Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  The blanket seemed to be growing.

  It’s coming unrolled, he realized.

  And then Sherry emerged from the blackness.

  Her wonderful, pale body left the blanket behind as she dived and tumbled on her wild journey to the bottom.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Sid. Sid, wake up.” Dawn was shaking him by the shoulder.

  He rolled onto his back, turned his head and blinked at her. She looked worried.

  “Somebody’s at the door.”

  “Huh?”

  “He keeps ringing the doorbell.”

  “He? Who?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody. He keeps ringing it.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “See?”

  “Shit,” Sid muttered. He turned his head the other way and saw the clock on the nightstand.

  6:50.

  “Shit,” he said again.

  The doorbell rang once more.

  “Aren’t you gonna see who it is?” Dawn asked.

  “I’m gonna see who it is, all right.” He swept the top sheet away from his body and sprang out of bed. His father’s blue silk robe lay in a pile on the carpet. He snatched it up and put it on.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Do you think something’s wrong?” Dawn asked.

  “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Should I like…hide?”

  He swiveled around, scowling. But he lost the scowl when he saw the way Dawn was braced up on her elbows, naked down to where the sheet draped her lap, her skin tawny against the white of the sheets. Smiling, he shook his head. “What do you wanta hide for?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  He suddenly felt a small, squirmy chill deep inside. “No reason I can think of. But you’re welcome to hide if you—” Knuckles knocked hard against the door. Flinching, Sid gasped out, “Shit!” Then he said, “Okay, I’m gonna go kick some ass.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Sure.” He hurried out of the room. On his way to the door, he closed his robe. The front edges barely met. As he tied the belt, he remembered how large the robe used to seem. His father had been a big guy—a real lard-ass. In the past couple of years, however, Sid had outgrown him.

  With Sid, the bulk was all muscle.

  Soon, if he kept up with the weights, he wouldn’t be able to shut the robe at all.

  Dawn’ll love that.

  Whoever was on the other side of the front door kept pounding.

  What if it’s the cops?

  It’s not, he told himself. No way.

  Then who is it?

  He stepped up to the door, leaned forward and put his eye to the peephole.

  Toby?

  Toby, all right, but looking weird.

  Sid unlocked the door. By the time he could swing it open, Toby had taken a few steps backward and put a nervous smile on his face.

  “Greetings, bro,” Toby said.

  His hair was a tangled mess, his face filthy and battered. He seemed to be wearing nothing except a red nightshirt with Winnie the Pooh on the front. Winnie wore a sleeping cap and carried an oil lamp. Sid had never seen the nightshirt before.

  It was much too small for Toby. It hugged his body, bulging around his midsection and butt. It didn’t reach very far down his thighs.

  “Get in here,” Sid told him.

  Toby entered the house.

  Sid shut the door, then turned around and said, “You look like shit.”

  “Yeah, I know. I got jumped. Some guys…”

  “You got jumped? What’re you talking about? Where were you?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Yeah, sure. Well, I got lots of time. I mean, who needs any sleep?”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re sorry, all right. Sorriest dumb fat-ass tub of shit I’ve ever known.”

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “Yeah, sure. Nothing’s ever your fault.”

  “I didn’t do anything. They were just looking for a guy to nail, you know? And there I was.”

  “Where?”

  “I stopped at this Speed-D-Mart to get me some nachos…”

  “Oh, yeah. Always gotta feed your face.”

  “Anyway, they had the car surrounded when I came out.”

  “The Mustang?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shit. You better not tell me they stole it.”

  “They didn’t. That’s the thing. The way they were hanging around it, I could tell they were gonna jack it. I mean, they were real bad-ass types, you know? I think they were probably Crips or Bloods or something.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “So anyway, I come out of the store and see ’em, so I don’t go for the car. I act like it ain’t mine and just keep on walking, you know? But they come after me. One of ’em says, ‘All we want’s your car, man. Just give us the keys ’n nobody’s gonna hurt you.’ So you know what I do?”

  “What?”

  “I run like hell, and all these guys chase me, but I make it to the road and throw the keys down one of those storm drains.”

  “You what?”

  “I threw ’em down a storm drain. You know, one of those big holes under the curb…”

  “I know what a storm drain is, asswipe. You threw your keys down one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Smart move.”

  “Kept them from getting ’em. The house keys, too.” A smile lifted one side of Toby’s mouth. “Guess I saved your ass, huh?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know what’s in the car? Like the registration? It’s got our address on it. I bet they would’ve paid you a visit last night. You and Dawn. She’s here, right?”

  “She’s here.”

  “They would’ve eaten her alive.”

  “Who would’ve eaten…My God, Toby! What happened to you?” Dawn strolled into the foyer, her bare feet silent on the marble. She’d put on her cut-off jeans and the top of her lime-green, string bikini.

  “I’m okay,” Toby said. “I got jumped by some guys, that’s all. They wanted to steal the car and—”

  “You look awful!”

  He smiled and blushed and shrugged his shoulders. “I kinda pissed ’em off when I threw away the keys, so they let me have it.”

