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  Following his job meeting, his route into Paris took him past Sandy’s house that afternoon. Her car wasn’t there, so he guessed she must be at work. “Hmmm, I never did get that piece of ass, did I?” he mumbled to himself as he recalled his previous attempts to get it together with her that led nowhere. “Don’t mind if I do,” he thought, deciding to try again to consummate their ‘relationship’, and call by later that evening.

  As Ozborn entered The Old Parlor, Dean looked up and was actually glad to see him, having had a particularly heavy night with a new rock band he’d been trying out. The band was really lively, and all he now wanted was some downtime before things got busy again later. “You wanna do a few hours behind the bar? Same arrangement as before?” he asked Ozborn.

  “Yep, sure thing,” was all that Ozborn needed to say, and once again Dean swapped his place behind the bar with a stool at the bar.

  While Ozborn was busy washing glasses, wiping tables and pouring draft beers, Sandy was a few miles away, preparing to leave Mr. Edgar’s dental practice, and looking forward to going for a swim at the creek with Yushi. Sure, she was quite fond of him, but really he had merely relieved her sexual tension, probably caused by that guy Mark’s repeated inability to fulfil her needs, she thought. But the thrill she’d had from being a teacher to her virgin student, obviously could now no longer apply. Yushi was sweet enough, and had a nice lean body that he eventually found the courage to do something with, but his shyness and inexperience was, how could she put it, a little boring. He was, after all, just a boy, and Sandy preferred a ‘real’ man—who understood exactly how to satisfy a woman without any prompting. Someone with experience of being with women. Someone like Mark, whose body, if she was really honest with herself, she still craved. Still, she knew Yushi would be moving on the following morning, so for now they could simply have a skinny dip at the creek, enjoy the sunshine, and maybe have a barbecue later back at home.

  Yushi, on the other hand, was completely fired up, eager to gain a repeat performance in the arms of his new girlfriend, for that was how, in his mind he now described Sandy. Ecstatic at his unbelievable success the previous evening, and also seeing her beautiful nude body this morning as she prepared herself for her working day ahead, he couldn’t wait for this afternoon to come. He was certain she also felt the same way. Love was in the air, he thought.

  During the morning while Sandy was at work, he busied himself with some bike maintenance, adjusting the gear changers, the brakes, tightening the spokes, and pumping the tyres. And after that he did the same for Sandy’s bike. It was the least he could do.

  Then he had a brainwave that he would put to Sandy later; why doesn’t she drive out to meet him in St. Louis at the weekend? He would ask her. He’d have reached the city by then, and it would be so cool if she came. He would wait until they get to the creek before presenting his idea. Should he do it before or after they’d made love? Whatever. Either way, he was so looking forward to seeing the thrilled expression on her face later when he would offer his invitation.

  Yushi heard Sandy’s car pull up outside the house, where he waited to greet her, smiling, with both bicycles propped up by the garage door. Sandy was pleased. She hated pumping up bike tyres, and she knew hers would need air. So, after she’d changed into her trainers, shorts and t-shirt, she emerged from the house, ready to go. Yushi looked adoringly at her sexy attire as they mounted their bikes and set off along the road, then up a small lane for twenty minutes or so to the creek. Chatting away to her, he was very happy. Once there, it was quiet and peaceful, and they were completely alone. “Come on, then! Last one in’s a chicken,” Sandy challenged, stripping off everything and running into the shallow water, waving her arms around to create splashes as big as she could.

  Yushi excitedly stripped off too. When he caught up with Sandy, after attempting to dodge all the splashing, he embraced her. He went in for a kiss, expecting that it would be reciprocated eagerly, but he was mistaken. Sandy instead turned away from him, diving under the water and emerging several feet away. Confused, he swam over to her, this time managing to hold on to her more tightly. Not wishing to be impolite, Sandy did offer him a kiss, but not the long, lingering one he was hoping for—it was a quick peck on the cheek, and then she was off again, swimming for only a few more moments before getting back out onto dry land and immediately drying herself down with one of the towels she’d brought along. That left Yushi standing waist high in water, puzzling over what was happening. By the time he joined her, she was lying on the grass, but no longer the naked woman he’d anticipated being with.

