Richard Laymon: Fiends

‘Is there something I can help you with?’

‘I could use some bait.’ She looked over her shoulder and spotted several tackle boxes on shelves near the door. ‘And how about one of those tackle boxes? My old one’s all rusted out. Would you show them to me?’

‘Happy to.’ Brad came around the end of the counter. He wore cowboy boots, all right. And old, faded blue jeans. When she looked at his face, she caught him checking the front of her T-shirt.

‘How’s life at Camp Wahtooki?’ he asked.

‘A little lonely.’

‘You a counselor there?’

‘Yep.’

‘Well, what sort of tackle box did you have in mind?’

‘Who says I’ve got a tackle box in mind?’

‘You?’ he asked, and grinned.

‘Me?’ Gazing into his blue eyes, she reached forward and gently squeezed his crotch.

His eyes suddenly got very wide. ‘Jeez,’ he said.

‘Let’s go behind the counter.’

Brad glanced at the screen door.

‘That’s taken care of,’ Peggy said.

She led him around the counter, knelt in the narrow space behind it, and pulled off her Camp Wahtooki T-shirt. Brad stared.

She helped him take off his shirt, then embraced him. When she sucked on his mouth, he finally started to move.

He stroked her breasts.

She lay on the cool floor. It was rough and hard beneath her shoulder blades. Brad unfastened her shorts. Knees up, she raised her buttocks off the floor. Brad pulled the shorts up to her knees, down to her ankles. She kicked them away. Brad opened his jeans and crawled between her legs.

He was big. Even bigger than Mickey. So big it hurt. Stretching her, filling her. She dug her nails into his back, crushed her mouth to his, and met each hard thrust with one of her own. Again and again. Clawing, groaning, together pounding him high and deep.

A face appeared above the counter. A girl’s face. She looked sixteen or so. A beautiful face. A horrified face.

It watched.

Somehow, the watching excited Peggy even more.

She didn’t care where the girl came from. Maybe from a rear entrance. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except Brad inside her.

‘God, darling!’ she gasped, clenching his buttocks.

Nothing but Brad.

His teeth clamped on her shoulder as he plunged.

Nothing.

The girl looking down from above had tears in her eyes. She lifted a hand to wipe them off. Her short sleeve was a shiny swirl of color.

Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Nothing, nothing, nothing!

Just THIS!

Peggy’s breath caught. She arched against Brad, quaking inside, feeling his wild spurting throbs. ‘God!’ she cried out. ‘Oh God! Yes!’

As she came, she watched the girl’s face.

The face suddenly lurched away and was gone.

A while later, Peggy said, ‘That was fantastic, Brad.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Problem?’

‘No. It was great. Really.’

‘You busy tonight?’ Peggy asked.

‘Well… yeah, I am.’

She ran her hands through his hair. ‘Another girl?’

He looked solemn. ‘Yeah. My… actually, my fiancee. We're… we got engaged. Just last night. I don’t know… I shouldn’t have… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here with you.’

‘Fucking.’

She squeezed his buttocks with both hands. Tightening muscles inside, she squeezed his penis.

It was still big.

It started getting bigger.

‘Just once more, darling.’

‘No, I don’t…’

‘You want to. I know you do.’

‘It… isn’t right.’

‘She’ll never know.’

Four hundred miles south of Mickey’s Bait shop, Willy was driving past the front of Marty’s house. A white Pontiac stood in the driveway. The garage door was open. He saw a Volkswagen inside.

Would’ve been handy if the Pontiac was already gone. But this was fine. This was how he’d figured it. He’d figured on having to wait. In a way, he’d hoped for it.

Gave him time to finish another piece of business.

He turned right, then right again, and came down the back side of the block. The fourth house from the corner was directly behind Marty’s place. Only hedges and a drainage ditch stood between their back yards. Both yards had plenty of trees for cover. Willy got out, leaving his rope under the front seat. He walked to the end of the block and turned the corner.

He came to Jefferson, Marty’s street, and crossed it.

The house he wanted was the third one up, a small place surrounded by lavish gardens.

That’s two things H. Dunning’s got, Willy thought. A green thumb and a big nose.

He walked quickly toward the house, keeping his eyes on Marty’s place across the street. Bad news if she’d happen to look out and see him.

He hurried up H. Dunning’s driveway and took a cobblestone path to the front door.

The doorbell had a weathered note tacked below it. Willy could hardly read the faded ink, but it seemed to say, ‘Bell not working. Please knock.’

He knocked.

‘Who’s there?’ called an old voice from inside.

‘Bill Smith. We haven’t met, but I live down the block. I was passing by, and happened to notice your beautiful azaleas.’

The door opened.

He knew it would.

‘Mr Smith?' The short, smiling woman offered her hand. ‘I’m Hedda Dunning.’

Willy took her hand, gripped it tightly, and threw his forearm against her chest. He shoved her backward into the house and followed her, clutching her wrist. He shut the door.

‘Young man! What’re you…?’ She squealed when he twisted her arm. It was an old arm, bony and brown. Willy wondered if he was strong enough to break it off.

Probably.

Sobbing, Hedda blurted, ‘Leave me alone! Don’t hurt me!’

He grinned and took off his sunglasses.

The old woman’s weeping eyes narrowed. ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘You’re that William Johnson who molested…’

‘Good memory for an old bag. I’ve got a good memory, too. Like, I remember your testimony. You fucked me good.’

‘Don’t you use that language with me, you no-good snake.’ She tried to jerk her arm free. She kicked. The toe of her shoe hit Willy’s shin.

‘Do you think that hurt?’ he asked.

She kicked him again.

His fist doubled her. She wheezed and choked as he dragged her into the kitchen. There, he picked her up. Clutching the back of her collar, he opened the refrigerator door. He shoved her head in. He slammed the door on it.

Eggs fell out of the holder in the door. Two of them broke on the back of her head. Willy had to laugh.

Then he stretched her out on the kitchen floor and stripped her naked.

Later, he wanted to see if he really was strong enough to rip off her arm.

He was.

He tore the other arm off, too. But her legs were tougher, and he was a little worn out by the time he got to them, so he gave up after doing no more than breaking the left one out of its hip socket.

He took a Pepsi out of her refrigerator, popped it open, and sat down at the kitchen table.

From there, he had a fine view of Marty’s house.

Marty’s hands were soapy when the telephone rang.

‘It’s for you, dear,’ her mother called from upstairs.

Marty rubbed the sponge once more over the slick surface of the plate, then rinsed off the soap and stood the plate upright in the drain rack. After wiping her hands on a towel, she picked up the phone. ‘I’ve got it,’ she called. Then she said, ‘Hello,’ into the mouthpiece.

‘How you been?’ Dan asked. There was a flatness in his voice. He sounded weary.