Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  Can’t do that to her.

  Besides, it wouldn’t accomplish anything unless they lucked out and got no answer at the other end.

  Call this number and she’ll get a busy signal.

  I can’t do that!

  But he did.

  Not waiting to hear the result, he handed the phone to Sherry.

  “Thanks,” she said. Grimacing slightly, she raised it to her ear. Then she moaned. “Damn,” she muttered. “Busy.”

  It worked!

  He felt pleased, but rotten.

  How could I do that to her?

  “Who were you trying to get?” Jeff asked.

  “My folks.” She frowned at the phone, then thumbed the button to turn it off.

  “Might try them again in a few minutes,” Pete said.

  She lowered the phone and rested it on her thigh. “They’re probably okay,” she said. “The guy who did all this to me…he said he’d go after them…to pay me back.”

  “Pay you back?” Pete asked.

  “I…caused him troubles.” A smile lifted the swollen, discolored corners of her mouth. “And I gave him AIDS.”

  Pete’s stomach turned to ice.

  “That’s what he thinks, anyhow. Thinks I killed him, the bastard. That’s…that’s when he tried to kill me.”

  “So you don’t have AIDS?” Jeff asked.

  “Nah. Just said it to freak him out.”

  After the plunge into shocked horror, the sudden relief made Pete’s throat go tight. He turned his head away as his vision went blurry with tears.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t know. He might go after my family. Said he would. But he’s gotta be worn out after last night. Can’t imagine he’d do anything today. Or at least not till later. Maybe tonight.” Turning her eyes to Jeff, she said, “Ready to dress me?”

  “I’m never gonna be ready for that.”

  “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

  “You said it.”

  “Oughta see me when I’m not a wreck.”

  “As if that’s ever gonna happen.”

  “Never know,” she said. She handed the phone to Pete, then grabbed the arms of her chair and pushed herself up.

  “You sure about this?” Jeff asked. Not waiting for an answer, he sank to his knees in front of her and spread open the bikini pants.

  Sherry put a hand on top of his head. She carefully stepped into the leg holes and Jeff raised the pants. Just before the crotch panel met her body, he stopped and eased the sides of the waistband in against her hips. “Wanta keep it loose, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said. She looked at Pete. “I could sure use that drink.”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  He backed away.

  “No,” she said. “Wait a minute. Let’s try calling again.”

  “You wanta dial this time?”

  “I’m awfully shaky…messed up. Guess I can manage to hit redial.”

  Jeff stood up in front of her. Leaning in with bikini strings in both hands, he reached behind her neck and started to tie a knot.

  “Might be better if we do the whole number again,” Pete said. “Just in case, you know? Maybe I screwed it up last time.”

  Looking at him over Jeff’s shoulder, she said, “You’d better do it.”

  “What’s the number again?”

  She told him.

  Very carefully, he entered the correct numbers.

  Jeff glanced back at Pete, then stepped out of the way. The bikini top hung from Sherry’s neck, its limp pouches drooping between her breasts, its back strings swaying in front of her belly.

  “Ringing,” Pete said.

  Glad to see the relief on Sherry’s face, he handed over the phone.

  She held it to her ear.

  While she listened, Jeff stepped behind her and moved the chair out of the way.

  Sherry began to frown. “Geez, they were just there.”

  Jeff tried to reach around her sides, but he had trouble so she raised her arms. Reaching underneath them, he blindly groped for the dangling bikini. One of his hands rubbed against her right breast, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  Into the phone, she said, “Hi, it’s me. Anybody home? If you’re home, please pick up. It’s important. Mom? Dad? Brenda?”

  Jeff found the bikini. He fumbled with it, pulling it open and trying to fit its limp cups over her breasts.

  He’s feeling her up, the bastard!

  After a pause, Sherry said into the phone, “I don’t want to upset anybody, but…there’s this guy who, uh…I made him mad and he threatened to go after my family. That’s you. He’s been following me around. He knows where you live. Probably followed me when I came over last Sunday. I don’t know if he’ll really try anything, or when, but…he’s very dangerous. I think he’s killed some people. So watch out for him.”

