Got to Kill Them All & Other Stories

by Dennis Etchison

  "He calls me."

  "What does he say?"

  "Nothing."

  "Then how do you know?"

  "Well, if it's not him, then that means he was right. And I am paranoid."

  "My God, Les."

  "Sometimes I think he's following me. Like tonight."

  "I definitely did not invite Richard!"

  "There was a car behind me, on the way."

  "If he's stalking you — "

  "It wasn't even his car. But when I saw it I thought…"

  Coral sat her down on the bed.

  "Listen. There are plenty of men out there. You could have met a few tonight, if you'd take those damned blinders off."

  "I don't want another relationship."

  "Who's talking about that? Take them for what they are: fun and games. I'll tell you a secret. The rest of it isn't that great."

  "Then why did you get married again?"

  "Ed's a good man. And I love our new house. But there's only one first time." She pressed Leslie's fingers. "You're lucky. Everything's still right there in front of you, like a candy store — all you have to do is enjoy. Like the song says, 'love the one you're with,' right? What's the first thing you do when you get thrown? Pull yourself together and get back on! So give yourself a chance. For me?"

  At the foot of the stairs her husband was busy picking loose popcorn out of the rug. His body was thick around the middle and when he got up he had to hold the banister for support. Coral helped him stand.

  "Leave that," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "You're such a neatness freak."

  He kissed her with a noisy smack. His pink face was detailed in this light, with kindly lines etched around the eyes.

  "I'll do it," said Leslie. She found a paper cup and began collecting the popcorn.

  "It can wait till morning."

  Michelle and Judy came in from the dining room.

  "Who's here?" Coral asked them.

  "Just some guys," said Judy. "The kind that never give up."

  "Jeannie's in the kitchen," said Michelle. "She drank too much eggnog."

  "Put her in the guest bedroom. She can sleep it off."

  "The junior girls are there."

  "What are they doing?"

  "Talking about boys and horses."

  "Are there any boys?"

  "Only that trainer, with the story about his leg. He has one boot off."

  "Pervert," said Ed and headed for the back of the house.

  Leslie crossed the dining room. There were candy canes and sugared peanuts on the carpet, cookie crumbs folded in napkins by every chair. As she gathered them up colorful holiday sweaters and turquoise watchbands flashed beyond the arches. The faces of the men who had stayed were no longer blurred but easy to see now, weathered and tan or pale but interesting, professionals and jocks from the city or the country, each with a story to tell. Easy laughter lilted from every direction. It would take a few more minutes for them all to say their good-byes. She grabbed as much trash as she could and took it to the kitchen.

  As she emptied her arms, a low moaning came from the floor by the butcher block table.

  "Jeannie, what are you doing down there?"

  "Sitting."

  Michelle and Judy came in with a crumpled paper tablecloth. They stepped around Jeannie and found the trash can.

  "How are we going to get her on her feet?"

  "Tell her Hap Hanson's in the other room."

  "He's too old."

  "He's not, is he?" said Leslie.

  "Too old?"

  "No, in the other room."

  "Sure."

  "Who is?" Leslie asked.

  They both turned from the sink and looked at her. Michelle winked at Judy. "There might be a couple of single guys out there."

  "Like?"

  "Chris, from the barn. And Jason the baby doctor, and that guy from Westlake Village, the lawyer—"

  "His wife's the lawyer," said Leslie.

  "Which one is he?" asked Judy.

  "Curly hair, five-eight or nine…"

  "That's him. He's definitely married."

  "To his first wife!"

  "I know. I was just wondering."

  "If he fools around?"

  "No. He's nice, though. Funny. Is he a friend of Coral's?"

  "She didn't invite him."

  "His wife, then," said Michelle. "She rides."

  "Not yet," Leslie told them. "She wants to take lessons."

  "I heard she works for a TV station."

  "She's a vet," said Judy.

  "They just moved here," Michelle said. "From Phoenix."

  "Texas," said Judy.

  "He told me San Diego…" Jeannie mumbled from the floor.

  "Maybe he crashed the party."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Looking for his present wife!"

  "Remember, he's off-limits."

  "I know," said Leslie, "okay?"

  She made coffee and helped her friends walk Jeannie to a sofa in the living room, then left them and joined Coral and her husband. The front door was open just enough to show the blond girl at the edge of the porch, kissing someone goodnight in the shadows. It was not the same boy she had been with earlier. Leslie lingered in the foyer as the last guests put on their coats. Michelle made her promise to meet for lunch next week, then went outside to find her daughter.

  "You finally stopped shivering," said Coral.

  "I feel better now."

  "Good."

  "Glad you could make it," said Ed.

  Leslie met his eyes without flinching. "Thanks for inviting me. You don't know."

  "Any time," said Coral and held her. "I mean it," she whispered. "See you Saturday?"

  "I'd love to."

  She went back to the living room. Judy would take Jeannie home and bring her back to pick up her car in the morning. Then Leslie remembered her purse. It was on the rack, behind a long black leather coat.

