by Joe R. Lansdale
Cars had whizzed by him all day, but none had stopped, all had ignored the hitchhike gesture of his thumb.
On the edge of the town, Jackson paused at the city limit sign, leaned against it. He was feeling the long walk. He shifted his pack a little. Catching a ride these days was harder and harder. No one wanted to stop for a stranger. Especially now that it was night and the moon was thin.
Not stopping for strangers was good thinking on their part. If they stopped, he was going to rob them. He didn’t have any real wish to kill them. He wasn’t a serial killer. He had the numbers to identify as one, but all of his murders were for a financial reason, not to satisfy some kind of need beyond commerce, some kind of sexual deviancy, though he was not averse to taking advantage of certain situations.
His job was simple. Stealing enough to live through the day, until he got the big score. He was uncertain what the big score was, but felt he would know it when he saw it, and to get to the big score, sometimes, on the subject of murder, you had to be flexible.
Jackson had the kind of face that was hard to remember. Still, spend too much time with someone, women especially, and they seemed too inquisitive, looked you over like they were picking a lobster for lunch. They’d probably remember too much. The little dark mole above his right eye, the cut on the left side of his lip that had left a white scar. His mother had a good throwing arm.
You had to judge murder on a case-by-case basis, though lately, his judgment had mostly led to homicide. In the end, it was more certain. Take no chances. Leave no witnesses. Keep going until he figured out the big score, and then once he had it, he’d stop robbing and killing. It wasn’t that he felt any moral conundrum about it, but after a while, you had to figure the odds. You could only throw good dice for so long, and eventually it would have to be snake eyes. So quitting was on the agenda. He thought he might even get married, settle down. Provided he had that big score. Something to live on for the rest of his life. Diamonds maybe. Gold bullion. Jackson had a lot of dreams.
He looked out at the lights of the town. The town that said on its sign that its population was twelve hundred and six. At least one of that number, maybe more, were going to wake up tomorrow minus some goods. If he could do it without confrontation, steal something and get out. If he was confronted, well then, they may not wake up in the morning, and someone would need to subtract some numbers from that sign.
Jackson shifted the pack again, and started walking toward the lights.
By the time Jackson reached town, many of the lights that belonged to houses were out. Most of the town’s occupants had tucked in for the night. There were some town lights, spotted here and there. The place wasn’t exactly the Great White Way.
He watched for cop cars, didn’t see any. When he reached the heart of town, he stuck to the shadows, alleys behind buildings. Some cop saw him, he might be spending the night in jail for vagrancy, or some such. Thing to do was hole up a while, wait until it was late, then pick a house that looked rich enough to have money, jewels, something he could steal and carry out effortlessly. Later, when he made it to a city, he could locate a fence for what he had stolen.
Jackson found a place behind a dumpster, next to a curb. He removed his pack, sat on the curb in the shadow of the dumpster, took a granola bar out of his pack and slowly munched on it.
There were lights beyond the alley, and they were soft and golden, belonged to Main Street, or whatever it was called; the street that ran through the center of town. After he finished his granola bar, he eased out from behind the dumpster, sat where there was a better view of the street. He could only see a portion of it, the part that ran by a theater. It was letting out, and he watched people ease outside, laughing, talking.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been to the movies. The happiness he saw amongst the crowd irritated him. Ten minutes later he was still sitting in the shadows. The theater had completely emptied out. The marquee lights were on, but the lights that had glowed through the glass doors, revealing the concession stand and a cardboard cutout for a forthcoming movie, were dimmed.
After a few minutes, a young woman came walking down the street. Jackson liked the way she looked, way she walked, way her dress swung around her legs, way her heels clicked on concrete.
A long black car with a man driving, a woman in the passenger seat, slowed next to her and stopped. The passenger window went down, and Jackson heard the woman in the car offer the young woman a ride, but she declined.
The woman walked faster, and then she was out of sight behind a building. After a few seconds, the car turned and went along the street next to the dumpster.
Jackson stepped back behind the dumpster and watched it pass, rolling slowly up the street and out of sight.
He needed to wait a while longer. To be certain the town had settled.
Nesting behind the dumpster again, he leaned against a tree that grew up next to the curb and bordered a business building of some sort, closed his eyes and fell asleep. The long day and the long walk had depleted him.
When he awoke, he felt refreshed and eager. He checked his watch in the glow of his penlight.
Two a.m.
He put the penlight away. It was time to locate a house and make his move.
