Endless Night

by Richard Laymon

  Dad, following her, was empty handed.

  Knowing her father, Jody was sure he must’ve immediately offered to carry Sharon’s things. He had kept his chivalry in spite of feminism. So Sharon must have insisted on handling the baggage herself.

  “You’re right on time,” Jody told her.

  “Tried to make it quicker.” To Jack, she said, “All right if I stow my rifle in the back seat?”

  “It won’t do us much good locked in the trunk.”

  Jody finished climbing out of the car. She stepped out of Sharon’s way. “Dad, shouldn’t I bring along my twenty-two? Just in case we get separated, or something?”

  “Definitely. Run in and get it. Bring along the extra magazine, too.”

  Jody hurried into the house. In her bedroom, she slid open the nightstand drawer and picked up her pistol. She kept it there fully loaded, a round in the chamber, ready to fire except for the safety. She checked the safety to make certain the red dot didn’t show, then dropped the weapon into the side pocket of her jacket. She searched the drawer until she found the other magazine. It was loaded, giving her a total of sixteen shots.

  You never know, she thought.

  She picked up a full box of .22 long rifle cartridges. On her way out, she slipped the box and magazine into the other pocket of her jacket.

  Normally, the jacket was almost weightless. Now, its heavy pockets swung every which way as she walked. The pistol and ammo bumped her hips and she could feel the jacket pulling down on her shoulders.

  “I guess we’re off,” Dad said as she entered the garage. “Did you remember to turn off your light?”

  “Of course.”

  He shut the house door after her and locked it with his key. He gave her time to reach the car, then flicked off the garage light.

  The car’s courtesy light was on. Climbing in, Jody saw the blanket covering the shotgun. Sharon’s rifle case was propped up at the far side, behind the driver’s seat. She smiled at Sharon, then shut her door and got down on her hands and knees.

  “How is it back there?” Sharon asked.

  “At least the floor’s clean. Sort of.”

  The car rocked as her father climbed in. His door thumped shut, and darkness closed down on Jody’s nook. She heard the rumble of the garage door rising. Then the car engine started.

  “How you doing, champ?” Dad asked.

  “Me?” Jody asked.

  “Yes, you.”

  “Doing okay.”

  “Stay down till I tell you different.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll leave the headlights off for now.” From his tone of voice, Jody knew he was speaking to Sharon.

  “Good idea,” Sharon said.

  The car began to back up, its motion nudging Jody toward the front. Her right shoulder and hip pushed against the backs of the front seats. She felt the force shift, when the car reached the bottom of the driveway and swung onto the street. Then she found herself being thrust against the edge of the back seat.

  “So far, so good,” Sharon said.

  “They’ve probably cleared out of the neighborhood,” Dad said. “But you just never know. We’ve gotta be ready for anything.”

  “That’s probably Simmons back there.”

  “Simmons your partner?”

  “Yeah. Good guy. But he said he’d give us a flash with his brights.”

  “How forgetful is he?”

  “There they go.” Sharon sounded relieved. “He should be staying with us, now, till he’s sure we haven’t picked up a tail. Maybe you’d better put our lights on.”

  “Hmm. Yeah.”

  Jody heard a couple of quiet clicks as he pulled out the headlight knob. Then came the pinking sounds of the turn signal. She swayed toward the front as the car slowed, felt as if her rump were being shoved during the turn, and then found herself being pressed against the seat cushion.

  “How’s it going, Jody?” Sharon asked.

  “I guess it’s better than getting shot.”

  “Just a few more minutes,” Dad told her.

  “Take it easy on the turns, please.”

  “It’s a straightaway for a while.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Finally, he told Jody that she could get up. Raising her head, she recognized the Laurel Canyon onramp to the Ventura Freeway.

  “Looking good,” Sharon said.

  Jody twisted around and peered out the rear window. Except for one car, the onramp behind them seemed to be deserted. “Is that Simmons?” she asked.

