Where was he? Why was he here, with this kid? What had he done? Hazily he watched her come toward him, saw her hips sway beneath flimsy lace, the swell of full breasts in the skimpy bra. “How did we get here?” he demanded. She laughed “Don’t you remember, honey? You kidnapped me … and …”Remember? He remembered that she had cost him his job. Dimly he recalled cursing her out in a dozen bars, getting blind drunk. And he had a vague memory of her behind the wheel of a car.
I never knew what trouble was until she came back into my life and started fanning the flames on an old torch. “I need you, Lee,” she said. Then she looked up at me with those wonderful, burning dark eyes of hers and I fell into them just like I always did - like it was yesterday and we were crazy in love on Cloud 13.Only it was today. Only she already had a husband. Only he was missing. She wanted me to find him before he found her - and killed her. There were holes in her story. There were holes in my head, too.
Alex came innocently into the house. His friend had a mysterious sickness. Alex did not know that the sickness was in a woman’s soul, and that he would almost die of it, too.
“What I can’t stand is knowing she’s out right now playing around.” The tall, heavy-set man stared at me, his eyes burning a hole in my bullet-proof vest. “Trail her every minute, Morgan. Every minute. Don’t let her out of your sight!” It was the easiest assignment in years. I’m Morgan - and I’m one of the guys she played with. The trouble came later - when I found out that her game was MURDER - and I was picked for the fall guy!
She looked at the rotting, sun-blasted shack, the one room where they all lived, slept, made love, died. Looked at the dusty lawn where no grass grew. At the steaming swamp, at her tobacco-spitting mother. Saw the sly, lustful eyes of her father’s friends. Then she looked at her own lush beauty. Get me out of here, she prayed. Oh, please get me out of here! I’ll pay any price.
He shot Jake Halloran in the head, then turned to me, smiling, the Luger held loosely in his right hand. “Hello, pal,” he said. “My name’s Ralph Angers. What’s yours?” That’s how I met him, this grave-looking, clean-cut, totally mad young man, who walked through my town with a gun, leaving a wake of tears and agony and murder behind him.
She was even lovelier than my memory of her. I watched her as she walked into the room, admiring the smooth movement of her fine legs and the curves under the soft weave of her sweater.She tossed her thick dark hair back and walked over to me. “It’s been a long time, Al.” Her voice still had the husky breathless sound that made my ears burn.I stepped close to her and put my hands on her waist. Her head went back, her eyes shining at me with bitterness and confusion and something else I couldn’t read.
The willowy blonde, in a fluffy white skirt, stood over him. She was smoking a cigarette through the black mask that covered her face. “Hello, honey,” she said softly. “Do you like me?” She knelt on one knee. Her hand caressed his cheek, the other hand holding the cigarette. As the blonde kissed him on the mouth she ground her cigarette into his fleash. He yelled, but she kept up the kissing and the burning. “Atta girl! Give it to him again!” one of the boys shouted. “Next?”