BENJAMIN MORSE, IN HIS BOOK, THE SEXUALLY PROMISCUOUS MALE, STATES: "IN LINE, TO A degree, with the over emphasis on sex is the tendency to view sexual promiscuity as the mark of the well-rounded man, a component of sophistication and basic in the picture of a man who gets the most out of life. We tend to equate happiness and well-being for males with promiscuity." Pete had three nymphos on the string, and considered himself a happy man...until he discovered each one had murder on her mind.
CHAPTER I
PETE DRAKE GOT UP FROM THE BED AND stretched his arms high above his head. He yawned and looked at the sleeping girl. Her breasts were exposed and alternately rose and fell as she breathed evenly. Yawning once again, he moved away from the bed, found his shorts and put them on. Then he went to the bathroom, washed, and rubbed the bristles of his beard, wishing he had a razor. That was the trouble with shacking up overnight with a board in her apartment-women never had razors that were fit to be used on the face. He dried his skin and returned to the bedroom. The girl was sitting up and blinking her eyes. She made no move to cover her breasts from his frank gaze.
"Hi," she said sleepily. "How's your head?"
Pete grinned. "Okay, I don't have much of a hangover. Not from drinking. I'm hung-up on sex, I suppose. How do you feel?"
She grimaced. "Have a lousy taste in my mouth and my head aches. Get me an aspirin, will you? Over there on the dresser."
He got her two pills and a glass of water and watched her as she swallowed them. She was a pretty blonde, and her long hair, parted in the middle, hung down over her shoulders in an entrancing way. He hadn't noticed particularly the night before, but her skin was tanned and inviting. He wondered if she felt up to having sex again.
"Hey," she said at length. "I got pretty awful last night. Don't usually drink that much. Did I...act okay in bed?"
He grinned again. "You were great, just great, except maybe for one thing."
She brushed her hair out of her eyes, which were very blue, he noted again. "What's the one thing?"
"You went to sleep too soon, passed out."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "You mean I interrupted something good?"
Once more Pete grinned. "Yes."
Her eyes were wide now. "What did I interrupt?"
"Really want me to tell you?" He searched her eyes.
"Sure. Why not?" She sat up even straighter now.
"You were about to...how should I say it...take me orally."
She smiled and it was a nice smile, her teeth were white and pleasant to look at. "Well, how about that. Were you really disappointed? I mean, a lot?"
He nodded his dark head. "Naturally."
She giggled. "Gee, I'm sorry."
He took a deep breath. "Maybe you'd like to make up for it now."
She gave him an arch look. "Maybe I would. You'll have to wait till my hangover improves though."
"Glad to." He sat down on the bed.
She giggled again. "Hey, you know something? I can't remember your name."
"Pete Drake."
"You know mine?"
"Sure. Helen Marks. Right?"
She nodded. "You picked me up in that night Club. My friend and I had a fight and he cut out on me."
"That's what you told me."
"Boy, what a stinker he was. Wanted to marry me, all that jazz. But I don't want to get married yet. You married, Pete?"
"No."
"How come a tall, good-looking guy like you hasn't been scooped up?"
"I don't know. Maybe I don't want to be scooped up."
She pushed the sheet entire off impulsively. He immediately got an erection.
She giggled once more. "Does it startle you to see me in the nude? In board daylight, I mean?"
"It fascinates me," he said. "You have a hell of a fine body."
"What does it feel like to be a man and look at a girl's body?"
Pete laughed nervously. "Feels good."
She glanced down at his crotch and evidently saw the condition he was in, for she slowly pulled the sheet over her body. "Guess I'd better take it easy. You have a hot gleam in your eyes."
He laughed again. "You put it there."
She brushed at her hair. "If I didn't have this splitting headache, I'd let you."
"How about another aspirin?" he asked hopefully.
"No. They don't help much, not really."
"Maybe a drink. Do you have any juice in the place?"
"Yes, but I couldn't get it down." She made a face.
"Well then, maybe a bit of me," he suggested. She leaned her blonde head back on the pillow and smiled at him. "If you'll wait awhile, okay."
"I'll wait," he promised.
She giggled still again. "I'll bet you're thinking I'm just a teaser."
"No, I don't think that. I think you have a hangover."
"Thanks," she said. "You're a nice guy. I was too loaded last night to know if you were or not."
"You let me come home with you. You must have thought I was okay."
"I bought you home because I needed it badly."
Pete laughed soundlessly. "So did I, baby. Real bad."
She glanced down at the front of him again. "How's your...condition now?"
"Same thing. Don't worry. It'll keep till you're feeling better."
She blinked. "I just noticed something. You really are good-looking. I like a guy with thick, black hair and black eyes. You have nice white teeth, too. Do you think I'm pretty?"
He smiled. "Yes, very pretty."
"All those muscles," she said. "You an athlete or something?"
"No." He studied her. "You asked me that last night."
"Did I? Gee, guess I was more loaded than I thought. I don't remember much about last night."
"You remember us making love?"
She worked her mouth around as if she were thinking it over, trying to recall it. "Sort of. Guess
I'm kind of fuzzy about it."
"Want me to tell you about it?" he asked, liking the turn the conversation had taken.
She giggled. "I don't mind." Once again she giggled. "You'll have to excuse me, all this giggling. That's the kind of hangover I got. I feel silly."
"Sure, I know. I've had 'em myself. Enjoy yourself."
She stopped giggling. "What did we do when we got home? Did I drag you off to bed right away."
"We had a few more drinks first."
"Then what happened?" He grinned. "We undressed."
"Then what. Tell me."
"We climbed in bed."
She sighed. "Boy, you don't give it to me in one sentence, do you? You tell me a little at a time. Did I act real sexy or coy or what?"
"Little of everything. Sexy mostly."
"I'm a sexpot," she said. "I'm crazy about men."
"Good for you. I like girls who are crazy about men."
"Sometimes I'm a little too crazy about them."
"You mean like bringing home a guy you don't know? Me, for example?"
"Yes. That's pretty silly, don't you think?"
"Could be. It wasn't this time."
She sat up straight but held the sheet in front of her. "Tell me, when we got in bed did you climb on top of me right away?"
Pete smiled. "No. Not immediately. We fooled around for a time."
She frowned a little. "Funny thing. I can't seem to remember it. I know I must have enjoyed myself. Never had drinking do this to me before."
"You appeared to enjoy yourself."
Her lips parted slightly. "Did you.....tick it in tough? You know what I mean?"
Pete found it hard to believe that she didn't remember anything. "I guess so," he told her.
She giggled once more. "Bet you think I'm nuts, asking you all these stupid questions."
"They aren't stupid. I like talking about last night."
She stretched her arms above her head. "Think my headache is beginning to let up. Maybe we won't have to talk about sex, maybe we can try it."
He grinned. "I'm ready."
"Not right now," she said hastily. "Give me a little more time."
"Sure, take all the time you need." He tried not to grind his teeth in annoyance.
She rubbed her upper lip with a forefinger. "My nose itches. What's that mean?"
"Means your nose itches."
She laughed lightly. "You're a comedian."
Pete laughed, also. "I doubt that, but I like to be called one."
Once again she glanced at his crotch. "How is it, still with you?"
He nodded.
She sighed. "Bet you think I'm awful. Do you?"
"No. What makes you say that?" He moved over on the bed a little, closer to her.
"I talk and talk about it, but I won't do it."
He took her hand between his larger ones. "I think you will when you're ready."
"Oh, I'm ready now, actually. It's just that I like putting things off. I'm like that. Anticipation. That sort of thing."
He released her hand and reached under the sheet. His fingers came in contact with her warm, smooth flesh. He ran his hand up her leg until he was lightly touching her cunt. The furriness of it felt good as he made little circling movements with his palm.
She breathed more quickly. "Oh...that...feels good, Pete. Do it...do it some more."
He continued the movement for a time and then stopped abruptly.
"Don't stop," she begged, her eyes half-closed now.
He removed his hand from beneath the sheet. "Can't keep that up, baby. Something will happen if I do."
Her eyes opened all the way. "Are you really that hot?"
"Naturally. I'm not made of stone." She frowned, but prettily. "You think I am."
"No. Not at all. I know better."
"You mean about...last night. What did I do to you?"
"I told you, part of it."
"Did I really try to take you orally?"
"Sure. It was great while it lasted."
"Hey," she said. "I never tried that before. Wonder what came over me."
He smiled tightly. "Whatever it was, I wish it would return."
She lifted the sheet carefully, held it up high and suddenly threw it off the bed. Curling up in the fetal position, she leveled her gaze on his shorts in a meaningful way. He held his breath momentarily as he saw the undisguised lust come into her eyes.
"How's your headache?" he asked nervously.
"It's gone, pretty much. Do you want to fool around with me?"
"Yes, I do. Anything in particular you'd like me to do?"
She uncurled her body and smiled lazily over at him. "Whatever you like, Pete. Use your imagination."
He turned her slightly so that she lay flat on her back, her legs together. She looked beautiful in this position. He felt the excitement growing in him. Bending over, he kissed her tummy lightly and saw the muscles there quiver a bit. He straightened up, grinned. "I gather you liked that."
"Wonderful," she breathed. "Go all over me."
His hand pressing on the bed to hold him up, he leaned over and up and took a nipple between his lips. He played with it, using his tongue until he felt her grabbing his hair and pulling on it hard enough to hurt. "Hey," he said. "Take it easy. That's all the hair I've got, baby."
Immediately she released him only to grab him around the neck. She pressed his face down on her breasts and began to stroke the back of his neck as she made little cooing sounds. He kissed her breasts going from one to the other. The nipples became firm and her breathing increased in tempo. Pete's heart was pumping fast now as he shoved his shorts down his legs. He felt her hand fumbling for him, felt her touch his cock and grab hold of it in no uncertain manner.
"Boy," she breathed. "It's so hot."
"Good for you, baby," he mumbled, too excited to speak clearly.
"Hey," she said, half sitting up. "You ought to see the lust in your eyes. Wow."
Pete grinned tightly again. "What did you expect to see?"
She giggled. "That was a silly thing to say, wasn't-it?"
He didn't answer but leaned over again and this time kissed her body in several places. She drew one leg up and sighed deeply.
"Pete," she said. "Down...there...you know. Make me hotter."
"All right." He moved his mouth downward and ran his tongue over her furry pussy. This excited him so much he had to stop it after a moment. There was a very great danger that he would end the whole bit before it was started.
"What'd you stop for?" she complained.
He drew himself up on the bed, parting her legs with his knee. Pushing her down on her back, he crawled between her legs" and settled down on her, holding his cock with one hand to steer it. When the insertion was made he didn't move for a long moment but held himself aloft and looked down into her half-closed eyes. She was panting like a long distance runner.
"Man," she sighed, "that feels great."
Pete lowered himself until his weight rested on his left elbow. With his right hand placed at the back of her neck to hold her firmly, he began to move and with each stroke penetrated more deeply into her body.
"Man," she repeated, though more fiercely, "That feels...just...great." She began to move her loins around as he penetrated more and more.
"That's it," he muttered. "But not too hard. Don't break contact, baby."
She was stroking his back now and later actually raking his skin with her nails. He scarcely felt this-he was too absorbed in the business of taking her. Her body was very warm and moist and the firmness of her flesh pleased him immensely. He hated women whose flesh was loose and unpleasant to look at, to feel. Her body was strong for a woman's, there wasn't an ounce of fat on her anywhere.
"Hey!" she cried. "That's it. You hit it just right, man."
He found her mouth and pressed his own on it, holding his lips there for a long time. She ran her tongue over his with reckless abandon and never once did she cease moving her loins about, up and down, meeting his thrust expertly. He felt himself going deeper and deeper inside her. The feeling was intense and he discovered his body was trembling from excitement.
"Come on, man!" she cried. "Pick it up. Faster!"
He did as she asked. Moving very fast now, he wondered how long he could keep it going. He was ready to release at any moment but didn't want to until she had reached her peak. He wanted her to remember this session for a long time. Who could tell? A guy never knows when he is going to be temporarily hard up and need it quickly. It was a smart idea to have a chick handy and ready, not that he looked upon her as being only a stopgap sort of thing. Not at all. She was far too lovely to be relegated to that.
' "Oh!. . . " she cried. "You drive me almost crazy, it feels so great."
