Endless Night (26 page)

Jody felt sure that she was forgetting something. But what?

Maybe nothing.

She suddenly thought about all the things that she’d left behind at Evelyn’s house. Maybe they’re what I’m missing, she thought. My good old purse and billfold and everything in them. My brand new white Reeboks with the pink laces. My
Eeyore socks.

All gone. All burned.

They’re just things, she told herself. They aren’t important.

But I miss them, anyhow. They were mine, and ...

Sharon’s going to be here any minute.

“What do I need to get?” she muttered.

Did she have enough first aid supplies?

Probably not.

She’d taken everything she could find in the medicine cabinet, though.

Enough to last a normal family for a year, she figured.

Enough to dress all
her
wounds about one more time.

Most of them should be able to go without bandages in another day or two.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, she decided.

You can buy bandages just about anywhere. Even in Indio, probably.

She slid the zippers shut, then hefted her bag with one hand and swung it off her bed. With her other hand, she put on her cap, then picked up her bright nylon jacket. At the door, she used an elbow to hit the light switch. The room went dark behind her.

In the hall, she saw light coming through the doorway to the garage. “Dad?” she called.

“Out here, honey.”

She carried her things into the garage. There, Dad was standing behind the open trunk of their car. He had changed into blue jeans. Over his Yosemite Sam T-shirt, he wore a Kelly green chamois shirt, unbuttoned and hanging open like a jacket.

“Have you got everything?” he asked.

“Hope so,” Jody said, and handed the bag to him.

He set it inside the trunk. His suitcase was already there.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom or anything?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m all set. Do you want me in the back seat?”

His lopsided smile stretched upward. “Even better than that—on the backseat floor. At least till we’re out of the neighborhood.”

“Oh, terrific. Does that mean there’s gonna be more shooting?”

“1 doubt if anybody’s still around to try something, but ...” The doorbell rang. “That’s probably Sharon. You go on and get in.”

As he left the garage, Jody swung open a rear door of the car and climbed inside. She sat down. No point in hunkering on the floor any longer than necessary. On the seat beside her was an old blanket that usually stayed in the trunk. It looked rather carefully heaped. She lifted enough to uncover the pistol grips of Dad’s 12-gauge Mossberg pump shotgun.

“Nothing like a little firepower,” she whispered.

She’d fired the shotgun herself last summer. A couple of weeks after Dad brought it home from the store, they’d driven out to the desert with all their weapons. With the Mossberg, Dad had blasted apart several four-by-four blocks of wood and more than a dozen Pepsi cans. Jody had tried it only once. The gun had bucked up hard, almost kicking free of her hands. Though she’d managed to keep her hold on it, one try had been more than enough for her.

It had also been more than enough for her target, splintering the hefty block of wood and hurling it into the air.

If Dad’s bringing this
...

She suddenly knew what she’d neglected to pack—not her toothbrush or deodorant, but her Smith & Wesson: the nice little eight-shot .22 semi-automatic that Dad had given her last Christmas.

Dumb not to bring it, she thought.

She opened the car door. As she swung her legs out, Sharon entered the garage ahead of Dad. Sharon hadn’t changed clothes. She still wore her western boots, jeans and plaid shirt. But she had put on a faded denim jacket that reached down only to her waist and hung open. The jacket wasn’t large enough to hide the holster on her hip. Also, it looked too small to be pulled shut and buttoned—at least across her chest.

She wore a black and gold NRA cap. Its visor, pulled low, had bright gold doo-dads and made her look like a rear admiral.

In one hand, she carried a soft travel bag similar to Jody’s, though Sharon’s was blue instead of red. In her other hand, she carried a rifle case of tooled leather.

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, according 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.”