Come Out Tonight - By Richard Laymon Page 0,28

are. Late at night, that limits my choices. A place like the Nacho Casa is perfect. Open all night. Different people coming in all the time. Most of them sit down and stay a while so I have plenty of time to observe them.”

“So…you sort of spy on everyone who comes in?”

“That’s about it.”

“That’s a wee bit strange, Jimmy.”

He looked over at her and laughed softly. “Keeps me out of trouble,” he said.

“I’d think it might get you into trouble.”

“Doesn’t usually.” Not signaling, he suddenly cut hard to the left and swung onto a sidestreet.

Alarm slammed through Sherry. “What’re you doing?”

He swerved, stopped at the curb and shut off the engine and lights.

“Jim!”

“I want to see if we’re being followed.” He turned his head to the left, apparently to watch the side mirror.

“Are we?” Sherry asked.

“We’ll know pretty soon.”

“I didn’t notice a car behind us.”

“Neither did I. But it’d be hard to see if its headlights are off.”

A sensible precaution, she thought.

Or is this just an excuse to stop? This is just the sort of thing Toby pulled. What’s he gonna do next, pound me and start feeling me up?

Why did I get into the car with this guy? What am I, a moron? Don’t I ever learn from my mistakes?

Good going, Sherry. They can put it on your tombstone.

HERE LIES SHERRY GATES. SHE NEVER LEARNED.

“Looks like we’re in the clear,” Jim said. He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “I’m a little surprised. I figured Toby would probably hang back, keep an eye on things, and follow us.”

“Guess he didn’t.”

“Guess not. Makes me wonder what he is doing.”

“Maybe waiting at my place,” Sherry said. “He knows where I live and he has a key.”

“But he knows you know that,” Jim pointed out. “He might figure you’ll be expecting to find him there, so he’ll avoid it. At least for tonight.”

“Maybe,” Sherry said. “Or he might think, since I expect him to be there, he’d be an idiot to stick around, and I’d realize that, so I won’t really think he’ll be there, so that’s where he goes.”

Jim turned right, and they were again moving in the proper direction. Looking at her, he smiled. “If Toby thinks you think that, he’ll stay away.”

“But if he thinks I think he’ll stay away…” She groaned.

“I tell you what. We’ll expect Toby everywhere. And we’ll deal with him when we have to.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll be less confusing that way.”

“Planning to stick with me for a while?”

“Let’s just see what happens.”

“What do you do, hang out at the Nacho Casa waiting for damsels in distress?”

“Not exactly,” he said.

“I’m the first, huh?”

“Not exactly,” he said.

She was surprised to feel a small pull of disappointment. “Oh, you do this sort of thing all the time?”

“I do stuff. But not often. Mostly, I just watch.”

“When do you do more than just watch?”

“Seldom.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

Jim laughed.

“Why me?” she asked.

“You looked like you could use a hand. I saw what happened to you out in the street. You almost didn’t make it.”

“You just sat there and watched?”

He nodded. “It only lasted a few seconds. Then you were on your way over here, so I just stayed put. And kept an eye on things.”

“Would you have stopped Toby if he’d come in?”

“He didn’t come in.”

“What if he had?”

“Hard to say.”

“You like to be evasive, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“What do you do, anyway?”

“In terms of what?”

“For a living, for starters. Or do you just hang around places day and night staring at everyone and looking for babes to rescue?” “I do this and that.”

“You’re a bank robber.”

“Nope.”

“A private eye.”

“I’m just Jim, okay?”

“Jim…? Oh, my God, you’re James Bond!”

“Afraid not.”

“What is your name? Your last name. Or is that a state secret?”

“It’s Starr. With two r’s.”

“Jim Starr?”

“Yep. And yes, I was born with it. And no, I’m not a stripper. And yes, I am the star of my own life.”

“Does everyone give you the star treatment?”

“I get the treatment, all right.”

“And you made fun of a guy named Bones?”

“What’s your last name?” he asked.

“Gates.”

“Sherry Gates.”

“Want to make something of it?”

“Any relation to the Chief?”

Surprised, she said, “No.”

“Hell of a guy.”

“Ah-ha! You just gave yourself away, buster. I now know that you’re not a criminal or shithead. Anyone who still calls Darryl Gates the Chief after all these years…Oh, my God! You’re a cop!”

Suddenly remembering what she’d said about staying away from the police, she felt herself go hot with embarrassment.

“Oh, man,” she muttered. “I

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