Before I Kill Again!, page 13
There were gazillions of them. I’m serious. There were so many of them that within minutes we were ankle-deep in them.
Everyone around us went bananas! Adults and kids alike, they all rushed frantically about trying to scoop up handfuls of grunion. It looked like one of those old black-and-white comedy movies when it’s speeded up and everyone runs around like they’re lost, bumping into each other, falling down, jumping up, their movements all herky-jerky like puppets without strings!
I guess we didn’t look much better. When you’re bent over trying to grab handfuls of slippery little fish that are wriggling like worms on a hotplate, and waves keep breaking around you, the surf swirling about your knees, splashing you, the salt water stinging your eyes while you’re laughing yourself silly—well, it’s really hard not to look like a bunch of drunken monkeys—’specially when you’re wearing a dumb old raincoat that’s two sizes too big for you!
Then suddenly, only a few minutes after they hit the beach, the grunion were gone, the whole squirming mass of them returning to the ocean in a flash.
Gradually the beach grew quiet as everyone, buckets and sacks in hand, headed back to their cars.
“Woweee!” I gasped as Noel and I trudged toward the parking area. “I’m really zonked out!”
“Me too,” Noel said. “I couldn’t catch another grunion if it were chained to a cannon ball.”
“D-Don’t,” I groaned, holding my stomach. “I ache enough as it is. Criminy, I’ve never laughed so much in all my life. “
“Me either. Phew-w! I hurt all over.”
On reaching the parking lot wall, we wearily sat down and tried to catch our breath. Gradually, our hearts stopped pounding. Noel then went to the car, grabbed a beach towel and returned beside me.
“Hey, no fair,” I said as he began to dry himself. “Ladies first.”
“I don’t know,” he said, grasping my foot. “I usually charge for this sort of service.”
“How about I pay you later?” I said suggestively.
“Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that.” He started drying off my foot. I jerked it away, giggling.
“Hey—dry, don’t tickle.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t charge extra for tickling.” Grasping my ankle with one hand, he began tickling the sole of my foot with the other.
I squirmed and giggled and screamed for him to stop, all the time struggling to pull my foot away.
“Say pretty please,” he teased as I continued to plead with him to stop.
“Oh-h, oh God, oh, oh, p-p-pret-ty p-ple-ease,” I begged.
Still laughing, he let me go, so abruptly that I fell backwards, over the wall onto the sand.
Noel chuckled and helped me up. “When I’m finished, perhaps madam would care for a pedicure?”
“Absolutely. And while you’re at it, you can also give me a manicure, facial, and to top things off, a bath in warm ass’s milk.”
“In your dreams,” he said, adding: “Talking of asses, get yours up on this wall before I tickle you some more.”
“Yes sir.” I obeyed quickly and sat there in silence as he finished rubbing the wet sand from my feet. Behind him, looking close enough to touch, the silver moon seemed to balance on his left shoulder. It looked weird, as if he had two heads—one dark and frowning, the other all silvery and smiling—and, giggling, I said: “Know what I’m going to call you from now on?—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
I expected him to laugh. Instead, he dropped my foot and said sharply: “Why’s that?”
“Because you have two heads.”
“I do?”
“Sure.” I pointed at the moon. “From where I am, at least.”
“Oh,” he said, relieved.
“What did you think I meant?”
He shrugged and turned away, all the fun gone out of him, and finished drying his own feet. Puzzled by his sudden gloomy reaction, I waited until a huge truck and trailer had roared on along the highway behind us and then said: “It’s getting late. We’d better get going.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. I started to get up.
He quickly pulled me back down on the wall beside him, saying: “Please, Catherine, stay a little longer.”
“I can’t. My Uncle will kill me.”
“Please,” he begged. “Just a few more minutes, that’s all.”
I hesitated, trying to decide, at the same time wondering why I had this sudden weird urge to leave. What’s even weirder, I sensed I was in danger. Why or what from, I didn’t know. I just felt it. You know. Like when you shiver because someone’s treading on your grave!
