Chapter Eighteen
Hearing Toby start to climb the stairs, Sherry lowered her head and shut her eyes.
Thank God, she thought.
Her eyes suddenly stung, and tears spilled out. She struggled not to sob or sniffle.
That’d be rich, she thought. He hears me weeping, comes back down and butchers me.
What’ll I do now? she wondered.
What’s he doing now?
Going upstairs.
Maybe it’s a trick so I’ll come out.
The pounding sounds of Toby’s footsteps diminished as he continued to climb the stairs. Then Sherry couldn’t hear them anymore.
Is he gone? she wondered.
Or is he sitting on the top stair, eyes on the lobby?
He’s gone, she told herself. He has to get back into Duane’s room. He’s screwed without his stuff.
Unless he’s got a key up his butt, he’ll have a tough time getting in.
When I hear him trying to break the door down, I’ll know where he is. That’s when it’ll be safe to make my move.
Staying crouched under the stairway, she listened.
What if he doesn’t try to break in? she wondered.
He has to.
But maybe he’ll be afraid to make so much noise. Sooner or later, someone other than that one poor woman might decide to get involved.
They can’t all be deaf or yellow.
Somebody must have a gun, for godsakes. A gun and a smidgen of guts. That’s all it would take to stop him, folks!
Sherry suddenly realized that Toby’d had plenty of time to reach Duane’s door.
What’s he doing?
Come on, give it a kick!
Maybe he already did, she thought. Maybe he bashed the door open already and I just couldn’t hear it.
Whatever made me think I would be able to hear it from all the way down here?
He might be inside the apartment right now…
Or rushing down the back stairway to sneak up behind me.
Sherry’s hot, sweaty skin tingled as goosebumps scurried up her body.
On hands and knees, she eased her head out from under the stairway. She looked at the deserted lobby and glass doors, then swiveled her head and looked down the corridor.
Nobody. And no open doors.
She pictured herself hurrying through the corridor, hammering every door with her fists.
If she tried a stunt like that, the commotion might bring Toby running.
Would anyone open up and let her in?
Maybe.
Fast enough to save her from Toby?
The way things had gone so far, she doubted it.
And if someone did let her in, she’d still be a long way from helping Jim unless the phone service had been restored or the person kept a cell phone handy.
Nearly everyone in LA seemed to have a cell phone.
At least in their cars.
Or vans!
Sherry scurried out from under the stairway. On her feet, she twirled for a scan of the stairs. No Toby. Crossing the lobby, she looked toward the glass doors. Instead of seeing outside, she saw little more than a reflection of the lobby, the lower stairs, and herself: the torn sleeve drooping off her shoulder, her open blouse hanging outside her skirt, her one foot wearing a crew sock and sneaker while her other foot was bare.
“Cute,” she muttered.
Perky cheerleader survives bus accident.
Or gangbang, more like it.
At the other side of the lobby, she jerked open the door to the parking lot. She eased it shut behind her, then trotted down the stairs. They were made of corrugated metal. They felt cool under her bare foot, and made soft ringing sounds as she pounded her way down.
There was no door at the bottom. She hurried out of the stairwell. The underground parking lot was well lit. Though crowded with vehicles, she heard no engines and saw no people.
She glanced up the driveway. Its gate was shut, just as it had been when she’d stood on the other side and peered in.
Felt like hours ago.
How long ago had it been? she wondered as she ran toward Duane’s van. Half an hour ago? Fifteen minutes? Ten?
How long since Jim was stabbed?
Five minutes?
Is he still alive?
If only he’d just dropped me off and gone home…too damn much of a man to do that and now look what it got him.
She trotted into the space between Duane’s van and a blue BMW.
It’s gonna be locked. I’ll need a way to break the window.
She tried the driver’s door anyway.
It swung open.
“All right!” she gasped, and climbed up.
She dropped into the driver’s seat, took a deep breath and almost gagged at the foul odors that suddenly filled her nostrils.
Who the hell crapped in here?
She suddenly knew who, and it wasn’t only crap but also urine and blood and vomit and a gamey odor like raw hamburger.
Her eyes watered.
She shut the door. She didn’t want to shut the door and close herself inside with the stench, but she had to. Had to make the overhead light go off so it wouldn’t give away her position.
Open a window!
She pressed a switch on the door, but nothing happened.
Of course not, she thought. Gotta have the ignition on.
They make it so you can’t put down the window!
Just to be sure Toby hadn’t left the key behind, she glanced at the ignition. No key. Of course not.
So forget the stink. Grab the phone and get outa here!
Determined not to look over her shoulder and see the carnage—the headless wreckage of Duane that had to be somewhere in the rear of the van—Sherry reached down to the console beside her seat. She swung its lid up.
Inside the console was Duane’s cell phone.
She snatched it out, then realized she’d better not just run away with it; she might need to use the power cord.
