Authors: Richard Laymon
He shook his head. ‘Plenty.’
He saw that she was already holding a can of beer. She raised it to her mouth, and drank.
‘That’s mine,’ he said.
‘Do you mind? I saw it on the table in there. Couldn’t help myself.’
‘Don’t you want a glass for it?’
‘Fine this way,’ Marta said. With her free hand, she pulled the straight-backed chair out from under the table. She turned it around and sat down, then tipped it back on its rear legs.
‘You’re gonna fall and break your head open.’
It was what Neal always said when she did that. She did it a lot. Teetering on the back legs of his kitchen chair seemed to be one of her favorite pastimes.
‘I’ll take my chances,’ she told him. It was what she always answered. Smiling, she took a drink of beer. Then she said, ‘How did you get banged up like that?’
‘Taking the videos back,’ he said.
‘Fall down?’
‘Yeah.’ He lifted the mug and took a few swallows of beer. Then he leaned back against the counter. Legs out in front of him, he gazed down at the dark scabs on his knees. ‘Nothing very serious,’ he added.
‘What
is
serious, then?’ Marta asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ Frowning, she shook her head. ‘Are your parents okay? Did something happen to . . .?’
‘No, no. It’s nothing like that.’
‘Are you going to make me guess?’
‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Okay.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just concerned, that’s all. When you’re hurting, it hurts me.’
Her words gave him a tight feeling in the throat.
‘Maybe it shouldn’t be that way,’ she said. She lowered the chair so its front legs touched the floor. ‘I mean, we aren’t even married or anything. But I love you. I can’t help it. And you’re getting me awfully damned worried, here. You aren’t sick, are you? You don’t have something . . . drastic?’
‘I got involved in something last night,’ he said. ‘That’s all. I’m not sick. I tried to stop a crime, but everything went haywire and the woman ended up getting killed. She was nice. I couldn’t save her, though. This . . . this
bastard
. . . he decimated her, and I couldn’t stop him.’
‘My God,’ Marta muttered.
‘Not only did she get destroyed, but the cops might end up thinking
I’m
the guy who did it. And the guy who
did
do it knows who I am. I think he got away, and I think he has the business card I gave to Elise, so he knows where I live, so he might come over and . . .’
‘
Elise Waters?
’
‘Yeah.’
‘You were
there
?’
‘Yeah.’
‘My God!
‘What?’
‘The woman in Brentwood? Elise Waters? The Olympic diver?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Holy jeez. It’s all over the news. You were there? When it happened?’
He drank some more beer, then shook his head. ‘Sort of. Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.’
‘Wait,’ Marta said.
‘Wait?’
‘Don’t start yet.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s get it on video tape.’
‘What?’
‘We’ll record your whole statement, and take it to the cops.’
‘I’m not going to the cops.’
Marta sat down again, rather hard. Her mouth drooped open for a moment. Then she said, ‘Why not?’
‘I used my gun. I
shot
the guy.’
‘Shot who?’
‘The killer.’
‘
You shot the killer? Holy shit!
’
‘Don’t get too excited, I didn’t kill him. He’s still out there, as far as I know. But if the cops find out what I did, I can be arrested for carrying a loaded firearm, discharging it . . . And they might even think I’m the one who murdered Elise. I was in her house. Right there at the scene of the crime, and I must’ve left fingerprints, at the very least.’
Scowling, Marta was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘Okay. It’s your call. If you think it’s best to stay away from the cops . . . But I definitely think we should tape your story. I’ll do the taping, and you tell me everything, every little detail. It’ll be great evidence in case you
do
end up getting busted.’
‘I don’t have a camcorder,’ Neal reminded her.
‘I do.’
‘I know.’
‘So let’s go over to my place,’ Marta said.
‘I was about to suggest that, anyway. I don’t like you being here. The guy’s probably gonna pay me a visit. When he does, I sure don’t want him to get his hands on you.’
Marta waited in the kitchen while Neal went into his bedroom to get dressed. He wanted to look fairly respectable for the video tape, so he put on his best short-sleeved shirt and gray Dockers.
He thought about dropping the bracelet into his pocket, taking it with him, showing it to Marta and explaining its magic.
Don’t, he warned himself. Are you nuts? Whatever you tell her, keep the bracelet out of it.
He left the bracelet hidden under the socks, and shut the drawer.
He slipped the spare ammo magazine into a front pocket of his trousers.
‘All set,’ he announced, returning to the kitchen.
Marta, tilted backward on the chair, tossed her empty beer can
at the recycling bin beside the doorway. It flew past Neal and dropped in. ‘Bingo,’ she said.
‘Good shot.’
‘I’m a whizz.’
Neal polished off the beer in his mug, tossed his can into the bin, and gave the mug a quick rinse under the faucet. Marta led the way into the living room.
As she headed for the door, Neal stepped over to the sofa. He pulled the pistol out from under the pillow, and showed it to her. ‘Okay?’ he asked.
‘Just don’t shoot
me
with it.’
He eased it down into the right front pocket of his Dockers.
Hand on the door knob, Marta frowned over her shoulder at him. ‘You know, I was thinking. Do you want to bring something for overnight? Your toothbrush? Pajamas?’
‘I thought that wasn’t allowed. No overnights. Isn’t that one of your rules?’