  "Whose is this?"

  "Mine," said Ed.

  "It was my present to him," Coral said. "Because he's my sweetie."

  "Oh." Leslie hooked her arm through the strap of the purse.

  "You drive carefully, now," Ed told her.

  Leslie started out, then came back and hugged him, too.

  "I will," she said.

  She closed the door. Now the moon shone down like a huge streetlamp, illuminating the fence and the tops of the trees beyond the front yard. There were no more cars or shadows in the driveway. She started down the steps.

  Behind her, the boards squeaked and a man's voice said, "Need a ride?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Sure?"

  "I have a car."

  "Where? I'll drive you."

  She noticed a black Chrysler still parked by the curb at the end of the driveway and walked faster, digging for her keys. She shook her purse but nothing jingled. When she stopped to open it he bumped into her and the purse fell to the ground.

  "Let me get that, little lady."

  "I can do it."

  She knelt before a pair of snakeskin boots. They belonged to the one with the camel's-hair coat and bolo tie.

  "Wonder what happened to those keys?" he said with a grin.

  "How did you know…?"

  "I got it, honey," said another voice.

  "Over here," she called as the sandy-haired man came down from the porch. "Where were you, Michael?"

  "Looking for you." To the tall man he said, "We're okay here, pardner."

  When the other man left she said, "You have wonderful timing."

  "You, too."

  "I feel so stupid. Now I can't find my keys." She kept sifting through the gravel with her fingers. "I left my purse for a while. You don't suppose that man…?"

  "Let's just see here once."

  He put his hand in his pocket and clinked his own keys. Then he leaned down and raked the gravel, and suddenly her keyring glinted there in the moonlight.

  "Oh, God, thanks!" />
  "Where are you parked?"

  "All the way at the end."

  "I'll walk you." He helped her up. "Do you have a long way to go?"

  "A few miles. Once I get to the freeway I'm okay."

  "Left at the first street, then follow it till you see the on-ramp."

  "Got it." When he patted his pockets she reached into her purse. "How about a menthol?"

  "Just like my wife."

  "I thought she didn't smoke."

  "She used to."

  "I hope she's all right. Did she call?"

  In the flare of the lighter his hair was red and his smile ironic. He cupped his hands over the flame, enclosing her fingers.

  "She wouldn't know the number here."

  "Does she have a cell phone?"

  "No. She doesn't want people bugging her when she's away from the clinic."

  Leslie lit her own cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke, white as frost from the chill in the air. "I thought she was a lawyer."

  "The office, I mean."

  They came to the end of the driveway. Ahead the trees were so tall that the rest of the canyon was black.

  "Do you mind if I follow you?" she said.

  "Sounds like a plan."

  "In case I get lost again." She fingered her keys, took a deep breath, held it and finally let it out. "Look, would you like to have coffee or something? It's so cold. I was thinking about stopping, before I get on the freeway."

  "There's a Denny's by the underpass."

  "Is that the only place open?"

  "Something wrong with Denny's?"

  "I just meant…"

  A car drove out of the canyon and he turned to her, the headlights blazing in his eyes. "Not good enough for you?"

  "What?"

  "Nothing's ever good enough, is it?"

  She tried to step back but he had hold of her wrist, the one that was almost healed.

  "You're hurting me!"

  "Sometimes I wonder why I married you in the first place," he said, his breath steaming until his face was only a blur again. "Well, listen up, bitch. Tonight you're going to do exactly what I tell you and like it! Got that? I might even take you to the State Park afterwards. There's never anybody around…"

  Then, jerking her so violently that her feet left the ground and her toes scraped the dirt and the rocks, he dragged her the rest of the way down into the cul-de-sac.

  No One You Know

  This time the phone rang for ten minutes before she picked it up.

  "Michael, stop. Or I'll call the police."

  "We need to talk," he said.

  She put the book down on the bed, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes so hard that they made little squeaking sounds in their sockets.

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  "It wasn't what you think…"

  "What was it, a mercy fuck?"

  "I'm not going to lie to you. I made a mistake — once, that's all. It didn't mean anything…"

  "I'm sure it didn't to her. What's thirty seconds, one way or the other?"

  "You don't have to be nasty about it."

  The young woman sighed, blowing air into the mouthpiece. She took the last of her Virginia Slims from a crumpled pack and searched the night table for a match.

  "Oh, I get it," she said, "it's my fault now. You didn't do anything. You weren't even there, right?"

  "One mistake and you're cutting me off. Just like that. I thought we had something…"

  "Maybe we did, but it's over."

  The cigarette hung from her lips at an odd angle. When she lit it nothing happened. There was a break in the middle and a thin stream of blue smoke wafted up and into her eyes before reaching her mouth. She dropped the match into a full ashtray but kept the cigarette clamped so tightly between her teeth that the filter deformed into a flattened oval.

  "Listen…" he said.

  "You just don't get it, do you? What is there about this that you can't understand? Finis. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

  "Do you hear this?"

