by Judith Gould
Yes, she had. But this late? Past midnight?
Bored, he picked up the remote again and popped the TV back on. Idly he flipped channels. Flash, flash, flash. Commercials, late-night game shows, commercials, talk shows, commercials. Rock stars gyrating to noises made by fingernails scratching across chalkboards. Entertainment for the nineties. Nothing intrigued. How could it? Not one old movie was on.
R.L. killed the picture again. For a while he just lay there. Christ, it was quiet! He missed Edwina something fierce.
Dammit, what was keeping the infernal woman! He needed her. Needed her badly.
Well, if she didn’t come soon, he would get dressed, drive over to the showhouse, and wait quietly outside until she came out. He’d surprise her with a ride back to his borrowed house.
But he’d give her another three-quarters of an hour. No, more like half an hour.
Tops.
Snake rose to the challenge of indoor driving. Tossing his helmet into a corner, he expertly maneuvered the big bike through the halls and rooms of the first floor. Tires screeched on swirling marquetry. Oil leaked on priceless carpets. He burned rubber on imported marble. That the ape-hanger handlebars just barely cleared the narrowest of the doors didn’t slow him down one bit. He was a biker, man. He could turn the hog around on a dime if he had to. Yeah.
The stench of exhaust filled the rooms.
He did a wheelie along the endless corridor.
There was nobody on the first floor. But he wasn’t discouraged. All he had to do was look hard enough and he’d flush out the little bunnies.
He roared back out to the foyer and skidded the scoot around on its length. Then, aiming the front tire at the curving stairs, he opened up in first gear and let out the clutch.
It was like climbing a jagged marble mountain. Metal screeched torturously as the underside of the frame and exhaust pipe scraped against every step.
Snake was oblivious of chipping the marble or damaging the bike. He had no appreciation whatsoever for interior decoration, and as far as bikes went, he’d never bought one. They’d all been stolen. So once this one went—bye-bye, baby—he’d simply abandon it, “trade it in” for another.
With a long, drawn-out screech, the bike bumped laboriously up over the last step. Then, both tires finally flat on the landing, Snake stopped and gunned the accelerator. He looked first at one end of the corridor and then the other.
Where could everybody be? he wondered. Had they heard him coming and run, or what?
He killed the motor. The sudden silence was intense, the ticking of the cooling engine like the countdown timer on a bomb.
He cupped his grubby hands to make a megaphone of his mouth. “Shirl!” he bellowed. “I know you’re around here somewhere! Get your ass out here or do I gotta come after you?”
He tilted his shaggy head and listened.
The house was quiet. Too fuckin’ quiet for a place where the front door was wide open.
“All right, you fuckin’ slut!” he snarled. “Just wait’ll I get my hands on you! You’ll be one sorry bitch!”
Then he half-rose off the seat and brought his foot down on the kick starter. The sudden roar rattled two mirrors in their gilt frames.
Letting out the clutch, he raced down to the far end of the hall, slowed to a crawl, and made a sharp right into the first room. He would start from there and slowly work his way to the other end, systematically checking out every room, nook, and cranny.
It’s worse than a nightmare, Billie Dawn thought as the dreaded sound of the motorcycle came inexorably closer. She stifled a moan. This is what hell must be like. Nothing could be worse than this.
She clung to Hallelujah, and Hallelujah clung to her as they sought comfort and strength from one another. They were on the second floor, cowering behind a three-panel screen set diagonally across a corner in the room decorated to look like a twins’ nursery. From the next room they could hear a splintering crash as Snake roared around, kicking furniture over as he went.
“I’m scared,” Hallelujah whispered. She looked up at Billie searchingly. “Oh, Billie, like what are we gonna do?”
Billie held her tighter. “Sssshh,” she whispered, and quickly pressed a hand across Hallelujah’s mouth. The motorcycle was out in the hall again. This room was next in line.
The Harley thundered in, the vibrations and noise rattling mullioned windows in their frames.
Holding her breath, Billie cautiously leaned forward against the screen. With one eye she peeked out through the hairline crack between two of the hinged panels.
