One Night Stands & Lost weekends - By Lawrence Block Page 0,15
of Benny Dix.
They entered the park and stopped. They were just steps from him now, just steps from him and the knife and the murder. It was time now. He knew this, but he couldn’t force himself to move for a moment, as if he were made of wood.
Now.
He stepped out from behind the tree and closed the gap between them in three quick strides, impatient to get it all over with as quickly as possible. Moe looked up and saw him, and he saw the total surprise in his eyes and the excitement and joy in Rita’s. Then the expression in Moe’s eyes changed to fear when he saw the knife, and he started to move but he couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t dodge the knife that was coming up toward his soft belly, couldn’t even scream when the knife went in and up into him, could only clutch at his gut as he fell back and crumpled to the pavement.
Rita came to him and stood next to him, and his arm went around her while she looked down at the body that a few minutes ago had been Moe. She was breathing hard now, hot and excited, staring as if she were hypnotized at the pool of blood below her. The blood looked almost purple in the light of the moon.
They stood in their tracks for several moments without either of them moving or saying a word. He felt torn in half, sick at the realization that Moe was dead and he had killed him, and hungry for Rita and knowing that he was going to get her now, that the loneliness and emptiness were over from here on in. She had the proof she wanted.
“Come on,” she said at last. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where to?”
“My pad. The folks are away for the weekend and nobody’s going to bother us. You think you’ll like that, Benny?”
“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse and tight.
She slipped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze as they started walking swiftly out of the park. “I think you will, too,” she said. “I think we’ll both have a good time.”
“Give me the knife,” she said. “I’ll wash it up so nobody can prove anything, okay?” She took the knife and walked off into the bathroom, and he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed to wait for her. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time—wanting something so much that it was an ache instead of an ordinary hunger, and at the same time knowing that now he was going to get what he wanted, that she was in the next room and soon she would be in the same room with him, lying down on the bed beside him, and then he would have her.
Moe was dead. He killed Moe, but nobody was going to suspect him and no cops were going to prove anything even if they did figure it all out. Moe was dead in the park and he was in Rita’s bed waiting for her, and even if killing was a bad thing there was nothing to do about it. It was all over—besides, it had to happen just the way it happened. He couldn’t help it, not at all.
She was running water in the bathroom, washing the knife. Smart girl, he thought. The chick would figure all the angles. If the cops made noises, she could tell how the two of them were together all the time. It was clear.
She came back holding the knife in her hand and set it down on the little brown table at the head of the bed. “It’s clean,” she explained. “I’m leaving it open for now so it’ll dry out, but there’s no sweat now. Nobody saw a thing.”
He nodded, and she sat down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. “You did it,” she said. “You proved it to me, Benny. I knew you’d have the guts, and I knew you wanted me bad enough. That was the important part.”
He didn’t answer. She leaned back on the bed, resting her head on the pillow beside his. He could smell her perfume and the fragrance of her hair and he wanted to reach for her and take her right away without waiting for anything. He’d been with chicks before, but never one like Rita, never one who was made for this sort of thing, one that oozed sex with every step she took.