“I’ll take you home in a few more minutes,” Noel promised.
“Oh, all right,” I said, against my better judgment. “But only for a little while. Then I really must hit the road.”
Noel nodded, as if understanding, and gently pulled me down beside him on the sand. He lay there facing me, chin resting on his hands, staring.
It made me uncomfortable. I don’t know why, it just did. I also felt nervous. I couldn’t figure why that was either. I just knew that I didn’t like the look on his face. It was sort of weird and distant, like he wasn’t really seeing me at all but was looking at somebody else, his old girl friend maybe, or somebody he knew a long time ago.
Anyway, whatever, it made me nervous and uneasy, and I was about to get up and leave when he said: “You know, I’ve waited a long time for this, Kathleen.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said, irritated. “I’m me, Catherine, not some girl in your past.” When he didn’t say anything, I asked curiously: “For what?”
‘
“To be alone with you, of course. To lie here in the woods, in the ferns beside the river, and listen to the ducks quacking in the—”
“The what?”
“Ducks? Can’t you hear them?”
“What ducks?” I felt even more uneasy now. “What are you talking about, Noel?”
He didn’t seem to hear me. Instead, he came close, put both his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down onto the sand.
“Hey, don’t!” I said, struggling. “Stop it, Noel. Knock it off! Let me up.”
“I can’t,” he said distantly. “You mustn’t leave, Kathleen. You have to stay. Here. With me. Forever.”
“Are you nuts? I can’t stay with you anywhere—let alone forever. And I told you not to call me Kathleen anymore. My name’s—”
“No, no, it’s Kathleen! You’re my Kathleen. Mine! And you have to stay here, with me, among these ferns, while we make love, like before, and—but first, you have to take your clothes off and then put it on.”
“Now I know you’re crazy,” I said angrily. “I’m not taking my clothes off, for you or anyone else, so just forget it!” As I spoke, I tried to get up. But he grabbed my wrists and leaned over me, his weight and strength preventing me from moving.
“No, no, lie still, Kathleen … don’t move … ” He quickly changed positions, too fast for me to stop him, straddling me with both knees, his face only inches above mine. “Promise me you’ll take your clothes off and wear it, all wrapped around you, snug and warm and tight, and let me hold you—”
“No, I told you! I have to go home and—”
“You don’t understand,” he said dreamily. “My love is a white raincoat and I must have you while the ducks are quacking and … and … ” His voice trailed off and his expression got even more distant.
Realizing now that he really was nuts, and dangerous, I did what I shouldn’t have done: panicked!
“Please,” I begged. “Please let me go, Noel. You’re hurting me, and—”
NOEL
Shhhh… shhhh… lie still! Lie still, sweet Kathleen. We’re together now, like we should have been all along.
Noel, please, I beg you—
Can you smell them—the damp, sweet-smelling ferns? ’Course you can. And that other smell, the same beautiful wet rubbery smell that was always there when we walked hand-in-hand along the far side of the river.
My love is a white rubber raincoat. Just the smell of it excites me, makes me grow all hard and sexy down there.
Oh, and look, look—see the lovers lying in the tall green ferns, half-naked bodies moving rhythmically up and down on the hard green earth.
No, don’t, Noel—stop it! Don’t touch me like that! Please, don’t—
She fought me, struggling to break loose. But I kept her crushed beneath me, her lithe young body bucking and writhing under my weight, all the while begging me to let her go.
I tried to make her understand that I couldn’t. Not now. Don’t you see, Kathleen, I’ve waited too long to let you go now. Besides I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.
Suddenly she managed to twist one knee loose and brought it up, hard, between my legs. The pain made me cry out.
Let me go, damn you! LET ME GO!
Shhhh, don’t scream. Please don’t scream.
I clamped my hand over her mouth. She fought me harder than ever.
