Well, the next laugh’s gonna be on me…

  He put the flask away, left the stall, and got ready to go back to work. He felt great. In his mind he saw all the ways he could start getting back at all these phony Florida schmucks, starting with Ryan. Yes, he could do a job on her, all right. Just wait for a time she leaves work a little late, wait for her in the parking lot, put a gun in her ribs, and drive her out of there. Take her down the coast a ways, tie her up and have some fun with her for a few hours, and then drop her snooty ass in one of the sinkholes. Then he could start on the rest of them.

  Yes, he heard.

  A voice.

  But not his voice, really. Not Martin’s.

  It was some other guy’s voice.

  And in not much more time, he’d get to know the other guy really well, and he’d understand it all.

  (II)

  Dusk began to pinken the horizon; sunset was always a spectacular event in Florida, even more so in a pretty town like Danelleton. Darkening orange bloomed through the masses of palm trees. A familiar warm breeze flowed over the landscape. Night was coming.

  The houses weren’t all the same but they were all nice: newly painted, well-kept, a utopic suburbia. The sun set lower over one house in particular—Annabelle’s house, a long hacienda-style rancher with tile shingles and an arched entrance. A van pulled up in the driveway, whose side panel read STRAUSS HEATING AND AIR-CONDITIONING, ALWAYS ON CALL. The tall repairman with wavy hair and goatee got out with tools and clipboard, enthusiastic for the late call. Erik had worked all days, mostly commercial units in St. Pete, and it had been hotter than hell. But these late ones, at a private residence, were a lot easier to get into, plus he’d often get a tip.

  Sometimes Erik even got lucky. In Florida? All the women? There was nothing better than a residential call by a housewife whose husband was out of town, and a good-looking guy like Erik? More than once he’d gotten tipped twice.

  I can only hope, he thought, strolling up the driveway.

  Then the hope was dashed. So much for that idea… Another van was parked up in the drive, not the homeowner’s, another service truck, PARAVISION CABLE TV. Then:

  What the fuck?

  A third van: WALTON FURNITURE REPAIR.

  “Great,” Erik said to himself. “Two other repairmen in there, too. No nookie for me tonight.” But that was okay. Erik was aware of his blessings. He never took them for granted.

  He walked up to the front door, then smiled at the probability. Yeah, probably some husband and wife in their sixties, with a house full of grandkids. Still might get a good tip.

  Before he knocked, something snagged his eye: the odd doorknocker on the center stile. Fucked up, he thought. It was an oval of tarnished bronze depicting a morose half-formed face. Just two eyes, no mouth, no other features.

  The term bad omen was not familiar to him.

  When he knocked and the door opened, Erik was hard-pressed not to do a Rebel Yell…

  A woman answered, big smile and big bright eyes. She’d have been a knockout in a friggin’ potato sack but in the see-through black nightgown?

  Holy shit. The motherlode, Erik thought.

  “Hi,” she said. “Come on in. I really appreciate you coming at this hour. It’s not easy to get a/c service after five.”

  Short, petite. Shining shoulder-length hair like dark amber. The nightgown’s hem was way way high, maybe just an inch below her crotch. And if the wind blew? It would be Muff Town; Erik wasn’t sure but he could almost swear that she was pantiless. She was braless, too, and he didn’t have to wonder about that one. Compact little breasts right there with big dark nipples showing through the shadowy see-through top.

  “No, uh, no problem, ma’am. We make house calls round the clock.”

  She giggled and let him in. “A lot of them say that but try actually getting one this late. Seriously, I’m really grateful for you coming. When the a/c’s out, this place turns into an oven, even at night. My name’s Annabelle by the way.”

  “Erik. Nice to meet you.”

  When they shook hands, Erik found hers hot and moist. And there was a little mist of perspiration just above her cleavage, and down the front of her legs, too. Erotic.

  Like she’d just been getting it on maybe.

  Still awestruck by that body in the revealing gown, he followed her through the foyer into the kitchen. Nice place, just like the outside, which was par for the course in Danelleton. But again he considered the probability. First of all, he knew there were two other repairmen in the joint right now. Second, Annabelle was more than likely married to some rich codger who needed the arm-candy, and Erik would be meeting him in a moment.