  “That’s him.”

  Dad picked up speed and eased into the flow of eastbound traffic.

  “Here he comes,” Jody said.

  The unmarked police car sped closer, then swung to the left and eased up alongside them. The driver’s right arm reached out. For an instant, Jody thought he was pointing a gun at Dad. Her stomach plummeted. But then she saw the man raise his thumb.

  Dad returned the thumbs-up signal. Sharon leaned forward a bit and waved. Then Simmons’s car shot forward and was lost in the traffic.

  The radio suddenly blasted. Before Jody got a chance to recognize the tune, the volume faded. “Jody’s station,” Dad said. “K-Noise.”

  “Very funny, Dad.”

  “Let’s see if we can’t find us a li’l ol’ country station.”

  “Is that what you like?” Sharon asked.

  “I reckon it’s what you like.”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “They don’t give sergeant stripes to dummies, ma’am.”

  Sharon laughed softly. “Do you like country?”

  “Reckon I’m ambidextrous.”

  “It’s fine with me,” she said, “if we keep on Jody’s K-Noise.”

  “No,” Jody said. “That’s okay. I like everything, mostly. Except Willie Nelson.”

  “You don’t like Willie?”

  “I think it’s his headband,” she said.

  “When Jody was eight,” Dad explained, “she got carsick while Willie was singing ‘Always on My Mind’ on the radio. Ever since then, she thinks about him every time she loses it. And vice versa. That’s the real reason she can’t stand him.”

  “Very nice, Dad. Tell everyone about me throwing up.”

  “I’ve done it myself,” Sharon said. “In fact, I toss my supper every time I see a dead body.”

  “Every time?” Dad asked.

  “Well, only the ones I meet on duty. I don’t usually throw up at funerals.”

  “Your partners must love that.”

  “They’ve been okay about it. As long as I miss them.”

  Dad started laughing. He laughed hard.

  “They find it amusing, too.”

  “What is it, the aroma?”

  “Jeez, Dad!”

  “It gets me even when I can’t smell ’em.”

  “Knowing how they’re gonna smell,” Dad suggested.

  “Hey, maybe so. I never thought of that.”

  “Oh, my God,” Jody said.

  “What?” Dad asked. Sharon looked around at her.

  “I just remembered. Last night at Evelyn’s, the place smelled like something dead. Remember the rat that died behind the wall, Dad? It was that sort of smell. The killers smelled like that. A couple of them did, anyway. The fat one who got Evelyn, he had that smell. And so did the little guy who came to Andy’s room.”

  Even in the dark, Jody could see the look of revulsion on Sharon’s face.

  “If you were right about that guy’s pants,” Dad said, “the stink probably came from them.”

  “I don’t think so. They didn’t look ... rotten.”

  “Pants that rot?” Sharon asked.

  “I can’t believe it,” Dad said. “You mean the word hasn’t gone through the whole department by now?”

  “I was briefed on last night’s homicides, but ...”

  “You know about Jody killing one of the perps?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, acc
ording to Jody and Andy, that guy was naked except for a pair of trousers made out of human skin—somebody’s butt and legs.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “But they looked sort of normal,” Jody said. “I mean, not normal But we both thought the guy didn’t have any pants on, at first. Until we started to notice things. But anyway, what I’m getting at is the skin looked regular. The color wasn’t funny. There might’ve been some kind of preservative stuff on it, but it wasn’t brown like leather usually is. And it sure didn’t look like it was going bad. I mean, it wasn’t slimy or green or moldy, or ...”

  Sharon turned her head away, gagging. More choking sounds erupted from her as she rolled her window down. Quickly, she tugged off her NRA cap and stuck her head out. Her short hair blew in the wind.

  Jody reached over the top of the seat and put her hand on Sharon’s back. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  Sharon pulled her head in. “That’s all right.” She glanced sideways toward Jack. “I just needed a little fresh air. I’m okay now.”

  Dad looked over at her. “How long have you been on the job?”