"Me, too," he said. He was breathing so hard he could barely speak.
"Come on, man," she breathed in his ear. "Give it to me. I can't stand this any longer."
Perhaps it was her words alone that did it or perhaps the way she spoke them, but something exploded in his brain at the same time a similar occurrence took place elsewhere. She lifted her loins high to receive and when it was done and over with, she continued to pump at him.
He was too tired to try again at the moment.
Gradually, he slowed down his movements until he carne to a complete halt. He lay flat on her, feeling her breasts pressed against his chest. It was a nice feeling, their bodies locked together in this tight and fierce embrace. After a few moments of rest he began to move in her again but very slowly.
"Oh, Pete...again? Can you, please can you?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Oh, I hope so, man. You're the greatest, absolutely the greatest."
He doubted that, but it was nice to hear. He continued to move in her but noticed his erection wasn't quite as hard as it had been. She apparently realized what was happening, for she immediately took his face in her hands, pulling his mouth to hers and running her tongue over his feverishly. She bit him lightly on the tongue, the lips, even the chin.
"Please, man," she said tensely. "Don't quit on me, I need it. More of it. Lots more of it."
The urgency of her tone set him up in fine style. The firmness came back quickly and he increased the speed of his movements. She released his face and pressed her hands on his buttocks fiercely, at the same time moving her hips about almost as if in desperation. This set him off even more and he grabbed her by the shoulders and pumped back.
"That's it, Pete!" she cried. "Keep it that way!"
He kept it that way all during the act and then it was finished. This time he was really tired. He moved off her and lay flat on his back fighting to regain his breath.
She was purring like a contented kitten now and suddenly she flung her body over his, pulling herself up on top of him. She lay there, her breasts pressing down hard on his chest, her stomach muscles quivering, her breath striking the side of his face. She gave a little happy cry and kissed his mouth hungrily.
Obviously, what she had said was true. She was a hot little sexpot. Pete sighed deeply from satisfaction and, placing his hand over her box, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. When he woke later she was gone from the bed, and, as it turned out, from the apartment.
He got dressed and went home, sorry that he couldn't say good-bye to her.
CHAPTER 2
HE PARKED HIS CAR IN THE LOT BEHIND THE apartment building in which he lived and entered the place through the rear. Going to his door, he was surprised to find it standing open. He hesitated a moment before entering, wondering how he had happened to forget to lock the place the night before, then finally went in and was further surprised to see a brunette sitting on the sofa and having a drink. Pete blinked and stared at her. He didn't know her, had never seen the girl.
She didn't get to her feet but simply smiled at him. "Hello," she said. "I helped myself to a drink."
Pete closed the door carefully. "So I see. Who are you, may I ask?"
She took a sip of her drink, studied him over the rim of the glass. "I just moved into the apartment across the hall."
"I see. So you found my door unlocked and decided you'd come in and have a drink."
She put the glass down and rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt down as she did so. She had lovely, long, well-tapered legs. Her skirt was very short and revealed much of her thighs. "Sounds kind of crazy, I know, but I lost the key to my apartment. I couldn't stand out in the hall, I couldn't find the super to get his passkey, so I just walked in here and sat down."
Pete removed his jacket and threw it down. "It's Sunday morning," he said. "I'll join you in a drink."
She smiled. "Thanks. The moment I saw you I figured you were an okay guy."
Pete fixed himself a drink, stood holding the glass and looking at her. "Sit back down. You look uncomfortable standing there like that."
She sat down and her skirt crept high on her legs. "Thanks. Hope you aren't angry at me."
"You have a name?" Pete asked. "Mine is Pete Drake."
She smiled again. "Mine is Sandra."
He studied her. "You have a last name, too?"
"March," she said. "Sandy March."
"Very pretty girl," he commented. "Mind if I sit beside you?"
She moved over on the sofa. "Please do, Pete."
He again looked her over, noting the way her dark hair hung down around her shoulders. Obviously, this girl didn't believe in hairdos-hers was neat and brushed but not set or phony-looking. Her skirt was unbelievably high on her legs-he had the impression she wanted it that way-and he could see her flesh above the stockings. He tried to figure out what she was doing here. He didn'tbelieve her story about losing her key. It sounded too far out. He caught the scent of her perfume then and decided he liked it.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
He took a swallow of his drink. "About you."
She laughed. "If I bother you I'll leave."
He took another swallow. "You don't bother me that way," he told her. "What I mean is, I like being bothered by a pretty brown-eyed gal. There, I said it right. I-er-am wondering about something. Don't you know if you walk into a bachelor's apartment without knowing him you're liable to get raped?"
Her eyelids fluttered and she put down her glass. "Oh...well. . .that really wouldn't be so bad, would it? Especially if the bachelor is a good-looking guy like yourself."
This sounded like an invitation. Pete grinned. "I'm glad you agree with me. I think it sounds okay, too."
She turned on the sofa and looked deep into his eyes. "You wouldn't rape me, would you? I mean, really."
Pete could see all the way up her legs now. He grinned slightly. "I might, if you don't put your legs together and do it right away."
She blushed slightly but didn't put her legs together. "Do you think I'd better leave now?" There was a mysterious look in her eyes.
He finished his drink, set the glass down. "Stay here as long as you like. You can use my phone and keep calling down to the super's office until you locate a key. Me, I'm taking a bath and getting shaved. Can't stand those whiskers any longer."
"You look good with whiskers," she offered.
"Thanks. They're coming off just the same."
He started to walk from the room but stopped and turned around. He caught her with her hand down inside her blouse. She didn't see him watching her as she moved her breasts about. He felt the stirring again.
"Better watch that," he said, grinning. "You will get raped if you don't."
She glanced up, her lips parting. "Oh, I thought you'd left the room." She removed her hand and he noted how her breasts projected. He would have liked to see them minus the confining cloth of her blouse. She closed her mouth, pressed her lips tightly together and then relaxed and smiled. "I really did," she added. "I'm not trying to set you up." She paused. "Not in particular, that is." She had a look of something akin to lust in her brown eyes.
Pete waved his hand. "As I said, I'm taking a bath. See you in a few minutes."
"Would you...like me to help you?"
Pete's jaw dropped. "What did you say?"
She repeated her question, never once removing her gaze from his.
"I'd say you were a fairly aggressive gal," he remarked. "If you want to give me a bath...come on, I'm game." It appeared that he had met two sexpots in one twenty-four hour period. What could be better?
"I was just kidding," she said. "I guess it was out of place. Sorry. Mind if I have another drink?"
"Help yourself, baby," he told her, and went to the bathroom and stripped off his clothing. He turned on the water in the shower and stepped under it, lathering himself well with soap.
It wasn't more than two minutes later that he saw her enter the room and stare at his nude body. He had mixed feelings about this. He wanted her to do this and yet wondered if perhaps She might not be a bit on the psycho side.
"You mind if I watch?" she asked, her lips parted. Definitely now, there was lust in her eyes. Anyone could have seen it.
The water was running into his eyes, so he moved his head a little to escape it. "You're something," he remarked. "You're really something. Are you always this way?"
She laughed. "Not always. Only when I see a guy I think I can like."
"What makes you think you like me?" He rubbed more soap on his muscular body and she watched his every move.
"That's a good question. I can't answer it. I like your looks. You have a very...strong body, haven't you?"
He bent his head back and let the water run over his face briefly, then moved out from under it partially. "My body will do till I get another," he said. He had to say something.
She took a towel off the rack and held it. "If you're through, get out and I'll dry you, if you don't mind."
He gave his head a shake. This girl was unbelievable. She must be nuts. He turned the water off after a moment and stepped out of the shower. She began to dry him with the towel and he knew it was going to happen. When he turned around she saw him and sucked in her breath in a gasp of pleasure.
"You're really built,-' she said, her lips parting again. She was panting a little and this made his erection all the more pronounced.
"What did you expect to happen? You can't do this sort of a thing to a guy and not..."
"Please," she said. "Don't be embarrassed. It excites me."
"Who's embarrassed? I'm not. Just puzzled. Never knew a girl to be so...well, so...hell, I don't know what I'm trying to say."'
She came around in front of him and ran the towel
up and down suggestively on his stomach. He didn't know if he should grin or grab her. He wanted to do the latter but something stopped him. Her dark hair was close to his chest and he could have kissed the top of her head easily. Her blouse became a little wet from touching his body, but she seemed to pay no attention to this. When she ran the towel slowly and gently over his hard-on, it was more than he could stand. He threw his arms around her and kissed her mouth hungrily. Much to his astonishment, she jumped away from him and struck at him with the wet towel.
"Hey," he said, flinching a little. "What's with you?"
Her eyes flashing anger, she threw the towel down and flounced out of the bathroom.
"Hey," he called after he. "I didn't mean to offend you. Come back." She didn't return and he heard his apartment door being slammed hard. He stood there in bewilderment. What a strange girl. After a moment he got another towel and finished the job of drying himself. He shaved, changed into clean clothing and went to the door. He looked into the hall. The door of apartment five stood ajar. He crossed the hall and knocked.
A tall, middle-aged man wearing glasses came to the door. He peered at Drake owilishly. "Yes," he snapped. "What is it?"
"I live across the hall. I saw a girl enter here a few minutes ago, thought I knew her. Does Sandra March live here?"
"She's my wife, young man. You can't really know her. We just moved into the city yesterday from the West Coast. But how do you know her name?" He was genuinely puzzled.
"Sorry," Pete mumbled. "My mistake. My apologies, Mr. March."
The tall, thin man appeared disturbed. "I know what happened. She came to see you, lied to you, probably tried to make you. I'm sorry, fella, but my wife isn't well. Hope you will overlook her actions. She does wild things like that all the time."
"I see," Pete said, more clearly now. "Matter of face,' she did enter my place without my permission Said she couldn't find her key. Told me her name." He didn't bother to tell her husband anything else.
"Do me a favor and try to forget it, will you?"
Pete nodded. "Sure." He turned and walked back into his apartment and closed the door. What a hell of an experience.
When he arrived home from work at the insurance office the following evening, after stopping along the way for a couple of double belts, he saw Sandra March coming out the door of her apartment. He inserted the key in his lock and pretended he hadn't seen her.
"Hey," she said when he stepped into the room, "what's the matter, you mad at me or something?"
He turned and stared at her. "Hi," he said. "No. I'm not mad. I-er-had a talk with your husband."
She took the remark in stride and smiled nicely. "Okay, so I lied about myself. What's so terrible about that? Sometimes a lie can make things more exciting."
Her eyes looked so innocent that he grinned. "Have fun," he said and started to close the door.
"Wait a minute. I want to talk to you, Pete."
He didn't want to talk to her-he had other plans. These included showering and cleaning up and going to Helen Marks' place without calling her first. He wanted to surprise her. But the look on Sandra's face did something to him, and he found he didn't want to be unkind to her. "Okay," he told her.
"You want to come in or would your husband object?"
"He doesn't mind. Besides, he's not at home right now."
Pete pushed the door all the way open and moved out of her way as she entered and closed the door herself. He wished she had not done that, but what could he say? "Okay," he said. "What do you want to talk about?" He hoped she would get it over with quickly.
She pursed her pretty lips as though deep in thought. Finally she spoke. "I'm not crazy. My husband probably told you I am. I'm...I'm...a liar, yes, and I'm what they call psycho-sexual, but I'm not crazy. I..."
"He didn't tell me you were crazy," Pete said, for something to say. "He said you were...odd," he added, lying just a little.
She shrugged and walked across the room, her hips swaying suggestively. "Okay, I'm odd." She brushed her long, dark hair away from her face. "I like you," she went on. "You really turn me on. Anything wrong with that?"
Pete shook his head. "Not as long as you remember you have a husband."
She laughed bitterly. "How could I ever forget? That mean, sadistic bastard. He'd tie me to a bed and cut me with a razor if he thought he could get away with it."
Pete figured she was exaggerating. "Why live with him if he mistreats you?"
"Have to. No other means of subsistence."
"Get a job," he suggested practically. "No thanks. I'm too lazy."
He grinned. "At least you're honest about that." A strange glint came into her pretty brown eyes, but it disappeared almost immediately. "Thanks," she said dryly.
"Don't mention it," he said, with equal dryness.
She stood on one leg mostly, the other one stuck out at an angle in the manner of a fashion model. Somehow it didn't look appealing to him.
