new method on her. That, after all, was the reason he took her.
I’m not a goddamn rapist, he told himself.
Besides, how would he tie her up without hurting his bad hand? She was bound to put up a fight. He’d either have to gas her or pound the daylight out of her. Then, if she wasn’t out cold, he’d have to hide her face with something. He sure didn’t want her looking at him while he screwed her. All that contempt in her eyes. Gals nearly always had contempt in their eyes when they looked at him. She would, for sure.
But if he held off till after he killed her and brought her back, she’d be so grateful she’d do anything to please him. Hell, she’d love him.
He went into the house. He came out with his Colt .44 revolver and a green, double-ply plastic trash bag. He shoved the folded bag into a front pocket of his pants. Holding the revolver in his left hand, he unlocked the trunk. The lid rose.
Patricia lay curled on her side, hands covering her face. She was sobbing quietly.
“Climb out,” Melvin said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Don’t hurt me,” she said through her hands.
“Told you I won’t. Come on.”
She got to her hands and knees inside the trunk, never once looking at him. Her back shook as she wept. A string of snot dangled from her nose, swaying. Slowly, keeping her head down, she climbed out of the trunk. She stood with her back to Melvin, and hunched over and held onto the car.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Just don’t try nothing, you’ll be okay.”
He pushed the revolver under his belt, took the trash bag out of his pocket, and shook it open.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Just a bag. You’re gonna wear it so you don’t see where we’re going. Stand up straight, arms at your sides.”
She followed his orders. Melvin spread the bag apart, slipped it over her head, and pulled it down her body. It covered her almost to the knees. He took off his belt and made a loop by slipping one end through the buckle. He dropped the loop over her head. The plastic bag crackled as he pulled, closing it around her neck. He left enough slack in the belt so she could still get air.
“Can you breathe okay?” he asked.
Her covered head nodded. Melvin heard her sniffle.
“It’s not too tight?”
“No.”
“Okay, face me.”
She turned around. Melvin shook the belt sideways and watched the buckle slide around to her front. He walked backward, leading her across the garage to the side door of the house. He led her into the house, through the kitchen to another closed door. Opening the door, he said, “Stairs. Be careful.”
“Where’re you taking me?” she asked in a high, whiny voice.
“The basement.” Melvin grinned. “That’s where you’re gonna stay till they come up with the ransom.”
“Ransom?”
“Sure. What did you think, I was gonna murder you or something?”
“All you want’s money?”
“Course.”
Melvin switched on the basement light. Turning his back to the stairway, he took a careful step down. His left hand held the belt. His right hovered over the banister. Patricia hesitated on the top stair. “Go ahead and hold the railing,” he said. “I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”
She hitched the plastic bag up around her waist, reached out and clutched the wooden rail.
Melvin stayed two stairs below Patricia, and watched her as they descended. She took slow, careful steps. Her shoes and stockings were white. He hated those white stockings.
They’ll be the first to go, he decided.
“Who’s supposed to pay for me?” she asked. She didn’t sound so upset anymore.
“You tell me.”
“I have some savings.”
“How much?”
Melvin reached the floor of the basement. Patricia stepped down the final two stairs. When the banister ended, she pulled the bag down as far as it would go, apparently prefer-ring to be covered and out of sight.
“I’ve got about eight hundred,” she said. “Will that be enough?
I’m not a goddamn rapist, he told himself.
Besides, how would he tie her up without hurting his bad hand? She was bound to put up a fight. He’d either have to gas her or pound the daylight out of her. Then, if she wasn’t out cold, he’d have to hide her face with something. He sure didn’t want her looking at him while he screwed her. All that contempt in her eyes. Gals nearly always had contempt in their eyes when they looked at him. She would, for sure.
But if he held off till after he killed her and brought her back, she’d be so grateful she’d do anything to please him. Hell, she’d love him.
He went into the house. He came out with his Colt .44 revolver and a green, double-ply plastic trash bag. He shoved the folded bag into a front pocket of his pants. Holding the revolver in his left hand, he unlocked the trunk. The lid rose.
Patricia lay curled on her side, hands covering her face. She was sobbing quietly.
“Climb out,” Melvin said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Don’t hurt me,” she said through her hands.
“Told you I won’t. Come on.”
She got to her hands and knees inside the trunk, never once looking at him. Her back shook as she wept. A string of snot dangled from her nose, swaying. Slowly, keeping her head down, she climbed out of the trunk. She stood with her back to Melvin, and hunched over and held onto the car.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Just don’t try nothing, you’ll be okay.”
He pushed the revolver under his belt, took the trash bag out of his pocket, and shook it open.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Just a bag. You’re gonna wear it so you don’t see where we’re going. Stand up straight, arms at your sides.”
She followed his orders. Melvin spread the bag apart, slipped it over her head, and pulled it down her body. It covered her almost to the knees. He took off his belt and made a loop by slipping one end through the buckle. He dropped the loop over her head. The plastic bag crackled as he pulled, closing it around her neck. He left enough slack in the belt so she could still get air.
“Can you breathe okay?” he asked.
Her covered head nodded. Melvin heard her sniffle.
“It’s not too tight?”
“No.”
“Okay, face me.”
She turned around. Melvin shook the belt sideways and watched the buckle slide around to her front. He walked backward, leading her across the garage to the side door of the house. He led her into the house, through the kitchen to another closed door. Opening the door, he said, “Stairs. Be careful.”
“Where’re you taking me?” she asked in a high, whiny voice.
“The basement.” Melvin grinned. “That’s where you’re gonna stay till they come up with the ransom.”
“Ransom?”
“Sure. What did you think, I was gonna murder you or something?”
“All you want’s money?”
“Course.”
Melvin switched on the basement light. Turning his back to the stairway, he took a careful step down. His left hand held the belt. His right hovered over the banister. Patricia hesitated on the top stair. “Go ahead and hold the railing,” he said. “I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”
She hitched the plastic bag up around her waist, reached out and clutched the wooden rail.
Melvin stayed two stairs below Patricia, and watched her as they descended. She took slow, careful steps. Her shoes and stockings were white. He hated those white stockings.
They’ll be the first to go, he decided.
“Who’s supposed to pay for me?” she asked. She didn’t sound so upset anymore.
“You tell me.”
“I have some savings.”
“How much?”
Melvin reached the floor of the basement. Patricia stepped down the final two stairs. When the banister ended, she pulled the bag down as far as it would go, apparently prefer-ring to be covered and out of sight.
“I’ve got about eight hundred,” she said. “Will that be enough?
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