“Here, grab her,” said the voice she recognized as “Jimmy.” Again she tried to breathe like one profoundly doped. Hands grabbed her shoulders and dug cruelly into them, then yanked. In spite of herself, she stiffened as her head cracked against something hard. “Shit, Rick, you don’t want to bash her brains out all over the car. Be careful.”

“Well, give me a hand then. She weighs a fucking ton.”

Amanda bristled a little at that. “It’s just because she’s dead weight. Here, I’ll get her around the waist.” She forced herself to lie totally helpless in their grasp as they pulled, pushed, and jostled her out of the back of the yellow patrol car. Suddenly she was in the air, then dropped, her back on something soft, her feet trailing on the hard ground. The short pleated skirt of her uniform flipped up, and she could feel cold, damp air on her unprotected thighs. Then she felt a pair of cold, damp hands on them, moving upwards.

“Just a minute, Rick. How much time you got? I mean, she’s just lying there, and no one can get in this garage. She’s supposed to look like she’s been raped, anyway.” Jimmy’s voice sounded hoarse and far away as the hands started tugging at her underwear.

There was the noise of feet. The hands abruptly left her thighs. “Shit, Jimmy, now who’s being stupid! Don’t you know those bastards can tell who raped somebody? It wouldn’t be the right guy. Christ! Go buy yourself some tail if you can’t wait. I can give you some great names.” Amanda felt herself being hauled up into another car. “And don’t mess around with her while I’m gone. I gotta go now and return the car. I’ll meet you at 8:45 outside the park.”

The door slammed against her feet. She heard the slam of another car door and the starting of another car engine. Her protector—as she now identified him—had gone. Leaving her alone with a disgusting voice and slimy pair of hands called “Jimmy.” She tried to wriggle herself into a more comfortable position without moving noticeably. The car door by her feet opened again. She felt the agonizing crunch of a bony knee covered in coarse material on her calf, then an elbow pressed on the seat beside her. Heat radiated from the body poised above her, and a hoarse voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll wait till little Rickie isn’t so nervous, and we have a little more time.” A huge hand clutched her; then she was abruptly dumped over the edge of the seat onto the floor, wedged face down on one shoulder.

The living room of the suburban townhouse was no longer brightly neat. Opened newspapers were scattered over the floor; grease and egg yolk congealed on plates scattered about the room. Various items of clothing lay where they had been taken off, and the television set flickered on, unheeded. He was sitting on a large chair with the walnut-veneer coffee table in front of him. Beside him on the floor were his coloured markers in their plastic case. He pushed the table out of the way, went out of the room; down the three steps, he made a right turn into the kitchen. The table was covered with more dirty dishes. A carton of milk sat, warm and sour-smelling, on the counter beside a dirty frying pan and some used coffee cups. He reached into the cupboard and took out the last clean glass, put it down, and reached into the refrigerator for a large bottle of Coke. When he turned back to the counter, there was no space to put the bottle down; with a gesture of impatient rage, he swept the counter clear in a welter of flying glass and sour milk. He put the bottle down, and there was no longer a clean glass waiting. He hit the counter with the bottle, and then stood, trembling, clutching the bottle in both hands. Finally, he walked carefully over to the far cabinets, his feet crunching on broken glass, and carefully lifted down a dusty tumbler from what was obviously a “good” set, poured his Coke into it, and returned to the living room.

His last failure still rankled. Not since the very beginning had he been humiliated this way, and he was sure that it must have been a matter of insufficient preparation on his part. He would pick a site tonight and, tomorrow, would inspect it carefully. Friday was plenty of time to act. He could certainly wait until Friday. He picked up his red marker and started to wave magic circles above the map. He chose, he rejected, he chose again. Finally he took out his yellow marker and made a little dot beside a green space. Then he took out his operations notebook and jotted down a strategic route. When he finished he leaned back in his chair and stared at a spot on the wall above the draperies, his mind empty of conscious thought, but filled with flickering, garish images.

Amanda strained her ears to pick up what was going on but heard nothing except the distant hum of traffic. After what seemed an interminable time, the garage door was thrown up once more, the door to the car opened and slammed, and the key turned in the ignition. She had been lying with her face pressed into the space under the front seat, choking on the fine dust of the floor, terrified of moving lest she attract Jimmy’s attention once again. The garage must have been built on a dirt laneway of ancient and epic disrepair; with every enormous bump her head jerked and she scraped her nose against the seat back. Finally they reached pavement again and the car maneuvered along the uneven streets, screeching to halts and spiraling in an endless series of turns. They finally pulled up with a nauseating bump. The door opened once again.

“It’s about time you got here. Christ! Where have you been? And what in hell were you doing? Listen, if you were messing around—”

“Don’t worry,” said Jimmy soothingly. “I wouldn’t mess around without giving you your chance, too, Rickie baby. Anyway, I had to make a couple of phone calls that took me a little longer than I thought. We don’t want to do this too soon. It’d be better to wait until everyone’s gone home to bed anyway.”

“Wait! Shit, Jimmy, I have to go on duty at eleven. It’s going to look pretty funny if I don’t turn up on time. And I want to take a shower before I go on.”

“A shower! You’re kind of weird, aren’t you? I mean, thinking of showers right now.” Jimmy’s voice was light and mocking now. “Well, here we are.”

“Just a minute. I’ll move the barricade.”

“Isn’t that going to look funny?”

“Naw. The guys who patrol around here always move it. And half the time they don’t bother putting it back. It just has to be moved for the next car. No one will notice.” The car door opened, cold wind blew in; then it shut again, and the car bounced downward.

The car crept slowly onto what must have been dirt or grass. It bumped its way cautiously along and then gently stopped. “Okay.” Jimmy’s voice was clear, authoritative now. “We get her out of the car onto the grass. Untie her and take off the gag. There’s a big rock under the seat on your side. Got it?” There was a murmur in reply. “Okay. As soon as she’s untied, we toss her in the bushes and bash her head in. And don’t screw up. Just a minute. You see anyone?” There was a pause. “Okay, let’s go, and don’t waste any time.”

The back door opened. Amanda was frozen silent with fear. “Jesus,” whispered Rick. “She’s awful quiet. Think she’s dead?” A hand felt for her throat, pressed down on her jugular.

“She’s alive.” Hands grabbed her everywhere and dragged her, scraping and banging her against the sides of the car until she was clear of it and then flung her onto the grass. She felt an intolerable tugging of the constraints on her ankles as they were sawn away by something. Her legs fell slightly apart. “Here. Take the knife and get her wrists and the gag.” Jimmy’s hand fell on her thighs again and flipped her pleated skirt up as Rick hacked away at her wrists and yanked the gag from her face. Blood surged painfully through her arms as Rick carefully moved them into a more natural position.