The Glory Bus Read online

  Right. That’s what they all think.

  Pamela had no confidence that she could live through this. But she knew that she would try. She would be patient and wait for just the right time to save herself. And so she sat motionless, head down, eyes shut, cuffed hands resting on her lap. For a long time, Rodney drove along in silence. Maybe he thought she was sleeping. Maybe he was preoccupied with plans or fantasies.

  When he finally started to talk, the words came out in a heavy rush that seemed to have no end.

  ‘You were it. Do you know what I mean? There was never anyone else, not for me.’

  Then he fell silent, and she wondered: When he stops the car – what’s he going to do to me?

  Chapter Two

  ‘Now that I’ve got you, the rest is gonna stop. I mean, why would I want them when I’ve got you? You’re all I ever wanted.’ Rodney turned his head and smiled at Pamela.

  She turned her face away from him. She stared out the window. All she could see beyond the edge of the road was desert. Not a desert of sand, but of hard gray ground that looked like a mixture of dry mud and gravel. She knew the brush was mesquite. The stubby trees were yuccas. Some of the cacti were prickly pear, cholla, and saguaro. The saguaros looked like giant men with their arms raised in surrender. But she didn’t see any men out there. The only animals in sight were a few hawks or buzzards floating across the sky on outstretched wings. Except for the road, the area seemed to be a wasteland. There was bound to be civilization ahead, though. At the very least, a service station. Rodney hadn’t stopped for gas yet, so he would have to get a fill-up soon.

  I’ll make my break when he stops for gas, Pamela thought. She wondered if he had a gun. He might’ve taken Jim’s pistol out of the drawer. He might’ve had a gun of his own, last night, when he broke into the house.

  For all she knew, he might be armed to the teeth.

  She hadn’t seen any guns on him, but that didn’t mean much. The little .380 could fit in a pocket of his pants.

  I don’t want anybody getting killed. But I can’t let him take me to his hideout, she told herself. Have to make my getaway before that. What if his next stop is the hideout? Maybe he found a place that he could reach on a single tank of gas. Or maybe he has a couple of jerry cans stowed in his trunk.

  Pamela suddenly found herself peering past Rodney at the gas gauge. The red needle pointed to E. She felt a lurch of fear. Take it easy, she told herself. My angle makes it look worse than it is. It’s not really on empty yet. We’ve probably got twenty or thirty miles to go. We could be in a city by then. And if we do run out of gas here in the middle of nowhere it might give me a chance to get away.

  ‘Am I going too fast for you?’ Rodney asked.

  Apparently he thought that she was staring at the speedometer. ‘I’m worried about the gas,’ she said.

  ‘We’re fine.’

  ‘Will there be a gas station pretty soon?’

  ‘Nope. Nothing between us and home.’

  Home. Coming from him, the word made her feel sick. ‘Will we have enough gas to reach it?’ she asked. ‘Our home?’

  ‘Sure. We oughta be coming up on the turn-off in another fifteen miles, and then it’s only twelve to go.’

  ‘That’s almost thirty miles.’

  ‘Twenty-seven.’ Rodney looked at her and raised his upper lip. ‘We might have to go the last bit on fumes. Maybe even on foot. It won’t matter, though, long as we make it to the turn-off. We can always walk from there, if we have to. Nobody’ll come along and bother us. It’s just an old dirt road that doesn’t go anywhere. It goes to our house, and noplace else.’

  ‘What about a gas station?’ Pamela asked.

  ‘We don’t need one, like I told you.’

  ‘I do. I have to use a restroom.’

  Rodney looked very interested. ‘Number one or number two?’

  ‘Number one.’

  ‘Ahhh. You don’t need a restroom for that.’

  ‘Where am I supposed to go?’

  ‘Anywhere you like. Except the car.’

  ‘Then you’d better pull over.’

  ‘Wait till we get to the dirt road.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Sure you can.’

  ‘I’m telling you. I have to go now.’ She saw him glance at the rearview mirror. Apparently the road behind them was as empty as the road ahead. Rodney stepped on the brakes. As his car slowed down, he steered to the right. The tires bumped down off the pavement. The ride became bumpy, and the tires made crunching sounds on the rough surface of the shoulder.