  Looking concerned, Dawn stepped up to him. She put an open hand gently against the swollen side of his face. “You poor darling,” she said.

  “I’m okay,” he told her. “But they took everything. All my clothes, my wallet…” Meeting Sid’s eyes, he said, “But they didn’t get the car.” To Dawn, he said, “I was afraid they’d come over here. They would’ve…done awful things to you, Dawn.”

  “That was so brave of you.”

  “My ass,” Sid said. “You know what was going on? Little brother here, he was out driving around in the middle of the night…Doing what, Tubby? Looking in windows?”

  “I was on my way home from a movie, as a matter of fact.”

  “Sure.”

  “I was.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Be nice, honey,” Dawn said.

  “Oh, he’s such a fuckin’ loser. Don’t believe a word out of him. He probably lost his clothes while he was jackin’ off in somebody’s back yard or something.”

  “Did not. Those guys stole my clothes and beat me up and left me in an alley. They knocked me out. That’s how come it took me so long to get home. I must’ve been out cold for hours. And then I woke up and had to find something to wear.” He plucked at the front of his nightshirt. “I found this hanging up to dry on somebody’s clothes line. And then I had to walk all the way home in it. I had to hide every time a car came along.”

  “So where’s my car?” Sid asked.

  “Over by the Speed-D-Mart on Robertson. At least that’s where it was. I figured we could go and get it this morning.”

  “You los
t it, you go get it.”

  “I’ll drive you over,” Dawn said.

  “That’s what you think,” Sid told her.

  “I will if I want to,” she said.

  “You better not want to.”

  She pushed her lower lip out at him. “You know, Toby is your brother. You could stand to treat him a little better.”

  “Never mind,” Toby said. “I’ll just walk over and get it. I don’t need a ride.” Facing Sid, he asked, “Can I at least borrow your keys?”

  “You gonna throw ’em down a drain?”

  “No. I’ll go somewhere and get duplicates made.”

  Sid thought about it for a moment, then said, “You’re not going anywhere with my keys. I’ll go and get dupes made. Then you can walk over and pick up the car this afternoon.”

  “I’d sort of like to get it over with,” Toby said. “You know? The car’s not very safe over there.”

  “Yeah, well. If it made it through the night, I guess it’ll be okay for a while longer. I’m going back to bed. You better take a shower or something. Let’s go, Dawn.”

  He started toward the bedroom, Dawn walking ahead of him.

  “What time are we gonna go?” Toby asked.

  “When I say so,” Sid said. “Now shut up and leave us alone.”

  “Creep,” Toby muttered.

  Sid swung around. “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing,” Toby said, shaking his head and backing away.

  “You call me something?”

  “No.” “I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass!” Sid lurched forward, stomping the marble floor with his bare foot.

  Toby whirled around and ran for the other end of the house, his fat butt bouncing under the nightshirt.

  Sid laughed and came back to Dawn.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” she said, frowning slightly.

  “He called me a creep, the fat fuck.”

  “Sometimes you are a creep.”

  He slugged Dawn on the upper arm. The blow knocked her stumbling away from him. Clutching her arm, she started to cry.

  “When I want your opinion,” Sid explained, “I’ll ask for it.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Brenda, seated on the living room floor for her breakfast of toast and milk, thumbed a remote button to mute the television. “Hey, Dad,” she said, “does Sherry know about the car wash?”

  Her father, seated in his usual armchair, looked up from the book he was reading. “I don’t know if she does or not. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it to her.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a drink. “Couldn’t hurt to give her a call, I suppose.”

  “Did they get the phones working again?”

  “Forgot about that. Let’s see.” Dad set down his mug, reached across the lamp table and picked up the phone. After listening for a moment, he said, “Well, we’ve got a dial tone.”

  “Good deal.”

  “Want to try her now?”

  Brenda glanced at the bright red numbers of the television clock.

  8:22.

  “I’d better wait, maybe call her just before we’re ready to leave. She’d kill me if I woke her up.”

  Brenda shut off the television. Then she finished her glass of milk and stood up. Bending over the coffee table, she picked up her plate. It was smeared here and there with jelly, littered with crumbs and the crusts of her toast. “Want my crusts?” she asked.

  “Have they got spit all over them?”

  “They’re all the better that way.”

  Her father laughed.

  “I cut them off. I always cut them off. You really pay attention.”

  “You want me to study your eating habits?”

  “Anyway, do you want the crusts or not?”

  “I think I’ll pass. Mom and I are probably going to stop somewhere for a nice breakfast after we drop you off.”

  “Okay. We’re leaving at ten till, right?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Nodding, Brenda left the living room. She turned at the stairway and carried her glass and plate down the hallway to the kitchen, where she set them in the sink. She hit them with water for a few seconds, then hurried back down the hallway to the foot of the stairs.

  Her mother was on the way down. “Morning, honey,” Mom said.

  “Hi.” Brenda stepped out of the way, backing toward the front door to wait. She absolutely hated it when people crowded the stairs.

  Mom was wearing her fuzzy pink robe and slippers.

  “We’re leaving at ten till nine,” Brenda informed her.

