Come Out Tonight - By Richard Laymon Page 0,11

hands. The guy, powerfully built, had curly, bleached hair. Instead of a net shirt and skimpy shorts, however, he wore a tank top and cut-off jeans.

His partner, long black hair blowing in the wind, wore a tank top and cut-off jeans and white cowboy boots. Though only able to see the brunette from behind, Sherry was pretty sure she must be a woman.

As they drove alongside the couple, she got a side view and saw the brunette’s large breasts swinging and bouncing unrestrained inside the tank top.

“Guess it’s not them,” Toby said.

“Doesn’t look that way,” said Sherry.

“The guy looks a lot like the one I saw. Not exactly the same, but…I mean, the one with Duane wasn’t dressed like that.”

“This isn’t the man you saw, is it?”

“No. Huh-uh.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

On the next block they drove past a hunched, filthy man steering a train of three heavily loaded shopping carts down the sidewalk.

Sherry wondered if this was the beggar who’d accosted her in front of the Speed-D-Mart.

They all looked so much alike, bundled up in their soiled clothes, hair and skin dark with grime.

This guy’s bigger than the other one, she thought.

As they came up on Hamilton High School, Sherry sighed.

“I’m not sure this is accomplishing much,” she said. “They could be anywhere.”

She saw the freeway underpass just ahead.

“I can’t imagine Duane would’ve gone much farther,” she said. “He’d have to deal with that weird mess of intersections and off-ramps and everything. It’s bad enough in a car. He wouldn’t try to walk through it.”

“Guess not. But you know what they might’ve done? They might’ve gone down National. I mean, they were heading in this direction…”

Toby flicked his turn signal and pulled into the left-hand turn pocket for National. Stopping at the red light, he said, “We can just take this over to Venice Boulevard.”

“Why would we wanta go there?”

“Maybe it’s where they went, you know? Duane and that guy were walking down Robertson. If they kept going, they might be heading for someplace on Venice.”

The signal changed to a green arrow. Toby stepped on the gas and turned left onto National.

“If they did go this way,” he said, “we oughta spot ’em pretty soon. We’re sure going a lot faster than they are.”

“That’s true,” Sherry said. “But I have my doubts that they came this far. For all we know, maybe they only walked down Robertson for half a block and climbed into a car. Or went into a building or down a sidestreet. They could’ve gone just about anywhere.”

“I know,” Toby said. “But if they kept going south, maybe they’re on the way to someplace on Venice and we’ll run into them pretty soon.”

Approaching the intersection, he steered to the right.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to look,” Sherry admitted.

“I know it’s a long shot,” Toby said, and made the turn. Ahead of them, Venice Boulevard was brightly lit. “We’ll start back if we don’t find them in a few blocks.”

“Yeah. ’Cause I don’t think we’re going to find them along here.”

“A lot of places are open,” Toby said.

Sherry nodded.

“Maybe they went in somewhere to rent a video or get a bite to eat or something.”

“I doubt it,” Sherry said.

“Yeah, me too. But you never know. Hey, know what? I’m starving. You wanta stop and get a little snack or something?”

“I don’t think so.”

He turned his head and smiled at her. “My treat.”

“I’d rather get back to the Speed-D-Mart.”

“Do you mind if I get something?”

She did mind, but she hated to say so. After all, Toby had gone out of his way to help her look for Duane. And this was his car.

“I guess we could stop somewhere,” she said.

“Great. We’ll make it real quick. Where you wanta go?”

“It’s up to you.”

“You like tacos?”

“Sure.”

“Me, too. I like ’em a lot. How about the Nacho Casa? We can get ’em at the take-out window, you know? That way, we won’t be wasting time.”

“Sounds good,” she said.

“Hope it’s still open.”

As Toby drove west on Venice Boulevard, Sherry kept her eyes open for Duane. Not that she expected to find him this far from the Speed-D-Mart.

By now, wherever he’d gone, he might’ve even returned to his van and driven back to his apartment. He might be standing in his bedroom at this very moment with a bag of condoms in his hand, thinking, Where’s Sherry?

Now I’m the missing one, she thought.

Serve him right.

She doubted, however, that he had returned to his apartment.

It’d be nice, but didn’t seem very likely.

The longer I stay away,

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