Alarums

by Richard Laymon

'You startled me,' Pen said. She picked up the sock and dropped it into the machine.

  'You gotta loosen up.'

  'I'll keep that in mind.'

  Damn it, where'd he come from?

  'Aren't you missing a game on TV?' she asked.

  'Why would I watch a game when I can watch you?' He leaned against the doorframe, crossed his ankles, and folded his arms across his massive chest.

  With a sigh, Pen crouched to pick up her bleach and detergent. She could feel his gaze. She straightened up. Her hand trembled as she filled the measuring cup.

  'Gotcha rattled, huh?'

  'You didn't have to sneak up on me like that,' she said, keeping her eyes away from him as she dumped the detergent, then the bleach, into the washer. She closed the lid. She turned on the machine and heard water rush in.

  'Why don't you toss in the rest?' he suggested, grinning. That stuff you got on looks like it could use a good wash.'

  'Some other time.'

  'No time like the present. Come on, honey, it's laundry day. Get everything good and clean.'

  She glared at him, heat spreading over her face. 'Why don't you take a hike, Manny?'

  He grinned. 'Bet you say that to all the guys.'

  'Just the jerks.' Embarrassed and angry, she picked up her basket and tumbled its contents into the other washer.

  'You aren't a dyke, are you?'

  'Shut the hell up.'

  'I mean, 'cause it'd be a shame, a piece like you. A real loss to mankind.'

  She didn't bother with the measuring cup. She shook the detergent into the machine and set the basket aside. 'Yeah, I guess you are a dyke.'

  She slammed the lid down and whirled around. 'I'm not a lesbian and you're a piece of shit.'

  He looked amused. 'That's no way to talk. Glad to hear you're not a dyke, though. So what is it, you just frigid?'

  Seething, Pen turned away. She started the washer and picked up her empty basket. With a shaking hand, she set the detergent and bleach inside it. She held the basket with its edge against her belly and faced Manny.

  'Not leaving already, are you?' He stepped into the middle of the doorway.

  'Please move,' she said.

  'When was the last time you had a good fucking?'

  'Get out of my way.'

  'That's gotta be your problem, you know. And I'm just the guy to help you with that.' He lowered a hand and patted the front of his shorts. It was obvious from the bulge that he had an erection. 'I'm well equipped to handle that problem for you, honey. Wanta see?' Grinning, he drew the shorts down a fraction.

  'Stop it.'

  'Tell you what. Why don't you toss these in with your stuff? All your stuff. Know what I mean? And I'll show you what it's like to…'

  'Move,' Pen said and walked toward him, the basket braced in front of her.

  'Hey, now. This is your big chance.'

  'Move!' she yelled in his face.

  He flinched and stepped aside.

  Pen walked past him, half expecting to be grabbed.

  He muttered, 'Cunt.' But he kept his hands to himself.

  She hurried through the doorway, out of the shadowed area and into the sunlight. She was trembling and she had a hard time catching her breath. At the foot of the stairs, she looked back.

  Manny, standing near the corner of the pool, raised his middle finger and rotated it.

  Pen hurried up the stairs, along the balcony to her apartment, and unlocked the door. Inside, she leaned against the door. Her chest hurt. She panted for air.

  The filthy bastard.

  When was the last time you had a good fucking?

  I wanted to talk to you about my big hard cock and your hot juicy cunt.

  Her legs folded. She slid down the door and stared over the tops of her upraised knees.

  Manny?

  The voice wasn't quite the same, but he could've disguised it when he made the calls.

  Manny.

  Over in 202. With a clear view of her front door and windows. Knowing who she saw and when. Knowing when she was here and when she was gone and when she went to bed.

  Knowing when she was alone.

  Manny.

  ***

  Melanie must have made it.

  She would've been back around one-twenty, no later than one-thirty, if she'd reached Harrison 's house, found his Mercedes in the driveway, and given up.

  So she must've beaten him back to the house, snuck in the back door, and hidden herself. In the closet, or maybe under the bed.

  Bodie looked at his wristwatch. Two minutes had passed since the last time. It was now five till two.

  If Melanie had turned back, she would've been here half an hour ago.

  He stared at the empty beer bottle as he turned it slowly in his fingers.

  And what, perchance, do I do about this curious turn of events?

  For starters, have another beer.

  Bodie got up and took another Corona from the refrigerator. He opened it. This one, he took outside. He stretched out on the lounger. The mild breeze kept the sun from feeling too hot. Closing his eyes, he pictured the way Pen had looked this morning when she was on the same lounger.

  He took a drink.

  What was she doing right now? Had she gone out to find a new apartment? Was she wondering why they hadn't shown up yet with her things?

  Hey, I'm stranded here. I'd bring the stuff to you if I could. I'd rather, by far, be there than here.

  As soon as Melanie gets back.

  That could be a while.

  She's stuck there until she has a chance to sneak out.

  They might, of course, catch her.

  I could walk over there. Wouldn't take more than half an hour.

  Or phone Pen. She has a car. We drive over to Harrison's and then what? Knock on the door and ask for Melanie? Real cute.