  “There, what did you think? It’s a lovely spot here, isn’t it?” Sandy began apprehensively, having made up her mind not to lead him on unfairly. “I adore coming here so much,” she continued.

  Yushi had to agree, but he wasn’t picking up any of the same vibes from her as he had done the night before. Confused, he tentatively answered. “It’s great here, yes. But Sandy, I’ve been thinking. We were so right for each other last night, I’d like that to continue, wouldn’t you?” and then he introduced his proposal for her to join him in St. Louis. Instead of his suggestion being received positively like he’d hoped, there was instead silence. “Sandy? Did you hear me?”

  “You are so sweet, Yushi, and what happened between us yesterday was truly wonderful, but I wouldn’t want you falling for me. For one thing I’m much too old for you anyway. You’d make a girl your age very happy, I’m sure, but I don’t think I’m the one for you. I’m sorry. I won’t be coming to St. Louis, but you’re really lovely for asking. Come on, let’s not spoil a nice time—we can go home and have us a nice barbecue in the back yard. How about that?”

  Despite a barbecue being the last thing on Yushi’s mind right now, he reluctantly agreed, and they pedalled back to the house, this time in silence. He was so crestfallen, he actually had tears welling up—but not wishing to admit to them, when they reached Sandy’s road, he pretended that it was the breeze that had caused his eyes to water. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to remain composed, such were his feelings of sadness, disappointment—and confusion. He had been certain that they had had mutual feelings for each other, and yes, maybe even love. He dwelled on his own stupidity. After the disappointment with Megan, then the theft of his radio, and now practically being dumped by Sandy after only one day, he was feeling very upset with himself, and even a little cross with her. Ah, the radio, he remembered. That would take his mind off things. He’d go into town, find a bike shop and buy a replacement for the one he’d had stolen.

  Trying to sound more cheerful than he actually was, he told Sandy he was going to sort something out with his bike in town, and that he’d be back later for the barbecue. With a definite tension developing in his head, he rode aimlessly around town for at least an hour, going methodically up and down each street in the grid system, sometimes completely forgetting what he was meant to be doing.

  Meanwhile, at The Old Parlor, the evening customers began pouring in, and to coincide with that, so did the regular bar staff. “Okay, Marc,” said Dean. “You can go now. Take $20 out the register, and I’ll see you next time, whenever that may be.” Ozborn, already having had at least seven beers, took the $20, plus an extra twenty just because he could. If Dean was too darned lazy to keep a close eye on his cash register, then he could hardly be blamed for taking a little bonus, could he? he justified.

  Remaining in the tavern, his wallet now containing more than it did when he’d arrived, Ozborn had a certain business arrangement to conclude. “Alright if I help myself to a beer, Dean?” he asked of the owner. Dean nodded, and with the bottle in hand, Ozborn looked around in search of the punter he’d been conversing with earlier. Seeing him sitting alone in the corner on a curved, red, plastic-cushioned seat, shaded from the ceiling fan that doubled as a light, Ozborn approached the man’s table and sat opposite him.

  “I promise you,” said the man with his Stetson low over his face, “this is r
eal good shit, man.” As Ozborn passed a $20 bill under the table, a tiny plastic bag was pushed into his open hand. Rising from the seat and stuffing the bag in his jeans back pocket, and without any further words spoken, Ozborn left the table and finished his beer as he sauntered through the establishment toward the exit door. Once outside and in his pickup, he tipped some of the bag’s white powdery contents on to the back of his hand, and with one big sniff it was up his nose. He grimaced, his eyes tightly shut. Man, that sure was strong stuff, concluded Ozborn.

  Turning the ignition key, he put his foot down and sped out from the parking lot and onto the road, tyres screeching. “Maybe a little too quick, Marc,” he said to himself. “Don’t wanna bring unwanted attention, now.” He turned the truck’s radio on—full blast. Then he remembered in his stupor, Sandy’s place wasn’t far, and she was one cool chick. “Let’s see if I can’t get in between those lovely tits this time, hell yeah!” thought the man who was by now riding high on cocaine and booze.

