Suddenly, his torso tipped downward and his legs flew up.
Lib gasped.
Sandy blurted, "Look out!”
As Slade’s legs swung down, both women scurried for safety. But Lib didn’t move fast enough. Before she could get clear, Slade’s left shoe crashed against the top of her shoulder.
"Ow!” she cried out. Grabbing her shoulder, she stumbled backward.
Slade piled into the ground beside the trailer. He came to rest on his knees, rump up, face in the grass. Sandy didn’t like him in that position, so she rammed him in the hip with her foot and he toppled over sideways.
-You okay?” she asked Lib.
“Shit,” Lib said, rubbing her shoulder. “Dis ain’t my night.”
“Your shoulder isn’t broken or something, is it?”
“Naw.”
“Still works?”
“Reckon.”
“Wanta just help me drag him into the trees? Then you can go inside and take some aspirin and hit the sack, or something, if you want to.”
"Dat sounds good.” She came over and looked down at Slade.
“Which end you want?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll grab his peet.”
“His peter?” Sandy asked, sounding shocked. “Don’t do that!”
“Hardy har har.”
“Why don’t you grab his feet, instead? I’ll take his arms.”
“Kick your ass prom here to next Sunday,” Lib muttered.
Laughing softly, Sandy crouched over Slade and took hold of his wrists. Then she waited while Lib bent down and clutched his ankles. “Ready?” she asked.
“Heabe ho,” said Lib.
They both stood up straight, stretching Slade and raising him off the ground. Sandy sidestepped quickly, turning him. Then she started to trudge backward, lugging him away from the trailer. Lib followed, holding up his legs.
“Sure is a hebby son ob a bitch,” Lib muttered.
“Maybe you ladies should set him down.”
At the sound of the man’s voice, Lib made a quick squeaky noise and dropped Slade’s feet. Sandy, shocked, bent down slowly. When Slade’s head rested on the ground, she lowered his arms and folded them across his chest. Then she stood up straight.
She and Lib, standing at opposite ends of the body, turned this way and that, trying to spot the source of the voice.
The man was not to be seen.
Sandy felt as if a vicious thug were kicking her in the heart.
“He’s down,” Lib called, sounding almost breathless.
“Now,” the man said, “stick your hands up.”
“Is that you, Marshal Dillon?” Sandy asked.
“Stick ’em up!”
She and Lib raised their arms overhead.
“Okay,” the man said. “That’s good. Now step back away from the body and keep backing up till you get to the trailer.”
Moments later, they were standing side by side, their backs against the side of the trailer, their arms still high.
A few yards straight in front of them, the trunk of a tree seemed to grow wider.
Someone was gliding out from behind it.
Someone as dark as the night.
When he stood separate from the tree, he switched on a flashlight. The stark white beam slanted down at Slade. It moved slowly up and down the mutilated body.
“Who killed this man?” he asked, swinging the beam over to Sandy.
Squinting, she turned her face away from the glare.
“Not me,” she said.
The light jerked away from her, then jabbed into Lib’s eyes. “Not me,” Lib said.
“What happened to your face?” he asked her.
“I got beat up wid an ugly stick.”
“How about some straight answers, ladies.? You might think this is all funny as hell, but I don’t see the humor. You’ve got a dead man here. So what’s the story?”
“Are you a cop?” Sandy asked.
“No, but I’ve got a gun.” He turned the flashlight onto his own right hand. It was clutching a big, dark pistol. The barrel was aimed upward, not at Sandy or Lib. “You’re on my property. I want to know what you’re doing here.”
“Isn’t it pretty obvious?” Sandy asked.
“Cut out the wisecracks.”
Sandy shrugged.
“We just wanted to ditch da body,” Lib told him. “Dat’s all.”
“Suppose we just throw him back in the trailer and drive away?” Sandy suggested. “How would that be? I mean, we weren’t trying to unload him on you in particular. We don’t even know you. We just wanted to get rid of him, that’s all.”
"How’d he get killed?”
“He attacked me,” Sandy said.
“Uh-huh.”
“He was trying to rape me, all right? So I fought back. And I won. I had a knife handy, or maybe I’d be the one who ended up dead.”
He swung his light toward Lib. “How do you fit in?”
“She...”
“I’m asking her, not you. What’s your name?” he asked Lib.
“Bambi,” she said.
“Bambi? Like the deer?”
“Yeah. I got opp lucky. Day almost called me Tumper.”
That’s Thumper,” Sandy explained..
“What happened to your teeth, Bambi?”
"He knocked ’em clean out my head,” she explained, nodding in Slade’s direction.
“Is that before or after he attacked this one?”
"Charly,” Sandy said. “I’m Charly. Like in Charlie’s Angels.”
"He beat me up pirst,” Lib explained. “Den he went apter Charly.”
