‘Normy, please. Slow down. We’ve still got some loving to finish up, haven’t we?’
‘Yeah,’ Duke said. ‘Sure can’t pleasure the gal if we wind up in jail.’
‘Remember what it felt like, Norman?’
Jesus. He remembered. The way her titties jiggled as he thrust his cock up inside her. The way she’d sucked him; the way she’d run her tongue around the big old purple bell while moaning with pleasure.
Made him moan, too.
His first time.
Fucking this fleshy woman . . . fleshy pig-woman. Then watching in horror as she wrestled naked with a guy that she thought she’d already killed. Dear God. Dear God in heaven.
Shaking his head, Norman eased off the gas pedal. The needle dropped to thirty-five.
‘Adda boy, Norman!’ Duke slapped his thigh. ‘I like to burn rubber as much as the next guy but we need to lie low until this blows over.’
‘Blows over? You two killed people tonight. Human beings.’
‘Human beings. Huh.’
Boots confessed, ‘You shoulda seen what the pervert did to me, Norman. He didn’t get no hard-on. So he put things inside of me. Light bulbs. Shampoo bottles. Then he got a soda bottle. I thought I was gonna cry when he shoved the—’
‘Okay, okay!’ Norman took a right at random. ‘But you still shouldn’t have strangled him.’
‘Nice way to go though, eh, Norman?’ Duke’s teeth gleamed like a vampire’s in the dashboard lights. ‘Boots’s wet pussy in the small of your back, titties tickling you as she puts the squeeze on your neck.’
‘And you stabbed an old man,’ Norman protested. ‘He didn’t do nothing to you.’
‘Would’ve called in the cops.’
‘You stabbed him in the back. Twice!’
‘You kicked him in the birdcage, Norman, old buddy.’
‘That makes you . . .’ Boots rooted for the phrase before whispering it in his ear. ‘An accessory to murder.’
‘I’m no murderer.’ Norman knew what he was going to do now. He went over his earlier plan again. Find a police precinct. Stop the car. Dash inside. These two would be in jail within the hour. Then he’d be free to drive home. He repeated the words with conviction: ‘I’m no murderer.’
‘The cops won’t see it like that,’ Duke told him.
Boots whined, ‘Yeah, you’ve got blood on your hands, too. Besides, you still like me, don’t you, Norman? You’re not gonna go all cold and law-abiding on me? After the nice things I did for you. I even sucked your—’
‘Shit!’
‘Nice and cool, Norman.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Boots asked.
‘Cops,’ Duke said. ‘Two of them. One cruiser. See the lights?’
‘Oooh, yeah. Bright, aren’t they?’
Norman stared ahead at the road lit by streetlights. He saw the police cruiser. A cop stood on the sidewalk, talking into his radio. The second cop stepped out, holding up his hand.
Oh, shit.
Suddenly, meeting a cop wasn’t such a good idea. And another big SUDDENLY: Norman realized that the bodies had been found in the motel. Duke had wanted to leave them one piled on top of the other. ‘That way it’ll look as if they died fucking one another. Heart failure.’ Heart failure! Dear Christ. One had been strangled while wearing Boots’s black-knit bikini bottoms. The manager of the motel had been stabbed in the back. Twice. That ain’t natural causes. Not even to a cop with his eyes poked out and his ears filled with fucking candle wax.
Now the APB had been made. The police must have been given a description of Norman’s car. Probably another motel guest had seen the license plate.
The trooper took another step out into the road, hand still raised.
I’ll be in the frame for murder too. I’ll wind up in the electric chair. Oh God, I don’t believe this’s happening to me. Please, if I can only turn back time. Just five hours. I’ll be good. I’ll go to church every week. I’ll learn to love Jesus . . .
The cop stood facing Norman, feet apart, hand raised, palm out.
STOP.
The trooper wants me to stop.
Then the cuffs will go on.
I’m on my way to jail.
Norman screamed, ‘No way!’
Stomped on the gas pedal. The car surged forward.
Duke shouted, ‘Norman! No. Don’t—’
The car slammed into the cop. Norman saw the man’s false teeth fly out of his mouth due to the force of the impact. Then the big guy folded over the hood, his face smashing against the steel frame of the windshield. Like a balloon bursting, the man’s head shattered, splashing blood across the glass.
