Sharky's Machine by William Diehl Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Diehl
He repeated the action with the other hand. He unzipped his pants and took out the nylon cord, wrapped it several times around each hand, and tested it again, pulling it taut. The knot was centred perfectly. He eased himself to the door and looked in.
They were out of the tub. Halford lay on his back on the table, facing away from Burns, who stood watching, behind him.
Heth covered her hands with warm oil and began massaging Halford, her strong fingers kneading the muscles in his legs and chest. She stroked his arms and placed them at his sides. Then she got up on the table, straddling him, settling down on him, moving against him, leaning over him. Her butterfly tongue teased his stomach, moved lower, and her mouth enveloped him.
Halford was unaware of the new presence in the room, an obscene presence moving stealthily across the llama rug, the nylon cord dangling between latex-sheathed fists.
But Heth was aware. Her keen ears amplified each creak in the floor, the rustle of clothing, a different rhythm of breathing in the room. She reached out to the smaller table. Her fingers found a short silk string with twelve knots tied in it, each about an inch apart. She slipped her hand under Halford and began to insert the string. Halford, lost in fantasy, hardly felt it. His pulse was hammering, his breath was laboured and quick.
The tempo increased. Faster. Faster. Faster.
Halford gasped. His blood, charged with lightning, surged through his body. His head rose off the table. His body went rigid. At that moment Heth ripped the string from inside him and Halford cried out. He exploded.
As he did, Heth dropped her legs over the side of the table and clamped them under it. Her arms enveloped it and she grasped one wrist with the other hand.
Halford was caught in a human vice.
Burns dropped the nylon cord around his throat. His hands snapped apart.
The knot in the cord bit deep into the hollow in Halford’s neck. Ecstasy turned to pain. His temples erupted. His breath was cut off, trapped in his throat. His tongue shot from his mouth.
Burns snapped the cord again, tighter this time.
Halford began to shake violently. Spasms seized his body. It began to jerk against Heth’s. She tightened her grip. He tried to scream, but the cry was crushed in his throat. He looked up, saw the grotesque inverted face above him. He tried to utter one last word, a syllable, distorted and guttural, which died in his mouth:
Wh-a-a-a-r-r-ghh...’
And then his windpipe burst. He shuddered convulsively. His breath surged from him like wind squealing from a punctured balloon.
He went limp.
Heth released her death grip. She lay across Halford’s body, her arms and legs dangling over the sides of the table. Tears burned her cheeks.
Burns stepped back, unwound the cord from one hand, and pulled it free. He dropped it on the table beside Hal- ford’s body. Sweat bathed his face. His breath came in short gasps.
The girl struggled to a sitting position. She cried soundlessly.
Burns reached behind him and took the pistol from his belt. The girl made no move. She was looking towards him but not at him. It was then that Burns too realized she was blind, understood what Wan had meant when he had said it would not be necessary to kill two; There was no way the girl could identify him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second but then, like a programmed machine committed to one last act, he stepped behind her and held the pistol at arm’s length an inch from her head. She followed the sound, turning her head, as if to look back over her shoulder.
‘The door,’ he said in his brittle voice. She took the bait, turning back instantly.
The gun jumped in his hand, thunked, and her head snapped forward. He held her hair in his other hand and pulled her head instantly back up. Thank. He lowered her across Halford’s body.
Burns laid the pistol beside the nylon cord, walked quickly out of the room, crossed the garden, and went out through the gate.
They were out of the tub. Halford lay on his back on the table, facing away from Burns, who stood watching, behind him.
Heth covered her hands with warm oil and began massaging Halford, her strong fingers kneading the muscles in his legs and chest. She stroked his arms and placed them at his sides. Then she got up on the table, straddling him, settling down on him, moving against him, leaning over him. Her butterfly tongue teased his stomach, moved lower, and her mouth enveloped him.
Halford was unaware of the new presence in the room, an obscene presence moving stealthily across the llama rug, the nylon cord dangling between latex-sheathed fists.
But Heth was aware. Her keen ears amplified each creak in the floor, the rustle of clothing, a different rhythm of breathing in the room. She reached out to the smaller table. Her fingers found a short silk string with twelve knots tied in it, each about an inch apart. She slipped her hand under Halford and began to insert the string. Halford, lost in fantasy, hardly felt it. His pulse was hammering, his breath was laboured and quick.
The tempo increased. Faster. Faster. Faster.
Halford gasped. His blood, charged with lightning, surged through his body. His head rose off the table. His body went rigid. At that moment Heth ripped the string from inside him and Halford cried out. He exploded.
As he did, Heth dropped her legs over the side of the table and clamped them under it. Her arms enveloped it and she grasped one wrist with the other hand.
Halford was caught in a human vice.
Burns dropped the nylon cord around his throat. His hands snapped apart.
The knot in the cord bit deep into the hollow in Halford’s neck. Ecstasy turned to pain. His temples erupted. His breath was cut off, trapped in his throat. His tongue shot from his mouth.
Burns snapped the cord again, tighter this time.
Halford began to shake violently. Spasms seized his body. It began to jerk against Heth’s. She tightened her grip. He tried to scream, but the cry was crushed in his throat. He looked up, saw the grotesque inverted face above him. He tried to utter one last word, a syllable, distorted and guttural, which died in his mouth:
Wh-a-a-a-r-r-ghh...’
And then his windpipe burst. He shuddered convulsively. His breath surged from him like wind squealing from a punctured balloon.
He went limp.
Heth released her death grip. She lay across Halford’s body, her arms and legs dangling over the sides of the table. Tears burned her cheeks.
Burns stepped back, unwound the cord from one hand, and pulled it free. He dropped it on the table beside Hal- ford’s body. Sweat bathed his face. His breath came in short gasps.
The girl struggled to a sitting position. She cried soundlessly.
Burns reached behind him and took the pistol from his belt. The girl made no move. She was looking towards him but not at him. It was then that Burns too realized she was blind, understood what Wan had meant when he had said it would not be necessary to kill two; There was no way the girl could identify him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second but then, like a programmed machine committed to one last act, he stepped behind her and held the pistol at arm’s length an inch from her head. She followed the sound, turning her head, as if to look back over her shoulder.
‘The door,’ he said in his brittle voice. She took the bait, turning back instantly.
The gun jumped in his hand, thunked, and her head snapped forward. He held her hair in his other hand and pulled her head instantly back up. Thank. He lowered her across Halford’s body.
Burns laid the pistol beside the nylon cord, walked quickly out of the room, crossed the garden, and went out through the gate.
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