Her hands were inside his pants before he got the truck in gear. He drove fast, trying to concentrate on his driving, out of town, to the edge of the woods by the Blackman pond. He pulled up short, cut the lights, and pulled on the parking brake. He turned to her, gave her a sloppy kiss, all tongue, gave her crotch a squeeze, and opened the door. “C’mon.”

She followed him out, giggling as usual, as he pulled a greasy, stained blanket from the back of his truck. Stumbling, they stepped over the fallen fence and walked through the trees until he found a place littered with beer bottles and other trash. He kicked aside a few things and laid the blanket down, then grabbed Priscilla and lowered her onto the blanket.

Soon they were ripping off each other’s tight jeans, and Leslie almost came before he got inside. God, he needed this. He came twice, furiously, humping mindlessly, viciously, and when he finally collapsed on top of her, she rolled him over onto his back and sat up.

“Jesus, Leslie. Give a girl a break.” She rubbed her lower back, then fished in her purse for a Kleenex and walked a ways into the woods. Leslie looked into the trees and felt relaxed for the first time.

“Got any beer?” He looked up and saw her standing there, blond bush poking up between her legs. She was shaking out her jeans.

“In the back of the truck. It’s warm.”

“I don’t care.”

“Bring me one, too. But leave your jeans here.”

She looked at him quizzically, cocking her head. “Leave my jeans?”

“Yeah.” He sat up and grabbed them from her, wadding them up and shoving them behind his head.

“Okay.” She laughed as she picked her way back to the truck, her wrinkled blouse hanging just short of her solid little buns.

She returned with a quart for each of them. They drank in silence, listening to the sounds of the night. Priscilla sat cross-legged, Leslie absently playing with her curly blond hairs.

“So what, you going to jail?”

“Probably. That little fuck Ned.”

“Yeah.” She thought for a moment. “You really went into that house while those people were there asleep and ripped them off?”

“Yeah.”

“That takes balls. Weren’t you scared?”

“Scared? Of what?”

“I don’t know. The dark. The people. The guy might have had a shotgun or something.”

“Nah. Nothing to be scared of.”

“I could never do that.”

“Sure you could.”

“I’d faint.”

“Nah.”

They drank again, and the feeling of being in that house returned. He had been scared. It was a terrible/wonderful feeling, that rush of adrenaline. Then he remembered sitting in his truck watching that old retard’s house.

“Hey, Priscilla.”

“Hmm?”

“Seen Leon lately?”