Quake

by Richard Laymon

  When she was gone, Mary said, 'What is it with you and her?'

  'We can't leave her alone here. She's just a kid.'

  'You're not her father.'

  'I'm aware of that.'

  'You like her, don't you!'

  'Sure like her. She's a good kid.'

  'A swell kid,' Mary muttered.

  'We don't know where her mother is. We don't know she's coming back at all. hate to think what might've happened to Em if she'd been in the house when Lou and her pal broke in. They might come back. And there's absolutely no way for us to know how bad things are, how bad they might get. It's pretty obvious the cops won't be doing people a lot of good, not till the phone system is operating again and the roads clear. With a deal like that, you could end up with big-time chaos. A girl Em's age shouldn't have to face that sort of stuff alone.'

  'I wonder if you'd be saying that if she was fat and ugly,' Mary said. Then came the sound of the flushing toilet. She left the dining room. She and Em crossed paths near the doorway.

  Em looked at Clint, one eye narrowed. 'Don't you think maybe we should take some stuff with us? Water, for instance? And some food, at least something to snack on? Because we might very well need to walk part of the way. Have you considered that? mean, wouldn't be one bit surprised to find Laurel Canyon closed. Or totally jammed with traffic so we wouldn't be able to go an inch all day.'

  'It's very possible,' Clint said.

  'Maybe we'll be able to zip fight over the top in the car, but we ought to be prepared for the opposite.'

  'You're right. Let's take some food and water.'

  'And maybe we should arm ourselves.'

  'I thought you said…'

  'Oh, we don't have any guns. But we could take along some knives.'

  'Your mother allows knives in the house?'

  Em smiled. 'She hasn't figured out how to get by without them. Not yet, anyhow.' As they walked into the kitchen, Em said, 'If we didn't eat meat, of course, think we could manage without sharp knives. I'm certainly not about to tell her that, though - she'd turn us into vegetarians. Life is bizarre enough without that. don't know what I'd do if couldn't eat meat.'

  The carving knives were on the floor, three still jutting from the slotted block of oak that served as their holder. The other five were scattered nearby.

  'Which should we take?'

  'If we need any of them, we're in a whole lot of trouble.'

  Mary came into the kitchen. 'Now what? she asked. Mary stepped up to the counter. 'Terrific. You can count me out.'

  'That's all right,' Em told her, 'I'll take two.'

  'Take your pick,' Clint said.

  'You go first.'

  'Ladies first.'

  'But you're in charge. You ought to… '

  'Jesus H. Christ!' Mary snapped. 'Stop playing games!'

  Clint quickly grabbed a paring knife with a four-inch blade. 'Is that it?' Em asked.

  'Suits me. Shorter the blade, the less likely am to cut myself. You go ahead and pick. I'll be right back.' He hurried into the bathroom. He urinated. Then he found the cardboard core of a toilet paper roll in the wastebasket. He took it out, mashed it flat, and slipped the blade of his knife inside. In the sink, he found a roll of adhesive tape that had fallen from the medicine cabinet. He taped the end of the tube shut, then ran a strip down the knife handle and onto the cardboard to secure the knife within its makeshift sheath. Keeping the roll of tape, he returned to the kitchen. Em, at the refrigerator, was stuffing food into a paper bag. Mary, at the sink, was filling a two-litre plastic Pepsi bottle with tap water. Two knives lay side by side on the counter. The remaining knives had been put back into the holder.

  'These the ones you want?' Clint asked.

  Em smiled over her shoulder. 'I picked the biggest.'

  'So see. What I'm going to do is run a length of tape along their sharp edges. That way, you won't have to worry about slicing yourself open. If you need to cut something, you just strip off the tape.'

  'Nifty.' She swung the refrigerator door shut. Crumpling the top of the bag, she came over to Clint.

  Mary shut off the faucet. 'Okay, we've got three bottles. One each.'

  Clint got to work taping the knife blades. 'You'll be a regular Jim Bowie,' he said.

  'Didn't he bite it at the Alamo?'

  'Well, yeah.'

  'Real swift comparison, Mr Banner.'

  'That's all right,' he said. 'We're nowhere near the Alamo.'

  Em laughed. She laughed hard. She cracked up. She had never fallen apart like this in front of Clint, and he enjoyed seeing her so delighted. After she regained control, Clint handed the knives to her. 'The trick with these is to keep them out of sight. They make an excellent secret weapon. Once the enemy becomes aware of them, though, they loose a lot of their effectiveness.'

