Chapter 12

He was dreaming again. As in all the nightmares, he seemed bound and helpless. There was a woman in the dream. No, three women. But this time he wasn't a participant; he was a watcher. He was in the living room of Claire's apartment, bound and gagged on the couch, forced to watch the naked figures copulating on the carpet. The man was hauntingly familiar, yet he was faceless, and Wade couldn't quite recognize him. And the woman ... The woman was Claire, on her back with the man between her legs. Her feet waved in lewd abandon, and she spurred the man on to greater effort with a tattoo of her heels on the backs of his thighs. She was laughing, taunting the man, as wanton as a mink.

Then the man was underneath and the woman astride him was Janis. She had a knee planted on each side of the man's hips and she bobbed up and down like a cork riding a rough sea. She leaned down, her breasts swinging wildly, and the man with no face seized a nipple between his teeth, holding her torso still. Her hips continued to rise and fall in a silken, oiled rhythm.

Suddenly the pumping buttocks belonged to the faceless man, and the woman underneath was Lisa. She lay unmoving, as still as death, while the male figure drove at her, entering and re-entering her as relentlessly as a pile-driver.

Wade struggled wildly, uselessly, against the confinement of the strait jacket. He tried to cry out, but no sound came from his lips. He watched in sick horror as the man went rigid, his buttocks clenching in sudden release. His horror mounted as he saw the man fumble on the floor for a piece of sculpture, raise it high, and bring it crashing down again and again. Finally the man rolled away, and the woman was Claire, not Lisa. Her head was crushed and bloody.

Then the figures were gone, only a smear of blood left on the carpet, and Wade was alone. For the first time noise penetrated his nightmare. Voices. A man and a woman. He strained to hear.

"...stupid broad ... blow the whole caper...."

"...sorry, Garth ... too much...."

"...only thing you've had too much of is the booze ... surprised it's not running out your ears...."

The voices ceased and Wade opened his eyes. He was on his back on the couch. His head was splitting. Then Holmes' doleful face loomed over him. "Well, cowboy, you're with us again, I see."

"Thanks for laying me out so nice and pretty." Wade's voice came out a croak.

"You're welcome, I'm sure. Couldn't shoot you, you see."

Wade struggled up to a sitting position. His head threatened to fall off and roll across the floor. He touched the sore spot gingerly; it felt mushy and wet. Holmes had taken the chair Wade had so recently vacated, the gun resting on his leg pointing at Wade. Wade growled, "I don't need any damned favors from you."

"Oh, it wasn't a favor, my not shooting you. No bullet holes. You see, I'm going ahead as originally planned. It's even better now. With Carl out of the picture, the pie will only have to be sliced two ways."

Wade glanced around for Janis. She stood at the window, her back to the room, huddled up as though cold. He wondered what her face looked like now, after the belting around Holmes had given her.

Holmes was going on with his story as though nothing had happened, starting with the moment he'd killed Claire. Wade fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with trembling fingers. He marveled at the man's aplomb, colossal ego, or whatever. Fury boiled up in him, hot and galling, threatening to spill over. He knew that he wouldn't hesitate to kill Holmes now, if given the opportunity. But it didn't look as though he'd ever get that opportunity.

"I'll admit I did have a few seconds of ... dismay," Holmes was saying. "I thought I'd blown it for sure. Then I found you passed out in her bedroom and I started to click on all cylinders again. I called Carl and told him what had happened. And he agreed that Duncan's death could be turned to our advantage, if handled right. If you thought you were either crazy or wanted for murder, you'd be one hell of a lot easier to handle . ... "

A sound of strangled laughter came from Janis at the window. Holmes batted a hand at her without once removing his gaze from Wade. "All right, all right, I'll admit that we underestimated you a little there. You are a stubborn ginzo, cowboy. But all's well that ends well."

He stretched his legs out into a more comfortable position, the melancholy eyes glinting with a pleasure that had to be sadistic. "Anyway, Carl sailed in on you with that salami about being a bull, sent you screaming out into the night. I was waiting at your apartment and laid a bookend alongside your skull. And the rest you know, of course. Except for the future, what little's left of it for you." He glanced at his watch. "It's after one now. People should be all bedded down in the building now, the streets about empty, so we can take you out of here...."

