Richard Laymon - Flesh

“Yeah.”

And so is the address. “I’ll call if I remember.”

“Thanks.” She turned away.

Roland watched her walk down the corridor, the loose fabric of her white shorts pulling lightly across her buttocks with her strides. She began to twist around for a glance over her shoulder, so he stepped back and closed the door.

He rushed over to his bed and stepped into his shoes. He tied them. He felt under his hanging shirt front and touched the knife case on his belt, then patted a pocket to make sure he had his room key.

By the time he opened his door again, Alison was out of sight. He pulled the door shut and raced down the hall. He bounded down the stairs.

“Slow down, jerk-off,” Tod Brewster warned as Roland dodged him and his girlfriend on the landing.

“What a dip,” he heard the girl say.

Three steps from the bottom, he leaped.

Through the glass doors ahead, he saw Alison outside. She was on the walkway alongside the dorm’s north wing.

Roland waited in the lobby until she disappeared around the corner. Then he followed.

He stayed a distance behind Alison as she headed through the center of the campus. She took the walkway along the western side of the quad. Some guys were playing touch football on the lawn. In spite of the late hour, several girls were scattered about, most of them wearing bikinis, some reading, others apparently asleep, some talking in small groups, a few watching the football game. Here and there, couples were sprawled on blankets. One couple was tangled in an embrace. One girl, alone near the walkway, had her top unfastened and was braced up on her elbows, engrossed in a book, and Roland slowed down to stare at the pale exposed side of her breast. He felt a stir of arousal.

I wonder who she is, he thought.

Forget it. You’ve got other plans for tonight, and you’re hitting the road as soon as you’re done. No time for this one, even if you did know who she is.

Things are getting too hot around here.

If you really wanted to play it safe, you’d leave right now and forget about Alison.

Oh, I can’t do that. No way.

Alison first, then I’ll take off.

Though it’s a pity to leave all this behind.

Don’t let it worry you. The world is full of delicious young flesh.

At the far end of the quad, Alison turned to the left and made her way through the shaded area between Doheny Hall and the Gunderson Memorial Theater. She walked directly to the street. Then she crossed it.

Roland watched from behind a tree until Alison rounded the corner of the block. Then he rushed to the other side of the street. When he reached the corner, Alison was no more than twenty yards ahead. If she turned around now…He quickly back-stepped and ducked behind the shrubbery bordering the lawn of the Alpha Phi sorority house.

He waited for a few minutes, then peered around the bushes. Alison had stopped midway down the block. She was gazing at something high and off to the side. She raised the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. Her back arched and she seemed to take a deep breath. She touched the top button of her blouse. Her hand dropped to the bottom of the blouse and felt around as if to make sure she was tucked in. Then she left the sidewalk.

Roland hurried forward.

He spotted her. She was inside the courtyard of an old apartment building with ivy vines on walls of rust-colored brick. As he watched her, she climbed a flight of stairs to a balcony that ran along the upper story. She walked past two doors, and stopped in front of the third.

Instead of knocking or opening the door with a key, she backed away from it and leaned against the wrought iron railing of the balcony. Her head lowered. For a while, she didn’t move. Then, stepping away from the railing, she lifted an arm and twisted around as if trying to see the back of her shorts. She swiped her seat briskly a couple of times. Finally, she stepped to the door and knocked.

A man opened the door. He was bigger than Alison, probably six feet at least. He wore slacks and a clinging knit shirt. Even from this distance, Roland could see that he was powerfully built. He had a flat belly, a big chest, pecs, a thick neck, and bulging upper arms.

This was not a guy to mess with.

The man backed out of sight, and Alison entered the apartment. The door swung shut.

Now what? Roland wondered.

Go up and give it a try?

Don’t be stupid.

Wait till she leaves, and nail her while she’s walking home?

If the guy’s any kind of gentleman, he’ll walk her home. Besides, I want her inside somewhere so I won’t have to worry about intrusions.

I’ll want a long time alone with her.

Go on back to the dorm, he decided, and look her up in the directory.

Yeah.

Roland rubbed his sweaty, trembling hands on his shirt.

“Hurry home, Alison,” he whispered.

Then he hurried away.

Jake saw a blonde girl on a tricycle behind the chain link gate at the end of a house’s driveway. She wore a white blouse.

Kimmy?

He could only see her back.

What would she be doing here, riding a trike? Maybe this is a friend’s house. Barbara said she’d phoned all of…

The right front of the patrol car tipped upward. Jake forced his eyes away from the girl. He jammed the brake pedal down, but not in time, and the car slammed into the trunk of oak. The impact flung him forward. The safety harness locked, caught him across the shoulder and chest, and threw him back against his seat.

The girl, hearing the crash, looked over her shoulder.

She wasn’t Kimmy.

Smoke or steam began rolling out from under the hood. Jake turned off the engine. He released the harness latch. Trembling, he opened the door and got out to see what had happened. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.

Watching the girl, he’d let the car turn. Its right front tire had climbed the corner of the driveway and he’d smacked into a tree on the grassy stretch between the curb and the sidewalk.

He staggered to the front of the car. It was hissing. The white cloud pouring through the caved-in grill and around the edges of the hood smelled wet and rubbery. He didn’t need to open the hood to know what had happened: he’d ruptured the radiator.

Dropping onto the driver’s seat, he reached for the radio mike.

“Thanks for the lift,” he muttered, and climbed out of unit one.

“Grab some rest before you start looking again,” Danny suggested.

“Sure.” He swung the door shut. The cruiser pulled away.

Jake walked up the driveway toward his car, digging into a pocket for his keys. He felt exhausted and sick to his stomach. His head throbbed. He needed badly to urinate. On wobbly legs, he turned away from the driveway and crossed his lawn to the front door.

He let himself in. Though it was dusk outside, the house was dark. He turned on a light in the living room.

After using the toilet, he swallowed three aspirin. He rubbed the back of his stiff neck. In the medicine cabinet mirror, he looked as bad as he felt. His hair was mussed. His red eyes seemed strangely vacant. His face had a grayish pallor. Under his arms, his uniform blouse was stained with sweat.

He washed his face, then went to his bedroom. He started to take off his damp clothes.

You thought it was bad yesterday. You thought searching the Oakwood was bad.

You didn’t know the meaning of bad.

He peeled off his wet socks and underwear and left them on the floor. He took fresh ones, from his dresser, knew he would probably fall if he tried to step into them, sat down on his bed, put on the fresh underwear, then the socks. Groaning, he stood up again. He went to the closet for a clean shirt. He slipped into it, tried to fasten a button, and gave up. He took a pair of brown corduroy pants off their hanger and carried them to the bed. Sitting down, he pulled them up his legs.