Blackburn closed the front door and walked through the living room and kitchen to the bedroom door. It was closed. He had left it open, so Dolores must be up. Led Zeppelin was getting louder. Blackburn hesitated, wondering if Dolores might be dancing to the music. He could picture her spinning naked atop the bed. He was afraid that he might embarrass her if he just walked in.
Led Zeppelin faded into Bachman-Turner Overdrive's "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet," and Blackburn heard a final "Ah-a-aaah, Ah!" It was louder than the radio. It was the voice of a man.
Blackburn's heart twisted. The only word in his head was rape.
Then he was in the bedroom. The glass vase lay in shards on the hardwood floor at the foot of the bed. The roses and water were spread out in the shape of a fan. The J.C. Penney package was crushed in the crook of his left arm. Its blue wrapping paper was ripped. The white bow dangled.
On the bed, a naked man with a hairy back was on top of Dolores. His face was in her crotch. Hers was in his.
Dolores looked up from between the man's buttocks. "Uh-oh," she said.
The word rape left Blackburn's head. Then he wanted it back. Then he felt evil for wanting it back. Then that went away too. Everything that he had become in the past four months went away with it. He heard the hiss.
He dropped the package and went to the clock radio to turn it off. Bachman-Turner Overdrive stopped in midstutter. Blackburn was standing at the head of the bed now, looking down at Dolores. Her hair was tangled and damp. Her lips were puffy. The naked man had rolled away and was crouching on the floor on the other side of the bed. Blackburn gave him a glance, then looked back at Dolores.
"Hello," he said. He blinked. His eyes were stinging. That wouldn't do. He made them stop. "I brought flowers."
"Thank you," Dolores whispered.
He looked at the rest of her body. The bikini patches glared. She looked ridiculous in her naked non-nudity.
Blackburn returned to the foot of the bed and squatted to pick up the roses. The naked man's feet appeared among them, and then Blackburn saw that the naked man's clothes were there too. The naked man stooped to collect them, his body bending so that his cock vanished under his belly. Blackburn looked up at the naked man's eyes and tried to see into his brain.
"Look," the naked man said. He was wringing out his briefs. "I never took nothing I never paid for."
Blackburn finished gathering the flowers and stood up. Dolores was sitting against the headboard now. She had pulled the sheet up to her throat.
"Money's so tight, Ed," she said. "It doesn't mean anything. I was just trying to make things easier."
"So tight," Blackburn said. He turned back to the naked man. "See my boots, naked man?"
The naked man had dropped his wet briefs and was starting to pull on his pants. "What about them?" he asked.
"I think you bought them for me," Blackburn said.
The naked man had one hand on the waistband of his pants. He straightened a little, and the pants came up partway. He smiled.
"Hope you like them," he said.
Blackburn nodded. Then he took a step and kicked. The pointed toe of his right cowboy boot caught the naked man under the balls and drove upward. The naked man's back arched, and his mouth opened. Blackburn stepped away. The naked man crumpled. He hit the floor and lay curled in the water and broken glass. He made a gurgling noise.
Blackburn returned to the head of the bed. He held the roses in a clump in his left hand. "I brought you some flowers," he said again.
Dolores said nothing. Part of the sheet was crammed into her mouth.
"They're sweetheart roses," Blackburn said. "There aren't many thorns. Here." He selected a rose and held it out to her. The tight petals brushed her cheek.
Dolores's right hand came up from the sheet. She took the stem between her thumb and fingers.
"Would you like to smell it?" Blackburn asked.
Dolores nodded.
"Put it up your nose," Blackburn said.
By the time he gave Dolores the last rose, the bedroom smelled like the flower shop. The naked man was throwing up. Dolores was convulsed in a fit of sneezing.
Blackburn went to the closet and took down all of Dolores's clothes. He threw them on top of the naked man, who was trying to crawl out of the room. The clothes slowed him down. Blackburn shut the door to stop him. Then he turned toward Dolores again.
Dolores was on her knees on the bed. Her eyes were wet. "Eddie, I love you," she said. "I really-" A sneeze cut off her last word.
Blackburn wanted to kill her. The Python would be the best way. It was in the Rambler, wrapped in rags under the back seat. It would be an effort to go out and remove the seat, retrieve the pistol, and bring it back. But he could be fast. His life before Dolores had taught him to be fast. He wouldn't even have to tie her up first. He could put one behind her ear before she could get away.
Her sweet, perfect-for-tonguing ear.
He wanted to kill her.
He wanted to make love to her.
He wanted to kill her.
Dolores had betrayed him. She had treated him as one human being should never treat another. She had violated his rules in the most severe way possible. It was as simple as simple could be.
One behind her ear.
Blackburn started for the door. The pile of clothes with the naked man under it was in his way. He stopped. Then he turned back and crawled onto the bed. He crawled up until his nose was a millimeter from Dolores's nose. Her eyes converged. She turned away. He gave her one kiss behind her ear.
Then he dragged her to the closet and bound her ankles to the clothes rod with the belt from the leather jacket, which he didn't think was borrowed after all. Her head just touched the floor. She began yelling for help, so he opened the box from J.C. Penney and took out the sweater. He used its belt to gag her, then wrapped the sweater around her head. He put his hands against the sweater and felt her breath. She would be all right. He straightened, stepped back, and closed the closet door. He would not be using the Python today.
No matter what she had done, no matter what his rules, Dolores was his wife. And a good husband did not put a bullet into his wife's brain. He had already done too much as it was. He was already too much like his father.
Blackburn stuffed a few things into his duffel bag, then kicked the pile of clothes off the naked man and helped him to his feet. The naked man was bleeding where the glass had cut him. He had trouble standing upright. His hands clutched his cock and balls. His eyes were wide and white.
"Come on," Blackburn said. He slung his duffel over his shoulder and pulled the naked man toward the door.
"I gotta," the naked man gasped, "get my clothes."
"You won't need them."
"People will see me." The naked man was hairy and had a gut. His legs were skinny below the knees. He didn't look good in the nude.
"No, they won't," Blackburn said. "You're riding in the trunk."
When Blackburn opened the trunk on the Golden Gate Bridge, the naked man was screaming "You're going to kill me! You're going to kill me!"
"Am not," Blackburn said. He pulled the naked man from the trunk. The Rambler was parked next to the guard rail.
The naked man hopped from one foot to the other, his stomach jiggling. The bridge had gathered solar energy and was hot.
"So you're not going to kill me?" the naked man asked.
"No," Blackburn said. "You'll have to blame that on the fall."
The naked man stopped hopping. "Huh?"