“Now,” the man said, “stick your hands up.”
“Is that you, Marshal Dillon?” Sandy asked.
“Stick ’em up!”
She and Lib raised their arms overhead.
“Okay,” the man said. “That’s good. Now step back away from the body and keep backing up till you get to the trailer.”
Moments later, they were standing side by side, their backs against the side of the trailer, their arms still high.
A few yards straight in front of them, the trunk of a tree seemed to grow wider.
Someone was gliding out from behind it.
Someone as dark as the night.
When he stood separate from the tree, he switched on a flashlight. The stark white beam slanted down at Slade. It moved slowly up and down the mutilated body.
“Who killed this man?” he asked, swinging the beam over to Sandy.
Squinting, she turned her face away from the glare.
“Not me,” she said.
The light jerked away from her, then jabbed into Lib’s eyes. “Not me,” Lib said.
“What happened to your face?” he asked her.
“I got beat up wid an ugly stick.”
“How about some straight answers, ladies.? You might think this is all funny as hell, but I don’t see the humor. You’ve got a dead man here. So what’s the story?”
“Are you a cop?” Sandy asked.
“No, but I’ve got a gun.” He turned the flashlight onto his own right hand. It was clutching a big, dark pistol. The barrel was aimed upward, not at Sandy or Lib. “You’re on my property. I want to know what you’re doing here.”
“Isn’t it pretty obvious?” Sandy asked.
“Cut out the wisecracks.”
Sandy shrugged.
“We just wanted to ditch da body,” Lib told him. “Dat’s all.”
“Suppose we just throw him back in the trailer and drive away?” Sandy suggested. “How would that be? I mean, we weren’t trying to unload him on you in particular. We don’t even know you. We just wanted to get rid of him, that’s all.”
"How’d he get killed?”
“He attacked me,” Sandy said.
“Uh-huh.”
“He was trying to rape me, all right? So I fought back. And I won. I had a knife handy, or maybe I’d be the one who ended up dead.”
He swung his light toward Lib. “How do you fit in?”
“She...”
“I’m asking her, not you. What’s your name?” he asked Lib.
“Bambi,” she said.
“Bambi? Like the deer?”
“Yeah. I got opp lucky. Day almost called me Tumper.”
That’s Thumper,” Sandy explained..
“What happened to your teeth, Bambi?”
"He knocked ’em clean out my head,” she explained, nodding in Slade’s direction.
“Is that before or after he attacked this one?”
"Charly,” Sandy said. “I’m Charly. Like in Charlie’s Angels.”
"He beat me up pirst,” Lib explained. “Den he went apter Charly.”
“He’s my dad,” Sandy explained. “Bambi, she’s my stepmother. He was always beating the shit out of us and...you know, messing with me. So tonight I was ready for him and I got him with my knife.”
The beam of light swept down and returned to Slade’s body.
Sounding appalled but calm, the man asked, “This is your father?”
“Yeah. Dirty rotten son of a bitch.”
“You killed your own father?”
“Sure did. And I’m not sorry for it, either. He got what he had coming.”
The man slowly shook his head from side to side.
Keeping his light on Slade, he said, “If what you’re telling me is true, it sure sounds like self-defense. So why are you trying to hide the body? You should’ve just called the cops right after it happened and admitted everything. Nobody’s going to blame you for trying to defend yourself like that.”
“Guess I was scared,” Sandy said. “I’ve got a little baby, you know? I was scared they might take him away. I mean, I’m only fourteen, and...”
“You’ve got a child?”
“Yes sir. And he’s the daddy.” She jabbed a finger toward Slade’s body. “He’s my baby’s daddy and my daddy, too.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Dey’ll take away little Eric por sure,” Lib said. “Dem polks at Child Welpare. Dat’s how come we had to run opp and why we gotta hide da pucker’s body.”
The man was silent for a while. Then he asked, “Where are you from?”
“Noplace much,” Sandy told him. “Last couple of months, we’ve just been on the road.”
“You live in this trailer?”
“Yes sir,” Sandy said.
“Where are you heading?”
“Noplace. Just figured we’d keep on going, and hope for the best.”
“What kind of money do you have?”
“A few bucks. You want it?”
He lowered the pistol. “I’m not sure I believe everything you’re telling me,” he said. “But you two...It’s pretty obvious you’re in a jam. I’d be glad to help you, but I don’t want to end up like this guy.”
“Are you fixin’ to attack us?” Sandy asked.
“Not likely,” he said.
"Den it ain’t likely we’ll kill you,” Lib told him.
“Mom’s right,” said Sandy.
“In that case... Maybe you’d like to be my guests. I’ve got a cabin just up the road a piece. You could probably use some food and a good night’s sleep.”
“Got anyting to drink at dat cabin ob yours?” Lib asked.
"Just about anything you might want.”
“Hot damn! Let’s went, honey!”
The man said, “My name’s Harry. Harry Matthews.”
“I meant her,” Lib explained, swinging a thumb toward Sandy.
“I like to call my girl honey. But maybe I can call you honey, too, ip you treat us right.”
“Fine. So let’s take care of this body, first. Then we’ll go on up to my place.”
Chapter Fifteen
A VISIT FROM CLYDE
All afternoon, Dana’s mind dwelled on Warren. She thought about the way he’d looked and the things he’d said. She wanted to know everything about him.
Tuck, no doubt, would be able to tell her plenty.
But Dana was afraid of hearing it. The guy just couldn’t be as wonderful as he seemed. He must have some sort of awful flaw.
After a talk with Tuck, she might want nothing more to do with him.
We can’t talk about him here, anyway, she told herself. I’ll wait till after work.
During a slow period in the middle of the afternoon, she was leaning against the side of the ticket booth, daydreaming about Warren, when Clyde stepped around the corner. He was carrying a stool with a padded seat.
"Interested” he asked.
“I don’t want to take your seat,” Dana told him.
“I’ve still got one.” He set down the stool for her.
“Well, thanks.”
As Dana climbed onto it, Clyde watched her closely. Though he wore sunglasses, their lenses weren’t dark enough to hide the direction of his gaze. He mostly watched her breasts and crotch.
She was used to that sort of thing.
Sometimes she found it flattering, sometimes exciting. Often, though, it seemed like an embamssing invasion of her privacy and annoyed or disgusted her.
Long ago, she’d discovered that her reaction depended on who was doing the staring.
Though Clyde was certainly handsome—well over six feet tall and built like a Mr. Universe contestant—she didn’t care much for him.
“So,” he said. He folded his arms across his massive chest and looked her in the eyes. “How’s it it going?”