  “Yeah, you’re the first repairman I’ve dealt with today who actually came when he said he would.”

  All right, this is too funny. Third time she’d mentioned “coming,” that, and the fuck-me nightgown, like a bad joke in a T&A flick. Was she doing it on purpose or just naive? Didn’t matter. Erik could have some fun with it too, because he knew this couldn’t amount to anything. “Looks like you’ve got your share of repairmen here.”

  Now she was leading him down a hallway. It was a little dark but somehow that only accentuated her body in the gown. The sheer material looked like smoke floating around her.

  “Oh, yes. The TV man’s here too.”

  “Cable problems, huh?”

  “Yes. Something was wrong with the channels, so he had to feed a new line into my box.”

  Erik had to frown because if he didn’t frown, he’d bust out laughing. “Uh, yeah,” was all he said.

  “And then I had to call the furniture man, too—”

  Annabelle turned with a smile that was impossible not to describe as wanton. Her breasts stuck out in the veil-like top. “I needed him to fix the knobs on my chest.”

  Then she quickly turned, leading him down the hall. Erik just shook his head.

  “I’ve got this nice blondwood chest in the living room. So he fixed the knobs and also the drawers.”

  Some sweat was accumulating on Erik’s brow. Just the look of her, and the deliberate words and the way she’d spoken them—it was all beginning to really get Erik going. But he knew the scoop now. This was too much, a joke. She was just another bored housewife playing with the with tough-guy repairman. Hubby would be waiting with a flashlight at the a/c unit, and the fun would be over. That was all right. Just wait’ll the guys hear about this at the shop. With lines like this one was dishing out? Bet they don’t even believe it.

  “I even had the landscapers here earlier,” she said.

  Erik knew he shouldn’t—he didn’t need a sexual harassment complaint. But—Jesus!—she was harassing him, wasn’t she? He couldn’t resist his response. “Let me guess. You had some bushes that needed trimming?”

  “No!” she laughed. “They tilled my garden!”

  You gotta be shitting me, lady.

  The end of the hall opened into the garage, and through there, another door took them outside into the back yard. Darkness and pleasant night sounds waited for them.

  “Sorry, the porchlight’s out,” she said, leading him to the unit.

  “I’ve got a flashlight,” Erik said and snapped it on. The strong beam roved once across her bosom, then she turned. “So what exactly seems to be the problem?” he asked her. “You getting any function at all?”

  “The unit functions too well, if you want to know the truth. It’s on all the time; it’s over-responsive, I think. And every time I touch the little control button inside, it overreacts. I guess my thermostat’s too sensitive.”

  “Oh, I can fix your thermostat, no problem. But let me take a look at your inductors.” Erik smiled in the dark, threw the flashlight beam down into the unit’s grill. Annabelle stood to the side, hands on knees and bent over.

  The unit kicked on, sounded fine. There’s nothing wrong with this, he knew. “Yeah, it’s not out here,” he played along. “I’ll have to go inside, check that in-flow switch, part of the primary front end. That’s inside, can’t do that out here.”

  “You sound like a man who knows the job.”

  “No brag, just fact, ma’am. I’ve had a lot of experience. It might also be your system’s receiving nodes, too.”

  “Um hmm,” she said.

  Erik stepped closer beside her, where she remained leaning over. A side glance showed him her bare breasts in the V of her top.

  “But you said you have to go inside?” she asked.

  “Yeah, your control unit. That’s where the switch is. It’s all integrated, ma’am. That’s what you’ve got to understand. We’re talking about a problem with the overall mechanical nomenclature of your system front end.”

  “Okay…” She whirled around and led him back into the garage. Yeah, this is something, ain’t it? Erik thought. Now was the moment of truth, though. If this was all tease—which he was sure it was—then he’d know in a minute. They were going back into the house.

  “When was the last time your unit went on the fritz?”

  “Oh, it’s on the fritz all the time,” she said.