Snake was slowly turning his head, his eyes sweeping the room. It was the same old Snake; he hadn’t changed a bit. Still grungy and smelly and greasy, still wearing the same old togs. She wondered what she could have ever seen in him. My God, I must have been desperate!
Then everything inside her turned to stone. He was turning toward the screen now, looking right in her direction. She didn’t dare breathe. Then his eyes passed by and she felt immeasurable relief . . . and then suddenly his gaze returned and he focused all his attention on the screen again. His squinty pinpoint eyes lingered, as though trying to see through the three panels.
She didn’t move. What if he noticed a shifting shadow through the hairline crack? His eyesight had always been exceptional. He could pick up the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye.
The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. Beads of nervous sweat trickled down her forehead. She wished he would give up and go away. She wished she hadn’t chosen such an obvious place to hide. She wished, above all, that her path had never crossed Snake’s.
Snake.
Just seeing him this close-up made something powerful cramp and twist inside her bowels. Funny, how your memory played little tricks on you. She’d almost forgotten how big and brutish and powerful he really was. How his broad body seemed to fill an entire room. But she hadn’t forgotten how murderously mean he could be; her memory on that score was still perfect. Hatred and cruelty rolled off him in waves.
“Shirl!” he yelled. “You back there?”
Oh, God! Billie swiftly jerked back from the screen and dug her fingers into Hallelujah’s arms.
Hallelujah looked up into her face. She had never seen such naked fear. Such wild, terrified, haunted eyes.
“Goddammit!” Snake hollered. There was a sudden crash as a lamp fell and shattered. “Answer me!”
Billie and Hallelujah both jerked.
Snake gunned the accelerator threateningly. “Shirl!” he bellowed above the rise-and-fall rumble of the Harley. “God damn, I know you’re behind there!” With a kick of his engineer boot he sent one of the bassinets crashing over.
Billie tightened her grip on Hallelujah.
Snake suddenly laughed. “Shiiiiiirleeeeeyyyy . . .” he crowed. “Yoo-hoo, Shiiiiirleeeeeyyyy ...”
Billie felt everything inside her constrict. He knows! she thought in a whimpering panic. He knows I’m behind here! Oh, sweet Jesus, he’s got me cornered!
The Harley’s engine growled louder as Snake let out the clutch and crept the bike slowly forward. The front tire touched the screen and made it shake; then he walked the bike backward a few steps and rode it slowly forward again.
Toying with her.
Same World/Same Time
In the Realm of Miss Bitch
Miss Bitch was in a tizzy.
With grim lips and insane eyes, he staggered down the corridor as fast as his bigh-heeled maribou mules allowed. He had no idea where the outlaw biker had come from, but one thing was for certain: no Satan’s Warrior was going to rain on this bitch’s parade!
Miss Bitch was looking decidedly the worse for wear. It wasn’t easy to stab stab stab and stay neat as a pin. Anouk’s damp, blood-matted hair sat askew on his head, his carefully applied makeup was grotesquely smeared, and crusty dried blood bad splattered him from head to toe, giving him a rusty-brown appearance. Innumerable runs made vertical tracks in his black stockin
gs.
Miss Bitch held the switchblade at his side, his fist curled tightly around the handle, ready to bring it up and stab stab stab some more. He’d wiped the blade clean after each use, and now, spotless again, it caught the glow from the wall sconces and shone like a sliver of silvery mirror.
Miss Bitch tightened his grip on the knife. He was not about to let this occasion be ruined—especially not by some groddy unkempt hoodlum of a caveman who rode around indoors on his nasty machine, thank you very much! The sheer impudence of it! How dared that animal invade his personal killing ground! How dared he be so presumptuous as to go after one of Miss Bitch’s lovelies! It really was too much to take—he wanted to leap at him from behind and bite his neck open like Dracula.
But Miss Bitch never killed from behind. Miss Bitch delighted in making the poor things look at him, making them squirm like terrified little worms, and watching as their bowels and bladders—kebang!—let loose.
