Quake (29 page)

    'What'd you think of her confession, Crash?'

    'I liked it. Yeah. I really liked the part where she says how she's so beautiful everybody wants to mess around with her. You know? 'Cause I think it's true. I mean, I know I wanta mess with her.'

    Nodding, Weed said, 'It wasn't too bad a confession. I've heard worse. But I bet we could get some good stuff out of her if we kept at it.'

    'I wanta get her out,' Crash said. 'You know?'

    'We know,' Weed said. 'Can I?' he asked Eagle. 'Go on down and do it.'

    Stanley waited while Crash climbed down, saw in hand, and scooted along the sides of the tub. When the big man bent over the beam, Stanley stood up and hurled a clump of stucco at him. The stucco was the size of a small brick. He aimed at Crash's head. And didn't wait for the results. As he launched the stucco, he charged Weed and Eagle. They both turned their heads and looked surprised. The stucco hit the back of Crash's neck. Weed, seated with her legs hanging over the edge, started trying to get up. Stanley swung his board with both hands. It whapped her across the back, just below the shoulders, bashing her forward. She grunted. She flung her arms out. From the look of things, she would land on top of Crash, who'd fallen across the beam and onto Sheila. Stanley didn't have time to watch. Even as he'd struck Weed, Eagle had leaped up and whirled to face him. Grinning. Slowly writhing, swaying, undulating. Hissing. Stanley lurched forward, going for Eagle's head with the backstroke of the swing that had knocked Weed from her perch. Eagle seemed to have all the time in the world. He swept downward, bending at the waist and knees. As the board passed above him, he stroked the top of his right boot. His rising hand showed Stanley what it had discovered there - a straight razor. The blade flashed blinding sunlight. Stanley lurched backward as the razor slashed up. It slit air instead of his belly and chest. Eagle's odd, white face looked puzzled as if he couldn't believe that he had missed. Stanley brought the board down from overhead with both hands. It broke in half across the top of Eagle's head. His eyes bulged. For an instant, the dead white skin of his face seemed to jump loose. It was still shimmying when his knees struck the floor in front of Stanley. The straight razor fell. He wavered on his knees, his arms hanging limp by his sides, the pupils of his eyes almost out of sight as if he were inspecting the undersides of his upper lids. Stanley glanced toward the tub. Weed was trying to climb off Crash. Nobody there needed urgent attention. Stanley tossed his broken board aside. As it landed with a clatter in the rubble, he took the scissors from between his teeth. He slipped his thumb into the ring handle, his first two fingers into the bow handle, then opened the scissors until their twin points were about an inch apart and punched them into Eagle's eyes. He drove them in deep. He expected a scream, but there wasn't one. Hope bird-boy ain't too stunned to appreciate this, Stanley thought. The bridge of Eagle's nose forced the blades farther apart. Stanley kept pushing until the crotch of the scissors met the bridge. Then he shoved hard enough to tumble Eagle away. As the silent body flopped backward, Stanley jerked the scissors out.

