Body Rides (48 page)

He didn’t much like the sound of that.

He found Sue scowling down into the toilet bowl, a look of distress on her face.

Someone hadn’t flushed.

But the mess in the water wasn’t excrement.

Blood and adhesive tape, pieces of bandage wrappers, wads of toilet paper, bloody pads.

Sanitary napkins.

‘Yuck,’ Neal said.

‘It wasn’t me,’ Sue told him. ‘I just picked up the lid and there it all was.’

‘And there it all is,’ Neal muttered.

‘Ya aren’t s’pose to throw ’em in the toilet like that. Used pads.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ Neal explained.

‘Who ya think did?’ From the look in her eyes, she already had a pretty good guess.

‘Him.’

‘Rasputin?’

Feeling weak, Neal leaned back against the sink. ‘So, he
has
been here. That stuff in the toilet . . . He must’ve changed his bandages.’

Sue glanced around. ‘He was mighty
tidy
about it.’

‘Yeah. Looks like he cleaned the place up when he got done. Probably didn’t want me to know he’d been here.’

‘Just shut the lid and forgot he hadn’t flushed?’ Sue suggested.

‘Yeah.’ Neal slipped the pistol into his pocket, turned around and opened his medicine cabinet. Right away, he saw that things had been rearranged – slid this way and that to close gaps. It took him a while to figure out what was missing: a bottle of aspirin, a tube of antiseptic cream, a tin of adhesive bandages, a big roll of gauze and a spool of adhesive tape.

He shut the cabinet, faced Sue and told her what was missing. ‘Maybe some other stuff, too,’ he said. ‘I don’t know.’

Sue bared her teeth. She looked as if she were in pain. ‘Well, at least he ain’t here now. Is he?’

‘No.’

‘Ya sure?’

‘I’m positive. I looked everywhere.’

Sue glanced into the toilet. ‘Ya can stop worryin about who found yer business card.’

‘Yeah. He knew where to come.’

‘So when he comes back to try again, we can nail his sorry ass.’

‘Or he’ll nail ours.’

‘Nothin
sorry
about ours.’ Sue reached back and patted her own rump.

A little too upset to smile, Neal shook his head.

‘In the meantime,’ Sue said, ‘we gotta do somethin about
this
. It ya try to flush with them
pads
and stuff in there, it’s all gonna get clogged up, more than likely.’

‘I know.’

‘And I
still
gotta go.’

‘Okay. Hang on a minute.’ Leaving her in the bathroom, Neal hurried to his kitchen. He found a pair of tongs in the utensil drawer. In a cupboard under the sink, he found the plastic bucket that he used now and then when he mopped the floor or washed the car. He emptied the bucket of some old sponges, detergents and rags, and returned to the bathroom.

‘Tongs?’ Sue asked.

‘I’m not gonna stick my
hand
in there.’

Resting the bucket on the toilet’s rim, he bent down and dipped his tongs into the bloody water. He stirred some cloudy wads of
toilet paper out of the way, spotted a gory pad, and clamped it with the tongs.

‘Where ya think he got them things?’ Sue asked.

‘Maybe Elise’s house.’

The pad came out of the water, dripping. Neal dropped it into the bucket. It hit the bottom with a splashy thump.

‘One down,’ he said, ‘three to go.’

‘How many times ya
shoot
that fella?’ Sue asked.

‘I don’t know.’ He fished out another sodden, bloody pad and dropped it into the bucket. ‘I got him once for sure in the head. I don’t know how many body shots. Maybe three.’ He clamped another pad between the tongs and lifted it out. ‘And there might or might not be exit wounds. I guess he could have as many as eight wounds, altogether, if every slug went in and out.’

‘Gotta be four, anyhow,’ Sue said.

‘At least. It looks like he ran out of . . . these things.’ He lifted out the final pad and dropped it into the bucket. ‘Had to make a few bandages out of gauze and tape.’

‘How come he ain’t dead, shot up that bad?’

‘That’s why I call him Rasputin.’ Poking around, Neal found clumps of gauze and tape. He removed them with the tongs, then hunted down several strips of tape, clamped them and took them out.

Nothing seemed to remain in the bloody water except toilet paper and several small bandage wrappers. Nothing likely to cause a clog.

‘That should do it,’ Neal said. He dropped the tongs into the bucket, reached up and pushed down on the handle.

The toilet flushed, sucking down the mess, filling the bowl with clean water.

‘Ya did it!’

‘Yep.’ Neal stood up. Lifting the bucket, he said, ‘It’s all yours.’

‘Right in the nicka time, too.’

Neal hurried out of the bathroom. Sue quickly shut the door.

Wandering into the kitchen, he wondered what to do with the contents of the bucket. He could toss it in the trash, throw it out with the garbage.

It’s blood evidence
.

Evidence of what? he asked himself. What could it possibly
prove? Just that Rasputin’s been here.

And that he’s the same guy who bled in Elise’s house.

What’ll that prove?

Maybe nothing, Neal thought. But I’d better keep it, just in case.

A few minutes later, Sue came into the kitchen and blurted, ‘What in tarnation are ya
doing?
’

Neal smiled over his shoulder at her. ‘What does it look like?’

‘Looks like ya lost yer marbles.’

A large paper grocery bag was spread across his counter. He had arranged the four sanitary napkins on it, side by side. Dangling from his tongs was a wad of blood-stained gauze and tape. He placed the wad on the paper.

‘I’m just laying this stuff out to dry.’

‘Aimin’ to re
-use
it?’

‘Let’s not get gross,’ Neal told her.

‘Too late.’