  Mary frowned. 'What is this? How do you know about that stuff? And saw the chop you gave that woman. Who are you?'

  'Bond. James Bond. And this is M.'

  'Very funny.'

  He glanced from Mary to Em. 'Are we all set? Are we forgetting anything?' They shook their heads. 'Then let's move out.'

  When Em finished locking the front door of her house, they walked across the yard toward Mary's BMW. Clint was almost to the curb when he noticed that the right front tire was flat. Shit! Another delay. But as long as Mary's spare was okay… He saw that the right rear tire was also flat. His stomach dropped. He rushed out into the street. Both tires on the left side of the car were flat.

  Mary stood motionless and stiff, her mouth hanging open. 'Whuh…? What happened to… to my car?'

  'That pair we chased off,' Clint said. 'I'd bet on it.'

  'Lou and the guy,' Em explained. 'Did us a little payback.'

  'My God! My Beamer! They… they ruined it!'

  'All they did was slash the tires,' Clint said. 'Probably.'

  'Why didn't you just let them take the goddamn boxes?' she blurted. 'Why did you have to bother them? Look what they did! Look what they did to my Beamer!'

  Ignoring her outburst, Em asked Clint, 'What'll we do now?'

  'Do you still want to come with us?'

  'You must be kidding. They snuck back while we were inside. I'm not sticking around here.'

  'If you people think for one minute that I'm going to leave my car on this street in the middle of God-knows-where…'

  'Studio City,' Em broke in. 'And it's right in front of my house. It's not like it's lost. You can pick it up when Clint brings me back.'

  'It might not even be here by then.'

  'It'll be fine,' Clint said. 'It's not fine now!'

  'Well, look, there's nothing we can do. Not with that many flats. If you try to drive it in that condition, you'll ruin the rims. In a day or two, after things have settled down, I'll bring you out and help you take care of it. Okay? But right now, we've gotta get moving or we'll never get home.'

  'What're you planning to do, walk?'

  'Yup.'

  'Oh, fine and dandy. Have you forgotten about the mountain range?'

  'It's just a ridge of hills. I've driven over it every day for the past three years. From Ventura Boulevard to the top, it's only two miles.'

  'Two miles?' Mary grimaced.

  'Two miles up, two miles down the other side to Sunset, and it'll be a level hike of about four miles from there to my house'

  'Right here,' Em said, 'we're about a mile from the bottom.

  So that'll make a grand total of nine miles.'

  'I'm not going,' Mary said.

  'You don't want to stay here,' Em told her. 'Besides, it'll be a cinch once we get to the top. The first part'll be tough. After Mulholland, though, no sweat.'

  'And we'll take it easy on the way up,' Clint added.

  'I'm not going. I'm staying right here.' She went to the other side of her BMW, opened the door and climbed in. She slammed the door shut. Clint muttered, 'Women.'

  Em gaped at him. 'Say again?'

  'Just kiddi
ng. Women are terrific.’

  'That's better.'

  'Let's go, Em. You're still coming, aren't you'

  'Are you going to leave her?'

  'It's her choice.'

  He followed Em to the driver's window. 'Are you sure stay?'

  'Buzz off.'

  'It's not that far. Less than ten miles.'

  'This isn't about walking.'

  'What is it about?'

  'What do you care? Just go. You've got Clint to yourself now. Have a good time.'

  'If you're really planning to stay, I'll give you a key.'

  'Don't bother.'

  'You can at least go inside and…'

  'Fuck off.'

  Em lurched backward as if struck. Turning she glanced at Clint with startled eyes. 'Let's go.'

  Mary was still sitting in her car when they reached the end of the block.

  'What do you think's wrong with her?' Em asked.

  'Plenty.'

  'She certainly got upset about her tires.'

  'I guess the car means a lot to her.'

  'That's for sure. Not to mention she hates me.'

  'Aah, she doesn't hate you.'

  'Sure she does. That's okay, though. I'm used to it. People either love me or hate me - has something to do with my winning personality.' She grinned. 'Anyway, didn't mean to come between you two, or anything.'

  'Don't worry about it. We're probably better off without her.'

  'I just hope nobody jumps her while she's…'

  'Hey! Wait for me!'

  Looking back, they saw Mary jog around the corner, waving. Her purse swung at her side by its shoulder strap. It was open, the top of her water bottle jutting out.

