The Glory Bus

by Richard Laymon

  ‘That’s what you say normally, Norm.’ Boots snickered. ‘Hey, did you hear what I said? Normally, Norm? That’s kinda—’

  ‘We heard.’ Duke opened the door, then said to Norman, ‘That guilt thing ain’t eating you no more.’

  Boots leaned sideways on the back seat to squeeze Norman’s knee. ‘He’s becoming one of us.’

  They approached the house under cover of the bushes at the side. About a hundred wind chimes from the porch roof, eaves, house walls and tree branches. Under the hot sun there wasn’t much wind, but there was enough.

  The chimes turned.

  Tinkled.

  Chinked.

  Sang.

  A robot chorus of tinny voices.

  I’m going through with this. Norman told himself. And I don’t feel bad. I’m not wanting to retch with guilt.

  That’s because you’ve done worse than steal a car.

  Cop-killer.

  ‘Oh, Poppa,’ he breathed. ‘If you could see me now.’

  Duke had led the way through the bushes to the house. Now he held his finger to his lips. ‘You two stay put. Come forward to the porch when I whistle.’

  Norman whispered, ‘You going to hot-wire the truck?’

  ‘I figured using an ignition key would make life easier.’

  ‘Where you gonna find the key?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  ‘Leave him to it,’ Boots whispered. ‘Duke knows what he’s doin’.’

  Duke winked. ‘Duke sure does, baby.’

  With that he stood up. Then, in plain view, not skulking, not looking shifty, he strolled up to the house, giving the Datsun just the barest sidelong glance.

  ‘Norman?’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Kind of sexy here under the bushes.’

  ‘Don’t start that now, Boots.’

  ‘Normy, Normy, Normy.’

  ‘Quit touching.’

  ‘Betcha I can get you hard.’

  ‘Not now.’

  Norman tried to watch Duke’s progress. Especially as Duke was walking with the knife gripped in his hand so that it stayed behind the back of his thigh, where it wouldn’t be seen from the house.

  ‘Norman . . .’

  ‘What?’ He turned to Boots who tried to look coy, one of her thick fingers resting against her fleshy lips. Even in the dappling of shadow and sunlight under the bushes she looked broad. A heavy blend of muscle and fat. Her bare arms were thick and were colored a patchy red with sunburn from yesterday, while her elbows had scabbed from carpet burn.

  Must be from when we made love yesterday.

  Made love?

  Sheesh. We screwed her plain and simple.

  But there was something about her smile and her take-me-I’m-yours eye contact that sent a shivery tingle up his spine.

  ‘Remember what I did for you in the car yesterday, Norman?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Wanna do it again?’

  ‘Now?’

  She nodded. ‘Here.’

  For a heavy girl she moves fast. Boots pushed Norman so that he sat on his butt, taking his weight on straight arms, his hands planted just behind him. She got down on her knees, unzipped him.

  ‘Boots . . . ah, ah, you sure pick your times . . .’

  ‘’S good, ’s nice . . .’ She slurped.

  The girl has to be crazy.

  Getting horny at a time like this.

  Stealing a truck.

  Duke knocking on the door.

  Oh . . . but it feels so good.

  Boots’s bleached hair bobbed up and down in the shadow. Norman’s heart thudded. Blood roared through the veins of his neck.

  His head swiveled from watching Boots . . .

  . . . to watching Duke. The man’s body masked the knife. He looked cool as James Dean standing there. Oiled blond quiff shining in the sunlight. He tapped on the screen frame with his free hand.

  Cooing, whispering, Boots did incredible things with her mouth.

  Holy shit.

  That’s good.

  That’s the best.

  Boots is good at this.

  Must have had practise aplenty.

  Dizzy with the erotic thrill of it all, Norman watched a thin guy in dungarees step into the doorway while holding the screen open.

  Couldn’t hear much. But Duke was talking to the guy. A guy of around sixty in a red cap.

  Duke pointed at something away in the trees. The guy stepped out onto the porch to look, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. Duke smiled pleasantly. Came across as chatty. The bony guy in the cap appeared relaxed. The young stranger turning up at his door hadn’t made him suspicious.

