Shit. No fair.
Norman wanted a peek at Nicki’s goodies first. He ran to the next window.
Peered in.
Some kind of office. A typewriter on a desk. Racks of files.
He hurried to the next window just as another cry sounded. This one higher. What the hell was Boots doing to hurt that blonde goddess? Probably hammering a nail into her forehead.
The cry had that kind of quality. Made Norman’s hair stand up on the back of his neck.
Next window.
Norman thrust his face to the grimy pane. Stared in. And saw . . .
And saw . . .
Holy moly!
Couldn’t believe his eyes.
Boots had done all kinds of things, but he couldn’t believe she’d do that.
What’s French for sixty-nine?
Norman’s mouth dried. His heart hammered. Blood whooshed through his neck to swirl around his brain so forcefully that vertigo nearly tipped him backward onto the ground. His eyes bugged. He couldn’t stop watching.
Hell! Don’t want to stop watching!
Couldn’t stop watching if I tried. Nicki and Boots. Both naked. They were in a room empty of everything but a large rug that covered half the floor. Boots’s short stocky body was a hell of a contrast to Nicki’s long slim bod with firm breasts that were in perfect proportion to the rest of her frame.
Unlike Boots’s small soft breasts that were set on a broad-shouldered torso.
Man oh man. Norman looked at the women, trying to work out who was doing what to whom. Nicki was on all fours with Boots lying underneath her. It was the classic sixty-nine position.
Right now, Nicki wasn’t doing anything with her tongue. She held her head up. Her blonde hair cascaded softly around her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her lips were partly open. She was smiling.
And she was the one crying out.
Cries of pleasure.
Norman turned his attention to Boots. She lay with her head under Nicki’s groin, with Nicki’s knees planted on the rug either side of Boots’s head.
But what was Boots doing to Nicki? He could see the blonde spiky hair bob as Boots moved her head up and down. Only he hadn’t bargained on—
Damn!
Norman’s breath had gotten so hot that it had steamed up the windowpane. Now all he could see were misted blobs. He raised his hand to wipe the glass. Decided against it.
The squeak-squeak of his sweating fingers on the glass would betray him.
And, Jeez, this I gotta see, he told himself, panting. Groin aching.
Instead, Norman had to move his head to a different pane of glass in the window. Then find part of that which wasn’t too obscured by dust.
‘C’mon, c’mon, you’re missing all the action,’ he hissed to himself.
Then he found another area of the glass that had a heaven-blessed clarity.
Thank God!
Oh, now he could see. Could see real good.
So this was how it went.
Boots lay flat on her back with her head raised by a pillow.
Great!
Only this was unusual: what was Boots doing with her hand?
Nicki cried out in pleasure. Almost howling. Boots grunted too. A snuffling sound that Norman could hear through the window glass.
Norman was gasping as well. His knees shook.
His breath misted the window again.
Oh, no . . . missing the action, missing the action!
He found another clear area of pane.
Looked in. Saw that both women were moving faster in their excitement.
Both sweating.
Both flushed with exertion.
Both panting.
And Norman was panting too.
Then his breath went and misted the window yet again. He found another pane. Only this one was obscured by a spider’s web. All he could see were two pale shapes jigging around in there. It looked good. It looked real fine . . . but he couldn’t make out any detail.
And he realized that he did need detail. Plenty of it. He found a clean corner of glass. All he could see were Nicki’s bare feet. The way she scrunched up her toes in ecstasy excited him more than words could say.
Uh . . . Norman didn’t know if he could take anymore of this.
‘Oh yes, oh yes!’ That was Nicki!
Norman darted his face to another corner of the window. Now he could see Nicki from the shoulders up. Damn. He couldn’t make out the rest of her bod, nor Boots’s. Nicki cried out the words again while twisting her head from side to side so wildly that her long blonde hair flew. Norman marveled at it. He’d never seen hair as beautiful as this. Like summer cornfields and gold dust all rolled into one.
But Norman had to see all the action. Had to witness what those two sex-crazed women were doing to each other.
