Authors: Richard Laymon
Alarums (19 page)
'Sounds good to me,' Pen said. 'How much is it?'
'Two-twenty-five, and I'll throw in a box of those magnums.'
‘I’ll take it.'
'Great.'
'How many shells to a box?'
'Five.'
'Give me an extra four boxes, then.'
'You'll want a cleaning kit.'
She nodded.
***
Driving home, Pen felt pleased with herself. She had really done it - really bought herself a shotgun.
She wished she'd had it Friday night. Things would've been different. No cord stretched across her doorway, for starters. No header into the wall, damn near splitting open her skull.
Wouldn't have panicked.
Wouldn't have stabbed Bodie.
It had cost a bundle, but it was worth every dime. Besides, she told herself, just moving to a new apartment would've cost more than the shotgun.
And it would've been running away.
You don't run. now. You don't run ever.
You've got a 12-gauge pumpgun with magnum high-velocity buckshot loads.
You hold your ground.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They drove past Harrison 's house. His Mercedes was still parked in the driveway. Joyce's Lincoln Continental was still at the curb on the next block.
'Why don't we go on back to your Dad's place?' Bodie suggested. 'We can pick up Pen's things and take them over to her.'
'Okay,' Melanie said.
Bodie didn't like it that Pen would be staying at her apartment. He would miss her. No more chances to be in the spa with her. No more sneaking into her room after Melanie was asleep.
Maybe they could talk her into returning.
Maybe I could. No help could be expected from Melanie on that. Remind Pen about the caller, the note left under her door, frighten her into coming back. If I push too hard, though, Melanie won't like it - might suspect I have something more on my mind than Pen's safety.
At least I'll have a chance to see her again when we take the suitcase over.
Maybe she's already changed her mind. She's had some time to cool off. With a little luck, maybe the caller struck again.
Bodie turned onto San Vicente and thought about calling her, himself. Use Joyce's phone. He'd have to get away from Melanie long enough…
What if Pen recognized his voice?
I want to come in your mouth.
I want to spread your legs and stick my cock up your…
I can't talk to her that way. Not a chance.
I could just call her up and say nothing. That'd spook her.
A rotten trick, but it might really be dangerous for her to stay alone in that apartment. The guy just might pay a visit.
Bodie wondered if she had reconnected her phones.
'Have you decided what to do about school?' Melanie asked.
He shook his head.
'You don't have to stay here, you know. All this… it's not your problem.'
'Trying to get rid of me?' he asked, and grinned at her.
'I just don't want you to feel that you have to stick around. You've got those classes to teach, and… There's no telling how long Dad might last.'
'He might surprise you and recover.'
'Yeah, sure,' she muttered.
'I'll stay a few days. Besides, I want to help you get to the bottom of this business with Joyce and Harrison.'
'That won't take long,' Melanie said.
'You've got a plan in mind?'
She shrugged.
'We could always beat Joyce with a rubber hose until she spills the beans,' he suggested.
'Good idea.'
He turned and drove slowly up the narrow lane to the house.
Inside, he said, 'Do you think we could eat before I keel over?'
'Sure.'
Melanie found hot dogs in the refrigerator, buns in the freezer. She put them in the microwave. While they heated, she filled two glasses with Pepsi and found an open bag of potato chips. Bodie ate some chips while he waited. They were a little stale, chewy and with a strange under-taste that reminded him of drinking water from a garden hose.
Melanie put the steaming buns and hot dogs on plates. Bodie lathered his buns with mustard. They sat at the kitchen table to eat.
'I guess you should pack up Pen's things when we're done.'
Melanie chewed.
'Want me to help?'
'You'd like that,' she said.
Indeed I would,
he thought.
'I can wait down here.'
And call Pen?
And breathe.
It'd be for her own good.
But when they finished eating, it was Melanie who went to the telephone. She dialed 411.
'Who are you calling?'
'Directory assistance.'
'I know that.'
' Santa Monica,' she said into the receiver. ' Harrison Donner. On Twenty-first Street.'
Bodie's back stiffened.
Melanie pressed down on the cut-off button, let it up, and began to dial.
'What the hell are you doing?'
'You'll see.'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'Hello. Harrison? This is Melanie Conway… Just fine. Dad's come out of it… Yeah. I'm calling from the hospital. He's just come out of his coma… Yeah, isn't it great? Anyway, the thing is, he says he has to talk to you… No, I don't know what it's about but I guess it's pretty important. Could you come right over?… Great. See you in a few minutes.' She hung up.
Bodie stared at her.
'Let's get going,' she said.
'What…?'
'We're gonna take a look at his Porsche,' she said.
'Good Christ, Mel.'
***
Pen sat on the sofa with the shotgun box heavy across her lap. She opened it and lifted out the weapon. The wood and steel were glossy in the light from the window at her back. There was a faint, pleasant odor of oil.
Though she'd never fired a shotgun, a boyfriend had taken her out to the hills near Valencia one Saturday and they'd had a fine time plinking cans with revolvers and his rifle. The rifle was a.30 caliber lever-action. She remembered the way it crashed her shoulder when she fired it. And the godawful noise.
The shotgun would probably be similar.
She raised it, pressed it firmly to her shoulder, and sighted along the narrow strip of steel that ran the length of the barrel to a bead on its muzzle.
Paul's rifle had had a telescopic sight. With that, she'd hit the cans more often than not.
