Out Are the Lights (5 page)

    

    'Now can I go?' Dal asked, stepping away from the bed.

    'Now you may.' Elizabeth moved close to him. Her nipples brushed his chest. She fingered his limp penis. 'Wouldn't you prefer, however, to join me in the shower? Unless you would rather take your incriminating odors home with you. Your darling Connie might be suspicious, if you do.'

    'I suppose. I can't get my hair wet, though.'

    'My blow-drier will take care of that.'

    

    

    Connie looked at the corner across the street. A car was parked there. A light-colored Mustang. Its lights off.

    With any luck…

    She started to cross the intersection. The Mustang swung around in a U-turn and shot toward her. She ran down the street, leaping onto the curb as the Mustang bore down.

    Its passenger door flew open. A teenaged boy jumped out. Connie backed away, staring at him. At his white T-shirt, his tan work-pants, his black hair and nervous grin.

    Just like the others. Like a fucking clone of the ones who killed Dave, who beat and raped her.

    'Get away from me,' she said.

    The other man came up behind him. This one was heavier than the first, but he wore the same uniform. 'Come on for a…' She couldn't make out the rest of it.

    'Yeah,' said the first. 'I'm hungry. Feel like eating some pussy.'

    'Your mother-,' Connie snapped.

    'Puto!' He pulled out a switchblade knife.

    Connie backed into the entry way of a shoe store.

    'My mother, you don't talk about her that way!'

    She stopped, back to the door.

    'Not here, Joe,' said the other. 'Too much traffic, man.'

    'My mother, she's no whore!'

    'No more than your sister,' Connie said.

    Joe snarled and stabbed. Sidestepping, Connie grabbed his wrist and elbow. Her knee shot up, snapping his forearm. As he fell, she swung around and kicked. Her foot caught the other man in the groin. He dropped to his knees, clutching himself. Her next kick hammered his forehead. He fell facedown. Connie picked up the knife.

    'Who'd you steal the car from?' she asked Joe.

    'Nobody! Check the registration, cunt.'

    She kicked his broken arm.

    He was still sobbing as she walked over to the Mustang. She climbed in, and drove away.

    

    

    'Almost dry,' Elizabeth said, running her fingers through Dal's hair as she stroked it with the hot air of the blower. 'Your girlfriend will never suspect you've been copulating behind her back.'

    'I hope not.'

    'What would she do?'

    'Ask me to leave, I suppose.'

    'That would be a pity.'

    'It'd be a disaster. Do you have any idea what I'd have to pay for an apartment in this city?'

    'Considerable, I should imagine. If that's the worst you have to fear, however, you've little to fear.'

    'Well, I don't think she's the type to stab me, if that's what you mean.'

    'Does she love you?'

    'Who knows? I guess so.'

    'Then you'd best be careful. A woman's vengeance is often remarkably savage.'

    'I noticed.'

    She laughed. 'Herbert is getting no worse than he deserves. Save your sympathy.'

    

    

    Connie drove the Mustang to the Seven-Eleven store. She couldn't pass the book rack without checking on Barhary Rage. After seeing that nobody had bought a copy in the last half-hour, she hurried on.

    She bought a screwdriver, a single can of Budweiser, a quart can of charcoal lighter, and a pack of Marlboros.

    The clerk dropped two books of matches into her sack.

    Connie drank the beer as she drove. Illegal, she knew. For tonight, though, she was making her own laws.

    'I hereby legalize the consumption of alcoholic beverages in stolen motor vehicles,' she said.

    It tasted very good.

    She parked in the lot of the Safeway supermarket. The store was closed, the lot deserted except for a lone VW near the far side. It looked empty.

    Connie left the engine running. With the screwdriver, she punched holes into the top of the charcoal lighter can. She emptied the can, shaking fluid onto the back seat, the floor, the front seat.

    Outside the car, she took a quick look around. Nobody nearby.

    She ripped the cardboard flap off a book of matches. Striking a match, she touched it to the exposed heads. They flared. She tossed the flaming pack onto the front seat.

    Slowly, the fire spread.

    She shut the door and walked away, sipping her beer.

    

    

    Red lights flashed in Dal's rearview mirror. A siren screamed.

    
No, please!

    Jesus, a ticket. That's just what he needed. They write down the date and time. If Connie sees it, she'll know he wasn't at the movies.

    Then he saw that the lights belonged to a fire truck.

    
Thank God.

    He pulled over and let it pass. Still shaking, he drove several more blocks. He parked on a side street, and walked to the Haunted Palace.

    '
Nightcrawlers
just started,' said the girl in the ticket window. She looked awful. It took a moment for Dal to realize she was supposed to look that way.

    He gave his ticket to a fat man in bloody clothes. The man's face was twisted horribly under a nylon stocking.

    'You missed tonight's
Schreck
,' said the man.

    Dal shrugged, 'I'll catch it another time.'

    At the candy counter, he bought a pack of Good 'n Plenty.

    

    

    Connie was in bed when Dal got home. She breathed slowly and heavily, pretending to be asleep. She didn't want to tell him what she had done.

    She didn't want to tell anyone, ever.

    She felt rotten about hurting the kids. Maybe they deserved it, but what if she'd injured them permanently? Or killed one? That guy she'd kicked in the head…

    What if a fireman got hurt trying to put out the Mustang? If the tank blew up…

    Dal climbed into bed. He lightly kissed her cheek. She moaned as if disturbed in her sleep. Dal rolled away.

    Connie lay awake for a long time. She shifted to her stomach, to her back, to her side. Her pillow was sweaty so she turned it over. She flung the top sheet aside, pulled off her damp nightgown, and stared at the ceiling.

    

    

    When she awoke in the sunlight of morning, she was vaguely surprised to realize she had fallen asleep.