  Her breasts now filled the flimsy pouches, so Jeff pulled the strings toward her back. When his hands were out of the way, Sherry lowered her arms.

  “Dad, you oughta keep your gun handy, just in case. He’s a chubby guy, about eighteen years old. Long brown hair. He’s sort of scruffy, but has this innocent-looking face. A baby face, you know? And it might be a little bruised.”

  Done tying the bikini behind her back, Jeff came around to the front.

  “If you see him, call the cops. Or shoot him. Just don’t let him get you. Okay? He’s a very bad guy. He had ideas about…doing stuff to all of you, but especially Brenda. Maybe you should all play it safe…get out of the house and go to a motel or something. Just till tomorrow, maybe. By then, the cops’ll probably have him. Okay. That’s about it. I’ll be in touch. Love you. Bye.”

  She lowered the handset, looked at it and thumbed the on/off button.

  “Was all that true?” Pete asked.

  “Not all. Mostly, though.” She handed the phone to him, then used both hands to adjust the front of her bikini top.

  “Did I get it on okay?” Jeff asked.

  “Not bad.”

  “Had a little trouble.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Looking at Pete, she struggled to smile. Then she said, “I could sure use that drink now.”

  “Sure. Bloody Mary, right?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Make me one, too,” Jeff said.

  Chapter Forty-four

  In the kitchen, Pete took three glasses out of the cupboard and began making three Bloody Marys.

  Why not? he thought.

  He felt daring but guilty.

  No problem giving a drink to Sherry. Dad would’ve done the same thing. She was over twenty-one and a guest. But Dad and Mom would be shocked if they ever found out he’d also made Bloody Marys for himself and Jeff.

  He could just imagine their reactions.

  Mom: How could you?

  Dad: I thought we could trust you to use better judgment than that.

  Mom: What on earth were you thinking?

  Dad: I’m really disappointed in you, Pete.

  They don’t have to know, Pete told himself. If it comes up, I’ll say I made a Bloody Mary for Sherry and we had Cokes.

  He pulled out a 2-liter jug of vodka. It was about half-full.

  Dad’ll never notice any’s gone.

  The tomato juice was a different story. It took an entire 12 ounce can to make the three drinks.

  No problem, Pete thought. I had to use the stuff for Sherry’s drink, anyway. Just say we used it all up. If they ask. Or I could go to the store and replace whatever gets used.

  All I’ve really gotta do is make sure I wash all three glasses.

  Then lie through my teeth.

  Pete hated to lie.

  But he really wanted to sit out by the pool and sip cocktails with Sherry. It would be something he would always remember. It would be something to write about.

  Just like Hemingway, he thought.

  The girl and I sat by the pool that day, talking and drinkin
g. Our Bloody Marys were deep red, and the ice cubes flashed in the sunlight.

  When the drinks were made, Pete placed them on a serving tray and carried them outside. Sherry and Jeff were both on chairs near the table.

  “Do I see three drinks?” Jeff asked, beaming.

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t tell me you came through. Two of ’em must be Virgin Marys, right?”

  “Nope.”

  Jeff slid the notebook, pen and coffee mug to the other side of the table and Pete set down the tray.

  “They’re all real?” Jeff asked.

  “Yep.”

  “My man!”

  Pete handed one of the glasses to Sherry. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Is it all right?”

  She took a drink, lowered the glass and sighed. “It’s great,” she said.

  “I can add more of something.”

  “It’s perfect. Sit down.”

  He took a chair from the other side of the table, carried it past Jeff, and turned it toward Sherry. Then he picked up his drink. He sat facing her.

  She raised her glass. “To you guys,” she said. “Saved my life.” She stretched out her arm, reaching toward them with her glass.

  They both rose from their chairs, leaned in, and clicked their glasses against hers. Then they sank back into their seats and drank.

  Pete had to squint because of the glare on his ice cubes. They bumped together, not with musical clinks, but with soft clacks, the sounds muffled by the heaviness of the tomato juice.