‘This can be an exception. You shouldn’t be staying here. Besides, I work tonight so I won’t be there, anyway. You can use my bed.’
‘Well . . . I guess I can grab a few things. If you’re sure about this.’
‘I sure don’t want you staying here if the killer might show up.’
‘Okay. Hang on.’ He hurried to the bathroom and dug his toilet kit out of a cupboard. He checked inside to make sure it still contained his travel gear: spare toothbrush, paste, shampoo, razor and shaving cream, soap and deodorant, along with an assortment of pills and bandages. Everything seemed to be in place, so he closed the zipper.
In his bedroom closet, he found a nylon overnight bag. He carried it over to the dresser, unzipped it, stuffed the toilet kit inside, then opened his drawer again. He tossed in a pair of clean socks and underwear for tomorrow.
He tossed in the bracelet, too.
If I’m staying all night, he thought, I might want to use it.
He had no pajamas or nightshirt, so he tossed his gym shorts into the bag. He could wear them to bed, if necessary.
After zipping the bag shut, he carried it into the living room.
Marta was leaning backward, her rump against the door.
‘Anything else I might need?’ he asked.
She gave her head a quick shake, then shoved off from the door. Neal opened it for her. He stepped out after her, shut the door and made sure it was locked.
Walking with her along the balcony, he looked around.
No sign of Rasputin.
No sign of anyone except for the woman he had dubbed Miss Universe. She could often be seen sunbathing by the pool in the skimpiest of bikinis, her body brown and oily. But now the sun was too low, the courtyard and pool in shadow. Wearing a white T-shirt and carrying a basket of clothes, she was striding alongside the pool in the direction of the laundry room.
Marta bumped against Neal. ‘I could look like that,’ she told him.
‘Ah,’ Neal said.
‘You believe in reincarnation?’
He laughed. ‘How would I recognize you?’
‘Oh, thanks a heap.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘Oh, sure.’
They started down the stairs. ‘Anyway,’ Neal said, ‘how could you possibly be improved upon?’
‘You’re right, you know. How right you are!’
Neal, laughing softly, stroked her back.
How strange, he thought, to feel so fine at a time like this.
The thought sent his good feelings crashing down.
‘Where’d you park?’ he asked at the bottom of the stairs. ‘In front?’
She nodded.
‘I might as well take my own car,’ he said.
‘Okay. Meet you at my place.’
They split up. As they headed for opposite ends of the courtyard, Neal looked over his shoulder at her. She walked quickly, her sandals smacking the concrete. The back of her T-shirt hung crooked across the seat of her shorts. Her blonde hair, long and loose, blew slightly away from the sides of her head.
What if the bastard gets her, does what he did to Elise?
Neal turned away quickly and walked fast.
Not gonna happen, he told himself.
Might
.
No! I won’t let it!
On his way to the rear gate, he passed the open door to the laundry room. He heard Miss Universe drop a coin into a washing machine, but he hurried on by without looking in.
Outside the gate, he checked the alley.
No Rasputin.
He’s probably in bed somewhere, Neal told himself. Maybe even in a morgue.
No dark van, either.
Why even look for the van? he thought. Not a chance in hell that it could be up and running by now. The thing’s probably in police custody.
Neal climbed into his car, swung his bag onto the passenger seat, then backed out of the parking space and headed for Marta’s apartment.
It was less than a mile away, an easy walk. He wanted to have his car available tonight, however, just in case. Nice that Marta hadn’t made a fuss about it.
One of her better traits: she didn’t try to run his life.
He turned on the car radio, hoping to find some news about the killing. As he drove, he changed to several different stations. But he found only traffic reports, music, and call-in talk shows. He liked John and Ken’s show, so he listened for a while.
Soon, he reached Marta’s street. As he turned onto it, he saw her green Jeep Wrangler pull into her reserved space at the front of the building. He parked at the curb, grabbed his bag and climbed out.
They met at the walkway.
Neal scanned the area, checking the nearby buildings, driveways and sidewalks as they headed for the front gate.
No Rasputin.
Don’t even bother looking for the van, he told himself.
But he looked, anyway.
Just because I shot the thing doesn’t mean it’s dead
.
No sign of it, though.
He spotted a black-and-white police car halfway down the block, however, and felt a sudden sickening rush of fear.
They don’t know anything, he told himself. Calm down.
Marta unlocked the gate. They entered the courtyard. It was
very similar to the courtyard of Neal’s building, but larger. The pool was larger, and so was the concrete apron surrounding it. More apartments faced it, too.
Her building had a hot spa near one end of the pool.
And better apartments. Neal had only been inside Marta’s, but it was much larger and newer than his.
It also cost nearly twice as much per month.
He was looking forward to spending a night in it – even if Marta wouldn’t be there after 11:15 or so.
He followed her up the outside stairs. Her leather purse swung by her side. The backs of her legs looked slender and lightly tanned. The seat of her denim shorts pulled taut against her buttocks as she climbed.
At the top, she moved out of the way and waited for him. Then they walked together along the balcony to her door. She unlocked it, and they stepped inside.
The apartment seemed very dark.
Marta took the overnight bag from Neal, set it aside, and stepped into his arms. Her skin and clothes felt hot against him, as if she’d brought the heat of the afternoon sunlight into the room with her.
They kissed.
‘Do I get the whole treatment again?’ he asked, still holding her.