“That’s what we’re here for,” said Jeff.
Chapter Sixty-two
“Okay,” Toby said. “That’s enough.”
Fran, grunting and groaning as she worked on Brenda, ignored him.
“Stop it,” Toby commanded.
She gave Brenda a last quick slap, then crawled off her. She lowered herself onto the floor and rolled onto her back, huffing for air.
Brenda, spread-eagled, wet all over, sobbed and writhed as she struggled to breathe.
“Having fun yet?” Toby asked her.
She didn’t answer.
“I know I am. I haven’t had this much fun since…last night with Sherry. And I haven’t even touched you yet. This is gonna be great.”
Fran braced herself up with her elbows. “What’ll you…do with her?”
“What do you think?”
“I’ll…help.”
“Bet you will.”
“Just…name it.”
“Sure,” he muttered. He supposed Fran would probably do anything he asked of her. She had nothing to lose, after all. And she obviously held some very strong, strange feelings about Brenda—a wild mixture of envy and hatred and desire. She’d seemed to enjoy inflicting pain on her so-called friend.
I can use her, Toby thought, but I’d better watch out. No telling what she might try.
“I want Brenda in the bedroom,” he said.
“Okay.” After struggling to her feet, Fran scowled down at Brenda. “How’m I spose to—?”
“Pick her up, drag her, I don’t care. Just—”
Someone knocked hard on the front door. Toby jumped. His heart lurched and he felt as if his breath had been knocked out.
From the other side of the door came a loud voice. “This is the police. Please open the door.” More pounding.
Fran darted her eyes toward the door.
Toby aimed the pistol at her face.
Brenda, squirming on the floor, seemed wrapped up in her own misery.
The doorbell rang several times quickly. Then came more knocking. “I know someone’s in there,” the police officer said. “Please open the door. We’re evacuating…”
Toby stepped up to the door, opened it and shoved his pistol into the cop’s face and pulled the trigger. The bullet socked a hole through the bridge of the man’s nose.
Before the cop had time to fall, Toby reached out and grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him forward. The threshold stopped his feet. Toby scampered aside as the cop toppled into the foyer. A moment after he slammed face first against the marble floor, Toby hopped over him.
Leaning out the doorway, he looked around.
The air smelled like a campfire. It was yellow with blowing smoke, snowy with gray ashes.
Toby saw no flames, though.
Nor did he see any other cops.
There gotta be more around, he thought.
Who gives a hot shit? Any more show up. I’ll blow their fucking faces off.
He shoved the dead cop’s feet clear of the doorway, then shut the door and locked it.
Brenda remained on her back, still sweaty and writhing and out of breath, a wounded and beaten and beautiful naked female surrounded by three dead guys.
Fran stood over Brenda’s feet, gazing down at the dead cop.
“Grab her,” Toby said. Not waiting for Fran to respond, he crouched over the cop. Holstered at the man’s side was a pistol that looked larger than the one Toby had been using.
Anyway, he thought, mine’s gotta be low on ammo.
He set Sherry’s pistol on the floor, unsnapped the cop’s holster strap, and removed the weapon. It was a boxy-looking thing.
He supposed it must be fully loaded and ready for action. But did it have a safety on?
He pointed it at Fran.
“No!” she squealed, turning her back, hunching over and hugging her head like a kid afraid of a snowball.
“Take her in the bedroom,” Toby said.
Whimpering, Fran straddled Brenda and bent down and grabbed her arms.
Toby swung the pistol toward Quen, aimed at the dead boy’s head, and pulled the trigger. The pistol fired, bucking in his hand, its blast slapping his ears. The slug missed Quen and hit the marble by his head, throwing dust and chips into the air.
“Cool,” Toby muttered.
This was a better gun than Sherry’s—bigger and more powerful.
With Brenda in 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.”
&nbs
p; 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 eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t testify. They couldn’t make me.”
“You’re already made, and what a mess.”
She looked stunned. She blinked at him, tears sliding down her cheeks.
Toby laughed.
He heard the faint, sputtery hum of a distant helicopter.
“Can I go?” Fran asked.
“I said you could.”
“Okay.” She turned toward the door and started to walk.
The sound of the helicopter grew.
“Hey, Fran?”
She turned around and raised her eyebrows.
“Know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna stay right here and hump the living daylights outa Brenda and have the time of my life. And when the house burns down, I’ll be right on top of her, fucking her, and we’ll burn up together. We’ll melt together, and be like one big clump. They won’t even be able to take us apart. Cool, huh?”
Blinking her wet red eyes, she nodded slightly and said, “Yeah.”
“Get outa here.”
“You won’t…shoot me, will you? When I turn around?”
“Nah.”
“Promise?”
“You’re too fuckin’ ugly to kill.”
She turned around and resumed walking toward the door.
Toby watched her fat ass shimmy with each step.
She lowered her head and raised her shoulders as if getting ready for a bullet.
“Tub of lard,” Toby said.
He aimed at her back.
She cowered and hugged the back of her head and trotted for the door.
Toby intended to shoot her down.
But his finger stayed light on the trigger.
A moment later, she was out the doorway and out of sight.
He thought about hurrying into the hallway and popping her.
It’d be easy.
It was a long hallway and the fat slob was so out of shape it’d probably take her forever to reach the front door.
Just let her go, he thought. She’s such a fucking loser. Give her a break. What’s she gonna do, anyway? Tell on me?”
He laughed.
Then he remembered the cop he’d just killed.
And wondered if maybe the cop had a partner nearby, a partner wondering where he’d gone.
