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“Val and Connie. ”
“Uh-?huh. Which is which? No…let me guess. That one looks like a Connie,” he said, nodding to Connie. “She looks like every Connie I’ve ever known. Prissy name, don’t you think?”
Guthrie didn’t think he was supposed to answer that question, so he kept his jaw clamped shut.
“I guess that means you’re Val?” Val nodded. “I’m sorry,” Ruger said, cupping a hand to his ear. “Didn’t catch that. ”
“Y…yes. My name is Val Guthrie. ”
“Ah, splendid. ” Ruger looked as pleased as if Val had just won a spelling bee. “Now, ladies, hold up your hands. Mm-?hm. No wedding ring on your hand, Val. Too bad. Shouldn’t let fruits like yours spoil on the vine. But…ooo, look at that, Connie’s got a nice fat gold band. Well, where is Mr. Reed?”
“What?” Connie asked, confused.
“Your husband. Don’t you ever watch TV Land? Where is he?”
Connie said nothing, looking too scared to even open her mouth beyond the permanent shocked O in which it was set.
“Connie,” Ruger chided, “you’re forgetting the rules. ”
“He’s not home,” said Guthrie.
Ruger smiled, stood, walked over to the couch, and looked down at Guthrie. With another demonstration of his terrible speed he punched the old man in the face. Guthrie’s head rocked back as blood erupted from his torn eyebrow. It poured down his face in a shocking flood of brilliant red. Guthrie clamped his hands to his face, and Val seized him protectively in her arms, trying to stanch the flow of blood. Connie recoiled in horror and squeezed herself farther into the corner of the couch.
Ruger stood over them, looking down at them with all of the reptilian humor momentarily gone from his face. “Listen to me, you old fuck. If I ask you a question, you may answer. If I ask anyone else a question, shut the fuck up. Am I clear?”
Guthrie nodded slowly, his eyes blazing with pain and fury.
“I didn’t hear you. ”
“Yes, goddamn it!” Guthrie snarled, and tensed for another blow. Ruger just let his smile return and backed up until he found the rocker and lowered himself into it.
“Okay then. Let’s try this again. ”
Guthrie’s face was painted red and blood ran from between his fingers and down his forearms.
“Now, Connie. Where is your husband?”
Connie glanced at the blood still streaming down Guthrie’s face and in a choked, little girl voice said, “Mark went to a meeting after work. ”
“A meeting of what?”
“Rotary Club. ”
Ruger burst out laughing. “Oh man! That is just too precious! Fucking Rotary Club, and Donna-?frigging-?Reed to come home to. Tell me, Miss Perfect, does he drive a station wagon, too?”
“How did you know…?”
Laughter spewed out again. “American made?”
“Yes…a Ford. ”
Ruger actually pounded the butt of the pistol on his thigh as he laughed. Val and her father exchanged a very brief glance; Connie just frowned in uncertain confusion and fear. Eventually Ruger sobered. “Okay, Mr. Guthrie, your turn again. How’s the face?”
“It’s fine,” Guthrie said coldly.
“Looks to me like it hurts like a bitch. Whatever. Okay, now, does anyone else live here besides Donna Reed and her husband, Val the Spinster, and your own self? Is there a Mrs. Old Lady Guthrie?”
“It’s just us. ”