  To you guys. Saved my life.

  This is so great, he thought.

  The Bloody Mary tasted strange and wonderful. He didn’t usually like tomato juice. But this had the vodka in it. And the Worchestershire and Tabasco and the slice of lime and the ground pepper. It was tart and made his eyes water.

  “Hey,” Jeff said, “This is pretty good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So this is a Bloody Mary. You sure there’s booze in it?”

  “A big shot of vodka.”

  “No kidding?” Jeff drank some more. “Whew! Good stuff!”

  “You gonna get in trouble about this?” Sherry asked.

  “About what?” Pete asked.

  “The drinks.”

  “Only if my parents find out.”

  “And they don’t get home till tomorrow night,” Jeff told her. He grinned as if already looped.

  Can’t be, Pete thought. Not yet.

  “How old are you guys?” Sherry asked.

  “Sixteen,” Pete said.

  “Going on seventeen,” added Jeff.

  Sherry winced. “Got a couple of minors here. Getting corrupted.”

  “Lovin’ every second,” Jeff said and drank some more.

  “Yeah,” said Pete. “This is great. I mean…you know…except for what happened to you.”

  “Which, if it hadn’t happened,” Jeff told her, “you wouldn’t be here having a wonderful drink with a couple of terrific guys like us.”

  “True,” she said.

  “Are you hungry?” Pete asked. “I can get us some lunch.”

  “Later. Let’s just enjoy the drinks.”

  “Okay.”

  “Fine by me,” Jeff added. “This sucker’s good. I could drink ’em all day. Yummy in the tummy!”

  Maybe he is already feeling it, Pete thought—beginning to feel a little strange, himself. There was a peculiar, buoyant sensation behind his forehead. And his cheeks felt slightly numb.

  Is this what booze does to you? he wondered.

  I could get to like this.

  “So, Sherry,” Jeff said, frowning now as if determined to be serious. “Do you really think the cops are gonna nail this guy today?”

  “Huh?”

  “Like you said on the phone…Told your parents it’ll all be over by tomorrow. What makes you think so? Or do you think so?”

  She took another drink, then lowered her glass and rested it on the yellow plastic arm of her chair. “I don’t know. The cops might get him. Maybe they’ve already got him. He…did a lot of stuff last night. Killed some people.”

  “Killed people?” Jeff blurted. “In that apartment building? The one over in west LA?”

  “It was…yeah.”

  “Where they found that head?”

  Her face twitched. “Yeah.”

  “Holy shitski!” Jeff gaped at Pete. “This is all part of that weird shit I was telling you about, dude! On the news? Where they found this severed head, and there was this woman got stabbed like about a zillion times!”

  “My God,” Pete muttered. To Sherry, he said, “You were in on that?”

  “Tried to get away from him.”

  “He did all this to you?” Speaking, Pete realized his tongue felt a little sluggish. His words seemed to come out all right, though.

  “Yeah. But…there was another guy. Jim.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jim Starr. He was there, too. He got stabbed.” To Jeff, she said. “Do you know anything about him?”

  “The other guy? Yeah. They took him to the hospital.”

  “He’s alive?”

  “I think so. Pretty sure. They said he was cridigle…critical…but stable.”

  Sherry’s chin began to tremble. She raised her glass and took a drink.

  “He a friend of yours?” Jeff asked her.

  “Shhh,” Pete said. “Leave her alone.”

  Sherry lowered her glass. She sniffed. With one hand, she wiped her eyes. “He…Jim? I met him last night. He was trying to help me. And I almost got him killed.”

  “What about the others?” Pete asked.

  “The woman…she heard stuff and came to the door. The other…”

  “The head?”

  She nodded. “That was Duane. We…went together.”

  “He was your boyfriend?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Ooooo,” Jeff said, looking extremely pained.

  “Really sorry,” Pete said.

  “Yeah. Man, that sucks. Truly blows.”

  “And that’s why Toby killed him. Cut off his head. To get Duane out of the way. He did it all because he wanted me.”

