Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

• Название: Strip For Violence
• Автор: Ed Lacy
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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“We're going to stop at Inwood Park, get out and walk up into any place where there's trees. I'll hide behind a tree, you keep on walking—stop a couple yards away from me and wait. When this clown sneaks up on you, I'll take care of him. Got any cigarettes?”

“Yes. But...?”

“Keep chain smoking cigarettes.”

“What's cigarettes got to do with...?”

“To make sure he can follow you. In this twilight your cigarette glow will act like a guide for him. Now when I drop off in the woods, don't stop, or look at me, keep walking. And don't walk too far—about twenty feet. Got it?”

“Yes. Seems like a lot of movie stuff to me.”

I didn't bother answering her. When we parked, we hurried up the walk that ran through the park, left that, and slowly started up a slight hill thick with bushes. Laurie was puffing away on a cigarette. As we passed a clump of bushes, I dived into them, turned, and crouched in as comfortable a position as I could get.

Laurie did it nicely. She stopped about fifteen feet above me, among a heavy growth of trees, the bright red tip of her cigarette plain against the darkness.

It was a hot, muggy night, and for about ten minutes all that happened was a flock of flies, or some kind of bugs, decided to have a light snack on the back of my neck. I couldn't smack them, the noise would be a give-away. I kept shaking my head like crazy... and then I heard it —somebody walking with great care, trying not to step on any twigs or dried stuff. The bushes around me weren't too high, but enough cover for a shrimp like myself.

The tail covered the open ground by the bushes quickly, stopped some three feet from me, staring up intently at Laurie's cigarette glow. All I could see of him in the dark was that he was one of these tall, thin guys, the kind that dress big but really are only skin and bones under the padding. He had one hand deep in his right pocket. I got to my feet slowly, holding the palms of my hands stiff. I held my arms out at my sides, like a ham actor making a speech, then reached up and clapped my hands over his ears as hard as I could.

15

SHE SCREAMED—a short, breathless scream—started to grab his head, then crumpled to the ground. I called out “Come on, Laurie, let's blow.”

Laurie came running down, asked, “What do we do now, search him?” The punk was rolling on the ground, holding his ears.

“Forget him. We're going to my place,” I said, taking her arm and making time down the hill, and enjoying the feel of the firm muscle in her arm, her side when my hand brushed against her dress. We walked over to the car and drove off.

“Where is your place?”

“I live on a boat, off 79th Street and the Hudson.”

“A boat? You sure are the strangest fellow I've ever met. I'm not sure I want to go out on a boat.”

“It's a safe place, little chance of any punk finding us.”

“Very safe—back there, he heard you say we were going to your place and...”

“He didn't hear anything, and never will hear again. His eardrums are busted.”

I joined the traffic on the West Side Highway. She was staring at me, her tight face almost loose with fright. “You mean you made him deaf for life? Why how could you do...?”

“Laurie, try to get this through your pretty noggin— we're not playing potsy—but for keeps! I had to make sure he didn't tail us to the boat.” And I wondered if there would be a couple of hoods watching the yacht basin.

“But to maim a man for life. Hal... you... you frighten me.”

“The killer that shot your pop and Brody, what was he doing, playing by the rules?”

She didn't answer, lit a cigarette. In the light of the match her face looked worried. After a few puffs she asked, “What do we do on the boat?”

“Eat, cruise around for the rest of the night.”

“If you think I'm going to spend the night with you on a boat...”

“That's what I think. The killer has knocked off two of my girls, and I don't intend to have you make it a trio.”

“I'm not one of your girls!”

“Neither was one of the dead girls, but the killer thought she was. Could be he saw what I feel for you on my face this afternoon, or... the point is, we're not taking any chances. I don't want you as a beautiful corpse. And don't worry, I won't chase you all over the boat.”

“Worried?” Laurie snapped. “I can handle you.”

“Fine, then stop chattering about it.”

“Oh, stop acting so tough—little man!”

I laughed at her. “Okay, little woman.”

16

We turned off into the parking lot. I kept the motor running. There were a dozen cars there, but I didn't see anybody. I locked the struggle-buggy and we walked to the dock. Laurie looked around, pointed to the strangely beautiful amphitheatre-like structure with fountains in its center, that stands behind the yacht basin. She said, “Gee, I never even knew there was a place like this in the city, fit's lovely, like something out of the...”