    One down, two to go. He faced the tub. Weed had her left knee in Crash's back, her right foot on the edge of the tub, her back to Stanley as she reached up about to grab the floor at the far side of the break. Crash, folded over the beam, was struggling to rise. Stanley jumped down. He landed with both feet on Crash's back. He heard a grunt from the man, a moan that must've been Sheila. As he flapped his arms, trying to catch his balance, Weed vaulted upward. She seemed to rise in a quick blur of tank top and tan back. Stanley tried for her with the scissors. They stabbed at the faded seat of her jeans. But somehow they missed and suddenly his wrist was pounded upward by her escaping foot. He kept his hold on the scissors. About to fall over backward, he dropped to his knees. He glimpsed a blur of vanishing boots. No! Can't let her get away! But he couldn't give chase. Not yet. The body under Stanley's knees started to rise. He reached down fast with his left hand and grabbed a hold of Crash's thick, greasy hair. He dragged at the hair as he fell. He landed on his side. Elbow digging into Crash's back, he reached out with his right hand and stabbed the scissors as hard as he could into the side of Crash's neck.Crash shrieked. His body lurched rigid. Stanley tugged out the scissors and stabbed Crash again and kept on stabbing him, over and over, going for the neck and mostly getting it but knowing from the feel that sometimes he was hitting jaw or teeth or cheek. Crash shrieked and grunted and bellowed while his body shuddered and bucked, and blood flew. Stanley wanted to stop. Wanted to leap from Crash's back and chase down Weed. But kept on stabbing Crash. Die die die, you dirty hunk of lard! She's gonna get away! At last, the blood stopped shooting and Crash stopped making noises and Stanley realized that the huge body was flinching underneath him only because he was punching it so hard with the scissors. He was worn out, breathless, dripping. But there was no time to waste. Without pausing for even a moment of rest, Stanley pulled the scissors out of Crash, pushed himself up, and climbed onto the floor. He struggled to his feet.

    He blinked, trying to clear his eyes of sweat - and maybe blood. Then he gazed out over the ruins of Sheila's house, her patio and back yard. Weed had taken off in that direction, but there was no sign of her now. Was she hiding nearby? Had she made her way clear of the rubble and run away across the yard? Had she circled around to the front? 'Weed!' Stanley yelled, trying to make his voice sound gruff. 'Weed, it's Crash! got the guy! Nailed the sum-bitch!

    Where'd you go off to? Hey, Weed!'

    She didn't answer. She didn't show herself. She'd have to be an idiot, he thought, to fall for a gimmick like that. Probably too far away to hear it, anyway.

    'Weed!' he called out, louder than before. 'Weed! It's Crash! Get back here, bitch!'

    'Get him off me, Stan - please?' The soft, muffled voice came from behind him, came from Sheila.

    He turned around. She was down there somewhere, underneath Crash and the beams and all that blood. But he saw nothing that he could recognize, for sure, as Sheila. 'Stan?' she said again. 'Shut up.'

    'You've gotca get him off me. Please.'

    'I don't gotta do shit. It's your fault these freaks came and found you in the first place, you and your big fucking mouth. Now I gotta go and find the one that got away.'

    'No! Don't leave me here under him! Stan! You can't! He's dead.'

    'You'd better just shut up,' Stanley said. 'Unless you wanta have more visitors and get them killed, too. I killed that Ben fella, by the way. Your pal, Ben? There wasn't any girl trapped under any chimney. That was just a story to get him where I wanted him. And then I sawed his head off. Thought you oughta know.'

    He wiped the scissors on the side of his pajama turned around, and began his hunt for Weed.

***

    The sudden pounding on the bathroom door startled Barbara. She gasped, then asked, 'What?'

    'You gonna take all day?' Earl complained. 'What the hell're you doing in there, taking a bath?'

    'I've got the trots,' she said.

    'Well, shit. Get a move on. We got stiffs out here. It ain't pretty.'

    'Wait outside if you want,' she told him.

    'Oh yeah, sure. So the neighbors can get a good look at us. Come on, would you? Let's get going.'

    'I'll come out as soon as I can.'

    'We oughta leave without you.'

    'Feel free,' she said, knowing they wouldn't.

    'This whole fuckin' mess is your fault.'

    'I know, I know. Go away and quit bothering me, or I'm never coming out.'

    'Leave her alone,' she heard Pete say. His voice was quiet, barely audible. 'I think she's pretty upset about all this.'

    Damn right, she thought.

    'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' Earl muttered. From the sound of his voice, he was still standing just outside the bathroom door. 'Wipe your butt and get outa there, Banner, or I'm coming in after you.'

    'Don't talk to her that way, Earl.'

    'I'll talk to her any way I want. What're you gonna do, shoot me?'

    'Just be nice, okay?'

    'Woos.'

    'Quit it, you guys,' Barbara called. 'And no talk shooting anyone. Calm down. I'll be out in a minute.'