  Boots moaned. She was aroused too. With one hand she opened her blouse, flipped her bra to expose a jiggling white boob.

  Norman moaned. ‘Uh . . .’ This was too much.

  Pleasure overload.

  But he had to see what Duke did next.

  Duke was still talking to the guy, circling round to stand beside him, still pointing.

  Saying what?

  ‘Hey, mister, you don’t know me but I’ve just seen a truck come off of the road yonder. Driver’s hurt bad.’

  Or:

  ‘Is that a helicopter that’s crashed in the trees?’

  Or:

  ‘Just seen the Mayor buck naked in the lake. He’s swimming there with the Chief of Police and the High School principal.’

  Whatever.

  It worked.

  The old guy stared good and hard toward a line of trees.

  Duke moved.

  Raised his knife hand.

  Blade catching the sun, a hard quicksilver glitter.

  Boots sucked harder.

  The old guy shouted.

  Norman shouted.

  Boots had worked her crazy erotic magic on him all over again.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘You’ve really got to educate yourself not to shout out when I’m taking care of business.’

  Duke finished rolling the body under the crawl space of the house, then let down the trellis flap to hide it.

  Boots wiped her mouth, smearing her lipstick a little. ‘My fault. I got Norman all carried away.’

  ‘Gotta get smart, otherwise the cops will be snapping on the cuffs in no time at all.’ Duke plucked his knife from a porch timber where he’d planted it for safekeeping. He wiped the blood off on the grass. ‘Like I say, I don’t do jail.’

  Boots fluttered her eyelids and in her breathy way cooed, ‘Sorry, Mister Duke.’

  ‘Aw, shit. Who could stay mad at you?’

  Norman looked up at the house. Close up it wasn’t looking too healthy with its paint cracking and peeling up and its missing shingles.

  ‘Say. Anyone else at home?’

  ‘Nah. Only old Mister Brundle.’ Checking that the blade was clean, Duke slid the knife into his motorcycle boot. ‘And his wife.’

  ‘His wife?’

  ‘Don’t have a cow, Norman. She’s not going to beat us up.’

  Boots growled. ‘I’d like to see any woman try and beat me up.’

  ‘Ain’t our Bootsy-girl formidable?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Norman agreed.

  Half woman; half sow.

  Only . . .

  She was kinda exciting.

  He remembered the look of joy on her face as he’d squirted his twin-pack into her sucking mouth.

  Maybe, I’m becoming more like Duke, he thought. I’m seeing the world differently. Seeing babes differently.

  ‘Anyone hungry?’ Duke asked.

  ‘You betcha. Could eat a hairy-assed goat.’ Boots licked her lips.

  ‘What we gonna do with the guy’s wife?’

  Duke shrugged. He didn’t care. ‘Mister said she couldn’t move around by herself these days.’

  ‘Probably tucked up in bed,’ Boots observed. Then a thought occurred that pleased her. ‘Hey, guys. There might be a spare bedroom. We could grab some shut-eye.’

&n
bsp; ‘And anything else that comes our way.’ Duke winked. ‘What say you, Norm?’

  ‘I’ve gotta eat first.’ Boots crossed the porch to the door.

  ‘An army marches on its stomach.’ Duke gave a little bow to Norman. ‘After you, bud.’

  ‘The guy’s wife must be upstairs,’ Norman said as they helped themselves to beers from the refrigerator in the kitchen.

  ‘Go tuck her in if you like.’ Duke took a slug of beer.

  ‘Probably an invalid. My grandma was an invalid,’ Boots said. ‘Welfare paid us money to keep her, but you know after a while she got—’

  This is a story I don’t want to hear, Norman told himself. ‘Hey, there’s a bunch of steaks in the refrigerator.’

  ‘Great choice, Norman.’ Duke checked out a shelf. ‘Gotta skillet. Bound to be some grease for frying hereabouts. Ah, tomatoes in the basket.’

  ‘I got the bread.’ Boots held up a loaf.

  ‘I thought I heard something.’

  ‘Probably the old lady turning over in bed.’

  ‘Or coming downstairs.’ Norman wondered what the tough guy would do to the dead man’s wife.

