While I waited for him to regain consciousness, I wondered about tying him up. Some manner of restraint seemed necessary. But how could he pick up Elroy, and so on, if his hands were tied? How could he carry the body away from the house with his feet bound together?
Pretty soon, I came up with a good solution.
I hurried into the laundry room. Serena had a fifteen-foot electrical extension cord that she mostly used for her iron. I unplugged it, gathered it up, and hurried back into the kitchen with it. Steve looked as if he hadn’t moved.
I set my saber on top of a counter, then took a small knife out of the butcher block knife holder. In Serena’s “junk drawer,” I found some heavy-duty strapping tape. The sort that has threads running through it, so it’s almost unbreakable.
Kneeling by Steve’s bare feet, I tied one end of the electrical cord around his left ankle. I knotted it as well as I could, but cords make lousy knots. You just can’t pull them tight enough. So then I unspooled about a yard of tape and cut it off with the knife. I used the tape to wrap his ankle and the cord. Then used another length of tape, just to make sure.
When I was done, the cord seemed completely secure.
I had fashioned a “foot-leash” for Steve.
I retrieved the saber. Then I put all the sharp kitchen knives into a drawer so they wouldn’t be handy for Steve. When that was done, I picked up my end of the extension cord and gave it a couple of tugs.
“Hey, Steve!” I yelled. “Wake up! We’ve got work to do!”
49
SLEEPING BEAUTY
Perhaps I’d bashed him too hard.
Though I yelled at him and gave him nudges with my foot, he refused to stir.
To make sure he wasn’t faking, I gave the crotch of his shorts a couple of prods with the tip of my saber. He didn’t react, so I was convinced.
Now what?
In his present condition, he was useless. Worse than useless. Not only could he not do any chores for me, but I couldn’t leave his side.
Well, I could leave his side, but not the kitchen.
At any moment, he might come to. I needed to be nearby when that happened, not off somewhere bringing in the margarita pitcher or gathering up my clothes or cleaning Elroy’s assorted fluids off the bathroom floor.
Standing over him, I tried to think…plan my moves.
Top priority was keeping control of Steve, so I crouched down and slid his right leg over against his left, then wrapped the cord around both his ankles. Just a simple precaution to keep him from making any quick attacks.
As an added precaution, I placed a kitchen chair on top of him. The chair didn’t touch him. With its front legs under his armpits and its rear legs beside his thighs, its job was to keep him from getting up fast and silently.
Now that I seemed to be safe from a surprise attack, I went over to the counter and picked up the steaks. They were still frozen, but seemed to have a slight springiness. Maybe my body heat had quickened the thawing process.
I thought about giving Steve the treatment.
But that might wake him up. True, I wanted to get things over with as soon as possible. But if Steve would do me the favor of staying out cold for a while, I could take care of a few matters on my own.
I placed the steaks in the platter of teryaki sauce, turned them over, then washed my hands at the sink.
I wanted to wash my whole body. Even though I’d already done a quick job with some paper towels, I felt incredibly filthy—itchy and sticky from such items as sweat and teryaki sauce and Steve’s spittle and blood.
A bath or shower would have to wait.
But now that I had some free time, I went to the kitchen sink, set the saber down on the counter within easy reach, and held a dish towel under the faucet. When the towel was heavy with cold water, I turned around to watch Steve, and mopped myself with the sopping cloth. The water just seemed to flood me. It felt heavenly. It ran all down my body and made a puddle around my feet.
With a fresh dish towel, I dried myself and wiped up the puddle.
I felt so much better!
I felt like celebrating with a drink. Of course, the pitcher of margarita was on the table out by the pool, and I didn’t dare go after it. The makings were still on the kitchen counter, though. So I took down a clean glass, tossed in a couple of ice cubes, and poured myself some tequila.
I hopped up and sat on the counter. I was wearing nothing, of course, except my thong panties. The tiles were cool and smooth under my rump.
I took a sip of the gold tequila. It felt cool in my mouth, then seemed to scald my throat and stomach.
I said, “Ahhh.”
It is astonishing—and maybe one of life’s quiet miracles—how much better every situation becomes as soon as you find a chance to clean up, have a good drink and relax. You might still be in an awful pickle, but you feel so much better, regardless.
It also helps if you’re alone. With Elroy dead and Steve unconscious, I was alone for all intents and purposes. There was nobody to contend with, nobody who needed to be lied to, tricked or fought. It was such a relief.
I just sat there on the counter with my feet dangling, kept a general eye on Steve, and enjoyed my drink. I’d already knocked down a couple of margaritas. They hadn’t been nearly as soothing, though, as the tequila.
Soon, I was feeling fine and lazy.
I wished I could lie down for a nap, but that was out of the question.
I needed activity to keep from drowsing off, so I hopped down from the counter. I set aside my empty glass, picked up the saber and both the dish towels, and went over to Steve. Crouching by his head, I set down the saber. Then I used the wet towel to clean him up. As I wiped the blood off him, I kept a sharp watch for any sign that he might be coming awake.
There was none.
With the same wet towel, I mopped the blood off the floor. This required several trips to the sink and back, but didn’t take terribly long. Anyway, it was something to do while I waited.
Next, I folded the other dish towel into a square pad, and placed it against the wounds on top of Steve’s head. With long strips of strapping tape (which I cut with the saber), I fastened down its corners to his ears and the sides of his face. It made him look stupid. Which was fine with me.
Pigs deserve to look stupid.
With the mess cleaned up and Steve bandaged, I felt free to relax again. But I was hungrier than ever.
Over at the counter, I checked the steaks. Nearly thawed out, they felt springy and firm, but stiff in the center.
Why wait any longer? I thought. You can’t barbecue them on the grill, anyway. Not unless Steve comes to about now.
Well, I could drag him outside.
Right. No way.
I tossed some more ice cubes into my glass, added more gold tequila, took a sip, and sighed.
Squatting and duck-walking, I searched one cupboard after another until I found Serena’s wok. I took it to the stove and set it on a burner. Then I hunted out her vegetable oil. I poured some into the wok, turned the burner on, and spent the next couple of minutes cutting the two steaks into bitesized chunks.
Naturally, I took time out, every half a minute or so, to make sure Steve hadn’t moved.
I tossed the two bones into the waste basket beside the stove.
By the time I managed to find Serena’s wooden stirring spoon, the oil in the wok seemed good and hot.
I poured in the meat and teryaki sauce.
Hiss, sizzle, spit, spatter!
“Shit!” I yelped and leaped away, my belly and breasts stinging with a thousand pin-pricks of fire. My skin glittered with specks of oil.