Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  She cried out. So did he.

  She reached for his wrist.

  He slammed the pistol against the side of her head.

  Though the blow didn’t knock her unconscious, it seemed to knock the fight out of her. She lay limp, staring off to the side.

  “That’s better,” Toby said.

  He took his hand away. Her pubic hair, no longer downy and golden, was painted red. So was the area below.

  “I bet I just gave it to you,” he said. “Think so?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Doesn’t matter anyhow,” he said. “None of us’re gonna die from AIDS, you can bet on that. I’m gonna hump you to death.”

  Her eyes opened slightly.

  Her gaze slid toward his groin.

  She muttered, “Reality check.”

  He looked down, himself.

  How’d that happen?

  Getting my finger shot off maybe had a little something to do with it. And ramming my stump into her twat.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  Toby set the pistol on the sheet by Brenda’s left hip. He slid her arm up until her hand disappeared under the pillow, then placed his hand on her breast.

  It felt like a soft, springy pad. The skin was warm and slick. As he caressed it, he felt the nipple stiffen and rise.

  He felt himself stiffen and rise along with it.

  He squeezed her nipple, making her flinch. Making himself harder.

  “Check again,” he said.

  Brenda lifted her head off the mattress and looked. “Big whoop,” she said.

  “Big enough. Your sister sure thought so.”

  Her eyes opened a little wider. “Want me to suck it?” she asked.

  The suggestion gave him a sudden ache of desire. “No,” he said. “You’d bite.”

  “Huh-uh.”

  He suddenly remembered last night, sinking his teeth into Sherry.

  That had only been a little nip. He’d tasted some blood, but not much flesh. Nothing really to chew on, like he’d gotten from Duane.

  I can eat Brenda! Bite her all over, taste her skin, drink her blood, chew her and swallow!

  Right hand against the mattress, he eased himself lower. He licked her nipple. It felt big and rubbery in his mouth.

  Eat it and work my way down.

  As he licked and sucked, he realized that Brenda was moaning under him. Squirming, too.

  She likes this?

  He lifted his mouth off her breast.

  “Don’t stop,” she murmured. One of her hands went to the back of his head. Fingers pushing through his hair, she guided his head back down until his mouth latched onto her breast.

  He sucked.

  She moaned.

  She’s faking.

  It’s her left hand, he realized. Maybe she’s planning to work her way down and grab the pistol.

  Long as she’s fooling with my hair, nothing to worry about.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Suck. Suck.”

  She was thrashing beneath him, hand pushing at the back of his head, mashing his face against her breast.

  “Oh, yes!”

  She clenched his hair.

  “Yes yes yes! Now the other.”

  Why not?

  Her hand remained on the back of his head, clenching his hair as he moved his mouth to her right breast and tongued the nipple.

  It tasted fresh and somehow made him think of Santa Monica beach early in the morning before the crowds arrive…a mild breeze coming in from the ocean, gulls squealing and circling.

  He could feel the ocean breeze on him now, blowing down gently from the windows alongside the bed.

  If only she was my girlfriend, Toby thought. And we were at the beach right now…

  Get real, he told himself. She wouldn’t go to the beach with a guy like me. Never in a million years. She wouldn’t be caught dead with a guy like me. Sherry, either.

  None of them—none of the good ones—would ever go to the beach or to a movie or anything else with a tub of lard like me.

  Maybe a pig like Fran. She’s the best I’d ever be able to get.

  But I sure got Sherry last night.

  And I’ve got Brenda now.

  This is as good as it’s ever gonna get.

  He slipped his lips down over Brenda’s nipple and rubbed it with his tongue. Flicked it. Thrust at it.

  She moaned and writhed.

  He sucked hard, drawing more of her breast into his mouth.

  She bucked under him in a frenzy.

  “Yes!” she gasped. “Oh!”

  She clenched his hair and pushed his face more tightly against her breast.

  He squeezed her breast with his teeth.

  “Ah! Jack! Yesssss!”

  I’m gonna come! Better stop this and…

  Something stabbed Toby in the left eye.

  Squealing, he flung himself up.

  “You fucking bitch!” he shrieked. “What’ve you done to me?”

  Brenda glared at him.

  His own leather belt dangled from her hand. She was clutching its buckle. The steel prong jutted out from between two fingers.

