Posted by hisdinner on November 28, 2004 at 18:17:11:
Chapter 4
Martin ambled to the kitchen to make coffee around 7 AM. When he woke today, he'd been alone again, third day in a row. Allie would show up as he was sipping coffee at the kitchen table. She'd be all damp and hot from a morning run. So tasty. He loved to make her stand there squirming while he ran his tongue along the crook of her arm. That girl. He grinned, shook his head and dumped ground coffee into the filter.
He was at the sink, filling the carafe with water when he thought he saw her jogging toward the house. He smiled. How did she get the energy? They were up 'til nearly dawn most nights, rolling on that bed. But no, it wasn't her. He squinted into the morning sun. This was some younger girl, and her hair wasn't blond, it was closer to red. And she was running on a course that would take her right past the house. Hm.
Martin stretched and yawned and then he muttered, "Who am I kidding?" and he slipped on his running shoes. He pulled on an old UNR T-shirt and dashed out the back door. The auburn jogger had just cleared the front of the house. She was headed into the country. Past Martin's, no one could build. It was government land. He watched her jogging up the road and then Martin began to follow her on his mountain bike.
April had her headphones on. "You're gonna get what you need. You're gonna get what you need!" Jet was rocking out and April was into it. She sang along, not even breathing hard. She kept her eyes on the mountains in the distance. April was seventeen.
Martin coasted up alongside the girl, slowed, and nodded at her. She lifted her chin in response, two fellow fitness freaks, it was cool. April checked him out as Martin pulled out in front of her. Nice ass, she thought. Gotta be thirty, forty, though. She decided to take a shortcut across the field to Jim's house in the next development. Wake him up, that would be really sexy if his parents weren't around. She cut across the borrow pit and found a little dirt path that went in the right direction. April squinted. Yeah, his house was about two miles from here. She could make it there and then later; Jim could give her a ride home. Maybe they could – She giggled. Yeah, this would be like their third date. That was about the right timing wasn't it?
Martin stopped his bike on a wide curve and looked back. Where was she? He caught sight of little puffs of dust, and then he saw the girl. She'd turned east into a field. Martin shot back down the road on his bike, went flying past the turn-off she'd taken, and skidded into his driveway. His heart was thumping, he was ravenous, and his hunger wouldn't let up and give him a chance to think this through. No car in the drive where he'd left it the night before. No car? He pulled up the garage door. One stall was empty, but the Jeep was there. Ok, he'd sort it out later. Martin's breaths came slower but he was thrumming with adrenaline. He left the driveway, veered south and wheeled around onto the gravel road that bordered the field. There she was, her ponytail swinging as she jogged up a slight rise. She was headed right toward him. So considerate of her.
April slowed as she descended the gravely hill, trying to avoid the loose rocks and not twist an ankle. There was a jeep on the road at the bottom of the hill but no street signs anywhere that she could see. April couldn’t tell if she should go right or left from here. She slowed down to a walk and peered down into the valley. Trees obscured her view. April looked both ways, chose left, and crossed in front of the jeep. Martin hopped out and snagged her wrist and pulled her into him, just like a tango dancer. He felt her hot little body stiffen in his arms. She squawked. He shushed her.
April freaked, she'd heard about these stalkers; she fought against his grip. Martin sighed. Can't mess around out in the open here. He conked her on the back of the head and caught her as she fell. She was in the jeep and they were back inside Martin's garage in less than five minutes. They hadn't passed a soul. Not even Allie. Where was she?
This was really taking a risk, so close to home. What to do. It was hard to think, holding this warm soft body so close to him. Like holding Allie at night, when she kept begging for more. And he'd bite, but then he'd hold back, but just barely. It got harder every time he tasted her, every time he felt the way her flesh wanted to yield to his teeth. She didn't know. Allie had no idea how hard it was for him. So. Redhead for breakfast?
Martin squeezed April's supple arms and let his hands roam over her belly, her breasts, and the tender insides of her thighs. He needed this. But not here. Damn, where was Allie with the car? Martin hopped out of the Jeep and spent the next five minutes pulling the top into place. He tugged the girl onto the floor of the minuscule backseat. A little duct tape, stuff her under a sleeping bag, and she was good to go. Martin went into the house to grab his wallet and the keys to the Jeep. That's when he saw the note. Allie had propped it up against his knife set.
Dear Martin,
Sorry. I just have to go. I promise to call you, ok?
And tell you where I left the car. It's not you, it's me.
Well, maybe it is you, a little bit. Seriously.
Love,
Allie
"Love, Allie?" Martin snorted. Why didn't she just take one of his knives and stab him right through his-- He balled up the note and threw it against the wall. He grabbed the bundle of knives. On his way out, Martin checked his cell phone for messages. Not a one. He clipped the phone to his belt and went out to the Jeep.
He was surprised how much it bothered him. He drove along 80, heading west through Reno. The sun was hitting the jumble of casinos; the dome at the Legacy glowed. Martin was in a foul mood, even with the girl along. Huh. He supposed he'd better do something about her. He was angry at himself for being so impulsive. And so trusting. And for holding back so fucking long. What was wrong with him? Martin took an exit ten miles out and found the disused side road he remembered. It led to an old gravel works, abandoned now.