"Hey," she said suddenly. "You...feel like having some fun?"
He rubbed his chin. "I suppose you mean sexually?' She laughed. "What else?"
How the hell was he to answer this? If he replied in the negative he'd sound like an ass. If he said yes he would run the risk of getting involved with a woman who wasn't quite right in the head. He said the only thing he could say. "Sorry, I have a date."
Her eyes became clouded momentarily. "Fluff her off, Pete. Stay here. I'll do more for you than any other woman ever will."
There was nothing to do but open the door, which he did. "Go back to your place," he told her, gently. "Your husband may be home by now."
There was a sudden hostile look on her face...and then it was gone. This woman could change from one mood to another very quickly. She shrugged and walked past him and through the doorway. "Okay, Petey, you don't know what you're missing. Let me tell you something-I'll get to you yet...and you'll love it."
Pete said nothing and closed the door. Restarted to pour himself a drink when the door opened suddenly The girl stood there, her blouse and bra off. She held these in her hand. " Look at me, damn you !" she cried. "You ever see a pair of tits like mine?"
Before he could move or say anything she disappeared from view. He stood motionless for a moment, then closed the door. Shaking his head and not knowing whether to laugh or be serious, he poured a drink of brandy and tossed it down. He had another.
"What a wild gal," he muttered. "Never saw anything like her before. I thought Helen Marks was something, but she was a cold fish compared to this gal." The only thing wrong with this, he knew, was that Helen wasn't psycho, and therefore couldn't be expected to be quite so deliberate about her sexual aggressiveness.
Some thirty minutes later he was in his Buick driving toward Third Avenue, the street on which Helen's apartment house was located. He parked in front at the curb and entered the building, going up" to the second floor. He knocked on her door and she opened it immediately.
"Hi," she said, smiling. "I had an idea you might drop over tonight." She spun around on one bane hell. "So I'm all dressed and ready for you, Pete."
"Hi," he said, grinning. Undressed seemed to be a more appropriate word for it. She wore only a tiny miniskirt and a bra that was next to nothing.
She closed the door, took his hand, and standing on her toes, kissed his mouth quickly. "I'm so glad you came."
"I'm glad I happened to meet you Saturday night," he told her.
"So'm I. We had a ball yesterday morning. At least, I did."
Pete started. Up to now he hadn't seen the other girl who was present. His mouth hung open as he looked at her swiftly. She was about the same age as Helen-twenty-two or so-had red hair and a build that was as good as Helen's. She had a look of lust in her eyes, too, as did Helen. What had he stumbled into?
Helen saw him glancing at the redhead. "Oh...Pete...this is Jeanie Price, a-friend of mine". "Hello, Jeanie," he said.
Jeanie Price smiled at him from across the room where she apparently had been looking out the window. "Hi," she said. "Helen has been telling me wild things about you."
"Such as what?" he asked with a grin.
Jeanie grinned back. "I'd better not tell you. Helen would get mad at me."
"Jeanie," Helen broke in, "I'm sorry. I can't go to the club with you tonight for obvious reasons."
Jeanie crossed the room, stopped by the door and looked at Pete, up and down, in an appraising manner. "I don't blame you, Helen. If I had a chunk of meat like him I wouldn't go to the club, either." She winked at Pete. "Good-bye, Pete. See you around, baby."
Pete grinned again. "Sure," he said. "The sooner the better."
"Hey, you two. Stop making passes at one another," Helen cried.
"Sorry," Jeanie said. "Can't help it, Helen. You know me." She winked at Pete again and left.
He lit a cigarette without thinking to offer Helen one. He was delightfully confused for the moment. All these sexy girls he had run into in the last day or so-it was enough to make any guy delightfully confused."
"Hey, man," Helen said. "You look real sharp. Nice suit, you're wearing. Olive green, isn't it?"
"Yes, You look pretty nice yourself. Flesh, isn't it?"
Helen laughed. "Sharp in the end, too, I see. Why don't you kiss me, man?"
"Sure." He took her in his arms and kissed her wetly on the mouth, releasing her, after a long moment.
She brushed her hair back. "Whew, who taught you to kiss that way?"
"My mother," he said flippantly. "Some mother. How about a drink."
"Fine. Make it a double."
"I'll make it a triple. I have dark, sinister plans for you."
"Oh...such as what?" he asked, laughing.
She arched her brows as she poured him a long, straight drink. "That'd be telling, man."
"Tell me anyway." He took the glass out of her hand.
"I don't think I'd better," she said slowly. "You might take off and leave."
"Try me," he said, taking a sip of the whiskey.
She poured a drink for herself. "No. I'll just let you find out a little at a time."
"Come on," he said, grinning at her. "Tell me. You've got me curious as hell. What is it you have planned for me?"
She lifted her glass to her mouth and drank all of the juice in one gulp. Her eyes watered briefly as she turned to look at him. "Can't tell you, but I can show you."
"All right, show me." Pete set his glass down. "We have to go to the bedroom," she said carefully.
"Let's go. like I said, I'm curious as hell."
She walked away from him, her hips swaying nicely and he followed her into the bedroom. She shoved her panties down without removing the miniskirt. Lying down across the bed, she lifted her skirt, placing her hand over her pussy.
"Now do you know what I have planned, Pete?" she asked, her. voice very husky.
He moistened his lips. "Yes. I know what you have in mind."
Her eyes took on a look of wild lust as she removed her hand, exposing herself to his gaze. "Will you get down on your knees, Pete? Please? I must have you kiss me there."
CHAPTER 3
THE FIRST THING HE DID WAS TO SNUB OUT his cigarette in an ash tray. The second thing was to grab her panties, yank them off her entirely, turn her over his knee and spank her. She struggled to get away, to strike him, to bite him, but he held her firmly, and continued to apply the palm of his hand to her buttocks. Finally, he stopped and pushed her over on the bed.
She lay flat on her back and stared up at him resentfully. "What did you do that for?" she demanded.
He grinned at her. "Just to let you know I'm not your pimp."
Her eyes became wide. "Why," I didn't, mean it that way, Pete. Just because you lip service a girl doesn't mean you're a pimp, does it?"
"Of course not, but when I want to do that I'll do it. I don't need to be ordered about."
She took a deep breath and turned her head sideways. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you would react this way."
"Now you know. Right?"
"Are you very angry at me?"
He grinned again. "No. Not at all. Just want you to understand."
"Gee, I really am sorry." she crawled out on the opposite side of the bed, picked up her panties and drew them on. She smoothed down her short skirt and walked around the bed to him. "Kind of spoils the kick for me, Pete. Let's go to the other room and have a few drinks. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Sure, but don't get sarcastic with me or I'll spank you again."
"I'm not being sarcastic. Seems to me you have a chip on your shoulder tonight."
He smiled at her. "Maybe you're right. Let's have that drink."
They sat together on the sofa and had several drinks before she excused herself, telling him she would be right back. He watched her go to the door and open it. She disappeared into the hall and it was ten minutes before she returned. Pete wasn't sure if he was pleased or not at seeing Jeanie Price with her. Jeanie had changed from her regular street clothing into an outfit almost exactly like Helen's-hardly any bra at all and a very short miniskirt. She wore nylons, however, and this made her legs look even more pretty and sexy than Helen's. He got to his feet when they entered.
"Hi," he said to Jeanie. He turned to Helen. "Are we having a party, or what?"
"Sure," Helen said. "If you don't mind, Pete. Maybe we can find something interesting to do-the three of us."
He felt a chill go up his back. It was a pleasant sort of chill, not the other kind. "Fine," he said, grinning at them. "Always ready for an interesting evening."
Jeanie came over close to him and looked into his eyes with her large green ones. "Sure you don't mind my crashing the party?"
He studied her large, hanging breasts. "If it's okay with Helen it is with me."
"Sit down, Pete, will you?" Helen asked.
He sat in the middle of the sofa. The girls sat on either side of him. Helen passed the bottle and Pete took it, drinking from it and passing it over to Jeanie, who did the same. Pete wondered how they would go about it-he knew they were planning a sex session with him. Two girls and one guy. Might be interesting to see how they performed.
He leaned back and waited for them, making no overt move of his own. It was fun not being the aggressor for once. Let them do it, he told himself.
"Pete," Helen said. "Are you game?"
"For what?" he asked, pretending innocence.
"For anything."
"Help yourself," he said, hoping they would.
Both girls placed their hands on his thighs at the same time, almost as though they had rehearsed it. He liked the feel of their hands: it gave him an immediate erection. Jeanie was the first to touch his prick and he shivered and stretched his legs out before him. Thrill after thrill ran up and down his spine as first one girl then the other touched him. When Helen unzipped him he caught his breath and waited to see what would happen next.
What happened next wasn't at all to his liking. The door burst open and a fat man of perhaps forty stood there, frowning at the scene. "Jeanie," he barked. "What the hell are you doing here? Come back to your own place."
Jeanie jumped to her feet and literally ran across the floor to the door. She didn't speak to anyone but stepped out into the hall. The fat guy glared at Pete and slammed the door.
Pete turned to Helen. "Who was that?"
"His name is George. He's Jeanie's friend."
"He looked mad."
"Yes...he just flew in from the West Coast Saturday to see her. Guess he didn't like her over here with us. Can't blame him too much, I guess."
"Does Jeanie live in the apartment house?"
She nodded. "Across the hall." Helen zipped up his pants and he knew a moment of disappointment.
"Did you have to do that?" he asked.
"Everything is happening tonight...no matter what I want to do, something happens to prevent it."
"I'm not preventing you from doing anything."
"Well...I'm just out of the mood for the moment, Pete."
"Funny," he mused. "This guy coming from the West Coast Saturday. I met someone else yesterday who just came from there." He told her about Sandra March and her husband Harry without going into the sexual part of it. He thought she had an odd look on her pretty face as he told her this, but she said nothing, so he immediately forgot about it.
"Hand the bottle to me, Pete," she said, after a moment. "I think I'll get drunk."
He gave her the bottle. "The last time you got drunk you didn't remember what took place between us. Do you want that to happen again?"
Helen laughed. "Oh, I won't get that drunk, just a little bit."
"Tell me something. Why exactly did you bring Jeanie back to the apartment?"
Helen laughed and pressed her hand on his leg. "I wanted to get you all excited."
"You can do that. You didn't need her, too."
"Sure, I know." Helen paused. "Let's go somewhere. You ever been to a nude party?"
"No. Is there one?"
"Yes, on the other side of town. You wait here and I'll change my clothes. Won't take me long."
"Okay. Seems funny. We're going to a nude party and you're putting on more clothes."
Helen laughed and left the room. She came back immediately. "I'd better call up and see," she explained. "I'm not sure if the party is tonight or was last night." She went to the phone and dialed a number. She spoke a few words into the phone, hung up and turned around. "Good thing I called. The party was last night, Pete."
He was relieved. He hadn't wanted to go to a party, he preferred staying here alone with her. "That's okay," he told her, "we'll have our own party."
"Maybe I could ask George and Jeanie over. He's probably over being mad by now."
Pete got to his feet, went to the door and opened it. "Good night, Helen," he said, annoyed at her for making this suggestion. "I'll see you."
"Wait. Don't go. Did I say something wrong?"
"I came to see you, not to have a party here." He stepped into the hall and closed the door, waiting for her to open it and ask him not to leave.
She fooled him. She didn't come to the door and it was with a feeling of disappointment that he walked down the hall, down the one flight of stairs to the foyer and out to his car parked in front. He kept glancing at the door of the apartment house expecting her to appear, but she didn't.
Pete swore. "What the hell's wrong with me tonight?" he muttered. "That's twice I fluffed her off. Maybe I'm sick." He had no more than said this than a mental picture of Sandy March came to mind. He recalled how she had rubbed his skin dry with the towel, how she had looked at his nude body. Suddenly, he knew what was wrong with him, why he had acted as he had with Helen.
He had wanted sex with Sandy March tonight,, not Helen.
When he arrived back at his place he parked the car at the rear and entered the building. As he approached his door, he saw the one across the hall come open slowly. He halted in his tracks, his heart beating furiously, and saw her come out into the hall.
"Hello, Pete," Sandy March said softly. She was wearing a dress that fit her like skin.
"Hi," he said, trying to make it sound casual. "How do you feel tonight?" He instantly regretted saying this, but it was too late for regrets.