He risked wiping a misted section of glass with the tip of his finger. It squeaked a little but he figured that the two girls were making enough noise to drown out a mule braying, never mind the faint rubbing sound of his sweaty fingertip.
He saw naked bodies but . . . Oh God, no. The glass was still blurred with grime. All he could make out were two indistinct shapes. Even so, he knew they were female. They were Boots and Nicki going for broke.
Faster . . . faster, faster, faster . . .
The pair cried out as they climaxed in body-shaking judders.
Moments later they lay side by side on the rug, panting. Sucking in air so that their breasts rose and fell.
At last Norman found that he could move back from the window.
Oh no – I don’t believe it.
Norman realized that the clean underwear he’d slipped on just an hour ago was no longer in a condition of which he could be proud.
He decided to go back to the trailer. To swab away the ‘night custard’, as one of his high-school buddies had called it. Change into a fresh pair of boxers.
Norman had just turned the corner of the house when he noticed something else. At the bottom of the slope at the far end of the cemetery was a shallow gully.
Duke was there.
He was engaged in strange behavior as well.
Chapter Forty-one
Norman stared.
Duke walked backward in the dusty gully. He walked backward because he was hauling a sausage-shaped object that was wrapped in a tarpaulin.
In dry grass by the cemetery fence a creature that Norman couldn’t see chattered to itself. It could have been chattering over and over: ‘Oh no, here we go again.’
Because Norman could see what the shape in the tarp looked like. Other than a sausage, that was. Because it would have had to be a big sausage. A big, guy-sized sausage. And Duke was having to dig his heels into the dirt so hard to find purchase that he was kicking up a whole fog of yellow dust.
Norman glanced down toward the cafe. No one could see Duke from there but they might see the dust cloud. Then they’d start wondering what was happening near the cemetery.
Maybe some kind of resurrection action. That’s gotta tug their curiosity string. Or maybe they’d picture a funky zombie-monkey scenario. Long-dead baboon’s coming back to life, clawing its way to the surface . . .
Oh shit. Norman reckoned he’d have to do something about his maverick imagination.
He turned back to the big old house. Boots and Nicki would still be busy exploring each other’s bods. Too busy for Nicki to see what Duke’s doing.
At that moment Duke looked back over his shoulder. ‘Hey,’ he called. ‘Come here and give me a hand.’
Shit, I’m involved again. Another of Duke’s adventures.
This’s all gonna end in tears one day soon.
Norman shot glances down at the cafe as he picked his way across the stone-covered ground. He still hadn’t forgotten the rattlesnake/Hank scenario that his imagination had treated him to. So he trod carefully toward Duke.
Can’t give those snakes a free shot at my rear.
Luckily, it was still early. No on
e seemed minded to stroll around Pits at this hour. Sharpe’s bus with the yellow drapes still sat in the lot alongside various abandoned vehicles.
Norman descended into the gully. It was a small one. Little more than a slit in the earth between the rise of the hill and the boundary of the cemetery. Its sides only rose as high as Norman’s ears.
‘Wanna take a peek at Sleeping Beauty here?’ Duke asked. Then whipped back a flap of the tarp.
‘Terry?’
‘Yeah, he kept staring at me – so I figured I had to teach the kid a lesson.’
I remember the lesson Duke taught me.
Norman looked down at Terry’s blood-covered face. More blood matted his red-brown fringe.
‘Kid put up a fight?’ Norman asked.
‘None that you’d notice.’
‘I guess Pits is gonna have to find another cook for its cafe.’
‘You guess right, Normy.’
‘Uh . . . where you plan on taking him, Duke?’
‘Back there into the scrub. They’ll bury him later.’
‘They?’
‘Sharpe and the rest.’
‘You don’t think they might be . . . uh, upset that you’ve killed one of their townsfolk?’
‘They’ll learn to get over it.’
‘I know, but they might have been fond of the guy, Duke. He could have been a—’
‘Norman, are you going to stand there chinnin’ me to death? Grab a corner of the tarp – start pulling.’
Norman grabbed a corner. Arguing with Duke wasn’t healthy.
