The Erection Set

“Satisfied?”

“Almost.”

“How about ballistics?”

“Not your gun, although I recognize the possibilities of a barrel switch. Not everybody carries a .45, and those barrels are easy to replace.”

“Wouldn’t that be going pretty far?”

“Not when somebody’s a clever thinker, Mr. Kelly.”

“Left-handed,” I said, “but I’ll take it for a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

I got up and tossed the keys in my hand. “Well, good luck.”

“Mr. Kelly ...”

“Yeah?”

“Would you surmise ... that any more trouble would be forthcoming?”

“There’s always trouble, Mr. Sachs.”

“I waved “so long” and went out to the car. I got in and tried to stick the key in the lock. It didn’t work until I turned it upside down.

Chet Linden wasn’t taking any chances. Somehow he had switched the whole car. Now when he had me killed all his tracks were covered. It was a real rabbit drive now. All the hunters were out and armed. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference who got the bunny as long as the bunny was got. The old jack had the rabies and could kill off the whole town if he wasn’t destroyed.

So run, rabbit, run!

SHEILA McMILLAN ... REFLECTIONS

He knows. He knows more than he’s supposed to know and I can’t stop myself from thinking about him. He knew when he touched me what would happen, made sure of it, then let me do to him what I did and I came away feeling nice and good because there wasn’t any fear left or memory of pain with the horrible tightness inside my head that made my entire body tighten up into knots with the desire to scream and kick out in terrible vengeance from having been violated. The word was even distasteful now. Violated. When did I first hear it? I think it was when memory started without being remembered. No, that’s a contradiction. It had to be earlier where it’s dark and frightening with shadows that don’t want to come to life and only appear in the occasional dream or when I feel their hands.

Even knowing that he knows is a quiet, comforting feeling. Others knew, but their awareness was always deceptive and instinctive responses were ugly enemies, the little creepy-crawlies that became sheer tortures.

Why couldn’t they talk?

Why couldn’t they be passive?

Why did they have to demand the male prerogative of penetration?

The shadows were far worse than the realities. They LURKED. Awful word because they really did LURK . They beat at you with huge clubs and forced and forced until the unbelievable pain turned a scream into a tiny whimper and why you lived at all was a mystery of life. You writhe, you drown, you run away into the black and hope they never turn the light on you at all, but somehow you know the clubs are there, upraised and ready to beat. Big, soft, sturdy clubs that take away everything you know you’re going to want one day and all that is left is an inborn feeling of having been deprived and never knowing what you have been deprived of.

Sheila McMillan, wife of the greatest cocksman who ever lived. He told me so. Other women have told me so. Other men have confirmed the story. Sheila McMillan in love with a brawny, hairy-bellied cocksman who’s in love with her and she can’t give him any of that lovely stuff he wants unless she takes two of the never- remembers out of Dr. Elliot’s small plastic bottle and it all happens when she’s in never-never land.

You hate and vomit and go through the beautiful act with all the people who don’t know. Except now they suspect. Or they are sure. Men are funny. If they can’t get that they have to do something else, if they’re really in love.

Why couldn’t they talk?

Why couldn’t they be passive?

For once I’d like to hurt. Now, that was a strange thought.

Butwhy did he have to know? Dirty Dog.

I wished the bastard would come back.

There was a knock on the door.

I said, “How do you feel?”

“Lonely. I’ve been doing too much thinking.”

“You’re in the right place for it. I was conceived in that bed. They must have done a lot of thinking too before they decided to beget me.”

“Unlikely. You probably were an accessory after the fact.”

“I doubt it. Those days it was a time for thinking first. I prefer to believe I was planned. Bastardly or not, I was planned for.”

She smiled, then suddenly changed the subject. “Was last night real?”

“You were there, Sheila.”

“Somehow, it seems more like a dream.” Her fingers toyed with the top of the sheet. “I have very odd dreams. My whole life is one terrible dream. Even when I’m awake I wonder if I’m really awake, because when I’m dreaming I think I’m awake and pinch my skin to see if I am or not and I believe I am.” She turned and looked toward the open shutters that sagged inward on their hinges. “I wish I could be sure.”

“You’re awake, kid.”

“I was thinking a long time before you got here.”

“What about?”

“Everything. Nothing. Then everything again. Maybe you you can help me.”

“Just ask.”

“No. I won’t do that,” she told me. The covers moved as she took in her breath, held it, then let it out slowly. When she turned her head and looked at me again there was something different in her eyes. “You put me to bed.”

“Somebody had to.” I couldn’t put my finger on what was different about her now. I picked a loose cigarette out of my pocket and lit it. “About last night ...”

“There never was any last night,” she said. “There’s only from now on.”

“I appreciate that, kitten. I covered all the exits except you.”

“Would you have killed me too?”

“Nope. Women are for kissing, not killing.”

“You’re sexy,” she said, changing the subject again.

“Hell, I’m tired and I’m dirty.”

“Do you have a shower?”

“Sure, but all the hot water has run out.”

“I understand cold water has a depressing effect on the male physiology.”

“Somebody told you wrong. It’s only some males and only some times. Right now I’m hard as a rock.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m lying,” I said, “but if I keep talking like this I sure as hell will be.”

“You’re mean.”

“Certainly. I’m dirty too.”