Out Are the Lights (12 page)

    'Let's begin.'

    

    

    They walked along the balcony to the door of Connie's apartment. She pushed her key toward the lock, but Pete stopped her hand.

    'Let me,' he said.

    'I didn't catch that,' said Connie. 'The light's off.'

    Pete shook his head. He took the key from her, and opened the apartment door. No lights were on inside, either, so he didn't bother to speak. He stepped into the room, ahead of her, and found a light switch on the wall. A lamp beside the couch came on.

    'You're certainly acting mysterious,' she said.

    'Just careful. Some guys, when they're dumped, they do crazy things.'

    'Dal's never been violent,' she said.

    'That you know of.'

    'I don't think he'd do anything to hurt me.'

    Pete shrugged. 'If he bought an engagement ring, he's serious enough to be a threat. I ran into a guy once, he threw his fiancee out a fourteenth-story window because some fellow sent her flowers for her birthday. Turned out, they came from her brother.'

    'You're full of grim stories,' Connie said, smiling as if she wanted more. 'Would you like a drink?'

    'Ah, a libation,' he said, doing his Fields voice. 'Nothing I'd rather partake of, my dear.' It was out of his mouth before he realized she probably wouldn't understand his distorted lip movements. He didn't have time for embarrassment to set in, though.

    'Come up and see me sometime,' she said.

    He laughed. 'You're remarkable.'

    'When I'm bad, I'm better.'

    He took hold of her hands. 'Very true,' he said. 'You were very, very bad this afternoon.'

    Her face, still flushed from a day in the sun, turned a deeper red. 'You were pretty bad, yourself. Now, what would you like, a beer?'

    'Great.'

    They went into the kitchen and Connie took two bottles of Budweiser from the refrigerator. 'Want a glass?' she asked.

    'The bottle's fine. I think I'll use the facilities first, though.'

    'Right through there.' She pointed.

    Pete used the toilet, but didn't return immediately to the living-room. First, he stepped into another room and turned on the light. Connie's office. He stepped past cluttered, metal bookshelves and opened a closet door.

    'What're you doing?'

    He turned to Connie. She stood in the doorway, frowning slightly.

    'Just snooping.'

    'You're looking for Dal. You think he's hiding somewhere, just waiting for you to leave so he can jump out and cut my throat.'

    'It happens.'

    'You worry me, Pete, you know that?'

    'Can't be too careful.'

    'I think you can be too careful. If you have to spend your life looking over your shoulder, always afraid there might be some terrible villain back there just waiting for you to let your guard down so he can jump you… Yeah, I think you can be too careful. Where's the fun, if you're always on your toes for disaster to strike?'

    'Oh, I have my share.'

    'Shall I show you the bedroom, or have you already checked it out?'

    'Not yet.'

    He followed her into the bedroom, and grinned as she rushed to the bed, dropped to her knees, and peered under the draping coverlet. 'What on earth?' She reached into the space beneath the bed. 'I wonder what that… aaah!' Her body lurched forward. Belly down, she twisted and kicked. She clutched the bedframe as if to keep herself from being pulled under.

    Pete ran to her side. He reached down for the bedframe, ready to fling it aside, when Connie grabbed his hand.

    He saw her smile.

    'That wasn't funny,' he said.

    'Yes it was.'

    She pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

    When his hand slid under her blouse, he was surprised to feel the smooth, bare skin of her breast. She must've taken her bikini off while he was in the bathroom. He pulled the blouse up. The nipple was rigid in his mouth, and had a slightly salty taste.

    He moved a hand under her skirt. Up her thigh. Her bikini pants were also gone.

    'You're a darling,' he said.

    She didn't answer. Of course not. His mouth was on her breast.

    He raised his head. Connie's eyes lowered to his lips.

    'You're a darling,' he repeated.

    With a smile, she reached both hands inside his shorts, and held him.

    'Would you like your beer now?' Connie asked.

    'It's probably warm.'