Stop it… stop it! Don’t fight me, Kathleen or I’ll—
One of her hands twisted loose. She hit me in the mouth. Tiny bright lights exploded before my eyes. I blinked and shook my head to get rid of them. Then with both hands I pushed her down and straddled her. She tried to twist away, but I was too strong for her. She whimpered, tears thickening her voice as she begged me to let her go.
I ignored her pleas. She was tiring. But still she fought me. I removed my hand and tried to kiss her. She bit me on the lip. I tasted blood, hot and salty. It tasted good. Joyfully, I bit her back. She screamed, and again I clamped my hand over her mouth.
Then keeping her pressed down with my knees, I opened the raincoat, revealing her bikini top. I tore it off her. I heard her moan beneath my hand. I listened, hoping to hear the ducks quacking in the reeds. But all I could hear was a wild roaring in my ears. I knew something was wrong then, and leaning over, my face only inches from hers, I said: If I remove my hand, Kathleen, do you promise not to scream?
She nodded, eyes wild with fear.
I removed my hand. Instantly, she screamed.
Angry, I slapped her across the face.
Don’t scream anymore, Kathleen, or I’ll hurt you.
But she kept on screaming and drawing my fist back, I punched her. I felt her nose break. I heard her gasp in pain. She was silent for a moment and I thought she’d learned her lesson and wouldn’t scream anymore.
But I was wrong. And when she screamed again, I lost control. I kept hitting her—first with my fists, then with a rock that I found on the sand by my leg.
Finally, she made no sound and lay there, motionless, between my knees.
I leaned close and kissed her swollen, bloodied lips.
I love you, Kathleen … love you more than anything.
I love you too, Noel. I always have, didn’t you know that? Always! Even in school. That’s why I always wore my raincoat—just for you, darling Noel. Just for you.
It’s not imagination. It’s real. She really does love me.
It was then I heard the ducks quacking softly amongst the reeds. I knew everything was all right then; knew I was with her again, walking with her along the far side of the river where the woods were and the tall cool green ferns carpeted the ground.
UNCLE JOHN
It was Cathy, all right. I recognized her immediately—even with her lovely face all smashed in. But I only stayed there for a few minutes. That was all I could take. Seeing her lying there in bed in the hospital, raped and beaten into a coma was too much for me. I felt sick and had to run into the bathroom where I threw up in the toilet.
AUNT RUTH
After John and I verified her identity, we returned to the sheriff’s station at Malibu to talk to Lt. McBain and these three men who found Cathy lying unconscious on the beach.
They were coloreds, which made me suspicious of them at first. I mean colored men rape women all the time. But after listening to what they had to say, I had to admit that they appeared to be responsible—especially the one called Joe Tatum who said he actually talked to Noel Adams earlier in the afternoon. He added that later that night, after the grunion stopped running, he saw Adams leaving the beach alone. Also, and for me this clinches the fact that Adams is guilty, Tatum swears Adams was naked except for an old white woman’s raincoat that was too small for him. I mean, God help us, nobody but a pervert would walk around dressed like that.
Of course, the way the sheriff’s department looks at it, all this only makes Adams a probable suspect—someone to bring in for questioning. But I say it is him. It’s got to be. After all, he did spend the day with poor Cathy. Also, what normal man of his age would be interested in dating a girl her age unless, of course, he planned later to rape her?
On top of that he’s a foreigner, from England, and like I’m always telling my husband, you can’t trust foreigners. They’ll screw you every chance they get.
RUSTY
I was behind the counter in Hank’s Place, filling the saltshakers before the lunch rush started, when Harry comes for his usual four cups of “black” and a cheese-and-avocado omelet, “well done.”
“‘Morning, doll,” I said. “Be right with you.”
Well, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at me. And I thought, uh-oh, it’s one of those days, is it? And not waiting to finish filling the last few shakers, I hurried over and poured him his coffee.
“Here you go, doll,” I said, setting it before him. “Black and strong enough to make even yesterday’s ball scores look good.”
