Peter looked back once and saw the two men running. Strong-looking bastards. Coming like goddamn madmen, knocking sunbathers down and stepping on them. What the hell were they figuring on? A public execution?
'Let's go. Run!'
Split-splat. Split-splat. Bare feet kicked sand high, kiddng sand on people sunbathing on either side of their nmwng track. Jane running fast, thank God. Jesus!
Trying to keep up the pace, Peter bled for some smart idea of what to do now. He looked back over his shoulder again. Almost trainwrecked into a family drag-assing hotel towels,
American sun dreamers doing absolutely zilch, backing away from the chase. Kitty Genovese goes to the Caribbean.
Stumbling through a particularly jammed beach towel Parking lot, Jane could feel her chest and thighs starting to burn up. A slight stitch in her side. A hundred yards ahead she spotted squat limestone buildings. Showers. Dressing rooms. Shooting from the roof of the little complex, a white swma to the boardwalk. y
'Peter! Way up there!'
A few strides farther on, Peter grabbed the cabana jacket of a tall, very hairy man. 'Help us!,! he gasped. 'Will you call the police?'
The hairy man shoved him. Stepped back. 'Keep your hands off. Get away from me, you. II
Nobody listened. No wonder the police and the U.S. embassy people had been so strange-they couldn't believe somebody was @g to help.
Even more terrified, the young man and woman started to run again.
they broke through crowds heading in to shower and dress in the limestone buildings. Fat boys with plastic foothalls. Strong smells of sun lotions. Not really feeling these people who hit off their bodies. Numb, everything unreal.
Inside the bathhouse was a large, cool concrete room. No discernible purpose for the room. Twenty or thirty people were milling around. Rude Boys smoking corncob pipes. Four different doors going out.
'Stairs?' Peter screamed at a pink face under a big straw hat. Princess.
'The stairs!' Jane screamed with him now. 'Tell us where!' As Princess pointed left, Peter and Jane heard a commotion starting up behind them.
Suddenly a black lifeguard ran out of one of the concrete hallways. 0. J. Simpson with combraids. He yelled in a booming voice at the two men just coming through the main entrance.
Booooomm!
A single, unbelievable explosion echoed through the bathhouse. Bright red blood sprayed all over. The shocked lifeguard crashed back into a limestone wall. He came off the wall face first, braids jangling, down onto the concrete floor.
All kinds of people were screaming, 'Murder!' in the strange bare room. People diving on the floor... a hole as big as a baseball in the lifeguard's back. Red Rorschach splatter. Total panic.
Peter and Jane were off and running again, feeling shitty about the young black guy. Left-but they didn't see any stairs there.
'You got any ideas?'
G&No.t@
'Holy shit!
Another wild mouse left and they found doors. BATHROOM, MEN'S SHOWER, CLOSET, WOMEN'S SHOWER, MAINTENANCE. Then they were at a complete dead end in the building. Fresh out of clever ideas, too.
Then Jane got her idea. 'Here.'
Inside WOMEN'S SHOWER, billowing steam hit them like a sudden hot log. they saw the bare rump of a white woman. Two rumps. Rows of gray lockers and benches.
'L4Dok for a place to hide in here.
The bare woman went left, Peter and Jane right. As they did-dragging each other around sharp locker comers-they heard the big metal door to the corridor open and shut again.
'Nice try,' Peter said.
He Yanked at a wooden door and they were inside a narrow tiled room with five or six showers running water. Down through the waterfalls they saw a naked black woman and a little girl of about three.
The girl had a head full of creamy soapsuds. She was looking at the strange, intruding white couple as if they were the real Laurel and Hardy. The girl's mother looked terrified, though. Hands across her breasts, she started to scream.
'Please,' Jane whispered, walking right back through the showers, dragging Peter. 'I know how it must look, but some men are chasing us. Please don't scream.'
At the end of the row of showers, the two of them slipped into a narrow alcove. ,
'Hidden from the front door, at least,' Jane whispered to Peter.
'What do yo' want in here?' The black woman finally spoke to them.
'Please help us,' Jane whispered again.
Pressed unbelievably hard against the damp tile wall, feeling her much cooler perspiration mix with the warin shower room water, she had an image that made her tremble. A clear picture of the two men coming into the