  “Six years.”

  “And you’re still this squeamish?”

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it.” She sounded defensive, slightly annoyed.

  “You must spend half your life throwing up.”

  “Come on, Dad. Anyway, she didn’t throw up.”

  “That’s right, I didn’t.”

  “And it’s not as if you’ve never done it. Remember when you found that mold on the bread after you’d already eaten half the sandwich, and ... ?”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Nobody wants to hear about that.”

  “Let he who never vomits cast the first ...”

  “Cut it out, now, Jody.”

  “To get back to the point,” Sharon said, “some of the men who invaded the Clark house last night smelled like dead rats. Is that right?”

  “That’s right,” Jody said. “And I don’t think the stink came from the skin pants. I don’t even know what the fat guy was wearing. He looked all shaggy, like his clothes were tattered, or something. He smelled the same way as the little guy, though.”

  “And you don’t think it was the clothing?” Sharon asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then what could account for the odor?” she continued, as if determined to show that she could function in spite of the disgusting subject matter.

  “I don’t know. Unless they’re zombies.”

  “They’re not zombies,” Dad said.

  “I know,” Jody told him. “But why would they smell like that?”

  “When we get our hands on one, we’ll find out.” He drove in silence for a few seconds. “I didn’t smell anything like that tonight at the Zoller house. Just the usual. Nothing like a rotten carcass.”

  “The shooter had to be one of the guys from last night,” Sharon said.

  “Maybe I just didn’t pick up on it. The place was pretty whiffy. Or maybe the stink the kids noticed was a fluke and they don’t always smell that way. They might’ve just finished disposing of an old body, or something, before they paid their visit to the Clark house.”

  “Or maybe they hadn’t disposed of it,” Sharon said. “Maybe they had it with them. Maybe they were keeping it.”

  “Why would they want to keep a body?”

  “For a mascot?” Sharon suggested.

  Dad laughed.

  “You cops are all a bunch of psychos,” Jody said.

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Dad said.

  “Hey,” Sharon said, “did you know Psycho Phelan?”

  “Are you kidding? Psycho? Man, what a lunatic. Did you hear about the time ... ?”

  And so it began.

  They started telling war stories.

  Jody listened eagerly to their tales of Psycho Phelan, then to one story after another about busts that went awry, amazing goofs, tight scrapes, practical jokes played on fellow cops, bizarre civilians they’d encountered, peculiar deaths that were awful but often hilarious.

  To hear what they were saying, though, Jody had to sit on the edge of her seat and lean forward, bracing herself with her arms stretched atop the seatbacks. That way, she could keep her head in the middle of things and catch both sides of the conversation. After a while, however, the muscles under her arms began to feel the strain of holding her up. Her back and neck started to ache. All over her body, nicks and scratches, cuts and scrapes and bruises seemed to come awake and hurt her.

  Finally, with a moan, she succumbed. She eased herself backward and settled down in her seat. She wanted to stretch out. “Okay if I put the shotgun on the floor, Dad?”

  “Sure. Just don’t fire it.”

  “Once was once too often,” she said. She slipped it out from under the blanket and set it carefully on the floor.

  “Is my rifle in the way?” Sharon asked, looking back at her.

  “No, I think it’ll be fine. Gotta get rid of this stuff, though.” She dug her hands into her jacket, pulled the pistol out of one pocket, then removed the loose magazine and box of cartridges from the other.

  As she set them on the floor with the shotgun, Sharon said, “You like guns?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “She loves her little Smith & Wesson,” Dad said.

  “I don’t love it. Jeez. It’s just a gun.” To Sharon, she said, “I do get a kick out of shooting it, though. I think that’s a lot of fun. I really like shooting—as long as I don’t have to shoot some sort of big old cannon. It sort of hurts to shoot the big stuff.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She smiled. “I’ve got a Parker-Hale .300 Winchester magnum at home. Every time I fire it I end up with a big ugly bruise on my shoulder.”