  Duke bit into a bright red tomato. ‘Say, Norm, check out the freezer for French fries. I’m as hungry as a horse.’

  Norman went to the big chest freezer in the corner. Flipped up the lid.

  ‘Holy shit!’

  ‘No French fries?’

  Norman backed off, staring into the cavernous interior as freezer mist rolled out into the warm air.

  ‘What’s wrong, babe?’ Boots sauntered across, her white footwear clicking on the boards.

  ‘We gotta get out of here,’ Norman spluttered.

  ‘Oooh-ee. The old guy was right about his wife being not much of a walker.’

  ‘Hey.’ Duke smirked. ‘He put the old lady on ice.’

  Norman stared at the frozen body of an old woman with blue-rinsed hair. The eyes were open.

  One peered left.

  The other stared right.

  Her lips were as gray as her skin. She looked as if she’d snuck into the freezer for a nap.

  ‘Wonder why he froze her up like that?’ Boots poked the old woman in the eye with her finger. The eyeball looked as hard as glass.

  Duke pursed his lips, considering. ‘Sentimental attachment.’

  ‘Or Necro-fuller,’ Boots suggested, giving the nose an experimental prod.

  ‘Phrase is Necro-filler,’ Duke corrected her.

  Necrophilia! Norman would have shouted the word but seeing Boots prodding the rock-solid corpse made his insides feel strange.

  ‘Close the lid.’ Norman swallowed. ‘Now.’

  ‘Guy’s right. There’s no French fries I can see. Boots, peel some potatoes.’

  ‘Like fun I will.’

  ‘I’ll peel the potatoes,’ Norman said. Gratefully he released a lung full of air when Boots closed the lid.

  ‘Ain’t he a gent?’ Duke patted Boots’s rump. ‘He doesn’t want to see the lady spoil her nails.’

  Boots looked round at the kitchen. ‘We should check the house over. Might be money. We’re gonna need cash.’

  ‘Smart as well as sexy,’ Duke said appreciatively. ‘Ain’t she a catch?’

  ‘You betcha, Duke.’ Norman turned his eyes away from the freezer-cum-casket with an effort.

  Went to the sink. Ran water. Started peeling potatoes. He did it mechanically.

  Wonder what it’s like to kiss a frozen corpse on the lips?

  Shit. His imagination supplied the sensations. Like pressing ice to your mouth.

  ‘We’re gonna take a look round,’ Duke said. Then to Boots: ‘Coming?’

  ‘Only in yer dreams, buster.’

  Then, giggling girlishly (the giggles punctuated by swinish snorts), she ran from the kitchen with Duke slapping her heavy rump. Norman heard their footsteps go clumping upstairs. Presently, he heard Boots giggling in a breathy kind of way. That was pretty muffled.

  Unlike the squeak-squeak of bedsprings: he could hear the noise coming through the ceiling.

  Norman forced himself to concentrate on peeling the potatoes. But every so often thoughts intruded.

  Old boy dead under the crawl space.

  Wife frozen like a pea in the freezer.

  Dear Lord.

  What kind of nightmare have I fallen into?

  As he carved the skins from the potatoes, nicked out eyes with the point of the blade, he heard the creak of the bed.

  Sometimes it sounded like the opening of the deep-freeze lid.

  Then his head would twist round so fast that his neck muscles would hurt.

  She’s climbing out the deep freeze.

  Gonna get you, Normy boy.

  Each time Norman looked he was convinced that he’d see the old girl’s gray face, with its gray lips, with eyes that looked out to the sides like those of a fish. He’d see her peeping out at him with the appliance’s half-open lid resting on her blue-rinse hair.

  ‘Come join me in the deep freeze, sweetheart.’ He could almost hear the whispered invitation. ‘Come cuddle up with old Mother Brundle. It’s safe and dark in here.’

  Shut up!

  The creak-creak of bedsprings sang down through the ceiling at him. Duke and Boots would be naked up there. Duke’d be boring into the pig-girl like he planned to come out clean through on the other side.

  Then there was the old ice maiden. Norman was sure that he could hear movement in the deep freeze.

  Maybe he should check on her? Make sure she was dead.