Well, he sort of grunted and went on staring at his folded newspaper.
“What’s it going to be—the usual?”
He nodded, still not looking at me. It was then I noticed that he was unshaven and his eyes were all bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Now, me and Harry aren’t exactly what you’d call lovers, though we’ve spent some good nights together since me and my old man broke up, but I do think a hell of a lot of him. To me, he’s a real man and they’re hard to come by these days. So, seeing how he shook up he looked, I asked him what was wrong.
Well, he didn’t seem to hear me. And I was about to repeat myself, when he suddenly put the paper on the counter before me and pointed at something on the front page.
Well, Jesus, right then and there I had to sit down. Because right smack dab in the middle of the front-page, big as your fist, was a picture of Harry’s buddy, Noel Adams. It was one of these composite drawings that police artists do, and right below it was this big long article telling about how Noel had raped and beat up this young girl who’d gone grunion hunting with him last night. The article went on to say that Noel’s sports car had been found abandoned in the Malibu Canyon area, and that early this morning several people had seen a man fitting his description wandering along the highway, naked saved for a woman’s white rain coat. “Los Angeles County Sheriff deputies,” the article continued, “are presently combing the area with the aid of helicopters and expect to apprehend the suspect very shortly.”
HARRY
“Jesus effing Christ,” Rusty said when she’d finished reading the article. “Ain’t that a mind-blower!”
“It’s not him!” I said emphatically. “I know it ain’t. Shit, it can’t be.”
Rusty stared at the sketch which, by the way, was a dead ringer for Noel. “Who you figure it is, then?”
“Who the fuck knows?” I said. “Probably some freaky asshole who just happens to looks like Noel. Either that or one of them jigaboos is lying.”
“Lying?”
“Yeah, saying it’s Noel when all the time it’s one of them. And don’t think that shit can’t happen, ’cause I’m here to tell you it can. Especially with jigs, who are known for fucking sticking together.”
Ruth didn’t say anything. She looked at the sketch again. The resemblance to Noel was nothing short of uncanny.
“So, what’re you gonna do, doll?”
“What can I do? Shit, I already called this lawyer buddy of mine and he told me to sit tight. Said there’s nothing anybody can do until the fuzz actually finds Noel and hears his side of the story and then either arrests him or turns him loose.”
“Sounds reasonable. Besides, by then they might’ve caught the real guy.”
“What I don’t understand,” I said after a little, “is I’ve known that big dumb limey for years and there’s no fucking way he’s a pervert. I’d stake my life on that. I’ll tell you something else I don’t understand,” I added. “And that’s why hasn’t Noel been home all night? And he ain’t, believe me. I’ve already been up to his pad and talked to Tom Halpin, and Tom says Noel’s been gone since early yesterday morning.”
Rusty thought for a moment. “Maybe,” she said carefully, “Noel took off for the weekend? You know? On a trip or something?”
“I thought the same thing, babe. But, even if he did, and it ain’t like him to split without telling me, that still don’t account for the fact that his raincoat’s missing.”
“Raincoat?”
I nodded. “Me and Tom searched Noel’s pad and couldn’t find it anywhere.”
Rusty looked confused. “You saying Noel actually does own a woman’s raincoat?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How come? Did it belong to a girlfriend of his or something?”
“How the fuck should I know?” I studied the police sketch for a moment, adding: “I’ll tell you this much. If it is Noel—and I don’t believe for a second that it is—then it’s her fault.”
“Her who?”
“That young girl he was with. Goddamn little prick-teaser, she must’ve got Noel so horny, poor bastard didn’t know what he was doing!”
Rusty didn’t look convinced. “Horny or not,” she said, “she’s still just a teenager, and doesn’t deserve to be raped and beaten to a pulp!”
“Fuck you,” I said. And throwing a quarter on the counter for my coffee, I jumped up and slammed out of the restaurant.
