Help? Richie could help. In fact, he generally liked being helpful, so long as the work wasn't too menial or boring. Or, like, stressful.
Okay, he wasn't usually all that helpful.
But in a town like this one, he found that sometimes you just needed some extra stuff to do or else it'd all just end up being boring. Like living in a world where all you did was watch paint dry. Not that he didn't like it here -- he did. But once in a while he sort of wished there was a little more.
Anyway. Beverly asking for help through the door gave him a reason to stop laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Eddie was out -- walking the duck? Something like that. Or maybe doing his movie theater thing with the duck? One of the Stans, in any case. And Richie didn't wanna hover too much. They all needed their own stuff to be doing so they didn't get sick of each other. Not that Rich ever thought he could get sick of any of the Losers. They were, after all, his favorite people.
He squinted suspiciously when he opened the door though, eyeing up the tin and the bag of Cheetos. "I hate to ask what kind of help you're looking for," he said, but there was clear curiosity in his town so apparently he didn't really hate asking.