The Blob by David Bischoff Page A

in his usually blank face. And of accusation? What the hell had been going on with those kids? Some kind of weird ritual involving dousing the Can Man in acid or something? Geller had read about weirder things in the newspaper, but he’d never thought that something like this could happen in Morgan City.
    And then the Penny car drove off, and the suspect was brought before the sheriff.
    “Hello, Flagg,” said Geller. “We’ve got some serious talking to do, boy. And if I hear an ounce of attitude”—he lifted his fist—“God help me, I’ll give you a pound of knuckles!”
    Brian Flagg said nothing.

12
    A ll in all Scott Jesky was very pleased. The date with Vicki Desoto was going exactly according to plan. If all went well at this delicate stage of negotiations, he’d be in the saddle in just a matter of minutes, and then be home by midnight, where he could chalk another victory mark up on his “hit board.”
    He’d parked his battered white ’63 Impala on top of Lakey Ridge, a classic lover’s lane overlooking Morgan City. The date was supposed to have been for a movie, but he’d managed to nix that pretty quick, getting on to more active aspects of teen courting by feeding Vicki a drink. She’d taken it, all right, and she’d liked it. They always did—the ones he was able to convince, anyway. “Painless punch,” he called it—his own special concoction. Then he’d convinced her that it was such a gorgeous night, they shouldn’t waste it being inside at some stuffy, boring movie, but should enjoy the fresh air, the night sky. And so, off to a place with just an absolutely wonderful view. And, they could just sit and talk.
    Vicki had swallowed it, hook, line, and another drink.
    “I can’t tell you how agonizing it is,” Scott Jesky was saying now, leaning toward his groggy date. “I guess what I really just need is a shoulder to cry on. The thought of all those years . . . I was cut off, I didn’t have the courage to tell people about how I was starving for physical affection.”
    He leaned over and put his hand around her shoulder, while the other hand crept up her stocking to the hem of her high-riding skirt. She regarded this movement with giggly bemusement for a moment. Then his hand shot out for home base, triggering a cry of protest.
    “Scott, cut it out!” she said, slapping his hand away. “I’ll kiss you, I told you. But that’s the limit!”
    “What? But kisses . . . My heart kisses your heart. My soul kisses your lips. My fingers kiss your lovely frilly underwear.”
    She moved over to the door, pushing him away, her huge breasts rising up with alarm beneath her tight blouse. With a finger she described a line across her midsection. “That’s the imaginary line, and you can’t cross it!”
    Scott blinked. “Line? What are you, Libya?”
    “Look, I like you, Scott, and—and you make me feel liked too. I told you we could go out steady for a while . . . Isn’t that enough?”
    “Steady! C’mon, Vicki, you’re wearing my ring now! That makes you my girl!” That “painless punch” had really done the trick, along with the football game today. She was just aching for a boyfriend, and apparently she really did like him. He’d thought for just a moment that maybe he could lake it easy tonight, just get to know her, enjoy a few easygoing, no-tension dates. But the thought did last only a moment.
    “It is a nice ring,” said Vicki, admiring the glitter at the end of the necklace hanging from her neck. “I do like it, Scott.”
    “Thank God it doesn’t have to breathe,” Scott said, looking at the way it was stuffed between the mounds of her breasts. “Course, that wouldn’t be a bad way to go . . . Now, c’mere, baby! You don’t want to traumatize me, do you?”
    But she pulled away from his embrace, attracted by something. She pointed out through the fogged-up window, down the hill past the woods. “Hey, what are all those lights down there? Isn’t that the