a sitting position, Fran scurried around behind her, squatted and reached under her armpits. She wrapped her arms around Brenda’s chest and struggled to lift her. “Stand up,” she gasped. “Come on.” She tugged. “Get up or he’ll kill us.”
Brenda made no effort to stand.
Fran couldn’t lift her.
“Shit,” Toby muttered. “Wait a second.”
He picked up the smaller weapon he’d taken from Sherry. Now that he had the cop’s gun, he no longer needed it. He certainly didn’t want to drag it around with him. But he didn’t want to leave behind a weapon that someone might use on him. So he studied the pistol, worked a lever that didn’t seem to do anything, then pressed a button that released the ammo magazine. He slid the magazine out of the pistol’s handle and looked at it. It seemed to have only one round in it.
He worked the cartridge loose and hurled it into the living room. A moment after it vanished in the shadows, he heard it thunk against a wall.
He gave the empty magazine a toss. It landed on the newspapers that he’d spread over the carpet to hide the bloody mess left behind by Sid.
Then he dropped Sherry’s pistol. With the cop’s weapon in his right hand, he stepped toward the girls.
“You take that side,” he instructed Fran. “I’ll take this.”
Keeping the cop’s pistol in his right hand, he crouched and used his left hand to grab Brenda’s upper arm. He clutched it just below the armpit. The skin was hot and wet and slippery. “Okay, lift,” he said.
Together, they hoisted her off the floor.
It was easier than Toby had expected. Brenda seemed to be helping, pushing at the floor with her good leg—maybe afraid of being dropped.
Starting to move, Fran tripped over Baxter. As she stumbled, they all lurched sideways and Toby almost lost his grip on Brenda. But Fran recovered. Nobody fell. Toby adjusted his grip.
“Watch where you’re going,” he warned.
“Sorry,” Fran said.
Leaving the foyer behind, they started up the carpeted hallway toward Toby’s bedroom.
“What about the fire?” Fran asked.
“What about it?”
“It’s coming, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“I mean, isn’t that what the cop was about?”
“Guess so. Who cares?”
“I don’t wanta get burned up.”
“Soon as Brenda’s on my bed, you can leave.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Not if the fire comes.”
“Screw the fire. I give a shit. It burns me, it burns me. I’ve had it, anyhow. All I wanta do is have my fun with Brenda before it gets me.”
“It doesn’t have to get you. Why don’t we leave? Why don’t we leave right now? Just you and me. When the fire gets here, it’ll burn up all the bodies and evidence and everything, nobody’ll ever know you did all this stuff.”
“You’ll know,” Toby said.
“I’ll never tell.”
“Sure.”
At his bedroom doorway, they halted. They turned Brenda sideways and Toby entered first.
“I won’t,” Fran insisted.
Toby said nothing as they hustled Brenda over to his bed. There, they turned her around. They sat her on the edge of the mattress, then eased her down onto her back. Her legs hung over the edge, shoes on the floor.
Toby stepped away. “Take her shoes off,” he said. “Then put her legs on the bed.”
Fran squatted in front of Brenda’s knees. As she pulled off the shoes, she said, “Know what? I just thought of something, Jack. A wife can’t testify against her husband. All we’d have to do is get married…”
“That’s an idea,” Toby said.
She cast a nervous smile over her shoulder.
“I’d make you a really good wife,” she said. “I’d do anything for you, and I’d never tell on you. I wouldn’t be allowed, even if I wanted to.” She straightened up, lifting Brenda’s bare feet, and swung her legs onto the mattress.
“Thanks,” Toby said.
“What do you think?”
“I’d rather be dead than married to an ugly fat load of shit like you.”
She thrust out her lower lip. Her chin started to tremble.
“Even if I wanted to marry you, we’re too young.”
“Maybe not if our parents…”
“My parents are toes-up, babe. I made ’em that way. Me and my asshole brother, Sid. They ain’t gonna give permission for shit.”
“You killed your parents?”
“They were a pain in the ass. And rich.”
Sobbing, Fran blubbered, “But we can still get married. We can…go away someplace. Another state, or…”
“Besides which,” Toby said, “you’ve got it wrong about wives. In this state, they can testify against their husbands. Can’t be forced to do it, but they can do it if they want.”
“How do you know?”
“I read.”
“Anyway…” She sniffed and wiped her