“He’s my dad,” Sandy explained. “Bambi, she’s my stepmother. He was always beating the shit out of us and...you know, messing with me. So tonight I was ready for him and I got him with my knife.”
The beam of light swept down and returned to Slade’s body.
Sounding appalled but calm, the man asked, “This is your father?”
“Yeah. Dirty rotten son of a bitch.”
“You killed your own father?”
“Sure did. And I’m not sorry for it, either. He got what he had coming.”
The man slowly shook his head from side to side.
Keeping his light on Slade, he said, “If what you’re telling me is true, it sure sounds like self-defense. So why are you trying to hide the body? You should’ve just called the cops right after it happened and admitted everything. Nobody’s going to blame you for trying to defend yourself like that.”
“Guess I was scared,” Sandy said. “I’ve got a little baby, you know? I was scared they might take him away. I mean, I’m only fourteen, and...”
“You’ve got a child?”
“Yes sir. And he’s the daddy.” She jabbed a finger toward Slade’s body. “He’s my baby’s daddy and my daddy, too.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Dey’ll take away little Eric por sure,” Lib said. “Dem polks at Child Welpare. Dat’s how come we had to run opp and why we gotta hide da pucker’s body.”
The man was silent for a while. Then he asked, “Where are you from?”
“Noplace much,” Sandy told him. “Last couple of months, we’ve just been on the road.”
“You live in this trailer?”
“Yes sir,” Sandy said.
“Where are you heading?”
“Noplace. Just figured we’d keep on going, and hope for the best.”
“What kind of money do you have?”
“A few bucks. You want it?”
He lowered the pistol. “I’m not sure I believe everything you’re telling me,” he said. “But you two...It’s pretty obvious you’re in a jam. I’d be glad to help you, but I don’t want to end up like this guy.”
“Are you fixin’ to attack us?” Sandy asked.
“Not likely,” he said.
"Den it ain’t likely we’ll kill you,” Lib told him.
“Mom’s right,”
said Sandy.
“In that case... Maybe you’d like to be my guests. I’ve got a cabin just up the road a piece. You could probably use some food and a good night’s sleep.”
“Got anyting to drink at dat cabin ob yours?” Lib asked.
"Just about anything you might want.”
“Hot damn! Let’s went, honey!”
The man said, “My name’s Harry. Harry Matthews.”
“I meant her,” Lib explained, swinging a thumb toward Sandy.
“I like to call my girl honey. But maybe I can call you honey, too, ip you treat us right.”
“Fine. So let’s take care of this body, first. Then we’ll go on up to my place.”
Chapter Fifteen
A VISIT FROM CLYDE
All afternoon, Dana’s mind dwelled on Warren. She thought about the way he’d looked and the things he’d said. She wanted to know everything about him.
Tuck, no doubt, would be able to tell her plenty.
But Dana was afraid of hearing it. The guy just couldn’t be as wonderful as he seemed. He must have some sort of awful flaw.
After a talk with Tuck, she might want nothing more to do with him.
We can’t talk about him here, anyway, she told herself. I’ll wait till after work.
During a slow period in the middle of the afternoon, she was leaning against the side of the ticket booth, daydreaming about Warren, when Clyde stepped around the corner. He was carrying a stool with a padded seat.
"Interested” he asked.
“I don’t want to take your seat,” Dana told him.
“I’ve still got one.” He set down the stool for her.
“Well, thanks.”
As Dana climbed onto it, Clyde watched her closely. Though he wore sunglasses, their lenses weren’t dark enough to hide the direction of his gaze. He mostly watched her breasts and crotch.
She was used to that sort of thing.
Sometimes she found it flattering, sometimes exciting. Often, though, it seemed like an embamssing invasion of her privacy and annoyed or disgusted her.
Long ago, she’d discovered that her reaction depended on who was doing the staring.
Though Clyde was certainly handsome—well over six feet tall and built like a Mr. Universe contestant—she didn’t care much for him.
“So,” he said. He folded his arms across his massive chest and looked her in the eyes. “How’s it it going?”
"Okay.”
“First day on the job.”
“Not bad,” she said.
“You have a little trouble upstairs?”
“No big deal.”
“Lynn pulled you out.”
“I just wasn’t feeling very well. I needed some fresh air.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Happens to everyone. Well, not everyone. But just about. It’s hard to last all day in there, especially for a beginner. I’ll tell you your symptoms. Cold sweat, faintness, nausea, a sense of suffocation. Tell me I’m right.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Did you barf?”
“No.”
“Plenty do. You probably would’ve, except you got out in time.”
Dana tried to smile pleasantly. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad I didn’t.”
“You know what it is?”
“What what is?”
“Purely psychological.”
“Ah.”
Nodding, he pulled a pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket. He held it toward Dana.
“No thanks,” she said.
He took one for himself and lit it up.