    'We don't have all day,' Earl said, then walked off.

    I shouldn't have stayed so long, Barbara told herself. Should've just peed and gotten out. But she'd peed, and stayed. Maybe it was having her pants down. Maybe it was the feel of the toilet paper. Fuck the guy and we walk out with a gun… Lee'd be balling you, instead of lying here with his brains on the floor… About to get up from the toilet, she'd suddenly been pounded by the knowledge that Earl had been right. If she had agreed to his deal and gone to bed with Lee, she would probably still be with him in the bedroom. Nobody would've shot anyone. Lee and Heather would still be alive. What's your pussy worth? Not their lives. Nobody's life. I should've said, 'Yeah, sure, why not, a gun'll come in handy and what does it matter anyway?' But I didn't and now he's dead and Heather's dead and it's all my fault… And then she'd come apart there on the toilet, crying, making too much noise. To muffle her noise she'd reached out and pulled a bath towel off the rod where it was hanging, and she'd buried her face in it. The towel had been slightly damp. Still damp, she'd guessed, from a shower or bath that Lee must've taken before the quake. Back when he'd still been alive. She'd imagined him rubbing his wet body with it - maybe humming or whistling a cheerful tune - and had cried all the harder. By the time she'd been able to quit, her throat and lungs had felt tired and achy, and she'd had the familiar, tinny odor behind her face that comes from crying too hard or catching a fist in the nose. She'd lifted her face, checked the wadded towel for blood, found none, and pushed her face into it again. I've gotta get up, she'd told herself. Get up and get going. They're gonna think I fell in. I'll say I've got the trots. Cute, she thought. Real cute. So, who cares? What'll Pete think? Who cares? I do. The hell with it. Just tell the truth - you fell apart. You got Lee and Heather killed because you wouldn't give up your stupid virginity, and so you fell apart. Earl would love that. Anyhow, I didn't get anyone killed. Not really. That's Earl's big idea, and it's a big damn lie. It was the quake and everything else that made us end up in Lee's apartment, and it was Earl with his stupid plan for getting the gun, and it was the bad luck of having a crazy, jealous lunatic like Heather with us, and it was Lee's own fault for leaving a loaded weapon in her reach. Not my fault. Too bad for Lee and Heather, but not my fault. Just the way the ball bounces. The way the cookie crumbles. Any one of a thousand things might've gone differently and they'd still be alive.

    Only a couple of 'em had to do with me. Yeah. True. And I'll live with it, but I'm not gonna let it ruin me. I'll try not to.

    Sitting up straight on the toilet seat, she'd wiped her face a final time with the towel, then taken a deep breath. And flinched, startled by the sudden pounding on the bathroom door. 'What?' she'd gasped.

    'You gonna take all day?' Earl had demanded.

    Barbara found Pete and Earl waiting in the kitchen. Pete was leaning back against the refrigerator, and was holding a can Pepsi. Lee's forty-five made a big bulge in the right pocket of his pants, and most of its handle stuck out the the pocket. Earl had a beer. The rifle was hanging from a strap behind his right shoulder.

    'Everything come out okay?' Earl asked.

    'Very funny.'

    'Are you all right?' Pete asked her.

    She saw concern in his eyes. 'I'm okay,' she said. It's just, you know, what happened.'

    'The poop hit the fan,' Earl said.

    She turned on him, glaring. 'There are two dead people in the living room, you creep. And you killed one of 'em. You think there's something funny going on?'

    He smirked. 'Give it a break, Banner. I saved your life. The crazy bitch was gonna pop you next.'

    'Thanks to you.'

    'Let's quit arguing,' Pete said. 'We oughta get going, now.' He asked Barbara, 'Do you want a can of something to take with you?'

    'No. Thanks. I'm not taking something that doesn't belong to me.'

    'Lee would've let you have whatever you asked for,' Pete told her.

    'I guess.'

    "Sides which,' Earl said, 'he's dead.'

