Masters Of Noir Vol I Part 7

"You're a lovely woman," Mr. Bright-Eyes was saying, and she was pleased to note that he had a fine manner of speaking, s.p.a.cing his words nicely and p.r.o.nouncing all the consonants the way they belonged. Why, that man a few nights ago didn't talk very well at all, mumbling the way he did. Of course it was partly the drinking, but she was glad Mr. Bright-Eyes could speak so clearly and nicely.

But she didn't pay much attention to what he was saying. It wasn't too important, and besides she was far too busy looking into his blue eyes and enjoying the way they traveled so gently over her body. She could feel them on her, and when his gaze traveled down her body and caressed her hips she almost shivered.

He continued to talk to her and she continued to answer him and the jukebox continued to play, but she spent most of her time looking into his eyes and loving the feeling they gave her. He told her his name, which she promptly forgot because Mr. Bright-Eyes suited him so much better, and she told him that her name wasn't especially important, since it really wasn't.

Mr. Bright-Eyes said something about a rose by another name and she laughed politely, but it was his eyes that really held her interest. Even when his hand moved down to rest gently on her thigh, she was more aware of the hunger in his eyes than the gradually more insistent pressure of his hand.

Slowly his hand moved up and down her thigh, gently caressing her flesh, and all the while Mr. Bright-Eyes was talking earnestly, his voice just a little louder than a whisper and his eyes deliciously l.u.s.tful and hungry.

But it wouldn't do to ignore the hand. Keeping her gaze rooted to Mr. Bright-Eye's face, she gently placed her own hand on top of his. At first he seemed taken aback, thinking that she wished him to remove his hand from her thigh. That, of course, was not what she intended at all.

Rea.s.suringly, she moved his hand over her thigh, pressing it gently and tenderly. She was pleased to notice Mr. Bright-Eyes get an even hungrier gleam in his eyes and begin to breathe a slight bit heavier than before. It was all part of the game, but the game could be very pleasant for her.

"... one of the most exciting women I've ever met," he was saying, and as he spoke the words his hand closed possessively around her knee. His eyes were glued to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She knew that they would leave any moment now, that he was almost ready and almost convinced that she would now follow him to the ends of the earth if he were only to ask.

And indeed she would.

"Honey?"

She smiled expectantly.

"Would you like to have the next one up at my place?"

"Of course," she said.

His bright blue eyes gleamed more than ever. How bright they were! She was actually in love with him now, in love with his eyes and the hunger and beauty in them.

As they stood up, she saw Mr. Baldy shake his head sadly. Mr. Dark Suit's jaw fell slightly and he looked quite awkward, sitting precariously on his stool with his mouth half-open. Then Mr. Bright-Eyes slipped his arm easily around her waist and walked her to the door. She could feel their eyes watching her every step of the way, and it wasn't hard at all to imagine the regret in their eyes-regret mixed with admiration for Mr. Bright-Eye's technique.

He was smooth, all right. So very smooth, and while it was a shame that Mr. Dark Suit and Mr. Baldy were doomed to sadness for the evening, it simply couldn't be helped.

And besides, wasn't there a book about survival of the fittest or something? If they had Mr. Bright-Eyes' finish they wouldn't be sitting by themselves, with their eyes all afraid and beaten.

It was dark out, and Mr. Bright-Eyes seemed to be in a hurry, and as a consequence they were walking very swiftly toward his apartment. He said something about wasn't it dark out, and she agreed that it was, and his arm tightened around her waist.

She leaned a little against him and rubbed her body against his. Walking as they were and with the night as dark as it was, it was hard for her to see his eyes. Each time when they pa.s.sed a streetlamp she leaned forward a bit and glanced into his face, as if to rea.s.sure herself that his eyes still wanted her as much as they had.

In his apartment everything went very well. He told her how beautiful she was and she thanked him quite modestly, and they went to the bedroom and he took her in his arms and kissed her very expertly.

Then, after she had been expertly kissed, he bent over to remove the spread from the bed. It was at just that moment that she took the knife from her purse and plunged it into his back, right between the shoulder blades. One jab was enough; he crumpled up on the bed and lay very still, without a scream or a moan or any sound at all.

Afterwards, back in her own apartment, she put his eyes in the box with the others.

ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON by GIL BREWER

Dell Harper and his wife Julia left their pew and shoved through the nervously subdued congregation. Everyone somehow held themselves back enough to keep from running and shoving in an effort to get home for dinner, make that show, meet Marge or Suzie, reach the car before Dad. The organ continued to moan softly and the Reverend Holdsby appeared at the hall door, perspiring lightly, a fixed smile on his pale lips.

"Better carry Linda," Harper said to his wife. "She'll get herself stomped on. And for gosh sakes, get past Holdsby before he nails us about Christian Endeavor, or we'll never get out to the glen."

Julia Harper looked at her husband and scowled, but she said nothing. She grabbed three year old Linda, who at the moment was interested in the choir loft, picked her up, rested her on her hip.