"How do I feel?" she asked, looking surprised. "Why, I feel great. Why did you ask that?"
He forced a smile on his lips. "Something to say. That's all."
Her breasts stuck straight out in a most provocative way. "Oh..." she said hesitantly. "I...er--"
"What?" he interrupted, thinking he might have missed a word at the beginning of her remark.
"I haven't said anything yet," she said, smiling.
He was even more aware now that, psycho-sexual or whatever she might be, he wanted this woman like mad. He turned on his most agreeable smile and looked her straight in the eyes. "Where is your husband?" he asked softly.
"He's sleeping, taking a nap." She must have anticipated what he had in mind, for she added. "He's going out after a bit, told me to wake him. When he has gone I'll...come over and rap on your door. Will you wait for me?"
He left his gaze linger on her protruding breasts. "Yes," he said, and opening his door, stepped into the apartment and closed the door carefully. His heart was beating even more furiously now. There was something wild about this woman that set him up in fine style. He was extremely rigid as he walked to the place where he kept his liquor. He poured himself a long drink and drained the glass in one fast gulp. That rigidity stayed with him for a long time, but still she didn't come to his door. He was almost ready to give up on her when he heard a soft tapping sound. He strode to the door and yanked it open. She stood there wearing shorts and a halter, both of which were very skimpy and highly revealing of her flesh.
"Come in," he said urgently.
She stepped in wordlessly and he closed the door and looked at her as she, in turn, looked at him.
"You want it, don't you?" she said.
"Yes. Do you?"
"Very much so."
"Come to my bedroom."
"All right."
He took her by the arm and propelled her to the bedroom. He released her and began to undress.
"Wait," she said, excitement in her tone, "let me undress you. I love to do that."
"All right,"
She finished removing his jacket, laying it carefully over a chair. She untied his necktie, took off his skirt and undershirt, placing them over the chair, also. She unbuckled his belt. She tugged his pants down and he stepped out of them, one foot at a time, balancing himself by holding on to her shoulder. She shoved his shorts down partway and began to fondle his prick in a most maddening manner.
"Hey," he said tensely, "take it easy if you don't want it to end before it begins."
She laughed strangely and let goof him. Removing her bra, she flung it aside and he stared down at her large, pointed breasts as they jutted straightup. The nipples were pinkish and looked like ones belonging to a teen-age girl. The breasts were firm and solid-looking. Excitement took hold of him even more than it had before. He watched as she slipped off her shorts and noted she wasn't wearing any panties. Her waist was slim and her stomach flat. The navel seemed to be quivering.
"I'm so hot," she breathed. "Take me."
He pushed her down on the bed and hung on as if fearful he would get away from her. He lowered his loins to hers and she shot her hips upward immediately, eager to make contact. She was breathing hard and he could hear a sort of rattle in her throat.
' Hurry," she begged. "I'm burning up."
He made the insertion expertly and heard her suck in her air and let it out in a frantic whoosh. She wrapped her legs around his, hooking her toes around his ankles.
"My husband," she said unexpectedly, "is a case history...in...impotence." It sounded strange to hear her say it at a time like this.
The truth was, he scarcely heard her. He felt the wetness of her cunt as he pushed forward and down, felt the heat of her body on him. The feeling was maddeningly wonderful. She pressed her hands downward on his buttocks, holding him firmly in place and, as he began to move, moved with him in perfect coordination.
It was so wonderful that no man could have made it last for long and Pete was no exception. He wanted to hit the peak and do it quickly. He did so and when he had finished she was still moving her hips about frantically, wanting more of what he had to give.
"Please," she begged breathlessly. "Rest a minute and give it to me again. I need it, so much of it. I can't stand it, stopping like this, so soon."
He felt a wave of heat running throughout his body. His rigidity was still intact and after a moment he began to move in her again but slowly. This time he would try to satisfy her instead of just himself. Slowly and steadily he moved, and each time he did her body would tremble and jerk a little, which made the act all the more exciting. He had never seen a woman like this one. She was all sex, make no mistake about it. He had the idea that she would be content to lay like this all night long.
This, however, was something he couldn't do.
It took him a long time to complete the second act of love. This was, of course, exactly what she wanted and when he finally climaxed, she sighed and clung to him desperately, moaning and crying out little words that were unintelligible.
Finally, he moved off her and lay on his back breathing hard.
She moved down a Little on the bed and placed her cheek on his stomach. "Oh," she muttered thickly, "that was so wonderful. I think I love you."
He was silent for a moment. Lifting her face with his hands, he turned it about so he could see her better. The look in her eyes were wild and strange.
There was lust there, plenty of it, but there was also something else; he didn't know what it was.
She smiled crookedly. "You're so nice to me, Daddy," she muttered. "Don't you worry...I'll never tell Mother what you do to me."
He was almost aghast at this. "W-what?" he stammered.
She sighed and again he saw the out-of-this-world look in her eyes. It startled him and he tried not to look at her, but she fascinated him so much he had to. Her eyelids half closed and she sighed deeply.
"You're my daddy, and I love you so." He found his voice. "I'm not your father."
"Well...stepfather then. What difference does it make?"
"I'm not your stepfather," he said, thoroughly astonished now and uneasy, too.
"All right. I'll just call you George. I know you don't want me to think of you as my stepfather. I'm sorry, George. I keep forgetting."
Obviously, she had at least temporarily lost con-tact with reality. He had to get out of this predicament and do it fast. He also had to do it carefully. In her state of mind she might do anything at all if he wasn't extremely careful in the next few minutes.
"Shall we get up and have a drink?" he suggested softly. "Might go down nice now..." He knew this was almost an idiotic thing to say, but it was all he could think of.
"Oh...no...Daddy...I mean George...let's just lie here awhile. I may want to kiss you...down there...you know, like I sometimes do."
A drop of perspiration ran down his face. "I'm getting up," he said firmly. "I want a drink. Come along, dear."
"I won't tell Mother," she said fiercely. "You don't have to get all nervous every time you take me, George."
Something had to be done and for want of anything better, he suddenly slapped her face hard.
She sprang away from him, half-rising from the bed. Her face returned to a normal look, the lust in her eyes lessening. She pouted slightly as she faced him. "Now what did you go and do that for, Pete?"
He breathed more easily. The slap had brought her out of her fantasy, apparently. "Sorry," he said, forcing a grin on his face. "Didn't mean to slap you so hard. It was just a love poke."
She smiled. "I think I Like it. Hit me again, not too hard."
He shook his head. "Only one love poke to a customer," he said, hoping his tone sounded facetious enough.
She laughed and threw herself on top of him. He kissed her and pulled her up from the bed. She struggled to get away from him, or to pull him back down on the bed-he wasn't sure which it was-but he held her firmly and made her stand up on the floor.
"Put your things on," he said firmly.
"Is the party over?" she asked, and for a moment he wondered if she hadn't retreated into her fantasy again.
He laughed, but it had a hollow ring to it. "For the moment. The night is young. You have to give a guy a chance to catch his breath, you know.. "
"Sure, honey," she said. "I understand how it is."
He dressed hurriedly as she did so slowly. He left the bedroom after grinning at her and, going to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a stiff one, swallowing
it down fast. He shook his head, cursing himself for being a fool. He should never have involved himself with this girl-she was too far gone.
He had another drink before she came out of the bedroom. She walked straight past him to the outer door, then stopped, turned around and smiled at him strangely.
"Thank you," she said. She seemed okay now.
"Don't mention it. I should...thank you...not the other way around." He wished he could have kept his mouth shut. It was better just to let her leave and say nothing.
"No. I insist on thanking you. I'm wondering about one thing."
The glass halfway to his lips, he held it poised in the air. "What is that?" he asked.
"Would you mind if I tell my husband about our little affair?"
He felt his pulse quicken. "What on earth for?"
She looked down at the carpeting as she opened the door. "Because...it...when I tell him the details of how another man makes love to me...it sets him up...it makes a man of him for a short time. Oh, I do so want him to be a man, some of the time."
Before he could open his mouth, she had gone, quietly shutting the door after her. If it hadn't been for the subject matter, he would have sworn the words she uttered had originated in a twelve-year-old mind. Her tone of voice, her inflection, wasn't that of a mentally mature woman.
CHAPTER 4
IT WAS EARLY FRIDAY EVENING BEFORE PETE happened to see Sandra again. He was about to enter a supermarket when he caught a glimpse other near the exit. He turned quickly, went back to his car and waited until she had disappeared. He didn't want to run into her, or have anything more to do with her. He thought.
He entered the market, made his purchases and then headed for his apartment. As usual, he parked in the rear and entered by the rear door. He peered down the corridor before going to his door, saw that it was empty and hurried inside his place. He removed his jacket just as the phone rang.
He lifted the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hello, Pete. Helen. What's the matter, you mad at me?"
He grinned. It was nice hearing her voice. "Hell no. What makes you think that, Helen?"
"Well...you haven't been around to see me. You left in kind of a huff Monday night, so I thought maybe you were."
"I've had a lot of work to do this week," he said lamely, though it was true.
"How about me coming to see you?"
"Fine. Know where I live?"
"Sure. Found your name and address in the phonebook. I'll be right over, if you want me to."
"Sure. Come over. I'm about to take a bath. I'll leave the door unlocked. Apartment six. First floor."
"Crazy. I'll bring a jug." She hung up before he could tell her that wasn't necessary.
He made sure the door was unlocked and went to the bathroom and stripped off his clothes. He stepped beneath the shower and stayed there for several minutes enjoying the feel of the warm water running over his muscular body. He dried himself, pulled on a pair of shorts, and returned to the front room. He was startled to see Harry March standing in the doorway leading to the hall. Apparently, the man had opened the door. This annoyed Pete and it showed on his face.
"Mr. Drake," Harry March said hastily. "Hope you'll forgive me for opening your door. I knocked several times, but you didn't answer. I..."
Pete could feel his cheeks burning a little. "What do you want?"
"My wife...Sandra...She's quite ill, keeps asking for you. Ier-wonder if you would come over and talk to her for a few moments."
Pete ground his teeth and studied the man, noting for the first time that he had a thin mustache and very small eyes. The small eyes seemed to be looking at Pete's body speculatively.
"Why me? I'm not a doctor."
"Sheer--likes you, Mr. Drake. She sometimes becomes unmanageable. I thought you might be able to soothe her down. Of course, if you don't want to..."
"I'll get my pants," Pete said, more annoyed now than before. He didn't like the way the man was staring at his body. Pete wondered if the guy might be a homo. That look in his eyes...Pete went to the bedroom, drew on a pair of slacks and a shirt and followed the man across the hall and into the apartment to the bedroom.
Sandra lay on the bed beneath the sheet, one leg exposed. Her eyes were closed and her face seemed pale.
"Honey," Harry March said, speaking sharply. "Mr. Drake is here. Open your eyes."
"Hello Pete," Sandra said, but didn't open her eyes.
Pete felt uncomfortable. He wished he had refused the man's request. What the hell was he doing here? "Hi," he said shortly. "Your husband tells me you're ill."
Sandra did a startling thing, considering that her husband was present-she flung off the sheet, exposing her breasts. "Kiss them, Pete. Take my breasts in your mouth, darling."
Pete moved away from the bed and flashed a look at Harry March. The man's expression was the same as before-impassive. What could ho do? It was a ridiculous, situation. There seemed to be but one thing to do-walk out of the' place fast. He did so and got as far as the door to the hall when he felt Harry's hand on his arm. Pete stopped and turned about to face the man. There was some kind of undisguised lust in Harry's eyes now. Pete pulled his arm free.
"Mr. Drake, please don't go. I must apologize for my wife's remark."
Pete looked at him coolly. "Okay," he said. . "I hope she gets to feeling better." He stepped into the hall.
"Mr. Drake, would you care to join me in a drink?"
This was an open invitation. Pete felt like smacking the guy, but instead he shook his head and entered his apartment. The moment he did so the phone rang again and he went to answer it.
"Hello."
"Pete," Helen said. "I can't come, after all. Jeanie and George are here. I forgot I promised them. We're having a party. Would you like to come to my place?"
Pete didn't want to attend a party. Parties bored the hell out of him. "Afraid not, Helen. If you can't come we'll try again some other night."
"It's just that I promised them. Some other people are coming here, too."
"Okay," he said. "Good-bye."