One o'clock, Wade thought. He'd been gone from Lisa over an hour now. Would Holmes wait out the second hour, past the deadline he'd given Lisa for calling the police? They had agreed on two hours. Or less. Maybe she would fudge a little, say a half hour ? He began straining his ears for the sound of a siren, only half listening to Holmes' hoarse voice.

"...another tap on the head. Your poor head." Holmes clucked with false sympathy. "But we can't risk a needle or sleeping pills. You see, cowboy, you're going for a little ride in Janis' little Volks. The way the story will go is this ... you've had a severe relapse and she's taking you back to the sanitarium. On the way, you'll suddenly go berserk, screaming you'd rather die than go back to that horrible place. You'll push poor Janis out of the car and drive the Volks over a cliff. I know just the place. It's not really a cliff. But it's up in the Hollywood Hills above Coldwater Canyon. A hairpin curve and a long, long way to the bottom. That poor head of yours will be crushed like an eggshell by the time you reach the bottom of the canyon, cowboy. Janis and Dr. Hunter will identify you as Bart Evans and that .will be that!"

"No!" The word came from Janis as a sound of agony.

Holmes jumped as though jabbed by a needle, but he didn't make the same mistake twice. He didn't take his gaze from Wade. He snarled, "I thought I told you to put a zipper on that mouth, you silly bitch!"

Janis was across the room by this time. Her face was a mess; other eye swollen, lip cut and smeared with dried blood and a smear of blood on one cheek like a birthmark. Yet she was sober now and had herself under control. "No, I will not be a part of any more killing," she said in a low voice. "I don't care what you do to me."

"You're in too deep to climb out, Janis. You're in it with me for Bart's death. They can only drop the pellet once."

"I don't care. I'm sick of you, of the whole dirty mess!"

"Are you now?" Holmes said mockingly. "And the money, Bart's good green money. You're sick of that, too?"

"If I have to kill again to get it, yes, I am."

Holmes' face was an ugly mask, his eyes like blue fire. "How come you picked up religion all of a damn sudden? Is it the cowboy here? Are you hooked on him? Is he better in bed? Does he have a bigger doodle? You'd blow a half-million bucks for a good bang artist? For that kind of money you could hire enough studs to break your back. Is this rodeo ass the reason you're balking me?"

Janis didn't answer. She stood very still, with her hands clenched at her sides, staring straight ahead, battered face expressionless.

"Answer me, you rutting bitch!" Holmes sprang to his feet and swung to face her.

Wade jumped him. He went for the gun first. He seized the man's arm in both hands and brought the wrist down across his knee like a stick of wood. Holmes yelled in pain and the gun flew out of his hand, hitting the carpet somewhere nearby with a thud. With his other hand Holmes clubbed Wade across the side of the head.

Half stunned, Wade staggered back, his arms wind milling, until the backs of his legs struck the couch and brought him up short. Regaining his balance, he moved toward Holmes cautiously. Despite his fragile appearance, his fist held the power of a mule's kick. And no longer was he shambling, charming. He looked as tense as a snake coiled to strike and his face wore a lethal look. Now he stalked Wade. He came in a half crouch. Hurriedly, Wade got out of the way of the couch. For a moment they circled each other warily, searching for an opening.

Holmes sneered contemptuously. "You good with the pinkies, cowboy? I am. I even fought professionally once, in the days before I wised up to the ways of the world. See this face? Not a mark on it. That means I was pretty goddamned good...."

His right hand flicked out with deceptive speed and tears spurted from Wade's eyes as the blow caught him flush on the wounded nose. Pain and rage made Wade incautious. He rushed the man. And Holmes pelted his ribs and belly with a hailstorm of stinging blows while Wade was lucky to land one in three. When the punches to the midsection began to really hurt, when Wade dropped his hands, Holmes drove a quick right and a left to the face, again one right to the nose. Wade grunted and staggered back a few steps, hands going up to protect his face.

Holmes glided in close. A knee came up and white-hot pain exploded in Wade's groin. And then, as he started to bend double, Holmes nailed him with a powerful right to the chin that seemed to loosen every tooth in his head. He was sent reeling backward. He hit the end of the couch and slid slowly down to the floor. He ended up half sitting, his back against the couch. He wasn't out, not quite, but he was one solid mass of pain, and he had never felt so defeated, so futile. He had failed Lisa. Most of all, he had failed himself.

Holmes dry washed his hands together. "You see, you were out of your class. 'Way out. And now, let's get on with it." He turned toward where the gun had fallen and froze in his tracks.

