Richard Laymon - Tread Softly

"I'm sorry we disturbed you," Nick said. "Our car broke down, and we were wondering if we could use your phone."

With a nod, he gestured for them to enter. Julie followed Nick over the threshold, and shut the door. The man walked ahead of them, limping slightly. He entered a dark room off the foyer, and turned on a lamp. He waved them in.

The shadowy room looked, to Julie, like a parlor from a century ago. Her eyes took in the Persian rug, the overstuffed, plush sofa and armchairs adorned with doilies, the pedestal tables cluttered with figurines, the shelves of leather-bound books. She saw no telephone.

She breathed through her nose to avoid the room's musty smell.

The man swept a hand toward the purple sofa, as if inviting them to sit down. Julie glanced at Nick. He shrugged. "Sir," he said, "do you have a telephone we might use?"

His bald head nodded. He motioned for them to be seated.

What's going on? Julie thought. The man's odd behavior and the old-fashioned look of the parlor were making her uneasy. Why doesn't he say something?

She followed Nick to the sofa. She sank into its cushion and sat forward, rigid, gripping her knees.

The man smiled and nodded. Turning away, he bent over to turn on the portable television. The rear of his satin kimono rode up. Julie glimpsed bare rump. She looked at Nick. He shook his head and rolled his eyes upward.

Stepping back, the man stared at the television. It made a loud humming sound. The voices filled the room, and a black and white picture fluttered onto the screen. The man faced Julie. He smiled. "May I offer you tea?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.

So he can talk, she thought.

"We'd rather use your phone, if we may," Nick said.

His head bobbed.

"I'd better call Dad first," Julie said. "Tell him we'll be late."

The man lowered himself onto a chair near the end of the sofa. He folded his hands on his lap, and stared at her. He seemed very pleased, almost eager about something. He squirmed a bit.

"May I use your phone?" Julie asked.

He pointed at a curtained-off archway across the room, just to the left of the television. "In there?" Julie asked.

He nodded. She pushed herself off the sofa and went to the archway. Sweeping the curtain aside, she peered in. By the dim light from the parlor, she saw a small alcove, apparently a passageway into another room. A curtain hung at the other end. Against the wall was a rolltop desk. She spotted the black shape of a telephone on its work top. A floor lamp stood beside the desk.

Reaching under its shade, she switched on a bulb. She let the curtain fall across the entry, took a single step to the desk, and picked up the phone. As she dialed, she heard voices from the parlor television.

Poor Nick, she thought, sitting out there with that weirdo.

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Dad. It's me."

"Julie? Where are you? What's wrong?"

"We had some car trouble. Everything's fine, but we're kind of stuck."

"What happened?"

"We got a couple of flats."

" A couple of flats?" He sounded shocked.

"Yeah. We're gonna call the auto club, but I thought I'd better let you know we'll be late."

"Two flat tires? Did somebody let the air out, or what?"

"The valve stems were cut off."

He was silent for a few moments. "The auto club won't be able to fix that. They'll have to tow you."

"I was afraid of that."

"Look, I'd better come pick you up. The car can wait till morning. Where are you calling from?"

"We're at this guy's house." She remembered the mailbox at the foot of the driveway. "His name's Fish. He's up in the hills just south of Ventura Boulevard."

"What the hell are you doing up there!"

"Well. "

"Never mind. We'll discuss it later. What's his address?"

"Twenty-one something. Hang on a second, I'll ask." She set down the receiver, stepped away from the desk, and hooked back the curtain.

The man smiled over the top of Nick's head. He was behind the sofa, leaning over its back, a thick arm squeezing Nick's throat. Nick's face was deep red. He was kicking and struggling.

"No!" Julie cried out. Lurching into the parlor, she glanced from side to side. She needed a weapon. Nothing looked right. With a yell, she flung the television off its stand. It crashed to the floor.

The man's face twisted. He let go of Nick. He stared at the smoking, sizzling remains of the TV as Nick dropped onto the sofa, rolled, and tumbled off. The man's lips moved, but no words came out. His narrow eyes shifted to Julie. Roaring, he threw himself over the sofa.

Julie spun around. She dashed through the curtain, through the alcove, into the dark room beyond.

The man, still roaring, followed.

Scott, clutching the phone to his ear, yanked open the counter drawer. He jerked out a telephone directory.

"What is it?" Karen asked.

"I don't. Quick, look up 'Fish.' " He thrust the book at her.

Karen slipped it down on the counter. Her hands shook badly as she raced through the pages.

" 'Fish,' " Scott said. "A man's name."

She found the F's, flicked the pages until she found Fi. She traced the columns with her fingertip. "God, there's a couple dozen Fishes."

"It's twenty-one something. The address."

Half the entries seemed to be for food: Fish Diner, Fish Kitchen, Fish Market. "Here! Fish, Marvin, Twenty-one Vista Terrace. Tarzana."

"Gotta be it. Write it down. Tanya!" he yelled.

As Karen scribbled the address on a notepad, Tanya came rushing into the kitchen. Benny was close behind her. They both looked alarmed.

"Julie!" Scott called into the phone. Then he hung up and tugged a Thomas street atlas from the drawer. "Julie's in trouble," he told Tanya. "I want you to call the police. Send them to this address."

Karen ripped off the note and pressed it into the girl's hand.

"Tell them it's an emergency."

"What's going on?" Benny asked.

"Stay here with Tanya." He looked at Karen. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course."

"Gotta find that street on the map," he said. He gave her the Thomas guide. "Meet you at the car," he said, and dashed from the kitchen.

Karen hurried outside. Her car was parked at the curb, but she figured he would want to take his Cutlass. It was in the driveway. She tried the passenger door. Locked.

Scott came running from the house, a pistol in his hand.

The man whipped the curtain aside and Julie, standing at the wall, swung the chair down as he lunged through the archway. The edge of the seat smacked his head. His legs buckled. His knees hammered the floor. He clutched the top of his head, and ducked. Julie raised the chair high and swung it down with all her strength. The wooden legs slammed across his back. Squealing, he fell facedown. He rolled over as she lifted the chair again. His knees were up, his kimono open.

"Pig!" Julie shrieked, and drove the chair down.

He caught two of its legs, wrenched it from her grip, and hurled it away.

Julie leaped for the curtain. As she shouldered through it, a kick pounded her ankle. Her feet tangled. She fell sprawling into the alcove. She scurried over its floor, thrust herself up, and staggered through the curtain to the parlor. Nick was lying motionless in front of the sofa.

She crouched, grabbed the broken television, and hurled it as the man's shape bulged the curtain. It struck him at knee level. He cried out. He tore the curtain down and tumbled into the room. In the lamplight, Julie saw that his bald scalp was bleeding badly. His face was a red, dripping mask. As he got to his hands and knees, she kicked. She'd lost her sandal. A shock of pain streaked up her foot, but the man yelped and grabbed his face. He fell on his side and started to roll away from her. He was on his back, whimpering and holding his face. Julie jumped. She brought her knees up high and shot her legs down, driving both feet into his soft bare belly. His breath whooshed out. She windmilled for a moment, then fell, hitting the floor flat on her back. She lay there stunned, fighting for breath, terrified that the man might recover before she could.