Getting Off: A Novel of Sex and Violence
Lawrence Block, Jill Emerson
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SO THIS GIRL WALKS INTO A BAR...
...and when she walks out there's a man with her. She goes to bed with him, and she likes that part. Then she kills him, and she likes that even better.
On her way out, she cleans out his wallet. She keeps moving, and has a new name for each change of address.
She's been doing this for a while, and she's good at it. And then a chance remark gets her thinking of the men who got away, the lucky ones who survived a night with her.
She starts writing down names. And now she's a girl with a mission. Picking up their trails. Hunting them down. Crossing them off her list...
in New York.” “By yourself.” “On business,” he said. “Not that frequently, but every once in a while. Actually, I could get there more often, if I had a reason to go.” “Oh?” “But lately I’ve been turning down chances,” he said, his eyes avoiding hers now. “Because, see, when my business is done for the day I don’t know what to do with myself. It would be different if I knew anybody there, but I don’t.” “You know me,” she said. “That’s right,” he agreed, his eyes finding hers again. “That’s
officers striding through the entrance. One had a hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. Time, which had been crawling to begin with, came to a dead stop. She tried to think of something to do, some action to take, and came up empty. And then the cops walked straight over to a gaunt and hollow-eyed young man, his jeans out at the knee, his arms and neck and who knew what else heavily tattooed. He evidently couldn’t think of anything to do either. She’d thought earlier that he looked like a
didn’t spend too much time thinking about that part of the story, because there were other more important elements to consider. The drug rendered Maureen not altogether comatose but unfocused and acquiescent, a willing if not particularly active participant in what followed. One of its effects would have been retrograde amnesia, so Maureen very likely wouldn’t have remembered what happened to her, but she never got the chance to find out. Peter Fuhrmann had his way with her, and during a lull in
that list. I crossed off the last name, remember.” “With the proxy marriage in Provo.” “Right. Something changed that day, Ree. Something shifted. You know it was all about my daddy.” “I know.” “I kept fucking him and killing him, over and over. Not consciously, but let’s face it, that’s what I was doing. And I think he’s finally dead, you know? And I’m finally at peace with it. You know what else I think?” “That you had to be done with all that in order for us to be together.” “Yes! And we
told Ken, “is Ree and I both think you’re awfully cute, and I know how much fun you are to party with, so what do we need with another guy?” “Because as far as we’re concerned,” Ree said, “three is not a crowd. Unless you feel differently.” “Not me,” he said. “I think three’s a terrific number. I mean, think about it. It’s the very number God picked when he was deciding how many people to be.” “But there are a couple of things you ought to know. First of all, you know how you told me your name