The Glory Bus

by Richard Laymon

  Sweet Jesus, this is the template for a bad boy. The kind that good girls fall for.

  The kind that girls’ dads hate.

  That their moms secretly fancy.

  But three lambs?

  Hardly.

  This threesome looked like trouble to Pamela.

  But Pits policy, Lauren had said, was to treat everyone as if they were as innocent as newborn babes. Until they did something bad, that was.

  Sharpe followed the trio in, then directed them to one of the booths along the wall. Nicki had got pitchers of iced water waiting on the counter ready. Pamela picked up a couple and weaved through the tables of customers to where the ‘three lost lambs’ had taken their seats. The girl and the college boy looked round at their surroundings.

  The bad boy didn’t give a damn. He just stared at his fingernails. He was used to people coming to him with respect written large on their faces.

  Sharpe remained standing by the table.

  As Pamela walked up Sharpe indicated the three people with a gesture of his hand. ‘Pamela,’ he said. ‘Allow me to introduce you to three new guests of ours.’ He nodded at each in turn as he recited their names. ‘Boots, Norman, Duke.’

  Pamela didn’t get much of an opportunity to talk to them. They downed pitcher after pitcher of ice-cold water. Lauren took a seat beside the college boy. He was called Norman. Duke and the oddly named Boots sat opposite them at the booth table. Lauren chatted to them, then signaled to Pamela to take the order.

  ‘You must be hungry,’ Pamela said. ‘What can I get you guys?’

  ‘What’s good to eat here?’ the bad boy called Duke asked, nonchalant as James Dean.

  ‘We’ve got a special today. Pitsburger Largesse. It comes with all the trimmings.’

  ‘Oooh,’ the girl with the boots called Boots cooed. ‘Sounds scrummy-diddly to me. What say you, boys?’

  ‘I’ll have the Pitsburger Largesse, please. Thank you.’ Norman was the polite, well-spoken one.

  ‘Got any beer?’ Duke asked.

  ‘Bud.’

  ‘Bud’s cool. Three Buds for me and my buds.’

  Pamela gave a polite laugh to indicate that she’d noticed the guy’s play on words.

  But he didn’t laugh back. Did he even realize that he’d punned?

  This one needs watching. He might be bad news for Pits.

  Norman downed another glass of water, then said, ‘I’m afraid we don’t have much cash on us. And I lost my MasterCard when I—’

  Lauren waved her hand as if to waft away his words. ‘Don’t worry about money. You’ve obviously been through an ordeal. This is our treat.’

  ‘You don’t want us to pay?’ Boots sounded dumbfounded.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’ll want something in return?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s the least we can do.’

  ‘Mighty Christian of you,’ Duke said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Boots said. ‘Last so-called free meal I got left me with a bloody butt and pube lice.’

  Pamela saw that even Lauren gaped at the coarse confession.

  ‘Just shows,’ Boots said, then sipped her water. ‘Not all preachers are gentlemen.’

  ‘You can rest assured,’ Lauren said firmly, ‘there’ll be nothing like that happening to you in Pits.’

  Boots shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have minded but the preacher promised me that God would—’

  ‘Boots,’ Duke interrupted. ‘Let the lady take the orders. She’s too busy to hear the life story of your fanny.’

  Boots clammed up, looking hurt. Her face had the look of a badly wronged sow’s.

  Pamela noticed that Norman looked uncomfortable, as if these two weren’t his companions of choice.

  Talk about an odd couple.

  These were an odd trio.

  Pamela smiled her professional waitress smile. ‘So that’s three Pitsburgers Largesse and three beers.’

  Duke touched his eyebrow by way of salute. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Pamela went to pass the order on to Terry. Then Nicki joined her at the counter.

  Nicki whispered, ‘Three more for Pitsburgers?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Looks as if Zak finally did something useful in life. Well . . .’ She smiled. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah, for everyone else it’s the grave that’s inevitable. Zak wound up in the gravy.’ Then Pamela became serious. ‘Nicki?’

