Life Expectancy

anyway?"
        Wondering whether Nedra lay at rest among the cords of dry pine in her woodshed or in her basement freezer, Lorrie put one hand on the assault rifle.
        "That's not friendly, missy."
        She took her hand off the weapon.
        Beezo put the open hypodermic kit on the dashboard, placed the prepared syringe atop it. "Be a lamb and take off your parka, roll up a sleeve, and let me find a vein."
        Instead of obeying, she said, "What are you going to do to me?"
        He surprised her by affectionately pinching her cheek as if he were a maiden aunt and she were a favorite niece. "You fret too much, missy.
        Too much worry only makes the most-feared thing come true. I'm going to sedate you a little to make you cooperative and pliable."
        "And then?"
        "I'll cut the lap and shoulder belts from this vehicle, fashion them into a sling, and pull you up this slope to Hawksbill Road."
        "I'm pregnant."
        "As anyone but a blind man can see," Beezo replied, and winked. "There you go worrying again. I won't secure the sling in any way that would harm you or the baby. I can't carry you up that incline. Too hard.
        And dangerous."
        "And when we reach the top?"
        "I'll load you in the Hummer and drive to a nice cozy private place.
        When the time comes, I'll deliver your adorable baby."
        Appalled, she said, "You're not a doctor."
        "Don't you concern yourself. I know the procedure."
        "How would you know?"
        "I've read an entire book about it," he said cheerily. "I've got all the necessary supplies and instruments."
        "Oh my God."
        "There you go, fretting again," he said. "You really do need a better attitude, dear. Attitude is the secret to a happy life. I can recommend some excellent books on the subject." He patted her shoulder. "I'll tie everything off just right and leave you where you'll be safe until you're found. Then the boy and I will be away on our great adventure."
        Speechless with horror, she stared at him.
        "I will teach him everything I know, and though he doesn't have Beezo blood in his veins, he will become the most acclaimed clown of his century." An ironic laugh bubbled from him like gas from a swamp. "I learned with my Punchinello that talent doesn't always travel from generation to generation. But I have so very much to share and such a passion for sharing it that I have no doubt I will make him a starlIt's going to be a girl," she said.
        Smiling, always smiling, he wagged a finger at her in gentle admonishment. "Remember, I've been listening for a week. You didn't want the doctor to tell you the sex of the baby."
        "But what if it is a girl?"
        "It'll be a boy," he insisted, winking, winking, winking again until he realized that the wink was about to become an uncontrollable tic. "It will be a boy because I need a boy."
        She was afraid to look away from him but could barely tolerate the rage and misery in his eyes. "Why? Oh. Because no girl has ever been a famous clown."
        "There are female clowns," he acknowledged, "but none of great merit.
        The merry kingdom of the big top is ruled by men."
        If her baby was a girl, he would kill them both.
        "It's cold in here now," Beezo said, "and getting very late. Be a sweet thing and take off your parka, roll up your sleeve."
        "No."
        His smile grew fixed, then sagged. He forced the curve back into his lips. "It would grieve me to have to knock you unconscious with a punch or two. But I will if you give me no choice. A thing was done, for whatever reasons, and in your heart you know fairness requires that I be compensated. You can always have another baby." he door hung open. I had a rock the size of a small grapefruit in my right hand. I leaned into the Explorer, and as the rifleman became aware of me and turned his head, I slammed the rock into his left temple, hard but not as hard as I would have liked.
        He regarded me with the surprise that anyone might have shown at the sight of a shot-and-drowned pastry chef miraculously returned to life.
        For an instant I thought I would have to hit him with the rock again.
        Then he slumped into the steering wheel, blowing the horn with his face.
        Pushing him back against the headrest, silencing the horn, I looked past him at Lorrie, inexpressibly relieved to see