  Maybe he should go upstairs. Make up a threesome.

  Maybe he should grab the Datsun’s keys. Make dust.

  The thought caught Norman by surprise. He looked across the kitchen to where a wooden board had been fixed to the wall. Beneath a picture of a German Shepherd were the words: LET ME GUARD YOUR KEYS.

  Beneath that caption were little metal hooks where bunches of keys hung. Some were car keys.

  In five seconds he’d have the keys in his hands.

  Would need to go close to the deep freeze with its ice maiden, though.

  Worth the risk.

  Because in twenty seconds he could be driving away from here.

  Alone.

  Duke would still be humping Boots.

  Never know he’d gone.

  Until it was too late.

  Sweet.

  Where would I go?

  Who cares, as long as I’ve dumped the crazy duo.

  Norman put the knife and a part-peeled potato in the sink, dried his hands on a towel, then moved slowly toward the keys that glinted in the light bouncing through the windows. Outside, it was still in the isolated valley. The sun shone down on the trees. In the distance the open road beckoned.

  Gonna be free of Duke and Boots. No more madness. No more killing.

  Be away from the deep-freeze lady, too. I’m sure I can hear her running her fingernails across the metal sides in there.

  He reached the key-keep. Yeah, there were the car keys. One had the word Datsun impressed on its plastic fob. He could be driving away from here within the next few moments.

  Norman reached out. Touched the keys.

  ‘Hey.’

  The shock nearly blew his heart clean out of his chest. He spun, expecting to see the old lady standing up in the deep freeze, hands on hips, demanding to know what the game was.

  Instead, he turned to see Duke standing in the doorway with a rifle in his hands. The man was butt naked.

  ‘What you got there, Norm?’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘Those the keys?’

  ‘Uh . . . sure. Just checking them out.’

  ‘Good move,’ Duke said brightly. ‘You never know when we might have to shoot out of here. Grab this.’

  He threw the rifle to Norman.

  Norman caught it. Its weight nearly dislocated his fingers.

  ‘Found this upstairs. Thought it might come in useful if you get any surprise visitors.’

&n
bsp; ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How long until chow time?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘Just give us a yell when you serve up. That Boots is insatiable, you know?’

  ‘I know.’

  With his legs shaking, his belly full of watery sensations, Norman went back to peeling the potatoes.

  Upstairs the bed once more began its creak . . . creak . . . creak . . .

  Okay, okay, I could just go right now.

  Grab the keys.

  Race the Datsun down the track to the road.

  But he couldn’t do it. He’d realized when he went to get the keys just before Duke showed up in the kitchen doorway that his heart just wasn’t in it.

  Have they gotten some kind of hold over me? he wondered.

  Maybe it’s Boots. A sexual magnetism.

  Or maybe I need Duke’s instinct for survival to protect me.

  I’m a cop-killer. If I’m busted then it’s the end of everything for me.

  No future.

  Not even a heartbeat.

  Norman thought about the dead woman lying in her ice tomb. No. Not me. I don’t do death.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Duke said, ‘That was a great steak, Normy. Just how I like it.’

  Boots patted his knee. ‘Yeah – so rare that a good doctor could get it breathin’ again.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Norman had been driving two hours. The house was a long ways back in the isolated valley.

  Along with . . .

  The old guy stabbed by Duke.

  The old gal in the deep freeze.

  And . . .

  Ouch!

  His red Jeep Cherokee.

  Duke’d released the brake so that it’d coasted down the slope into the lake where it had disappeared with a gurgle. In minutes all that remained were a few bubbles and spreading blooms of oil on the water, painting iridescent rainbow colors.

  Shit.

  Loved that car, man. Really loved it.

  Only they’d had to ditch it and replace it with the pickup truck that had belonged to the old guy, who now lay in the crawl space with only spiders for company.

  The Ford pickup was a dull blue. Ten years old. But ran well.

  The old-timer must have lavished attention on it. Loved it, just like I loved my little red Jeep.

  Norman imagined the old guy checking the oil, or inflating the tires with an old hand-pump, while his wife baked apple pie in the kitchen. Then one day the guy had gone indoors to find his wife dead.