Authors: Richard Laymon
‘Glad to have you back,’ Marta told her.
‘Me, too. I sorta needed to . . . How in tarnation do I
get
to Vince’s place, anyhow?’
Marta released her shoulder, returned her hand to the steering wheel, and swung away from the curb. ‘Stick with me,’ she said, ‘and I’ll drive you.’
Sue shook her head. ‘Might all be over and done with by the time we can drive there. Glitt’s got a mighty big head start. Which way’s that Pico street? I reckon I can find my way from Pico if I just go like we went this afternoon.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Pretty sure. It’s Pico to Bundy to San Vicente to Greenpeace.’
‘Greenhaven.’
‘Whatever. I’ll know it when I see it.’
‘Pico’s basically straight ahead,’ Marta said.
‘Meet ya at Vince’s.’
‘Be careful.’
‘You, too. And don’t let nothin happen to my better half.’ Reaching across herself with her right hand, Sue patted her own left shoulder. Then she kissed the bracelet.
Sue climbed above the treetops and pointed herself in the same direction that Marta had been heading in the Jeep.
She passed over blocks and blocks of housetops, lawns, backyard swimming pools, walkways, parked cars and roads. She saw only a few people wandering around. There was almost no traffic at all. The narrow, winding roads were often hidden beneath overhanging trees.
It seemed very peaceful and pretty.
She wished she could enjoy it.
She wished
Neal
could enjoy it, but he would never enjoy anything again.
He can’t be dead. How can he be dead? We were all gonna have us such a great life
.
Then below her was a broad, brightly lighted river of pavement.
Pico.
She swung left and poured on the speed.
Marta slowed down as she approached the row of parking stalls behind Neal’s apartment building. All the slots were full except for the one where Neal usually kept his car. She swung into it, stopped and killed the headlights.
She looked at Sue.
And felt abandoned.
Damn it, you should’ve stayed with me. We should’ve stuck together
.
But she realized that Sue was probably right; by the time they could drive to Vince’s house, it might all be over. Apparently, bracelet travel was very fast.
How fast? Marta wondered. Is she already there?
She isn’t
here
, that’s for sure.
She seemed all right, though. She looked as if she were sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat. No gasping for air, no moans or outcries. Wherever she might be, things were apparently going fine, so far.
‘Back in a minute,’ Marta whispered.
She pulled out the ignition key. Holding the key case in her right hand, she opened the car door with her left, then took the pistol from between her thighs and climbed out. She kneed the door shut.
As she stepped out of the gloom of the car port, she looked down at herself. Gun in one hand. Arms streaked with Neal’s blood. Sodden T-shirt clinging to her. Her thighs smeared a bit with Neal’s blood, but her cut knees dark with her own, which had run down her shins.
Anybody sees me, they’ll call the cops for sure
.
She glanced up and down the alley. No cars were coming. She saw no people, either – though she supposed that
anyone
might be lurking in some of those dark places.
Too many dark places
.
She turned her eyes to the Jeep. The car port was fairly dark; unlikely that anyone would notice Sue in the passenger seat.
Can’t take her with me, that’s for sure
.
Marta turned away and hurried toward the rear gate of Neal’s apartment building. Before opening it, she gazed into the courtyard. She couldn’t see much: the passageway on the other side of the gate, most of the swimming pool, and the front gate area beyond the far end of the pool.
Both sides of the courtyard were out of sight.
She didn’t like the idea of walking in with a gun in her hand.
So she clamped the key case between her teeth. With her right hand, she tugged the neck of her T-shirt, stretching it down. Then she slipped the pistol through the neck hole. She tucked it, barrel first, beneath her right armpit and lowered her arm to hold it in place. The handle pushed against the side of her breast.
The pistol felt heavy and slightly cool.
She wished it was loaded.
Take care of that in a few minutes
.
She took the keys in her hand, went through the gate, and walked quickly into the courtyard.
Lights glowed above many of the front doors, but all the doors were shut. Most of the windows were dark. Scanning the lower and upper levels, she saw nobody looking out at her.
You never know
.
She kept the pistol tucked under her armpit as she silently climbed the stairs.
The light above Neal’s door wasn’t on.
He always keeps it on at night
.
Maybe Glitt turned it off, she thought.
Had
he been here? Very likely. He’d been planning to come over tonight before going for the payoff.
We could’ve been here, waiting for him. Nailed him when he showed up. If we’d done that, Neal might still
. . .
Neal’s dead
.
Dead
.
Impossible. There has to be some mistake. Or this is some sort of a really horrible, vivid nightmare
.
I’d sure like to wake up
.
Please, let me wake up. Let it all be a dream. We’re all still fast asleep on my bed, and I’ll wake up and Neal will be there with his head on my hip, Sue with her head by my shoulder. We’re the infamous Two-she
. . .
But she knew she wouldn’t wake up.
This was real.
I’d give anything if we could all go back. Start over again
.
This time, stay away from Video City
.
Hell, stay away from Vince
.
