Authors: Jack Ketchum
Trick or treat
.
“So hey. Do I get a kiss at least?”
“I don’t fuck on the first date, Ray.”
“I didn’t say you did. Though actually it’s our second date. And we kissed that time, remember?”
She laughed. “You’re counting that little barhop with Tim and Jennifer? I don’t think so.”
“I asked if I got a kiss at least. Did I say a thing about fucking?”
She set her purse down on the porch.
“Sure,” she said. “Sure you do.”
She slid into him and wrapped her arms around his neck and her mouth tasted like beer and cigarettes but sweet underneath like the mouth of a very young girl. He was very aware of the trim strength of her body and even more aware that she was just as tall as he was, taller if you counted what was stuffed inside his boots and aware of her breasts beneath the man’s white shirt, her breasts moving against his chest and he wanted very much to move his hand around to touch them but knew he’d better not, not this time, not unless she actually led him in that direction, which was almost like a prayer for him just then but then like most prayers he doubted it would do him a damned bit of good.
He had one arm across the center of her back and the other down lower near the base of her spine and he pressed her into him so she’d know he was hard for her even if she wasn’t having any. It was a message to her, and he guessed she got it because she moaned a little and her left hand went into his hair and then through his hair and down to the base of his neck and she kissed him harder, moving against him then pulling away, nipping at his lower lip and then she kissed him again.
The kiss was softer this time and he could almost feel her drift away from him, it was a goodnight kiss, he knew one when he felt one and he had all he could do not to start mauling her then and there right on the porch, to hell with what she wanted and not fucking on the first or second date. But his good sense told him he still had tomorrow and her father would still be out of town that night as well. He was not used to waiting. But he was not used to a girl like this either.
“Good night, Ray,” she said.
“Tomorrow night?” he said and that was another prayer. He didn’t know what he’d do if she refused him. She let it hang for a moment.
“Okay. One condition.”
“What?”
“You pick what we do this time. And you make it interesting.”
“What happened just now was interesting.”
She smiled. “Other than that.”
“You telling me it’s out of the question?”
“Did I say that? I said make it interesting. Surprise me. Think you can manage that?”
He already had one idea in mind. It came to him as soon as she said
surprise me
. He’d surprise her all right. His grin was real this time.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good. Nine o’clock?”
“Nine o’clock. You got it.”
She pecked him on the cheek and opened the door and stepped inside and with her back to him said, “’Night, Ray.”
“’Night.”
When she was gone it was like all the breath had gone out of him, like she’d punched him in the gut and he took a moment to collect himself and realized he still had a hard-on for godsake and then he headed for his car. Then had to sit there a while catching his breath, slowing down his heartbeat. Then he started up the car and backed slowly out of the driveway.
The wind in his hair felt like her fingers in his hair as he sped away.
Jennifer Fitch was doing the dinner dishes when she heard the news. She heard it from her foster mother Mrs. Griffith who had just seen a report on television. Mrs. Griffith’s opinion on the matter was that in this day and age you had to be terribly careful who you associated with. Jennifer knew that this was directed none too subtly at her but made no comment. Telling Ray about it was an excuse to phone him so she did that just as soon as she finished the dishes, feeling bad for a moment that it wasn’t Tim she was thinking of calling but the line was busy and by the time she got through to him Ray already knew.
Charlie Schilling heard it earlier on the radio in Ed Anderson’s backyard. It was Charlie’s day off and Ed had invited him over for a barbecue that evening, said he hadn’t been over for a couple of beers and a sirloin all summer long and it was damn well time he did. He knew Ed had a fine hand with a sirloin on the grill and allowed himself to be persuaded.
When he got there around five he wished he hadn’t. Because there was Sally Richmond in charge of the potato salad and tossed greens and corn on the cob and taking photos of the three of them with her Nikkormat. Talking with her at the motel was one thing but partying with her when he knew what Bill and June Richmond would say about it was another. It was too late to back out now but he was going to have to read Ed the riot act tomorrow. Ed’s business was Ed’s business and he thought that Sally was a nice girl but two grown men drinking beer with a eighteen-year-old in shorts and halter top was not exactly kosher, not in his book anyway.
And then there was the matter of Sally’s getting a job at the station. He had to discuss that piece of business with Ed too. He’d made a point of asking around on Wednesday and it didn’t take long for him to see that word of Ed and Sally had made the rounds. He got a lot of averted glances. Nobody he spoke to needed anybody even on a part-time basis, though desks were stacked with paper wherever you looked. Not even Johannson, who was usually so lazy with his paperwork Schilling had gotten into the habit of going though his desk
for
him in order to find whatever file he happened to need. Most cops would bristle at such an intrusion but not Johannson. His desk was strictly help yourself.
Even he didn’t need anybody.
What it came down to was that everybody at the station liked Ed but nobody was going to get involved with a situation where an ex-cop was making it with a teenager. He thought of taking Sally on at his own desk but he
really
didn’t need anybody. He’d been the only guy in his typing class in high school and though he took a lot of ribbing for it at the time he was also the fastest one in his class and the most accurate. A lefty who wrote his longhand painfully and badly, his grades had soared. It was what had enabled him to go on so long without taking on another partner after Ed. His own desk was clear.
Besides, as Ed’s best friend taking on Sally seemed somehow wrong to him. It would indicate approval. He guessed that was part of what the others were going through too.