  “Jeez,” Pete said.

  “The killer’s name is Toby,” Jeff announced. “Right? Am I right?”

  Sherry frowned. “Did I say that?”

  “Yeah, you did. Toby.”

  “Oh. Okay. His name’s Toby.”

  “Toby what?” Jeff asked.

  “Never mind.”

  “Come on, tell.”

  “Forget it,” Sherry said.

  “What?”

  “His name. Forget it, okay? I don’t want you guys knowing who he is.”

  “I’d love to know who he is,” Pete said, and drank some more.

  This stuff really is good.

  “Cough up his name, lady,” Jeff said. His smile looked a little crooked.

  “Huh-uh. No.”

  “Vee haff ways of making you talk.”

  “Cut it out,” Pete said.

  “Dat’s how vee make you talk!” His eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Vee cut it out of you!”

  “Knock it off,” Pete said. “I mean it.”

  “It’s all right,” Sherry said.

  Dropping his act, Jeff leaned toward her and said, “Make you a deal. You tell us who he is and we’ll kick his ass.”

  “I wanta kill the bastard,” Pete said.

  “I don’t want you guys anywhere near him. You’re nice guys. Jim was a nice guy. He tried to help, and he almost got killed.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and winced. Then she drank some more of her Bloody Mary. Done, she said, “The cops can take care of him.”

  “Maybe they’ve already got him,” Pete suggested.

  “Last I heard,” Jeff said, “they didn’t have any idea who done it.”

  “Let’s check the news. Hang on.” Pete stood up and set his glass on the table. It
landed somewhat harder than he’d expected. Jeff and Sherry flinched at the quick noise. “Sorry,” he said. Then he headed for the house. He felt light and a little wobbly.

  This is so cool, he thought.

  Just don’t fall down.

  I’ll have to write about all this later, he told himself. My first bout with booze.

  In the kitchen, he grabbed the portable radio. As he lifted it off the counter, it slipped. Gasping, he caught it. Then he clasped it to his bare chest. With his other hand, he pulled up his sagging trunks. Then he ran outside.

  Sherry looked worried as he approached.

  Jeff was finishing off his Bloody Mary.

  Pete turned on the radio, listened for a moment to the cheerful, confident voice, and said, “It’s ‘The Best of Rush Limbaugh.’

  ” “The Rush-man,” Jeff said. “All right!”

  Pete placed the radio on the table, picked up his drink, and sat down. “There’ll be news pretty soon. They have reports on the hour ’n half hour.”

  “Wha’ time is it now?” Jeff asked.

  Pete shrugged. He saw that nobody was wearing a watch.

  “No hurry,” Sherry said. “I can wait.”

  “Is Rush okay with you?” Pete asked her. “A lot of people think he’s awful.”

  “You’re talking to a ditto-head,” Sherry said.

  Jeff let out a whoop. “Makes three of us! The Three Rushkateers!”

  Smiling, Pete shook his head. This is so great! he thought.

  “What?” Sherry asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just weird. I mean…I don’t know.”

  “I do,” Jeff said.

  “What?”

  “Pete’s smitten with you,” he explained, nodding sagely.

  “Hey,” Pete said.

  “Head over heels.”

  “Knock it off, huh?”

  “Madly in love.”

  “I’m gonna kill you,” Pete said, blushing furiously.

  Grinning, Jeff held out his empty hand as if to ward off a blow. “Take it easy, dude. You kill me, how’m I gonna be your best man?”

  Sherry laughed, then winced and said, “Ow.”

  “Only hurts when you laugh?” Jeff asked her.

  “Hurts all the time. But more when I laugh.”

  “Jeff’s such an asswipe,” Pete said.

  Oh shit! Did I say “asswipe?”

  “Just tellin’ the truth,” Jeff said.

  “Damn it!”

  Sherry met his eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed, Pete. Okay? It’s all right. Whatever you’re feeling. It’s fine. Hell, it’s great. I’ve got no problems if you like me. Or even if maybe you feel…something stronger. You’re a good guy.”