They escaped to the main entrance hall, and headed for the door. Noon sunlight glared on the brick steps.

"There's Tom Martin," Julia said. She held Linda with one arm, jabbed at her hair with her other hand, and looked as if she wanted to smile.

"Now, for cripes' sake," Harper said. "Don't start gabbing."

Julia didn't seem to hear him. Linda said something about, "Wanna fickle do, Mommy! Fickle do naw!"

"All right," Julia Harper said. "We'll be home in a little while. Then you can."

Martin pinned them in a small bottleneck on the steps. "Only got a minute," he said. "Nan's waiting in the car. Why don't you folks stop over this afternoon?" He paused, stripping cellophane from a cigar. "We could have some coffee and sandwiches later on-maybe play a few hands of bridge." He bit off the end of the cigar, spat it across the church steps, and grinned at Julia.

Julia smiled back brightly, glanced at her husband.

Martin s.n.a.t.c.hed the cigar from his mouth and motioned toward Linda. "Bring her along, too-of course."

Harper checked his wrist watch. "Sorry as the deuce, Tom. We planned something else. Thanks, though-for asking."

Julia patted Linda's bottom, frowned, and chewed the edge of her lower lip.

"Oh?" Martin said.

"Little picnic-out to the glen."

Julia spoke suddenly, a shade too loudly. "Why don't you and Nan come along?" She said it to Martin, but she looked at her husband as she spoke.

Martin found a match, looked at it. "No-we can't," he said. "Feel kind of tired. Just want to lay around, anyways."

"We'd better get moving," Harper said.

"Maybe next Sunday?" Martin called.

Harper said nothing. Julia turned and flashed another smile back across Linda's shoulder. They moved slowly through the sun-dappled church crowds into the parking area, located their Ford sedan.

"Wow," Harper said. "Like an oven. Wait'll I roll the windows down."

Julia waited, holding Linda, looking at the bustle of the crowded parking area.

"Come on, will you?" Harper called with a trace of irritation. "You're the one wanted to get out to the G.o.d d.a.m.ned glen. We'll no more'n get there, we'll have to come back. Get the lead out. It's my only day off-you know know that." that."

Julia ignored his whining tone, slipped into the front seat with Linda, then allowed the three year old to climb over into the back.

Harper savagely started the engine and backed out, heading for the street. Julia adjusted her pale blue skirt over her round knees, patted the small and wilted corsage of flowers she'd made that morning.

"There's Brady," Julia said. "He's waving, Dell."

"Oh," Harper said, flapping his hand without looking. "I'm hungry as a bear. You?"

"I suppose so."

"What the h.e.l.l's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Something's the matter. I can tell."

Julia said nothing. She looked out the window and closed her eyes.

Linda was bubbling about something in the back seat, her round face mashed against the side window, the fingers of one hand curled into her pale yellow hair.

Harper turned onto Central a bit too speedily, narrowly missing the side of a city bus. A yellow and chrome hot rod roared past them, loaded with young laughing faces. The driver flipped the cut-out on the m.u.f.fler twice.

"Juvenile delinquents," Harper said. "My G.o.d, look how fast they're goin! They don't give a d.a.m.n for anybody. The world's crazy-I tell you, it's crazy. Crazy kids. I'd just like to get close enough to one of them sharpies, by G.o.d."

"What would you do, Dell?" Julia said, her eyes still closed, facing the window.

"They need a lesson, that's what they need. A good lesson. Somebody show 'em what for. Drunk, an' taking dope-like they do." He lifted one hand from the steering wheel and squeezed it into a fist. "A good lesson-the old-fashioned way."

Julia said nothing. They drove on home.

"Hurry up and change," Harper said from the bathroom. "What you wearing?"

His wife did not reply.

Something thumped downstairs. "Hope she's not in the G.o.d d.a.m.ned lunch," Harper said. "You got it all packed, didn't you?"

"Yes, Dell."

Harper came into the bedroom. "Guess I'll wear these old suntans."

"Why don't you wear shorts?"

He ignored her, climbing into the tan khaki trousers. He was tall and boney, with reddish-brown hair that was spa.r.s.e across pink skull. Pale blue eyes regarded the world with suspicion from behind rimless gla.s.ses. He b.u.t.toned and belted his trousers, yanked a white T-shirt over his head, tucked it in partly, then glanced toward his wife.

"Hurry up G.o.d d.a.m.n it. Will you?"

She stood in front of her closet, running her hands through the racked clothes. They had been married six years. They had both been eighteen at the time of the ceremony, and Dell had just landed the job with the paint supply house-a job which he still held, through two promotions and three raises. They had both been skinny kids at the time of their marriage, striking out for the mysterious something. something.

