Flesh

by Richard Laymon

  The man was far away and out of uniform, but the nosepull gave him away. Mike Felson.

  Of course, Jake thought. I’m in Mike’s search sector.

  Mike didn’t seem to spot the cruiser.

  He walked toward the closed door of a garage and past the garage and lifted the lid of a trash barrel. He peered into the barrel. He put the lid down, stepped to the next trash can, and took off its lid.

  Jake groaned. Hugging his belly, he pushed his forehead hard against the upper rim of the steering wheel. He couldn’t stop groaning. He raised his head a few inches and pounded it down on the wheel. Then he did it again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Roland snapped his checkbook shut. At the start of the semester, his parents had given him $350.00 in addition to the cost of tuition, room and board. Whatever was left after buying textbooks could be used for incidentals such as entertainment, extra food, clothing (knives and handcuffs, he thought, grinning), and so on. He had $142.55 left in the account.

  In the morning, he would withdraw it from the bank and use it for escape money.

  It didn’t seem like a whole lot.

  Roland got up from the chair, stepped over to Jason’s desk, and sat down. He found Jason’s checkbook in the top drawer. He flipped through the check stubs until he found the last total Jason had entered, then worked his way forward, subtracting the approximate amounts of the several checks Jason had written since then. It looked as if Jason had close to $400.00 left in the account.

  A goodly sum.

  Roland would have to practice Jason’s signature…

  You dumb shit, you flushed his driver’s license down the toilet at the Oakwood. Remember? Not only that, you didn’t even take whatever cash he had in his wallet.

  He wondered if Celia had any money in her purse.

  He had left her purse in Jason’s car.

  Go back and get it?

  No, too risky.

  Bending down, he pulled open the bottom drawer of Jason’s desk. He lifted the Penthouse and Hustler magazines, removed the envelope containing the snapshots of Dana (why not take those along as a souvenir?) and searched under a few more magazines until he found Jason’s stash. The money was folded in half and fastened into a packet with rubber bands.

  Roland took it out. Though its thickness was encouraging, he discovered that most of the bills were ones. Still, the total came to $87.00.

  He carried the money and envelope over to his desk, and stuffed the cash into his wallet.

  On the corner of his desk stood a framed eight by ten photograph of himself. He’d had it blown up from the negative of a picture taken at Halloween. It was a great shot, showing him wrapped in a vampire cape that he’d rented for the occasion. His plastic fangs were bared. His mouth and chin were smeared with blood.

  Roland patted the envelope of Polaroids and grinned as an idea came to him.

  He slipped his photo out of its frame. He removed the Polaroids of Dana from the envelope. Then he took scissors and glue from his drawer.

  He snipped Dana apart.

  A fine, fine way, he thought, to while away the time.

  He glued pieces of her to the vampire photo. Soon, his leering face was surrounded by floating body parts.

  A work of art, he thought when he was done.

  I ought to name it.

  Call it “Private Dreams.”

  He grinned, enjoying the pun.

  As he picked up the scraps, someone knocked on his door.

  Roland’s heart kicked.

  Quickly, he slipped the photo into his desk drawer. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Alison Sanders. I’m Celia Jamerson’s roommate.”

  “Just a second,” he called. His pulse beat fast. Celia’s roommate. One of the girls who’d been with her at the mall? What if this is the great-looking one who’d been wearing the jumpsuit?

  Quickly, he grabbed his jeans and put them on. Crouching, he closed the suitcase on the floor and pushed it under his bed. He rushed to the closet, took out a sport shirt and slipped into it. With trembling fingers, he fastened a couple of the buttons before opening the door.

  It was the jumpsuit girl and she looked even better than Roland remembered. She must’ve been out in the sun since then, for her face had a glow that made the white of her eyes and teeth striking. Even in the shadows of the corridor, her hair shone like gold. She wore a powder blue blouse with short sleeves. It was buttoned close to her throat. At her shoulders, the straps of a bra were faintly visible through the fabric. Pockets covered each breast. The blouse was neatly tucked into the waist of billowy white shorts with rolled cuffs midway down her thighs. She wore knee socks that matched her blue blouse, and bright white athletic shoes. In one hand, she held the strap of a leather purse. The purse swayed, brushing the side of her calf.

