Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

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.”