  “Why do you fire it, then?”

  “I like it.”

  “The power,” Dad said.

  “That’s it.”

  “I knew there was something I liked about you,” he told her.

  She let out a gruff laugh. “Glad there’s something, Jack.”

  “Maybe a few things.”

  “My goodness.”

  “You guys,” Jody said, and surprised herself by yawning.

  “Someone’s sleepy,” Sharon said.

  “Yeah. I’m gonna stretch out.” She lay down on her back and raised her knees slightly to allow her legs to fit on the seat. Her feet went nicely into the space underneath the tilted rifle case and pressed against the door.

  “That looks comfy,” Sharon said.

  “It is.”

  Dad glanced back.

  “Jeez, Dad, watch where you’re driving.”

  “Okay. Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

  Sharon’s hand appeared above the seatback and waved. It was a very dainty wave, hand open, closed fingers dipping downward a few times. The way a shy little girl might wave goodnight or goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Jody opened her eyes, found herself on the back seat of the car, wondered for a moment where she was going, then remembered about Andy’s disappearance. Though she still felt groggy, she struggled to sit up.

  Dad was behind the wheel. Sharon sat in the passenger seat, looking out the windows. From the radio came the quiet sound of Garth Brooks singing “The Dance.”

  There wasn’t much traffic on the freeway. They seemed to be in a desert area, a few buildings off to the sides, but not many. This certainly wasn’t the outskirts of a city, but it didn’t look completely desolate, either.

  “Where are we?”

  “Coming up on Cabazon,” Dad said.

  “Really?”

  “You were out for a long time.”

  Sharon said, “We were just talking about whether to wake you up. You wouldn’t want to miss the dinosaurs.”

  Sharon was right; she would’ve hated to be asleep when they drove past the dinosaurs. “Oh, they’re cool,” she said.

  “Have you ever stopped at them?”


  “Yeah. A couple of times. We went into one of them.”

  “You can go inside?” Sharon sounded surprised.

  “Yeah. I don’t know if you still can. Didn’t they shut it down, Dad?”

  “I think so. Seems to me there’d been some vandalism.”

  “But we got in once, maybe about five or six years ago. There was a little souvenir shop right in the stomach of the apatosaurus. You could buy dinosaur coloring books, and rocks, and stuff. It was pretty junky, actually, and the guy who ran it was sort of funny.”

  “It sounds neat, though,” Sharon said.

  “Yeah, it was. You know, knowing you were way up high inside this gigantic monster.”

  “There they are,” Dad said.

  Off to the left, not far beyond the westbound lanes of the freeway, the two towering concrete creatures stood brightly lit against the night. They looked as if they might have wandered out of the desert and halted in shocked amazement to find themselves confronted by Interstate 10. The apatosaurus with its humped back and long neck looked gentle and perplexed. Maybe it wanted to turn around and hurry back into the wilds. The Tyrannosaurus rex, huge teeth bared, looked savage—looked ready to head for the freeway and tangle with the big rigs.

  “Awesome,” Sharon muttered. “I remember how really weird it seemed, the first time I saw them. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

  “They look like they belong in a place like this,” Dad said.

  “Yeah,” Jody said. “But like they’re out of place, too. Like they’re surprised to find themselves here.” She turned her head and watched the creatures shrink into the distance.

  She realized that Andy must’ve come by here in the car with his uncle. Had he noticed the dinosaurs?

  He could hardly miss them, she thought.

  Being a guy, he was probably into dinosaurs and stuff like that.

  Maybe they outgrow it, though, by the time they hit twelve.

  She tried to remember if she’d seen any dinosaur models or pictures or books in his bedroom last night.

  But when she thought about Andy’s bedroom, she could only see the door creeping open and the guy sneaking in, feel how the baseball bat had landed solid, see the awful way it had caved in the top of his head, see him sprawled on the floor wearing somebody else’s butt and legs, watch Andy barf down on him from the bed.