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  ‘Those three that Sharpe brought in.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I haven’t had a chance to say hello yet.’

  ‘I don’t want to put three strangers down, but . . .’ Pamela shrugged. ‘There’s something kinda unsettling about them.’

  ‘Believe me, Pamela, there was something unsettling about all of us when we first arrived here. I screamed for a fix for three weeks solid.’

  ‘Yeah, but these guys are—’

  ‘Shh, honey. Don’t fret. They’ll be fine.’

  Nicki hurried away to refill a diner’s coffee cup.

  Under her breath Pamela muttered, ‘Gee, I hope they’ll be fine. Something tells me there ain’t a cop for miles around.’

  Moments later Terry was flipping some more of those pink Pitsburgers on the skillet.

  Human flesh sizzles just like a cow’s, Pamela told herself. If only the three strangers knew what – or whom – they were eating.

  From deep down came an additional thought: Somehow, looking at those three, I don’t think they’d give a damn.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘Who’d they say this trailer belonged to?’ Boots asked as she walked into the lounge area with a huge fluffy white towel round her body and another swathing her head.

  Duke shrugged. ‘Who cares?’ He lit a cigarette and sprawled back on the sofa.

  Blew smoke at the ceiling.

  Thinking.

  I get uneasy when Duke starts thinking, Norman told himself. The guy’s planning something.

  Illegal.

  Lethal?

  Boots took her ease in a black leather armchair. It was old. Worn. Still comfortable, though. Norman sat in its twin by a picture window that looked out toward a cemetery. A real Boot Hill.

  Probably a few outlaws sleeping with their boots on up there.

  And speaking of boots . . .

  Boots frowned. ‘Didn’t Lauren say this trailer belonged to someone by the name of Valeria?’

  ‘Valdemar,’ Norman corrected her. ‘Lauren said it belonged to a Gregor Valdemar but he moved on two years ago.’

  ‘Shoot. Leave a lovely place like this? I could make my home here, couldn’t you, Duke?’

  ‘I don’t take root in any one spot. I move around.’

  ‘I’ve moved around too much,’ Boots said.

  ‘Well, I guess we need to keep moving,’ Norman said. He watched as Boots bent forward from where she sat on the sofa. She examined a small blister on her little toe where her beloved footwear had rubbed.

  Bending had loosened the towel.

  Norman saw soft white cleavage.

  Hmmm . . .

  Those old thoughts were coming back.

  ‘I’m all for moving on,’ Duke said, then blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘Eventually.’

  ‘Oh, Dukey, that sounds good to me. We can rest here awhiles.’

  ‘But the cops—’ Norman began.

  ‘You worry too much, bud.’

  ‘Besides, I can’t see no cops coming to a little place like this.’ Boots examined her other foot. One of her boobs flopped out. ‘Oops, ’scuse me, fellas.’

  Duke grinned. ‘Our pleasure.’

  ‘You guys ready to shower? That water’s awful nice after days on the road.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ Duke stood up, with a yawn. ‘Might hit the sack soon, too.’

  Boots pulled at the towel to make sure she was covered. ‘Wasn’t it nice of these folks to give us the trailer home? It’s so big. And there’s a refrigerator and a stove and e
verything.’

  ‘They seem like good folks,’ Duke said. ‘We should stick around and make sure we show our appreciation.’

  Duke made the remark seem ominous.

  ‘Okay, shower time.’ He left the lounge area.

  Boots removed the towel from her head and then rubbed her jaw with it, moaning a little with pleasure at its softness.

  Norman looked out the window.

  Didn’t want to make it seem like he was looking at her bare legs. That towel only just covered her broad rump.

  Some rump, too.

  His heart beat faster.

  Those moaning sounds. She made those when I reamed her.

  Oh boy.

  Duke’s in the shower.

  Now we’re alone again. She’s making those sounds. Oh no.

  I’m getting a hardy.

