October (21 page)

The dog followed him into the house.

"
Scalizi
!"
Backman
greeted him. He was sitting on the long couch in the family room, TV remote in his hand. The big-screen television was on. A bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table in front of him. Nick wore a blue oxford-cloth shirt, clean chinos, leather slippers. He rose to shake Buddy's hand. "Ready to have your tail whipped?"

"Sure, Nick," Buddy said.

"Good."
Backman
smiled. He looked at the dog. "This your corner man?"

When
Backman
reached down, the dog moved his head aside, giving a warning sound.

Backman
straightened. "Touchy. Want a soda? Beer?”

“A beer, yeah," Buddy said.

"Great."
Backman
walked to the cellar door, opened it. "By the way, any sign of that asshole friend of yours?”

“Davey?"

"That's the man."

"Nothing," Buddy said.

"I hear they're thinking of going national with it." Nick laughed. "Can you see Putnam's face on a milk carton?”

“Sure."

Backman
snapped on the cellar light. "Beer's downstairs," he said casually. He took a step down, stopped, looked back. "Coming?"

"No jokes this time, Nick?"

Backman
laughed. "My Lord, no. That's all over with. It's just you and me tonight. You know, I like you. You're not like that jerk friend of yours. Come on, we'll talk, have a drink, maybe play a little billiards, then we'll have our little fight. Mano a
mano
."
Backman
laughed. "Maybe we'll just get drunk, forget about the whole thing. Okay?"

"Sure, Nick. Listen—"

Backman
held up his hand. "Drinks first, Buddy. All right?"

"Yeah."

"Good."
Backman
turned his back on Buddy and descended the cellar stairs.

Buddy and the dog followed. Ahead,
Backman
snapped on lights. A long bank of
neons
blinked on; the hanging Tiffany lamp flared whitely over the pool table. It was littered with
unracked
balls.
Backman
strolled to the bar against the back wall of the cellar, angled behind it, opened a small refrigerator, and pulled out a beer bottle. He poured the beer carefully into a glass. He returned, smiled, handed Buddy his beer, racked the balls.
Backman
chose two cue sticks, handed one to Buddy.

"There's chalk if you want it."

"That's okay, Nick—"

"Beer okay?"

"Sure. Look, there's something—"

Backman
prepared to break, straightened, looked at the dog.

"Okay if we put the mutt in the tool room for a little while? If my parents come home and find a dog in the house . . ." He made a cutting motion across his throat with his index finger.

Buddy suddenly felt warm. He unzipped and peeled his jacket off, laid it on the billiard table. "I don't know . . ."

"Come on," Nick said reasonably. "Like I said, they'd kill me."

"Well, okay . . ."

Buddy helped Nick lead the dog to the tool room. Nick turned on the light, waited for Buddy to retreat, pulled the door closed. The dog began to whine.

"Howl all you want,"
Backman
said cheerfully.

Buddy still felt warm. He felt achy in the joints, lightheaded.

"Hey, Nick—"

"Don't worry,
Scalizi
."
Backman
laughed. "You won't die. Just a pinch of something in your beer."

"The dog—"

"The dog can bark all he wants. It's a well-built house. Nobody will hear him."

"
Wha
—" Buddy said. His head was badly fogging. His legs and arms felt weighted. He sat down on the floor, held his head up with effort, tried to look at
Backman
. "What . . . are you doing?"

Backman
laughed. "Like I promised, no more jokes."
Backman's
face grew larger through the fog. Buddy felt Nick's hand fall heavily on his shoulder.

"But . . ." Buddy said, "we need your help . . ."

Backman
laughed, loud. "Sure,
Scalizi
. Anything you say."

In a moving rush, Buddy came back to consciousness. He was in darkness. He heard the dog whining, scratching at the wood of the tool room door.

He was on his back. He tried to lift his hand but discovered it was bound. He couldn't rise. He felt air move over him. He angled his fingers inward toward his body, felt the elastic top of his underpants, nothing above or below them. He turned his palm downward, touched a smooth, cottony surface.

A light went on behind his head.

Buddy twisted his head around, saw a yellow glow descending the cellar stairs. A candle. He saw the hand holding it, an arm, a face.
Backman
, naked to the waist, face painted with reddish streaks.

Behind
Backman
, in near shadow, came Andrea Carlson and Brenda
Valachio
. They were in panties and bras. Andrea held Nick by the shoulder for guidance; Brenda clutched Andrea, giggling.

"Be quiet,"
Backman
said solemnly.

Buddy realized that he was bound to the top of the billiard table.

When he reached the bottom of the cellar steps,
Backman
walked slowly toward Buddy. He placed the candle, set in a dish, near Buddy's head.

"What are you doing, Nick?" Buddy said. He could feel the candle's heat.

"Quiet."

The girls bent over Buddy. Andrea held up something that looked like a thick pen. She took off its cap, turned up the squat point of reddish lipstick. She stared gravely into Buddy's eyes.

"Go on,"
Backman
said.

Brenda
Valachio
broke into laughter.

"Shut up,"
Backman
said.

Brenda continued to laugh. "I can't help it, Nick."

Buddy heard a loud slap. He turned his head to see Brenda
Valachio
holding her cheek, staring wide-eyed at
Backman
. "You bastard."

"Shut your mouth, Brenda," Andrea Carlson said.

Brenda faced the two of them angrily, then caved in. "All right," she said petulantly. "As long as there's more coke later."