If Fran runs into him…
Toby rushed to his doorway.
Fran had already reached the foyer. She was squatting down beside the dead cop, picking up Sherry’s pistol.
“Good luck, you dumb twat,” he called out. “Didn’t you see me empty it?”
She pointed the pistol at him.
It fired!
As the blast resounded through the house, Toby felt as if his left hand had been struck by a hammer.
But I emptied the gun!
And I let her go!
You don’t shoot a guy who lets you go!
Fran let the gun fall and lurched for the front door.
Toby opened fire.
He pulled the trigger fast.
He missed and missed.
She got the door open.
But then a round caught her shoulder and spun her around, away from the door, and as she pranced backward, arms flapping for balance, Toby fired and missed again but then hit her in the middle of the chest, then missed, then hit her in the stomach and in the right breast, missed again, then put a slug through her right eye.
She slammed her back against the foyer wall, bounced off it, and fell forward.
Chapter Sixty-three
As Pete drove toward the barricade, the police officer raised a hand, signaling him to stop.
“Looks like we’ve had it,” Jeff said.
“I don’t know,” Pete mumbled.
“They probably closed off the road for the fires,” Sherry said. “Try to talk him into letting us through.”
“How do I do that?” Pete asked.
“Come on, dude,” said Jeff. “You’re supposed to be a writer, right? Make up a story.”
With the back of her bare foot, Sherry nudged the towel-wrapped revolver a bit farther under the passenger seat.
The cop came to Pete’s door, ducked and looked in the window. “I’m afraid the road’s closed,” he explained. “The area’s being evacuated.”
“But Brett’s grandma lives up there,” Pete said, and nodded toward Sherry.
The cop looked over at her. “Is that so?” he asked.
Sherry nodded. “Her house is on Sunshine Lane.”
“We’ll take care of her,” the cop said. “We’ve got people going door to door.”
“She’s bedridden,” Sherry explained. “And she’s alone. She won’t be able to get to the door. She’s also hard of hearing, so she won’t even know if someone’s ringing the bell.”
The cop frowned as if considering the situation.
“Can’t we just drive up there real fast and grab her?” Sherry asked. She sounded as if she were trying to control her growing worry. “I’ve been staying with her, but I had to go to the emergency room this morning.”
“How’d you get those injuries?”
“Just lucky. I fell down the hillside behind grandma’s house. Anyway, when I left the emergency room, I heard on the radio that the fire was moving this way so I went to get a couple of my friends. They’re gonna help me carry her out. If you’ll let us go up.”
“Just in and out?” the cop asked.
“Quick as we can pick her up,” Pete assured him.
“All right. I’ll let you through. But keep your eyes open. The fire’s closing in at a pretty good clip, so you don’t have a lot of time.”
“How long do you think?” Pete asked.
“Half an hour? Hard to say. Just make it quick.”
“Thank you, officer,” Pete said.
“Thank you very much,” Sherry added from the passenger seat.
“Be careful,” the cop said, then hurried over to the barricade and lifted it out of the way.
Pete gave the officer a grateful smile as he started forward.
After they’d passed the barricade, Jeff said, “You’re pretty tricky, dudes. Good job.”
“What was that about Sunshine Lane?” Pete asked, glancing at Sherry. “Toby’s place is on Shawcross.”
“Sunshine’s just a couple of streets away from Shawcross. That’s where I went for the faculty party. Thought it’d be better not to mention Shawcross under the circumstances, you know? In case we do find
Toby and…commit an illegal act.”
“Like kill his ass?” suggested Jeff.
“Or whatever,” said Sherry.
Chapter Sixty-four
Shaking badly, Toby sank to a crouch and set his pistol down on the hallway carpet. Then he picked up the middle finger of his left hand. Where the bullet had blown it off, it was a bloody mess. Some shreds of skin and tendon and muscle hung from it, swaying.
They can probably sew it back on, he thought.
Yeah, sure. If I get over to a hospital fast enough.
I’d have to leave now.
What’s it gonna be, my finger or Brenda?
Hand trembling, he eased the finger toward the raw place on his hand where it used to belong.
It seemed to be about half an inch too short.
Muttering, “Fuck it,” he threw his finger away. It hit the wall. He heard the quiet thunk through the sounds of helicopters.
Must be a shitload of news choppers out there.
But they weren’t roaring overhead. Not yet, anyway. So the fire must still be a somewhere else.
Plenty of time.
He snatched up the pistol and rushed into his bedroom.
Brenda was stretched out on the bed. Above her, all along the length of the bed, the curtains were blowing, rising away from the window, letting smoky golden daylight fall on her body. Her eyes were shut. She was breathing hard, her sweaty chest rising and falling.
Toby stepped closer.
Her skin was blotched with ruddy places where she’d been hurt. She was also spattered and smeared with blood. Blood from her gunshot leg, he supposed. The T-shirt belted around her thigh had leaked plenty. But she probably wore blood from everyone else, too—Baxter and Quen and Fran, even some from the cop.
How many of them have HIV? he wondered.
“Who cares?” he muttered. I already got it from her sister. I can wallow in blood till hell freezes over, won’t mean shit to me.
“Your fucking sister gave me AIDS,” he said. “Did I already tell you that?”
Brenda just kept her eyes shut, kept panting for breath.
But she jerked and gasped and looked up at him with eyes full of fear and pain when he jerked her legs apart.
He crawled onto the bed.
Knelt between her legs and jammed his gunshot hand against her groin.