Funland - By Richard Laymon Page 0,118

our problem too. Now, I’d better go take my bath and get ready, or I’ll be late to Dave’s.”

“How would you like it if I went to Funland in the middle of the night?”

“I wouldn’t, honey. Of course not. And I don’t expect you to like it that I’m going. But I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from you. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No, I guess not.”

“You just have to be brave about this kind of thing. My job gets dangerous sometimes, but I’m a pretty dangerous gal myself.” Smiling, she ruffled Debbie’s hair. “You’d better finish your pizza before it gets cold.” She stood up, took her cap and blanket off the chair, and headed for her room.

From the living-room window, Dave saw Joan’s car stop at the curb. He hurried to the front door and opened it. Joan came up the walkway, a grocery bag in her arms. The last time she’d come to his house, she had also been carrying a grocery bag. Champagne in that bag. He guessed, however, that this one held her troll costume.

He wished it didn’t.

The stuffed bag was a sharp reminder of what lay ahead.

Always something bad ahead of us, he thought. Won’t we ever get a chance to be together without a sword hanging over our heads?

We’ve got hours before we have to go, he told himself. Just try not to think about later on. It doesn’t have to ruin things.

Coming up the walkway, she saw him and smiled.

What if this is it? What if this is our last time with each other?

The thought shook him. He told himself it was ridiculous, but realized he was taking a mental picture of her. To store this moment in his memory.

She looked wonderful. Her hair was golden and glossy in the evening sunlight, and blowing slightly. She wore her short white dress—the one she’d worn Thursday when she came with her “medication” to perk him up. The sleeves were rolled up her forearms. Her bare legs looked tawny and sleek and strong.

“How’s my guy?” she asked, climbing the front stoop.

“Okay, I guess.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

He stepped backward through the doorway. She entered, and he shut the door. She set the bag down. She put her arms around him. They kissed.

Dave held her tightly. He felt her warmth and her strength and her softness. The pressure made his chest wound sting, but he didn’t ease his hold.

I won’t lose her, he told himself. No way.

She patted his rump and took her mouth away, and he felt the smoothness of her cheek against the side of his face. Her hair smelled clean and fresh. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He relaxed his arms and held her gently. “I’m just not overjoyed about our little mission.”

“That’s not for a long time.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Five hours. Five whole hours.”

“And maybe there’ll be a call from the governor.”

“You are in bad shape.” She looked him in the eye. “Did you get the vests?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we’re protected. Barring, of course, the fulfillment of the ‘cursa squirmy death.’”

“Very funny.”

“Very hungry.”

“Is that a hint?”

“I had to watch Debbie eat pizza. You got any pizza? Huh? Do ya, do ya?”

“How about shish kebabs?”

“Even better.”

“And beer,” he said.

“I like beer.”

“Does it make you a jolly good fella?”

“If it makes me a fella,” she said, “we’re both in for a big letdown.”

Her mouth went to his again. As they kissed, her hands slid up and down his sides. He caressed her back, curled his hands over the firm mounds of her buttocks, slipped her dress a little higher. Her panties felt skimpy and silken. He smoothed the fabric against her rump, then moved his hands above the thin elastic band and stroked the sleek bare curves of her lower back, her sides.

Her stomach growled. She laughed softly into his mouth.

“Is that another hint?” he whispered.

“Are you barbecuing the shish kebabs?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is the fire going yet?”

“Not yet.”

She kissed him briefly. “You’d better start that one too.”

Joan eased away from him. Looking into his eyes, she rubbed her wet lips with the back of a hand. She straightened her dress. “We can probably get back to this other thing later,” she said. “Do you think you can remember your place?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll remind you. I’ve got a memory like an elephant.”

“And an appetite to match.”

They went into the kitchen. Dave took cans of beer from the refrigerator, popped them open, and gave one to Joan. She followed him outside through the

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