“She’s here.” He pulled his zipper up and fastened his belt. Then he leaned back against the rest room door. He took a deep breath. He rubbed his face. “I’ve got my doubts, Ro.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a nice girl. This seems like a rotten way to use her.”
“You want to help Dana, don’t you?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. But it’s a stupid idea, anyway. What are the chances that the guy’ll come back tonight?”
“He was here last night,” Roland pointed out. “And he made a good catch. So why wouldn’t he come back and try for another?”
“It’s crazy.”
“When he comes, we’ll nab him.”
Jason shook his head. Pushing himself away from the door, he stepped to the sink and turned on a faucet. “Don’t want her hearing us,” he said.
“Where is she?”
“Over near the front door. She was spreading the blanket.” Jason splashed water onto his face, wiped himself dry with the front of his shirt, and stepped backward until he was leaning against the door.
“Did you get her soused?” Roland asked.
“She’s demolished.”
“Great.”
“I feel like a shit.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to her.”
“If the guy comes—”
“We’ll nail him. And he’ll take us to Dana.”
“Celia, she’ll know I used her if the guy really shows up.”
“What do you care? She can’t do anything about it. It’s not like you kidnapped her or something, she came here of her own free will.”
“She didn’t plan to get used for bait.”
“Tough toenails. So maybe she’ll be pissed. But you’ll find Dana. It’ll be worth it, right?”
“I guess.”
Roland stood up. “We’d better get out there,” he said, and turned off the faucet. “Don’t want our madman running off with her while we’re in here gabbing. You go over to her, but be quiet about it. Don’t say anything. If this is going to work, she needs to conk out.”
“She was pretty wired when I left her.”
“Turned on?”
“Yeah, and jittery.”
“If she’s awake, fuck her. That’ll calm her down. Soon as she’s asleep, get back here. She won’t be much of a decoy if you’re right there with her.”
“I don’t know,” Jason muttered.
“You don’t know what?”
“This whole thing. Maybe I’ll just take her home.”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“Ro, she’s nice. I like her.”
“Just going to let Dana turn in the wind?”
Jason twisted his face as if he had a gut-ache. That phrase got him, Roland thought—turning in the wind. “I’ll see how it goes,” he muttered.
Roland waved him away from the door, then flicked off the light and slowly turned the knob. The latch disengaged without a sound. The hinges were silent as he eased the door open. He grinned. He’d thought of everything. Earlier, after popping open the lock with a simple twist of his knife point, he had sprayed oil on the latch and knob and hinges.
His bare feet were silent on the hardwood floor. He could hear Jason’s footsteps behind him, but they weren’t very loud. Running a hand along the wall, he found the entryway and stopped beneath it.
Jason put a hand on his shoulder.
The light in the bathroom had messed up Roland’s night vision. Except for gray areas near the windows, everything looked black. He listened, but heard only his own heartbeat and Jason breathing close to his ear. Jason sounded like he’d just finished a sprint. His breath smelled of liquor.
Roland turned sideways, his back to the edge of the entryway. He found Jason’s shirt and gave it a slight tug. Jason stepped past him and started through the room.
Going great, Roland thought.
He hoped that Celia was still awake. He hoped that Jason would fuck her. If that happened, he’d sneak up close have a ring side seat. Nothing to see, but plenty to hear. And he’d be able to imagine the rest. He’d looked her over good yesterday at the mall—her and her friend, the cute one.
Could’ve been that one tonight. But this was fine. This was great. The date gimmick might not have worked on Celia’s friend, and he liked the date gimmick. The bait-date. What a laugh. People were so damned fun to manipulate. Mess around some with their heads, they’ll do whatever you want.
So how’s it going Jason, old pal? Ready to pork her?
Pork.
Roland laughed softly, caught himself and pressed his lips together hard.
He heard quiet footfalls.
Jason was coming back.
“She’s zonked,” Jason whispered.
Shit. So much for the good-time show. “Great,” Roland said.
“So where do we hide? We should probably get closer. Maybe one of us should wait behind the bar?”
“Good idea.”
“You got the handcuffs?”
“Right here.” Roland patted a front pocket of his jeans.
“What about my hammer?”
Roland didn’t answer.
“You had it when I dropped you off.”
“I’m thinking.”
“I’m not gonna jump the guy bare-handed.”
“Must’ve left it in the john,” he said. “Yeah.”
“Well, go find it. Christ.”
Roland made his way back to the rest room. He entered and quietly shut the door. He turned on the light. The claw hammer was propped against the wall beside the toilet. He had placed it there, out of sight, intending to return for it once Jason realized he was without a weapon.
He picked it up. It still had a price sticker on its handle. They had bought it that afternoon at a hardware store for Jason to use against the fabricated maniac.
Roland pushed its wooden handle under his belt.
He popped open the snap of his knife case, removed the knife, and folded out the blade. It made a quiet click as it locked into place.
Facing the rest room door, Roland flipped off the light. He opened the door. “Jase?” he asked in a loud whisper.
“Find it?”
“Yeah, but come here.”
He listened to the shuffle of Jason’s shoes on the floor.
“What?”
“Come in here a minute, we’ve got to talk.”
Jason stepped inside and shut the door. “What is it?”
“I’m getting scared.”
“Oh, for Christ—”
“No, really. He reached out with his left hand, found Jason’s shoulder, and gripped it. “I never really believed the guy’d show up, but I don’t know anymore. What if he does, and we can’t handle him? I mean, he might kill us all.”
“Calm down, Ro. My God. There’s two of us, and we’ll have the element of surprise, and besides which, he isn’t gonna show up anyway. We’ll wait for a couple of hours, then I’ll take Celia home and—”
Roland punched the knife into Jason’s belly. The impact slammed him against the door. Roland twisted the knife hard, pulled it out and shoved it in again. Jason grabbed his wrist. Roland jerked the knife back, freeing his bloody hand from Jason’s grip. Before he could strike again, a blow to his chest knocked him backward. He staggered through the darkness and started to fall. The edge of something—the sink?—pounded his rump. His feet slid forward on the wet tiles. He was going down. Throwing back his arms, he caught the sink with both elbows and braced himself as he struggled to get his legs under him. His feet kept sliding away.
The light came on.
He saw Jason on his knees, a shoulder against the door. The wall around the light switch was smeared with bloody handprints, as if Jason had found it essential to get the light on, to see what was happening. Jason turned his head and looked at Roland. His face was the color of dry ashes. His eyes were bugged out, his mouth so wide open that the corners of his lips had split and blood trickled down the sides of his chin.