Authors: Richard Laymon
‘It all started on Sunday night. Marta was over at my place, and we watched a couple of videos. They were rentals. So after Marta left for her job – she works at LAX, the airport – I decided to return the videos. You know, to avoid paying a late charge?’
Why don’t I just show her the tape we made?
Yeah? How? Where do we get our hands on a VCR?
Besides, the tape doesn’t prove anything. I could be lying on the tape. This way, she can tell
. . .
‘It was about eleven-thirty,’ Neal said, ‘when I got in my car and headed for the video store . . .’
He told his story in much the same way that he’d told it last night to Marta and her camcorder. As he spoke, he found himself reliving it all in his mind. He was there again, going through it all.
He supposed that Sue was probably viewing it like a film.
A film noir with a voice-over: a running commentary, but not by Marlowe or Mike Hammer or Sam Spade . . . by me, Neal Darden
.
All we need’s the lonely growl of a saxophone in the background
.
Though Neal had continued the verbal narration, he realized that his thoughts had interrupted the memories – and must’ve put a halt to Sue’s movie as if the projector had broken down.
And now she’s picking up this
.
This? Everything
.
Terrific
.
‘
Hello in there. Sorry about that. Where’d we leave off?
’
‘I didn’t want a reward,’ Neal said. ‘When a dame’s getting carved, a reward’s not why you go in. You go in because you have to, because a dame’s getting carved and a man’s got to stop it.’
A fair imitation of Bogart’s voice.
But then he felt ashamed of his performance.
This isn’t some damn movie, it’s Elise and the bastard that killed her
.
Into his mind slammed a picture of Elise in the bathtub. A
close-in color photo, the blood so bright red it seemed like a mocking exaggeration.
Sue, in the seat beside him, gasped. Then she was panting hard for air.
Neal looked at her. She sat rigid and trembling, her mouth wide open, her eyes shut.
A moment later, her eyes jerked open.
She stared at him. She had droplets of sweat under her eyes, a shiny moustache of sweat speckles above her mouth. She breathed hard.
‘Sorry about that,’ Neal said.
With the back of a hand, she wiped the sweat from her upper lip. Grimacing at Neal, she said, ‘That was
her?
Elise?’
‘Yeah. That’s how she looked after . . .’
‘Judas H. Priest.’
‘But I didn’t do it.’
She nodded. She seemed worn out. ‘I know.’ She held up her wrist as if to show him the bracelet. ‘It works.’
‘I know.’
Shaking her head, she lowered her arm and pulled the bracelet off. ‘Here, take the thing.’
She gave it to Neal, and he put it onto his wrist.
‘Reckon ya ain’t no killer, after all.’
‘I wish I’d at least killed Rasputin.’
‘Well, it ain’t like ya didn’t try. Ya musta hurt him pretty bad, though.’
‘Not nearly bad enough. He was still in good enough shape to do that to Elise.’
Sue made a face as if the memory of it hurt her. A few moments later, she said, ‘Yer gonna have to finish the job ya started.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ya gotta kill him.’
‘I’m hoping maybe he’ll just go ahead and die on his own, but . . .’
‘What in hell are ya goin to the Fort for, when ya got a guy like him that needs killin? That’s what I wanta know.’
‘Maybe I’d better show you the rest of it.’
‘How about ya just
tell
me, this time. I ain’t inclined ta jump in ya again right now. Not that it weren’t an eye-opener.’
Neal blushed. ‘Well . . .’
‘Ya got yerself a dirty mind, Neal Darden.’
He winced.
Sue grinned and shook her head. ‘Not that I ain’t flattered,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry. Really.’
‘I
got
panties on, by the way. They’re white. And, yeah, I got me a good idea just how big yer
thing
is.’
He felt as if his face might erupt in flame. ‘Wonderful,’ he muttered.
‘Well, I wouldn’ go
that
far.’ After a pause, she said, ‘Do ya know it got sorta funny and stiff when ya started checkin out my tits?’
‘Did not.’
Had it?
Wouldn’t surprise me
.
‘Sure did.’ Sue beamed at him. ‘Reckon I turn ya on, uh?’
‘Oh, man.’
‘Aw, don’t fret. I like ya. I like ya even more, now I been inside ya. It’s mighty exhaustin, though. So why don’t I just sit back and listen? I wanta hear the resta yer story, only from the
out
side, this time.’
So he told her, picking up his story at the time he’d first entered Elise’s house.
He told her about receiving the bracelet as a reward for saving Elise from Rasputin by the freeway embankment. He recounted a bit of the bracelet’s history – as much as he’d been able to learn from Elise. He explained the warnings. And then he told Sue about his trial run, when he’d kissed the bracelet and gone into Elise.
None of this was on the video tape he’d made for Marta.
He’d kept the story of the bracelet to himself – and therefore hadn’t been able to tell the whole truth about what had happpened the night of the killing.
To Sue, he was able to tell the story as it had truly occurred.
How, after leaving Elise’s house, he’d returned to look for Rasputin’s body.
How he’d used the bracelet, first in a futile attempt to locate the body, then to make a long flight back to Elise’s house, fearing she might be in danger.
How he’d been inside her.
Unable to warn her.
Powerless to help when she was attacked.
How he’d escaped from her body, returned to his own, then raced back to her house in a panic, only to arrive too late and find her dead in the tub.
