Flat on my stomach, I crossed my arms under my face. They were sticky, though, and didn’t smell very good, so I got them away from my face and spread them out. With nothing for a pillow, I lowered my head onto the lawn.
But I didn’t like having my face in the grass.
The grass tickled. Especially where it brushed against my eyelid and lips. Also, I wondered what sort of bugs might be under me. I didn’t want ants or spiders crawling on my face, getting into my nostrils, my mouth, my eyes.
For that matter, I didn’t like the idea of bugs crawling on me anywhere.
I wondered what might be drawn to me by the smell of Tony’s blood.
Before you know it, I felt tiny creatures scurrying all over my bare skin. Most of them were probably just in my mind, but they seemed real enough.
That ended my rest period.
I got to my feet and staggered across the lawn. At the front of the house, in the space between a couple of bushes, was a coiled garden hose. Charlie used it, every so often, to wash the car in the driveway.
I used it to wash me.
The first water to blast out of the nozzle was warm from cooking inside the hose all day. I aimed the hard stream at my hands and forearms. It hit me with such force that it hurt, but it sure knocked the blood and filth off me.
Even before I finished hosing off my arms, cold water was shooting out. I adjusted the nozzle. The rough, narrow rod of shooting water spread out and became a spray. I could’ve made it a gentle, light shower, but I kept it powerful enough to do the job.
Raising the nozzle, I aimed down at the top of my head. The water drummed my skull, froze my scalp, matted my hair, rushed all the way down my body. I flinched under the frigid attack. I cringed and shuddered. After the first shock, though, it didn’t feel so horrible. The spray was no less cold, but I must’ve been getting used to it. Pretty soon, it seemed pleasantly cool.
I moved the nozzle around, spraying myself straight in the face, under my arms and down my sides, and so on. When the water hit certain areas—where I was still especially hot—it again felt ice cold.
Soon, I was as clean as I could get without soap and hot water.
I felt human again.
But thirsty. Afraid of choking if I shot the water straight into my mouth, I aimed the nozzle sideways in front of my lips, darted my head forward and took bites out of the spray. It worked pretty well. But sometimes I didn’t get away quickly enough. Then, the water pelted the inside of my cheek, making quick hollow tapping sounds, and flooded my mouth. I ended up choking a couple of times, but nothing serious.
After taking care of my thirst, I went on spraying myself.
Why stop?
For one thing, it made me feel so much better after all that hot, dirty work.
For another, I deserved a treat. I’d gotten Tony safely stowed inside the trunk of his car, so the worst part of the job was over. Now, it was just a matter of driving him away.
But to where?
Until I could figure out a good place to leave his car, there was no reason to quit enjoying the hose.
Just take it somewhere far away, I thought. The farther away, the better.
Oh, really? How do you think you’ll get home?
How far away is his place? I wondered. Not the old place, but the new one. Which street was it on?
I tried to picture the writing on the slip of paper in his wallet.
Little Oak Lane!
Not far away, at all.
Well, four or five miles, but I could walk a distance like that in about an hour.
What if I drop the car off—with him in it—right where he lives?
Perfect!
They might not find his body for days.
And when they do, they won’t have a clue as to where he went to get himself killed.
That matter solved, I dragged the hose across the lawn, being careful not to step in anything nasty. Along the way, I stopped and gave the saber a long, hard squirt. It was planted half a foot deep in the earth, and vibrated as the water struck it.
When I got in range of Tony’s car, I twisted the nozzle. The spray tightened into a stiff tube of water that reached all the way. My aim was too high, at first. The water slammed against the rear window and seemed to explode off the glass, sending a shower skyward while most of the water sluiced down the top of the trunk. I lowered the nozzle slightly and hit the edge of the trunk lid dead on, nailed it where I’d touched it the most and where it was most bloody. The water blasted it, rumbling and bursting away.
Then I did the rear bumper, then the back tires.
Done with the car, I adjusted the nozzle to make a soft spray. For a while, I watered the lawn. Along with the lawn, I watered whatever of Tony was spread around. Even in the lousy yellow light from the porch and nearby lamps, I could see rusty stains on the grass, and small bits of him. My vomit, too.
Soon, the grass looked green again.
I carried the hose back to its place near the front of the house, arranged it in a proper coil, gave my hands a final rinse, then reached in between the bushes and shut the water off.
Not much remained to be done.
I gathered the two denim legs that I’d cut from Tony’s jeans. With one of them, I wiped the saber.
I thought about taking the saber into the house, but I was naked and dripping and didn’t want to bother. I certainly couldn’t take it with me. So I slid it inside the severed legs of the jeans and hid it in the bushes.
That was pretty much the end of the clean up.
8
TONY GOES HOME
I was still wet when I put on Tony’s jeans and shirt. They stuck to me. I slipped my feet into his loafers, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
The car started fine. With a couple of easy maneuvers, I straightened it out. It ended up with its front toward the road.
Before taking off, I gave the lawn a final glance.
Everything looked okay.
Daylight might be another story, but I intended to take a good, long look at the whole area after the sun came up and make sure nothing showed that shouldn’t.
Feeling weary but good, the job nearly done—and the worst of it definitely over—I gave the car some gas and headed for the road.
At the top of the driveway, I turned left. There was no traffic in sight, so I kept the headlights off and drove along the two-lane country road by moonlight. With the windows wide open, the night air rushed in. It felt wonderful, blowing against me. And it smelled so fine, too. Sweet and moist and woodsy.
I almost turned on the radio. It would’ve been great to be tooling along through the darkness with a summertime song in my ears. But I was on a stealth mission. I kept the radio off, so the only sounds came from the car’s engine and the hiss of its tires on the pavement and the wind rushing by.
It was lovely, even without a song.
It made me want to go out every night—but not with a dismembered body in the trunk.
Just drive and drive along the empty country roads in the moonlight, smelling the smells of the night, feeling the soft rush of the wind. Just roam with nowhere to go. And with nothing to give me that tingly little scared feeling deep down inside.
Of course, maybe the scared feeling gave the trip a little extra flavor.
It’s hard to tell the difference, sometimes, between fear and excitement.
Anyway, the good part of the trip only lasted a few minutes. Coming to the town limits, I had to slow down and put the headlights on. Then I headed for Little Oak Lane, which I figured was in the newer residential area on the other side of town.