Hell, even looking at Duke wrong wasn’t a beneficial option.
‘Jesus. This is harder than it looks,’ Norman panted.
‘You need to work on those muscles, bud. Girls like ’em, guys respect ’em.’
‘Some guys like ’em, too.’
‘You faggin’ out on me, Norman?’
‘No . . . uh . . . just making an observation.’
‘You make with pulling Sleeping Beauty here. Leave the observing to me.’
‘Sure, Duke.’
Pulling a corpse over uneven ground was hard work. Norman’s back ached. His arms hurt. He thought his shoulder might dislocate pretty damn soon.
Sweat started.
Not a moistening of the temples. But a salty river running down the inside of his shirt.
And that sun . . .
Damn hot. Damn, damn hot.
They both tugged what could have been an oversize dim sum. Only this roll wasn’t stuffed with fish or animal meat: it contained one hundred and sixty pounds of what the Good Book reckoned had been made in God’s image.
Namely the cadaver of Terry, late of Pits.
Duke hardly sweated a bead of moisture. Still cool under pressure.
Norman perspired like he was in a Turkish bath.
Glanced back. Saw the roll of tarp with its heavy cargo sliding through the dust, stones rolling under it, flattening a small cactus here, a tuft of grass there. At one point Terry’s bare arm flopped out. Duke told Norman to ignore it. Keep hauling.
Norman kept hauling.
Ached like crazy, though. Sweated like a pig that’d learned the truth about bacon.
Oh, Lord. And he still hadn’t gotten to change his underwear after his accident watching Boots and Nicki make out.
‘Don’t worry, Norman. I’ve got it all planned.’
After a series of grunts as they hauled Terry over a rocky outcrop Norman managed to echo, ‘Planned?’
‘Yeah,’ Duke said. ‘This place. We’re taking it over.’
‘Oh . . . right.’
‘I’m gonna be mayor instead of the old guy.’
‘Sounds a good move.’ Norman decided to humor Duke.
For obvious reasons.
‘You and Boots will be my deputies.’
Isn’t there a fundamental flaw here? What about Sharpe (a tough guy in his own right) and the rest?
‘Once we’ve taught them a lesson they won’t forget they’ll do as we say.’ Duke was confident as ever.
‘Sure,’ Norman agreed. ‘Like dogs need discipline, we can discipline them.’
‘See, Norman, that’s the value of a college education. You grasp the concept. That’s why I like you. You think like me.’
Norman had to pause for a minute to catch his breath. Also to wipe his sweating palms on the legs of his pants.
Duke put his hands on his hips, then looked round like he already owned the place. ‘We’ll share out the town between us. Cars and trailers and stuff.’
‘That’ll be great.’
‘And—’ He fixed Norman with a steely look in the eye. ‘And we’ll share the women out, too.’
Norman almost doubled up as if winded. Now Duke’s plan really did appeal.
The women!
‘I’m gonna have Lauren and Pamela,’ Duke told him. ‘You can have Nicki.’
‘Oh, right!’ Norman couldn’t stop himself letting out a howl of excitement.
‘I’ve got eyes.’ Duke allowed himself one of his coolest smiles. ‘I saw you’d got the hots for the dame.’
‘Oh, thanks, Duke. You’re the best!’
‘You earned it, Normy. You’re my number two.’
‘Uhm, but what about Boots?’
‘Aw, Boots is special, ain’t she?’
‘She sure is.
‘A real peach.’
‘Top-drawer, Duke.’
‘Right. So I decided we’ll share her between ourselves. You take her weekends, I’ll have her weekdays.’
‘Thanks, Duke. That’s a great idea.’
‘See, Norman, you gotta plan ahead.’ Duke spat on his hands. ‘Okay, time to lose stiff boy.’
Norman shielded his eyes against the rising sun. If he lifted his head he could see down through the haphazard mass of tombstones to the cafe. A truck carrying lumber was just pulling into the lot in a swirl of dust. First customer of the day.
‘Wonder who’s gonna cook the trucker’s breakfast now?’ Norman wondered.
‘Guy ain’t gonna pull himself, Normy.’
