Free The Kill-Off by Jim Thompson Page B

forward, straining to hear them, Ralph and the girl, for they were clinging even closer to each other than they had been, and their voices were consequently muffled:
    “Don’t you worry one bit, honey” —her. “I don’t know how, but—but, gosh, there’s got to be some way! I just love you so much, and you’re so wonderful and—”
    “Not wonderful ’nough for you” —him. Old love-’em-and-scram Ralph, for God’s sake! Why, he sounded practically articulate. “Ain’t it funny, sweetheart? Here I am an old man—”
    “You are not! You’re the sweetest, darlingest, kindest, handsomest…”
    “Anyways, I mean I lived all these years, and I reckon I never knew there was such a thing. Like love I mean. I guess I…”
    I found that I was smiling. I scrubbed it away with my fist, scrubbed my eyes with my fist. But it kept coming back. That word, the one he’d spoken, the one I’d been ducking—it kept coming back. And I knew that there was no other word for what this was.
    He wasn’t going to pitch it to her. She wasn’t going to hit him up for dough. They were in love— ah, simply, simply in love! Only— only! —in love. And, ah, the sweetness of it, the almost unbearable beauty and wonderment of it.
    To be loved like that! More important, to love like that!
    I smiled upon them, at them. Smiled like a loving god, happy in their happiness. Probably, I thought, I should kill them now. It would be such a wonderful way—time—to die.
    I glanced around absently. I ran a hand back under the bushes, searching for a suitable club or rock. I could find none—nothing that would do the job with the instantaneousness necessary, nothing that was sufficiently sturdy or heavy.
    I did locate a pointed, dagger-like stick, and I considered it for a moment. But a very little mental calculation established that it would never do. It wasn’t long enough. It would never pass through that barrel-chest of Ralph’s and go on into her bosom. And if I did not get them both at the same time, if I left one to live without the other—!
    I almost wept at the thought.
    A strange warmth spread over me. Spread down from my head and up from my feet. It increased, intensified, and I did not know what it was. How could I, never having experienced it before? And then at last I knew, and I knew what had brought it about.
    I straightened up. I backed down the trail quietly, and then I turned and strode toward my car excitedly, my mind racing.
    There could be nothing now, of course. Dope inhibits the sexual impulses, so she would have to be tapered off first. But that should be relatively easy; she should unhook almost as easily as she had been hooked. If I could just get the stuff to work with—and I would get it, by God! I’d kill that stupid son-of-a-bitch, my father, if he gave me any trouble…
    I cut off the thought. Somehow the thought of parricide, entirely justifiable though it was, interfered with the other.
    I would get what I needed in some way. That was all that mattered. And meanwhile I could be preparing her, laying the necessary groundwork. And meanwhile I knew.
    I KNEW!
    I reached the car. I climbed in, smiling.
    She had her coat draped over her, but she was still undressed. I told her, lovingly, to get dressed. Lovingly, with tender pats and caresses, I started to help her.
    “D-don’t…!” She shivered. “What d-do you want?”
    “Nothing,” I said. “Only what you want, darling. Whatever you want, that’s what I want.”
    She stared at me like a snake-charmed bird. Her teeth chattered. I took her in my arms, gently pressed my mouth against hers. I smiled softly, dreamily, stroking her hair.
    “That’s all I want, honey,” I said. “Now, you tell me what you want.”
    “I w-want to go home. P-please, Bobbie. Just—”
    “Look,” I said. “I love you. I’d do anything in the world for you. I—”
    I kissed her. I crushed her body against mine. And her lips were stiff and lifeless, and her body