    She eased herself carefully out of bed, hoping to avoid waking Dal. She found her nightgown on the floor. A gift from him.

    A 'moving in present' he'd called it. The gown reflected his taste: it was short, low-cut, and transparent. She couldn't step outside in it, not even for a moment to grab the newspaper. She put it on, anyway. Before leaving the room, she took her robe from the closet.

    As she slipped into the robe, she saw a box of Good 'n Plenty on the dining-room table.

    Dal hadn't forgotten.

    She felt a warm rush of affection for him. It only lasted a moment. Then, her anxiety came back. She hurried to the front door, and opened it.

    The newspaper lay on the Welcome mat. She quickly picked it up. She rushed inside, tugging the plastic band off the paper.

    Dropping to her knees, she spread the paper on the carpet. She leaned over it, her eyes moving swiftly over the front page.

    Nothing there.

    Nothing about the two kids.

    Nothing about the burning Mustang.

    She turned the page. Another and another. She searched the first and second sections. Section three was sports and financial. She skipped that. Wouldn't be in the entertainment section, either. Only the classified remained. Feeling light with relief, she put the paper together and flung it onto the couch.

    No mention of what she had done.

    The kids had probably kept the incident to themselves. If they went to a hospital-which they must've done-they gave a false story to explain their injuries.

    The Mustang fire must've been too routine to report. No injuries there. It hadn't blown up in someone's face, after all.

    Off the hook.

    With a sigh, she got to her feet. She went into the kitchen, and began to prepare a pot of coffee.

    Off the hook unless she ran into those kids again.

    She took the open can of Yuban from the refrigerator, and peeled off its plastic cover. Carrying it to the counter, she raised it close to her nose and sniffed. Such a wonderful odor.

    She'd always loved that smell. It reminded her of being a child, of lying in bed early in the morning listening to the rhythmic slurp of coffee perking in the kitchen. She wished she could hear that sound again. Nobody hears it now. Nobody uses a percolator. Drip machines are so much quicker, more efficient. Progress.

    At least coffee still smells like coffee.

    She scooped it into a paper filter.

    A hand patted her fanny. She jumped, spilling grounds.

    'Dal!'

    He grinned. 'Morning.' He pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.

    'How were the movies?' she asked.

    'Not bad. I've seen better, but they were okay. What'd you do last night?'

    Connie shrugged. 'Washed my hair, and read.'

    'Doesn't sound very exciting.'

    She shrugged. 'Well, my old friend Joe dropped by and banged me a few times.'

    'Oh really?' Dal asked. Though grinning, deep red filled his face.

    'Hey, only kidding!'

    'I know, I know.' He turned away.

    

    

    Freya pushed the button of the remote control box, and watched the television screen flash from channel to channel.

    Nothing on but shit.

    
Daffy Duck
,
Scooby and Scrappy-Doo
, an ancient rerun of
The Lone Ranger
.

    
Roller Derby
, for Christsake.

    She lifted her teacup off the
TV Guide
, took a sip, and checked the listings. Okay, not bad. Ten more minutes of crap, and something called
Monster Walks
comes on. A 1932 thriller. Rex Lease, Vera Reynolds, and Sheldon Lewis.

    Might be good.

    She'd rather be at the beach on a fantastic, sunny Saturday like this. So many of the mornings had been overcast, lately. Typical June weather for Pacifica Coast. But business is business. She'd be spending plenty more weekends inside if she didn't get lucky and find a new roommate.

    It wasn't that easy, summer in a university town.

    A glut of vacancies.

    And of those gals who'd inquired during the past three weeks, so many had been unsuitable.

    The doorbell rang.

    Christ, you'd think they'd have the decency to phone, first.

    She got up from the couch. Walking to the door, she tugged at her tight, binding shorts and adjusted her slipping tube-top. She forced a smile onto her face, and pulled the door open.

    'Greetings!' the girl said. She had carrot-red hair, and freckles to match. She wore thick, wire-rimmed glasses. Her blotchy cheeks bulged as if each carried an uneaten plum. She had a figure like a potato, and wore clothes to emphasize it: tight jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was decorated with a leering vulture. It read, 'Patience my ass-I'm going out and kill something.' Incredibly, she wore no bra. Her breasts hung inside the T-shirt like bulging water balloons.

    'Can I help you?' Freya asked.

    'I'm here about the apartment. Are you the one looking for a roommate?'

    'No,' said Freya. 'I'm the new roommate.'

    'But this morning's paper…'

    'I took the place last night. She didn't have time to get the ad pulled.'

    The girl shrugged. 'Those are the breaks, I guess.'

    'Yep. Sorry. You should've got here sooner.' Freya closed the door.

    She stared at the television. Slim Claymore was on. Stetson tipped back, grinning like a moron, if you're in the market for a used car, come on down to Slim's Chevrolet, where you'll get courteous service and the best deal

    The telephone clamored. Freya hurried into the kitchen and picked it up. 'Hello?'

    'Hello.' A young woman's voice, 'is Tina there?'

    'No, she's not. Would you like to leave her a message?'

    'When do you expect her back?'

    'Who is this, please?'

    'I'm Brit Anderson. I'm a friend of Tina's. We were roomies at PCU-'

    'Oh yes, she's spoken of you.'

    'I guess you must be her present roommate, huh?'

    'We've been sharing this apartment for the past couple months.'

    'Well… Do you have any idea when she might get back?'

    'She's probably gone for the weekend.'

    'Oh, that figures.' Brit laughed. 'Tina was always off somewhere.'

    'Do you want me to have her call you when she gets back?'

    'Please. I'd appreciate it.' She gave Freya her phone number.

    Freya copied it down. 'That's Brit what?'

    ' Anderson.'