The Midnight Tour

“No, you won’t. It’s a rent-a-car. Nobody’s allowed to drive it but...”

“Not your car, mine. Come on.” He nodded toward an ancient Ford Granada parked in a far corner of the lot. It looked as if it had seen better decades.

“Does it work okay?” Owen asked as they walked toward it.

“It runs. Has a brand new radiator, too. Might blow up, but it won’t overheat.”

“Maybe we should take my car.”

“No, no. I insist.”

When they reached John’s car, he opened the passenger door. The seat and floor were hidden underneath candy wrappers, maps, magazines and books. Owen glimpsed a Hustler, a Scream Factory, and a paperback copy of The Horror at Malcasa Point. Then John got in the way, bent over, and started tossing the material over the seatback.

“Nice,” Owen muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nice way to treat books and stuff.”

“You’re really some kind of tight-ass, Owen. You oughta loosen up, man.”

“So I can be more like you?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” A moment later, John scuttled backward.

“Voila,” he said, and swept a hand toward the passenger seat.

Owen could see it, now.

The floor in front of the seat was still cluttered, but nothing remained on the seat cushion except a few scattered puffs of grimy popcom, a chewing gum wrapper, and crumbs from assorted chips and cookies. Owen was tempted to brush them off with his hand. But that would’ve required touching the seat’s upholstery.

Touching the stains. Some were pale, some dark. Some looked as if they might be sticky. Owen suspected catsup, mustard, blood, “secret sauce,” salsa, honey, coffee, maybe chili. He hoped that snot, feces and semen weren’t among the substances.

Don’t bet on it.

“It’s not very clean,” he said.

John dropped into the driver’s seat, shaking his car. Then he looked across at Owen and said, “Don’t be a wimp.”

“I don’t want to get my pants dirty.”

“Awww. Well, sit on a map or something.”

Among the debris on the floor was a copy of Fangoria magazine. Owen held it up. “This okay?”

“Whatever.”

Owen flopped the magazine onto the seat, opened it to the middle, and sat down on it.

John started the car. As he backed it toward the middle of the lot, he grinned and said, “What do you think Dana’s doing right now?”

“I wouldn’t know. And I don’t want to talk about her. And I especially don’t want you to talk about her. Don’t even think about her.”

John laughed. “Man, you’ve got it bad. Know what? I can take her or leave her.”

“Then leave her.”

John pulled out of the parking lot, swinging left onto Front Street. He stepped on the gas. The car leaped ahead. “Lynn’s the one I like. She is so fucking cute. I’d like to rip her clothes off and...”

“Would you please shut up?”

“You take Dana, I’ll take Lynn.”

“We’re not taking anyone. We’re just gonna get a couple of ice cream cones, then go back to the Welcome Inn.”

“We oughta at least drive by their house.”

Chapter Forty

THE RIDE HOME

Warren stopped his car at Front Street, waited for a van to pass, then swung to the left and picked up speed. Ahead, the town was brightly lighted. There wasn’t much traffic, though.

“You know how to get there?” Dana asked.

“Oh, I’ve been to the house a few times. Janice has parties fairly often. Staff parties. Barbecues out by the pool. I guess Lynn’s planning to throw a party in a couple of weeks, keep up the tradition in Janice’s absence.”

“That should be fun. You planning to come?”

“If I’m invited.”

“Oh, I bet you will be.”

He turned his head and smiled at Dana through the darkness.

“Just don’t count on me swimming,” he said.

“You could wear a wetsuit.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you ever go swimming?”

“Sometimes in the ocean. Late at night.”

“I’d like to do that with you.”

“Might be arranged. It’s a trifle cold, though.”

“Maybe we can go in Lynn’s pool sometime.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I could send her away for a couple of hours.”

Warren shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance.”

“Your scars aren’t that bad. It’s not like you’re hideously deformed or anything...or repulsive.”

“They apparently didn’t repulse you.”

Dana reached over and put a hand on his thigh. She felt the heat of his leg through his trousers. “You know what?” she said. “Maybe Lynn should see them.”

“No way.”

“They’re not that...”

“Give her a glimpse of my scars and she’ll know right away what happened to me.”

“What does Lynn think happened to you?”

“We told her the truth, up to a point. I went into Beast House at night because of the missing tape players. Down in the cellar, I was jumped by a couple of teenagers. They beat the crap out of me and I got cut on some broken glass. That’s what we told Lynn.”

“What about the cops?” Dana asked.

“We didn’t tell them a thing. We didn’t tell anyone a thing except Lynn. And her father, of course. Janice was taking care of my injuries, so we had to tell them something.”

“But not the truth?”

He shook his head. “I can live without being famous for a thing like that.”

“Janice went along with keeping it a secret?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want me humiliated.”

“It might’ve been good for business.”

“I’m sure it would’ve been. We kidded around about that. Doing an ad campaign. ‘The beast is back and it wants you!’ But she never really tried to make me go public.”

“Maybe the public should be told...warned.”

“Maybe,” Warren said, and stopped at a blinking red traffic light. Except for his car, the intersection was empty. He drove on. “Thing is, who would really believe a warning like that? Most people really