What if she was circling around me?
Going for her car!
I snatched my shirt off the bench, then whirled around and raced to the slope. I chugged my way up it, pumping hard with my arms, the pistol in one hand, the shirt in the other. The wet shirt slapped my side. My breasts leaped about wildly. Halfway up the slope, one of my loafers flew off. I didn’t dare stop for it.
At any moment, Judy might reach her car, climb in and drive away.
I knew it would happen.
It WON’T happen! Look what I did to her! How can she make it to the car? She can’t.
But she will.
I was doomed. I’d been doomed from the start of all this, and I’d known it, but I’d resisted.
In my mind, I heard the engine start. I heard it kick over again and again, roaring defeat at me.
But I didn’t hear it for real.
Not yet.
Dashing over the crest of the hill, I saw the vague shape of the car in the darkness ahead.
No sign of Judy.
Of course not. She was already behind the wheel, concealed in darkness behind the windshield, reaching for the ignition.
I dodged a picnic table and sprinted toward the car.
With every stride, I expected the headbeams to shoot out and blind me.
But they didn’t.
The engine didn’t turn over.
The headlights stayed dark.
Nothing happened.
Staggering to a halt, I ducked down a little and peered through the open window of the driver’s door.
Nobody there.
Nobody in the back seat, either.
With the last of my energy, I jogged in a circle around the car to make sure it was safe. Then I slipped the .22 into my pocket and pulled open the driver’s door. The car filled with light. Squinting, I dropped into the seat. The key was in the ignition. Judy must’ve left it there when we set out to search for Tony. I jerked the door shut and the light went out.
For a while, I just sat there streaming sweat and gasping for breath.
I could barely put my thoughts together, I was so pooped.
But I knew I’d lucked out. I’d gotten to the car first. Judy had lost her chance to drive away.
My skin itched from the heat and sweat. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I rubbed myself with the shirt. It was still wet. It felt cool and wonderful.
I started feeling better about things.
Nobody ever said it would be easy, I told myself. It’s a tricky business, trying to get away with this sort of thing. There are bound to be setbacks.
By and large, I’d handled matters fairly well so far. I would’ve met with complete success if I hadn’t gone to Judy’s apartment by mistake.
Pretty big damn mistake.
Bigger for her than me. She’d be dying because of it.
I rubbed my face and chest again, then leaned sideways and used the shirt to wipe off the interior handle of the passenger door. I also did the window sill and dashboard. Then I sat up straight and wiped the steering wheel.
As I did that, I realized that one of my shoes was gone.
Gotta go find it.
Time’s a-wasting.
I pulled out the ignition key. With the key case in one hand and my shirt in the other, I climbed out of the car. Again, the light came on. In its glow, I saw the strap of Judy’s purse on the floor. She’d apparently shoved her purse underneath the driver’s seat.
I started to reach for the strap, then stopped myself.
What do I need her purse for? Just have to get rid of it later, like Tony’s wallet.
I would’ve been better off if I’d never touched Tony’s wallet.
That’s what got me into this.
Finding that paper with the wrong address.
So I decided to leave Judy’s purse untouched.
Standing in the V of the open door, I did some more mop-up with my shirt. Then I shut the door and wiped its outside handle.
I dropped Judy’s keys into a pocket of my cut-offs, then went around the car to take care of fingerprints I might’ve left on the outside of the passenger door.
The surface of the parking area was pavement littered by old leaves and twigs. I doubted that my bare foot was leaving any tracks. To make sure, though, I opened the passenger door. The interior light came back on, and spilled a yellow glow onto the pavement. I did a couple of tests with my bare foot. Nothing showed, so I shut the door and wiped it again and took off.
I headed back to the scene of Judy’s escape.
She’ll be down there, somewhere. Maybe trying to crawl away, or hiding in the bushes.
Maybe watching me.
About halfway down the slope, I found my shoe. I slid my foot into it. Then I put the shirt on. It stuck to my skin. I left it unbuttoned so air could get in.
About the next step I took, my shoe slipped on the wet grass. I started to drop backward, but caught my balance in time and stayed on my feet.
Close call, I thought. What if I’d fallen and really hurt myself? Bumped my head on a rock, or something, and got knocked out cold? Then I’d be the one in big trouble. Judy could come up here and finish me off. Or take her car keys and escape. Lucky thing…
Would she?
What if she saw me fall, tumble down the slope, and not get up? Would she come out of hiding?
She might.
Or she might figure it’s a trick.
I took a few more strides, then pretended to trip over a rock or something. Yelling, “AHHH!” as loud as I could, I windmilled my arms, stumbled a couple of times as if trying to regain my footing, then plunged headlong.
I wanted it to look real.
It suddenly was real.
I slammed against the ground. It knocked my wind out and seemed to kick me into the air. I flipped over. The ground kept battering me, shoving me along. I twisted and rolled and flopped, arms and legs flying, all the way to the bottom.
Like Judy after her fall down the same slope, I came to rest on my back.
History repeats itself.
At least I hadn’t been shot in the head.
I felt plenty bruised and scratched and battered, though. And I’d lost both shoes.
Plus the pistol.
I should’ve been able to feel its weight against my right thigh, but the pocket had an awful lightness.
So much, I thought, for another brilliant idea.
Now what?
I had two choices. Either forget the trick and go looking for the pistol, or stay on my back and pretend to be unconscious.
I felt vulnerable without the gun. But I could get along without it for a while. I didn’t need artillery for handling Judy.
Just stick with the plan for ten or fifteen minutes, I told myself. See what happens.
It might be a waste of time.
On the other hand, searching for her in the dark woods would probably be a waste of time, too. If she’d found herself a good hiding place, and didn’t make any noise, I’d hardly stand a chance of finding her. Unless I tripped over her, or something.
This way, at least, was restful.
Just don’t fall asleep, I warned myself.
There probably wasn’t much danger of that. Though I was worn out, I didn’t feel sleepy. I was too tense for that. And too uncomfortable. The tumble down the slope had bruised and scratched me. I felt small pains in a dozen places, and I itched in about a dozen more.
I ached to rub my injuries, scratch my itches.
But I couldn’t do it.
Judy might be watching.
Or so I thought, anyway, until she shrieked, “No!” into the night somewhere far away.
18