With this - if she ever actually needed to use it - her target wouldn't be more than twenty feet away. She couldn't possibly miss.
She worked the pump. It made a sliding snick-clack. Her finger curled around the trigger, but she didn't squeeze it.
The thing's not loaded, she told herself. It shouldn't be. But if it is, you'll blast your wall open.
She set the shotgun across her knees and spent the next few minutes studying its instruction booklet. Then she checked the chamber. Empty. She pulled the trigger.
Click.
Then she opened a box of cartridges and fed four of them into the magazine.
Click.
Then she opened a box of cartridges and fed four of them into the magazine.
Leaving the weapon uncocked, she pressed a switch to activate the safety. She worked the switch back and forth a few times until she felt familiar with it.
All set,
she thought.
She had already decided on the best place to keep it. She carried the shotgun into her bedroom, knelt beside her bed, and pushed it beneath the draping side of her coverlet.
Then she lay down on the bed.
Someone's here!
She threw herself off the mattress, snatched out the shotgun, swept its barrel high to clear the bed, and swung it toward the door.
'Pow,' she whispered.
She shook her head. She felt a little silly, like a kid playing soldier, but she returned the shotgun to its place. This time, she took off her shoes and got beneath the covers. She tried the maneuver again. The covers slowed her down, but not by much.
She practiced three more times, then stripped off the sheets and pillow cases and piled them on the floor.
Sunday. Laundry day.
You're home now, you're not running away, you might as well do your regular chores as if nothing has changed.
***
Bodie drove past Harrison 's house. The Mercedes was no longer in the driveway.
'It worked,' Melanie said.
'Sure it worked. But what's he going to think when he gets to the hospital and finds out you lied?'
'It'll sure make him wonder, won't it?' Melanie didn't sound bothered.
'He'll wonder, all right.'
On the next block, Bodie found an empty stretch of curb where the Continental had been. He pulled over and parked.
'What time is it now?' Melanie asked as they met on the sidewalk.
Bodie checked his wrist watch. 'Twelve-forty.'
'Good.'
'It's kind of tight, if you ask me.' He hurried to stay with her.
'No problem. I phoned at twelve-thirty. Say it took five minutes for them to clear out. Should take them fifteen minutes to reach the hospital, at least five to find out they were tricked, and fifteen to get back here. And that's assuming they're real fast about it. So we should be all right till ten after one.'
'Right. So we check his garage and get away clean as a whistle. Only what the hell are you going to say when Harrison wants to know about your call?'
'That'll depend on what his Porsche looks like, won't it?'
'It damn well better be smashed up.'
The driveway gates beneath the porte cochere were seven feet high and locked. Bodie looked at the gate's mechanism. 'It opens by remote,' he said.
Melanie didn't hesitate. She hurried onto the porch, walked across it and boosted herself onto its low brick wall. Then she swung her legs over and dropped onto the driveway behind the gate.
With a groan of despair, Bodie did the same. He followed Melanie toward the garage.
This really bites,
he thought.
It's crazy.
The driveway was bordered by a high fence, but the neighbor's house was two stories. He could see its upstairs windows.
If someone happened to be looking down…
He imagined a police car swinging into the driveway.
Oh man, oh man.
Behind Harrison 's house, the narrow driveway flared out in front of the two-car garage.
Melanie tugged at the handle, trying to lift the garage door.
'That'll be on remote, too,' Bodie told her.
'You try.'
It's no use
, he thought. But he pulled hard on the handle. The door didn't budge.
The door had no windows.
A walkway led around the corner of the garage. It led to a side door with glass panels.
Melanie cupped her hands against one of the windows and peered inside. 'There it is,' she said.
'How does it look?'
'Dark.' She tried the knob, shook her head, then turned toward Bodie.
'Let's give it up,' he said.
'Do you want to kick the door open?'
'Are you kidding? Christ, we're already trespassing. Do you want to end up in jail?'
She glanced sideways. Then her arm shot back. Bodie flinched, stunned and disbelieving, as her elbow rammed one of the lower windows. The glass blasted inward, shards clinking and shattering as they hit the garage floor.
'Mel!'
'I'm not giving up,' she said. Reaching through the broken window, she opened the door. 'You can wait here if you're scared.'
'Let's make it quick and get out of here.'
Inside, the garage was cool and dark. Bodie quickly shut the door.
Melanie flipped a switch. An overhead bulb came on. The Porsche, on the far side of the garage, gleamed fire-engine red.
Bodie glanced around as they walked toward it. Along the near wall were wash basins, a clothes washer and drier, shelves stacked with cardboard boxes. Closer to the garage door were rakes, a power lawn mower, shovels, bags of fertilizer. The stale, dank odor of the garage was mixed with the smells of fertilizer and gasoline.
Bodie shivered. It was the cool, closed-in air. It was being here.
God, this is insane.
Melanie stopped in front of the Porsche. Her eyes roamed its windshield and hood.
They looked fine to Bodie. He moved to her side as she crouched to inspect the headlights, grill and bumper.
'Not a scratch,' Bodie said.
'It just means he probably didn't use this car. He still could've stolen or rented one.'
'That'll be pretty tricky to prove.'
'God damn it!'
'Come on, let's get out of here.'
She followed Bodie to the door. After opening it, he twisted his hand on the inside knob to smear the fingerprints. Then he pulled it shut and did the same to the outside knob.
Melanie, well ahead of him, walked quickly to the back door of the house. She opened it and stood peering inside as Bodie ran to her.
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