The Bitch by Les Edgerton

Author:Les Edgerton [Edgerton, Les]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Pulp Press
Published: 2014-01-14T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

When we got to Chapman Lake, the first thing I did was go in and check the place out. The way the dice were falling for me, Paris’s folks could have got a burr up their butt and come back from Florida so’s the old man could do some ice-fishing and the old lady could hook up with her bridge club buddies. They’d been known to do such things.

They hadn’t. The place smelled musty, the way lake cottages do when they’re left unoccupied for a few months. We were also in luck. They’d left the heat on, no doubt to keep the pipes from freezing. It was turned down low, to fifty-five, but it only took a second to hit the thermostat, crank it up to seventy-two.

When I got back outside, Walker had my car backed up to the door and my trunk open and was trying to lift the woman out. She wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed.

I felt even sicker.

“How’d you get it open,” I asked.

“You left the keys in the ignition,” he said, grunting as he wrestled her head and shoulders up. “You do that a lot? Surprised somebody ain’t stole your ride.”

I looked left and right, at the cottages on either side. Nobody was stirring. The house on the left was built closer to the lake, so even if someone had been looking out the window they couldn’t have seen us where we were standing nearer the road. The cottage on the right was constructed on the same line with this one, but there were no cars in the drive and the only window that someone could catch a peek at us from was shuttered.

“I already checked,” Walker said, seeing what I was doing. “C’mon. Let’s get this bitch inside.”

He didn’t need to sell me on that idea.

Damn! She was one heavy lady. I grabbed her feet and Walker her shoulders and we lifted her out and I dropped her, surprised at the weight. Quickly, I reached down and got a firmer grip. Going in, Walker wasn’t watching and her head hit the door jamb with a solid thunk.

She moaned. Sweet blessed sound!

“She’s alive!”

“No shit,” Walker said, his words whistling past his lips with exertion.

In a heartbeat, we had her inside and carried her through the kitchen to the living room and dumped her on the floor. I hurried back to the kitchen where I thought I remembered Paris’s mom stored her clothesline. It was where I thought, all neatly coiled up and hanging on a nail just inside a little closet they used for a pantry.

Back in the living room, I had her feet tied in less than a minute. Together, we hoisted her up onto the couch.

“Maybe you ought to tie her to the couch,” Walker suggested.

I thought about it a minute.

“Nah. When we go to sleep, I will. She ain’t going anywhere.”

“Let’s kill her now,” he said. “Be the kind thing to do. She’s out cold, won’t feel a thing.”

“Jesus, Walker! With the killing thing again! Look, once you ice her, there’s no turning back.

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