Sue listened, watching him, often making faces, sometimes commenting or asking a question. She seemed very interested in all that he had to say. Almost as if
she
were going through the experiences.
Neal felt that he’d found a real companion.
Someone he could truly confide in.
As he spoke to Sue, he wondered why he hadn’t been able to confide this way in Marta.
Easier to tell secrets to a stranger, he supposed. He’d always heard that. Maybe it was true.
No particular consequences, telling things to a stranger – someone you probably won’t have to face an hour later, or the next day, or for years to come.
Like writing your tale in sand.
Say anything; it’ll soon be gone without a trace.
He had a feeling, however, that Sue might
not
be gone very soon.
He was certain to be stuck with her for the next few hours. At least until they reached the Fort. And he doubted that he would have an easy time getting rid of her then.
Maybe I don’t want to get rid of her
.
What is this? You get smitten by every gal you meet? Control yourself. She’s sort of nifty, but she’s not someone you want to get involved with. Too young. Too goofy. The only reason you’re pouring out your life story is because she accidentally latched onto the truth about the bracelet
.
That, he realized, was probably true. He shouldn’t be making such a big deal of the fact that he was confiding in her; he would’ve told the whole truth to Marta, if Marta had stumbled onto the secret of the bracelet.
He wished he
had
confided in Marta.
But how can you tell someone you’ve got a magic bracelet that lets you climb into other people as if they were carnival rides?
He never would’ve told Sue: she’d found out on her own.
He never would’ve told anyone.
He was glad Sue knew about it, though. Glad to have someone to whom he could speak the truth.
So he kept talking, not stopping with the murder, but going on about what happened afterward.
How he hadn’t been able to find the business card he’d given to Elise, and assumed the killer must have it.
How he’d returned to his own apartment, figuring that he might be the next victim. How he’d kept his gun handy, frightened but also
hoping
Rasputin might show up – so he’d have a chance to kill the bastard.
When he told of Marta’s arrival the next day, he was glad Sue was no longer inside him; she would’ve gotten a chance to watch Marta sucking him, and she’d be feeling how the memory aroused him.
He didn’t tell Sue about that episode. But he told her the rest of it: how he’d explained his situation to Marta, explained the danger he was in – from Rasputin and maybe from the police – and how she’d insisted that he spend the night at her apartment, where nobody should be able to find him.
He told about the video tape they’d made together.
A tape tarnished by lies because he’d been unwilling to speak of the bracelet.
Finally, he told Sue about his letter to the police. ‘Marta took it with her when she left for work. She was going to mail it on the way. I guess the cops’ll probably get it tomorrow. Maybe even today.’
‘That how come ya hit the road? Scared they’d be after ya?’
He shook his head. ‘The letter was anonymous. We were careful not to touch it, too. I don’t think there’s any way for them to find out who it came from.’
‘So how come ya took off, then?’
‘Because of the scratches.’ He nodded toward his right arm.
Sue stared at his forearm. ‘These the ones ya
didn’t
get when yer girlfriend was fallin off a boat?’
‘These are the ones.’
‘Who
was
it scratched ya?’
‘A woman named Karen.’
‘Ya saw a gal name of Karen last night? After Marta went off to work? Cripes, I’m gonna need me a scorecard, you and all these gals. Marta, Elise, now this Karen . . . and me.’
Neal shook his head. ‘Karen’s no big deal. You can forget about her. She’s just someone I visited with the bracelet. Things got weird, so I paid her a visit in person and she ended up scratching me. That’s all there is to it.’
‘What’d she wanta scratch ya for?’
‘Doesn’t matter. We had a little misunderstanding, that’s all.’
‘Ya didn’t attack her or . . .?’
‘No. Well, not exactly. I had to defend myself. I didn’t hurt her, though. Not seriously. The thing is, I didn’t know how to explain the scratches to Marta. I mean, they weren’t there when she left for work. And I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not without telling her about the bracelet. So I left her the note, and took off. I figured I’d stay away until they’ve had a chance to heal.’
‘That’s gonna take a
week
or two. Jeezle-peezle. Ain’t you a
writer
?’
He frowned. ‘Did I tell you that?’
‘I was jammed inside ya for five, ten minutes. Found out plenty.’
‘Did I
think
about my job?’
She shrugged. ‘Not sure. Anyways, it’s somethin I picked up. You
are
a writer, what I’m gettin at – so ya shoulda been able to come up with a good lie.’
‘Maybe so. I didn’t want to lie to her again, though. And I guess . . . I figured it’d be better for both of us if I just vanished for a while.’
‘Now ya got me, ya can
un
vanish any time ya want.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Well, I’ll let on as how
I’m
the gal that scratched yer arms for ya. Then ya can just leave out Karen. We’ll tell Marta how we both just happened to be at the Fort, and how ya saved my life when I almost fell outa the rollycoaster. That’d make a pretty good story, huh?’
‘Only one problem,’ Neal said. ‘Look at your fingernails.’
She raised both hands in front of her, palms out, like a mime pushing at an invisible wall. ‘I could scratch ya with ’em.’
‘They’re awfully short.’
‘Well, they’re bound to grow. Give ’em a few days. What I’ll do, I’ll lay off bitin ’em while we’re at the Fort. Then they’ll be all ready for when we show ’em to Marta.’
‘Ah,’ Neal said.
He tried to smile.