  Any second she’s going to notice. How come part of me finds her repulsive, piglike? But then another part, a part getting bigger by the second, finds her soooo sexy . . . Soooo desirable . . .

  Norman was suspicious at the way his emotions made these crazy swings from lust to disgust.

  He stared out the window like he was enjoying the sunset. His eyes focused on the cemetery on the rise of land. At the top was a freaky-looking house. Just like the Bates house that overlooked the Psycho motel. Kind of place that had ghosts in the attic.

  Vampires in the cellar.

  Zombies in between.

  Then, behind the house, glowing with a deep and bloody red, was a range of rocky hills.

  Gee, funny little place. Pits. Population six. Lauren looked like a hippie. Sharpe, the guy who drove them in on the freak bus full of store dummies, could have passed for a cop on his day off, or even a Marine on leave. Then there were the waitresses at the cafe. Pamela and Nicki. They were a toothsome twosome.

  Sexy.

  Briefly Norman imagined himself in bed with the pair of them.

  Oh, yes . . .

  He shifted in the leather armchair as the blood ran hot in his veins.

  How about a nice sandwich with those two?

  With me as the salami filling.

  More meat than you can eat, girls.

  Blood surged into his groin. It ached.

  ‘Normy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Boots’s eyes sparkled. ‘I know whatcha thinking about.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You’re thinking hot, sexy thoughts.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘And you’re thinking ’em about me.’

  Norman looked at her. After the shower she did look good, he had to admit that. Her short hair was fluffed. Her skin was clean. A fresh smell filled the lounge from her recently showered body.

  ‘Duke’s gonna be some time in the shower yet.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Norman, you’ve been really sweet to me. You’ve taken care of me.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘You’re not like other guys.’

  Well, you could take that two ways. But Norman took it as a compliment.

  ‘Thank you. Just doing my job, ma’am.’

  ‘Now you sound like a cop.’

  ‘That’s me, ma’am. Officer Norman Wiscoff, reporting for duty.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Boots scrunched up her shoulders.

  Yup, no doubting it.

  Her smile was sexy.

  Norman let his stare roam over her bare legs to where they vanished beneath the fluffy towel.

  Hmm . . . she did look good.

  ‘I think the sofa looks more comfortable.’ She went to it.

  Lay back flat. Her head was raised on cushions.

  Norman stood up. Walked toward her. Some little bit of him found her sexually exciting. And that little bit was growing all the time.

  He stood over her.

  Boots made a pretend sad face. ‘You’re not here to arrest me, are you, officer?’

  ‘I think you might be carrying a concealed weapon, ma’am.’

  ‘Then you oughta do your duty, officer.’

  Reaching down, Norman whipped open her towel.

  Exposed.

  A milky expanse of body. Her breasts had firmed. Nipples hard, pointing.

  He groaned under his breath. He was so aroused that it hurt.

  So he unzippered.

  Unbelted.

  Undressed.

  Oh God, here I am again. Naked with Boots. I think mean thoughts about her but when we’re naked together . . . I can’t stop myself. This is lust. I’ve gotta have her.

  Norman knelt down on the floor beside the sofa. He buried his face between her breasts. Began kissing her nipples. Tonguing them.

  Then he made love to her.

  Five minutes later Duke walked into the lounge area. Shower-wet hair. Wearing nothing but blue jeans.

  He gazed down at the pair of them locked together. His face was expressionless.

  Norman looked up at him over his shoulder. Boots looked up at him from her supine position.

  Norman knew that it seemed kinda absurd to be still pumping away at Boots.

  But both of them were on the cusp of orgasm. He couldn’t stop himself. So he went for the finishing line, thrusting harder and harder, faster and faster into Boots’s warm, moist slickness. Her body convulsed.

  Then both of them climaxed in a rucking, bumping, grinding chorus of squeals from Boots and panted ‘YESSES!’ from Norman.

  Duke still stared down at them as they stopped moving and their cries subsided to post-climactic panting sounds.

