Endless Night Part 54

"I ... I think I'm having a miscarriage," I yelled.

"Oh, dear G.o.d!" the woman cried out. She squeezed my arm. "How far along are you?"

"Six weeks."

The next semi pa.s.sed, throwing hot gusts of air against us.

I suddenly doubled over.

"Jerry! We've got to take her to a hospital!"

"How are we gonna find a hospital?"

"We'll find one, don't worry."

They both grabbed me. Holding me up, they hustled me over to the back door of their Sentra. Jerry opened it. He asked, "Do you need anything from your car?"

I shook my head, then let out a whine.

"Have you got your car keys?"

"Yes!" I squealed.

The girl in the backseat scooted over to make room for me. I sort of tumbled in, and Jerry shut the door.

I was d.a.m.n near ecstatic.

Never even hoped they'd invite me into their car.

Figured I'd have to kill them right out in the open by the side of the highway.

Jerry and his wife got into the front seats. Jerry was straight in front of me. He pulled down his shoulder strap and buckled it.

"What're we doing?" the girl asked.

"This woman needs a hospital," her mother said. She was reaching up for her shoulder harness.

"So we're taking her to ... ?" The girl gasped when she saw the Colt come out of my s.h.i.+rt.

Very fast, I put two rounds through the back of Jerry's seat. As he pitched against his safety belts, the mother started to twist around to see what was happening. I dropped sideways, my shoulder on the girl's lap, jammed my muzzle against the back of Mom's seat and put two slugs into it.

The girl went ape, screaming and pounding on me. I pushed myself off her. Once I was sitting up, I bounced her head off her door window. The window cracked, but didn't break. She slumped, out cold.

All the windows were shut because of the air conditioner, and it was so smoky in there you'd think we each had our own cigars. If you ask me, gunsmoke smells a lot better than cigar smoke. Love it. But I was afraid people driving by might worry if they saw all that smoke, so I put my window down to let it out.

Then I stuck the Colt down the back of my skirt. It went there fine.

Leaning forward, I checked out Jerry and his wife. The shoulder and lap belts had kept them both from going anywhere, but both of them had keeled sideways a little. They were still alive. They made some noises, but didn't fight me when I straightened them up.

I wanted them to look okay. That's how come I'd shot them in the backs when it would've been a lot more fun to pop them in their heads.

On the dashboard was a folded map. I had to climb halfway into the front seat before I could reach it. After grabbing it, I stayed up there and took a minute to check out the damage. Jerry and his wife looked fine, mostly, just as long as you didn't look any lower than about halfway down their chests. Lower than that is where the bullets came out, and what a mess.

Anyway, I unfolded the big map of California and propped it up against the steering wheel in front of Jerry. This way, all the folks speeding by would think these two had gotten themselves lost and pulled over to figure out where they were.

They were lost, all right.

Where they were going, though, a map wouldn't be doing them much of any good.

I watched them for a couple of minutes. Neither of them moved. They seemed to be unconscious, and they'd probably be dead pretty soon.

The girl was still slumped against her door. Her eyes were shut and her mouth hung open. She looked real good.

Not that she had a face anywhere close to Jody's. It wasn't ugly, though-just ordinary and a little cute. She looked about Jody's size, but maybe ten pounds heavier. Her t.i.ts and b.u.t.t were bigger. She wore a short-sleeved red blouse and denim culottes.

Culottes. Doesn't anybody wear skirts anymore?

Gals must really be afraid that guys are gonna stick their hands up ... Am I repeating myself? Seems like maybe I already gave my theory on the paranoia of modem women as shown by the fact they've gotta wear clothes with barriers between the legs.

I haven't got time to be repeating myself.

Anyway, I didn't go exploring under her culottes. Instead, I undid a b.u.t.ton in the middle of her blouse and slipped a hand in. She was wearing a bra, but it was the good kind that feels like it almost isn't there. I could really feel her through it.

You know the old saying, though: business before pleasure.

Anyway, that wasn't the greatest place in the world to start messing with her, what with two bodies in the front and cars speeding by all the time. So I let go of her.

I climbed out of the Sentra and strolled back to my car. After opening the trunk, I went to Jerry's door and pretended to talk to him. It took a while, but finally there was a big enough break in the traffic. That's when I raced over to the girl's side of the car, jerked open her door, dragged her out, picked her up, and hustled her to the trunk of the Cadillac. Tossed her in, slammed the lid shut, and still had time to spare. I walked back to the Sentra and shut its door, then got all the way back to my own door before the next group of cars and trucks came along.

Easy, huh?

It's easy if you happen to be me.

Like they say on the tube, "Don't try this at home."

Committing multiple murders is not something that should be tried by amateurs. It can be extremely hazardous to your health, resulting in possible imprisonment, injuries due to energetic victims and/or enthusiastic police, and on rare occasions death by gunshot or execution.

Hey, maybe the federal government should print that sort of warning on guns. "The use of this weapon can be extremely hazardous" and the rest of it just like I said. To be fair, though, they'd need to also put it on knives. And on axes, arrows, chainsaws, hammers, baseball bats, plastic bags, ropes, cars ...