"Wait, Pete. Don't hang up. You sure you wouldn't like to come to my place? There's going to be a lot of interesting people here."
"Some other time," he said, and hung up.
What to do this evening? He didn't have to work the next day. Perhaps he should go downtown, take in one of the clubs, see a show, look around for a-likely woman. It seemed like a good idea, so he got dressed in his best-looking suit, and prepared to leave the apartment.
He frowned when the knock came on his door. He hesitated for a moment because he didn't want to talk to either Harry or Sandra, and he suspected it would be one of them. Shrugging, and knowing he had to open the door, he did so. and it was Sandra. She was wearing a short skirt and had a light coat thrown over her shoulders. She was in her bare feet, and when he looked at her closely he saw she wasn't wearing anything on the upper part of her body, save for the coat.
"Yes," he said coldly.
"Please don't be angry. I'm feeling much better now, Pete. May I come in?"
He shook his head. "I was about to leave."
"I must apologize for my husband." She bit her lips, her face flushing slightly.
"That's funny," he said evenly. "He apologized for you, too."
"Yes, I know. I overheard him talking to you. I just don't want you to think..
He waited for her to complete the sentence, but she didn't. Her pretty brown eyes appeared to be begging him. Her dark hair was slightly mussed and he had to admit she was lovely standing here like this and staring into his eyes.
"Never mind what I think," he said. "You'd better go back."
She. pulled the coat open, deliberately revealing her great breasts. Her chest was heaving and he had to tear his gaze away from her. Excitement was passing through him and he didn't want this with her.
"Pete, please...I just ache to have you caress me, to fondle me. Don't be mean to me."
"I'm not being mean," he said uncomfortably. "You have a husband, get him to caress you."
"Oh, that creature," she said, spitting the words. "I might as well be married to apiece of furniture."
"That's your problem," he said coldly.
"I know it is." She apparently noticed that he was dressed up. "You're going out somewhere, aren't you, Pete? Please...take me with you. If I don't go someplace, if I don't get away from him for a while, I'll go crazy."
"Yes, I'm going out, but I can't take you along. Damn it, you do have a husband."
"He-won't care if you do. Besides, he has just taken a sleeping pill and is lying down. He'll be asleep in a short time. Please let me change into something and go with you."
"No. Sorry. I have a date," he said, lying a bit.
Her brown eyes flashed. "So you have a girl, have you? Who is she?. "
"That," he said firmly, "is none of your business. Now, if you'll excuse me." He started to close the door.
She flung herself into the room, tripped and fell to the floor and lay there moaning. Pete knew it was probably just an act, that she hadn't hurt herself; the carpet was too thick.
"Get up," he said roughly. "Get up and go home."
She seemed dazed when she got to her feet. Her eyes looked strange. She whimpered and moved to the doorway, turning about and looking at him reproachfully. "You are a very mean person, Daddy. I hate you, I just hate you. I think I'll tell Mother on you." She was gone then, for all the world looking and acting like a small child.
Pete closed the door and ran his hand over his eyes. The woman was very sick. He cursed himself for having made love to her. He knew she was going to make life a living hell for him from now on. The only thing to do was to keep his door locked at all times and if anyone knocked he wouldn't answer. He Ht a cigarette and was surprised to see that his hands were trembling a little. Waiting until the cigarette was almost gone, he finally left the apartment and walked to his car. He drove toward downtown and then, on an impulse, turned up Third Avenue on the street on which Helen lived. He stopped in front of the place, but across the street, and looked up at the lighted windows of her place. It very well could be she was having a party, but just the same he felt she had been lying to him for some reason. She had told him she wanted to come to his place. Surely she must have known she was throwing a party-who could forget a thing like that, especially a woman?
He sat. there for several minutes watching the place and was pleasantly surprised to see Jeanie Price come out of the front entrance. She was dressed fit to kill, he noted. He watched her step to the curb and glance up and down the street. The thought came to him that she was looking for a cab. He called out to her and she looked around as if trying to spot where his voice had come from..
"Hey, Jeanie! Over here."
She saw him then and smiled.
"Come on. I'll take you wherever you want to go."
She smiled and ran across the street. "Hi, Pete," she said. "That's very nice of you. Hard to get a cab in this town, I see."
He opened the door for her and she seated herself beside him. He caught the scent of her perfume and it was nice, heady stuff.
"I'm a lucky guy," he said. "Just happened to be passing by and saw you coming out the doorway."
"Glad you did. George had to go to a meeting of some kind. He was supposed to take me out tonight, the big oaf."
"Is he your...husband?"
"No. Just a friend. Not a very good one, letting me go out on the town by myself, wouldn't you say?"
"Two people with the same idea," he told her, as he pulled the car away from the curb. "I'm out on the town tonight, too."
"I thought you and Helen had a date, or something." she said, hesitating slightly before saying it.
"She told me she's throwing a party and I didn't want to attend. I-er-thought you were going to be there."
"I was' supposed to, but George couldn't, so I begged off."
She had just told him that George had intended taking-her out on the town. Why the inconsistency? "Any place in particular you'd like to go?" he asked, as he swung out all the way into traffic.
"Now that you mention it, I'd just as soon go for a ride in the country. I don't think I really want to go to a bar or anything."
It was beginning to get dark, so Pete turned on the car lights, the dash illuminating the front seat a little more. He glanced at her quickly, taking his eyes from his driving for the moment, and saw her very short skirt, noting how sleek and sexy her long legs were clad in nylons. He felt something happening to him, something pleasant.
"I'd like to take a drive into the country," he told her, switching his gaze back to the road just in time to see the Stop sign. He slammed on the brakes, the car coming to an abrupt halt.
"Better watch what you're doing," she said, smiling.
"Think you're right there," he commented, grinning slightly. "We want to get out of town in one piece."
"And when we get out of town, where shall we go?"
"Why...we can park or go to a motel," he said bluntly, wondering what her reaction would be.
Her reaction was the right one. "Fine," she said. "I've been wondering if you are as good as Helen says."
The three women he had met in the past week-he wondered if any of them ever thought about anything but sex. He hoped not. "What did Helen say, if I may ask?"
Jeanie touched his leg and it sent a thrill up his back. "You really want me to tell you?"
He started the car in motion, turned the corner and picked up speed. "Sure. Naturally. My male ego demands it." He grinned.
Jeanie squeezed his thigh. "She said you were the greatest thing in bed she'd ever seen."
"Helen was exaggerating," he told her, but the remark pleased him.
"I wonder."
He laughed. "We'll find out, won't we, Jeanie?"
"I hope she was right. I'm sick of half-men."
He stopped laughing. Another girl with a no-good man? What was going on these days? "What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, I wasn't talking about George. He's okay, sort of. I meant the usual guy a girl runs into these days-some of them anyhow."
"Maybe you go to the wrong places," he suggested.
"Maybe. Say...how far is this motel?"
He laughed again. He liked having a girl be direct about it. "There's one up ahead about a mile or so, Can you wait?" he teased.
She didn't answer and they rode along in silence until he turned into the court of the motel. He parked the car, went in the office, got a room and came back out. She was already out of the car. "Number Six," he said, and took her arm. He unlocked the door and they entered. It was a nice but small room, but who cared about that particularly? Pete didn't.
"So..." she said, smiling and thrusting out her large bosom. "The
man has me in his power."
"I should have thought to stop and get a jug."
She opened her large purse. "I have a half-pint bottle. Will that help you?"
He grinned. "I don't need it, if that's what you mean. I meant for you' to have a few drinks."
"I don't need stimulants. I was born stimulated."
There was nothing quite so exciting and at the same time so awkward as being in a motel room with a woman you hardly knew. Pete stood there momentarily and then thought to close the door and lock it. He turned around to see her removing her blouse. Then she took off her bra and her great breasts tumbled out in full view. He immediately got a hard-on.
"Hey," he said. "Give me that bottle. Maybe I'm going to need it." She passed it to him and he took a drink, passing it back to her. "Go ahead. A couple" of drinks makes it better." She smiled and drank a long one, surprising him.
He walked closer to her, placing his hands on her breasts and felt the heat of them. She sighed and lowered her head to his chest.
"Take your clothes off, Pete," she urged.
He didn't need to be urged, but there was something wild about hearing her say it to him. He removed his clothing as she did hears and they stood naked together. He put his arms about her and pulled heir body up tightly against him. She giggled a little when she felt his hard-on touch her stomach.
"You like that?" he asked, his tone shaking a bit in spite of himself.
"I love it," she said. "You're really built, man."
"And so are you. We ought to have quite a session."
"Give me another drink. I've changed my mind about it. I do need a few after...seeing you."
He laughed nervously, handed her the bottle and watched her drink. She spilled some of the whiskey and had to wipe her chin. "Boy," she said. "Am I nervous. Never been like this before. Not since I was fifteen, I mean."
"I'm nervous too, it's natural, I think. We hardly know one another, that's why."
She fell back on the bed, her arms about him and half-pulling him down on top of her. He made the insertion quickly, feeling the heat of her body as it surrounded him. He heard her cry out, felt her entire body stiffen as he worked. She grabbed him by the buttocks and pressed her body to his eagerly, breathing hard and furiously as she did so.
He went deep inside her and felt the quiver of his body even as hers quivered. "Terrific," he muttered thickly.
"Oh, Helen was right," she said, her voice also thick with passion. "You hit the spot every time you move. Wonderful."
He moved hard and fast on her, his thrusting going ever deeper with each stroke. She was moaning and purring, both, and her fingernails began scratching his back, but he paid no attention. The feeling was so marvelous the motel room could have burned down without his noticing it.
"Beautiful," she sighed, the passion fairly dripping from the word. "Go faster, baby. .Hurt me."
He moved as fast as he could. Her body stiffened even more and she clung to him with amazing strength. Finally, the pinnacle was reached by both of them-he could sense it in her-and he kept on battering her for several minutes afterward. Finally, she patted him on the back and told him she had finished, that he could stop.
He did so and lay limply on her, contact not yet having been broken.
"Beautiful," she repeated. "Helen knew what she was talking about."
"I liked it, too," he said, rising up on his hands and looking down at her perspiring face. "You're not so bad yourself."
She smiled wanly. "Boy, what a guy.-You can have me any old time you want it. I mean that. Right now, if you like."
He removed himself from her body. "We," he announced, "shall now take a short recess."
She laughed and placed her arms about his neck. He went down and kissed her mouth wetly. She snaked her tongue into his mouth and he felt the thrill go up' his back all over again. This was a truly passionate woman, perhaps the most passionate of the three. He felt very good and lay down oh her body heavily, not caring if his weight crushed her or not.
"Boy, are you ever heavy," she gasped. "I can hardly breathe."
"You don't need to breathe," he teased.
She choked a little and he lifted himself from her to let her get air. "Gee," she sighed. "How long do I have to wait to get some more of that?"
"Would you believe five minutes?" he asked, using the rather tired expression that people had been using for some time.
"I'd believe it if I saw you with something to prove it."
He moved off her. "Take .a look, baby," he told her, indicating his stiffening cock, still glistening with their love juice.
She looked down, drew in her breath and, purring like a kitten, reached for him and began to fondle him. Now it was his turn to purr like a kitten, and he was not at all surprised when she cried out and flung her body low on the bed, her red hair completely covering his abdomen.
He felt her warm lips circling him, felt her tugging at him and after a few moments of this, he was no longer purring like a kitten-he was more like an aroused, roaring lion.
CHAPTER 5
STRANGE THING. FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS Pete didn't see any sign of Sandra and her husband, nor did he see either Helen or Jeanie. Each time he drove to their apartment house they weren't in. (He had discovered by asking the super which apartment was Jeanie's.) It was on a Saturday afternoon that he came out the door of his place and ran into Sandra. She looked different, more composed and perhaps less childish than he had remembered her.
She smiled at him. "Hello, did you miss me? Harry and I have been in New York. A convention."
"Hello," he said cautiously. "How are you feeling?'
"Good." She seemed to be surprised by his question. "Did you get over being mad at me?"
He rubbed his chin nervously. Why was it she always made him nervous? "I was never mad at you, Sandy."
She seemed to ignore this. "While I was in New York I went to see a doctor," she said, and stopped.
"Oh?". He couldn't think of a suitable reply to her remark.
"He gave me a few shots, kind of straightened me out, I guess. Don't I look better?"