She flipped the phone open, raised its antenna and thumbed the red power button. The phone beeped once, and the screen glowed green. Blinking on and off was the message, Battery Low.
Maybe it still had enough juice to work.
The phone made musical beeps as she tapped 911, then beeped again when she pushed the green send button.
At her ear, the phone made hissy, crackling sounds.
Then it went silent.
She looked at the phone. Its screen had gone dark.
She whispered, “Shit,” then dropped the phone onto her lap and reached into the console again. She whipped out the cord. She plugged one end into the phone, then plucked out the cigarette lighter and jabbed the other end into the socket.
She’d seen Duane do this once.
Does the engine have to be running?
She thumbed the power button. The screen lit up, showed her the blinking Battery Low sign, then went dark again.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Without the ignition key—
The passenger door swung open and Toby clambered in, wearing the dead woman’s pink bathrobe. His face was bloody and he held a butcher knife in his teeth.
Sherry shoved her door open.
On his knees on the passenger seat, Toby lunged at her.
She tried to throw herself through the open door, but he grabbed her with both hands. One clutched her neck while the other wrapped around her upper arm.
He jerked her toward him, let go of her arm and snatched the knife out of his teeth. Still squeezing the back of her neck, he pressed the flat of the blade against her chest just below her left breast.
“I’ll slice it off for you,” he hissed. “Want me to?”
“No.”
“Drive.”
“I can’t.”
“Key’s under the seat.” He took the knife away from her breast and thrust her head down.
Face against the steering wheel, she spread her knees and reached down and fingere
d the floor mat.
“Come on, come on.”
“I’m trying.” She swept her fingertips back and forth over the rubber mat. “Are you sure it’s here?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s just the ignition key, not the whole bunch.”
As she reached farther back, she brushed the key with a fingertip. It slid away, but she found it again and peeled it off the mat. “Got it,” she said.
Toby let her sit up, but didn’t release the back of her neck.
“Get us out of here,” he said.
She tried to fit the key into the ignition slot, but her hand trembled too much.
“Nervous?” Toby asked.
She got it in, twisted it and gave the gas pedal a push. The engine roared to life.
“Let’s go.”
She put on the headlights, released the emergency brake, and backed out of the space.
“Figured you were long gone,” Toby said.
Saying nothing, she headed for the driveway. As she approached the gate, it began to rise automatically. She drove out, and up the slope. At the edge of the road, she stopped the car. In the side mirror, she saw the gate begin to lower.
“Go left,” Toby said.
She kept her foot on the brake.
“Come on, move.”
“Let me make a call first. Okay? Just let me call so they’ll send an ambulance for Jim. Then I’ll go with you.”
“You’ll go with me, all right.”
“Please. What’s it going to hurt?”
“What good’s it gonna do me?”
“Let me call, and I’ll be good.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll cooperate with you.”
“Right. You think I’m a moron?”
She turned her head and looked at him. “If you don’t let me call, it ends here.”
“Yeah?” He squeezed the back of her neck, reached across with his other hand and pushed the long edge of his knife against the underside of her breast.
“Go ahead and do it,” she said. “Kill me and throw me in the back with Duane. I’ll be a lot of good to you then.”
The blade slit her.
Chapter Nineteen
Sherry winced and arched her back and felt blood start to slide down her skin. The cut burned. It felt very shallow, two or three inches long. Though she wanted to grab it, Toby’s knife was still there. She kept her hands on the steering wheel as blood slid down to the waistband of her skirt.
“Drive,” Toby said.
“No.”
“You wanta die for that bastard? Isn’t he the creep from the taco joint?”
“He’s not a creep.”
“He’s probably dead by now.”
“Let me make the call and I’ll drive us anywhere you want.”
He took the knife away and rested it on his thigh. “Go on and call.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. With one hand, she bunched up the left front side of her blouse. She pressed the wadded fabric against her cut.
The phone cord was still plugged into the dash. The phone itself had fallen to the floor. Toby kept hold of Sherry’s neck as she bent down and picked it up with her right hand.
Needing both hands for the phone, she used her left wrist to hold the wad of blouse against her wound. Then she flipped open the phone and thumbed the power button. With a beep, the screen came to life, glowing pale green. She tapped in 911, then pressed send. Holding the phone to her ear, she heard ringing.
“Start to drive,” Toby said.
She drove onto the road, turning left.
“I hate assholes who talk on the phone while they drive,” Toby said. “Oughta be against the law.”
A recorded voice said, “You have reached the nine-one-one emergency dispatch number. If you are calling to report an emergency, please remain on the line. Our first available operator will answer your call.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m on hold.”
Toby chuckled. “Good thing this ain’t an emergency.”
She kept driving. The recorded voice kept repeating itself.
“Still on hold?” Toby asked.
“Yeah.”
“Pull over and stop.”
As she stopped the car in front of a driveway, she heard ringing again. There were clicks as a connection was made. A woman’s voice said, “Nine-one-one emergency, Mable speaking. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“We need ambulances,” Sherry said, and quickly gave the street address of Duane’s apartment building. “There’s an injured man in room two three six.”