    'I'm not thirsty. Let's just get out of here.'

    Earl tipped his head far back to finish off the beer, then stepped across the kitchen and smacked his empty can down on the counter next to a stack of brown paper bags. 'We're wearing these,' he said to Barbara, and picked them up.

    He handed one to her, another to Pete, then pulled the last bag over his head. He adjusted it until the side-by-side holes were in front of his eyes.

    'We made these while you were in the john,' Pete explained.

    'Masks?'

    'People might see us leaving.'

    'They had plenty of time to see us when we were down at the pool.'

    'Not me,' Earl said.

    'You think nobody spotted you when you were down there yelling for us?'

    'Who knows? But that was before all the shooting. Everyone in the whole joint must've heard that. But nobody came over. Probably scared to. But you can bet some idiot'll be looking out a window to see who leaves.

    Pete nodded. 'I think it's a good idea. Why take chances. Anyway, we can take them off as soon as we get away from the building.'

    'You and I didn't do anything wrong,' Barbara said. 'We don't need to hide our faces.'

    'Shit on you, Banner!’

    'Cut it out!' Pete snapped.

    'I go down, you go down.' Earl said 'Both of you.'

    Pete put his bag on, and looked at Barbara through its eye holes. 'It'll be better if you just wear it,' he said.

    'Okay. Fine. It's not worth fighting over.' She took her bag and slipped it on. It was only slightly larger than her head, and the sides of it rubbed loudly against the rims of her ears. It had a slight musty odor like damp in the bag, then she found the eye holes. One was lower than the other.

    'Is it okay?' Pete asked. 'We had to guess where to holes in yours.'

    'They're all right.'

    'You can see out?'

    'Sort of. I'll hang on to you.'

    Earl led the way. Pete followed, Barbara behind him with her right hand on his shoulder. She couldn't see much except his back. Which was fine. There was nothing in the kitchen that she needed to see. In the living room, she was very glad to have the bag over her head. Some of the bad odors reached her nose, but she didn't catch so much as a glimpse of the dead bodies.

    She could see them without her eyes - Lee sprawled on the floor, Heather slumped on the sofa- but she watched Pete's back glad that the tiny eye holes allowed her no fresh view of them. She heard the door open. A moment later, Pete moved forward beneath her hand and she followed him onto the balcony. The afternoon was so bright that she had to squint. They walked to the left.

    'So far so good,' Earl said.

    The air inside Barbara's bag grew warmer and began to smell vaguely of smoke. The paper felt hot where it touched her ears and face. Her blouse seemed hot enough to burst into flames. Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. The sun can't set clothes on fire. The bag'll go first, she thought. And pictured it suddenly combusting, saw herself stumbling from the balcony with her head ablaze. Can't happen, can it? If it does, I'll jump in the pool, I might wanta do that anyway, she thought.

    'We're coming to the stairs,' Earl said.

    'Is anybody watching us?' Barbara asked. 'Don't think so,' Earl said.

    'It'll be okay,' Pete said, 'as long as they don't try to stop us.'

    'Here we go,' said Earl. 'Watch your steps, boys and girls.'

    Afraid of stumbling and knocking Pete down the stairs she let go of his shoulder and found the railing. The steel scorched her hand. She released it fast, then put hand along the top of the railing as she descended, not touching it but ready to grab hold if she should start to fall. Turning her head, she could see the pool below.

    'I'm going in,' she said, speaking softly. 'How about it'

    'In the pool?' Pete asked.

    'Yeah. Feel like I'm gonna go up in flames if don't.'

    'I don't know,' Pete said. 'I've got this gun.’

    'A little water won't hurt it.'

    'Nobody's going in no pool,' Earl said.

    'Right,' Barbara said. 'Whatever you say.' As she stepped off the bottom stair, she took the bag off her head. Without it, the hot afternoon air was cool against her face. Earl, a few strides beyond Pete, walking toward the rear gate of the courtyard. On her way to the pool, Barbara pressed the bag to her belly to flatten it so it wouldn't blow away. Then she folded it in half and dropped it. At the edge of the pool, she tugged off her shoes. She let them fall. They clumped against the concrete.

