The Sex Life of the Gods 11 – Knerr · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Sex Life of the Gods 11Chapter 10
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Sex Life of the Gods 11
Chapter 10
KnerrEnglish
Janet was more than a beautiful woman and a good model. She was white heat and surging womanhood all dolled up in a body like that of a French movie star. She was as wanton as a Polynesian dancer and as demanding as a nympho. Lying there beside her relaxed nakedness, Nick Danson felt like another man - a tired one.
He laid his hand over the swelling rise of her breast and slid it down the flat velvet of her stomach. She made a small sound in her throat and kissed him on the cheek with lips like branding irons.
"I'm glad you have amnesia," she cooed against his ear.
"Why, for God's sake?"
She snuggled the curling warmth of her body against him and chuckled. "Because of this. You used to kiss me, but that was all. I wanted more, but not you."
He blinked at the ceiling at her words. She'd tricked him! It was a nice trick, but still she'd cheated. All the time he'd figured that she was some sort of mistress, or something - obviously that's what she had wanted, but in his other life he'd never given her a tumble. It was funny, in a way.
"You mean ... we never..."
"Nope." She chuckled again. "Aren't I a rat?"
"Vixen, is more like it."
"That's a good word. I like it. Janet Vixen. How would you like to kiss Janet Vixen, Nick Danson?"
"Suppose I get another knock on the head," he suggested, "and I lose the memory of all this, too? Then what?"
"I won't embarrass you in front of company. C'mon, kiss me again, stranger!"
He rolled over and kissed her again and, tired or not, he could feel the desire surging through him again. Her small hands moved over the muscles of his shoulders, digging into his flesh, her teeth nibbling at his neck. Janet was one of those odd women who can't seem to take a darned thing serious. No matter what the risks were involved, to her making wild love was a hell of a lot of fun and that was that. He had the hunch that if he tried to get serious with her - marriage serious - she'd bounce him fast. But hell, it was impossible to think of things like that with her, besides he was having too much fun. If, he thought later, you can call it fun when you're so weak you can't move.
"I have to go, lover," she said finally. "Beth might come up, and I think she would be apt to get a little put out if she caught us in bed."
"That's putting it mildly," he grinned. "Besides, I have to start trying to find out about myself."
"Do me a favor and don't." She pecked him lightly on the lips. "I like the new Nick Danson a hell of a lot better. C'mon. Snap my bra."
They climbed out of bed and he helped her into her shorts and halter. She kissed him lightly again, said; "Good-by, lover," and bounced out into the hall, leaving him standing there, naked in the bedroom.
What a world, he thought for the hundredth time and began to gather his clothes. When he started to put his pants on, his wallet dropped from the hip pocket and flopped open on the floor. He picked it up, his eyes absently noticing the card that was exposed in the clear, plastic window. It was a Selective Service Registration Certificate and someone had written "small scar on right forearm" under the column for general markings. Absently he glanced at his right forearm, then his eyes widened in shock.
There was no scar!
A man cannot lose a scar, he told himself. He checked the card again. It was his, made out to Nicholas Howard Danson; but the scar was missing. He searched his arm and it wasn't there. The full realization of the whole thing struck him suddenly like a punch in the mouth. He was not Nicholas Howard Danson!
Who was he? What the hell was going on? Had he killed the real Danson because they were obviously look alikes, and stolen the guy's I.D. Why? Was he escaping from some kind of crime? Was he a criminal, and what did the strange dreams have to do with it?
Numbly he climbed into the rest of his clothes and made damned sure the .44 magnum was loaded when he strapped it on. His hands shook uncontrollably and he felt trapped. It would only be a matter of time before those people at the wreck figured out the whole story and came howling after him. He had to get out.
The screech of car brakes startled him and he leaped to the window. A police car was in the lane and a single, plainclothes cop was getting out. It could only be Nolan. He watched as Brice pulled his Police Positive from the speed rig and headed toward the house. Then Nick hauled out his magnum and slammed it into the window.
Brice dived behind a bush as the magnum threw a .44 slug that barely missed the cop. The .38 barked back and Nick ducked the splinters as the bullet chipped the window frame.
"Come out, you fool," Brice roared.
"You go to hell," Nick yelled and fired again. "Who tipped you off, Nolan? Beth?"
"You left Danson's watch where your flying saucer cracked up!" Brice snapped another shot at the window.
Flying saucer? Nick blinked. What the hell was that stupid cop talking about?
"What'd you do with Nick," Brice roared.