Norman accelerated. The body lay pasted against the windshield. Norman looked into the man’s exploded head, the brain matter oozing on the glass. Then the body rolled sideways as Norman hauled a left. When it fell onto the road Norman didn’t look back.
Duke was amazed. ‘You just killed a cop. You just drove into him and pow! Wasted him. Did you see his brain coming out of the hole in his head? It was like his skull was taking a shit.’
Norman couldn’t speak. He could only drive.
‘Norman?’ Boots was dumbfounded. ‘Open season on perverts. But I don’t know about killing the police. What d’ya think, Duke?’
‘Whoa, don’t matter what I think.’ Duke looked back. ‘Norman. The other cop’s following.’
‘SHIT!’
Norman glanced in the rearview mirror. The cruiser pounded up the road behind, lights whirling. He pushed the Jeep as hard as he could through the quiet – usually quiet – residential neighborhood. Its headlights flashed against trees, parked cars.
‘Hey, dude,’ Duke said. ‘You’re a real Viking, aren’t you?’
Norman spat out the words: ‘The police would have arrested us. They know what you two did to the guys in the motel.’
‘Didn’t look like that to me. Didn’t you see potatoes in the road? They’d spilled from the back of a truck.’
Boots picked up the thread. ‘So the police were only stopping us from running over the potatoes?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Shoot.’
‘But Norman here had got the killing fever on him.’
Norman groaned. The police didn’t even know about the motel killings. He’d splattered the guy all over his car for no reason. Automatically, he flicked the wiper stalk to scrape away blood and brain matter from the windshield. It smeared real bad.
‘Makes a pretty mess, huh, old buddy?’
Norman glanced at Duke. ‘The other cop? Is he gaining?’
‘Sure he is. You really think you can outrun a cruiser in this peewee?’
‘I’ve gotta! I’m not going to jail.’
‘I don’t want to go to jail.’ Boots sounded whiny again. ‘I was born for lovin’ and good times.’
Duke asked, ‘What’s the plan, Norman old buddy?’
‘Shut up and lemme drive!’
Norman powered the car out of the residential neighborhood into open countryside. Now the road was surrounded by fields. And flanking the road were a pair of deep, deep culverts.
‘Getting closer,’ Duke warned. ‘Soon the cruiser’s gonna be bumping your ass.’
‘Oh God. This can’t be happening to me!’ Norman hunched over the wheel, teeth clenched, stare locked on a road lit by the blaze of headlights.
Duke thought for a while, then made an observation. ‘Shouldn’t be surprised if the cop doesn’t try and shoot our tires out.’
‘They’ll bring in helicopters, too,’ Boots said. ‘I’ve seen it on TV.’
‘Out here, Boots? They won’t have no copters out here. No.’ Duke nodded with the conviction of experience. ‘They’ll shoot our tires out. That – or try and get a shot at the driver’s head.’
‘Oh, Christ.’ Norman wanted to go the lavatory badly. Very badly. He was panting. Sweat rolled down his face.
Now I’m going to take a bullet in the brain.
It’s just not fair.
He glanced in the mirror. The cruiser was just a dozen yards behind his car. He saw the whirl of its lights. He could even see the grim face of the man whose buddy now lay smashed to crud in the road. The man leaned sideways through the driver’s open window.
Norman thought: Gun!
That was when he brought both feet stomping down on the brake. The car screamed. Slid sideways. The driver in pursuit wrestled with his vehicle’s wheel to stop from slamming into the back of Norman’s car.
Norman watched as the police car roared past. The driver swung out to avoid Norman’s vehicle that was still skidding sideways along the pavement.
Norman watched.
As the police car flipped out. Turning over into the culvert in a flurry of sparks and exhaust smoke. He even heard its engine scream as the vehicle became a ball of flame that raced along the water channel. The cruiser eventually slid to a stop, a burning ruin. Containing one dead police officer.
Norman’s car came to a halt. Its engine idled. The sudden near-silence made Norman dizzy.
