Authors: Richard Laymon
Standing on one foot, then the other, she inspected the cuts on the bottoms of her feet. Nothing really major. Most of the bleeding had stopped. She didn’t want to waste time with bandages, so she took out a pair of socks and put them on. They felt thick and good on her feet.
She took the box of ammunition from the drawer, opened it, and slid out the clear plastic rack that held the cartridges.
Water trickled down her body. Some of the dribbles made her skin itch.
Ignore it
.
The rack was about half full. The cartridges stood upright: rows and rows of disks that looked like golden wheels with dull iron hubcaps in the center of each.
She picked up the pistol. Its slide was back, indicating that it was empty.
She studied it for a few moments.
Neal had taken her to a shooting range back in April. She’d used the Sig, and he’d shown her how to reload it. But the lessons seemed like ages ago.
Something trickled into her left eye. It made her eye burn. Sweat? She blinked, then rubbed the eye with the back of her slick right hand.
The rubbing did little good.
‘Terrific,’ she muttered.
Forget it. Get the pistol loaded and get the hell out of here!
She tried thumbing the small lever just forward of the hammer. It didn’t seem to do anything. Then she tilted the pistol and studied the bottom of its handle where the magazine was inserted.
She found a black, ribbed switch at the back of the magazine.
A bit of memory returned.
That’s it!
She shoved it with her thumb. It moved. It clicked. The magazine lurched downward a bit.
All right!
She slid the magazine all the way out and set down the pistol.
With her free right hand, she jerked the towel off her shoulders. She quickly mopped her dripping face, her chest and breasts and sides and belly. Then she pressed the towel between her thighs, where it would be easy to reach.
She plucked a cartridge out of the plastic rack. Holding the magazine with her left hand, she braced its bottom against the top of the dresser. With her right hand, she pushed the cartridge down against the top of the spring-loaded slide.
The spring seemed awfully powerful.
But it gave a little, then gave a little more.
Water and sweat dribbled down her back, down her sides, down her buttocks, down the backs of her legs. She ached with tickles. She wanted to drop everything and flop onto Neal’s carpet and squirm around to make the itching stop.
Finally, shoving down as hard as she could with the tip of her thumb, Marta jammed the cartridge into place.
‘Christ!’ she gasped.
She glanced at the end of her thumb. It was red and deeply dented.
One down, five to go. Or six? I’ll be lucky if I can fill the damn thing!
She snatched the towel from between her legs and frantically wiped herself dry from head to toe, front and back.
Then she stuffed it between her thighs again.
She picked up the magazine and the second cartridge, took a deep breath, and started back to work.
Sue swung off San Vicente at treetop level and raced for Vince’s house.
Where the hell’d it go?
Most of the houses below had backyard swimming pools.
Several even had tennis courts. But Sue couldn’t find a house with a pool area that looked like Vince’s.
It’s gotta be here someplace. Didn’t just get swallowed up
.
She overflew the narrow road once more.
Where in tarnation
. . .?
She aimed for the full, white moon. It looked huge. The Man in the Moon had a surprised look on his face.
Here I come, ready or not
.
She wondered how high she
could
go. Could she get up there all the way to the moon?
No way
.
There was a pulling sensation, as if she’d already gone about as far as possible and something wanted to drag her all the way back to where her body was.
Anyhow, this oughta be high enough
.
She gazed down. For a few moments, she was staggered by her height. Her stomach dropped. She wanted something to hang on to. This was way worse than being on top of the Pony Express.
Nothin to be scared of, she told herself. Ya can’t fall.
From up here, she could see the Pacific Ocean. And the airport, maybe ten miles down the coast. And several clusters of tall buildings: some nearby; a much larger group of skyscrapers a few miles to the east. She supposed that the larger group was downtown Los Angeles.
The ocean mostly looked black. So did the range of hills that seemed to start almost below Sue and stretch along the side of the city. She could see a few roads through the hills, and a scattering of lights. But away from the hills, the basin itself was almost as bright as the Video City parking lot.
A few cars were creeping around on the roads. They looked tiny.
Sue wondered if she might be able to see Glitt’s Subaru.
San Vicente was easy to recognize; it had lots of lanes and a center strip that was wooded and grassy like a city park. Right now, it looked deserted except for two or three cars coming up from the coast. Nothing at all was approaching from the east.
Glitt’s probably already at Vince’s. If I don’t hurry and get there
. . .
She gazed down at the area where she’d been searching for Vince’s house.
Where is the darn
. . .?
Suddenly, she noticed a thread of poorly lighted road just to the east. It ran into the broad, bright lanes of San Vicente exactly where Greenhaven was supposed to be.
Even before locating Vince’s house, she knew she would find it. In her rush to get there, she must’ve simply overshot Greenhaven.
She dived.
On the way down, she spotted Vince’s house.
It was the only house without lights.
All
its lights seemed to be off. None shone at the porch or street or driveway. None spilled out from windows. The pool area was dark.