Andrea turned to Buddy. "This won't hurt," she said gently. She dug the point of the lipstick into Buddy's cheek. He twisted his head aside.

"Hold him, Nick," Andrea said.

Buddy looked back to see Nick
Backman's
face, staring down at him, upside down. There were long streaks of lipstick like war paint down his cheeks, across his forehead.

Nick clamped Buddy's head between his palms. "Just be still," he said.

"This isn't funny," Buddy said.

"It's not a joke," Andrea said. She met Nick's eyes. He nodded.

She dug long streaks of red onto Buddy's face.

"Now his body," Nick said.

She ran the lipstick over Buddy's chin, down his neck to his chest. She made two large circles around his nipples, drew an arrow on his belly, pointing downward.

"Now the rest," Nick said.

Buddy felt Andrea's fingers slide beneath the elastic on his underpants, pulling them down.

"Hey, listen," Brenda said. "I mean, this could get heavy. I mean, do you think you should . . ."

"For the last time, shut up, Brenda," Nick said. "I don't want to have to tell you again."

"Well . . ."

"Finish up, Andrea,"
Backman
said.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Buddy shouted. He tried to kick his bonds loose.

Nick said, "Buddy, just be quiet."

"No way! Let me go, Nick!"

"Would you like me to kill the dog in front of you? I'll do it if I have to."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Yes, I would."

Buddy thrashed; he felt Nick's palms clamp on his head once more.

"Make it fast," Nick said.

Andrea pulled Buddy's underpants over his thighs, drew two deft circles on the sides of his buttocks, pulled the underpants back up.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Nick said.

Buddy stopped thrashing. "That's it? You'll let me go?"

Nick turned to look at Brenda, who sat cross-legged on the floor, head in her hands. "Brenda," he said, "we need you now."

"No, I don't think so," she said weakly.

"You're in it all the way, Brenda."

She raised her head, looked at him. "No, Nick. I can't."

Backman
smiled. "You want a little snort first?"

Her face brightened. "Could I?"

"Go get it. Get the rest of the stuff, too."

She got to her feet, ran up the stairs, returned momentarily with a paper shopping bag.

"Cut it on the coffee table," Nick said.

Brenda removed a Baggie from the shopping bag, flaked cocaine from it, cut it into thin lines with a razor, reached back into the bag, produced a tiny cocktail straw.

"You first," Nick said.

Brenda pulled two lines of coke greedily into her nose. She handed the straw to Nick, who passed it to Andrea. Nick cleaned up, snorting what was left, then put everything back into the bag.

"Feel better now, Brenda?" he asked.

She nodded, looked evenly at Buddy. "Sure, Nick. I'm okay."

"Good."

Buddy said, "Nick, let me go."

"Can't do that,
Scalizi
. We took an oath."

"What oath?" Buddy's voice cracked.

Nick said nothing. They heard the dog's desperate scratching behind the tool room door.

Nick reached into the paper shopping bag, drew out a black-handled carving knife with a long, thick, sharp-looking blade. He reached in again, brought out a frayed paperback.

Buddy laughed uneasily. "That book again? This is a joke, right?"

"No joke," Nick said.

Andrea and Brenda positioned themselves to either side of the billiard table, near Buddy's head.
Backman
, holding knife and book, climbed up onto the foot of the table and knelt, moving forward on his knees until he rode Buddy's midsection. He straightened his back, his head nearly touching the Tiffany fixture.

"Sorry,
Scalizi
," he said, "but someone had to be sacrificed."

"What are you doing!" Buddy screamed. He yanked desperately at his bonds, tried to raise his hands off the table.

"Say the words," Nick said, handing the book to Andrea.

Andrea found a marked spot in the paperback. "
Saman
, great Lord of the Dead, take this offering. We honor you this day, all days, and pray you grant us the continuance of life immortal. For in you, death is life."

Backman
brought the knife high until it bumped the Tiffany fixture. Light rocked nightmarishly across Buddy's eyes. He saw Nick
Backman
lower the knife toward his heart—

"
No!
" Buddy screamed.

The knife, tight in
Backman's
clamped hands, froze inches from Buddy's chest. Nick moved his hands aside, dropped the knife, and rolled from the table, laughing helplessly.

Brenda and Andrea collapsed, howling with laughter. "Christ, you are
stupid
,
Scalizi
!"
Backman
howled. "Twice you fall for the same gag. Jesus!"

"Goddammit, Nick!" Buddy wailed. "Goddammit, you scared the shit out of me!"

Backman
couldn't stop laughing. "It was all an act,
Scalizi
."

"But you hit Brenda—"

Brenda rolled onto the floor, giggling.

"Let's show him," Nick said.

Still laughing, Brenda sat up and slapped her thigh as
Backman
pretended to hit her.

"Understand?" Nick said. "A joke. I just couldn't resist seeing how stupid you are."

"And now we know," Andrea said.

Grinning,
Backman
reached out to Andrea, kissed her, put his hand to her bra-covered breast, lowered her to the floor.

"That's right, Buddy," Brenda said, getting up, laughing, approaching the billiard table. She picked up the carving knife, made a grotesque face, held the knife over Buddy. In a deep, falsely solemn voice she said, "You must be sacrificed—"

A large hand slipped over hers. It clamped over the handle of the carving knife, pried it from her fingers. "Let me."

"Hey—" Brenda said. She twisted away, looked with surprise at a tall man with a pale face, dressed in white shirt and suspenders.