Ob yes, from the front was best. Head-on killing was always the most highly satisfactory. The only way, really.
Chapter 73
Billie Dawn’s mind was racing. She knew that she and Hallelujah had to get out of this house—and quick.
She did some speedy calculations. Between this room and the stairs stretched at least fifty feet of hallway. And the elegant circular staircase took its time reaching the ground floor—it had been designed for sweeping grand entrances, not fast escapes. At least another forty feet there. And the nearest neighboring house was . . . how far away? A hundred yards? More? And would anybody be home? Anyway, it was a moot point. Chances were, the madman who’d killed Anouk would get hold of them before they’d ever manage to get off this property.
But. And a big but. A new consideration had suddenly entered the picture. Snake had the bike. Depending on how she played her cards, he could well be their ticket out of here—she and Hallelujah could both squeeze behind him on the pillion seat, and they could be out of this house and halfway to town in a minute. That was, if Snake didn’t batter her half to death first.
A sobering thought, that. She really was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.
The thing was, did she dare appeal to Snake for help? That was the $64,000 question.
And would Snake provide help? That was another $64,000 question.
Her heart pounded. Which was worse? Confronting Snake or the killer?
She didn’t have to give that one much thought. The madman was a psychotic. She’d seen the way he’d butchered Anouk, not to mention Ermine and Obi Kuti. Next to him, Snake was merely a vicious animal. Rabid, perhaps, but definitely the lesser of two evils. He liked to hurt and rape and pillage, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t killed anyone. Yet.
Some comfort.
Gently she pushed Hallelujah away from her and took her by the hand. “Don’t be scared,” she whispered. “Okay, honey?” She gave the girl’s fingers a squeeze, trying to convey a strength and surety she did not feel.
Hallelujah looked at her curiously and then nodded.
Billie forced a quick smile and offered up a little prayer. She hoped this wasn’t going to be a case of jumping from the frying pan into the fire—or into another frying pan.
The bike came at the screen again, this time almost knocking it over. It rocked back and forth, did a trembly little dance, and was finally still. Billie could hear Snake walking the bike back before making another run at it.
Now.
Pulling Hallelujah after her, Billie stepped out from behind the screen. “All right, Snake. You win.” She held up her free hand in a gesture of surrender.
“Well, well, well.” Snake shut the bike off. “Lookit here! It’s the famous Billie Dawn.” A mean little grin curled his lips.
“Look, Snake, I know you have it in for me, and I can’t blame you. All right?” She locked eyes with him, refusing to show any trace of unease. He thrived on inducing fear, and she knew that the only way to get what she wanted was to stand up to him. It was the best curve she could throw him—and the only one.
He stared at her. “Damn right I got it in for you, bitch. We got some unfinished business to discuss. ‘Member?”
“Oh, save it for later, Snake. In case you don’t know it, we’re all in big trouble.”
With his steel-toed boot he flipped out the kickstand, swung his leg up over the seat, and let go of the bike. It fell sideways, caught on the kickstand, and leaned there rakishly.
He squinted narrowly at her. “Whaddya mean, we’re in trouble?” He stood there, his massive shoulders hunched forward, his thick arms and huge hands dangling threateningly at his sides.
“I need your help.” Billie hugged Hallelujah close. “We both need your help,” she said firmly.
He threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a good one! I ride out here to show ya who’s boss, and whaddya do? You say you need my help!” He stopped laughing and scowled. “You’re right. You do.”
“Snake,” she said, “there’s a dead woman down the hall, a very dead woman who has been scalped. The killer’s here in this house right now, and he’s after us.” She tried to keep her voice firm and yet make it sound imploring. “We can settle our differences later. But right now, just give us a ride out of this place. Please?”
“You’re a good storyteller. Yeah.” He fished into a pocket for a toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. Then he shook his head. “No dice, bitch. I ain’t gonna put up with your shit no more.”
“Snake! You don’t know what’s happening here!”