  “Fine,” Mom said.

  “Are you going to be ready?”

  “Oh, I can probably manage it.”

  “I don’t want to be late.”

  From around the corner in the living room, Dad called, “When have we ever made you late?”

  “Always a first time!” Brenda called back.

  Mom stepped down off the last stair. “All clear,” she said.

  Brenda smirked at her. “Very funny.”

  As Mom turned away to head for the kitchen, Brenda remembered about Sherry. “Oh, hey, Mom, does Sherry know about the car wash?”

  “I don’t think so. Not unless you mentioned it to her.”

  “I guess I’ll give her a call.”

  “You don’t want to wake her up.”

  “I’ll do it last thing before we leave.”

  “You should’ve told her about it when she was here Sunday.”

  “I would’ve, but we weren’t sure yet when it’d be. We didn’t know till Tuesday.”

  “Well, it couldn’t hurt to give her a call. She’ll probably drop by for a wash.”

  “God knows,” Dad called, “that Jeep of hers could use one.”

  “Good, Dad,” Brenda called. “From a guy who gets his car washed once a year.” Climbing the stairs, she added, “Remember, everyone, ten till nine.”

  In the upstairs bathroom, she used the toilet. Then she washed her face, brushed her teeth and rolled deodorant under her arms.

  Finished, she hurried to her bedroom and pulled off her pajamas. She tossed them onto her bed, then stepped over to her dresser and took her bikini out of a drawer. After putting it on, she opened another drawer and looked through a stack of neatly folded T-shirts.

  She chose a pink shirt with Piglet on the front. Sherry had given it to her for Christmas a few years ago. It was one of her favorites. She’d worn it so often that it looked more white than pink, and Piglet had almost faded away. He looked ghostly. Eventually, he might vanish entirely.

  That’ll be okay, Brenda thought. We’ll still know you’re there.

  She pulled the T-shirt over her head. It was limp and didn’t come close to being large enough. The material was so thin that she could almost see through it. There was a hole near the right shoulder.

  Looking at the mirror, she smiled at Piglet’s ghost.

  Then she hunted for her cut-off blue jeans, found them under a pile of clothes on her desk chair, and put them on. They were loose and faded, but hardly ragged at all. She had a pair of really good cut-offs, tattered and patched, but she couldn’t wear them anymore—couldn’t fit into them.

  For footwear, she decided to go with her old white sneakers, no socks.

  She put them on, then brushed her hair. There wasn’t much of it to worry about. For most of her life, she’d worn it straight and long, but she’d really liked how Sherry looked with a short, boyish cut, so she’d changed her own style a month ago.

  It was sure a lot less bother this way.

  She liked the tomboy look of it, too.

  The only drawback—it apparently made her look younger.

  Bad enough to be sixteen without people mistaking you for a thirteen year old.

  But that’s their problem, she thought.

  All done, she looked at the clock by her bed.

  8:40.

  She really hated to phone Sherry before nine o’clock, but she needed to be at the car wash by t
hen.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, she picked up the phone. It had a dial tone, all right.

  She tapped in her sister’s number. After three rings, she heard some electronic clicks. Then came Sherry’s voice on the answering machine, “Hello. I’m unable to answer the phone right now. If you’d like for me to get back to you, please leave your name and number after the sound of the beep.”

  A moment later, the beep came.

  “Hey, Sher, it’s Brenda. Are you there? Are you up yet? Yoo-hooo! Time to rise and shine!” She paused, waiting for Sherry to pick up. Then she said, “Okay. Whatever. I just called to tell you we’re having a car wash over at the high school today—today and today only! We’re trying to raise money for a new computer for the journalism class. A very worthy cause, even if I do say so myself. So anyway, we’re doing it in the parking lot from nine till five, so I hope you’ll come over if you feel like it after your night of drunken revelry or whatever. So long.” She hung up.

  Then she grabbed her purse, left her room and trotted downstairs. Nobody else was around. Ready to go, she put on her sunglasses, slipped the purse strap over her shoulder, and leaned back against the front door to wait.

  Soon, Dad came down the stairs. “Are you going to call Sherry?” he asked.

  “Already did. I left a message on her machine.”

  Dad frowned slightly. “She didn’t answer?”

  “Would I have left a message on her machine if she’d answered?”

  He gave her a look. “Not necessarily.”

  She shrugged.

  “It’s funny that she didn’t pick up,” he said.

  “Maybe she was in the can.”

  “What’s going on?” Mom asked from the top of the stairs.

  “Sherry didn’t answer her phone,” Dad explained.

  “Hmm,” Mom said. “I can’t imagine her being out this early on a Saturday.”

  Smiling, Brenda said, “You never know, maybe she shacked up with some guy last night.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Mom said, starting down the stairs.

  “You and me both,” Brenda added. “The Virgin Sherry.”

  “Cut it out,” Dad said.

  “Well, I bet she is. A virgin.”

  “I certainly hope you are, young lady,” Mom said.

  “I’m sixteen. I’d better be. Right, Dad?”

  “Can we not talk about this stuff?” he suggested, grimacing slightly.