“The Beast House?”
He nodded.
“Where the murders were?”
“They were fools.”
“Who?”
“They went in at night.”
He slowed the truck.
“What are you…?”
He turned left onto an unpaved road directly across from the ticket booth of Beast House. Ahead of them, perhaps fifty yards up the road, stood a two-story brick house with a garage.
“Here we are,” Axel said.
“What is this?”
“Home. It’s safe.”
“Mom?” Sandy’s voice was like a moan of despair.
Donna took the girl’s hand. The palm was sweaty.
“It’s safe,” Axel repeated.
“It doesn’t have windows. Not a single window.”
“No. It’s safe.”
“We’re not going in there, Axel.” 5.
“Isn’t there someplace else we can spend the night?” Donna asked.
“No.”
“Isn’t there?”
“I want you here.”
“We won’t stay here. Not in that house.”
“Mother’s here.”
“It’s not that. Just take us someplace else. There has to be some kind of motel or something.”
“You’re mad at me,” he said.
“No, I’m not. Just take us someplace else, where we can stay till morning.”
He backed the pickup onto the road, and drove through the few blocks of Malcasa Point’s business section. At the north end of town was a Chevron station. Closed. Half a mile beyond it, Axel pulled into the lighted parking lot of the Welcome Inn. Overhead, a red neon sign flashed the word VACANCY.
“This is just fine,” Donna said. “Let’s just unload our luggage, and we’ll be all set.”
They climbed from the truck. Reaching into the back, Axel pulled out the suitcases.
“I’ll go home,” he said.
“Thanks a lot for helping us like you did.”
He grinned and shrugged.
“Yeah,” said Sandy. “Same here.”
“Wait.” His grin became very big. Reaching into a hip pocket, he pulled out his billfold. The black leather looked old, shiny with a dull gloss from so much use, and ragged at the corners. It flopped open. He spread the lips of its bill compartment, which was bloated more with a thick assortment of papers and cards than with money. Holding the billfold inches from his nose, he searched it. He began to mutter. He looked at Donna with a silent plea for patience, then made a quick, embarrassed smile at Sandy. “Wait,” he said. Turning his back to them, he ducked his head and bit the fingertips of his righthand glove.
Donna glanced at the motel office. It looked empty, but lighted. The coffee shop across the driveway was crowded. She could smell french fries. Her stomach rumbled.
“Ah!” Glove hanging from his teeth, Axel swung around. In his hand—or what there was of a hand—he held two blue cards. The skin of his hand was seamed with scars. Half-inch stumps remained of the two missing fingers. The tip of his middle finger was gone. Two flesh-colored bandages wrapped his thumb.
Donna took the cards, smiling in spite of the heavy thickness she suddenly felt in her stomach. She started to read the top one. COMPLIMENTARY was printed in block letters. The small type beneath it was difficult to see in the lights of the parking lot, but she struggled with it, reading aloud. “This ticket entitles the bearer to one free, guided tour of Malcasa Point’s infamous, worldrenowned Beast House…”
“Is that the scary old place with the fence?” Sandy asked.
Axel nodded, grinning. Donna saw that his glove was on again.
“Hey, that’d be neat!”
“I work there,” he said, looking proud.
“Is there really a beast?” the girl asked.
“Just at night. No tours after four.”
“Well, thank you for the tickets, Axel. And for driving us here.”
“Will you come?” “We’ll try to see it,” Donna said, though she had no intention of touring such a place.
“Are you the tour guide?” asked Sandy.
“I clean. Scrub-a-dub-dub.” Waving at them, he climbed into his truck. Donna and Sandy watched it roll out of the parking lot. It disappeared down the road toward Malcasa Point.
“Well.” Donna took a deep breath, relishing the relief she felt at Axel’s departure. “Let’s get registered, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat.”
“A bite won’t be enough.”
“We’ll buy the joint out.”
They picked up their suitcases and walked toward the motel office.
“Can we take the tour tomorrow?” Sandy asked.
“We’ll see.”
“Does that mean no?”
“If you want to go on the tour, we’ll do it.”
“All right!”
CHAPTER TWO
Roy rang the doorbell of Apartment 10 and waited. He heard nothing from inside. He jammed the button five times, quickly.
Goddamn bitch, why wouldn’t she open up?
Maybe she’s not home.
She has to be home. Nobody’s out on a Sunday night, not at eleven-thirty.
Maybe she’s asleep.
He pounded the door with his knuckles. Waited. Pounded again.
Down the hallway, a door opened. A man in pajamas looked out. “Knock it off, would you?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Look, buddy…”
“You want me to kick the shit out of you, just say one more word.”
“Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.”
Roy started toward him. The man slammed his door. Roy heard the rattle of a guard chain.
Okay, the guy’s probably dialing right now.
It’d take the cops a few minutes to get here. He decided to use those minutes.
Bracing himself against the wall opposite Apartment 10, he threw himself forward. The heel of his upraised shoe caught the door close to the knob. With a crash, the door shot open. Roy ducked, slid up his right pants leg, and unsheathed the Buck knife he’d bought that day at a sporting goods store. Knife out, he entered the dark apartment.
He turned on a lamp. Crossed the living room. Rushed down a short hallway. The bedroom on the left, probably Sandy’s room, was deserted. Same with the one on the right. He opened its closets. Most of the hangers were bare.
Shit!
He ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out the back way to the alley. Across the alley was a row of garages. He ran past the end garage and found a gate. He pushed it open. A walkway led down the side of an apartment building. He followed it to the street.
No cars coming.
He dashed across.
This block had houses instead of apartment buildings. Much better. He crouched behind a tree and waited for a car to pass. When it was gone, he started along the sidewalk, inspecting each house, looking for the one that seemed most promising.
He chose a small stucco house that was dark at the windows. He didn’t choose it because of the darkness, he chose it because of the girl’s-style bicycle he saw in the front yard.
Careless, leaving it there.
It could’ve been stolen. Maybe they thought the little fence would protect it.
The fence wouldn’t protect anything.
Roy reached over the gate and carefully lifted the latch. The gate squeaked as he pushed it open. He shut it gently and hurried up the walkway to the front stoop. The door had no peephole. That would make things easier.
He knocked hard and fast. He waited a few seconds, then hit the door three more times.
Light appeared in the living room window.
“Who’s there?” a man asked.
“Police.” Roy backed away and crouched slightly, right shoulder toward the door.
“What do you want?”
“We’re evacuating the neighborhood.”