Snake replied by lacing his fingers. He cracked all eight of them noisily. “Maybe not, but I know what’s gonna happen to you.” He leered at her.
“Please!” Hallelujah piped up. “Like just listen to her, okay?”
“That’s right, Mr. Snake!” Miss Bitch mimicked from the door. “You should learn to listen!” He had one hand on a hip, and held the steel blade up in front of him with the other.
Stifling a cry, Billie Dawn shoved Hallelujah behind her.
“You’d better make tracks, Mr. Snake,” Miss Bitch hissed. “You see, these lovelies are mine! These ladies are spoken for! Catch my drift?”
Snake was not particularly fast on the uptake. Jerking a thumb at Miss Bitch, he turned to Billie Dawn and asked, “This freak a friend of yours?” Then he looked from her to Hallelujah and back to Miss Bitch again. He gave a nasty laugh. “It ain’t Halloween yet!”
“You shut your wicked mouth!” Miss Bitch screamed. “Go wash it out with soap! Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?”
Something dangerous and yellow glinted in Snake’s eyes. “All right, twinkletoes,” he snarled. “You asked for it!”
“Oh ho! Aren’t we getting butch!” And Miss Bitch decided to showcase his talent; in a blur, he spun the switchblade like a baton, faster than the eye could see.
Then abruptly he stopped spinning it, and held it, point up. His smeared-clown-makeup of a mouth grinned hideously. “Getting scared, big boy?” Batting his false eyelashes, he started stalking slow, wide, wobbly circles around Snake.
Never taking his eyes off Miss Bitch, Snake fished into a pocket and pulled out a little something of his own. There was a click as his hand came up. The switchblade he held in it was like a live bolt of electricity.
“Snake, don’t? Billie pleaded. “Let’s just get the hell out of here! He’s crazy!”
“Shut your face,” Snake growled without looking at her. “I need ta concentrate.” He was bent half over, following Miss Bitch’s every move.
“Crazy?” Miss Bitch shrieked. “Did that naughty girl call me crazy? As in cuckoo?”
“Yeah. That’s right, she did.” Clenching his switchblade in front of him, Snake kept turning around and around as the monstrous thing in drag circled him on those ridiculously fuzzy high heels. A faint smile hovered on the big biker’s lips. “Come on, whatever the fuck you are. Put your life where your mouth is.” With his extended free hand, Snake curled and uncurled his
fingers, gesturing for Miss Bitch to try something.
A savage joy blazed in Miss Bitch’s eyes. “Here I come!” he screamed, and kicked off the mules.
Chapter 74
Edwina’s eyes snapped open.
All she could see was the clean white sweep of a smooth, freshly painted ceiling.
All she could feel was a piercing pain shooting through her skull.
And all she could smell was the sickening, coppery odor of fresh blood close by.
Hal! The thought jumped at her.
Instantly she jerked up into a sitting position and cringed as glass seemed to shatter inside her head. Gingerly she reached up and probed her skull. Her hair wasn’t sticky, so at least there was no bleeding, thank God. But there was a lump the size of an egg.
That she could deal with.
Slowly she twisted around and got to her knees. She looked about to get her bearings, and her eyes found Anouk’s grotesque, inert form. Quickly she looked away, but not before the bile rose once more in her throat.
What in all heaven had . . . ?
And in a terrible flash everything came back to her. The three dead cops in the cars outside. Hearing Hallelujah’s voice coming from both ends of the hall. Finding Anouk. Running back out and being intercepted by that ghoulish creature that had rammed an elbow into her chest and knocked her off her feet, the revolver flying out of her . . .
The revolver! Where is the goddamn revolver?
Desperately her eyes searched the floor for it.Wbere is it? her mind screamed. Heedless of her splitting head, she crawled around on her hands and knees, looking under tables and chairs.
Oh, God! Did that monster take off with it?
She lifted the skirt of a chintz sofa and peered under it.
There it was!
The relief that flooded through her was almost painful. She stretched out flat alongside the sofa, stuck an arm under it, and felt for the heavy cool metal.