  Oblivious to whatever speed he was doing, he weaved along the, thankfully not busy, road to her house. His head now completely spinning, he spotted up ahead the misshapen tree at the front of her yard and sped towards it. Turning sharply into her drive, he skidded to a halt just in time not to hit the tree, causing half the gravel to rise into the air and land on the neatly-cut lawn. Reaching down to take a swig from his Bourbon bottle, he caught sight of the little bike radio, that had fallen back on the cab floor. He remembered how much it had amused him, and thought Sandy would like it too. Grabbing it, he then almost fell out of his truck’s door.

  Sandy, out in the back yard, tending to the barbecue she’d recently lit, had no doubt about who the driver was once she was able to peer over the fence and see Ozborn’s truck. With the truck’s radio still blaring country songs, Sandy felt real anger. How dare he just turn up uninvited like this? But as well as feeling anger, was she a little excited, too. Well, when she came round to the front and saw the state of her lawn, and how close Ozborn’s truck had been to hitting the tree and her garage door, she concluded it was only anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, just coming here like this? Who the fuck do you think you are?” she shouted.

  “Oh, baby! Aam shorry. C’m ‘ere and let me kissh you bedder,” was the only semi-coherent slurred response Ozborn was capable of making, as he staggered from his rusty old vehicle towards her, trying to put one arm around her so that he could get a squeeze of her breasts with the other.

  “Get your hands off me! You weren’t capable of performing the other night, and you’re definitely in no fit state now. Look at you!” Sandy cried out, now quite frightened. She didn’t know Marc, and certainly hadn’t seen him this bad before. Despite clearly being off his head and not only drunk, he was still a big and powerful man, and when she saw his eyes rolling upwards and a look of fierce determination in them, she backed away. But the more she backed away, the more he came at her, lunging out to grope her wherever he could reach. It was his feeble attempt at showing her he was able to satisfy her this time. With his dirty jeans revealing a large piss stain around the crotch area, Sandy couldn’t believe that she’d ever contemplated entertaining this man.

  Her comments had clearly riled him, and she could see the fury in his face. She found herself backed against the garden wall, with nowhere to go. As he came nearer, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, she had no choice but to lash out any way she could. And the only way was by raising her knee firmly upwards into his groin. She thanked God that she hadn’t yet opened another bottle of Gallo, and that she was fully in possession of her faculties. Wham! That got him where it hurt, but instead of him backing away, he just came back for more. Now she was really scared. Then, just as he raised his left hand, she darted away from him and ran into the house. Still clutching the little radio in his right hand, he went staggering after her, literally frothing at the mouth, unable to string two words together. Having no chance to shut and lock the door behind her, Sandy ran, screaming, into the kitchen, now quite terrified of the man who appeared to be completely out of control.

  Once inside the kitchen, he suddenly appeared to calm down, a vacant glaze in his eyes replacing the fierce fury that was there only moments earlier. Despite being previously so scared and disgusted by his physical appearance, Sandy was surprised to discover she still found something strangely attractive about this crazed man. Now, she was the one in control.

  CHAPTER 10

  (MONDAY, 13TH APRIL, 1981)

  Sandy’s Murder

  Y ushi eventually found the Two-Wheels bike shop, but he was unlucky. They didn’t stock handlebar radios. “Not much call for them round here,” he was informed. “But we can order one in for you if you want. It’ll be here Wednesday or Thursday.” Not very useful when he should be around 300 miles away by then, Yushi thought. He dejectedly left the store and rode slowly back to Sandy’s, hoping that he’d have more chance of buying a radio in the city of St. Louis at the weekend. He really did miss tuning into the local stations as he passed through each small town, and the lack of success at Two-Wheels of course did nothing to break his sombre mood. He was still brooding about Sandy’s surprising change of behaviour towards him.

  A couple of hours later, Yushi would be sitting on a bed, head in his hands, sobbing his heart out in the De-Lux Country Motel on the other side of town.

