Lawrence Block - Getting Off

But if they noticed the blood—

She probably could have explained it to their satisfaction. Still, she was probably better off walking. How much farther could it be?

She must have heard the motorcycle well before it registered on her. She’d gotten into the rhythm of walking, and her mind found things to think about. She was thinking how Rita had slept with something like a hundred and fifty men just by fucking that whacko Mormon.

Suppose it had been her?Would she have been killing a hundred and fifty men when she took Kellen out of the game?

Then she became aware of the engine noise, even as the pavement brightened in front of her from the bike’s high beams. Too late, she thought, and stepped off onto the shoulder, and turned toward the sound, even as it changed pitch. Whoever he was, he was slowing down. If it was a cop — oh, Jesus, if it was a cop she was screwed.

No point in trying to run. She stood there, waiting, and he braked to a stop. Her eyes registered that he wasn’t a cop, but she was only relieved for an instant.

A big man, clad entirely in black leather. Black leather pants, a black leather jacket with a lot of metal studs and zippers. Black leather gloves. Mirrored biker goggles covered his eyes, and a full dark beard obscured the rest of his face.

She’d have been better off with a cop. She wished she’d kept the knife, then knew it wouldn’t do her any good. This man would snap the blade between his fingers, then fuck her and kill her and eat her. He’d crack her bones for the marrow, floss his teeth with her hair.

“Rough night?”

His voice was low in pitch. Well, no surprise there. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel them taking in the blood, the general disarray.

“Kind of,” she said. “I got a ride with a guy and the car got wrecked.”

“I saw where somebody went off the road about two miles back. That you?”

She nodded.

“You looking to get help?”

She shook her head. “He’s dead.”

“Died in the wreck. I got a phone, if you want to call it in.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Oh, what the hell. “He was going to kill me,” she said. “Rape me and kill me. I wouldn’t have been the first, either. I went through his bag afterward to find out who he was. There were these rings and bracelets and stuff. You know, women’s personal items.”

“Souvenirs.”

“Yeah.”

“Guy had a hobby. You don’t want to report it?”

“No.” He just stood there, waiting for more, so she said, “Going off the road didn’t kill him. It didn’t even knock him out. I had a knife. I—”

“Stabbed him.”

“It was self-defense, but—”

“You don’t want to have to lay that all out for the law.”

“No.”

“I can dig it. You live around here?”

She pointed in the direction she’d been walking, the direction he’d been heading himself. “I have a hotel room. I need to get my stuff. But once I do—”

“You want to get out of Dodge.” He patted the seat behind him. “Hop on.”

She didn’t pass out during the ride, or fall asleep, but it was almost as if she did. The bike sent the rest of the world away. All she heard was its engine, all she felt was the rush of the wind. She had her eyes closed, her arms around his broad back, her face pressed against the black jacket. She breathed in its old leather smell. Her mind took a break, and the next thing she knew the bike had stopped across the street from her hotel.

She said, “Can you wait? I’ll be like two minutes, I just have to grab one or two things.”

“Okay.”

“Or…”

“What?”

“Well, if you could wait, like, ten minutes, I could clean up and change my clothes. But if you’re in a hurry—”

“You ought to do that,” he said. “No rush. I’ll be here.”

She stripped, showered, washed her hair. Dressed in clean clothes, spread out Rodney Casselhart’s white button-down shirt on the bed, piled the clothes she’d been wearing on top of it, and folded it to make a bundle, tying the sleeves to secure it. Everything she could use, like her drugs and cash, or that might point them to her, like her cell phone, went in her shoulder bag.

She left the rest, along with her suitcase, locked the room behind her, and walked past the hotel desk with the bag over her shoulder and the bundled clothes under one arm. The clerk barely registered her presence, and her rent was paid for another five days, and by the time they realized she was gone they’d be past connecting her to the car in the field a few miles up the road, or the dead man behind the wheel.

She wasn’t sure he’d be waiting, but there he was, her knight in black leather armor, standing beside his bike. He reached for the bundle of clothes.

“Everything I was wearing,” she said. “And that was his shirt, I got it from his suitcase.”

“I’ll get rid of it for you.”

He stowed the bundle in a saddlebag. She said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t.”

“You’d have thought of something. Where are you headed?”

Her thoughts hadn’t gone that far. “Just…some other city. Which way are you going?”

“South and west. Cincinnati for starters, but you probably want to get clear out of Ohio.”

“Probably, but if you could get me that far…”

“I could cut west now,” he said, “but that’d be Indiana, and I got reason not to go there.”

“Oh.”

“So I’ll run you through Cinci and into Kentucky. Let you off in Lexington or Lou’ville. That be all right?”

“Sure.”

He patted the seat behind him.

She said, “I really appreciate this. You’re going to a lot of trouble for me.”

“Not that much trouble.”

“Well, the thing is, if there’s anything I can do—”

“You could kick in ten or twenty bucks for gas. But if you’re short on dough, don’t worry about it.”

“No, that’s easy. And if there’s anything else—”

“You pay for gas and breakfast’s on me. But not until we’re on the other side of the Ohio River. There’s a good place in Covington. Can you hold out until then?”

“Sure. But what I meant—”

He turned to look at her, his eyes invisible behind the glasses.

“Just if there was, you know, anything else you wanted. It’d be okay.”

“Oh,” he said.

“I just—”

“Thing is,” he said, “I’m not really into girls these days.”

“Oh.”

“Girls, women. Or guys either. I’m just, you know, keeping it real simple these days.”

“Me too,” she said. “Real simple.”

She paid for their breakfast in Covington — eggs and grits and link sausage, and coffee that had stayed too long on the hot plate. She gave him twenty dollars for gas, and he took it only after she’d assured him that she was okay for cash. When he dropped her at a Louisville hotel, she still hadn’t told him her name, or learned his.

She dismounted, then remembered the dirty clothes in the saddlebag. He waved a hand dismissively, said he’d toss them once he’d crossed another state line. She wanted to say something, but all she could think of was “Thank you.”

“We’re cool,” he said, and reached out a gloved hand to touch her lightly on the shoulder. Her eyes stayed on him until he and his bike were around the corner and out of sight.

She took a room and paid cash in advance for four days, which was as much time as she figured she needed to spend in Louisville. Two hours later she was back at the hotel with new clothes and a suitcase. She took a long shower and put on some of the clothes she’d just bought, and decided to throw out the ones she’d arrived in.