“Yep.”
“Why don’t we go inside and get cleaned up? I’ll have to unhook us from the tanks, but that oughta be the last thing before we take off. Do you have any clean clothes to wear? I’ve got some in the trailer, but they’d probably be a tight fit on you.”
“Da trunk,” Lib said, and filled her mouth again.
Sandy went to the driver’s door of the car. Leaning in, she shut off the lights and engine, then pulled out the ignition key. She hurried to the trunk.
While she unlocked it, Lib sloshed bourbon.
Sandy raised the lid. Inside the trunk, she saw only darkness.
She heard Lib gulping.
Then Lib said, “Just reach on in.”
She reached into the trunk. She wasn’t sure what she expected to touch—suitcases, maybe. Instead of luggage, however, her hands met soft piles of fabric.
“Just grab me out sometin’,” Lib said. “Help yerselp, too. Ya look like ya might be a little low in da duds department.”
“Thanks. I’ve got stuff to wear, but I’d have to track through a lot of blood to get to them.”
“Take whatcha want.”
Sandy lifted garments out of the trunk and held them high so she could see them in the moonlight. She put back a couple of dresses, a sport jacket, a pair of slacks, and an evening gown before settling on a two tops that appeared to be shirts or blouses.
“These okay?” she asked.
“Sure. Whatebber.”
Sandy shut the trunk. “Let’s go inside and clean up before we put them on.”
Lib nodded, then filled her mouth again.
Sandy led the way. As she climbed the stairs, she warned, “Watch out you don’t fall on the way up. This thing’s kind of shaky.”
At the top, she entered the trailer.
And saw what she was carrying. The twin, short-sleeved blouses looked as if they were made of red silk. They gleamed in the lamp-light. They looked enormous. Stitched in swirling gold letters on the back of each were the words, Blazing Babes.
Lib stepped into the trailer.
Sandy turned around to face her. “Blazing Babes?”
Lib grinned. Though her puffy lips were shut, some bourbon dribbled out. She shrugged. She swallowed. After wiping off her lips and chin, she said, “Me and Bill, we piggered it was maybe like a girl’s soccer team or bowlin’ team or sometin’.”
“They aren’t yours?”
“Sure dey are. Didn’t used to be, but dey are now.”
“They’re stolen?”
“Hey, sugar, damn near everyting I got’s stolen. I’m a teep. Been a teep all my lipe. Dat okay?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to steal from me?”
“No! What kinda lowlipe you tink I am? Yer my pard, aren’t ya?”
“I guess so. But if we’re going to travel together, you’ve gotta promise not to get us into trouble. I mean, we’ve both killed guys tonight. We need to disappear quietly. We can’t go around stealing things.”
“Sure. I get it.”
“No more crimes.”
“Whatebber.” She raised her eyebrows. “So, pretty nipty blouses, huh?”
Sandy smirked. “Real nifty. Let’s wash up and get them on. This way.” She led Lib to the bathroom and turned on its light.
“You cart go ahead and use this. I’ll get cleaned up in the kitchen.”
She draped one of the red blouses on a hook just inside the doorway for Lib, then stepped out into the hall.
“Be done in a jip,” Lib said. She raised the bottle toward Sandy. “How ‘bout a sip?”
“No thanks.”
“Last call.”
“You go ahead and finish it.”
“Know what you are? A princess, dat’s what. A real puckin’ princess.”
Sandy laughed and shook her head. “‘That’s me,” she said, then stepped away from the bathroom door. As she headed for her kitchen area, the shower started to run.
She tossed the other Blazing Babes blouse onto the kitchen counter, stepped to the sink and turned on the hot water. She took a clean dishwashing cloth out of the drawer.
Without a mirror, she couldn’t see how her face looked.
She assumed it must be a mess, though. Because, looking down, she could see her shoulders and arms and breasts and belly: they were filthy and scratched and even smeared with blood, here and there. Her shorts were dirty in front. Her legs had taken the same kind of punishment as her torso.
I probably need a shower worse than Lib does.
“What she needs,” Sandy whispered, “is a puckin’ dentist.”
Laughing softly, she soaked her cloth with hot water. Then she bent over the sink and started to wash her face.
She supposed she ought to use soap.
Soap seemed like too much bother.
This’ll be fine.
The hot, sodden rag felt very good on her face. Water spilled down her neck and chest. She leaned against the edge of the sink, hoping to keep her shorts from getting wet. But when she started mopping her breasts, so much water sluiced down her belly that she knew it was hopeless. She tried to stop some of it with the rag. Too much got by, so she tucked the rag under her chin, took a step backward and reached for her belt, figuring to get out of the shorts before they became completely drenched.
Should’ve taken them off in the first...
Someone screamed.
Sandy’s heart slammed. Her hands jumped away from her belt.
She whirled around and ran for the bathroom, the dish cloth sliding down from under her chin, clinging to her chest, falling down between her breasts.
She shoved a hand into the right front pocket of her shorts.
She pulled out the small revolver from Slade’s glove compartment.
And wondered if it was loaded.
Sure it is. Has to be.
And it had to be Lib screaming. Who else could it be?
But why? .
Slade on the move, not really dead?
Nobody in the hallway.
Through the roaring in her own head, Sandy realized that the scream had stopped.
She lurched to a halt at the bathroom’s open door.
The wet cloth unpeeled itself from her belly, tumbled, brushed her left thigh and fell to the floor.
The shower curtain was shut. She couldn’t see through it. So she raced across the floor and threw it wide open.
Lib was standing in the shower stall, feet wide apart, knees bent, clutching Eric with both hands as if she’d braced herself and caught him in mid-leap.
She was breathing hard.
Water still sprayed from the shower nozzle.
Lib’s naked body was smudged with bruises. Bruises the size of a fist. The size of an open hand. The size of a knee. Others the size of a bite, a pinch. Brown ones, purple ones, green ones, yellow ones.
She’d been beaten up plenty, over a long period of time.
Tonight must’ve been once too often.
Eyes fixed on Eric, she didn’t look at Sandy.
After a while, she drew Eric in against her chest. As she cradled him, her eyes met Sandy’s. “What is he?” she asked, her voice soft.
“My kld.”
“Yer pet?”
“My baby. I’m his mother.”
“No poolin’?”
“No fooling.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Shaking her head, Lib gently stroked Eric’s back. “Sorry. I screamed like dat. Da little shit scampered in, ya know, and scared da hell outa me.”
Nodding, Sandy lowered the revolver. “Don’t call him a little shit,” she said.
“What’s his name?”
“Eric.”
“Hiya, Eric. I’m Lib. Dat’s short for Libby.” To Sandy, she said, “Can he talk?”
“No.”
“He’s sure an ugly little pucker. What’d his dad look like?”
The same as him. And he isn’t ugly.”