Damnation of Adam Blessing
Page 20
“I don’t know why I took my shoes off. I’m not drunk.”
“You’re not some nut from Rockland State, are you?”
“No.”
“Okay. You’re not loose from the funny farm, so you have to be drunk, don’t you? Or do you always go around like this?”
“It’s just tonight.”
“I see. Well, I wouldn’t take you in any other night, son. Just tonight. Now c’mon. I have a car waiting for us.”
“Her car goes,” said the boy, walking very slowly toward Burroughs.
“We’ll take my car,” Burroughs said. “See? I got me a nice chauffeur named Hopkins, so leave the driving to us.”
“All right.”
“Do your feet hurt? Something wrong with your feet?” “No.”
“Then move, buddy. The pavement’s nice and smooth.”
The boy inched toward the prowl car.
Hopkins got out and went across to him. He said, “Are you glued together, or what?” He took the boy’s arm, to help him.
The boy smiled. “I feel as though I’m coming unglued.”
“Where’ve you been, boy?”
“At the house. I think I was, earlier.”
“The house? Do you mean a fraternity house?”
“Yes.”
Burroughs opened the door of the Thunderbird. He called in, “Wake up, little Suzy.”
“She won’t,” the boy said. “She’s too exhausted.” Hopkins said, “What fraternity do you belong to, kid?” “Pi Delta Pi.” “A Pi Pi, huh?” “Yes.”
“Burroughs? Did you hear this? He’s a Pi Pi.” Burroughs was saying, “Come on now. Rise and shine, little lady.”
Hopkins said, “Do you know Bud Burroughs?”
“Yes. Bud.”
“That’s his old man.”
Then Burroughs called out, “Hopkins?”
“What?”
“Put the cuffs on him.” “He’s okay.” “Put them on!”
Hopkins had often heard an angry tone in Burroughs’ voice, but never one with this edge of panic added.
Quickly, Hopkins reached to his side for the handcuffs. The boy waited, holding up his wrists to make it easier for Hopkins.
Then Hopkins walked over to the Thunderbird, pulling the boy with him, as though he were drag weight.
Burroughs’ voice cracked. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”
She was also naked under the fur coat, slumped back against the right car door, with blood running from her breasts down the white skin of her body.
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Hopkins said. “Oh, God!”
He turned his head away, found himself staring into the boy’s face.
“She couldn’t help it,” the boy whispered. There were tears flooding his eyes.
Read more of The Hare in March
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This edition published by
Prologue Books
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
4700 East Galbraith Road
Cincinnati, Ohio 45236
www.prologuebooks.com
Original Copyright © 1961 by Fawcett Publications, Inc.
Copyright Renewal © 1989 by Vin Packer
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-3716-X
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3716-5