  “Why don’t you take a picture,” she said. “It lasts longer.”

  Cal Taber chose that moment to walk past her. He laughed at Alison’s remark, looked over his shoulder and said, “You bite, Rolaids.”

  Roland flipped him a finger.

  “Real cute,” Alison muttered.

  “Sorry. Some of these guys are such pigs. You want to come in?”

  “Here’s fine. Do you know where Jason and Celia are?”

  Try the Oakwood Inn, he thought. Frowning, he shook his head. “I don’t know. The last I saw of Jason, he was taking off from here to pick her up. He planned to take her to the Lobster Shanty.”

  “You haven’t heard from him since then?”

  “No.” He wondered if Alison always wore her blouses buttoned that high. He imagined slicing off each button with his knife and spreading open the blouse.

  Alison’s eyes narrowed. Mind reader? Roland wondered. “So you don’t have any idea where they might be?” she asked.

  “Well, not really. Maybe. I don’t want you thinking I’m a snoop, but…”

  “Don’t worry about what I think.”

  “Well, yesterday afternoon I noticed that Jason had a couple of telephone numbers on his desk. He wasn’t around and I was a little curious, so I called the numbers. You know, just for the hell of it. One was the Lobster Shanty. When I called the other number, I got the registration desk of a motel in Marlowe.”

  “A motel? What was the name of it?”

  Roland frowned. “The…uh…” He shook his head. “Jeez, what was it? I really can’t remember. It’ll probably come to me later. Anyway, I guess Jason was thinking about taking her there.”

  “Why all the way in Marlowe?”

  “You’d have to ask Jason. I don’t have any idea. He did take an overnight bag with him when he left.”

  “It still seems pretty strange that they’d be gone this long.”

  Roland smiled. “They must be having a good time.”

  Alison didn’t look amused.

  “I’m sure there’s no reason to be worried. They’ll probably be back pretty soon—unless they decide to stay over another night.”

  “Yeah,” Alison muttered. From the look on her face, she wasn’t convinced.

  Shit, Roland thought. I should’ve told her Jason had phoned and said they’d be staying over.

  He could call Alison later and tell her that. But would she believe him?

  It doesn’t matter.

  She won’t be with us long enough to cause any trouble.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” he said, “unless they don’t get back tomorrow morning. Jason has a ten o’clock. I’m sure he’ll be back in time for that.”

  Alison nodded. “You’re sure you can’t remember the name of the motel?”

  “I might think of it later. I could give you a call if it comes to me.”

  “Okay. I probably won’t be there, but you can leave the message with Helen. Do you have something to write down my number?”

  “It’s in the student directory, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  And so is the address. “I’ll call if I remember.”


  “Thanks.” She turned away.

  Roland watched her walk down the corridor, the loose fabric of her white shorts pulling lightly across her buttocks with her strides. She began to twist around for a glance over her shoulder, so he stepped back and closed the door.

  He rushed over to his bed and stepped into his shoes. He tied them. He felt under his hanging shirt front and touched the knife case on his belt, then patted a pocket to make sure he had his room key.

  By the time he opened his door again, Alison was out of sight. He pulled the door shut and raced down the hall. He bounded down the stairs.

  “Slow down, jerk-off,” Tod Brewster warned as Roland dodged him and his girlfriend on the landing.

  “What a dip,” he heard the girl say.

  Three steps from the bottom, he leaped.

  Through the glass doors ahead, he saw Alison outside. She was on the walkway alongside the dorm’s north wing.

  Roland waited in the lobby until she disappeared around the corner. Then he followed.