    'We'll make believe we're in Ireland, drinking lukewarm Guinness in a pub.'

    'I'd rather be here,' Pete said.

    'Back in a jiffy.' As she climbed off the bed, Pete patted her bare rump. She walked to the bedroom door and looked back at him. He lay on the sheets, hands folded under his head, his limp penis lying against his thigh. 'Have you no modesty?' she asked.

    'A little late for that.'

    'True,' she said.

    

    

    There'd been plenty of modesty, that afternoon, when he took her into his house near Venice beach. A lot of drinking on the couch, a lot of talking until the right moment came and he took her into his arms. They wore only their swimsuits. Hands stroked exposed skin, moved hesitantly over the fabric, and finally explored beneath the swimsuits. At last, they were naked against each other, slick from suntan oil and sweat, gritty with sand, and they made love on the couch.

    They showered together.

    They ate hamburgers.

    They made love again, this time on the fresh sheets of Pete's bed.

    After all that, Connie realized, she still felt modest in front of him. To go for the drinks, stark naked, seemed slightly daring, slightly naughty, as if she were flaunting her nudity to arouse him.

    Still in the doorway, she stared at his penis. She lowered her hands, and caressed her thighs.

    Pete shook his head, grinning. 'What're you up to?' he asked.

    'Oh, nothing.'

    Her thumbs slid against her groin, and she watched his penis rise.

    'Forget the beer,' he said.

    'Can't. We've got to replenish our vital fluids.'

    She turned from him. She felt sexy and silly and bold-and happier than she'd been since…
No, don't think about Dave. Too late.

    But the memory didn't hurt, the way it always had. Strange. Very strange.

    She stepped into the living-room.

    'Having fun?' Dal asked. He was on the couch, sitting with both feet on the floor and his back straight.

    Connie slapped her hands to her breasts and spun away. She hurried into the bedroom.

    Pete was already up.

    'Stay here,' Connie said, 'I'll take care of it.' She jerked her robe from its closet hook, and put it on as she rushed into the hallway.

    Dal still sat on the couch. 'You couldn't even wait for me to move out,' he said.

    'I… I didn't expect you.'

    'Where'd you think I'd be-at my girlfriend's house?'

    'Dal, please.'

    'Our bed.'

    'It's my bed.'

    'Christ, you should've heard yourselves carrying on.'

    'You shouldn't have listened.'

    'You're my girl, Connie.'

    'Not anymore.'

    'You'll always be my girl. I love you. Just remember that. When he dumps you. He will, you know. Once he’s tired of you, he'll dump you. I've seen his type. Jaguar, beach house, rugged good looks. I give you about a week.'

    'Get out of here.'

    'A week, and you'll come running to me, you'll come begging-'

    'Come back at noon tomorrow. Your belongings will be outside the door waiting for you.'

    'You'll come begging,' he said again. Then he left.

    

    

    'Okay, ladies, that wraps it up.' Todd took out his wallet, and paid Tango with twenty-dollar bills - ten of them.

    'Don't you get paid?' she asked Freya.

    'I'm a partner.'

    'Ah, so.'

    'You go on ahead, Todd, I'll drive Tango home.'

    'Far be it from me to stand in the way of true romance. Be sure to lock up when you leave.'

    'I will.'

    When Todd was gone, they left the control room. Freya led Tango by the hand. They entered a room at the end of the hall, and Freya turned on the lights.

    'You're so beautiful,' she said. She reached for the laces of Tango's vest.

    'Ah-ah. No freebies, honey.'

    'How much?'

    'Depends what you want.'

    Freya opened her purse. Her hands shook as she drew out her billfold. She counted the cash. To her dismay, she found only a ten-dollar bill, and three ones.

    'For that, honey, you get diddle-shit.'

    'I… I have plenty more at home. I thought I had-'

    Tango smiled. 'That's all right. You just take me to where the money is. This old house is a bit too haunty for my taste, anyhow.'