Dell hadn't put on much weight since. Julia had. In brief white pants and bra.s.siere, she was a lush and lovely woman. Thick black hair waved and ma.s.sed across olive-skinned shoulders. Her waist was strikingly slim and firm, her hips sharply curving out and down to long-thighed, smoothly-rounded legs. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were large and high-peaked. Her face was sometimes piquant, sometimes sad-often both, the dark eyes a shade too thoughtful, the pouting, red-lipped mouth curiously immobile. She was possessed of a strange, almost electric nervousness that kept her forever on the go.

"Well, by gosh, I'm going to be cool!" She s.n.a.t.c.hed something from a hook in the closet. She stepped into a pair of white shorts that were high and tight when she got them fastened. She struck a pose, looked at her husband through half-lidded eyes, and grinned. He lit a cigarette, staring at her. She turned, pulled a thin yellow jersey over her head, glanced at the full length mirror on the back of the door, and said, "Let's go, then."

Harper stomped toward the bedroom door. As he pa.s.sed her, she touched his arm lightly, smiling up at him, a sudden and emphatic flash of crystal invitation. "Like my shorts, huh? You haven't seen 'em."

"Fine," he said, leaving the room, stomping down the hall.

She continued to smile for a moment. Then she forgot the smile and looked at herself in the closet mirror again. Her lips were parted and she breathed heavily, her eyes darker than they had been. There was a kind of viciousness in her fingers as she crimped the edges of the shorts still higher, until they bit into the soft swollen flesh of her thighs. She checked herself from the side, arching her back, yanking the jersey down tightly. "G.o.d d.a.m.n," she said. "G.o.d d.a.m.n! G.o.d d.a.m.n!" "G.o.d d.a.m.n! G.o.d d.a.m.n!"

"We'll have to stop for gas," Harper said. "Meant to fill her up this morning. Clean forgot. There's a place I know down the road. We'll stop there."

Linda was standing on the back seat, staring out the rear window. She wore a blue playsuit, and was jumping up and down, softly chanting, "Hungy ... hungy ... hungy ... "

"Why don't you give her a sandwich-shut her up?" Harper said. "You made plenty, didn't you?"

"G.o.d d.a.m.n right," Julia said. "Better if she waits, though."

Harper craned his neck, frowning at her. Then he turned his gaze ahead and said, "There's the station."

Harper pulled the car off the main highway into a small country gas station with two red pumps. He stopped the car by the cement island and climbed out as the stocky, overalled attendant strolled out of the paint-peeled office.

"Fill 'er up," Harper said. "Check everything. Battery, water, tires-the works. An' be sure to wash that windshield. Better catch the rear window, too. All this dust."

The attendant began to whistle.

Julia, sitting in the car, nervously flipped the sun-visor down on her side and arched her back slightly, stretching up so she could see herself in the small mirror. She opened her white-beaded purse, dipped in and brought out a large gold-cased lipstick, and worked on her lips. They were already quite red, but she went over them still more heavily. Finally she sighed, put the lipstick away, folded the visor back with a flip of her hand, and opened her door. She climbed out, glanced at Linda. Linda was occupied watching the cars and trucks whizz by on the main highway.

Harper was discussing oil grades with the attendant. Julia looked around, then wandered over to the map rack on the wall of the office, beside the doorway. Georgia. Florida. Mississippi. South Carolina. North Carolina. Virginia. Delaware. Oregon ... Georgia. Florida. Mississippi. South Carolina. North Carolina. Virginia. Delaware. Oregon ... she withdrew the Oregon roadmap from the black metal rack, opened it, her face quite sober. she withdrew the Oregon roadmap from the black metal rack, opened it, her face quite sober.

A gleaming yellow and chrome car, not more than three feet high all around, shot roaring off the highway and slid to a grinding stop on the gravel just off the cement, inside the gas station area. There were five young men in the car. The hood of the engine was off, and chrome and nickel furnishings sparkled with a hard brilliance in the sunlight. It was as clean and sparkling as an expensive china steak platter.

Julia turned, holding the road-map.

The driver of the hot-rod, a tall, broad-shouldered, yellow-haired youth with a violent sunburn, wearing khaki shorts and moccasins, gunned the engine loudly. They all roared with laughter.

The driver shut the engine off, leaped over the side of the car and crouched low and yelled, "Look at that!" "Look at that!"

"Va-va-VOOM!"

"Hot rivets!"

"Bite me!"

Shrill whistles soared crazily into the sunlight, cutting through the afternoon with that same hard brilliance the car itself possessed-edged, clean, gla.s.slike.

"Oh-daddio!!"

"Hit me!" one of the boys yelled. "Bash me-sock me-hit me!" He leaped from the car, ran around to where the yellow-haired youth stood and stuck his chin out. "Knock me cold!"

The yellow-haired youth rapped his chin with a big fist, laughing. The other faked a backward stagger, turned fast and looked at Julia, eyes bugging. Then he ran around the side of the car, yelling like an Indian. He reached over the side of the car, came up with a brown pint bottle and gulped from it. He sprawled against the side of the car, gasping.

"I'll never make it now, boys. Never make it now. I seen the light."