Janis had the gun. She held it in both hands, squeezed so tightly her knuckles shone white.

"All right, Janis, I'll take the gun." Holmes held out his hand.

She shook her head violently, blonde hair whipping across her face. "No, Garth. No more killing."

"Now don't be more of an idiot than you've already been, Janis! Give me the damned gun!" He took a step toward her.

"Don't come any closer, Garth!"

"You won't shoot. You don't have the guts for it. The gun, bitch!" He took two more quick steps, and she shot him. Twice. The gun boomed thunderously in the room. A look of immense surprise flooded Holmes' face and he flew back, out of Wade's line of sight, and fell with a thud that shook the apartment.

Wade scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, shook his head to clear it, and got painfully to his feet. Walking, stooped over like an old man, he crossed to where Holmes lay on his back with one arm flung out. Wade dropped to one knee beside him. He searched for a pulse, avoiding Holmes' staring eyes. Wade wondered if he would repeat the pattern endlessly-this kneeling beside bodies, searching for signs of life. Finally he got to his feet, wiping his hand on his trousers. "He's dead, Janis."

She nodded as though she'd known it all along. Her eyes were dull, unseeing. Then she raised one hand to push her hair back and saw the gun still in it. Her eyes came alive, her mouth worked with revulsion, and she threw the gun from her, using both hands. It landed on the couch.

Casually, Wade edged over and picked it up. He felt ill at ease. Nothing had turned out as he had anticipated. He knew he should thank her; certainly she had saved his life. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Then she spoke, her voice husky and throbbing. It was her bedroom voice. "Wade ... baby, look at me!"

Baby? So it was baby again!

He wheeled in astonishment. Her eyes glittered feverishly; her fingers plucked nervously at the front of her robe. She was smiling, but her battered face made it a grotesque grimace. "They're all dead now ... Bart, Carl, Garth. There's one thing Garth didn't know. I've been scared to death something would go wrong so...." She ran the tip of her tongue around her lips. "With Carl helping me, forging Bart's name, I've been cashing in some things. I've got close to a hundred thousand dollars in a safety deposit box...."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Us, Wade. You and me, baby. With that money, we can go away somewhere, someplace where we'll never be found."

Without his really being aware of it, Wade was shaking his head. "No, Janis. No."

"But I shot Garth for ... I did it for you, baby!"

"And I'd never know, if I went off with you, when you'd take it into your head to shoot me for somebody else." He hadn't intended saying it in just that way, but, now that the words were out, he knew they were true.

Her face hardened and she took a step toward him. Then she stopped and did something to the robe. It fell open. She wasn't wearing a stitch underneath. She smiled loosely. "Take a good look, baby, and then tell me you don't remember."

He swallowed dryly. "Oh, I remember all right." He remembered all those nights of furtive, straining passion very well, but now he could gaze on the offered delights of her body without a flicker of desire. "But I was playing a game, you see," he said, deliberately cruel. "I was trying to get the truth from you. Now that I've got it, looking at you in the raw doesn't do a single thing for me."

"Liar! Liar!" she screamed at him. She broke then, coming at him, mouthing obscenities and clawing for his eyes.

Wade didn't use the gun. He simply slapped her, twice, with his open hand. She collapsed on the couch, sobbing hysterically. He gazed down at her for a moment, trying to dredge up a little compassion for her. But he could find none in him. He was fairly sure of one thing: she would be no problem now. When the time came, she would tell everything she knew.

With a light step, he crossed to the telephone and dialed Lisa's number. She answered on the first ring, her voice breathless. "Hello?"

"Lisa?"

"Wade! Oh, darling!" Her breath caught. "I was so worried. ... Are you all right."

"I'm fine, sweetheart. The nightmare's over."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you about it later."

"Do you want me to come to you?"

"No, you stay put. When I hang up, I'm calling the police. It may take awhile to straighten it all out."

"I'll be waiting, no matter how long it takes. And while I'm waiting, I'll call the airlines for reservations to Arizona."

"For two?"

"Of course, darling. What did you think?"

"When the price of an airline ticket is deducted from my first month's salary I won't have much left, will I?"

"But darling, there are other ... things than money. Didn't you know that?"

"I'll hold that thought."

"You just do that, cowhand."

Still smiling, he broke the connection, glanced over at the sobbing Janis, then dialed the police.