The storage building, a rusty Quonset, was still standing. He jimmied the lock and carried April in, the down bag wrapped around her. He threw her onto a dusty pallet in the center of the room. She squeaked and writhed. A mouse or a scorpion scuttled for new cover. "Perfect," he said. He had a sudden urge to walk away, just leave her here. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, smoking and staring at the girl. Couldn't do that now. She'd started to come around again. She undulated like a seal, working the goose down bag off. It slipped off her body and fell to the floor. April was all leg, dressed in a sports bra and tiny running shorts. Her gag had come loose and she was whimpering. He'd bound her wrists behind her, and taped her ankles and knees together. She wasn't going anywhere. She turned and looked up at him and screamed. A surprising amount of noise out of such a little thing, he thought.
He tucked the gag back into her mouth. "I can't leave it this way, honey." Martin pulled a knife from his pocket and approached her. She howled and twisted away from him.
He muttered, "Damn."
He stroked her body, tracing her softly defined curves, pressing her hips, feeling her rump and thighs. April tried to speak, she tried to tell him things, anything to let her go, she'd do anything. He could tell what she was saying. Sure. Martin had heard it all before. They tried to make you believe.
He gripped April's ponytail, exposed her neck, and slit her throat. He let her head fall against the splintery wood, and he watched her life drain out between the pallet slats. The floor was packed earth. It would soak up anything, eventually.
"When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."
It was his Aunt Darleen's voice, a blast from the past, complete with the same nerve-grating nasality he had tried to tune out at all those old family get-togethers. Martin walked out into the sunshine and flipped open his cell phone, and hit speed dial.
"Got one for you." Martin listened. "Yeah. An hour or so." He glanced around. Not another living soul in sight. Martin lit another cigarette.
"Want it whole or-- Ok. That's extra. And listen. You need to bring a go box. Right."
"Just off 80, heading west. Meet me at the Chevron just past McCarran Boulevard." He was staring into space, and suddenly he pictured Allie with her feet up on his dashboard, doing her toenails, laughing at his singing voice.
Martin shook his head. "No, a red Jeep Wrangler. Right, about an hour."
He returned to the Quonset hut and spread thick plastic over a cracked countertop. He lifted April's body onto it and went to work. His professionalism took over; it got his mind off Allie for awhile. Just once, when his knife slipped between April's breast and her ribcage, he faltered. He saw Allie's face and heard her saying, "More."
He raised the knife and plunged it deep inside April's chest. He heard a soft sigh from the dead girl. "Damn her," he said.
It was barely noon when he pulled his Jeep into the back lot of the gas station. His Tahoe clients were waiting. They waved him over, and he parked behind their van. They had a large storage box opened, ready to load. The whole transfer took less than five minutes, including counting out the cash. These guys were much more professional than Nigiri's crew.
Martin was on the road, heading home when his cell phone buzzed.
He held it up. Didn't recognize the number. "Yes?" he said.
"It's me." The muscles in Martin's cheek began to jump.
He moved into the right lane and maneuvered through the noontime traffic. The Police were pounding out "Roxanne" on the radio. Martin bashed at the buttons, turning it off.
"Martin?" He eased off the accelerator. Coughed.
"Yes." He sounded hoarse.
"Don't be like this. Okay? Listen—"
"I'm driving. Where are you? Call me back in five minutes." He killed the call and exited into town. He drove into a little Quickstop and parked the jeep. He was breathing hard. He pounded on the steering wheel and waited.
The cell buzzed. "Martin don't hang up. Please."
"Tell me where to pick up the car, Allie." His throat felt tight.
"I drove around. It's—god." Allie's voice cut off.
Martin frowned, leaning over the phone. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"I'm home," she said. "I am such a fuck up, Martin. I couldn't do it."
He sat back, eyes widening. He cleared his throat, shook his head.
"Seriously," he said. He was trying for a lighter tone but it wasn't working.
"Yeah, seriously." Allie paused.
Martin said nothing. Allie bit her lip and spoke in a tiny voice. "Do you still want me?"
Still nothing. Back in the house, Allie wrapped her free arm around her knees. She huddled on the couch. Waited.
"Allie." Martin's voice made her jump a little.
"Yes?" She was coiling and uncoiling a strand of her hair around a finger.
"Don’t leave." Martin felt the case of the cell phone dent under his fingers. He tried to relax his grip.
Allie shook her head and said, "Okay." She listened intently. Nothing. The phone beeped at her. Connection lost. "Okay."
A half hour later, Allie heard the Jeep pull into the garage. She went through the connecting door to meet him.
Martin shut off the Jeep and looked at her. She walked to the Jeep and shrugged. "I just-- You –"
"Shut up," he said. Martin dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her hard.
She felt his teeth against her neck. He pushed her against the car.
"Stop it. No, really," Allie whimpered.
Martin's fingers closed around his favorite knife.
"Couldn't stop it if I tried."