I USED TO KNOW HIM

CHAPTER FIVE

      The dream was of a woman.

He was lying on a strangely made bed, the warm breezes of evening

rolling in off the crashing sea and the woman stood in the ornate

doorway that entered the bedroom. About him lay all manner of bright

silks and strange colored cloths. The woman smiled and his eyes caressed

her.

      Her hair was as gold as the noon sun and her eyes, lifting slightly at

the outer corners were as blue as the sea. Her lips petaled back over

the white strength of her teeth and her fingers did strange things to

make the flimsy robe drop from the rounded softness of her shoulders. He

watched her walk, upon curvaceous legs, to the edge of the bed. For just

a second, she smiled down at him.

"Father is sleeping like a baby," she whispered.

He felt himself talk: "Good." Then his fingers curled about the curve of

her thigh. His fingers tightened and the crimson smile broadened; he

pulled and felt her resist him with maidenly demureness, but in the end

she came to him.

      He felt the yielding firmness of her body pressing down into his on the

bed and his arms furled about the softness that she offered. The warm

cones of her breasts worked on the hardness of his chest and his mouth

fused against hers in a passionate kiss.

"Lors, Lors, darling. You've been gone so long." Her voice was a kitten

purr in his ear, warm and gentle.

"I'm back, Gerna," he smiled, his hands caressing the lithe length of her

body, folding her against him tightly.

      She moved away from him, rolling, tugging at him to respond, but he

needed no encouragement. His body rolled with her, his arms pinning her

to him tightly so that she could move nothing ... nothing but her legs,

but then there was little need to move anything else...

* * * * *

     The dream faded and he cursed, and tried to get back to sleep and the

beautiful woman who awaited him. Sleep came, but the dream was gone.

Andrew, shaking his shoulder, woke him about sundown and Nick swung his

legs off the cot and stood up. Still sleepy, he fingered the heavy

stubble on his face and looked at the old man.

"Y'kin use my razor t'chop off that beard, son," he said. "C'mon, get

around now. Got soup and sandwiches ready an' some famous Hocum coffee."

Nick straightened his wrinkled clothing, shaking the last remnants of

weary fog from his brain. Andrew went on talking to him and said something

that woke NickDanson up completely.

"Yer buddies was here, couple o' hours ago, son."

"What?" It was almost impossible to keep the surprise out of his face

and voice. Andrew didn't seem to notice anything wrong.

"Th' fellers y'got drunk with. Wanted t'know if I'd seen any strangers

on th' road. I said I hadn't, 'cause I figured they might want t'slap

y'around again."

"Thanks, Andrew."

      Who could possibly know about the plane crash? If the wreck _had_ been

found, it would be the police asking questions, not two strangers.

Somebody, somewhere, was searching for him. Who? And what did they want?

Fingers of fear and worry flittered along his spine.

When they had finished eating, Nick shaved, cleaned himself up and

followed Andrew out to where his car was parked. He found that he liked

the old man, but under the circumstances conversation was difficult. The

plane crash, for one thing, was a bit on the odd side. The burning

wreckage, he recalled, had shown no signs of ever having had wings or a

tail assembly. But that was probably minor; the wings could have been

ripped off by the trees when the plane came down. The important thing

was that someone knew he was here. As they drove toward the town of

Everett, the old man began talking about the strangers that had inquired

after Nick earlier in the day.

"... Nope, I say to the big feller, ain't seen a soul on foot all day,

'ceptin' o'course, JimmyDilson, goin' down t'Willer Creek, t'fish. That

seemed t'satisfy them so they lit out."

"Notice what kind of car they drove, Andrew?" Nick asked.

"Yep. Gave 'em gas. They was drivin' a Chevrolet. Looked to be a '56 or

a '57; black, it was. Blacker'n th' inside of a coal bin, with th'

shiniest chrome y'ever saw."

     "Sounds like them," Nick told him, enlarging the lie. "One of them short

and the other medium?"

"Not exactly. The one did all the talkin' had a funny accent. Anyways,

he was about six feet, three or four, and heavy. Goodlookin', with

blond hair. The other guy was about your build, with sandy hair. Never

talked, that guy."

"They're the ones," Nick lied and shook a cigarette from a half empty

pack. "Thanks for not giving me away."

Andrew nodded, lapsing into silence, while Nick concentrated on coming

home to a strange woman, and the two men who had been asking after him.

For some reason, he got the feeling that MargretDanson was his wife and he

accepted it that way. She couldn't be his sister ... besides, a man his

age would be married, in all likelihood. He wondered vaguely how she

would welcome him, but cast the thought aside. He'd know soon enough.

As they approached Everett, in the gathering twilight, Andrew turned to

him.

"Where d'ye want off, son?"

"Weisman Drive. Know it?"

"Yep. We're almost there. Suburban area, just north of town. Y'got

friends there?"

"Yes." Nick grinned inwardly. That is, he thought, I hope she's a

friend. Hell, I don't know whether she hates my guts, or loves me ...

but she's the only one that can help. A frightening gloom fell over him

suddenly.