  But the thought of phoning Pen made his heart quicken. He could tell her about Melanie. They could discuss the situation. Maybe she would even come over. They'd be alone in the house. Oh, come off it, he told himself.

  I'd better call her.

  He set his beer bottle on the table and went into the house. He dialed Directory Assistance, gave Pen's city and name to the live operator and heard a computer voice give the number. He wrote it on a wall pad, and dialed.

  He let the phone ring ten times, then hung up.

  He went outside again and sat in the sun. He drank some beer and put the bottle down. He shut his eyes.

  So much for having a visitor.

  He could call a cab and go over to Pen's place. There's a thought.

  Hi. Just dropped by to see how you're doing. Where's Melanie? Oh, she's hiding in Harrison 's house, gathering clues.

  ***

  Pen, finding herself incapable of reading after her return from the laundry room, had turned on the television and sat gazing at its screen, her mind preoccupied with swirling, disjointed thoughts about her encounter with Manny, the calls, her father, the shotgun, whether she should move to a new apartment after all, Joyce and Harrison betraying her father and possibly trying to murder him, Melanie's 'vision', Bodie in her bedroom last night, Melanie's jealousy.

  Then had come the blare of her timer's alarm, and the need to go down again to the laundry room.

  The shotgun was out of the question, so she'd taken a steak knife along, wrapped in a towel beneath her arm.

  Transferring her damp laundry from the washing machines to a drier, she had expected Manny to sneak in, maybe even assault her this time, but he never showed up.

  Now she was waiting again. In a few minutes, the drying cycle would finish and she would have to return once more. The towel with the knife inside lay on the table in front of her. She wouldn't go down there without it.

  Maybe Manny was all talk. He hadn't tried anything.

  Maybe I should forget the knife.

  That was a hard-on in his shorts, and he wanted to stick it in me. He made that pretty damn obvious. If I'd shown the slightest
interest, he would've had me on the floor and…

  Manny isn't the caller.

  Manny didn't slip the note under the door.

  Manny confronts you in the laundry room, half naked, and tries to bully you into putting out. He's not the type to make anonymous telephone calls.

  Pen slumped back on the sofa, frowning at the television screen.

  There had been, she realized, a certain comfort in believing it was Manny. He was real and known, an enemy to protect herself against. Not a faceless presence, not a stranger out there somewhere, wanting her. Better Manny with his smirk and his pecs and his bulging gym shorts than…

  She jerked rigid at the sudden jangle of a bell.

  I want to come…

  Not the phone, the timer.

  She stood up, patted the pocket of her shorts to make sure she had her keys, then picked up the towel with the knife inside. She clamped the towel under her arm, lifted the laundry basket, and left her apartment.

  Manny's curtains were open. She didn't see him at any of the windows, but that proved nothing; he could be standing back a few feet, concealed in the dimness of a room, watching her undetected.

  She hurried along the balcony and down the stairs. Walking past the pool, she heard faint music from one of the apartments. A sign of life. She found that reassuring.

  She had left the laundry room locked, and it was locked when she reached it.

  Manny, of course, would have a key of his own.

  Setting the basket down, Pen dug into her pocket and took out the keys. She unlocked the door, swung it open, and peered inside.

  Nobody there.

  She flicked the light on. Then she toed her basket through the doorway and shut herself inside.

  The drier still rumbled.

  She had set it for an hour.

  It should've stopped five minutes ago.

  Picking up her basket, she stepped over to the machine. The timer dial showed that it still had three or four minutes to run.

  I must've set my kitchen timer wrong, Pen told herself.

  Either that, or someone had been in here and fooled with the dial on the drier.

  I am so damn paranoid. I've gotta cut it out.

  Bending over, she curled her fingers around the handle of the drier's door. Suddenly, she was afraid to open it.

  Anything might be inside.

  How about a dead, mangled cat? A note tied to its tail: 'How about a little pussy?'

  You're losing your grip, Pen old pal.

  She forced herself to open the door. The machine went silent and her breath snagged as the corner of a sheet flopped out.

  Crouching, she looked into the dark drum. Nothing seemed to be in there except her laundry.

  She reached inside and clutched warm fabric with both hands.

  Tiny, needle-sharp teeth didn't nip her fingers.

  Of course not.

  There's nothing wrong except in my mind.

  She lifted out a bundle of laundry and dropped it into the basket.

  Shit, she thought as she reached in again. Plenty is wrong. The whole damn world is caving in.

  But nobody left me a gift.

  You hope.

  Quickly, she finished unloading the machine.

  She pressed the towel-wrapped knife into the soft pile of her laundry, lifted her basket, and hurried from the room.

  Half the pool was in shadow, but she walked in sunlight and shook her head.

  A dead cat in the drier.

  Hungry rats?

  God Almighty, things are bad enough without me inventing nasty little surprises.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Almost safe.

  Climbing them, she imagined Manny staring out his window at her.

  He's the least of my worries, she told herself. He's a creep, but he isn't the caller. I can handle him.

  She was tempted to look around as she walked along the balcony, but if he was watching she really didn't want to know. She unlocked her door, entered, and nudged it shut with her rump.

  Safe.