Jackson followed the route of the long black car that had passed him, and then took a turn on a residential street with magnificent houses on either side. The rich section. There were lights in a few of the houses still, and there were streetlights, but overall it was shadowy, and now that there were fewer lights, he could see the partial moon again, a cold scimitar in the sky.
A dog barked. Jackson paused, determined it was a street over and started walking again. He stopped when he saw the black car he had seen earlier. It was parked in a driveway leading to a closed garage. Must be nice to have so many cars you could leave one in the driveway, another, perhaps two, in the garage. Jackson’s guess was the ones in the garage, they would be really nice. The one in the driveway was nice enough, but it was probably the couple’s around-town car. He thought if he got through with his theft, he might hot-wire the car, ride off in that until he got to the next town, better yet a full-blown city to find that fence. He’d be there before the owners woke up. If they did. It depended on how things went. He felt for the knife in his pocket. It was there. It was the sort that he could pull quick, pop open. It was as sharp as a comedian’s wit.
The car, the house and garage were fancy looking. There were trees in the yard, and a big oak grew up beside the house, and next to that a fence bordered the neighbors. On the other side of the house there wasn’t a tree, but there was more fencing, and from where he stood, he could see along the edge of the house and spot more fence at the back.
The house was three stories, and the top story had a balcony. The ground floor had a long porch and an indented entrance, and then a doorway with colored glass in panels about head height. There was a porch light on, but it was a light so thin, you got the feeling it didn’t really mean it.
Jackson tried to catch sight of any kind of camera, or security light that might pop on when he stepped into the yard. If that popped on, he would feel like a nightclub act about to start up. Most likely, no one would notice him. Not this time of night, but the idea of it didn’t appeal to him.
Jackson didn’t see any cameras, but he walked along the sidewalk, and went into the yard through the trees that grew there, paused, decided the oak might be the best way to go. Might be an alarm at the door, but if he climbed the oak, went through the window, he could be inside quiet as a mute mouse in tennis shoes. If it turned out to be a bedroom, he might change his plans. Or, he might change their dreams, wreck their plans for tomorrow.
Still, there might be an easier way. A way he could go inside and then sneak about without ever having awakened them. With just a knife, someone inside might give him some trouble. They might have a gun.
Best plan was in and out with goods in his pack. He’d decide on the car after that.
Easing across the yard, no burglar lights came on. When he came to the oak, he considered, then went around it, slipped behind the house, and worked his way to the other side, where the garage was. There was a window there, and he leaned forward and looked in. The garage was the size of some houses he had lived in. He could see the shape of two cars and, though he couldn’t tell what make and model, their sizes were impressive.
Jack slipped off his pack, pulled a crowbar out of it and gently slipped it under the window, cranked up. There was a popping sound, and then the window slid up effortlessly. Replacing the crowbar, he dropped his pack inside, and climbed after it. He crouched for a moment, then took out his penlight, snapped it on, flashed it around.
The cars were indeed nice. A Beamer, and a sleek new red Cadillac about the size of a yacht.
Jackson felt he had hit the jackpot, and his excitement raced through him. He took a deep breath, slipped on his pack and, guided by the penlight, crossed to the door across the way. He touched the knob, tried it.
The door was not locked. Jackson turned out the penlight, and entered the house.
Creeping along a hallway, he clicked on the penlight again. He entered a large room. There was a TV about the size of a theater screen, lots of chairs, and there was even a platform in front of it where someone might make a speech or sing a song. The room could easily hold twenty, maybe thirty guests.
As Jackson turned, the penlight beam fell on a shape. A young woman, beautiful, well-dressed, with shiny hair and a face white as a ghost in the penlight beam.
“Oh, hi,” she said.
Jackson dropped the light, grabbed her, threw her down on the floor.
“Like it rough, huh?” she said, and giggled.
“What are you? Crazy?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“Don’t scream, bitch, or I’ll kill you. This may be your house, but I’m the master now.”
“Oh, baby. This isn’t our house.”
Jackson sensed too late that someone was behind him. Then he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and the dark of the room became darker.
When Jackson awoke, he was tied, feet and hands, his pack had been removed, and he was sitting in a chair in the front row of the home theater. The lights were on, but the light was soft, the color of fresh butter, and with the dark curtains drawn, the room had a cozy feel about it.
For a moment.
