“Who are you?” she gasped.
“I’ve been watching you. You’re very beautiful.”
“Leave me alone.” Her voice sounded whiny, scared. She didn’t care. “Please,” she said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. Just don’t cause any trouble and do exactly what I say, and you’ll be fine.”
Rhonda started to cry.
The man kept smiling..
“Okay,” she finally said through her sobs. “I’ll ... just don’t ... hurt me. Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Rhonda’s body was found three days later and far from home.
The jangle of the telephone forced its way into Rick’s dream and woke him up. Moaning, he rolled onto his side. The lighted dial of the alarm dock on the nightstand showed five o’clock.
Braced up on an elbow, he reached over the clock and lifted the phone’s handset. As he brought it to his face, the uncoiling cord nudged the dock off the stand.
“This is obscene,” he muttered.
“How did you guess?” Bert started breathing heavily on the other end of the line.
“It’s still night,” Rick interrupted. “That’s the obscenity. Human beings weren’t meant to get up before dawn.”
“There are human beings who do it every day.”
“Not when they’re on vacation.”
“Speaking of which...”
“Must we?” Rick asked.
“Don’t be so negative. You’re going to love it. The fresh mountain air, the grand vistas, not to mention the peace and quiet ...”
“I’ve been camping before. It’s not my idea of—”
“Never with me.”
“Right. Bertha Crockett, Queen of the Wild Frontier.”
The sound of her husky laugh reminded Rick of just why he had allowed Bert to talk him into a week of backpacking. “Are you still in bed?” he asked.
“I’ve been up for an hour. I’m all packed and showered.”
“Dressed yet?”
That laugh again. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Matter of fact.. ”
“Come on over and find out.”
“Bye.”
“Hey!”
“Huh?”
“I called for a reason.”
“I thought it was just to interrupt my sleep.”
“You’ll be passing some doughnut shops on the way over. Why not pick up a dozen? We can eat them in the car. I’ll fill a Thermos with coffee.”
“Okay, fine.”
“See you later.”
“Half an hour. So long.” He hung up, swung the sheet away, and sat on the edge of his bed.
We’re actually going to do it, he thought. The realization made him tight and shaky inside. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor.
It’s today. Christ.
When they’d decided to make the trip, when they’d outfitted him, even last night while he was packing, the journey seemed somehow distant and vague, as if it were a concept, not an event that would actually occur.
Like having a will drawn up, he thought. You do it, but you don’t quite figure on having any real need for it.
Then one fine morning ...
You can still back out.
Hell I can.....
Should’ve just refused when it first came up.
He had suggested alternatives: the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, the Hyatt on Mauii, a tour of Ireland, a cruise on a luxury liner to Acapulco, even a steamboat trip down the Mississippi. But Bert had her heart set on backpacking in the Sierras. Somehow, she’d let two years slip by without roughing it, and she
And who would she go with, if not with Rick?
Myself, she’d answered. I find myself excellent company, but you’re pretty excellent, too.
That had settled it. The thought of Bert going alone was intolerable.
And what was true three weeks ago was still true. Rick was sure of that. If he backed out, Bert would make the trip alone.
He flinched at the sudden blare of his alarm clock. Reaching down, he picked up the clock and silenced it. He placed it on the nightstand. Hard.
Okay. You’re going. So relax and enjoy it.
He put on a robe, walked down the hall to the room he thought of as his “entertainment center,” and stepped behind the wet bar. There, he made himself a Bloody Mary with a double shot of vodka, light on the tomato juice, heavy on Worcestershire and tabasco. He twisted a wedge of lemon over the drink, added ground pepper, and stirred.
It tasted tangy and good. He carried the glass into the bathroom. After using the toilet, he took a shower. He wanted to linger under the soothing hot spray. After all, there would be no showers for the next week.
No soft bed.
No safety of walls and locked doors.
No Bloody Marys.
At least you’ve packed a fifth of bourbon and a revolver, he thought. Those’ll help.
Bert’ll crap when she finds out.
Tough. Not going into the wilderness without my peace-makers.
Rick turned off the water and climbed out of the tub. He quickly dried himself. He took a long drink of his Bloody Mary, then rolled deodorant under his arms. The shower hadn’t lasted long enough to steam up the mirror. He lathered his face and shaved. Though his hand trembled, he managed not to cut himself.
Back in the bedroom, he tossed his robe aside and stood in front of the full-length mirror on his closet door to comb his hair. At least you’re in good shape, he consoled himself. You were a wimpy teenager last time around. - .
Last time around ...
His scrotum shriveled tight. In the mirror, he saw his hanging penis shrink.
Turning away from his reflection, he stepped into his underpants and pulled them up. The hugging fabric took away some of the vulnerable feeling. He took another drink, then finished dressing.
Bert had selected the outfit: a camouflage shirt with epaulets and pocket flaps, and baggy olive green trousers with pockets that reached down almost to his knees. He fastened the web belt, put on his socks and boots, and stepped in front of the mirror again.
All you need is an ascot and a red beret, he thought, and you’ll look like a paratrooper.