Norman and Duke started again to haul the body along the dry-as-bones gully.
Norman felt he was in as poor a shape as Terry by the time Duke said, ‘This’ll do.’
They’d dragged the body into a stand of cholla cacti.
‘No paths nearby,’ Duke said. ‘No one will see any dead bastard in here.’
‘Coyotes’ll probably start work on him soon enough.’
Duke chuckled. ‘Well, that ain’t no skin off of my nose.’
Norman dropped the corner of the tarp, then stretched his arms up, arching his back. Dragging the corpse this far has nearly been the death of me, too, he thought sourly.
Duke bent down to grip the edge of the tarp where the corpse’s head would be. ‘You wanna give him a good-night kiss, Normy?’
‘I’ll pass.’
‘Wuss.’
‘Duke?’ Norman swallowed as an unpleasant taste came into his mouth. ‘You’re not gonna . . .’
‘You prejudiced against a different sorta love?’
‘Holy shit.’ Norman looked down in horror as Duke began to lift the tarpaulin away from the dead face. ‘Duke . . . I – I don’t know . . .’ Oh God, the guy’s out of his mind; is he really gonna—
Duke grinned. ‘Relax, buddy. Ain’t you ever been on the receiving end of a wind-up before?’
‘You mean you don’t want to . . . to . . .’
‘Boy oh boy, Norman.’
‘It’s just that when you asked if I wanted to give Terry a good-night kiss, I – I—’
‘Joke, Norman. Just a laugh, okay?’
‘But what’re you doing with—’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you touch him.’ Duke opened up the tarpaulin to expose Terry’s body. The corpse was wearing a chef’s apron over his clothes.
Bloody clothes.
Man, Duke knows how to use those fists of his with killing effect.
&nb
sp; Duke explained. ‘You don’t just dump a body without checking it for stuff. Might be gold rings. Cash in pockets. A nice Rolex.’
‘Anything?’
‘Plastic watch. Not worth taking it off. Thirty bucks in the shirt pocket. Lousy cheap shitter.’
Even a victim being dead didn’t soften the wrath of a guy like Duke. He punched the corpse in the family jewels.
The corpse screamed. Norman screamed louder.
‘So the guy’s not dead,’ Duke remarked. ‘What do you think I am, a brain surgeon?’
Terry sat bolt upright. He was gasping. Blinking weirdly in the bright sunlight.
Duke pulled the knife from his boot.
‘Norman, pull his head back so I can get at his throat.’
‘Oh, shit.’ Norman’s knees felt about as stiff as ice cream on a summer’s day.
‘Don’t take all day about it. We’ve got work to do.’
Norman pounced on Terry. The young guy fought back like a crazed puma. Slashing at Norman with his hands. Snarling.
Suddenly he was on top of Norman, pushing him against a cactus. Sharp spines stabbed Norman’s arm. He cried out.
And all the time Terry’s bloodied wild-eyed face was jammed up close to his.
Eyeball to eyeball.
Blood from the guy’s bleeding lips sprayed against Norman’s face.
Duke remained patient. ‘Norman. You were supposed to be holding him.’
Norman managed to put the heel of his palm against Terry’s forehead. He pushed hard. Shoving the head back.
‘Way to go, Norman.’
With the guy’s throat exposed Duke reached round with the knife. Then drew it slow and deep across the throat just below the bobbing Adam’s apple.
Immediately Terry lost all interest in wrestling with Norman. Instead he became preoccupied with holding the gash closed with both his hands. Even so, blood streamed through his fingers.
Norman rolled sideways, stood up and watched in horror. The guy made like a goldfish with his mouth opening and shutting. He was trying to gulp in air but none was going down into his lungs. Blood covered his hands so he looked as if he’d been mashing raw strawberries with his fists.
Fingers, hands, wrists – all a slick crimson.
Terry stared at Norman. Eyes pleading with him.
Norman stared back.
Then Terry began to make a strange mule-like screaming.
‘Blunt knife,’ Duke explained. ‘Didn’t cut all the way through.’
The Glory Bus Page 29