  He glanced at her leg.

  The bloody T-shirt bandage hung loose around her wound.

  “I’LL KILL YOU!” Toby shouted.

  As she tried to strike at him again with the prong, he caught her by the wrist with his shot hand. Pain flashed up his arm, but it wasn’t much compared to the pain from his eye. He held on.

  With his right hand, he slapped the mattress by her hip, trying to find his pistol.

  “TOBY!”

  He jerked his head toward the sound of the voice.

  Lurching through his bedroom doorway was a woman. A woman with a bandaged head and battered face. She wore a bright flowery shirt as if she’d just come back from Hawaii. She didn’t seem to have any pants on. Her bare legs were scratched and bruised and patched with many bandages.

  Sherry?

  She came into the bedroom with a guy on each side.

  They looked like they were about sixteen.

  A shrimp and a clean-cut looking jerk who probably made straight As…and had a revolver.

  The revolver was aimed at Toby.

  “Hands up,” said the kid.

  The hole in the muzzle of the revolver looked very small, as holes go.

  “Shoot him,” said the shrimp.

  Ignoring him, gun-boy said, “Stick your hands up and get off the girl.”

  Toby found the pistol by Brenda’s hip. He snatched it off the mattress and swung it toward the trio.

  Take ’em all down, the fuckers!

  SHERRY FIRST!

  Before he could bring the pistol around far enough, however, two things happened.

  Brenda caught hold of his wrist.

  And a bullet from the kid’s .22 knocked into his chin and turned his head sideways.

  Feeling as if his jaw had been blown apart, he spun away from the impact. His head pounded against the bedroom wall.

  Brenda was twisting under him, trying to throw him off.

  Then someone grabbed the hair on the back of his head and jerked as if trying to rip his scalp off. He fell backward, off Brenda, off the edge of his bed.

  His back slammed the floor.

  Sherry stood over him.

  She had pants on, after all. Even with just one eye, he could see the thin strip of black fabric between her legs.

  Too bad.

  But I bet that teeny weeny fuckin’ bikini won’t stop a bullet.

  He brought his right arm up off the floor to shoot her with the cop’s big pistol.

  But the cop’s big pistol was no longer in his hand.

  She stomped his face with her bare foot.

  Through the daze of pain, he heard her say, “Brenda. You okay?”

  Brenda said, “Fine.”

  “Guys,” said Sherry, “get her out of here. Wait, take this. She can wear this.”

 
; A few seconds passed. Then he heard Brenda say, “Thanks.”

  “I’m Pete, by the way,” a guy said.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m Jeff.”

  “I’m Brenda. Nice to meet you.”

  “Chit-chat in the car,” Sherry said. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “You’d better come now,” one of the guys said.

  “Yeah,” said the other.

  “Take Brenda out to the car,” Sherry said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “The fire…”

  “I know. Don’t worry. We’ve still got time.”

  “Not much.”

  “Go!”

  Chapter Sixty-five

  “We meet again,” Sherry said.

  Toby, sprawled at her feet, his chin ruined, his nose mashed, his left eye gone, looked up with his right eye.

  “You never should’ve messed with me,” she said. “You shouldn’t have messed with my friend, Jim. And you really shouldn’t have messed with my sister.”

  He coughed, spraying blood from his mouth.

  “They’d probably execute you for all the shit you did,” she said. “But maybe not. Hell, this is Los Angeles. Maybe they’d just set you free. You never know. I’d better go ahead and kill you, just in case.”

  He shook his head, blood spilling from his mouth.

  “You don’t want me to kill you?”

  He grunted and shook his head some more.

  “Should I turn you in to the cops?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay,” Sherry said. “I guess that’s what we’ll do, then. I mean, you’ve probably suffered enough. Lost a finger, lost an eye, not to mention your chin’s messed up. We’ll get the cops and they’ll take you to a hospital. Maybe you can even have your finger reattached.”

  He nodded some more, somewhat eagerly.

  “By the way, I didn’t give you AIDS. Just said that to mess with your head.”

  He almost looked relieved.

  “So you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy Death Row—like about fifteen years—before they put the needle in you.”

  He nodded and grunted and coughed out some blood.

  “Just kidding,” said Sherry.

  “Huh?”

  “Not about the AIDS. About your future on Death Row.”