  On the other end of the line, there was a click.

  She sighed again.

  "It's one o'clock in the morning. Good night, Michael."

  "Or this?" he said.

  Then there was a second click, closer and sharper. It sounded like he had struck the mouthpiece with a pencil.

  "What about it?" she said.

  "That makes two out of six."

  She opened her eyes and stared across the bedroom, trying to focus. The cigarette fell from her lips and onto the front of her nightgown. When she picked it up the teeth marks in the filter were so deep that it was bitten almost completely through, but she did not notice.

  "Look, whatever your game is, I don't want to play, all right? I have go to work in six hours…"

  "This isn't a game," he said. "It's a matter of odds."

  "What is?"

  "I'm betting that you won't throw it all away."

  "Don't be stupid."

  "Then come over."

  "What for?"

  "We'll talk it out."

  "I told you, no!"

  "One more and it's fifty-fifty."

  There was something different about his voice now. The tone was no longer smooth and conciliatory. It was not even desperate. It was mocking.

  31

  She sat up straight.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm a gambler, Jeannie. Are you?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I always liked roulette. Here goes…"

  "Wait."

  "I could come over there."

  "Do that and I call the police."

  "Then listen up."

  "Why?"

  "I want you to hear it. So you'll never forget."

  There was a third click in her ear, as loud as a piece of metal snapping. It must have been right next to his mouth.

  "Michael, stop this! Whatever you're — "

  "You lucked out," he said. "This time."

  "I'm hanging up."

  "You know I love you, don't you?"

  "Good-bye!"

  She broke the connection.

  She dialed another number almost immediately.

  "Mara, it's me."

  "What time is it?"

  "Sorry to bother you. I know it's late…"

  "What's wrong?"

  "Michael."

  "Is he there?"

  "No. But he won't give up."

  "Just a minute." There was a faint clicking as Mara turned on her lamp. "Now. What about Michael?"

  "He wants to come over."

  "The creep."

  "I know. But he sounds like…"

  "What?"

  "I can't describe it. His voice isn't — normal."

  "He's not normal. Get that through your head."

  "He's doing something."

  "Oh, dirty phone calls! Listen, girl, there's a law…"

  "I just want him to leave me alone."

  "I hear that."

  "He's been calling all night."

  "So take the phone off the hook."

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm afraid of what he might to do."

  "To you?"

  "To himself."

  "So let him! At least you'll get a good night's sleep."

  "I can't, now."

  "He isn't worth it, Jeannie."

  "But what if he — does something?"

  "That's your ego talking. This isn't about you. It could be anyone. He just likes the melodrama."

  "I think he means it this time."

  "Listen. He's a manipulator. He's trying to dominate you. It's the old passive-aggressive bit — control is the name of the game. Take my advice and don't play. Cut it off right now. Clean."

  "I tried that. Only…"

  "Only what? He's gambling on your weakness. Be strong. Once he finds out he can't make you jump anymore, he'll lose interest. Trust me."

  "Maybe I should see him one
more time," she said after a pause. "Just to be sure."

  "Of what?"

  "I don't know. That he's okay."

  "You're crazy!"

  "He only cheated once…"

  "How do you know that?"

  "We always told each other everything."

  "Oh, really?"

  "Well…"

  "If he did it before, he'll do it again."

  "He says it didn't mean anything."

  "Sure. It was just his prick. Like it doesn't even belong to him. He found it in his pocket and thought he better try it out. What the hell."

  "It's different for men."

  "You got that right. They're not human."

  "What's her name?"

  "No one you know. Some bimbo with roots. Just his type."

  "I think he has a gun."

  "Did he threaten you?"

  "No."

  "Then he's just blowing smoke. Where would he get a gun?"

  "His father's a cop. Was. He blew his brains out when Michael was nine."

  "Don't worry about it. He doesn't have the guts. Besides, it's none of your business now. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

  "I guess."

  "You want to come over here?"

  "I have to get up in the morning."

  "Then take some NyQuil and zone out. Tomorrow you won't remember any of this."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Thanks, Mara."

  "Anytime."

  As soon as Mara put the phone down it rang again.

  She tried to ignore it. She turned the TV on in her bedroom while the electronic chirping continued for another five minutes. When it finally stopped, she reached for the phone and punched in a series of numbers with such force that her long fingernail clicked against the keypad and left gouges in the plastic.

  He answered right away.

  "What is this bullshit about a gun?" she said.

  "I knew it was you."

  "You don't know jack shit. What are you trying to pull?"

  "You talked to Jeannie."

  "She's my best friend, remember?"

  "I only called to see how she's doing."

  "You lying sack of shit."

  "I'm worried about her. I swear."

  "Well, you can forget it. The girl is fine."

  "Is that what she told you?"

  "None of your business."

  "She's unstable. When I told her I was through with her, she broke down."

  "Give me a break!"

  "We need to talk."

  "You need to go fuck yourself."

  "Just talk, that's all. I can be there in twenty minutes."

  "You're certifiable, you know that?"