The girl and a man had pulled up chairs and were sitting in front of him, watching him. The man was as handsome as the woman was pretty. She was dressed as if for a night on the town. Little black dress, a string of pearls, high heels. The man wore a nice suit with a bright blue tie with red checks in it. His shoes were shiny enough you could use them to signal a ship offshore.
“Hey, there, sleepyhead,” said the young woman.
“Thought I might have hit you too hard,” said the man. “Karate chop. Nah, not really. I don’t know karate, but I did hit you with the side of my hand, hard as I could. I’ve had some practice with that, if not professional training. Know what I mean?”
Jackson didn’t.
“I’m Doll,” said the woman, “and this is Guy. That’s not really our names, but we like it, don’t we, Guy?”
“We do.”
“Look,” Jackson said. “I shouldn’t have come in. I was looking for a place to sleep. Thought no one was home.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Guy said. “Do you, Doll?”
Doll shook her head, clicked her tongue. “That’s a windy, dear. You are telling us a windy.”
“Just let me go, and I’m out of here. Out of your house, out of your lives.”
“Didn’t I say,” she said. “This isn’t our house.”
“Yeah,” Guy said, “but it’s nice, right? I mean, if this isn’t nice, what is? Way we like to work, is we come into a town, small one, look for some place with privacy, and if it’s nice, like this, well, all the better. And we want someone to be home.”
“You tried to get that girl in your car,” Jackson said. “I saw that.”
“You did? I’ll be damned. Hear that, Doll? He saw us.”
“She was so delectable,” Doll said. “But she was smart, didn’t get in. And it doesn’t matter you saw us or not.”
“Here’s the thing, and I think you have the right to know,” Guy said. “And this should be clear by now, as Doll has told you twice. But I’m one for clarification.”
“Oh, God, is he. He doesn’t care, you know, darling. He just likes to hear himself talk.”
Guy reached out and patted Doll’s knee. “Now, now. Don’t be mean.”
“Sorry. Just thought she’d have better clothes. It put me on edge. That closet, for all their money, looks like something from the children’s department, and her with cash to spare. And that jewelry. Costume mostly. There was money in the safe, though. Oh. Go on, darling, tell him what you want to tell him. I’m just being nasty.”
“No. You’re right, Doll. I’m just hearing myself talk. I’ve said all I need to say, really.”
“You can steal it all,” Jackson said. “I’m not competition.”
“Don’t interrupt,” Doll said. “Daddy is talking.”
She smiled, reached out and touched a finger to Jackson’s lips. “Shhhhh.”
Guy leaned in close. “We’re not here just for items to steal. Items to bleed are very important to us.”
Jackson let Guy’s words bang around inside his head for a moment.
“We like to find a nice house and some nice people, and turn it and them to not so nice.”
“We’re in the papers,” Doll said. “You’ve heard of us, I bet. The Midnight Ramblers. Sometimes the Break-in Killers. I like the Midnight Ramblers. The other sounds so basic and crude.”
“All we had to do was park right out front. It’s late. No one will notice. We picked the lock, found the owners upstairs. Nice-looking young couple. Soon we’ll be gone from here. But you won’t. And what a mystery that will create when you join them.”
Guy stood up and moved his chair.
Jackson had a straight view of the stage in front of the TV, the one that had been empty when he broke in, the one that had been filled while he was unconscious. The one with two nude and well-dissected bodies on it. It was wet and red up there.
“You’ll be staying here with them,” said Guy. “I mean, there’s room up there for one more.”
“No. I’m one of you,” Jackson said.
“Isn’t that sweet?” Doll said.
“Just a big sack of sugar, baby,” Guy said, and Jackson noted there was a tiny bit of drool running from the corner of his mouth, like a man about to eat a slice of hot apple pie.
“I am going to keep your penlight,” Doll said. “Is that okay? Of course it is.”
Jackson said nothing. He could hardly breathe.
“Ain’t life just full of surprises?” Guy said, bent down and unzipped a leather bag at Jackson’s feet. It was filled with shiny sharp objects.
Guy removed a meat cleaver from the pile, held it up. The light winked off of it. Doll pulled a long knitting needle from the bag.
“I like to start with the toes and slowly work my way up to the head,” Guy said. “Sometimes, our objects of desire don’t last that long. But we’re learning better and better how to make them last so as to make it last. You know, do it right.”
“I like to poke,” Doll said, making a jabbing motion with the knitting needle.
“By the way,” Guy said, leaning in close to Jackson’s sweat-popped face. “Just so you don’t have false hopes. This is really going to hurt.”