onto tiptoe, clenched her buttocks, and moaned with the good feel of her straining muscles. She sniffed the fresh, briny air. She heard the surf roaring in and washing out, the squeals of seagulls and children, laughter and shouts, rock ‘n’ roll and rap and country music and the manic voices of d.j.s from nearby radios. She felt the heat of the sun. She relished the way the soft, cool breeze stirred her hair and roamed over her bare skin.
This is really the life, she thought. It doesn’t get much better than this.
It would be better without the bikini, she thought.
And laughed softly.
The fellas would really have something to look at then.
No way.
Kim opened her eyes. Even through the tinted lenses of her sunglasses, the gleam of the sunlit waves was so bright that she was forced to squint. Some kids were playing in the surf. A couple of lovers strolled by, the foam sliding over their feet. A man in skimpy trunks ran past them, muscles leaping, bronze skin flashing.
He didn’t look toward Kim. After he’d run by, she watched his back, the way his buttocks flexed under the tight sheath. She was still watching him when she noticed the young man stretched out on the sand a couple of yards off to her left.
He lay on his belly, arms folded under his face. His head was turned toward her. He wore a strange pair of goggles. They didn’t look at all like swimming goggles.
They were leather, with small round lenses, the green glass of the lenses so dark that she couldn’t see his eyes at all. She felt certain that they were open, though. Open and staring at her.
He’d probably been one of those spying on her from the start.
She frowned at him. “What’re you looking at?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. Playing possum.
No point in getting upset, Kim told herself. He has a right to be here. And there’s no law against looking at me.
Not even if you are wearing weird goggles.
Something else seemed wrong about him, though.
Something more than the goggles and the sneaky way he was ogling her.
For one thing, she realized, he was sprawled on the actual sand; he had no towel or blanket under him. He didn’t have a shirt or shoes. Instead of a real swimsuit, he wore faded cutoff blue jeans.
He didn’t look wet at all, so he hadn’t simply come wading out of the water and flopped here to let the sun dry him.
His beltless jeans hung so low that the top of his crease showed. A seat pocket was torn loose at one corner, and Kim could see skin through the hole.
The skin there seemed as tanned as the rest of him.
Look who’s staring now, Kim thought.
She knew she ought to turn away from him. In those goggles, he just had to be a space cadet. She certainly didn’t want him to get the impression that she might be interested in him.
All you need is a guy like this deciding to put moves on you.
He’s gotta be a nutcase.
But a good-looking one, from what she could see of him. Muscular, slim, with smooth skin tanned a shade darker than the sand and bare all the way down past his hips where his cutoffs hung carelessly low. Or intentionally low. Maybe he wanted her to notice the sleek curve of his back and how it rose to the mounds of his buttocks. Wanted her to think about him being naked under the faded, torn denim.
Kim swung her gaze to his face. It rested on his crossed arms. Those goggles were so damn queer. He might be quite handsome, but who could tell with his eyes out of sight? His hair was cinched in against his head by the leather strap, but neatly trimmed, gleaming like gold, blowing a little in the breeze.
He looked as if he might be a few years younger than Kim. Still a teenager, for sure.
That might explain why he wore the goggles. Teen-aged guys often seemed to take a perverse pride in being strange. They enjoyed calling attention to themselves. Not only that, but they were constantly horny. He might be wearing the goggles just so he could spy on the girls in secret.
Maybe he isn’t watching me.
Maybe he really is asleep.
His lips suddenly pursed out. Kissed at her twice.
Kim flinched. She turned away fast, knelt on her blanket and stuffed her blouse and shorts into her beach bag.
Her heart was thumping.
He’d been watching her all along, knew she’d been staring at him, the creep.
Those kissing gestures! Only a jerk would do something like that. They’d been like a crude remark—“kiss my ass,” or “suck me off.”
Or maybe he’d meant nothing of the kind. Maybe he’d only wanted to suggest he wouldn’t mind kissing her.
Whatever, it was damned embarrassing.
Kim wondered if she ought to pick up her things and move to a different section of the beach. She didn’t want to do that, though. She’d been here first. At least, she thought she’d been here first. She certainly hadn’t noticed him when she’d picked this spot, or she wouldn’t have put her blanket down so close to him.
No, he’d come along afterward. He must’ve snuck over and flopped nearby to watch the strip show.
Maybe while I was spreading the blanket.
This is where I stay, she decided. I’m not about to let him scare me off.
Scare me off?
I’m not scared. Why should I be? He might be a weirdo, but so what? It’s not like he can do anything to me, not with so many people around.
All he can do is look. So what?
Let him look to his heart’s content.
Jerkoff.
Scared of him. Right. Sure.
Kim dug into her beach bag and pulled out a plastic bottle of suntan oil. She moved the bag out of her way. Then she turned around slowly. Though trembling a bit, she felt quite pleased with herself as she taunted him with a good frontal view of her body shifting and twisting inside the bikini.
Turning you on, goggle eyes?
She resisted a sudden temptation to make kisses at him.
That might start something.