“See, you tell yourself it’s just a house. You’re just a tour guide in a house full of dummies...That includes the tourists. The dummies.”
She smiled and nodded.
“So, you tell yourself nothing is going on. But plenty is going on. It’s not just a regular house with dummies inside. You know what really happened there, and you can’t hide from it. The more you try to hide from the reality of the place, the more your subconscious works on you.” He nodded briskly. “You know what that does to you?”
“What?”
“It screws up your entire system. Your whole internal organic structure knows where you are. So you don’t breathe right. It’s like you’re afraid to take a deep breath when you’re in there, like the air is full of disease because of all the death and decay. And you don’t want to suck it into your own body. Do you see what I mean?”
"Sure,” she said.
A guy this handsome, she thought, shouldn’t be cursed with such nutty ideas.
“So, see, what you’re doing to yourself, you’re giving your brain a case of air starvation. You know why you feel like you’re suffocating in there?”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you are. You’re trying subconsciously to hold your breath, see?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Does that make sense to you?”
“Sure.”
“‘Cause, subconsciously, you don’t want to be breathing the fucked-up air inside that house.”
“Right.”
“You get it?” he asked, the cigarette bobbing between his lips.
“I get it.”
“See how it’s all in your mind?”
"Yeah.”
“Now. Do you know how to fix it?”
“By breathing?”
“Absolutely. But it ain’t that easy. See, your subconscious has a mind all its own.”
This time, Dana’s smile was genuine.
Clyde smiled back at her, looking very pleased with himself.
“You can’t just order your subconscious mind to let you breathe. Doesn’t work that way. What you’ve gotta do is come to terms with Beast House.”
“Come to terms with it?”
“Absolutely. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, you know.”
She managed a chuckle.
“Denial’s behind all your problems.” He took a deep drag, then removed the cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at her. “What you need to do is accept Beast House.”
What a load, she thought.
She said, “Ah. Okay.”
“And it’ll accept you,” he added.
She nodded.
“I can help you with that.”
“You can?”
“You want to get over it, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“You almost have to get over it. You’re a Beast House guide. How can you be a guide if the place makes you sick?”
“Wouldn’t be easy.”
“I just so happen to have a foolproof treatment. Are you interested?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. After work, we’ll go and have dinner together and get started.”
“Started?”
“On your treatment.” He tossed the cigarette stub to the pavement and mashed it under his shoe.
“During dinner tonight?” Dana asked.
He flashed a smile. “Everybody has to eat. How about the Carriage House restaurant? Have you ever eaten there?”
“No, but...”
“It’s the best eatery in town. The only place in town where it’s possible to get a decent dinner.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said, shaking her head and trying to look apologetic. “Not tonight.”
“It’ll be on me.”
“Well, thank you. That’s very nice of you, Clyde, but I’ve already made plans for tonight.”
“So?”
“What do you mean?” Dana asked.
“Make new plans.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be right.”
Smirking, he shook his head and looked as if he pitied her.
“Well,” he said, “it’s your life.”
“I can’t go back on my word. I’m sorry. Maybe some other night.�
�
“Maybe not,” he said. “This might be your only chance.”
Lord, I hope so.
Dana shrugged, frowned slightly and said, “Well, if it is, it is. That’d be up to you, I guess.”
“Once bitten, twice shy.”
“Nobody bit you.”
With a smile that didn’t look very friendly, he said, “You’re making a very big mistake, you know.”
“I guess I’ll just have to live with it.”
“You don’t have to live with it. Just blow off this other guy while you’ve still got the chance.”
“Can’t.”
“Who is he?”
“Nobody. None of your business.”
“It’s Warren, right?”
“It’s not Warren.”
Wish it was.
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s not.”
“You don’t want to go out with him.” Clyde lit up another Camel. “He’s a loser.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“He’s a fag.”
Heat rushed to her face. “Shouldn’t you be back in the ticket booth?”
“And sell tickets to who? You see any customers lining up?”
“Not at the moment.”
“And you won’t. Nobody ever shows up this late.”
“Well, you don’t have to stand here.”
Grinning, he said, “You don’t want to go out with a guy like Warren.”
“I already told you, I’m not.”
“So, then, you’ll come to dinner with me tonight?”
“No!”
Smiling languidly, he blew smoke into her face. “Why not?”
“I—have—a—previous—engagement.”
“Still?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“With Warren?”
“No.”
“With who?”
“None of your business.”
“A mystery date.”
“Right. That’s it. I have a mystery date.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
“I don’t know. He’s going to surprise me. And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. None of this is your business, Clyde. You really oughta learn how to take ‘no’ for an answer. Now why don’t you please drop it?”
Smiling with the cigarette pinched between his lips, he held up both hands as if surrendering. “All right,” he said. “I’m dropping it
“Thank you.”
“It’s your loss.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Going out with some pathetic loser when you could be going out with me.”
The Midnight Tour Page 17