But Sue could see it all in the pale glow of the moon.
None of the other houses had such large pools. And this pool had two diving boards at its north end.
As she neared the pool, she saw the tremendous height of the high-dive. She remembered Marta up there, bouncing. Bouncing and bouncing. Her breasts hopping up and down, all to keep Vince’s attention while Neal searched for the money.
She’d sure looked dandy up there.
Too bad a dirty pig like Vince had to put his eyes all over her. But he would’ve caught Neal, maybe, if Marta hadn’t
. . .
Too bad he didn’t catch Neal
.
Wish he had
.
If we’d never laid our mitts on his damn money
. . .
Sue suddenly found herself wondering
why
all the lights were off at Vince’s house.
He better be there!
She made a low pass over Greenhaven. It was carless from San Vicente to the front of Vince’s house. No sign of Glitt’s Subaru. Vince’s driveway was empty, his garage door shut.
Inside the garage, Sue found a white Mercedes. It made quiet tinking sounds of the sort that cars usually made for a while after they’d been driven somewhere.
Vince had probably gotten home only minutes ago from dropping off the sack of paperback books.
Glitt would be coming along soon.
If he comes
.
He’ll come, all right. Only he won’t be comin just to ask where
the money is. He’s gotta know the drive-by was meant for him. Marta figured it out and so will he
.
Leaving the Mercedes behind, Sue glided into the house. She found herself in a dark hallway. No lights came from either direction.
He’s gotta be tryin to hide
.
Unless maybe Glitt got here and shut off the power
.
The thought of Glitt in the house made a chill scurry up her back.
I ain’t even got a back
.
In the car, I do
.
She wondered if her body, in the passenger seat of Marta’s Jeep, had goosebumps all over it. More than likely.
Marta might notice and figure she was cold.
I ain’t cold. Just got me a case of the jitterbugs, thanks to Glitt
.
Vince didn’t scare her, but Glitt sure did. She hated to think that he might be creeping through the house at this very moment.
He jumps out, I’ll likely pitch a coronary
.
He can’t hurt me, she told herself. Shoot, he can’t see me or touch me or even know I’m here.
Besides, he really shouldn’t be here yet
.
Though Sue wasn’t sure about the distances involved, she figured that Vince’s house must be eight or ten miles from Video City. In spite of Glitt’s head start, and in spite of her own problems locating the house, Sue figured that she might’ve beaten him here by a few minutes.
Unless he drove like a bat outa Hell
.
He ain’t gonna speed, Sue told herself. Not
that
much, anyhow. He’d be scared the cops’ll pull him over.
So where’s Vince?
Come out, come out, wherever y’are
.
She made a pass through the bedroom, its long closet where Neal had found the money, and the bathroom. No Vince.
Where ya hidin, chicken-ass?
Under the bed? It didn’t seem likely, but she went for it anyway. She slipped into the dark space between the box springs and the floor, scooted through, came out the other side and sped on through the glass door to the pool.
No sign of Vince out here.
But the
pull
felt stronger than ever.
She knew why; she was too far away from her body. And maybe she’d been away too long without landing in someone.
Better find him quick, or yer gonna get jerked back
.
Fighting against the pull, she swerved toward the den door. She slipped through.
Nobody here.
Not even any good places to hide, except behind the bar.
She didn’t expect to find Vince there, but figured she might as well check. Besides, she could just continue on through the cupboards and wall – a short cut into the living room.
Going in low, she rushed through the legs of a bar stool. Then she entered the wooden front of the bar counter, slid through as if it were air, and collided with someone.
She yelped with fright.
But it only took a moment to figure out that she was inside Vince Conrad.
He was frightened, trembling.
He hadn’t taken time to change his clothes after returning from Video City. He still wore the warmup suit. He was sweating inside it. Sweating and shaking.
He held a revolver in one hand.
He was sitting on the floor, knees up, inside the nook behind his bar. Such an obvious hiding place that it seemed a little pathetic to Sue.
This the best ya could do?
But she realized that he was too scared to think straight.
You never know
, he was thinking.
Maybe they’ve got phone trouble. Damn cell phones. Maybe the stupid assholes didn’t have it turned on
.
Yeah, maybe that’s it. I shouldn’t have tried. Should’ve just waited for them to call me, like we planned
.
Vince glanced at the luminous face of his wristwatch.
1:16
What am I scared of? Leslie isn’t even supposed to show up till two
.
But he won’t wait for two. Not my Leslie
.
Bet he watched me drop the bag in. Maybe waited a minute or two just to be safe, then came right along to pick it up. At which
point my pals performed their little ‘drive-by’ number
.
Should’ve happened ten, fifteen minutes ago
.
Sue figured that ten or fifteen minutes ago was probably when Vince had started to panic. He would’ve been in his car, hurrying home. So he must’ve been expecting the call on his own cell phone.