found some soap. A winning trio!
“Do you mind if I bathe while you go through the rest of the house?”
“Hey, no problem,” Jim said. “No problem at all. Have a good time.”
“See you in a few minutes,” she said, and for a flashing millisecond wondered what Jim would look like without any clothes on and in the shower with her. He looked like he had a very wiry body with a washboard for a stomach. These were decidedly un-preacher-like thoughts. But there you were.
“By the way,” Jim said, “lock the door and take a weapon in with you.”
“How can a gun help me clean myself?” Bev asked with a straight face.
“If you see any cooties you can shoot them,” Jim said with an equally straight face.
“I have to get some clean clothes from the HumVee,” she said.
“Go ahead, I’ll watch you from the window.”
Bev did, and two minutes later, Jim watching, stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She righted a hamper that had been knocked down and put the Glock and clean clothing on top of it. Then she peeled the clothing from her body, feeling as if she were peeling off some sort of alligator skin.
Nude, filthy, stinking, she turned on the shower and manipulated the hot water handle. It didn’t take long before the hot water was flowing, so hot it steamed, and Bev turned it down and turned on the cold water. When the mix was perfect she stepped under it.
“Hallelujah,” she said softly. “Praise the Lord and pass the soap.” And then she was lost in the luxuriant feeling of applying soap to her slick skin.
Jim waited until he heard the click of the bathroom door lock, then headed toward what he thought was the only other downstairs room left to check, the garage. There was a door to it off the kitchen. He opened it and was immediately accosted by the smell of oil and chemicals.
The condition of the garage told the story. Tools, lumber, and other materials were strewn all over the floor of the empty room. Here, too, a search had been made but apparently not as thoroughly as the other rooms, because there were a few paint cans on a shelf that had not been touched.
He scanned the rest of the room—there was no car. The last of the walls, the one that was behind him when he had stepped in through the door, had a surprise, and confirmed that this was the work of the Rejects. Someone had used green spray paint to paint the words god is dead all over one masonry wall.
Jim found himself pissed and he went over to the shelf where the spray cans were and selected one with orange paint. Then he walked back across the room, shaking the can as he went to distribute the paint, and then used it to obliterate the obscenity.
Then he went back inside the house and as he passed the bathroom he heard Bev singing something. He stopped to listen. She was singing “Rock of Ages.” Jim had heard it before and liked it and he just lingered there, the sound enveloping his body as the warm water was enveloping Bev—even though she was butchering the song. He smiled, recalling a favorite expression of his grandfather: “Don’t give up your day job, honey!”
He debated whether to leave Bev alone in the shower while he went upstairs. But she had brought the Glock in with her and the search should only take him a few minutes. She would be all right. He knew that if anyone approached the house he would know it. For a moment, he thought that maybe he should have brought Reb in with them but then decided against it.
He climbed polished, elegant oak stairs to the second-floor landing and once up there he was accosted again, though very faintly, by the smell of death.
There was a full bath directly across from the stairway and five rooms leading off the hall, which extended to both his left and right. The lavatory and three of the rooms had their doors open and one had it closed. It wasn’t hard to figure where the foul smell was coming from. Someone had stuffed a towel along the space under the
“Do you mind if I bathe while you go through the rest of the house?”
“Hey, no problem,” Jim said. “No problem at all. Have a good time.”
“See you in a few minutes,” she said, and for a flashing millisecond wondered what Jim would look like without any clothes on and in the shower with her. He looked like he had a very wiry body with a washboard for a stomach. These were decidedly un-preacher-like thoughts. But there you were.
“By the way,” Jim said, “lock the door and take a weapon in with you.”
“How can a gun help me clean myself?” Bev asked with a straight face.
“If you see any cooties you can shoot them,” Jim said with an equally straight face.
“I have to get some clean clothes from the HumVee,” she said.
“Go ahead, I’ll watch you from the window.”
Bev did, and two minutes later, Jim watching, stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She righted a hamper that had been knocked down and put the Glock and clean clothing on top of it. Then she peeled the clothing from her body, feeling as if she were peeling off some sort of alligator skin.
Nude, filthy, stinking, she turned on the shower and manipulated the hot water handle. It didn’t take long before the hot water was flowing, so hot it steamed, and Bev turned it down and turned on the cold water. When the mix was perfect she stepped under it.
“Hallelujah,” she said softly. “Praise the Lord and pass the soap.” And then she was lost in the luxuriant feeling of applying soap to her slick skin.
Jim waited until he heard the click of the bathroom door lock, then headed toward what he thought was the only other downstairs room left to check, the garage. There was a door to it off the kitchen. He opened it and was immediately accosted by the smell of oil and chemicals.
The condition of the garage told the story. Tools, lumber, and other materials were strewn all over the floor of the empty room. Here, too, a search had been made but apparently not as thoroughly as the other rooms, because there were a few paint cans on a shelf that had not been touched.
He scanned the rest of the room—there was no car. The last of the walls, the one that was behind him when he had stepped in through the door, had a surprise, and confirmed that this was the work of the Rejects. Someone had used green spray paint to paint the words god is dead all over one masonry wall.
Jim found himself pissed and he went over to the shelf where the spray cans were and selected one with orange paint. Then he walked back across the room, shaking the can as he went to distribute the paint, and then used it to obliterate the obscenity.
Then he went back inside the house and as he passed the bathroom he heard Bev singing something. He stopped to listen. She was singing “Rock of Ages.” Jim had heard it before and liked it and he just lingered there, the sound enveloping his body as the warm water was enveloping Bev—even though she was butchering the song. He smiled, recalling a favorite expression of his grandfather: “Don’t give up your day job, honey!”
He debated whether to leave Bev alone in the shower while he went upstairs. But she had brought the Glock in with her and the search should only take him a few minutes. She would be all right. He knew that if anyone approached the house he would know it. For a moment, he thought that maybe he should have brought Reb in with them but then decided against it.
He climbed polished, elegant oak stairs to the second-floor landing and once up there he was accosted again, though very faintly, by the smell of death.
There was a full bath directly across from the stairway and five rooms leading off the hall, which extended to both his left and right. The lavatory and three of the rooms had their doors open and one had it closed. It wasn’t hard to figure where the foul smell was coming from. Someone had stuffed a towel along the space under the
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