  He stayed a distance behind Alison as she headed through the center of the campus. She took the walkway along the western side of the quad. Some guys were playing touch football on the lawn. In spite of the late hour, several girls were scattered about, most of them wearing bikinis, some reading, others apparently asleep, some talking in small groups, a few watching the football game. Here and there, couples were sprawled on blankets. One couple was tangled in an embrace. One girl, alone near the walkway, had her top unfastened and was braced up on her elbows, engrossed in a book, and Roland slowed down to stare at the pale exposed side of her breast. He felt a stir of arousal.

  I wonder who she is, he thought.

  Forget it. You’ve got other plans for tonight, and you’re hitting the road as soon as you’re done. No time for this one, even if you did know who she is.

  Things are getting too hot around here.

  If you really wanted to play it safe, you’d leave right now and forget about Alison.

  Oh, I can’t do that. No way.

  Alison first, then I’ll take off.

  Though it’s a pity to leave all this behind.

  Don’t let it worry you. The world is full of delicious young flesh.

  At the far end of the quad, Alison turned to the left and made her way through the shaded area between Doheny Hall and the Gunderson Memorial Theater. She walked directly to the street. Then she crossed it.

  Roland watched from behind a tree until Alison rounded the corner of the block. Then he rushed to the other side of the street. When he reached the corner, Alison was no more than twenty yards ahead. If she turned around now…He quickly back-stepped and ducked behind the shrubbery bordering the lawn of the Alpha Phi sorority house.

  He waited for a few minutes, then peered around the bushes. Alison had stopped midway down the block. She was gazing at something high and off to the side. She raised the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. Her back arched and she seemed to take a deep breath. She touched the top button of her blouse. Her hand dropped to the bottom of the blouse and felt around as if to make sure she was tucked in. Then she left the sidewalk.

  Roland hurried forward.

  He spotted her. She was inside the courtyard of an old apartment building with ivy vines on walls of rust-colored brick. As he watched her, she climbed a flight of stairs to a balcony that ran along the upper story. She walked past two doors, and stopped in front of the third.

  Instead of knocking or opening the door with a key, she backed away from it and leaned against the wrought iron railing of the balcony. Her head lowered. For a while, she didn’t move. Then, stepping away from the railing, she lifted an arm and twisted around as if trying to see the back of her shorts. She swiped her seat briskly a couple of times. Finally, she stepped to the door and knocked.

  A man opened the door. He was bigger than Alison, probably six feet at least. He wore slacks and a clinging knit shirt. Even from this distance, Roland could see that he was powerfully built. He had a flat belly, a big chest, pecs, a thick neck, and bulging upper arms.

  This was not a guy to mess with.

  The man backed out of sight, and Alison entered the apartment. The door swung shut.

  Now what? Roland wondered.

  Go up and give it a try?

  Don’t be stupid.

  Wait till she leaves, and nail her while she’s walking home?

  If the guy’s any kind of gentleman, he’ll walk her home. Besides, I want her inside somewhere so I won’t have to worry about intrusions.

  I’ll want a long time alone with her.

  Go on back to the dorm, he decided, and look her up in the directory.

  Yeah.

  Roland rubbed his sweaty, trembling hands on his shirt.

  “Hurry home, Alison,” he whispered.

  Then he hurried away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jake saw a blonde girl on a tricycle behind the chain link gate at the end of a house’s driveway. She wore a white blouse.

  Kimmy?

  He could only see her back.

  What would she be doing here, riding a trike? Maybe this is a friend’s house. Barbara said she’d phoned all of…

  The right front of the patrol car tipped upward. Jake forced his eyes away from the girl. He jammed the brake pedal down, but not in time, and the car slammed into the trunk of oak. The impact flung him forward. The safety harness locked, caught him across the shoulder and chest, and threw him back against his seat.

  The girl, hearing the crash, looked over her shoulder.

  She wasn’t Kimmy.

  Smoke or steam began rolling out from under the hood. Jake turned off the engine. He released the harness latch. Trembling, he opened the door and got out to see what had happened. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.