He decided to go to the head of the class, to Jackowitz himself. Figuring as captain he’d be the last to know. The boss usually was. Jackowitz just looked him in the eye and said
Bill Richmond’s a very prominent man. I don’t think it’s a real good idea, Charlie
.
Jackowitz hardly even
knew
Ed, and word had got to him too.
He had to talk to Ed about it but he kept stalling. He didn’t like to hurt him and this was going to hurt no matter how diplomatically he tried to put it. He certainly wasn’t going to get into it here in Ed’s backyard. Not unless somebody asked.
Luckily they didn’t.
They were listening to the radio, some top-ten station and Ed had his sprinkler going way in back so that when the wind wasn’t blowing the delicious smell of charcoal-broiled steak at you there was the fresh green scent of watered lawn and he settled in on a lawn chair with a beer and willed himself to relax and have a nice evening despite the peculiar circumstances. Sally’s Volkswagen parked on the grass nearby—so it couldn’t be seen from the street—seemed the emblem of his discomfiture. He’d finished half the beer when the news came on, the newscaster managing to sound both grim and all excited both at once.
When the report was over Ed flipped the steak and shook his head and said I don’t know what the hell this world is coming to.
Sally was petting the stray black cat curled up purring at her feet. Poor little girl, she said to the cat. In the Middle Ages they’d have burned you. Probably some of these creeps
still would
bum you just for fun.
Tim Bess heard it on the radio too, only half an hour later. He was sitting on a towel at Alpine Pool stewing about why Jennifer hadn’t called, hadn’t returned the two calls he’d made, the first one answered by Mr. Griffith and the second by Mrs. Griffith both of whom had assured him that they’d relay the message. No contact whatsoever since she’d fucked him and what the hell did
that
mean?
The beach was practically deserted. Most of the kids had gone home to dinner and so would’ve Tim but his ten-year-old little sister Ginnie had begged him for one more dip in the pool. And Ginnie was a pretty good kid as little kids went. So he let her. His sister was a seal in the water, a much better swimmer than Tim and he actually liked watching her out there diving and surfacing and barely making a ripple.
Besides, he had to think. And you couldn’t do that home. Especially not around dinnertime. His father was okay and mostly just read the paper but his mother was a nonstop talker. Either that or she was always humming something 100 percent tuneless and whether she was talking or humming it was irritating as hell. It was as though his mother couldn’t stand a silence. You couldn’t think there. Here you could. So he indulged his little sister and stayed.
So how come she hadn’t called?
He couldn’t have been
that
bad in bed.
They’d been friends for years.
He felt confused and hurt and for some reason, he had to admit it, a little bit worried. He didn’t know why. It was the way you feel when it’s dark outside and you’re walking all alone and you get the feeling somebody’s waiting for you just around the next corner. Probably irrational as hell but maybe not.
He was thinking that maybe he’d better just drop by the Griffith house tonight and see what was up with Jennifer even though he didn’t usually do that because Mr. and Mrs. Griffith obviously didn’t like him. Like he wasn’t good enough to hang around with Jennifer. Who wasn’t even their real daughter. He thought that maybe it had more to do with Tim’s being friends with Ray than with Tim himself but they still didn’t like him coming over.
He was considering doing it anyway when he heard the news on the radio.
Christ
, he thought.
I gotta phone Ray
.
He got up off the towel and started packing their gear. When Ginnie surfaced he called her, said it was time to go and she didn’t fight him like some kids would, she just smiled and waded dripping out of the water and squeezed out her long brown hair.
They climbed the trail to his father’s pickup and spread their towels out on the seats and got in the car. All the way home he had the radio on, switching from station to station but all he got was music and commercials. He went right to his room and peeled off his trunks and put on a pair of jeans. He could smell his mother’s spaghetti sauce cooking on the stove downstairs but figured he still had plenty of time to phone Ray before she called him down for dinner.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Did you hear what
happened
last night?”
“No. What?”
He didn’t sound bored or disinterested the way he did sometimes. Maybe because Tim’s own voice was so excited.
“They killed Sharon Tate, man!”
“Killed who?”
“Sharon Tate! The girl in
Playboy
? Remember that vampire thing in
Playboy
? That movie
Valley of the Dolls
?
Wrecking Crew
? Sharon Tate, man! Oh and man, that
witchy
thing, you know, that
witchy
thing,
Eye of the Demon
or
Eye of the Devil
or something.”
“Cool down. Who killed her?”
“They don’t know. But man, they think it was
satanists
. That’s the really weird part. See, there was blood on the walls and stuff, writing, like it was some kind of ritual murder or something. I heard it on the radio, there was blood all over the place. She was pregnant and they like
ripped the baby out
, man. Ripped it right out of her and they found these black hoods like satanists wear and they killed this other woman, some heiress or something and two other guys, some guy who was her hairdresser or makeup guy, I dunno which. Cut the shit out of
all
of ’em.”
“Shit!”
Ray was impressed he could tell. He didn’t get to impress Ray real often.
“And see, she’s married to Roman Polanski, right? The guy who directed
Rosemary’s Baby
. Which is all about witches, right? And she was in that
Eye of the Devil
thing. We saw it at the drive-in a long time ago, remember?”
“Yeah. I kinda do. She was fucking gorgeous.”
“So it’s
got
to be satanists. Has to be. You gotta wonder what shit Polanski was into.”
“Wild. Hey listen, I’m gonna turn on the TV. See if they show any pictures or anything. Let me know if you hear any more about it. Call me.”