Nah.

Hey, I've got a babe in the trunk of my car. What am I doing f.u.c.king around with word games when I could be f.u.c.king around with her?

Excellent point.

Maybe I'll try the next off-ramp, see if I can't find a good place where we'll have some privacy.

"Say hi."

Nothing but a moan, folks.

We're coming to you right now, folks, from the backseat of my car. The engine's running and the air conditioner is going full blast, so it's nice and cool in here. Cool and comfy.

n.o.body anywhere around.

"Just you and me, kid," I told her.

Nothing from her.

She oughta be bubbling with joy that I finally took her out of the trunk.

Nasty in there. She must've been in it for about an hour.

Once I'd decided to stop, I got off the freeway and had to tool around for a long time before I got us onto a nowhere little road that looks very good and deserted. I even pulled off and drove back a ways and got us behind some boulders. If a car does come along, we'll be out of sight.

I'm a little worried about helicopters.

We're pretty far from where I left the Sentra, though. We oughta be okay here.

It's a d.a.m.n good thing I found this place when I did. If my girlfriend here had spent much more time locked in the trunk with ... with all that heat and bad air, she might've croaked on me.

She'd been out cold when I put her into the trunk. But she woke up later. Out in the boonies, away from all the traffic noise and everything, it was very quiet and I could hear her screaming in there.

n.o.body to hear her but me.

I'll have to make sure she can't scream like that when we're back in L.A. Real cute if she's doing it while we're waiting at a stoplight, or something.

She quit the screaming a few minutes ago.

By the time I hauled her out of the trunk, she was quiet and sort of blank. That's how she is right now. She's not unconscious, but she isn't really with us, either. Like she's in a trance. Maybe she's gone catatonic on me because of her recent misadventures.

"Is that it, babe? Or maybe you're trying to fake me out. Do you think you're safe if you're playing possum, is that it?"

Hear that? That was me slapping her face.

A medium-hard slap. I don't want to puff her up and wreck her looks.

She blinked, but that was about all.

She's pretty zoned out.

Hope I can bring her out of it. This won't be nearly as much fun if she's only half-present, you know? I want her reacting. I want her to jerk and flinch and jump and cry and beg and even struggle some. Otherwise, it just isn't the same.

"Is it? h.e.l.lo? What's your name?"

I need my hands free, so I'm setting this on the floor. Can you still hear me? Hope so. No big deal if you can't. I just put in a new tape before I went to get her out of the trunk. There was still time on the one I took out, but I wanted a fresh one in so I wouldn't have to quit what I'm doing and change tapes. They each go for an hour. That should give us enough time. I can't do much to her, after all-she's gotta be alive when I take her to the guys tonight.

I don't want guns back here with us. Here goes Dusty's rifle into the front seat. Now my Colt. The knife and Derringer are in my purse, and that's still up there on the floor. Now there's nothing nearby that she can use on me-in case she is faking.

Of course, I might have to scramble if we have visitors.

Not expecting any, though. We're really in the boonies.

I've got her stretched out across the backseat, arms at her sides. She looks like she's taking a nap.

Now I'm unb.u.t.toning her blouse. Mmm, yes.

"What's your name, honey?"

Spreading the blouse open. Ah-ha! A see-through bra. It's pale blue. Not very flattering. Makes her t.i.ts look sick.

Easy to rip, though.

Now they aren't blue anymore. Creamy and smooth, unbelievably smooth. The nipples are hard and sticking up.

Guess what. My panties are suddenly feeling too tight.

Ah, that's better.

Free at last, free at last!

Taking off my nice white skirt, too. Wouldn't want it to get messy.

Tossing them into the front seat. Out of harm's way.

I'm getting rid of her shoes and socks. For one thing, she'll look better without them. For another, her being barefoot will give me an edge if she somehow gets away from me and tries to make a run for it. I mean, the ground must be searing hot out there. Not to mention all the sharp rocks and th.o.r.n.y bushes, cactus and stuff.

Her socks are so sweaty you could wring them out.

Okay, here go her culottes. If she was wearing a skirt, I could just push it up. She's making life difficult for me. Hard. At least she isn't wearing a belt.

Open goes the b.u.t.ton. Down goes the zipper.

She's heavier than she looks. I'll have to really tug to get these out from under her. Umph! Ah! Guess what came down with the culottes. Her panties! They pulled out from under her rump, but then the culottes left them around her thighs.

They're blue like her bra.

I've got the culottes off her. Think I wanta see how she looks in the panties, though. Pulling them back up. There. Transparent, just like I thought. She doesn't have much hair. It's mashed flat, too. Reminds me of how you look when you make a mask out of a nylon stocking by pulling it down over your head.

The blue color makes it look like her s.n.a.t.c.h needs oxygen.

Hang on.

Hear that? Probably not. That was me ripping off her panties.

She looks a lot better without them.

That thump was the heel of her foot hitting the floor. Her left foot. Her right leg is still on the seat, but the left is hanging off the side.