I stepped out of the shoes and left them on the driveway.
Then I walked onto the slippery wet grass, straddled Tony’s hips, bent down, clutched his wrists and straightened up, pulling him. His back came off the ground. But then, instead of continuing to rise, he slid on his butt and went scooting between my legs. I scurried backward, trying to stay with him, and bumped into the rear of the car.
“Shit!”
He was up to his waist beneath the car like a grease monkey going under to make repairs.
Hanging on to his wrists, I waddled forward to drag him out. He just lay beneath me, staring at the show while I hobbled over him, my breasts lurching from side to side between my down-stretched arms.
By the time I’d left his head behind me, I was doubled over like a contortionist, my arms straining backward between my legs. At last, he started to slide.
I shuffled onward, pulling him.
He finally cleared the car. By then, I was huffing and sweaty again.
I sat down on the rear bumper.
“Should’ve minded your own business,” I muttered. “You wouldn’t be dead, for one thing. For another, you wouldn’t be putting me through all this shit.”
He didn’t answer.
He probably figured, though, that I didn’t have much room for complaining. I was still alive, after all, whereas he wasn’t. I was inconvenienced, but he was toes up.
“This is more than a little inconvenience, buddy,” I told him. “This is a major pain in the ass.”
The night was way too hot for such work. Sweat was pouring down my body. It made my eyes sting. It tickled my sides and back.
How nice it would’ve been, just then, to go around back and jump in the pool.
Thinking about the pool, I remembered the prowler. A funny thing, though. The thought of him didn’t frighten me, disgust me, thrill me—nothing. He’d lost all his powers to intimidate or fascinate me. Probably the moment I put the saber through Tony’s head.
His fault.
All his fault.
True enough, I thought. That bastard got Tony killed as sure as if he’d been the one swinging the sword.
I oughta kill his ass for doing this to Tony and me.
If I went swimming, he might show up and give me the chance. I should take the pistol or saber with me, just in case.
But which?
I couldn’t exactly swim with either weapon.
Forget it. Forget which weapon to take, forget having a swim. Time’s a-wasting.
Tony had to be dealt with.
I tried again.
This time, I straddled his head instead of his hips. Bending down, I jammed my open hands underneath his shoulders and grabbed his armpits. When I lifted him, he started to slide away. Instead of letting him go, I hauled back on him, pulled him against me and hoisted him up.
His full weight shoved against my chest.
Instead of rushing forward and throwing him headlong into the trunk, the way I’d figured, I found myself suddenly staggering backward. I fell, and he came down on top of me. His split-open head mashed against my face.
I wanted to scream.
But you can’t scream with your mouth shut. God knows, I kept it shut. If I hadn’t, it might’ve ended up full of Tony’s brains or whatever.
So the scream only happened in my mind.
Twisting and bucking, I threw him off me.
I crawled away from him. Still on my hands and knees, I lost my steak supper on the grass. The steak, and then some. I couldn’t stop vomiting. After a while, nothing came out except slobber.
Finally, I did stop. I crawled away from the glop, stayed on all fours while I tried to catch my breath, then struggled to my feet. Bending over, I put my hands on my knees. I stayed that way for a few minutes.
I felt stuff sticking to my face.
When I had the strength to move again, I wiped my face with both hands, then squatted and rubbed my hands against the damp grass.
I wanted to take a shower.
I wanted to scrub Tony off me.
His blood and goo.
But that would have to wait. First I needed to deal with his body.
I wandered over to it, being careful where I stepped with my bare feet.
“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” I asked.
“That’s your problem,” he seemed to tell me. “You should’ve thought of that before you split my head open, you dumb bitch.”
He was sprawled face down, the way he’d landed after I threw him off me.
I grabbed the elastic waistband of his skivvies, hoisted him to his knees and started dragging him backward. We made it about halfway to the trunk of the car before the elastic gave out. The shorts tore away, and he flopped.
I tossed the useless rag into the trunk, straddled his butt, grabbed him by the knobs of his hipbones and hauled him up.
It seemed to be working.
I reared back, bringing him higher and higher.
Then my hands slipped off his hips. I wasn’t ready for that. Not at all. I flew backward, slammed the rear of the car and tumbled into the trunk with my feet kicking at the sky.
It hurt so much that my eyes filled with tears.
He was dead, but beating up on me.
And defeating me.
“Bastard!” I shouted at him.
I could almost hear him laughing at me.
Crying, I twisted my body around and crawled out of the trunk.
Tony was sprawled on the grass.
“Think you can beat me?” I asked him.
“Think it?” I could hear him taunt me. “I know it! You’re too weak to get me in the trunk. I’m too big, and you’re too weak. I’ll still be lying here tomorrow when the sun comes up. I’ll still be lying here next week when Serena and Charlie come home.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” I said.
But he was right in a way.
Not about me being too weak. I was in great shape, and I probably could’ve lifted him if everything hadn’t been so wet and slippery.
He was right about his size.
He was too big.
I took care of that with the saber.
He lost ten or eleven inches very quickly.
I figured his head wouldn’t make that much difference, though. It probably didn’t weigh more than ten or fifteen pounds. So after tossing it into the trunk, I removed both his arms. They didn’t come off as easily as his head. I couldn’t just whack them off with a couple of good blows, but had to really work at it. And the arms were easy compared to his legs.
This was very rough work for a hot night.
When I had Tony down to his torso, I stuck the sword in the ground, got down on my knees, wrapped my arm around his chest, and picked him up.
At that point, he was still pretty heavy.
But manageable.
His torso shook the car when I dumped it into the trunk on top of his other parts.
I slammed the trunk shut.
By then, I was really tuckered out.
Not to mention filthy.
So exhausted I could hardly walk, I stumbled away from the driveway, found a clean place on the lawn, and flopped. The cool, wet grass felt wonderful. I lay on my back, panting for air, sweat pouring off my body.
In my mind, I was floating on the cool water of the pool.
That’s how I’ll spend tomorrow, I told myself. This whole mess will be over by then, and I’ll do nothing all day except float around in the pool and drink ice-cold cocktails and sunbathe.
Something in the grass under my back started to bother me. A stone or a twig, probably. It had been pushing against me from the start, but I’d been too worn out to care.
Now, I rolled over to get away from it.