‘Hey, man.’ Duke was impressed. ‘You’re a cop-killing machine. I never knew you had it in you.’
Boots leaned forward, and put her arms around Norman from behind and kissed his cheek. A wet kiss that felt cold as reptile spit against his burning skin. ‘Norman. You’re my hero.’
For a moment Norman watched the burning police cruiser send balls of oily black smoke into the night sky.
Then he said, ‘We’ve got to go where they’ll never find us.’
Light on the gas pedal now, Norman drove away from the burning police car.
Chapter Eighteen
Norman moaned.
Moaned as he drove.
Moaned as his sore eyes stared at what was revealed by the car’s lights. Passing trees, road signs, roadkill, diners, gas stations, a lonesome truck hauling timber at two in the morning.
‘Ohhh . . . what have I done? Jesus, what have I done?’
‘You’ve done two cops, that’s what you’ve done,’ Duke told him as he combed back his Elvis quiff.
‘Did you see how the first guy’s head burst – pop! – on the windshield?’ Boots sounded excited rather than appalled.
I’m in a car with two crazies, Norman thought. Two crazed killers. Gotta get out.
But.
I’m a crazed killer too. I just killed a pair of cops. But I’m pro Cop! I’m pro Law and Order.
‘Oh my God,’ he groaned. ‘What have I done?’
‘I can drive, old buddy.’ Duke sounded concerned. ‘You need to relax.’
‘Yeah,’ Boots cooed. ‘Come and rest up in the back here with me.’
‘No. I’ve gotta get away from here. The cops will be looking for us.’
‘Yeah,’ Boots breathed. ‘You cracked one like a nut, then toasted the other.’
‘Wicked.’ Duke nodded.
‘Oh . . . oh . . .’ Boots suddenly pounded Norman’s shoulder. She was breathless. She was on a high over the violence. ‘Norman. Pull over. Pull over!’
‘What?’
‘Pull over just here. Oh . . .’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘But we’ve gotta get away from here. Cops will be crawling over the roads. They’ll shoot to kill.’
‘Ain’t that always the way?’ Duke observed.
‘But please, Norman. You’ve got to pull over. I’ve gotta do something, otherwise my panties will go pop.’
‘You need to pee?’
‘No.’
‘The other thing?’
‘No.’
Norman’s mind swum as streetlights flicked past the car. What’s gotten into Boots? Crazy woman. Crazy pig-woman. With bulging thighs and heaving breasts. Christ, I think I’m going to faint . . .
‘Norman, pull over. Please.’
Duke said, ‘Aren’t you going to oblige the lady?’
Norman hardly knew what he was doing anymore. Guilt rolled over him in tidal waves. He could only think of the officers he’d killed. Their families? Oh Christ, their families . . .
The moment he stopped the car Boots almost threw herself out of the vehicle. The road was deserted. Here was countryside. No houses.
Maybe she needs to puke?
Wish I could puke. Get all this guilt out of me . . .
Duke said, ‘Best kill the lights until she’s done.’
Done what?
Norman turned as Boots dragged the driver’s door open.
What on earth is she doing?
Norman stared at her as she stood panting. Her breasts jiggling as she inhaled mightily. ‘Boots?’ he asked.
‘Duke?’
‘Boots?’
‘Duke. You watch or not. I don’t care.’
‘What ya planning, girl?’
Boots gasped like she’d run a marathon. ‘Sweet Mary. I’ve never been so turned on. Watching Norman kill those cops and all. I got fire in my veins.’
Norman watched her in a daze. What was that woman on?
‘Norman. You’ve gotta let me do this for you. You’ve gotta. I’ll die if you don’t.’
‘Boots?’
She pounced as though she was ravenous and couldn’t stop herself. Hands fumbling like crazy, she unbuckled Norman’s belt, unzippered him. Then her hot hands gripped his penis and tugged it like she was strangling a snake.
‘Not now,’ Norman protested. ‘Jesus. The cops will be . . . ah . . . ah!’
To his horror, despite the wholesale bloody mania of the last few hours, despite the craziness of Boots doing this at such a god-awful inappropriate time he felt himself stiffen beneath her stubby fingers as she worked at him.