  He kept the flashlight on to light their way back. A sudden breeze swept the back yard; it pressed her gown right to her skin, highlighting the lines of her breasts.

  “But I don’t remember the last time it’s been serviced by a pro,” she finished.

  Another shake of his head. It was time for a test. “Well, when we go inside, let me ask your husband, see if he remembers the last time a repairman came out. Maybe a service record was left with the receipt. I can see what was done.”

  “No luck there,” Annabelle told him. “My husband’s out of town, and I don’t know where he might keep any records like that.”

  Okay, Erik thought. This is starting to get very interesting. But what about the two other repair guys in the house? Erik was thinking a way around that when Annabelle stopped halfway back to the outside door.

  What’s she stopping for? Erik thought. What, she wants to do it right here in the yard? It was fine by him.

  She looked up to the moon, held out her arms. “It’s such a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  He stepped closer. “Sure.”

  “I guess you’re in a hurry, got another call tonight, huh?”

  “Nope, this is the last one. I’m in no hurry at all.”

  “Then come on! Let’s have a beer!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him out toward the other end of the yard.

  “Beer sounds great to me,” he said, off guard. The yard grew darker the farther they got from the house. “Where, uh, where are we going?”

  “The kiosk!”

  Kiosk? Erik could only see darkness. But he could smell something, too, something good, but before he could ask—

  “It’s where I have my quiet time. There’s a cooler full of beer and a barbeque.”

  “Ah, I knew I smelled something cooking. Smells great, by the way.”

  “I’m cooking a brisket. It’ll be done in a few hours. You gotta slow-cook it all day.”

  All right. That made sense. She was cooking a brisket in her backyard barbeque and she had a cooler of beer back there. Perfectly normal.

  Erik strained his eyes. It was very dark, but in a few more steps the wooden kiosk came into view. His vision was adjusting now. The kiosk looked like a latticework of crystal in the moonlight. Several high palm trees surrounded it, their leaves gently flittering in the breeze.

  “Have a seat!” She released his hand and popped open a cooler, withdrew two beers from ice. Erik sat down on the picnic table bench. The cold beer refreshed him. “Nice little place back here,” he observed. “Kind’a dark, though.”

  Annabelle remained standing, reveling in the gentle breeze. “I could light the tiki torches but that would draw mosquitoes.”

  Erik wanted to get laid. What he didn’t want was to get was West Nile. “Then let’s pass on the tiki torches.”

  She seemed lost in thought, looking up to the sky. Erik was looking at her back. She raised her hands as if in some secret, exuberant prayer. Then—unless Erik’s eyes were deceiving him—her hands came back down very slowly. She was caressing herself.

  Then she flipped off the straps of her nightgown. The gown slipped down her body like dark fluid, pooling around her ankles.

  To hell with the beer. Erik stood up, walked toward her just as she turned. Stark naked now, she smiled in the dark.

  “Guess it’s time to get down to business, right?” Erik said.

  “Yeah,” she sighed, and then they were in a clinch. They kissed ravenously. She pressed right against him, standing on tiptoes. Erik’s hands prowled up and down her sleek back, played alternately with her buttocks. When he squeezed both cheeks hard, grinding her pubis to his thigh, she moaned out loud. Her own hand began to play, too, up front. It slithered over the denim of his jeans.

  Hidey-HO! he thought, sucking her tongue outright. This was going to be his best service call in a long time.

  He could feel her nipples hardening against his shirt. Her fingers began to unfasten his belt, and then—

  She stopped and stepped back, big smile on her face.

  Erik’s shoulders dropped. “You’re not just teasing me, are you? Please tell me that ain’t so.”

  “It ain’t so,” she mocked his voice. “We have to check something first.”

  “What?” He was getting annoyed. “There’s nothing wrong with your a/c.”

  “Not that, silly. The brisket!”

  The fuckin’ brisket. Jesus. Lady, you’ve been all over me all night. I don’t give a fuck about the fucking brisket.

  “It’ll just take a second. I haven’t checked it since before the sun went down. Get your flashlight.”