  ‘I’ve gotta plan,’ Duke told them, just as if he’d found Boots and Norman doing nothing more than reading magazines. ‘This place Pits . . . we’re gonna make it ours.’

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Lauren showed the three newcomers around. Pamela went along too, at Lauren’s request.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ Lauren told them. ‘So it’s gonna be a short tour, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s just fine,’ Boots said. ‘I’m about all done walking.’

  ‘Thank you for showing us strangers your hometown.’ This was the bad boy, Duke. He spoke respectfully.

  A little too respectfully for Pamela’s liking.

  Or am I just naturally suspicious now?

  Hardly surprising after a guy marries you – and he’s already married. Then a creep you know from school kills your pseudo-husband, burns down your home, then tries to kill you.

  Those life experiences make a girl sorta wary.

  Lauren walked a little ahead while Pamela walked with the three strangers past the sprawl of trailer homes. Boots had an odd quality. Naive yet worldly at the same time. She wore lots of makeup but took a childlike delight in the things she saw.

  Norman had a hunted look in his eye. He had education. Probably came from a wealthy family, too. His casual clothes and footwear looked expensive.

  Duke swaggered like the young Elvis. He was cool, confident. Possessed an air of danger. Pamela guessed that nothing fazed him.

  Seen all, done all. Still got a taste for more.

  He lit a cigarette with a flourish.

  Guy acts like he owns the world.

  Lauren pointed. ‘This is Pits’s cemetery.’

  ‘Looks like something out of a Wild West show,’ Boots commented.

  ‘This was a frontier town in its heyday. Folk moved out when the mines closed.’ Lauren nodded at two acres of dust where old wooden crosses leaned this way and that with tumbleweed and cacti for company. ‘No one’s been buried in there for years. Except dogs and monkeys, that is.’

  ‘Monkeys?’ Norman echoed.

  ‘Owner of the house up there used to own a whole menagerie of monkeys.’

  Duke gazed through the gathering dusk at the old house with its decaying shutters. ‘Who lives there now?’

  ‘Oh, no one.’

  ‘Big house. Looks as if it could be valuable.’

  ‘I guess,’ Lauren said. ‘If you were prepared to sink a whole hill of ca
sh into restoring it.’

  ‘So, no monkeys there now?’ Boots sounded disappointed.

  ‘Not one. Well, no live ones, that is. Hank tells me there’s still a couple of stuffed ones up there in the attic.’

  ‘Cool,’ Norman said.

  ‘Who’s Hank?’ Duke asked.

  ‘The mayor of Pits,’ Pamela answered. ‘He’s around somewhere.’

  Duke’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you say there’s only seven people who live in Pits?’

  ‘Yup,’ Lauren said, with a smile. ‘That’s if we include Pamela, and she might be just passing through. But we’re optimistic about our population growing.’

  ‘I hope it does, ma’am.’ Duke nodded. ‘Looks a nice town.’

  ‘We like it.’

  They walked to the cemetery but stopped short of continuing on to the old house on the hill. Then they backtracked to the cafe.

  Lauren opened the door for them. ‘While we’ve no customers at the moment we might as well grab the opportunity of meeting the Pits people under one roof.’

  They filed in.

  ‘Looks like the whole town turned out to meet us, guys,’ Boots said. She was beaming at the younger men – Terry and Wes – and especially at Sharpe. Sharpe was as smartly dressed as ever in a crisp white shirt and chinos. He was clean-shaven.

  Then there was the old-timer, Hank. He didn’t get a second glance from Boots in his weather-beaten clothes and stained hat.

  Boots stroked her hair.

  Fiddled with the strap of her tank top.

  Drawing attention to her unfettered breasts beneath the fabric.

  Got an eye for the men, haven’t you, girl?

  All of Pits was there – all seven of them. The guys sat on stools with their backs to the counter so that they faced the new folk in town. With the exception of Sharpe, they drank bottles of Bud.

  Sharpe hefted a glass of water.