"You look very good," he said carefully, "Thank you." She turned and walked toward her door. "Take care of yourself, Pete."
"Sure. You do the same. I'm glad you're feeling well."
"Oh, I've been okay right a long." She smiled at him and disappeared into her apartment.
Pete felt odd. What kind of shots could the doctor have given her? He shook his head and left the building. He knew nothing about mental disease, if that was what she really had. He walked to the corner drugstore, bought a bottle of Scotch and returned home He proceeded to have a few snorts all by himself. About an hour later he had a fairly good load on, though he wasn't drunk.
He went to the phone, after looking up Helen's number, and dialed. There was no answer. He wondered if she and Jeanie might have left Flint. He hoped not, he needed those two girls, one of them at least. Either that, or he could have to go out and look up another babe somewhere, which was sometimes a great nuisance.
A knock came on the door and he frowned, thinking it would be Sandra. He hesitated quite awhile before going to the door. When he did, he discovered it wasn't Sandra, or her husband, but the fat guy called George. Jeanie's friend.
"Mr. Drake? May I come in for a few minutes?"
Pete stiffened. The look in the fat guy's eyes didn't seem friendly. Pete looked the man straight in the eye. "What, is it you want?" he asked coolly, flexing his muscles unconsciously.
The fat man attempted to step into the room, but
Pete caught him by the arm and made him remain in the doorway. "Just want to talk to you, don't want no trouble," George told him.
"All right." Pete released him, stepping out of the way.
The fat man walked in, wiped his face with a rather soiled handkerchief, worked his mouth around nervously. "I understand you took Jeanie to a motel couple of weeks ago."
Again Pete stiffened. "Who says so?"
The fat man sighed and dropped down onto the sofa. "You got a drink I can have? I need one bad."
Pete reluctantly got the bottle of Scotch and handed it to him. He gave him a glass, too. "Help yourself."
George drank a long one and wiped his thick lips. He sighed and burped at the same time. "Might as well admit it, Mr. Drake. I can't win against you. I'm middle-aged and fat. You want to take my woman, guess you can. I came here to ask you to lay off. Will you?"
What a hell of a thing to have to answer. "Why should I?" Pete said. What was the matter with this fool? A man didn't do a thing like this.
"I want to keep her; Mr. Drake. You're a young man. You can get all the women you like. I can't. Don't you understand?"
"Okay," Pete said. "I let you in. I've listened to you. Now get out."
"Come on, Mr. Drake, don't get mad. I only want you to leave my woman alone."
"I was out with her once. That doesn't mean I'm trying to take her away from you."
The fat man's face was flushed as he ran his hand through his thin, blondish hair. His blue eyes were watery and unpleasant to look at as he struggled to his feet, perspiring profusely. "All right, Mr. Drake, I'm glad to hear you aren't going to make any more passes at her. I'll say good-bye to you."
"Just a minute. I haven't promised you anything."
The fat man paused on the way to the door. "Thought you said you weren't going to take her away from me. Are you?"
Pete ignored his question. "Tell me something. Where is Helen?"
"She's gone away for a few days, vacation. She'll be back tonight or tomorrow, I think. But how about it? Are you going to let me have my woman or not?"
"Why the hell don't you put up a fight for her instead of begging me, mister?"
The fat man sighed. "Too old and too fat to fight. Thought if I asked you, you..." He broke off and walked out of the apartment.
Pete waited a minute, then went over and slammed the door. He felt irritable and needed a few more drinks to offset it. Lying down flat on the sofa, he reached for the bottle and uncapped it. He was about to take a drink when the door flew open and Sandra stood there. Pete swore. There was getting to be an epidemic of people coming to his door. He felt like telling her to beat it, but he couldn't be that rude to her.
"Pete," she said. "Hope you don't mind if I come in."
"Come in," he growled. "Close the door, please."
She did so, then walked over near the sofa. He saw she was wearing that same very short skirt she had worn a couple of weeks earlier. It revealed most of her legs and he was forced to admit they were just as lovely as ever. He took a drink and tried not to look at her face.
"That man who just left," she said. "I saw him."
"Yeah. What about him?"
Her hand flew to her throat. "Do you know him?" She placed an accent on the word "him".
"No. Not particularly. Why?"
Her face seemed to relax "Oh...no reason. I just wondered why he came to see you."
"Why should you?"
"What?"
Pete held his annoyance in. "I said, why should you wonder why some guy comes to see me?"
"Please...don't be angry with me again."
His face began to grow red. What the hell was the matter with her? Couldn't she tell he wasn't angry but only provoked at her for asking foolish questions?. "I'm not angry. I'm just sitting here having a few quiet drinks."
"In other words, you wish I'd leave." Her face looked strangely tight now. She appeared ready to cry.
"Oh, come off it. You don't have to leave. It's just that I'm in a bad mood, I guess."
I make you feel this way. I can tell."
"Please don't cry. You don't make me feel bad, Sandy."
"Yes, I do. I make everyone feel bad, sooner or later."
He got to his feet and reluctantly put his arm about her. He did it reluctantly because he was afraid touching him might stir desire in him, and it did exactly that. She cried out and buried her face on his chest. Her body shook and he began to feel like a fool. Hell, he was no woman comforter.
"Come on now," he urged. "Stop crying. How about a drink. Make you feel better."
She pulled away from him, wiped her eyes with her fists, smiled at him. "All right, Pete. Maybe a drink would do me a lot of good. Make it a big one, will you?"
He went to the kitchen, got a bottle of mix and fixed her a stout drink. She took the glass from him and sipped it, making a face.
"Too strong?" he inquired. "Want me to tame it down a bit?"
"It's all right. I'm not used to drinking."
He sat on the sofa and she sank down beside him quickly. Her thigh pressed eagerly against his and he knew he shouldn't have been nice to her-now she was wanting to be loved. He didn't want to make love to her; she was sick. Her head came down and rested on his shoulder as she put the glass down, placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed.
"Oh, I'm so happy when you're nice to me," she murmured.
Her dark hair had fallen down over one eye and she looked positively radiant. Her dark lashes curled down over her cheeks in an entrancing manner, but he scarcely noticed these aspects of her beauty; her skirt had crept very high on her legs and he could see her flesh. It caused a wild feeling of desire in him and it was all he could do to prevent himself from pushing her down on her back and going above her.
She was making little cooing sounds with her lips.
"Don't do that," he said sharply.
"Why not, darling?"
"And don't call me 'darling'. "
She squeezed his thigh hard. "But I love you. Why shouldn't I call you that?"
"Because I'm not your darling. You happened to be married."
"That didn't make any difference to you before. You got on top of me like you owned me...and I loved it."
"I think you'd better finish your drink and go home."
"Darling," she murmured, her eyes filled with a wild lust, "please, throw me down, crawl on top of me and own me again. Please?"
He pulled away from her, though he found it difficult. "Go back to your husband," he said roughly. "I want nothing more to do with you."
"I want to stay with you, Pete," she said softly. "Please let me stay. My husband isn't home anyway."
He leaned back on the sofa, reached for the bottle and took a drink. Damn it. How had he gotten himself in this fix with her? The only thing to do was to be mean to her; maybe she would finally get the point that he wanted nothing to do with her.
Or did he?
Before he could make a move she began to stroke the bulge in his crotch suggestively. He couldn't stand this, but he couldn't stop her, either. He closed his eyes and a moment later felt her tugging at his zipper. In another moment he felt the coolness of her hand about him, gently stroking him. He was as rigid now as he had ever been.
"I love to do this," she said softly. "But if you don't want me to..."
He grunted, saying nothing.
"If you don't want to love me, do you object if I love you, darling?" she asked tensely.
"Go," he said, growling it, meaning to get out of here.
She mistook his meaning and lowered her. head to him. Her lips came in contact with him and he thought he was going out of his mind with desire.
"You keep that up...," he muttered.
She interrupted him. Giggling a little, she bent her head again and he felt himself being encircled. Did every woman he knew want this from him? It looked that way. Well...who was he to forego the pleasure of it? He leaned back, keeping his eyes closed, and allowed her to take him swiftly.
When it was finished she bounded to her feet, ran to the door and left. He lay back savoring the pleasure she had given him but wondering if he ought to have his head examined. He had gone too far with her again, and now she was calling him darling and making the advances herself, although she had always done a certain amount of that.
He zipped himself and had another drink. Suddenly, and for no good reason, he began to laugh.
It was Sunday evening when he dressed and left the apartment with the idea of going to see Helen. Pete had always been crazy about women, but of late it seemed he was more so than ever. How many guys, he asked himself, have three beautiful women after him at the same time? The trouble with this, he had discovered, was that it wasn't as satisfying as a guy might think. Having them pursuing him robbed him of something, a certain amount of pleasure; it was man's deal to do the pursuing, not woman's. He wished all three of them were slightly less aggressive, that they would let him do the aggression bit.
Women, however, wouldn't let a guy do anything if they could help it. Certain women, that is. What a guy needed to do with this type of girl was to completely take over the job of aggression, to be more aggressive than they, to beat them to. the punch. With this in mind he pulled up in front of Helen's apartment house and cut the car motor. He went to her door and knocked loudly.
The door came open and he saw her standing there in her pajamas. Her hair was sUghtly mussed and he suspected she had been taking a nap. "Hi," he said lightly. "Where have you been, stranger?"
"Hello, Pete," she replied. "I've been away. I called you before I left, but you didn't answer your phone."
He thought she looked nervous and as he started to enter the room she caught hold of his arm. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeking the look in her eyes, a look that defied immediate description.
"Pete...don't be mad...but you can't come in right now. I-I have company. I'm sorry."
He felt the tide of anger rising in him. "I see. Okay." He glanced about the room. "I take it your company is in your bed. I don't see him anywhere in this room."
She bit her lips hard. "Please go and, Pete, don't be mad. Come back tomorrow."
He looked into her blue eyes. "Why should I be mad? I'm not your husband. If you want to have fun with some other guy, help yourself."
She said nothing, but looked down at the floor, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she did so.
His cheeks burning, Pete stepped back into the hall. "I'll see you, baby...sometime...and maybe."
"Please don't be that way, Pete. It's-it's only George in the bedroom. He's drunk. He came here and feel down. I put him in the bed to let him sleep it off."
"Why did you have to put him in your bed? Why not steer him across the hall to his own place?"
"The door was locked. I couldn't get him inside."
"Then tell me this. Why are you telling me to cut out?"
"I didn't want you to know he was here."
"Well, I know it now. Do you still insist that I leave?"
"We can't make love with him in the bed, Pete."
"I'll carry him out in the hall and dump him." Her eyes grew wide. "No, you can't do that. I won't let you."
"What the hell do you mean, you won't let me? I'll do it if I want to."
She shook her head. "You can't do that, Pete. You see, George is naked. He came here without any clothes."
"I see. .He's naked, your hair is mussed up and you've been lying on the bed with him. Right?"
"Well, what about it?" she flared. "You took Jeanie to a motel and had your fun."
"You mean you've been having fun with that drunken fat slob?"
She backed away from him and again brushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes. Her bosom was heaving. He didn't know if it was caused by anger or what. "I haven't done anything to George, nor he to me. I was sleepy, that's all, so I took a nap."
Pete strode past her and went to the bedroom door. Looking into the room, he saw the fat guy sprawled naked on the bed. There wasn't even a sheet on the bed. He turned and strode back to Helen. "Couldn't you even cover him up?"
She rubbed her behind as if recalling the other time he had spanked her, then she smiled at him. "Why are we fighting? I don't care about George. I happen to like you when you're nice to me."
"Get dressed," he ordered. "You're coming with me."
"No, I can't, Pete. I have to stay here. I'm expecting a phone call."
"The hell with it. Get some clothes on. We're going to my place."
.Her answer was to drop the lower part other pajamas, let them slide to the floor. She stepped out of them and went to the sofa and lay down. She looked up at him in an inviting manner. "Now...do you want to take me here and now or somewhere else?"
Pete glanced at her lower body and got an immediate hard-on. He knew she had won this round. He couldn't wait to take her somewhere else. Walking over close to her, he reached down and touched her pussy and drew in his breath. "Okay, baby. We?U stay here this time."
"Get on me, Pete. Once you do that you'll forget your anger over George."
"Just like that, eh?"