So she kept her face toward the water, stretched out her legs, and uncapped the bottle of suntan oil. She squirted a thin stream of warm fluid down the top of each leg to the ankle. The oil gleamed sunlight, tickled her as it started to dribble. She set the bottle aside. With open hands, she spread the oil over her shins and knees. Then her thighs. She lingered on her thighs, sliding her hands slowly up and down and between them, slicking her skin all the way to the edges of the blue patch that stretched down from its low cord and hugged her like a narrow, glossy membrane.
Catching all this, Goggles?
Eat your heart out.
Done with her legs, she squirted oil into the palm of her right hand and slicked her belly, fingertips drifting along the cord that slanted down from high on both hips. Her hand drifted over the cord, then came up for more oil. This she spread over her sides and across her rib cage below her bikini top.
She oiled her shoulders and arms next. She grinned to herself as she did it.
Make him wait for the grand finale.
She took off her sunglasses. Eyes shut, she carefully dabbed oil on her face.
Bet I’m driving him nuts.
He’s probably already nuts, or he wouldn’t be wearing those idiotic goggles.
Kim put her sunglasses back on, then filled her hand with oil and began to rub it on her chest. She caressed herself, enjoying the hot slippery feel of her skin and savoring the way she must be tormenting the kid. He had to be watching, had to be wishing this was his hand sliding between her breasts and stroking their bare sides.
One hand at a time, she eased her fingers beneath the cords that suspended the garment from her neck. She smoothed oil over the top of each breast. She went in under the clinging fabric and brushed her fingertips over nipples already turgid and jutting.
Bet you never expected a show like this, dip shit.
Right hand still inside her top, oily fingers sliding on her nipple, she turned her head for a glance at her spectator.
He was gone.
Nothing there except the shallow imprint his body had pressed into the sand.
Where the hell’d he go?
Kim slipped her hand out from under the bikini and scanned the beach. She looked from side to side. She swept her gaze across the shoreline and the surf. She even twisted her head around to search the area behind her.
She saw plenty of people, even a few guys wearing cutoffs instead of swimsuits. Nobody was near enough, fortunately, to have enjoyed a ringside seat for her show. But the goggled kid who was supposed to be only a few feet away, who was supposed to be agonizing over her, was nowhere to be seen.
The bastard bailed out on me!
Good, she told herself. I didn’t come here to get ogled by some freak.
Damn it! How could he just get up and walk away?
Must be gay. No other explanation. A straight guy would’ve stayed or come over and put moves on me.
Unless he left just to piss me off.
I’m not pissed off.
I’m glad he’s gone, good riddance. I didn’t come here to get pestered by some freaky teenager.
Kim capped the bottle of oil. Her hands were trembling.
Calm down, she told herself. He’s gone. Now you can just forget about him and enjoy yourself.
Twisting around, she propped the bottle against her beach bag. Then she lay down. She closed her eyes. She shifted about on her blanket, snuggling against the sand to shape it with the curves of her body.
She took a deep breath that pushed her breasts more tightly into the bikini’s smooth, hugging pouches. She liked the feel of that. She liked the feel of the sun’s heat and the way the mild breeze brushed over her skin like gentle fingertips.
It’s wonderful, she thought. It’s perfect, now that the creep is gone.
Almost perfect. She didn’t like the way a lump in the sand pressed against her rump. She squirmed until it settled into the groove between her buttocks.
Probably a beer bottle left behind by some damn litterbug.
She thought about getting rid of it. But that would take so much effort: crawling off the blanket, moving it out of the way, digging into the sand, and then she’d have to touch the thing. Somebody else’s garbage. Probably filthy. It might not even be a bottle. Might be an old bone, or something. Yuck. Forget it.
Besides, it didn’t really cause any discomfort now. In fact, it felt rather good. She gave it a squeeze with her buttocks.
I ought to roll over and get the most out of it, she thought.
But she had already oiled her front. And she felt too lazy and contented to move. She yawned. She stretched. She snuggled down against the sand and the bump, and soon she fell asleep.
In her dream, the young man in goggles knelt between her legs and slid his hands up her thighs. “I knew you’d come back,” she told him. “I knew you wanted me,” he said. She laughed and said, “Don’t flatter yourself.” He smiled. Then he ducked low and licked her. From the feel of his tongue, she realized her bikini bottom was gone. She looked down at herself. The top was missing, too. Gasping, she flung up her hands and covered her breasts. His mouth went away. “It’s all right,” he said. “Nobody’s watching.” She said, “I’ll just bet.” He opened his button and slid the zipper down. “Would I do this?” he asked, “if we had an audience?” He let the cutoffs fall to his knees. “My God,” Kim muttered. “All for you,” he said. She let her arms fall to her sides. Bending down, he kissed and licked her breasts. He sucked on them. She moaned and writhed. Then she gasped, “No, wait.” He lifted his head. He smiled down at her and licked his glistening lips.
“What?” he asked. “I don’t even know you.”
He answered, “That’s all right. You want me. That’s all that matters.”