Nick let the magnum answer for him, not trusting his voice. In the few seconds that followed Nick, in his nervous excitement, emptied the revolver at Brice, but never even grazed him. He cursed and began thumbing cartridges into the Ruger. He was almost finished, when Nolan caught onto the maneuver and decided to come in closer. He stood up and began sprinting toward the house. Nick had just yanked the hammer of the gun back to fire as Brice came into the open but he never made it.
Suddenly, in the middle of the yard, Detective Lieutenant Nolan Brice disappeared into thin air! Nick heard him yell for help, but he could see nothing. The yelling kept going straight up into the air until it grew faint in the distance.
Nick stared dumbfoundedly at the area where the cop had suddenly faded out of sight. What the hell was going on in this screwy place? Then he heard the shout below him and he twisted to stare at the borders of the small creek. It was the two men from Andy Hocum's gas station - the blond giant and the sandy haired guy. Panicky, Nick snapped off a shot and the blond dived for cover.
"The dumb bastard is shooting," the blond yelled to his companion several yards away. "Let's get the hell out of here, before he hits something!"
He got a brief glimpse of them as they took off through the brush and snapped a shot at them to hurry them along, just as Beth's car rocked up the rutty road and braked beside the police car. She leaped out yelling for him and he went down the stairs to meet her, the gun still in his hand.
Her face was drained of color as she came into the house, the red of her lips looking even more red against the pale wash of her face. "Nick! Where's Nolan?"
"I..."
"Oh, my God, Nick! Have you killed him?"
"I couldn't hit him," Nick told her. "I emptied the magnum at him and he disappeared into the air." His eyes had a wild look in them, "Right into the air," he added inanely. Everything was so balled up. Everything was crazy. He wasn't Nick Danson ... he didn't know his name ... Brice vanished into thin air ... the two guys were dogging his tracks ... women came out of the woodwork to make love to him. What the hell else could possibly happen?
Beth was staring at him. "You killed him," she breathed.
"No, no! He vanished. He vanished ... honest to God, I never even came close to hitting him. I might as well have thrown rocks."
"Men do not disappear into thin air," she said.
"Listen, forget that for a minute. How'd he know I was here?"
She sank wearily onto a chair and looked at him. "He found the watch I gave you a few years ago. It was lying at the crash site. He came to the office where I work and asked about you. I denied that I knew you were back and he began to yell at me about my life being in danger and that I should stay away from you until he had a chance to put a bullet into you. My God, Nick! What have you done?"
"I dunno," he lied. Should he tell her that he was not her husband, that he didn't have the foggiest notion of who he was? He decided against it. "How'd he know where to find me?"
She sighed. "He helped you build the place. Now where is he?"
"Goddammit, Beth, I told you! How many times do I have to tell you that he vanished!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
"Then believe me! It happened! I saw it happen, and I wasn't seeing things! Go out and look. If you can find his body out there, I'll eat it."
She uttered a little cry and came into his arms, holding him tightly. "Oh, darling, I want to believe you. I want very much to believe you; but men can't vanish."
"Brice did."
"All right. If you say he did. All right. Now what?"
"I don't know. I have to think. I have to try and remember what happened to me. It's the only way that this crazy whirl will make sense, and it has to make sense. It has to."
She nodded. "Let's go into the room. I want to be with you tonight. Let me have the gun, dear?"
He stared at her, his jaws knotted. "You think I'm nuts, don't you? You think I'm crazy."
"Darling, darling, of course not. But I wish you'd give me the gun."
Resignedly he unstrapped the gun and gave it to her. He shrugged. "I don't blame you. Hell, I think I'm crazy too."
She didn't argue the point.
They both went into the front room and sat there staring into the ashes of the dead fireplace while dusk fell about the cabin. Finally Beth started the fire. When she had finished, she bent and kissed him.
"Why don't we get some sleep, honey," she said. "That may help."
"I'll be up later," he told her and she kissed him again. Then she went to bed.
How long he sat there he had no way of knowing, but the fire was steadily dying. The thoughts hammered in his head and he became lost in them, trying mentally to find the key that would tear away the veil and grant him a peek at his past. Bits and snatches had filtered through, garbled and incoherent, that had tried to shed light yet could not. And, while he leaned toward one conclusion, drawn from the dreams, he felt it too fantastic for belief.
He was so absorbed in his thinking that he never heard the door open slowly. When he did hear the soft tread behind him, it was too late! A handkerchief of chloroform was clamped strongly over his face! He struggled, trying to get away from the hands that held him, but he was powerless! The chloroform got to him. He couldn't breathe...