"Just like that. You see, I know what a passionate man you are."
Wild lust carne over him and he started to crawl on top of her. She gave him a shove and jumped to her feet, drawing on the pajama bottoms hastily just as the door opened and Jeanie Price walked in. Pete jumped, too, when he saw her. He cursed inwardly but managed to grin at Jeanie.
"WeU, you two," Jeanie said. "Did I interrupt something nice?" She made no move to leave, however. Instead she closed the door and stood with her back to it, staring at first one and then the other of them. Obviously, she was enjoying the scene.
"Yes, you did," Helen said. "But now that you're here I wish you'd take George home. He's drunk and passed out on my bed."
Jeanie didn't bat an eye. She simply smiled. "I suppose he's naked too. That's a trick of his, get drunk, take off his clothes and come over here, Pete."
"Well, get him out of here, trick or no trick. Pete and I want to be alone."
Jeanie walked across the room to the bedroom door and looked in. She turned to them, grinning widely now. "Boy, does he look terrible lying there like that without a stitch on."
Pete felt strangely uncomfortable. He had never seen any woman so damned casual about men as these two, unless it was Sandra, of course, but she wasn't well and it could be expected that she would be pretty far out.
"How about it, Jeanie," he heard himself say. "You going to take your guy out of here or do I?"
"Oh," she said. "You'll have to carry him. He's too heavy for me."
"All right. Go and get a robe or something and put it on him."
"Just carry him naked," she replied.
"No thanks. Get a robe. Hurry up."
Jeanie shrugged. "If I were a man I wouldn't mind carrying another man naked."
"You aren't a man," Pete said. "Get the robe."
Jeanie walked to the door, her buttocks swaying outrageously. She stopped, turned around and looked at both of them lustfully. "Why can't I say? I'll take my clothes off and the three of us-can have a ball." Without waiting for either of them to agree, she began removing her clothing.
"Stop that, damn you, Jeanie," a voice said from the bedroom door.
Pete glanced at George quickly, saw he had a sheet wrapped around him. He also had a small gun in his hand.
"George!" Helen cried sharply. "Where did you find my gun? Stop pointing that thing at Pete."
"Not until he gets out of here," George said thickly. "You...Drake...beat it or by heaven I'll put a slug in you."
There was nothing for Pete to do at the moment but pretend to walk out. The man was drunk and ugly. Pete knew instinctively that there was nothing the fat man would like better than to kill him.
Without uttering a word, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door. He made a pretense of walking away by stamping his feet on the floor a few times and gradually making the sound softer as if he were actually going down the hall to the stairs. He stopped this after a moment and listened. He could heard their muffled voices inside the room. He waited a full minute and then burst open the door and dived headlong across the room. He struck the fat guy in the stomach and the man went down flat on his back, all fight going out of him immediately. The gun fell harmlessly to the floor. Pete kicked it away and yanked George to his feet. The man staggered and Pete shoved him over on the bed hard. The fat man lay there looking scared and fairly sober now.
"Take it easy, Drake," he muttered. "Wasn't gonna shoot you. Just wanted to get rid of you."
Pete reached over and slapped his face. "I ought to bust your head open, fella. You ever pull a gun on me again, I will."
The fat guy seemed to find courage. "You're a lousy bastard!" he screamed. "You think you can take anybody's woman and do what you please with her."
Pete slapped him again, harder. "You are out of your mind, fatso." He was about to slap the man again when he felt a hard object being pressed against his back. He knew it was the gun.
"All right, Mr. Drake," Jeanie said from behind him. "Now you can leave. Get out of here or I'll shoot you."
He turned around partway. "Take that gun out of my back."
"Not until you get out of here, Pete." she said firmly. "I won't let you slap him around. He's an old man compared to you."
"You're kiddin', " Pete said.
"I'm not kiddin', " she said positively.
"This isn't your place. You've got no right to force me to leave. If Helen wants me to, I will."
"You'd better go, Pete," Helen said quietly from the doorway.
He shrugged. "Okay, girls. Have it your way. You want to play with this fat punk, you want to protect the old man, help yourself." And this time he did walk out of the apartment and didn't return. He strode angrily to his car and headed for the downtown section. Maybe he could find some action that didn't include the protection of fat old men. The only thing he could conclude from the girls' actions was that George must have a considerable amount of money. More than-likely he was paying the bills for both of the women.
CHAPTER 6
HE FOUND THAT LITTLE OR NOTHING WAS really happening around town that night although he went to several bars and looked for women. The only ones he saw worth bothering with seemed to be already tied up with someone else. He had quite a few drinks and finally returned to his apartment in disgust. He undressed, took a shower and went to bed. He tried to sleep, but sleep was not forthcoming, so he got a book and read for nearly two hours. Feeling a bit sleepy then, he turned off the bed-lamp and lay on his side. After a time he fell asleep.
He had no idea of how long he slept, but when his eyes fluttered open he felt he wasn't alone in the room. He started to switch on the light but then changed his mind.
He lay there breathing evenly and straining his ears to hear any sound. He felt something touch him and straightened up quickly. "Who's there?" he barked, and turned on the light. A black cat was sitting on the foot of his bed peering at him. "For Pete's sake," he muttered, "where did you come from, cat?"
He got out of bed, picked up the cat and carried it into the front room. His outer door stood ajar and he wondered about this. Had he forgotten to lock the door again? He tried to remember if he had or not, but wasn't certain one way or the other. A few drinks too many made a guy forgetful. He carried the cat into the hall and put it down. "Scat," he said, hoping it would make the animal run away from his door, but the cat stood there looking up at him. "Beat it, cat," he growled. Glancing down the hall, he saw that' Sandra's door was also standing ajar. The cat might be hers. "The hell with it," he muttered. "She can find her own cat." He reentered his place and started to close the door.
"Pete," she called to him. He opened the door and saw her.
"Hi, Sandy," he said shortly. "That your cat?"
She was picking the cat up as he spoke. "Yes. He's a bad boy, ran away."
"Your cat is pretty clever about opening doors," he said evenly as he looked at her. She was wearing a shortie nightdress and was in her bare feet. She looked sexy and pretty, her dark hair hanging down around her bare shoulders. The nightdress was cut out in front, obviously to make the wearer look more desirable. The effect was good. Pete decided it worked-she did look desirable. Her skin was flawless and firm-looking. It had just the right shade of tan to it; it wasn't overly tanned the way some women allowed their skin to become during the summer months.
She didn't reply to his remark but changed the subject. "Pete, Harry is out of town tonight. Want to come in and have a few drinks with me? I'm--I'm quite lonely."
Pete looked at her luscious breasts; he could see them through the thin nightdress and it did something nice to him. He grinned. "Tell me something. How in hell do you manage to unlock my door? You got a key to it?"
"Of course not. I didn't unlock your door." She bit her lips. "Want to come in and have a drink?"
"Why not," he said, throwing caution to the winds. Hell, he had made love to her before, why not do it again? "Lead the way."
She smiled happily and they entered her place. She put the cat down and then startled him by saying, "That man who came to see you, the one I asked you about-he is my stepfather."
"George? Oh, I remember now. Your stepfather's name was George. What...? " He stopped.
"He's the man who forced me to marry Harry."
"What do you mean he forced you to marry Harry?"
"My stepfather got me pregnant when I was seventeen. To keep himself out of trouble he forced me to sleep with Harry. Harry had enough manhood then to...make love to me a few times. Then, my stepfather accused Harry of making me pregnant. Told Harry he had to marry me. Harry didn't want to, but he was frightened, so he did. The baby came, but it was stillborn. I-"
Obviously, she was looking for sympathy. He didn't give her any. "Seventeen-year-old girls who let their stepfathers lay them are bound to get caught up sooner or later," he said flatly.
Pier eyes flashed momentarily, but he could see she was struggling not to make a sharp retort, which pleased him. Possibly, this meant she-wasn't as ill as she had been; he-was fairly certain that two weeks before she would have become angry at him for his remark. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had; it was not his place to make cracks about her for what she had done. He had said the thing to find out what her reaction would be.
"We all make mistakes, Pete," she said calmly.
"Sure. I know that. I just made one."
She shrugged. "That's okay. I had it coming. I was a damned fool when I was a teen-ager. All I could think of was getting made."
You haven't changed much, was his thought. "You're no different from anyone else. That's all most people think about these days. Nothing wrong with that. Sex is great fun. It's more than fun, it's a necessity. What the hell am I making a speech for?" he added, grinning.
"I like to hear you talk, Pete. You're smart."
He shook his head. "No, you're wrong. I'm not very smart. I'm just a guy."
"But a very nice guy."
"Thanks, but tell me something. How come your stepfather is here in Flint at the same time you are?"
"He owns a lot of auto stock, or something. This is an auto town, isn't it?"
"How come you and your husband moved here?"
"Similar reason. Harry has certain business interests here."
He hesitated at asking the next question, but did so. "Your mother. Where is she?"
Sandra moved away from him. "She's dead. A year ago."
He went to her and turned her about, placing his hands on her bare shoulders. "Your tone sounded odd when you said that. Why?"
She looked away from him, then straight into his eyes. "Because I think George killed her."
"What do you mean? Murdered her?"
"Not in a way that could be proved. He let her drive the car on a mountain road knowing the brakes were no good. I think he did it intentionally, but I could never prove it. He had...another woman on the string, girl named Jeanie Price."
Pete nodded. "I've...met her."
"My stepfather is a first class louse. He'd do anything to get what he wants. He had no regard for anything or anybody except himself. I hate him."
"I don't blame you."
"Let's not talk about him, Pete. Let's just have some fun."
"You said you had a bottle? Where is it?" Pete pulled his pajama bottoms up a bit; they seemed to want to fall down on his legs.
She evidently saw this for she smiled. "Let 'em fall, Pete. I like seeing you in the nude."
He laughed. "I never saw any girl like you before. You say what you think, don't you?"
She got a bottle and handed it to him. "I just say what I feel like saying. Can't help it, Pete. I'm oversexed, I guess, and it makes me talk this way."
"I like women who are oversexed, if there is such a thing."
"Do you like me?"
"Y-yes."
"You aren't sure, though, are you."
"I like you, Sandy." Damn it, why had he said that?
"Please take a drink of that stuff and give it to me. I feel like getting high with you. Do you mind?"
Pete drank from the bottle and handed it back to her. "I don't mind," he said, smiling.
She drank, too, and put the bottle down. "You know what I'd like to do, Pete?"
He thought he did but wanted to hear her say it. "No. What?"
"What I did to you before."
"You really liked that, didn't you?"
"It made me awfully hot...for a long time afterward."
"Wouldn't you rather take me in the regular manner?"
"Oh, I like that, too. Don't misunderstand me. I love it any way I can get it. I told you. I'm oversexed."
Pete sat down on the sofa and studied her trim, sexy body. She saw him doing this and giggled, then began to move her hips about in a seductive manner. "Hey," he said. "Bring that body over here. You're too far away from me."
She ran to him eagerly and sat on his lap. She kissed his mouth hungrily, wetly, but pulled away from him a moment later. "I'd better lock the door."
"Thought you said your husband was out of town."
She didn't look at him directly. "I did say so...and he is out of town."
Pete became somewhat suspicious. "Are you sure of that?"
She locked the door, then came back and sat on his lap. "Of course I'm sure, Pete. He's gone to Cleveland."
He placed his arms about her and squeezed her body. She was warm and soft and smelled nice. She kissed him again and this time he held her there until he was almost out of breath.
"You know how to kiss," he remarked, grinning.
"Does it make you hard when I kiss you that way?" she asked eagerly, her eyes filled with lust. "Yes. Very much so."
"May I see."
"Help yourself."
She snaked her hand inside his pajamas and pulled his prick out. He was very rigid and she shivered when she touched him. In fact, he shivered, too, but it was an enjoyable shiver. "I don't care what you do to me," she murmured, "but you drive me crazy."
"Ditto," he said tensely. It was true; she did drive him damned near crazy.
She surprised and disappointed him by releasing her grasp on him. She got off his lap and walked out of the room. "Be back in a minute," she said, just before leaving and without looking at him. She returned after a few moments with a yardstick in her hands. Coming close to him, she pulled down her shorties and handed him the yardstick.
"Whip me, please," she begged. "Hit me with the stick."
Pete was dumfounded. "What did you say?"