    'Banner!' Earl yelled.

    She dived. The water was wonderfully, shockingly cold - icy sliding over her body as she glided through. She didn't want to have clothes on. They slowed her down, dragged her, bound her, came between her skin and the water. Some other time, maybe.

    Sneak back here some night, she thought. Me and Pete, slipping into the water naked, long after midnight…I wouldn't dare. Oh, yeah? Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. Opening her eyes, she saw the blue tile wall just ahead. She surfaced, snatched a quick breath, flipped, rammed her feet against the wall, shoved off, and submerged. Earl's gotta be royally pissed, she thought. Tough toenails. He shouldn't be so bossy. Why'd I do it? I had to, that's why. The hell with him. Yeah, right, we're trying to get away from a double-killing, and I decide it's a nice time for a dip. What's wrong with me? I was cooking, that's all. And he has no right to control my life. And what're we talking about, anyway - two minutes? Big deal. Angling upward, she swept her arms back and did one more scissor-kick. Her head broke the surface. She reached up and slapped her hands on the concrete edge of the pool.

    'Now!' Earl's voice, loud and rough. 'Right now, bitch!' Barbara thrust herself up.

    Earl had the rifle to his shoulder, had it aimed. But not at Barbara. Braced up on stiff arms, she snapped her head sideways and saw a woman standing in the open doorway of a ground level apartment. One of Lee's tenants? A gaudy redhead, probably fifty years old, built like Marilyn Monroe, wearing a shiny black kimono that was sashed shut and only reached halfway down her thighs.

    'Where's Lee?' the woman demanded. 'That's all I want to know. What did you do to him?'

    'Nothing! Get back inside and shut your door.'

    'We'll see about that!' She strutted toward Earl, apparently fearless. 'What'd you do to him? heard shots.'

    What took you so long? Barbara wondered. Had to wait and see who came out? And we look like people you wanta mess with? The woman's bare feet made slapping sounds on the concrete. She swaggered and bounced so much that her sash loosened. The front of her kimono was flung apart by her leaping breasts, but she didn't seem to care. Is she totally nuts? Barbara wondered. What does she want to do, take Earl's gun away? Slap his face? Throw him down and make a citizen's arrest? She's gonna get killed! 'Go back!' Earl shouted.

    'Not on your life, buster!'

    'Don't shoot her!' Barbara yelled.

    'Earl!' Pete yelled.

    The rifle still at his shoulder, Earl used his firing hand to snatch the paper bag off his head. He let the bag go. As it slowly fell, he returned his hand to the rifle.'I'm warning you, lady!'

    'Don't!' Barbara shouted. Out of the pool and on her knees, she scurried toward Earl, waving an arm at him, yelling, 'Don't shoot! Damn it, don't! Don't do it!'Earl looked ready.

    The woman kept on coming, almost to the corner of the pool, no more than thirty feet from the muzzle of Earl's rifle, marching, swaggering, the black kimono open completely now, hanging from her shoulders, fluttering behind her like a cape.Caped crusader. My what big boobs you have - look at 'em go! Is everybody nuts today? Barbara hurled herself, shoulder first, against the woman's hip. Even as the collision jolted her, she glimpsed Pete thrusting the forty-five against Earl's temple. She heard Pete say, 'You shoot, I shoot.'

    The woman went down sideways, letting out a whimper as she fell. Barbara landed on her.

    The woman went, 'Umph!'

    'Watch out with that thing!' Earl yelled. 'I'll blow your head off-’

    'Hey! Hey! Take it easy.'

    Instead of lying still, the woman rolled onto her back. Barbara had no time to climb off or struggle. The body flopped, and her face went down in a pad of soft air. With a gasp, she lifted her head. The woman was pushing at the concrete and starting to sit up.