“The Roman days,” I cut in, watching everybody on the floating dock. There was a couple of guys who looked as though they came off a boat, their wives or girls—and Pete, Although it wasn't time for him to go on duty. I asked him if anybody had been around to see me. He said no, asked where I'd been. I stepped into the launch, helped Laurie in, and from the way she stepped in I knew she hadn't been on boats much. Pete called out that my dinghy was fixed, and I said I'd leave it at the dock for now.

I told the attendant driving the launch to circle my tub a few times and when he asked why, I slipped him a buck, He made several lazy circles around the boat—everything looked normal. The moon was coming out bright and pale white light covered the boat. I motioned for him to bring the launch alongside, jumped aboard. I unlocked the cabin door, waited for the stale air to get out as I told Laurie to jump. The Hudson was pretty smooth, but she hesitated, then jumped and almost fell. I grabbed her, pulled her to me, my arms brushing her breasts. She tried to push me away, but I turned her around, said, “Step down into the cockpit—and relax. The boat may not look like much, but she's seaworthy.”

When she was safe in the cockpit, she said, “Don't ever say that again!”

“Slice the outraged schoolgirl stuff, and stay put—for awhile. Be out in a second.” I stepped down into the cabin, took off my shirt and coat, put on rubber-soled shoes that gripped the deck. I pumped out some bilge water, raised the motor hatch, gave the old Packard a brief going-over. She seemed okay and I closed the hatch. The motor turned the second time I stepped on the starter. Leaving it idling, I raced forward and let go the mooring line, ran back and put her in gear, steered out and up the Hudson.

No other boat followed us. A sightseeing boat was a few hundred yards ahead of us and making time. I called Laurie over. “Take the wheel. Keep the bow pointed toward the middle of George Washington Bridge. Don't get nervous and start turning the wheel this way and that. Just like driving. I'll be out in a moment.”

She took the wheel and I watched the wake for a second —she was keeping the boat fairly straight. I went down in the cabin, washed my face, changed to shorts and a T-shirt. I got out a clean pair of swim trunks, another shirt, left them on one of the bunks. Starting the alcohol stove, I took stock of the food situation. The bread was moldy, the butter rancid, and I tossed them out a porthole. I had some canned goods, a box of crackers, and a fifth of rye. Of course I didn't have any ice, but there was a bottle of ginger ale. I secured that with some fish line, ran up on the deck and hung it over the side. Taking the wheel I said, “There's some shorts and a shirt you can change into in the cabin.”

“I'm quite comfortable as I am.”

“Okay, okay, I'll see if I can get any outraged-virtue music on the radio to go with your act. But your dress will get a little messy on the boat.”

“I'll chance that.”

“It's your dress. Go down into the cabin and under the bunk on the port side—that's the left side, you'll see several drawers. In the top one is a metal box with some fishing tackle. Bring that up—we'll have to fish for our supper.”

She cautiously stepped down into the cabin, then called out, “Say, this is all very cute. I have the box, but where's the rods?”

“I'm a hand-line man.”

We were running against the tide and I headed for the New Jersey shore; the tide is always stronger in the center of the Hudson. Laurie was sitting near me, the fishing box beside her. When we passed under the George Washington Bridge, its string of lights like a fantastic pearl necklace in I the clear night she said, “Bridge looks so clean and beautiful from underneath. What's that bridge over there?”

“The Henry Hudson, and there's Spuyten Duyvil, where we left our friend.”

“I wonder what's become of him.”

“Devil probably has him.”

“The what?”

“That's how Spuyten Duyvil is said to have gotten its handle. Way back in the days of the Dutch, some character made a bet he could swim it during a storm— 'in spite of the devil'. Although some people think it's named after a 'spitting devil' because of a spouting spring there. See, I'm just full of folk-lore tonight, no seduction in me.”

“Yak-yak, very funny. Spuyten Duyvil's not very much of a swim—about a hundred yards. Kids swim it all the time.”

“Maybe they were scared of water in the old days. When we get a little farther up, we'll anchor, see if we eat or not. Ever fish?”

“Sure. Father and I often went fishing. Think we'll catch any shad or a tommy cod?”

“I'm so hungry anything gets on my line ends up in the frying pan—and I don't care what it is. I'm here to eat 'em, not to call their name. Glad you're wearing low-heeled shoes.”

“Now what has my shoes got to do with fishing?”

“Nothing, except high heels are murder on a boat. Also, I like the idea that you're not trying to be any taller.”

“Told you once before, I'm not interested in what you like or dislike.”

