Come Out Tonight - By Richard Laymon Page 0,108

Jeff asked.

“No, that’s…” She flopped onto the back seat and let out a yelp.

“You okay?” Pete asked.

She was slumped crooked, propped up with one elbow. Pete’s big Hawaiian shirt, half unbuttoned, drooped off her shoulder. Face contorted, she said, “I’m not feeling so good.”

“What is it?” Pete asked.

“I think the painkiller wore off.”

“There’s more in the house.”

“Let me just…I don’t want to move for a minute.”

“I could go in the house and get you something.”

“No. Huh-uh. Let’s all stay together till we know where Toby is.”

“You don’t think he’s in this house?”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.”

Pete jerked his head toward the door to the kitchen.

Jeff turned forward on his seat, swung the Ruger through his open window and aimed at the door. “Here, Toby-Toby-Toby,” he chanted softly as if calling a nearby cat.

“You’d better hope he doesn’t come,” Pete said.

“I hope he does.”

“You with a six-shot .22 single-action, him with a seven-shot .380 semi-auto. I wouldn’t want to be sitting beside you if that happens.”

“I’ll put the first one in his face.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” said Sherry.

“I bet he’s not in there anyway.”

“He might be,” Sherry said. “And if he is inside, he has to know a car just drove into the garage.”

“What do you think we should do?” Pete asked her.

“I don’t know, but…Wait. How about hitting the remote again? Get the door back open and start the engine. That way, if he comes out blasting we’ll have a chance to get away.”

Nodding, Pete opened the garage door. Then he started the engine. Keeping his foot on the brake pedal, he put the car in reverse.

“That’s better,” Sherry said.

“Except now he can get us from behind,” Jeff said.

“You watch the kitchen door,” Sherry told him. “Pete, you keep an eye on the rear-view mirror. If Toby pops up back there, maybe you can run him down.”

Both hands tight on the steering wheel, Pete watched the mirror. Jeff kept the revolver aimed at the kitchen door.

Nobody appeared in the mirror.

Nobody opened the kitchen door.

“How long do we keep this up?” Jeff asked.

“I think he’ll make a move pretty soon if he’s here,” Sherry said.

They waited.

And waited.

Finally, Pete said, “He isn’t coming.”

“Starting to look that way,” Sherry agreed.

“Maybe I oughta go in,” said Jeff. “He’s probably not in the house, but if he is…” He looked at Pete. “Keep the car running and get ready to take off.”

“I don’t know…”

“Somebody has to go in sooner or later.”

“It’s my house. I’ll do it.”

“But I’ve got the gun,” Jeff said, flinging open his door and lunging out.

“Jeff, get back here.”

He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll blow his head off.”

“Be careful,” Sherry called to him.

“If I get out of this alive, do I get a kiss?”

“Sure.”

“A good one? Not just a peck on the cheek or something? A big old juicy one right on the smacker.”

“You got it,” Sherry said.

“I’ll risk my ass for that any day of the week,” Jeff said, then faced the kitchen door.

“Will he be able to get in?” Sherry asked softly.

“Yeah. We don’t normally lock…”

He didn’t bother to finish because Jeff was already swinging the door open.

Before entering the kitchen, Jeff looked back again. He waved with his left hand, made a mock-terrified face like a kid about to pull a daredevil stunt, then looked forward and stepped over the threshold.

“He thinks it’s a game,” Sherry said.

“I’m not so sure,” Pete said, speaking softly, half expecting gunshots to interrupt him. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s kind of a strange guy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He comes across as sort of a goofball, but he’s awfully intelligent. I think he knows he might get killed in there.”

“Wants that kiss,” Sherry said.

“Sure he does. Who wouldn’t?”

“How did I get so lucky, running into a couple of guys like you?”

“The luck of the drop,” Pete said.

“God, I hope he’s all right.”

“We’ll hear shots if…”

“Not necessarily,” Sherry said. “Toby used knives on the others.”

“I’d better go in.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Pete shut off the engine, then thumbed the remote to start lowering the garage door. He climbed out. By the time he could get to Sherry’s side of the car, she was already on her feet. She was breathing hard and grimacing.

“You okay?”

“Tip-top shape of my life.” She reached out and gripped his arm. “Let me hold on, okay?”

Side by side, they made their way toward the open door to the kitchen.

“Don’t call out,” she whispered.

At the doorway, she let go of his arm. He

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