  The door was locked behind her. The phones were disconnected. The shotgun was under the bed.

  No one can touch me now.

  Pen took a few long, slow breaths, trying to calm herself, then carried the basket into her bedroom and upended it on the mattress.

  She began to sort her laundry: sheets and pillow cases in one pile, another pile for clothes that would need to be ironed, a third for undergarments. When the sorting was done, she carried her brassieres two at a time to her dresser and stacked them neatly in a drawer. Then she folded her panties. Except for the tattered white pair she'd worn to bed Friday night, the panties were new and skimpy and brightly colored - red, blue, pink, lavender.

  Her black panties weren't there.

  She knew she had worn them.

  So where are they?

  She searched the two remaining piles, thinking the black panties may have been caught in a blouse or sheet. They weren't there. She checked the basket, the floor beside the bed. Then she looked once more through the laundry, more carefully this time, lifting each article and shaking it, expecting the panties to flutter out.

  They didn't.

  'Goddamn it,' she whispered.

  Her chest felt tight.

  She must have left the panties inside the washer or drier. They were small and dark, easily missed when removing the rest of her clothes from the machines. Normally, she ran her hands around the metal to make certain nothing was left behind. But she hadn't done that today. Too preoccupied. Too careless. Too eager to get back to the safety of her room.

  Good move.

  She didn't want to go back down. She wanted to stay right here, locked in with the phones unplugged, maybe have a glass of wine and take a long, hot bath.

  Better get the panties before someone else does.

  She hurried out and was halfway down the stairs when she realized she had forgotten her knife.

  She quickly patted the pocket of her shorts and didn't feel the bulge of her keys. Her heart galloped. She slapped her other front pocket. She never kept them in that pocket, but that's exactly where they were.

  Thank God.

  Really great if you'd locked yourself out.

  Striding alongside the pool, she pulled the key case from her pocket and had the proper key out, ready in her hand, by the time she reached the laundry room.

  Inside, she bent over the washing machine to peer inside, felt between the wings of its agitator and ran her fingers under the top in case the panties were clinging there. She crouched in front of the drier and swept a hand around the inside drum. She even checked the washing machine she had used for her white laundry. Then she searched the floor.

  The panties were definitely gone.

  Someone had come in and taken them.

  Manny? What if it wasn't Manny?

  Tight and cold inside, Pen hurried back to her apartment. She leaned against the door, shaking.

  Calm down.

  Calm down, hell. Someone took my panties - wanted them and stole them and has them.

  Watched me come and go from the laundry room.

  I've got to get out of here.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After waking up, Bodie wandered over to the gazebo. He slipped his fingers through the cool water of the spa, and remembered last night in the swirling heat, Pen so beautiful, Melanie topless and flirting and later bottomless as well, so urgently striving to keep Bodie's attention from her sister.

  Where is she now? Crouched in Harrison 's closet? Hiding beneath his bed? Maybe caught.

  He supposed he should do something about it, but what?

  Stepping around the wooden platform, he found the controls. Turn a knob, flick a switch, he could probably get the water hot.

  Go ahead.

  He did.

  The machinery hummed and the clear surface stirred a bit. Lowering an arm into the water, he felt along the side until a warm current pus
hed at his wrist.

  He returned to the house. Upstairs, he found the bikini trunks he'd worn last night and put them on. With a towel draping his bare shoulders, he went down to the kitchen. He took a beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and walked out to the spa. He climbed in.

  The water made him shiver, but he sat in front of the lead-in pipe. The water from there blew warm against his back.

  He was sitting where Pen had sat last night.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured the way she had looked -her face shimmering in the red glow, her blond hair the color of a harvest moon, a few damp locks clinging to her forehead, the shiny satin of her wet shoulders, the way the water rippled over the tops of her breasts.

  The water felt warmer, now.

  'Hi.'

  Bodie's eyes flew open. For a moment, he couldn't believe that Pen was standing there. But she was, oh yes. 'Hello,' he said.

  'I didn't think anyone was here.'

  'Just me.'

  'Where's everyone else?'

  'Joyce is still… out.'

  Pen nodded, an angry look flaring for a moment in her eyes.

  'Melanie's sort of abandoned me here.'

  She climbed up, left her sandals on the platform, and sat on the edge with her legs hanging in the water. 'It could be hotter.'

  He shrugged. His heart was thudding.

  'I freaked out a little bit, staying over there alone.'

  'I called you earlier.'

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  'I guess you weren't home.'

  'I haven't plugged in my phones. Not yet. Who knows, maybe never.'

  'That bad, huh?'

  'I know it's silly.'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Thanks. What did you call about?'

  'Why don't you put on your suit and come in?'

  'Is that why you called?'

  'I called about Melanie.'

  Pen nodded for him to go on.

  'We went back to Harrison 's. First, we went to the police station, but we didn't find out much. Then we went to Harrison 's. He and Joyce were still there so we came back to the house and Melanie phoned him - said your father had come out of his coma and wanted to see him.'

  'Are you serious?'

  'It worked. We sped back there and he was gone, so we broke into his garage for a peek at the Porsche.'

  'What do you mean, you broke in?'