  Watching the girl, he’d let the car turn. Its right front tire had climbed the corner of the driveway and he’d smacked into a tree on the grassy stretch between the curb and the sidewalk.

  He staggered to the front of the car. It was hissing. The white cloud pouring through the caved-in grill and around the edges of the hood smelled wet and rubbery. He didn’t need to open the hood to know what had happened: he’d ruptured the radiator.

  Dropping onto the driver’s seat, he reached for the radio mike.

  “Thanks for the lift,” he muttered, and climbed out of unit one.

  “Grab some rest before you start looking again,” Danny suggested.

  “Sure.” He swung the door shut. The cruiser pulled away.

  Jake walked up the driveway toward his car, digging into a pocket for his keys. He felt exhausted and sick to his stomach. His head throbbed. He needed badly to urinate. On wobbly legs, he turned away from the driveway and crossed his lawn to the front door.

  He let himself in. Though it was dusk outside, the house was dark. He turned on a light in the living room.

  After using the toilet, he swallowed three aspirin. He rubbed the back of his stiff neck. In the medicine cabinet mirror, he looked as bad as he felt. His hair was mussed. His red eyes seemed strangely vacant. His face had a grayish pallor. Under his arms, his uniform blouse was stained with sweat.

  He washed his face, then went to his bedroom. He started to take off his damp clothes.

  You thought it was bad yesterday. You thought searching the Oakwood was bad.

  You didn’t know the meaning of bad.

  He peeled off his wet socks and underwear and left them on the floor. He took fresh ones, from his dresser, knew he would probably fall if he tried to step into them, sat down on his bed, put on the fresh underwear, then the socks. Groaning, he stood up again. He went to the closet for a clean shirt. He slipped into it, tried to fasten a button, and gave up. He took a pair of brown corduroy pants off their hanger and carried them to the bed. Sitting down, he pulled them up his legs.

  Yesterday was nothing, he thought. Yesterday it was your goddamn imagination working overtime.

  He re
membered checking under his bed for the snakething and almost blasting Cookie Monster.

  Me want cookie!

  His eyes burned and tears blurred his vision.

  He turned his head to the nightstand where he had placed Cookie after coming so close to putting a bullet between its bobbly eyes.

  The doll was gone.

  Jake knew he’d left it there.

  He checked the floor around the nightstand. Then he was on his feet, all the weariness and pain washed away by a cleansing surge of hope, on his feet and pulling up his pants and rushing from his room and across the hall and hitting the light switch and finding Cookie Monster on Kimmy’s bed, snug against the side of Kimmy’s neck, held there by her tiny hand.

  Then Jake was on his knees, his arm across her hot back, his face against her shoulder.

  “Barbara, she’s here. She’s fine.”

  “Oh, my God!” For a long time, Barbara said nothing more. Jake listened to her weeping. Finally, she found enough control to ask, “Where is she?”

  “Here. At my house.”

  “Where did you find her?”

  “Right here, I came back to get the car, and—”

  “That’s impossible. It’s miles.”

  “A little more than three, I guess.”

  “Oh, damn you! Why didn’t you look there first!”

  “I thought about it, I just…it seemed…it’s so far. I didn’t even think she’d know the way, much less walk that far. I still can hardly believe it. But she’s here.”

  “Do you have any idea the hell I’ve been going through?”

  “It’s over now. She’s safe.”

  “Let me talk to her.”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Wake her up, goddamn it!”

  “In a while.”

  “Now!”

  “Calm down. I have to call headquarters and get the search called off. Then I’ll wake her up. She’s probably starving. I’ll get her something to eat and bring her over to you in an hour or so. Have a drink or something. Get hold of yourself. I don’t want you all hysterical when she shows up.”

  “Hysterical? Who’s hysterical? I had her dead in a ditch somewhere and all the time she’s off paying a fucking surprise visit to her fucking Daddy!”