He watched her legs as she rose awkwardly, grasping one of the branches for support. “My head still hurts,” she said.
“You gave yourself a good whack,” he answered. He had apparently been considering what she had told him earlier because he then said, “Did Mr. Westerfield see you park the car?”
“There’s never anyone there this time of year. The house is empty.”
“Oh?” he said again, and again he nodded and the smile came back onto his face. “Let’s go get the car, huh?”
“I feel a little dizzy.”
“You’ll live.”
As they moved out of the small clearing and into the thicker growth, the mosquitoes attacked again in force, swarming over Ginny’s arms and legs and the back of her neck. She swatted at them and swore under her breath, and then turned to look over her shoulder.
“Aren’t they biting you, too?” she asked.
“They’re biting me,” he said flatly. “Let’s just move a little faster, okay? Then we won’t get bit so much.”
It was twenty minutes after ten when they reached the main highway. Ginny looked at her watch in much the same way she had earlier looked at her torn nylons, registering the time, and thinking how late she was going to be, and then wondering if the diner were open at all.
“It’s across the road there,” she said.
“Go on,” Willy told her. “Hurry up before we get traffic.”
They ran across the highway and into the Westerfield driveway. Willy glanced over his shoulder and then said, “Get in the car. Quick.”
“Are we going back to town?”
“Yes. Get in.”
They got into the car, Ginny behind the wheel, Willy beside her with the rifle. She started the engine, and then said, “I’ll have to back out into the road.”
“No, I don’t want you doing that,” he said. “Drive on up ahead. If there’s a house up there, there ought to be a turnaround.”
She nodded and set the car in motion.
At first she was only aware of his eyes on her legs. She tried to pull her skirt down, but her extended leg on the accelerator made this impossible. She pulled back her hand quickly, grasping for control of the wheel. The driveway was badly rutted, and the car bounced and lurched as they came closer to the distant gray house. She could not have said exactly when his interest turned to genuine excitement, but she felt it in the automobile suddenly, like an overpowering animal stench, primitive and wild, felt his excitement beside her as surely as if they had just entered her bedroom and locked the door. She drove with her legs widespread, the skirt pulled back over her knees, the car lurching and bouncing. From the corner of her eye she could see his hands moving along the stock of the rifle. She dared not glance at him because she did not want to encourage him in any way, and yet she was tempted to look at him, to see the excitement on his face and on his body; did he have a hard on?
She was suddenly frightened.
“How old are you, Ginny?” he asked.
She decided to lie, and then changed her mind and said, “Forty-two.” She had begun trembling. Her legs trembled, and her hands on the wheel trembled. She was sure he could see her trembling, and sure too that her fear, if it was fear, was exciting to him.
“You’re preserved pretty good for forty-two,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“What?”
“I said thank you.”
“Yeah, you got pretty good legs there,” he said.
“There’s the house up ahead,” she answered. “We can make the turn.”
She pulled the wheel to the left as they approached the house, swinging into the circle before the front door, making the turn in a wide lazy arc.
“Just a second,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Pull over there a minute, will you?”
Ginny braked the car to a slow, gliding stop. She put her hands in her lap and sat quietly beside him. She could hear the gulls shrieking over the bay.
“Let’s take a look inside,” he said.
“What for?”
“Just to check. I didn’t even know there was a house here.”
“It’s probably locked,” Ginny said.
“Well, let’s try it, huh?”
“I’ll wait here,” she said.
“Well, now, that’d be pretty silly, wouldn’t it?”
“I won’t go anywhere.” She pulled the key from the ignition. “Here,” she said, and turned partially on the seat to hand it to him.
“Why, thank you,” he said, accepting the key.
“I’ll wait here.”
“Mm,” he said.
“I won’t go anywhere.”
“Mm.”
“I’ll just sit right here.”
“Mm.” He smiled and nodded and said “Mm” again and then said, “I think you better come along with me, Ginny.”
“I told you I—”
“Get out of the car,” he said.
“I... I want to stay here.”
“Why?”
“I want to.”
“You afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be afraid, honey.”
She looked up into his face to find the same fixed smile there. He was young and strong and frightening and she could smell sex on him, and sweat, and viciousness. Her eyes lowered inadvertently. She turned away quickly but too late to stop her own sudden unbidden response, hot and rushing. Her hands were trembling violently now.
“Get out of the car,” he said slowly.
He had said only that he wanted to check the house, but as she opened the car door and prepared to slide off the seat, she turned her head over her shoulder and whispered, “What are you going to do to me?”
He did not answer. He only smiled and nodded.
She got out of the car silently and walked ahead of him to the front door of the house, silently, and then waited for him to try the knob.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“I figured it’d be.”
He drought for a moment, and then said, “Get back in the car.”
“All right,” she said.
“Hey.”
She turned to look at him.
“I know where we can go.”
Fatboy was pacing the small marina office. “Where did you leave it?”
“On Big Pine.”
Fatboy glanced to where Jason was standing alongside the filing cabinets. The television set in the corner was on, the sound lowered. An old cowboy movie was showing.
“Where on Big Pine?”
“The road leading to the beach.”
“Long Beach?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like it,” Fatboy said. He was now wearing a khaki shirt and trousers similar to Jason’s. A .45 was hanging in a holster on his right thigh. “What do you think, Jason?”
“He had no choice,” Jason said, and shrugged.
“I’m only arguing with the way he disposed of the car,” Fatboy said.
Jason nodded. “You should have brought it here, Rafe,” he said.
“With two dead men in it?” Rodiz asked.
“There are two dead men in it where you left it, right?”
“Yes, but that’s over on Big Pine, not here. Suppose they start looking for that car? If I’d brought it here—”
“We could have hidden it here,” Fatboy said.
“How?”
“In the paint shop. There’re two big overhead doors on the south wall. We could have driven it right in there.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Rodiz said.
Fatboy would not let it go. “This way, as soon as they find that car in the mud, they’ll come looking.”
“So what?” Rodiz answered. “They won’t find anything, will they?”
“They’ll find a town full of armed men.”