  After a few seconds, the car stopped.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Rodney said. He shut off the engine, pulled out the ignition key, and swung his door open. Hot, dry air swept into the car. He climbed out. His door thunked shut. Pamela watched him walk toward the front of the car.

  In spite of the heat, she felt loose and shivery inside.

  I’d better just pee and let it go at that, she told herself. I don’t have to do anything crazy.

  If I don’t do something crazy, he’ll have me. He’ll get me to his place and that’ll be it.

  As Rodney walked past the front of the car, he watched Pamela through the windshield. He had an eagerness in his tiny pig eyes. Sweat glistened on his nose.

  He’s planning to watch.

  He turned and came toward her door. Reaching into the left front pocket of his pants, he pulled out a small black pistol. The Sig-Sauer. He’d taken it, after all. He opened the passenger door.

  ‘What’re you gonna do, shoot me?’

  ‘That’ll be up to you.’

  ‘I won’t try anything.’

  ‘Hope not.’

  ‘Will you take the cuffs off?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘You must think I’m pretty stupid.’

  ‘What are you scared of? What could I possibly do to you? My God, you’re twice my size. And you’ve got the gun. So just take the cuffs off me, okay?’

  ‘No-kay. Come on, out.’

  Pamela scooted to the edge of her seat. Rodney was staring at her legs. Keeping them together, she turned sideways and swung them out the doorway. She used her cuffed hands to stop her skirt from climbing too high when she squirmed forward.

  Rodney laughed. ‘Who you trying to hide it from?’

  Ignoring him, she stretched her legs down. She couldn’t quite touch the ground, so she scooted off and dropped the rest of the way. The ground felt rough and hot under her bare feet. She stood up straight in the V of the open door.

  The heat of the desert sun was so great that Pamela felt as if she were standing in the midst of a fire – a blaze that seemed only moments away from igniting the hair on her head, the shoulders of her sweater. Her body suddenly ran with dribbles and trickles of sweat as if her skin were melting.

  ‘My God,’ she muttered.

  ‘Soon as you’re done with business,’ Rodney said, ‘we’ll climb back into the car and be on our merry way. In air-conditioned comfort, such as it is.’

  ‘Better than this.’

  ‘You’re the one who wants to pee.’

  She hobbled clear of the open door. Rodney threw it shut. Squinting against the afternoon brightness, she looked for a place beyond the roadside where she might have some privacy.

  None of the nearby cactus plants were high enough. There was a good-sized organ-pipe cactus, but it was at least a hundred feet away. She’d destroy her feet, going that far.

  This isn’t about peeing, she reminded herself. It’s about escaping. If I can get to that organ pipe, I’ll have that much of a head start.

  Unless he comes with me.

  She squinted at Rodney. He was grinning at her, enjoying her discomfort. ‘Could I borrow your shoes?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you want shoes for?’

  ‘So I don’t kill my feet. I want to go over there.’ Pamela pointed at the cactus. It was tall and green. It looked like a saguaro,
but it had no arms.

  ‘What do you wanta go over there for?’

  ‘To relieve myself.’

  ‘Forget it. Do it here.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘No. Somebody might come along.’

  ‘Think so?’

  She swiveled her head from side to side. Nothing was approaching from either direction. But the highway had dips and bends. ‘What if I start to go, and a car comes?’

  ‘Isn’t gonna happen. And so what if it does? They get a free peek, so what? If they stop and try to mess with us, I’ll blow their heads off.’

  Facing him, Pamela stiffened her back. ‘I’m not going to do it here. Just let me go over to that cactus. I can get behind it and nobody’ll be able to see what I’m doing.’

  ‘What a kick. You care? After last night?’

  ‘Yeah, I care.’

  ‘Okay, okay. What the hell, why not? Anything for my honey.’

  ‘How about shoes?’

  He coughed out a laugh. ‘Anything but that.’

  ‘Just let me borrow your shoes for two minutes, okay?’

  ‘What am I supposed to wear?’