‘Actually, I’m just trying to preserve the blood evidence. It should stay good longer if it dries out.’

‘Ya learn that watchin the trial, too?’

‘Yep.’

‘What’s it gonna prove?’

‘I don’t know. I just think we need to save it. Maybe it’ll come in handy, somehow.’

‘Well, if you say so.’

When the bucket was empty, he carried it to the sink. With hot sudsy water, he washed the bucket and tongs. Then he put them away and dried his hands. ‘All done,’ he said.

‘What’re we gonna do now?’ Sue asked.

‘Would you like a beer?’

‘Sure.’

As he took a couple of cans out of the refrigerator, Sue said, ‘It don’t bother ya, me bein under age?’

‘I guess you’ll have to drink the beer as your alter ego. What’s her name? The older one?’

‘Elaine Taylor?’

‘That’s the one.’ He tossed a can to her, and she caught it.

In the living room, they sat down beside each other on the sofa and popped open their beers.

‘Here’s how,’ Neal said.

‘Chug-a-lug,’ said Sue.

They both drank. The beer was very cold. Neal drank a lot of his before coming up for air. Then he said, ‘Do we stay here or not? That is the question.’

Sue lowered her can. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I say we stay.’

‘He
has
been here.’

‘Yer tellin me.’

‘He’ll
probably
come back. Maybe even tonight.’

Frowning at Neal, Sue nodded. ‘If he
don’t
come back, how’ll we ever catch him? I mean, he knows who
you
are, but ya don’t know
him
from Adam. So he’s
gotta
come after us. If he don’t, we’re out the fifty grand.’

‘You’re right about that,’ Neal told her.

‘So we gotta stay right here till he comes.’

Neal drank some more beer. ‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘But . . . you do realize he intends to kill me. I mean, that’s the only reason he came over here. I’m not just a loose end, either. I’m not just some Joe Blow who might be able to identify him. I’m also the guy who nearly killed him. I’m responsible for all those bullet holes in him – God only knows the pain I’ve caused him. And I’m sure he wants to pay me back in full.’

‘We won’t let him,’ Sue said.

‘If you’re with me . . . the things he’ll do to you . . .’

‘He won’t do nothin to either of us, Neal. We’ll surprise him and nail him.’

‘Maybe he’s
better
at surprises than we are. Maybe
we’ll
be the ones who get surprised and nailed.’

‘Naw.’

‘This isn’t a movie, Sue. There isn’t any rule that says
we
end up winning.
He
might win. He’s won before. He won against Elise.’ He gazed into Sue’s eyes. ‘At the very last, just before I got out of her, she was thinking . . . you know, like it was a movie. Like she would survive, somehow. Because she was . . . the star, and the star always makes it, one way or the other. But she didn’t. He killed her. He won.’

Sue looked more somber than he’d ever seen her before.

‘I know how much you want the reward money,’ Neal said. ‘But do you want to risk your life for it?’

Sue took a deep breath. She blew it out loudly, then took a drink of beer. ‘I want it,’ she said. ‘Sure I do. I mean, our half of fifty grand . . . But it’s not just the money. If it was only just the money, maybe I’d say forget it. But if we don’t stay, we’d have to run away and hide. We’d have to keep on hidin, too. Till Rasputin’s either dead or jailed.’

‘I guess so,’ Neal admitted.

‘So what I still think is, we oughta stay right here and lay for him.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Sue asked.

Neal set down his empty beer can. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. Maybe I scared myself with that talk about
him
winning. I just . . . I don’t like it here. I think maybe we’d better not stay.’

‘How come?’

‘Just because he was here, I guess.’

‘But he’s gone.’

‘Probably.’

‘Ya looked around . . .’

‘That doesn’t make it a hundred per cent certain he isn’t here. Maybe he found a
really good
hiding place.’ Neal found his gaze wandering the room, studying the curtains, the dark corners . . .

‘Yer givin me the squeamies,’ Sue said. Wrinkling her nose as if bothered by a foul stench, she looked over one shoulder, then the other.

‘He’s probably gone,’ Neal told her.

‘Or he might be watchin us, huh? Might be hearin every word we say.’

‘It’s not likely.’

‘If he’s here,’ Sue whispered, ‘how come he ain’t jumped us yet?’

‘Scared I’ll shoot him again?’ Neal suggested. ‘He might want to bide his time, wait until later, come out after we’re asleep.’

‘Oh, jeezle.’ Looking pained, Sue hugged her chest and rubbed her upper arms.

They were bumpy with gooseflesh.

‘We could search the place
really
carefully,’ Neal said. ‘But even if he’s not here . . . and he probably isn’t . . . he might be nearby. Maybe he broke into someone else’s apartment. He might be right next door, or . . .’

‘Y’on a mission to scare the pee outa me?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you. I’m just trying to explore some of the possibilities.’

‘Maybe he just went on home.’

‘That’s a possiblity, too,’ Neal said.

‘Or maybe he took off and went lookin for ya someplace.’

‘He’d have no idea where I went.’

Unless he traced the credit card, Neal thought. But that seemed awfully farfetched.

If he did trace the card, he’d end up in Nevada, a good, safe distance away from
. . .

‘Any chance he knows about Marta?’ Sue asked.

Her question stunned Neal, put a hard cold place in his stomach. ‘No.’

But even as he denied it, he realized Rasputin
might
have followed him when he drove to Marta’s place Monday night. Or Marta might’ve stopped by here for some reason, yesterday or today. Or Rasputin might’ve found her name in Neal’s address book.

There must be fifty names in it. He’d have no way of knowing who
. . .