17

n another hour we passed Yonkers and I threw out the anchor. There wasn't another boat in sight... except for a few big cruisers passing in the middle of the Hudson. We were a bit north of Nyack and could see the lights of some houses in the woods near the shore. I took two hand lines, baited them with some bottled junk that was advertised as making the fish bite like stupid, told Laurie, “Try your luck. I'll get the vegetables going.”

“Perhaps you'd better fish and I cook.”

“With the temperamental stove I have, a man's place is the kitchen. You get the fish—I hope.” I cleaned out the pots and dishes, put a can of spinach on to boil, fried some spuds, and set the table—on the deck.

Laurie had both lines out and laughed like a kid when she brought in a fish that looked like a yellow perch—dark olive in color with patches of bright gold—and at least a pound. While I cleaned that, she hooked a small eel and took off the line without screaming—and threw it back. While I was telling her eels were good eating, she lost a nibble on one line, but landed a striped mullet that was big enough to eat.

“Now will you shut up?” she asked, taking in her lines.

Seeing the sinkers reminded me of Anita, gave me the shivers for a second, as I cleaned the fish, tossed the both of them into the hot frying pan.

Within a few minutes we were eating fresh fried fish, potatoes, and spinach, and sipping two fairly cold highballs. I had the radio going—and not only for the music, but the news—although finding Louise's body might not make the radio news.

It was all very quiet and peaceful and I forgot Anita and Louise as we lit cigarettes, had another drink. For some reason I thought of Mrs. Brody, wondered if being married to Laurie would give us the life the Brodys had, and whether I wanted it or not. “This Mrs. Brody, was she happy, I mean, she and Brody?”

“What makes you ask that? Guess she was happy—or beaten down by boredom. You know, Hal, this isn't bad, the boat and all, be a lot of fun under different circumstances.”

“Lot of fun now. I believe in taking your fun when you can—don't get too many opportunities these days.”

“Hal, please don't spoil things, don't start pitching.”

“I won't. Those clouds over the moon ruined my seduction scene. Hope we don't have rain.”

Laurie was silent for a moment. I put some water on—to wash the dishes—and she said, “Can't quite make you out. This morning, when I first saw you, I didn't trust you. And when you hit that man, I almost hated you because you seemed so... so... brutal. Now, I find myself liking you, your boat. And you suddenly ask about Mrs. Brody's happiness, and sometimes I think you're making fun of me.”

“Never make fun of anybody. Being a half-pint I know how cruel such 'fun' can be. Couple things I don't understand about you.... How come no boyfriends?”

“Tennis kept me busy.”

“That

busy?”

“Oh, what spare time I had was spent with Father, and he was rather strict and old-fashioned... about boys. I want romance, some day, but frankly, so far it's never bothered me. In high school, even around the courts, I'd hear girls talk about kissing and dating, and it never made my heart beat faster, or any junk like that. Or, at dances, I never let a fellow kiss me. I really had no desire for...

We were sitting side by side and I turned and kissed her full on the lips, held her tightly. For a second she was stiff with surprise, then her lips answered the pressure of mine, her hand circled my neck, the nails digging into my skin. Then—she pulled away and when I still held her she placed her thumb under my left ear and began to press. I let go damn fast. She jumped to her feet.

“I told you...!”

“Relax, Laurie, a minor turn has been made in the history of Laurie Shelton—you've been kissed. Now don't fly off the handle, it was pleasant and...”

“Pleasant? You conceited fool, I hated it!”

“Don't shout—sound carries over water. And if you hated it, how do you account for this?” I turned my back to show her the blood on the back of my neck.

“That was only a... a...”

“Only a little passion. Look, grow up, admit you like being kissed, that you have passion. Doesn't mean you go for me, but there's no point in hiding things, pretending you're made of ice. All I do around you is apologize, explain....”

“If you'd stop this stupid pawing and...”

“Okay, let's wash the dishes and skip the East Lynne bunko.”

She helped with the dishes, acting mad and sullen. It was after eleven and I tossed a couple of sheets on her bunk, told her, “You'll sleep here. I'll be on the other bunk and you can have a gun, every knife on the boat, to protect yourself.”

“So funny! Ha! Ha! I'll sleep on the deck.”

“It's all yours, but I'll make up the bunk—in case you change your mind.”

We went back on deck and it was windy and cloudy. I started the engine, gave her the wheel while I pulled up anchor. We headed down the Hudson. I told her, “To be on the safe side, we'll head for the bay, anchor off Staten island. Here, somebody could swim out from the shore, take a pot shot at us.”