‘Oh, Norman,’ Duke said, appreciatively. ‘Reckon your birthday just came early.’
‘Duke,’ Boots panted. ‘Be a gentleman. Shut yer eyes.’
‘What? And miss the show? No way.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Then she went to work on Norman.
Norman drove. The night starless. The surrounding countryside just a blackness.
Empty.
Something strange happened to him inside. He could feel it working up through his stomach into his chest. Then it shot out from his mouth; he clenched his fists around the buckled steering wheel.
‘Norman?’ Duke looked at him from the passenger seat.
‘You okay?’ Boots asked from the back seat. She sounded anxious.
The noise coming out from his mouth was getting louder . . . LOUDER . . .
The noise was terrible. Electrifying. Some part of him recoiled in horror.
Then he knew what it was. He was whooping. A real cowboy yodel. Sheer exhilaration.
Exultation.
‘Ya – hoo!’ he hollered. ‘We did it! We really did it!’
‘Yeah.’ Duke sounded puzzled. ‘We did it, Norm.’
Norman whooped again and it turned into a laugh he’d never laughed before. A full-blooded manly laugh. A laugh that belonged to football stars, lumberjacks, burly Marines, pro-wrestlers . . . you name it. Macho, macho, macho.
‘I am a MAN!’
Boots and Duke must have been staring at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
‘I’M A MAN!’
‘Never doubted it,’ Duke said.
‘Tonight. For the first time: I’ve fucked a woman. I’ve killed two men.’ Norman whooped again through the open driver’s window. He felt stronger than Superman. Cooler than James Dean. Meaner than Satan. Cuter than Johnny Depp. ‘I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!’
He floored the gas pedal. The car roared into the night. And toward whatever waited tomorrow.
Chapter Nineteen
Pamela woke the next morning feeling full of life. The clock radio told her it was 10:34.
Slept late.
But then, sleep heals.
Not only had her feet quit hurting, she felt renewed emotionally. She knew that her husband was dead; she was a widow at twenty-three, but she no longer believed that she’d go
insane with grief. She wasn’t immune to that grief, but this was the time to start dealing with it.
Mosby’s trailer looked good in the bright Californian sunlight pouring through the windows. Clean, comfortably furnished, it radiated a homely charm. She went to the closet. Instead of old-man clothes (surely Mosby was the old man pictured with the marlin), there were T-shirts in bright colors – a red, a blue, a green, a lemon. Also, there were clean pairs of shorts neatly folded on the shelf. New underwear, too.
Lauren or Nicki must have put them there . . . Nicki! Pamela suddenly remembered last night when Nicki had massaged the oil into her feet. She remembered the woman’s slick fingers soothing her damaged skin. Then she’d fallen asleep.
And woken to see Nicki rubbing her naked breasts against Pamela’s feet.
What do I say when I see Nicki? How do I look her in the eye?
Say nothing.
You dreamed it.
Had to have done.
Face it. You were exhausted. You’d nearly been killed. Jim had been murdered by the psycho Rodney. You were mixed up. You couldn’t differentiate between dreams and reality. Face it, girl, in those circumstances who could?
Quickly, she showered, using a fruit shampoo that smelled wonderfully of strawberries. Then she dressed in a lemon T-shirt and white shorts. Whoever had thoughtfully provided the clothes had also left pairs of sandals in the bottom of the closet. They were different sizes but at last she chose some delicate brown leather sandals that had criss-cross strapwork across her feet. These fitted just perfectly.
It’s like Goldilocks and the three bears, Pamela thought. Now all I need to find are three bowls of porridge – one too salty, one too sweet, and one just right. She spent some time in front of a mirror, running a brush through her hair. A solid silver one, hallmarked, and with the initials CJ elegantly etched into the back. The brush felt so good that she lavished more strokes on herself than she would normally. The light coming through the window made her hair shine like gold.
I shouldn’t look this good.
Shouldn’t feel this good.
Not with Jim lying zippered in a body bag in a morgue. If there was a body after the fire. If it wasn’t reduced to—
Before the tsunami of tears came Pamela left the trailer at a run.
The Glory Bus Page 14