  ‘You can sit in the car.’

  ‘What’s this, Fantasy Land? I’m going with you.’

  Of course he is, she thought. What did you think, he’d give up his chance to watch?

  ‘Go on,’ Rodney said. ‘I’m right behind you.’

  Pamela started walking toward the cactus. She moved slowly, picking her way with care to avoid stepping on any of the shiny bits of broken glass that littered the roadside, then keeping her distance from the prickly pears and cholla. In spite of her care, bits of rock jabbed the bottoms of her feet. She winced when they stabbed her. She kept her teeth gritted. Sometimes, the scorching heat of the ground made her hiss. But she kept on walking all the way to the organ-pipe cactus.

  She stepped behind it.

  Rodney halted beside her. ‘Did you notice?’ he asked. ‘Nothing came by.’

  ‘Really,’ she muttered. She didn’t care.

  ‘Could’ve saved yourself all that hurt.’

  Pamela looked back at the road. It still appeared to be empty in both directions. The only car was Rodney’s. It sat there, hunched in the sunlight, like some species of metal beast. A beast with a foul, rancid soul. Just biding its time, waiting for them to come back so that it could bear them away to Rodney’s den.

  I’m not getting back in.

  ‘Come on and do it,’ Rodney said.

  ‘Not with you watching.’

  His lip slid up. ‘Get outta here. You forgetting about last night? I saw all your iddy-biddy bits and pieces.’

  ‘That was last night, this is today.’

  ‘Lift your skirt and squat, honey.’

  Squinting into his eyes, she slowly shook her head from side to side.

  Rodney laughed softly. Then he pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the bridge of her nose. The feel of it made her eyes ache as if she had crossed them.

  ‘Do you want to die?’ he whispered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want me to hurt you so bad that you’ll wish you were dead?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ Rodney took two steps backward. Keeping the pistol aimed at her face, he sank to a crouch. ‘How about doing me a cheer?’ he said.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘I was gonna wait till we got home, but I wanta see you do one now.’

  ‘A cheer?’

  ‘A good one. Pretend it’s a night game at good old Jackson High, it’s fourth down and goal to go, and our guys just gotta make it.’

  ‘My feet.’

  ‘You’re the one who had to make us stop. You’re the one who had to walk all the way out here barefoot so you could have the privacy of a cactus. You wreck up your feet, whose fault is it?’

  ‘I can’t do a cheer with my hands cuffed.’

  ‘Sure you can.’

  ‘Not a good one. You want me to jump, don’t you? You want me to make my skirt and sweater fly up. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Well, I can’t really make them fly unless my arms are free.’

  Rodney’s tiny eyes stared at her. ‘The only problem,’ he said, ‘is you’ll try to run away if I take off the cuffs.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘Yes, you will. I’m not an idiot. Do I look like an idiot?’

  ‘Where would I run to? We’re out in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘You might run to the car.’

  ‘You’ve got the gun.’

  ‘That’s very true.’ His eyes narrowed to pink slits. ‘Have you ever been shot?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It hurts. If you make me shoot you, it’ll hurt a lot. Because I won’t kill you. I’m not going to ruin it all and kill you, no matter what you do. But I’ll shoot you just enough to stop you so you can’t get away. And it’ll hurt. And that’ll only be the start of the pain for you, because I don’t like traitors.’

  ‘I won’t try to get away,’ Pamela said. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Better not.’

  She raised her outstretched arms.

  Rodney stood up. He switched the pistol to his left hand. With his right, he dug into the front pocket of his pants. He came up with the leather key-case that had been swaying under the ignition during the trip. One-handed, he flipped it open, shook the keys free and took hold of the one he wanted.

  Pamela stood motionless while he unlocked the cuffs and removed them. He slipped the cuffs and key-case into his pocket as he stepped backward again. Then he crouched and nodded up at her.

  ‘Ready,’ he said.

