Except for a single post lamp along the walkway to the door, there were no lights. A monstrous, ancient Cadillac was parked near the garage.
"What do you think?" Nick asked.
"We came this far."
"It doesn't look very. inviting."
"Let's give it a shot, Hansel."
They walked to the door. There didn't seem to be a bell, just a brass knocker shaped like a fist. Nick lifted it, and rapped three times. Quickly, he propped the tire iron against the doorframe. Julie wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. "Sure hope they have a phone," she whispered.
They waited. No sounds came from inside the house.
"Should we try again?" Julie asked.
"Maybe they're asleep."
She lifted the heavy knocker and the door swung open, pulling it from her hand. She flinched. The brass fell with a clamor.
A man looked out at them. He was not old and gnarled, as Julie had somehow expected. He appeared to be about forty. He was bald, and very fat. His blue kimono, sashed at the waist, was shiny in the glow of the foyer lamp. It reached nearly to his knees. His legs were bare. He wore dark socks. He stared, and said nothing. He was frowning slightly, but seemed more curious than angry.
"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.