  'Oh, joy,' Em said. 'Let's see if we can ditch her.'

  Clint laughed. 'You have a cruel streak.'

  Now that they had halted to wait for her, Mary slowed to a walk.

  'Hurry up,' Clint called.

  'Sorry.' She quickened her pace.

  She looked different to Clint. Less formal and sour, somehow. And her suit jacket was gone.

  'Change your mind?' Em asked when Mary stopped in front of them.

  The woman nodded, shrugged, looked sheepishly from Em to Clint. 'I don't know what was thinking,' she said. 'Honestly. mean, how stupid can a person be? Guess I'll have to plead temporary insanity.'

  'It's been a rough morning,' Clint said.

  'You're telling me.' She fluttered the front of her blouse. 'Hotter than the dickens, too. Do you believe this heat?' She made a face, pursed her lips, blew, and fanned the air in front of her 'We'll take it slow,' Clint told her. 'We'll be all right.'

  ***

  Stanley never meant to do any of this. He'd only wanted to borrow Judy's saw and hurry back to Sheila. But Judy couldn't let it go at that. Oh, no. Huh-uh. She had to stick her nose in. She had to push. She had to insist on going with him. Stanley'd had enough of interfering women, women who butted into his business, women who wanted to control him and stop him from doing the good stuff. Judy would've ruined his plans for Sheila. So she had to be put out of action. That was all Stanley had meant to do - take her out of the game. That's why he had driven his knee up into her belly. He'd meant to incapacitate her, haul her into her house, maybe tie her up and gag her, then hurry on back to Sheila. But the moment Stanley felt his knee sink into her belly and heard her breath gush out, she'd stopped being an obstacle in his way. She'd suddenly become an unexpected girl. An earthquake prize. We'll just make it quick, he'd told himself as he lugged her into the house by the back of her cut-off jeans. What if this ruins Sheila for me? It won't, it won't. And anyway, who knows? The Sheila thing might fall through. Shit, it probably will. Something was bound to mess it up. Nothing ever turned out right for Stanley, and getting Sheila for himself was not likely to be the exception. Anyway, a bird in the hand…

  Even though Judy couldn't compare to Sheila, she was in his hands, in his power. He'd never had a woman that way before.

  They'd always held the power: he'd always been the beggar. And he'd never even come close to having a woman, who wasn't fat or ugly. Sure, Judy was no Sheila. But compared to the few women who had allowed Stanley to touch them during his thirty years of life, Judy Wellman was incredibly gorgeous, breathtaking, stunning. He couldn't just tie her up and go away.

  So he'd carried her into the master bedroom, climbed on the king-sized bed with her, swung her feet toward the ceiling while holding onto her cut-off jeans, and shaken her until she dropped headfirst onto the mattress, leaving the jeans in his hands. Panties halfway down her thighs, she'd flopped and rolled. Before she could get to her hands and knees, Stan had pounced. It seemed like ages ago. I've gotta get back to Sheila, he told himself. She'll keep. Maybe not. Someone might come along. I've been away too long. He hated to give it up, though. Judy had struggled in the beginning, but her resistance had caved in almost right away once he'd shoved into her for first time. It was as if her only reason for fighting had been to keep him out of her body. After that, she'd cried a lot. Then, the crying had stopped. She'd let Stanley do whatever he wanted, and she'd followed orders. Which had seemed great for a while. He'd studied her all over, explored her, delved into her, caressed and squeezed her, kissed and licked and sucked her everywhere, commanded her to suck on him. Absolutely great. For a while.

  After a while, however, Stanley began to feel cheated. Betrayed. Judy was letting him do whatever he wanted and she was doing everything he asked of her, but without feeling. As if her mind and spirit had taken a hike. So long, Stan. Have a merry old time with the bod. We'll come back when you're done. Thelma used to do that. Flop on the bed and gaze at the ceiling. As if he wasn't there at all. After a year of that, he'd quit bothering. It made him feel a little sick inside to remember how it had been with Thelma. And now Judy was pulling the same stunt. Denying my existence. 'Fucking bitch!' He rammed his cock up Judy, pushing his pelvis against her so hard that he jolted her whole body. Her breasts jerked and wobbled. Her teeth clashed together. But she stayed limp and kept her empty gaze on the ceiling. 'I'm here,' Stanley said. 'Hey!' No response. 'Hey! Judy! Damn it!'- Nothing.