  After leaving the bike shop, and having returned to Sandy’s house at least expecting a nice barbecue to help cheer him up, he was utterly perplexed to find his rucksack propped up against the front porch, with a roughly scrawled note attached with sticky tape. About to leave Sandy’s for the last time, with his rucksack loosely strapped across his back, glancing again at the rusty old pickup truck in the drive before cycling off, he reread the letter one last time.

  Sweet Yushi. Sorry, but I think it’s best that we don’t see each other again. I’ve reserved a room for you at the De-Lux on the road out of town towards St. Louis. It’s paid for on my card by way of apology. Sandy

  Without thinking, Yushi angrily screwed the paper into a ball and tossed it to the ground. Confused, he pushed open the front door and went inside. He physically shook at what he saw, and a kind of bewildered rage swept over him, an emotion he’d never experienced in his life before. Ten minutes later, he was cycling away from the premises for good, incredulous at how someone could have been so mean to him.

  It was already seven o’clock and the sun was setting. He’d need to cycle fast to get to the motel before it was dark. Sure enough, when he reached his accommodation, panting hard, Room 15 had already been allocated to him. The proprietor had been expecting a Mr. Yushi to arrive sometime that evening, according to Ms. Beach, who’d phoned earlier to book, and pay with her MasterCard. He asked the young man to sign for the room key, and screwed up his eyes to attempt to read the signature. “Thank you, Mr.—err, Mr. Kamoto. Enjoy your stay.”

  Yushi was still too dazed to engage in any conversation, and simply took the key and left the reception office, pushing his bike along the forecourt until he reached his cabin. Although he hadn’t eaten in hours, he was hardly able to concentrate on going out to get a meal, regardless of his hunger. Instead, he put some coins in the vending machine outside his room, and then sat on his bed, slowly stuffing potato chips into his mouth. Picking up the TV remote by its curly black cable, he then spent the rest of the evening indifferently skipping back and forth between Happy Days and Star Trek. He was so miserable, he couldn’t raise a single smile at the Fonz, nor any interest whatsoever for Lieutenant Uhura.

  Sandy, on the other hand, wasn’t even capable of feeling miserable. She was lying on the floor of her kitchen, stone dead. Tiny fragments of red and black plastic, as well as some larger pieces, were strewn all around her, some stuck in the blood that had oozed from her head, the dark red liquid now congealing around them. Some electrical components could be found nearby. Two batteries remained in their casing, with thin red and blue wires still att
ached, while the small loudspeaker, once pumping out great tunes, was now silent. All that night, only the television on the wall, showing more minutes of advertisements than actual programmes, offered any sound from within the house. But, listening very carefully, one would just about be able to make out an occasional snort and snore emanating from somewhere outside. The patio doors leading from the kitchen to the terrace at the rear of the bungalow were half open. The barbecue’s dull embers still had a faint red glow, but the rib-eye steaks on the griddle were as burnt as the charcoal beneath them.

  (TUESDAY, 14th APRIL 1981)

  Before the sun rose the following morning, the man who’d been snorting and snoring on the terrace awoke and looked around in a daze, unfamiliar with his surroundings. Gradually, he came to and, after shaking his head and rubbing his eyes a number of times, he pulled himself up, holding onto the now-cold barbecue kettle. Where in hell on earth was he? And more importantly, why was he naked? Doing his best to establish the answers to his own questions, he did vaguely recall leaving The Old Parlor, but that was about all. When that had been was impossible for him to remember. He tried his best to piece together the various recollections swarming around his head—a head that was pummelling him relentlessly like a jackhammer on full power.

  Gradually, some things came to him. Yeah, he thought. Hadn’t he gone to Sandy’s house after drinking at the bar? But never having previously stepped out into her back yard, his present surroundings were alien to him. It was dark and cold, only a glow from the window next-door and a bright light from indoors afforded him any further clue. As he stumbled around on the patio, he was drawn to the brightness inside the house. He squeezed his way through the gap of the glazed patio doors, hoping to find his clothes. The light caused his head to nearly explode with pain, as he stepped into the kitchen, where he abruptly stopped in his tracks.