“And what is the nature of his injury?”
“Multiple stab wounds. A woman’s in the hallway, too. Stabbed and…”
Letting go of Sherry’s neck, Toby snatched the phone out of her hand. He jabbed the power button. The phone beeped and went dead. He dropped it to the floor in front of him, then reached out and plucked the cord out of the cigarette lighter. “You’re welcome,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Thanks.”
“I let you make the call, right?”
She nodded.
“So now you gotta keep your word and cooperate.”
“I will,” she said.
“You better.”
“Where do you want to go?” she asked.
Toby was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “I’ve gotta think.” After another pause, he muttered, “What’d you wanta go and shut the door for?”
“Duane’s door?”
“Yeah, Duane’s door. My clothes were in there.”
“Your wallet, too?”
“Yeah, my wallet.”
“Too bad,” Sherry said.
“I had twenty bucks in there.”
“And your driver’s license?”
“You wish.”
“Your license wasn’t in your wallet?”
“Shit, no. You think I’m stupid? I read about this serial killer—Greenwood?—he lost his wallet at the scene of a crime and that’s how the cops got him. I didn’t have nothing in mine. Just the twenty bucks.”
“Well,” Sherry said, “that’s lucky.”
“They can’t get me from any of that.”
“What about your keys?”
He suddenly punched her in the upper arm.
“Ow!”
“That’s for my keys.”
Rubbing her arm, she said, “I’m sorry.”
She thought, fantastic.
“Sid’s gonna kill me.”
“Sid?”
“None of your business.”
“Did you try to get back into the room?” Sherry said.
“You locked the door!”
“Well, I shut it. It locked automatically.”
“Same difference. You locked me out. Man, all my keys are in there. The car, the house…” He punched her again, his fist slamming against her arm just below where he’d struck her before.
“I’m sorry!”
“You oughta be!
“Did…did you have an ID with your keys?”
“Hate to disappoint you.”
“That shouldn’t be so bad, then. I don’t think some keys will tell the cops who you are.” “I should’ve burned the fucking place to the ground.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“With what? My lighter? It’s in my shorts, and they’re in your loverboy’s bathroom. And the door’s locked!”
I really did screw him up, Sherry thought. But not nearly bad enough. If only he’d had his driver’s license in his billfold…
“Get moving,” he said.
“Where?”
“Never mind. Just drive. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
She checked the side mirror, saw no traffic, and swung into the lane. She steered with her right hand, using her left to hold the wadded blouse front against her cut.
“Thanks to you,” Toby said, “We’re stuck with this stinky van.”
“Where’s your car?”
“None of y
our business. But it’s no good, anyway, without the keys.”
“Can’t you hot-wire it?”
“Yeah, sure. You know how?”
“No. Don’t you?”
“You gotta be kidding. How am I supposed to know how to do that?”
“I don’t know. I thought guys like you knew that sort of stuff.”
“Guys like me?”
“Yeah.”
“You think I’m some kind of experienced criminal?”
“Aren’t you?”
“You gotta be kidding. I’ve never done shit like this before. Didn’t plan on doing it tonight, either. Things just happened.”
“Things just happened? You murdered Duane and…?”
“Like, one thing led to another, you know? I was just following you the same as I been doing. All I wanted was just to watch you. Never figured I’d get a chance to…be with you, you know? Didn’t plan to waste anybody, either. Stuff just worked out that way.”
“Your lucky night,” Sherry muttered.
“Thing is, I was parked across the street when loverboy’s van came up the driveway, and I couldn’t see through his windshield too good. So I thought you were both in there. That’s how come I followed it. I was just hoping to see you, you know? So I follow it to the Speed-D-Mart, and he parks it around the side, but he’s the only one that gets out. Come to find out, you’re not even there. He must’ve left you back in his apartment. And that’s when I start to think. Just suppose he doesn’t come back? You just gonna wait for him all night? With the Speed-D-Mart only a couple of blocks away? Huh-uh. I figure, give you a while, you’re gonna start wondering what happened to him. An hour or two, maybe you’ll walk over to look for yourself.”
“Guess you had me figured,” she muttered.
Toby chuckled. “Turned out just like I hoped. The first part, anyhow.”
“Did you have to kill him?”
“That was the fun part. Only thing is, now we’ve gotta dump his body.”
“Why do we have to dump it?”
“You happen to notice it doesn’t exactly smell like lilacs in here?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to get rid of the whole van?”
“Yeah, sure. And that’s just what we’d do, only you screwed me out of my car keys. So how’re we gonna get home if we ditch the van?”
“Home?”
“Yeah, home.”
“You want to take me home?”
“That’s what I said. And we can’t exactly hike there, can we? Maybe if you hadn’t locked up my clothes…” He punched her arm again.
Come Out Tonight Page 11