"How's dat peel?"

"Mmm."

"Come on down here." A short while later, Lib said, "Get dese opp me, homey."

"My pleasure," said Harry.

Lib grunted a couple of times, then said, "Yeah, dat's good. Mmmm. Nice and cool."

Then came lots of moaning and sighing. Sandy stood there.

She thought about walking away. But she stayed. She wanted to listen. It was embarrassing to hear such things. But the sounds excited her, too. She could so easily picture what was happening-easily feel Harry's body on top of her.

It could be me down there. I'm ten times better looking than Lib.

Shit, she's ugly as sin with her mouth all busted up that way.

How can be even stand to touch ber?

So who'd wanta make it with that jerk, anyway? He's that damn eager to screw anything that moves ... The hell with him.

The hell with Lib, too. What is she, some kind of nympho? She doesn't even know the guy.

Lib suddenly cried out, "No. Stop! Yeeee! Dare's sometin' squirmy under me! Shit! Get opp! Get opp!"

Sorry, sonny What is it?"

"I dont know!"

"Probably just a worm or something," Harry said.

"What do you expect?" Sandy called. "Scmwing in a grave?"

"Shut da puck up! Get down here, Harry. You get on da bottom,'n I'll take da top. Okay?"

"Sure."

"That way," Sandy called, "you get the worms, Harry."

"What are you, standing right there?"

"Sort of. But I'm not watching."

"Why don't you take a little walk?"

"I'm fine right here."

"Den just shut up," Lib said.

"It's a free country."

"You'd better go away, Charly."

"Mom, don't you think you'd better warn him?"

"Wam me about what?" Harry asked.

"The diseases."

, "You're cruisin' por a bruisin', bitch."

"What diseases?" Harry asked.

"She's lyin'. I ain't got nuttin'."

"You name it, she's got it. If I had a whang, I wouldn't let her anywhere near it."

"Don't listen to her," Lib said. "She don't know what she's talkin' about. She ain't my daughter, por one ting."

"Mom!"

"She don't hardly eben know me. She's just sayin' dat shit 'cause she wants to stop you and me. She's jealous. She wants you. She's up dare all hot an boddered, creamin' her pants."

"Like hell," Sandy said.

"She's not your daughter?" Harry asked.

Shut up, Mom!".

"I only just met her tonight."

"So who's the dead guy?"

"Some puckin' movie director."

"Lib!"

"He's not her father?"

"Nah."

"You've both been handing me a pack of lies?"

"I'll tell you all 'bout da trute apter we..."

"Maybe you oughta get off me," Harry said. "I think we'd better..."

"You want her?" Lib asked. "You want Charly?"

"I didn't say that."

"Me pirst. You can hab her apter you get done wit me. I promise. She gibs you any shit, I'll eben hold her down por you."

"But..."

"Less you don't want her."

"I don't know. She's just a kid."

"Dat don't matter."

"I don't know what's going on, here. Let's just stop so I can try to figure..." He stopped talking and moaned.

"Yesssss," Lib said.

"Uh. God. Oh."

"All de waaaayyy."

"Mmmmm."

"You like?"

"Oh. Yeah. God."

Sandy stepped to the edge of the grave with the lantern. All she could see of Harry were his legs. He seemed to be stretched out on the bottom of the grave, his trousers around his ankles. Lib's jeans and shoes were down there, too. She was naked and on her knees, hunched over him, gasping and groaning as she moved up and down. Her back and buttocks were dirty.

Sandy set down the lantem.

She raised the shovel high and swung it down hard.

Striking the back of Lib's head, it rang out like a bell.

Lib flopped down on Harry.

"Hey!" Harry gasped. "What's going on? Bambi? Bambi? What the matter?"

"I think the shovel hit her," Sandy said.

"What?"

"I hit her with your shovel."

"Are you nuts?"

"Who, me?"

"My God, Charly!"

Harry's hands came out from under Lib. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he tried to push her up.

Sandy tossed aside the shovel and leaped off the edge of the grave. She landed with both feet in the middle of Lib's back.

Harry grunted.

"You all right?" Sandy asked.

"Uh!"

"You won't be!" Arms out for balance, she jumped up and down on Lib's back. Each time she landed, Harry let out a noise as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.

After five or six jumps, Sandy bent her knees and sat down on the edge of the grave, her shoes still planted in the middle of Lib's back.

"How are you doing, Harry?" .

He moaned.

Leaning forward, Sandy stared down into the hole. She could see the back of Lib's head. She supposed that Harry's face must be directly under Lib's face, but the light didn't reach down that far.

"How was she, Harry? Was she to die for?"

He didn't answer.

Standing again, Sandy put her weight onto her right foot. With her left foot, she stomped the back of Lib's head. She felt the collision with Harry's face. She heard it, too.

"Did that hurt?" she asked.

Nothing.

She turned, stepped on Lib's buttocks, then on the backs of her legs. At the foot of the grave, she squatted over Harry's trousers. She found his pistol in one pocket, his wallet in another. She stuffed them into the pockets of her shorts, then climbed out.

Leaving the lantern, shovel and pick by the side of the grave, she hurried over to the body of Marlon Slade.

She bent over, grabbed his ankles, raised his legs, and dragged him across the clearing. It was tough work. By the time she reached the edge of the grave, she was sweaty and huffing for air.

She dropped his feet.

Then she picked up the lantern and crouched over the grave.

Harry's legs were still stretched out between Lib's legs.

She was still on top of him, hiding most of his body. By lowering the lantern into the hole, however, Sandy could see more. Harry's right arm lay against the bottom of the hole at an angle away from his body. Lib's left breast drooped between his arm and his side just under his armpit. Her face was pressed against the side of his head.

Sandy could see a little of Harry's face.

His left eye, the profile of his nose, his lips and chin.

There was a lot of blood.