After Midnight

checked the damage. Not much. The blade had pressed several deep dents across my hand and fingers, but there were no cuts.

I’d gotten off lucky.

In more ways than one.

In plenty of ways.

I stared down at Steve. He still seemed to be unconscious. His head was lying in a nice puddle of blood.

I was all bloody, myself. I looked as if a small animal had died a messy death between my breasts.

Steve could’ve had a jolly time licking me clean.

I thought about waking him up and making him do it.

But he might bite me again. Or worse.

Over at the counter, I tore some paper towels off a roll and wiped the worst of the blood off me. I would’ve liked to take a shower.

But—as usual—I had too many other things to do.

Steve wouldn’t stay unconscious forever.

Probably.

Right now, I had a choice to make: either kill him, or not.

No, that’s wrong. Letting him live wasn’t a real option.

For one thing, he knew too much. He knew my name and where I lived. He’d seen me kill Tony and Milo. He’d seen me abuse Judy, and had probably made her talk before killing her. If the cops got him alive, he would likely “turn over” on me to get a deal.

For another thing, the guy had murdered Elroy and Judy and maybe Marilyn (the dead woman in Milo’s tent). God only knows how many other people he and Milo had murdered as a team. He’d called himself a “thrill-killer” and he was probably a cannibal, to boot.

Besides, given the chance, he would try to murder me.

So the real choices were between killing Steve here and now, or killing him somewhere else, later.

I was very tempted to do it here and now. Immediately, he would stop being a threat. (Dead men not only tell no tales, they get no tails. They don’t rape, torture, or murder anyone ever again.)

But I would be stuck with Steve’s body on the kitchen floor. And Elroy’s headless body in the guest bathroom. And Elroy’s head in the swimming pool. And various other, more manageable messes.

Quite frankly, I’d had enough of that shit.

He made the messes, let him clean them up!

YEAH!

It would be risky. But I had the saber, now.

While I waited for him to regain consciousness, I wondered about tying him up. Some manner of restraint seemed necessary. But how could he pick up Elroy, and so on, if his hands were tied? How could he carry the body away from the house with his feet bound together?

Pretty soon, I came up with a good solution.

I hurried into the laundry room. Serena had a fifteen-foot electrical extension cord that she mostly used for her iron. I unplugged it, gathered it up, and hurried back into the kitchen with it. Steve looked as if he hadn’t moved.

I set my saber on top of a counter, then took a small knife out of the butcher block knife holder. In Serena’s “junk drawer,” I found some heavy-duty strapping tape. The sort that has threads running through it, so it’s almost unbreakable.

Kneeling by Steve’s bare feet, I tied one end of the electrical cord around his left ankle. I knotted it as well as I could, but cords make lousy knots. You just can’t pull them tight enough. So then I unspooled about a yard of tape and cut it off with the knife. I used the tape to wrap his ankle and the cord. Then used another length of tape, just to make sure.

When I was done, the cord seemed completely secure.

I had fashioned a “foot-leash” for Steve.

I retrieved the saber. Then I put all the sharp kitchen knives into a drawer so they wouldn’t be handy for Steve. When that was done, I picked up my end of the extension cord and gave it a couple of tugs.

“Hey, Steve!” I yelled. “Wake up! We’ve got work to do!”

49

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Perhaps I’d bashed him too hard.

Though I yelled at him and gave him nudges with my foot, he refused to stir.

To make sure he wasn’t faking, I gave the crotch of his shorts a couple of prods with the tip of my saber. He didn’t react, so I was convinced.

Now what?

In his present condition, he was useless. Worse than useless. Not only could he not do any chores for me, but I couldn’t leave his side.

Well, I could leave his side, but not the kitchen.

At any moment, he might come to. I needed to be nearby when that happened, not off somewhere bringing in the margarita pitcher or gathering up my clothes or cleaning Elroy’s assorted fluids off the bathroom floor.

Standing over him, I tried to think…plan my moves.

Top priority was keeping control of Steve, so I crouched down and slid his right leg over against his left, then wrapped the cord around both his ankles. Just a simple precaution to keep him from making any quick attacks.

As an added precaution, I placed a kitchen chair on top of him. The chair didn’t touch him. With its front legs under his armpits and its rear legs beside his thighs, its job was to keep him from getting up fast and silently.

Now that I seemed to be safe from a surprise attack, I went over to the counter and picked up the steaks. They were still frozen, but seemed to have a slight springiness. Maybe my body heat had quickened the thawing process.

I thought about giving Steve the treatment.

But that might wake him up. True, I wanted to get things over with as soon as possible. But if Steve would do me the favor of staying out cold for a while, I could take care of a few matters on my own.

I placed the steaks in the platter of teryaki sauce, turned them over, then washed my hands at the sink.

I wanted to wash my whole body. Even though I’d already done a quick job with some paper towels, I felt incredibly filthy—itchy and sticky from such items as sweat and teryaki sauce and Steve’s spittle and blood.

A bath or shower would have to wait.

But now that I had some free time, I went to the kitchen sink, set the saber down on the counter within easy reach, and held a dish towel under the faucet. When the towel was heavy with cold water, I turned around to watch Steve, and mopped myself with the sopping cloth. The water just seemed to flood me. It felt heavenly. It ran all down my body and made a puddle around my feet.

With a fresh dish towel, I dried myself and wiped up the puddle.

I felt so much better!

I felt like celebrating with a drink. Of course, the pitcher of margarita was on the table out by the pool, and I didn’t dare go after it. The makings were still on the kitchen counter, though. So I took down a clean glass, tossed in a couple of ice cubes, and poured myself some tequila.

I hopped up and sat on the counter. I was wearing nothing, of course, except my thong panties. The tiles were cool and smooth under my rump.

I took a sip of the gold tequila. It felt cool in my mouth, then seemed to scald my throat and stomach.

I said, “Ahhh.”

It is astonishing—and maybe one of life’s quiet miracles—how much better every situation becomes as soon as you find a chance to clean up, have a good drink and relax. You might still be in an awful pickle, but you