Flesh by Richard Laymon Page A

until he identified the objects as a stepladder, a lamp, and a vacuum cleaner. On the floor near them were a toolbox, some jars and bottles and rags. He moved the beam away.
    A bright disk at the far end of the room startled Roland,but it was only his own light reflecting off a window. He wasn’t alarmed when his light hit the other windows.
    Except for the clutter near the one wall, the dining room was empty. He swept his beam back across it, to the wall ahead of him, and to the right. A few yards away was the corner of an L-shaped bar counter. The shelves behind it were empty. There were no stools in front of the counter. A brass foot rail ran its length.
    Turning slightly, Roland played his beam over the space between the bar counter and the front wall of the restaurant. A card table stood near the wall. Bottles and a few glasses gleamed with the light. There were two folding chairs at the table.
    Crouching, he shined his flashlight beneath the card table.
    He stood up. Beyond the table, at the far end of the room, was an alcove. A sign above the opening read, “Rest rooms.”
    Roland moved slightly forward until he could aim his light into the space behind the counter.
    Returning to his backpack, he took but two of the candles he had purchased that afternoon. He went to the table, and lit them. He let the wax drip onto the table, then stood the candles upright in the tiny puddles. He stepped back. The two flames gave off an amazing amount of light, their glow illuminating most of the cocktail area.
    Comforted somewhat by the light, Roland walked past the table. He noticed bat-wing doors behind the bar, probably to give the bartender access to the kitchen.
    The kitchen.
    Where the killings happened.
    The areas above and below the doors were dark. He didn’t shine his light inside. Instead, he entered the short hallway to the rest rooms. A brass sign on the door straight ahead of him read “Ladies.” The door marked “Gentlemen” was on the right.
    He needed to check inside each, but the prospect of that renewed his leg tremors and set his heart sledging again. Hedidn’t want to open those doors, didn’t want to face whatever might be lurking within.
    It’ll be worse, he told himself, if I don’t look. Then I won’t know. I might get a big surprise later on.
    He took the flashlight in his left hand, wiped the sweat off his right, and gripped the knob of the ladies’ room door. The knob wouldn’t turn. He tried the other door. It, too, was locked.
    For a moment, he was glad. He wouldn’t be opening them. It was a great relief.
    Then he realized that the locked doors didn’t guarantee that the rest rooms were safe. Probably, the doors could still be opened from the inside.
    He shined his light on the knob of the men’s room door. It had a keyhole. A few times in the past, he had gotten into toilets simply by inserting a pointed object into the lock hole and twisting. He pulled up the leather flap of his knife case.
    The snap popped open.
    Christ, it was loud!
    Whoever’s behind the door…
    Calm down.
    …heard it.
    There’s nobody inside the goddamn john.
    Roland stared at the door.
    He imagined a sudden, harsh rap on the other side.
    Gooseflesh crawled up his back.
    Leaving his knife in its case, he backed away.
    The candlelight was comforting.
    He picked up the folding chairs one at a time and carried them to the entryway beneath the rest rooms sign. Back-to-back, they made a barrier that would have to be climbed over or pushed away. He placed a cocktail glass on the seat of each, near the edge. If the chairs moved, the glasses should fall.
    Pleased with his innovation, Roland returned to the card table. He picked up one of the bottles. It was nearly full. With a candle behind it, he saw that the liquor was clear. He turnedthe bottle until he could read its label in the trembling light. Gilbey’s Vodka.
    Great.
    He twisted off the plastic cap, raised the bottle, and filled his mouth. He swallowed a