  She nodded. She took a deep breath. She stood at attention. Then she clapped her hands four times. Smack, smack, smack, smack. With each clap, she took a big step backward. After the fourth, she halted. Legs together, shoulders back, chin up. She tried to make herself smile. And her eyes filled with tears as she suddenly thought about Maui. She had run through most of her best cheerleader routines for Jim during their honeymoon there. They’d had a picnic lunch – and a couple of beers – on a hidden beach they’d discovered along the road to Hana. Afterward, they’d taken a stroll along the beach. She’d done a few cartwheels on the sand and Jim’s enthusiasm had prompted her to give him a major show. Her only audience had been Jim. Halfway through, she’d taken off her bikini. Jim had looked stunned, ecstatic, watching her prance about naked – leaping, kicking high, twirling, doing handsprings and flips. At the end of her performance she’d thrown her arms around him, exhausted and gasping. While she hung on him, he’d pulled down his trunks. Then he’d clutched the backs of her thighs, lifted her, and lowered her slowly, going up into her high and deep.

  Pamela sniffed. With the sleeves of her sweater, she wiped the tears from her eyes.

  ‘What’cha waiting for, crybaby?’ Rodney said. ‘Let’s go.’ He clapped four times.

  Smack, smack, smack, smack.

  ‘We got pep!’ Pamela shouted. She kicked her right leg high and clapped. ‘We got steam!’ She kicked up her other leg and clapped. ‘We are the boys on the Jackson team!’

  She leaped, throwing her hands overhead and flinging her legs out high to the sides. The jump tossed her skirt up and slid the sweater up her midriff.

  That’s the way. Give him what he wants.

  She landed with a harder jolt than she expected.

  Rodney, squatting close to the ground, looked sweaty and a little stunned – as if he had trouble believing his luck. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he applauded.

  ‘Go, Pam, go!’ he called. ‘Let’s have another one!’

  Pamela shot her fists into the air and shouted, ‘Our team is red hot!’

  ‘Yeah!’

  She twirled, making her skirt rise high as she shouted again, ‘Our team is red hot!’ She halted, facing Rodney. Clapping hard and stomping her feet, she yelled, ‘’Cause we got killer instinct – and they do not!’ She ran at Rodney, yelling one
long ‘Yaaaaaay!’ as she dived into a handspring, did another one and another, her skirt and sweater flying up and down to let Rodney see more than he had ever seen at any football game, letting him see it all as she kept on yelling ‘Yaaaaaay!’ and flipped her way closer to him. Landing just in front of him, feet together, she cried out ‘Team!’ She clapped once more, then shot both fists into the air and kicked with her right leg.

  The kick was meant for Rodney’s face. He gasped. Flinched backward.

  Chapter Three

  Pamela watched her bare foot flash up past Rodney’s face, and knew she’d missed.

  Oh, God! I blew it!

  Her leg kept rising.

  I’ll be high-kicking when he shoots me.

  But Rodney wasn’t shooting, not yet. He was tumbling backward, arms flung out, the gun pointing off to the side. As his back hit the ground, Pamela reached the top of her kick.

  She brought her leg down, lunging forward at the last moment to stomp Rodney’s knee.

  He cried out.

  She dropped with both knees onto his belly. It was big and soft. A hog belly full of meat and cheese fried in grease. Her knees sank in halfway to the ground. Rodney’s eyes bulged. Air exploded from his mouth and nose, blasting out spittle and snot.

  His left hand came up, clutched the sleeve of her sweater.

  His right hand started to raise the pistol.

  Pamela dropped straight forward. The sweater in Rodney’s grip stretched and pulled away from her shoulder but couldn’t stop her falling. She fell onto him, her belly on his face. He pressed the pistol against her ear.

  She grabbed his wrist and forced his hand away. He didn’t seem to have much energy. The smell of fried food belched from his mouth.

  He writhed beneath her. His face felt like a soccer ball under her belly. A soccer ball with a hard, jutting chin – with breath that seeped through her sweater and felt like hot water against her skin. That smell of grease would contaminate the material. Stay there. Maybe even saturate her skin.

  She wondered if she could smother him this way. Just stay on his face till he dies.

  It would be a good way to get him – suffocate him with the very body that had been his obsession, the body that he’d killed Jim for, the body that he intended to use and hurt and soil so badly.