  So then he pulled out of her. He slid down her body. She was slick and sticky. He scooted backward until his knees reached the edge of the bed. Then he slipped his arms underneath Judy's wide open legs and clutched the tops of her thighs. He pressed his mouth against her. He licked and probed. His tongue got no reaction. But his teeth did. Judy shrieked and bucked.

  Yes! Stanley raised his face. He looked up from between her legs. She was all shiny and flushed, her belly pulsing as she gasped, her breasts shaking, her arms up, hands clenching the sides of the pillow under her head, her face crimson, her lips peeled back in agony, tears rolling down from the corners of her tightly shut eyes. What a sight! What a beautiful sight! 'Did you like that?' Stanley asked.

  'No!' she cried out.

  'Do you want more?'

  'No! Please!'

  'Who am I?'

  'Please! Don't…!'

  'Who am I?'

  'Stan! Stanley!'

  'Stanley who?'

  'Banks! Stanley Banks!'

  'Very good.' He kissed her. Not a bite, a kiss, but she flinched anyway as if scalded. 'Where am I, Judy?'

  'Huh?'

  ' Where?'

  'I don't… What do you want me to say?'

  'Am in outer space?'

  'No!'

  'Where am I?'

  'In… in Los Angeles?'

  'Yesss. But where?'

  'On Marlene Street?'

  'More.'

  'What?'

  'Where?'

  'In my house!' she blurted. 'In my bedroom! In my bed!'

  'Where?'

  'Here! Right here!'

  'Right! And you made a really big mistake when you decided to pretend like wasn't.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Why?'

  'Why what?'

  'Why sorry?'

  'Because…'

&nb
sp; 'Because you hurt my feelings?' Stanley asked.

  'Yes! didn't mean to. Honest.'

  'Bull-fucking-shit.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Do you wanta know why? There's only one reason you're sorry, and that's because I'm in charge now. You can't make me go away. You can't make me stop. And you can't ignore me. You bitches think you own the fucking world. But you don't own me. Not today. Not here. It's my turn to be the boss.'

  In a quiet and trembling voice, Judy said, 'I never did anything to you. I've always been nice to you.'

  'Yeah. And I'm sure you're always nice to dogs, too.'

  He made her scream again.

  ***

  'You're not quitting?' Mrs Klein asked, alarm in her voice.

  'Just taking a breather,' Barbara said as she climbed backward down the slope of rubble.

  'A brief rest,' Mrs Klein said.

  'Yeah.' Feet on the flat, safe surface of the alley, Barbara stood up straight. She stretched, arching her spine, twisting, thrusting her shoulders back. Then she bent over and held on to her knees and panted for air. Sweat dripped off her face. Her blouse was so wet that it hugged her back. A couple of the top buttons had come undone, so the front drooped open to her belly and let air in. Her bra felt sodden. Her panties were glued to her rump. 'Such wonderful young people you are,' Mrs Klein said. 'Glad to help,' Barbara muttered. They'd hardly gotten away from the body of the kid who'd snatched Barbara's purse before they'd been waylaid by Mrs Klein. Actually, Barbara supposed they'd gone two blocks. Maybe three. The woman had come stumbling out of the alley just in front of them, weeping, frantically flinging her head from side to side, then spotting them and calling out, 'Help me! Please! Help me!'

  'Quick!' Heather had whispered. 'Let's get out of here!'

  'Not me,' Pete had said. 'Sorry. mean, look at her.' About fifty years old, fashionably dressed, she looked like a woman who might've just been mugged on her way to a luncheon in Beverly Hills. Her brown hair was mussed, her face streaked with mascara as if she'd wept blue tears, her ivory silk blouse filthy and untucked, her stockings snagged and split with runs, her knees bloody beneath the hem of her skirt, her shoes missing.

  'Are you okay, ma'am?' Pete had asked as she hobbled toward them.

  'Am okay? Is my outfit a ruin? Is my heart broken? Help me! Help me save my baby!' Without waiting for an answer, she'd dragged Pete into the alley. As Barbara and Heather had hurried after them, she'd gasped out, 'How could this happen to me? My poor Susie! only left her for two minutes. Two minutes, not a second longer. I'd forgot my checkbook in the house. My checkbook! A checkbook don't need. Do have credit cards? Who doesn't? But off go for a checkbook don't need, and all God's hell breaks loose, do you know what mean? The house? A shambles, but up it stays. The garage, down it goes like a bad stock. On top of my baby! My poor baby! You'll save her?'