  Erik had plenty of doubts now. At least he got a good feel. She must just be some nutcase housewife who got off on teasing men. It’s a good thing I’m a nice guy, he thought. You come on to some guys like that and then don’t put out, you’ll wind up getting it the hard way. But, no, that wasn’t Erik’s style.

  He’d set his toolbag down at the edge of the kiosk and he thought he’d set the flashlight down right next to it. He fumbled there now in the dark. When he looked to the side, though, he noticed something white. The fuck is that? He squinted, then reached over. Picked it up.

  It was a white cowboy hat.

  “What’s with the hat?” he asked impatiently. “Your husband’s?”

  She was staring off again, distracted, only half-listening. “Oh, no, it’s the furniture guy’s. He must’ve…left it out here earlier.”

  The furniture guy? So she had him back here earlier, it seemed. And the cable guy, too, he presumed. Erik thought about that a second, then shrugged. Sloppy seconds didn’t bother him. Hell, I got a rubber in my wallet. But—

  He set the hat down on the picnic table. The furniture truck was still in the driveway, and so was the cable truck. “So those guys were back here earlier, and now they’re back in the house working?”

  A pause. “Um-hmm. They were…just finishing up when you came. They’ve probably even left by now. So…you don’t have to worry about anyone…interrupting us.”

  Erik guessed he bought the answer. The situation was easy to calculate. When the husband’s out of town on business, Wifey packs in as much strange as she can. Nothing wrong with that.

  “But…” Erik looked back at the cowboy hat. “That looks like a pretty expensive hat. What, the guy just left it here?”

  “Forget about the hat,” she said and refaced him. Her nakedness radiated in the dark. She was almost glowing. “He’ll come back for it tomorrow.”

  Erik nodded, then he noticed something else in the grainy darkness. Something right next to the hat on the picnic table. It was a hacksaw.

  “What’s with the saw?”

  “Uh…” She smiled. “The landscapers, silly. I told you, I had landscapers here.”

  “Yeah, I know. To till your garden.”

  She giggled. “They were cutting some dead branches off the trees.”

  Erik chewed on that one. It made sense, but still… Cowboy hats, hacksaw, a brisket on the barbeque, and a whack-job naked housewife. The night was getting weird fast.

  Her mood switched; suddenly she was flighty again. “Now quit fooling around and get your flashlight. Check my brisket! Otherwise I’ll have to light the torches, and if I light the torches, I have to put my nightgown back on.”

  Erik got the flashlight.

  The bright beam bared down. A trace of smoke leaked out from under the barbeque’s lid. It smelled great, like pork roast or prime rib. Erik was looking down at the barbeque, but…

  …if he’d actually looked up and shined the flashlight past the kiosk, he would’ve seen two bodies.

  He opened the lid—

  He didn’t have time to turn, to run, to shout. He didn’t have time to react. He didn’t even have time to feel the impact of the shock.

  WHACK!

  The bend of the crowbar hit him right at the top of the spine. The vertebrae shattered at once. Erik was quadriplegic by the time he had collapsed fully to the kiosk’s floor.

  He was still alive, though. Brain cells still firing, eyes still seeing, thoughts still flowing. He simply couldn’t move. He lay paralyzed, staring up.

  “Did you see?”

  Her voice fluttered down. She was standing above him, one foot on either side, hands on hips. She grinned down at him. “Did you see what was in the barbeque?”

  Erik, understandably, could only think now in unsorted fragments. His heart was slamming for all that had happened in the past few seconds, his horror and terror and fear all colliding. But, yes, yes.

  He had seen.

  When he’d opened the barbeque lid, two human heads looked back at him from the grill. The pork-like waft of aroma had floated up amid steam. It was only a split-second glance but a split second was sufficient. The heads were roasting, crackling a little. One victim had a shaved head and goatee, the other broader, hair singing off, clean-shaven.

  Annabelle was now kneeling at Erik’s side, breasts swaying, glee in her smile, as she briskly began to saw Erik’s head off with the hacksaw. Erik died shortly thereafter.