    'I want you here, Tango.'

    'No money, no fuckee.'

    Freya sighed. 'Well, let's go to my apartment, then.'

    They left the bedroom, and walked down the narrow hallway. Freya watched their strange, faint shadows on the walls. She remembered how Tina had danced and twirled as if fascinated by those shadows. Oh, how she would love to see Tango doing that… If only she had brought more cash along. Another night, maybe.

    They descended the stairway. Neither spoke. The wood creaked under their weight.

    They crossed the foyer.

    Freya reached for the doorknob.

    It didn't turn. Alarmed, she glanced at Tango.

    'Let me try.' Tango struggled with the latch and knob. 'Shit, lady, that sucker's locked.'

    'There's a back way out,' Freya said.

    'There better be.'

    She led the way, turning on lights as she went. They passed through a dining-room with a chandelier hanging over a large, mahogany table. Crystal goblets glimmered on the shelves of the highboy. Freya paused to admire them. Someday, they would all belong to her.

    'Move,' Tango said. 'I want outa here.'

    Freya pushed through a swinging door to the kitchen. She turned on the light, and stopped so abruptly that Tango bumped her.

    She stumbled forward.

    The man in the white apron and chef's hat clutched her arm, and flung her aside.

    'I want dark meat,' Schreck said.

    Swinging around. Tango threw herself at the door. She wasn't quick enough. He grabbed her hair and jerked her toward him. Hooking an arm around her throat, he lifted her.

    Tango squirmed and kicked. Her boot heels thudded against Schreck's shins, but had no effect. Veins stood out on her face and her eyes bulged from the pressure of his grip. Her struggles, frantic at first, became feeble.

    She was carried to a counter.

    Freya got to her feet, watching.

    'Stay out of the shot,' Schreck muttered.

    He lifted Tango onto the counter.

    Freya spotted the camera on a swivel mount near the ceiling. Todd had made no attempt to hide this one. He must've installed it this afternoon. It was directly above the counter where Schreck had placed Tango.

    'Cut the laces,' Freya said.

    'Shut up.'

    'Come on, do it.'

    'Leave,' said Schreck.

    'I want to watch.'

    'You want to watch?' He picked up a meat cleaver and swung around. 'Out!' he roared.

    'It's all right with Todd if I…'

    Schreck suddenly grinned. 'Come here.'

    Her skin pricked. She shook her head.

    'Come here! You want to watch.'

    'No. That's…'

    'Come here, or I kill you.'

    She hesitated, wondering if she should try to run. She didn't dare. With slow, unsteady steps, she approached Schreck.

    She watched his eyes. They were wet and bulging. They were somehow like spiders. They gave her goose-bumps, and nauseated her.

    He gripped her arm.

    'Watch,' he said.

    Tango moaned.

    Schreck put down the cleaver.

    'Watch, but don't touch.'

    'Help me,' Tango whispered.

    Schreck picked up a knife and two-pronged carving fork. Freya's fear turned to excitement as he sliced through the laces and opened Tango's vest.

    The woman raised her head. She looked at Freya. 'Please-'

    'Head down,' said Schreck, and plunged the fork into her eye.

    Freya spun away. She doubled over, vomiting. Before she was done, Schreck jerked her upright by the hair.

    'You want to watch,' he explained. 'Mustn't miss a moment.'

    

    

    After Connie insisted he leave, Dal headed for Elizabeth 's house. Halfway there, he changed his mind. If he went to her, he would have to admit defeat; a temporary set-back, at least. Elizabeth wouldn't like that.

    He might lose her.

    Rather than chance that, he decided to spend the night in a motel. He found a room at the Palm Court, just off Pico. It was a tiny room, but clean.

    The television picture had shadows.

    The bed had Magic Fingers, but Dal had no quarter.

    He felt very depressed as he climbed into bed. For a long time, he couldn't sleep. All so damned complicated. He only wanted Elizabeth. To get her, though-to keep her-he had to marry Connie.