  She showed Toby’s single eye what she’d been holding behind her back.

  A Buck knife she’d found on her way into the house—near one of the bodies on the foyer floor.

  “Does this belong to you?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sherry said. “Because I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

  He made little whimpery noises as Sherry crouched over him.

  Chapter Sixty-six

  “Was that a scream?” Pete asked, looking over his shoulder.

  Jeff, in the back seat with an arm across Brenda’s shoulders, shrugged and said, “I don’t know, man. All I can hear are choppers and sirens.”

  “Me, too,” said Brenda. She was slumped sideways against Jeff. Sherry’s gaudy shirt was buttoned almost to her throat and Jeff’s shirt draped her lap and thighs. “Who are you guys?” she asked.

  “I’m Pete.”

  “I’m Jeff.”

  “Reality check. I know your names. I mean, who are you?”

  “Friends of your sister,” answered Pete.

  “Yeah,” said Jeff. “Just a couple of friends.”

  “Well, you’re my friends now,” Brenda said. “Now and forever.”

  “All right!” Jeff blurted. “Cool.”

  “Yeah,” said Pete. “But you might change your mind once you get to know us.”

  “Real smart, dude. Cripes! He’s just trying to be funny, Brenda. We’re swell guys.”

  “I can tell,” said Brenda.

  “Sherry’s sure been in there a long time,” Pete said.

  “Long as we get out of here ahead of the fire,” Jeff said, “she can take all the time she wants.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t wanta be sitting here if more cops show up.”

  “Hey, we didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Maybe not, but…” Pete suddenly saw Sherry hobble onto the front stoop of the house. “She’s out,” he said.

  “All right! And the fire nowhere in sight!”

  Leaving the shadows behind, Sherry limped into the smoky sunlight.

  The black bikini, little more than strings and tiny patches, looked great on her. Its loose top wobbled and bounced a bit with the motion of her walking. Her tawny skin glistened. Though Pete could see numerous bandages, her scratches and abrasions and bruises were mostly invisible in the distance.

  The way she looked made him feel good all over.

  Even in his heart.

  Especially in his heart.

  He leaped out of the car and ran to her.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Can’t complain.”

  Walking beside her, he put a hand low on her back. He felt the slickness and heat of her skin.

  She met his eyes. A corner of her mouth tilted upward, trembling slightly.

  “Did you take care of Toby?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Been keeping an eye out for the fire?”

  “Hasn’t come over the ridge yet. We oughta be fine.”

  “Great.” She put her hand on Pete’s back. He felt it just below his shoulder blade, but its touch seemed to spread all through him as they walked the rest of the way to his car.

  RAVE REVIEWS FOR RICHARD LAYMON!

  “I’ve always been a Laymon fan. He manages to raise serious gooseflesh.”

  —Bentley Little

  “Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing book.”

  —New York Review of Science Fiction

  “Laymon always takes it to the max. No one writes like him and you’re going to have a good time with anything he writes.”

  —Dean Koontz

  “If you’ve missed Laymon, you’ve missed a treat.”

  —Stephen King

  “A brilliant writer.”

  —Sunday Express

  “I’ve read every book of Laymon’s I could get my hands on. I’m absolutely a longtime fan.”

  —Jack Ketchum, author of The Girl Next Door

  MORE PRAISE FOR RICHARD LAYMON!

  “One of horror’s rarest talents.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Laymon is, was, and always will be king of the hill.”

  —Horror World

  “Laymon is an American writer of the highest caliber.”

  —Time Out

  “Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A genius of the grisly and the grotesque.”

  —Joe Citro, The Blood Review

  “Laymon doesn’t pull any punches. Everything he writes keeps you on the edge of your seat.”

  —Painted Rock Reviews

  Other Leisure books by Richard Laymon:

  RESURRECTION DREAMS

  ENDLESS NIGHT

  BODY RIDES

  BLOOD GAMES

  TO WAKE THE DEAD

  NO SANCTUARY

  DARKNESS, TELL US

  NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER

  ISLAND

  THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS (Anthology)

  IN THE DARK

  THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW

  AMONG THE MISSING

  ONE RAINY NIGHT

  BITE

  Copyright

  A LEISURE BOOK®

  July 2005

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 1999 by Richard Laymon

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