Let him keep his damn money
.
Go back and do ANY of it differently, and Neal’d still be alive right now
.
It didn’t seem right,
not
being allowed to go back. It seemed hugely unfair.
What’s the matter with you, God? My God, have a heart! What’d Neal ever do to hurt anyone? You want his kid to grow up fatherless?
Anyhow, I LOVED him! What’s the MATTER with you!
I’ll tell you what the matter is – you don’t give a rat’s ass!
She was in tears by the time she reached the top of the stairs. Walking along the balcony, sniffing and sobbing quietly, she searched through her leather key case and found the key to Neal’s door.
Don’t blame it on God, she told herself. We got
ourselves
into this mess.
Ourselves? Fuck that! Put the blame where it belongs on Vince and Glitt and the assholes who gunned down Neal
.
She reached down the neck of her T-shirt and pulled out the pistol. Then she unlocked Neal’s door. She pushed the door open. There were no lights on.
Nothing to worry about, she told herself. Nobody’s here. Glitt’s on his way over to Vince’s house. Probably.
He
must
be. Vince not only cheated him out of half a million bucks, but hired a carload of gangsters to blow him out of his socks.
But they got Neal!
Don’t think about him, she told herself. Don’t. Gotta hold it together and take care of business.
She stepped into the dark room, reached out with her elbow and flipped a switch up. Behind her, the light came on. She hit the second switch, and a lamp suddenly filled the living room with light.
Everything looked fine.
Marta shut the door.
Better look around
.
Be quick about it, for godsake!
She hurried across the living room. As she entered the dining area, she glanced back. Her cut feet had left faint, reddish scuffs on the gray carpet. She supposed that she’d probably made a trail through the courtyard and up the stairs as well.
Doesn’t matter. I don’t care
.
The sight of Neal’s word processor sent a sudden thick wave of sickness pushing through her.
He’ll never write another screenplay. Never make it big. Never anything
.
She spun away from the word processor and hurried through the kitchen.
Fine, fine, fine. Nobody here. Get on with it
.
She rushed into the bathroom and flicked on a light.
Fine, fine
. . .
She saw herself in the mirror.
It was no surprise to find her face bloody; she’d been able to feel the stiffness of the drying blood on her cheeks and chin and around her mouth. But this was so much worse than she’d imagined.
‘Carrie at the prom,’ she muttered.
All of it from throwing herself onto Neal’s body and kissing him.
Unlike Carrie, Marta had little or no blood in her hair. But her face was a red mess, and blood had dripped down her neck. Her T-shirt, all the way down . . .
She set the pistol and keys on the edge of the sink, then shut the bathroom door and thumbed down its lock button. With both hands, she grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt. She lifted and the shirt came unstuck from her skin. She pulled it over her head.
I don’t have time for this, she thought. Haven’t checked the rest of the place yet, either. What if someone’s in the bedroom?
‘Screw it,’ she muttered.
It felt good to be rid of the gory T-shirt. She wadded it and tossed it to the back of the bathtub. Then she climbed into the tub, pulled the curtain shut and bent over the faucets.
Make it quick, make it quick! Just to get the blood off
.
The water came rushing down on her back, cold. She yelped and flinched. Not waiting for it to grow warm, she stood up straight. The cold spray wet her hair, then hit her in the face.
Eyes shut, lips tight, she kept her face in front of the shower.
This’ll get most of it. Forget soap, I’d have to waste time rinsing
.
She rubbed her face with both hands, rubbed her neck and shoulders, her arms and breasts. Her skin was rumpled with goosebumps. Her nipples were hard and jutting.
I’ll never feel Neal’s hands. Or his mouth
.
Don’t think about him!
The water was no longer quite so cold.
As she stepped back, the spray drenched her body. Warm, it pelted her breasts. It grew fairly hot against her belly. By the time it reached her groin and thighs, it was too hot. She bent down quickly into steamy, stinging water and twisted the faucets off.
Standing up, she wiped her eyes clear. She looked down at herself. Her skin looked flushed and shiny. The goosebumps were gone. So was the blood. The cuts on her knees didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.
She swept open the shower curtain and stepped out.
Quick all right. The mirror didn’t even steam up
.
She jerked a towel off its bar, quickly rubbed her head with it, then draped the towel over her shoulders and opened the bathroom door. She grabbed her pistol and keys. Dripping, she hurried into Neal’s bedroom and elbowed a light switch.
The lamps came on.
Nobody.
She started toward Neal’s bed, thinking she might drop to her knees and check underneath it.
Don’t waste your time. If the boogy man was here, he would’ve nailed you in the shower
.
She turned to the dresser. In the mirror above it, she saw herself set down the pistol and keys. Her hair was a dark tangle. She was dripping.
She considered pulling the towel off her shoulders and drying herself with it.
Why waste the time? Who cares if I’m wet?
She tugged open the top drawer where Neal usually kept his ammunition. There, hidden under some socks, was a flat brown box labeled .380 auto.