In the Deadlands by David Gerrold Read Free Book Online Page B

too?” one asked. The other didn’t wait for me to answer, but dropped her robe (how come I hadn’t noticed that before?) to the floor. She was as sexless as an eight-year-old boy. Flat chested. I stared, yeah. No curves, nothing. What a bring-down. A super bummer. A beautiful face like that and no bod. No hair, no nothing. The other was just the same, she’d dropped her robe too, only she was wearing black briefs. She didn’t move to drop them. It wasn’t necessary. My curiosity was dead.
    â€œWell?” she asked.
    â€œAll right.” I shrugged out of my shirt, started to fumble with my belt. “Hey, Wooze?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œYou coming?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œTake off your clothes...”
    â€œUh-uh, Deet. I don’t want any. Thanks.”
    â€œAw, come on. I don’t want to go alone.”
    â€œNo, Deet. All I want to do is go home.”
    â€œDon’t be a drag, Woozle. Do it.”
    â€œI don’t want to.”
    â€œBut I want you to.”
    â€œDeet, I’ll go anywhere you go, Deet. I’ll never leave you alone. Promise. But please, don’t ask me to take any more stuff, Deet. I don’t like it.”
    â€œHow do you know? You haven’t tried it.” I pulled her to her feet, started pulling her clothes off. She tried to resist at first, then realized it was useless. The army coat, the baggyjeans, the T-shirt, and soiled underwear fell to the floor. She stood there naked and wiped her nose on the back of her wrist. “Sit,” I said. She sat.
    I kicked off my shoes, then dropped my pants and underwear all in one motion. Sit, lift the legs, and slide them off; one foot, then the other. The two of us sat naked on the mattress. Ready for action. Whatever the action was.
    Woozle was clenched in on herself, arms folded across tight little breasts. I don’t know why she was ashamed. She had more than these girls did. No matter, she kept her nose into her knee and sniffed, wiped it across her leg.
    I turned to the chicks. (What happened to the two guys who were in the room? Where did they go?) “Okay, we’re ready.”
    One of them stepped forward (there was that funny smell again) and held out a jar that looked like a cold cream thing. I didn’t take it.
    First, I asked, “How much?”
    â€œEnough,” she replied. “Enough for two.”
    â€œNo. I mean, how much do I owe you?”
    She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Nothing.”
    â€œUh-uh,” I started to pick up my pants. “No free rides. Not for this head.”
    They exchanged a confused glance. “Why?”
    â€œAnything free’s got a hook in it. Like the first jolt of H—and that’s not my bag. Don’t plan on getting hooked on anything.”
    They looked at each other again. “Okay. Twenty dollars.”
    â€œTwenty?”
    â€œTwo rides. One yours, one hers.”
    â€œYeah,” but I was still suspicious.
    â€œYou want it? Or not?”
    I sniffed. That was the source of the funny odor, like old orange peels. So were the girls. “What is it?”
    She shrugged. “No name. Just is.”
    â€œAnd I just rub it on.”
    She nodded. She held the jar in her two hands and waited.
    â€œNo hook in it?”
    â€œIf you don’t want it, we don’t put hook in. Okay?”
    â€œOkay,” I said slowly. “No hook.” I still didn’t like it, but I wanted to try it. The smell was getting deep, deeper. I wanted to feel what was at the bottom.
    The decision was made. I pulled the twenty out of my pocket, creased it between my fingers to straighten it, and tossed it over. The jar was heavy in my hands and it had a slippery feel.
    Okay, we’d do the number. Just once. See what it was and that’d be it. Course, that’s what I’d said about acid the first time too. The top unscrewed greasy, and suddenly the funny smell was intense . It