Free Cuts by Richard Laymon Page A

curving road. He was in no hurry. No big reason for
     getting home. Helen would just be grading papers or preparing a test.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Bryant.”
    He recognized the voice and looked up. “Hello, Sister Eunice.” He tried to make himself sound cheerful.
    “Don’t we have a lovely view today? So hazy and golden.” She laughed softly. “It’s the smog, of course, but isn’t it lovely?”
    “It’s beautiful,” Lester said.
    “I’ve always found it a trifle ironic that a filthy poison like smog can look so beautiful when the sun is just right. One
     of God’s little compensations, I suppose. Well, you must be eager to get home. Have a nice evening. Tell your charming wife
     hello for me.”
    “I will, Sister. Good night.”
    He walked down to his car and drove out of the park ing lot. The road down the steep hill was narrow. It curved tightly around
     bends, so tightly that drivers trying to make good time often used both sides of the road. Not Lester, though. He never strayed
     from his own lane and, to be extra safe, he beeped before each blind curve.
    He knew the danger of the road. Three times during his year at Blessed Virgin, there had been head-on collisions.
    No, only twice.
    He honked and eased his foot off the gas pedal before rounding a bend.
    The third accident hadn’t been a head-on. The downhill driver had swerved to avoid it—swerved off the road and dived two hundred
     feet off the hillside. Flames from the wreck had started a brush fire that burned a house. One student had been in that car.
    And Sister Joan.
    Sister Joan with the clear, green eyes like Nikki.
    Lester was picking up too much speed for the next turn.
    Suppose I just …
    Why not? he thought. Why the hell not?
    Serve the bitch right.
    Which one? Helen or Nikki?
    He pressed the brake pedal. The tires sighed against the pavement, holding.
    “Both of you,” he muttered. “Both of you. Fucking bitches.”
    Hell if I’ll kill myself over a couple of fucking bitches like them.
    They aren’t the only women in the world.
    World’s full of women.
    Plenty of them would give anything for a guy like me.
    Not for the first time, Lester wondered why he was wasting his life with a cold, condescending woman like Helen. She only
     seemed to care about her career. She certainly didn’t care about him. He ought to divorce her, get himself free and find a woman who would love him.
    I really oughta. Before it’s too late.
    “Yeah,” he said.
    And decided to have himself a drink. A margarita.
    The Willow Inn had good ones. He remembered them from a visit to the restaurant last spring. They’d met some other couples
     there for dinner: Ronald and Dale, Mary and her boyfriend…
    Lester couldn’t remember the boyfriend’s name. And didn’t want to. The guy had been like all of Mary’s boyfriends: handsome as a fashion model, conceited and boring.
    Helen, Ronald, Dale, and Mr. Charming.
    The dinner would’ve been painful except for Mary and the margaritas.
    Mary, a first-year teacher at Grand Beach High, might not have been the youngest member of the faculty, but she was sure the
     most beautiful. To Lester, she also seemed a bit shallow for a teacher. (My God, look at the guys she dates!) But that night at the Willow Inn, she was stunning with her flowing dark hair, her flashing eyes and wild laughter
     …and the dress she wore with its plunging neckline.
    Lester would never forget that dress. Or the smooth, tanned tops of Mary’s breasts. Or how, now and then during the meal, he’d been able to see
     all the way down her cleavage to the shadowy underside of one breast.
    He’d caught Ronald stealing glances, too.
    But not Mr. Charming. That creep probably figured he didn’t have to peek. Slick operator that he was, he’d be having those babies naked and rubbing his face before the night was over.
    Why can’t I ever have something like that happen?
    Gals like that don’t look at guys like me.
    But I sometimes get to look