She frowned. "I said, beat me with the stick. I want you to beat me."
Angrily he broke the yardstick in two and threw it to the floor. Getting to his feet, he gave her a hard slap on the buttocks and walked to the door and unlocked it.
"Pete...where are you going?"
"I'm going to bed," he said, filled with disgust at her. "If you want to play the game of weirdoes find yourself someone else. That's not for me."
"But I need it."
"Whip yourself then. I won't do it." He opened the door.
"Pete," she cried. "Don't be like that. It's just my way of telling you I want you to be my master."
"Sorry, riot interested. Good night, baby."
"Why you insufferable louse! Who do you think you are, you sanctimonious bastard?"
"I don't know, but I'm not sanctimonious," he said quietly. "Neither am I a weirdo."
He stalked from the room, slamming the door after him. Going back to his place, he locked the door securely and went to bed. He didn't waken until somewhat later and he did so with the feeling that he wasn't alone again. He couldn't hear or see anything-the room was dark, of course-but he could sense someone's presence.
"All right, Sandy," he said sleepily. "I know you're here. How did you get in this time?" He reached up for the light but couldn't turn it on. At the same time he heard running footsteps. "Come back here," he yelled at her, though he couldn't see her. The footsteps stopped in the other room. "Sandy," he yelled. "It's okay, come back." He tried the light again but found the bulb missing from it. He swore. Getting out of bed, he bumped his way into the front room, almost knocking over the bed stand. "Hey," he called in the darkness. "Turn on the light."
The door flew open and a figure disappeared into the hallway. This took him so much by surprise that he didn't see the figure clearly. However, it didn't look like Sandra. His heart thumping hard, he ran to the door and yanked it open. There was no one in the hall. He swore again and returned to his bed. This time he didn't go to sleep for more than an hour. When he again wakened it was bright in the room and he got up and shaved and showered. He started to get dressed when it dawned on him he didn't have to go to work today because the painters were doing the offices.
He sighed a bit and put his pajamas back on. "I'm getting forgetful," he muttered. "Too much has been going on lately."
The first thing he happened to notice in the front room was a cigarette butt in a certain ash tray. The reason he noticed it was that he never used this ash tray. It was a curio and not intended to hold ashes. Frowning, he picked up the butt and looked at it.
It wasn't the brand of cigarettes that Sandra smoked, when she smoked, which wasn't often. He examined the cigarette and saw it was an English brand. Still frowning, he put it in his pajama pocket. Someone he did not know had been in his place, apparently. He knew of no one who smoked English cigarettes.
A shot-in-the-dark thought occurred to him. It was preposterous, perhaps, but he had to check it. He put on a robe and walked across the hall and knocked on Sandra's door. The door came open and he saw Harry March standing there.
"Good morning," Pete said. "I seem to be out of cigarettes. Wonder if I could ass one off you?"
Harry March didn't change expression, didn't speak, but pulled out a pack and Pete took out one cigarette. "Thanks," he said. "Appreciate it."
He turned and walked back inside his apartment and examined the cigarette. It was identical with the one he had found in the ash tray.
CHAPTER 7
PETE WAS NO COOK, BUT HE WAS HUNGRY AND instead of going out to eat breakfast, as he usually did, decided to fry a couple of eggs and make coffee. He got the eggs done without burning them too badly, and the coffee, while not great, was drinkable.
After he had eaten, he dressed and left the apartment, going out the front way instead of the rear, as he so often did. He reached the sidewalk just as a black Pontiac drove up and stopped, "Pete," a woman's voice called to him.
He stopped, turned around and saw Helen getting out of the car. She came to him and he took in her lovely appearance. She was wearing a short skirt and a sweater that revealed her bosom nicely. Her long, blonde hair was parted neatly in the middle and had been brushed carefully. (He supposed that was what she had done to it-it didn't look like a professional hairdo.)
"Hi," he said shortly, remembering how she had ordered him to leave her place. "What's on your mind?"
"Please, Pete, don't be annoyed with me. Come and get in the car. We can ride around while I talk to you."
"Suppose I don't want to talk to you."
"Then you can listen," she said, and smiled nicely.
He had nothing to do today, so why not go with her? It was silly being annoyed at her. "AH right," he said. "Let's go."
They climbed into her car and she drove off, neither of them saying much until they had reached the country. She had previously turned off the free-way and now they were on a narrow side road. She slowed the car down and finally brought it to a halt near a small picnic area. She looked the spot over briefly and drove the car into the little park and cut the motor.
"There," she said. "Ideal place to talk. No one else around."
He plunged right in with it. "You don't want to talk-you want me to lay you, baby."
She laughed. "Are you reading my mind?"
Pete reached over and squeezed her leg. "Not very hard to do that, Helen."
She laughed again and fumbled in her purse. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, she nervously offered one to him. He took the pack and turned it over in his hand.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I never knew you smoked English cigarettes." The brand was the same as the one he had found in his apartment.
"I don't. A man came to see George, left his pack. George gave them to Jeanie who gave them to me."
"I see." He returned the pack to her and she lighted one, not 'waiting for him to do it for her. "Take a few drags on that thing and throw it away."
"Why, Pete, are you ordering me around?" She smiled when she asked it.
"Yes, One more drag and give it a toss out the window."
She did so and turned to look into his eyes. "Have you got hot pants or something?"
"Always have," he said, and ran his hand beneath her skirt. He felt the smooth skin of her thigh and it excited him. He pulled her closer to him, placing his other arm about her neck. Kissing her lips wetly, he ran his hand higher on her thigh, allowing it to rest on her box. He couldn't feel the skin of it through her panties, of course, so he inserted his hand under them. Now he could touch her there, could feel the furriness of it.
"Pete," she said softly, "do you think this is wise? A car might drive up, maybe the cops or someone like that."
"Hell with 'em," he said recklessly. The truth was he was as rigid as he could be.
She giggled. "There's something about getting made in a car that thrills me. Haven't done it since I was a teen-ager."
"Think you'd better drive the car behind that clump of bushes," he told her, changing his mind a little and not being quite so reckless. "It would be awful if we were interrupted at the wrong moment."
She giggled again and started the motor, pulling the car around a tree carefully and stopping it in back of the tall bushes. "There, how's that? Can we be seen from the road?"
"Not by a casual glance anyway."
She cut the motor and leaned over against him.
Once again he placed his hand inside her panties and worked his fingers a bit. She sighed and spread her legs far apart. "There's a certain place you touched," she said, straining for breath. "Man, it felt wonderful."
He played with her there for a while and then removed her panties and got down on his knees in front of her. He was about to make the insertion (with her clinging fiercely to him) when he heard the sound of a car motor. He cursed and straightened up. A car was pulling into the picnic area. Pete could barely see the top of it as it came to a halt. He swore again and sat up on the seat.
"Of all the lousy luck," she muttered. "Why can't people mind their own business."
"They'll go away after a time. All we have to do is sit here and wait."
She seemed to pay no attention to this. "Pete, I was really scared when that fool George pulled my gun on you. He was drunk and mean. He would have shot you."
"He couldn't have very well," he said dryly. "I knocked the gun away from him. You mean Jeanie would have plugged me."
"I was surprised at her doing that, grabbing up the gun and pointing it at you. I guess she was afraid you might hurt George. She doesn't want anything to...happen to him."
"So I gathered," he said even more dryly. "No use in losing a guy with lots of loot to spend."
Helen's eyes took on a strange glint momentarily. "Well, what's wrong with being loyal to a man?"
"Nothing."
She just looked at him.
"Seems to me you were loyal to him, too. You told me to beat it when she held the gun on me. Have you forgotten? How come you weren't loyal to me?"
"I was confused," she said, and looked away from him. A moment later she said, "Please, let's don't discuss that any more. While we're waiting for these people to leave, why not put your hand under my skirt again? I'd like that better, much better." She placed her blonde head on his shoulder and added. "You can make me have an orgasm with your finger, you know. Why waste time?"
He laughed. "You're one of the most oversexed girls I've ever known; There's nothing you won't do, is there?"
Her blue eyes were wide now. "No. I don't think so. Why restrict yourself if you want it real bad?"
"You have a good point there."
"How come you never married, Pete?" She placed her leg over his, her skirt creeping high and exposing most of her thighs.
"I don't know. I guess I like to play the field too well."
"Me, too. If I were ever to get married I'd like to have seven husbands, one for each day of the week."
They laughed together. "I doubt if you'd find seven men willing to share you," he told her. "You're too desirable. A guy-likes to have his own woman. He doesn't want to share her with some other guy."
She sighed. "Yes, I know that. Men are funny."
"So are women," he said defensively.
"But in a different way."
"In a different way, yes."
"How old were you when you took your first girl?"
"Sixteen, I think."
"Honestly?"
"I think so."
"Was she any good."
"I thought so, at the time."
"You really liked it, huh?"
"I really liked it."
"You know how old I was my first time."
"How would I know that."
"I was thirteen."
"Kind of young to start, wasn't it?" She shook her head. "Lots of girls get it even younger."
"Funny. I couldn't locate any of them when I was thirteen."
"That's because boys don't know how at thirteen. They treat a girl with what they call respect, whether she wants it or not."
"Boys are constantly being told to do that, you know."
"Sure. I know that. Too bad. Toobadfor the boys, I mean. The girls, too. Fortunately, not all the boys pay attention to what they've been told."
Pete grinned. "Interesting, but all this talk isn't getting rid of our company in the other car."
She paid no attention to this, either. "Pete, how old are you?"
"Thirty."
She bit her lips. "Have you ever thought what it would be like to rape a very young girl, say thirteen?"
"No. I don't think so. A girl of thirteen would leave me cold. I prefer a grown woman to a kid."
"Do most guys feel that way?"
"I don't know. Some do, some don't, I suppose."
"I wonder what it would be like to be raped by a young boy," she murmured.
"You're kidding."
"No, I'm not. I really am curious. I'll bet it would really be something exciting."
Pete drew in his breath. "If you really want to find out," he said dryly, "I imagine you could arrange for it to happen."
She laughed and patted his leg. "I'm just indulging in sexual fantasy. I wouldn't want that to happen. I'd probably get all torn up."
He doubted that she would run away from it if it happened or put up much of a fight. It wouldn't do to put this into words, however. There was no use in offending her. Possibly it would offend her. "The car," he observed, "is still there. Maybe they brought a basket lunch."
"I don't hear any sounds," she told him. "They're very quiet on the other side of those bushes." She giggled. "Wouldn't it be something if it was a guy and a gal and they know we're here and are hoping we'll leave."
Pete laughed softly. "It could be something like that. Maybe I should take a sneak look at them."
She pressed her hand on his leg. "No, don't, please. Stay here. They're bound to leave sooner or later and then you can make love to me."
"You ever think about anything else?" he inquired good-naturedly.
Again she giggled. "Not if I can help it."
He ran his hand up her leg. "How does that feel, baby?"
She sighed. "Feels good. Would feel better if you'd go farther with it."
"I'd better not. Might be cops in that other car."
"Yes, I know. Damn the cops."
He shrugged. "Light me one of your English cigarettes, will you?"
She did so, handing it to him. He took a couple of drags on it and snubbed it out, making a face. "Got perfume or something in it. Sickening. Sissy cigarette."
"I think so, too."
Pete ran his hand over her leg a bit more and then withdrew it. There was no point in getting himself all bothered and then not being able to do anything about it. He would wait till the other car had gone.
"Pete," she said, apparently not noticing that he had stopped caressing her, "you're an insurance man, aren't you?"
"Yes." He was surprised. As near as he could recall, he had never told her what business he was in.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about in the first place. Jeanie wants to take out a policy on George. Can she?"
"Life insurance?" he asked carefully.
"Y-yes. Can she do that?"
"You mean without his knowledge?"
Helen hesitated. "I think so. Is it...I mean, can she do it?"
"Yes."
"Some states you can't. Right."
"Right."
"Do you have to know why, your company, I mean?"
"We'll make certain inquiries, yes."
She laughed nervously. "What a gruesome thought I just had. I suppose if someone were intending to...murder someone...then-well, I don't know what I'm saying, do I?"
"I don't know. Don't you?"
She patted his knee. "Oh, the hell with it. I'm not interested in what Jeanie does. I'm interested in you."
I'll bet, he thought. Aloud he said, "I think they've started the motor, the other car."
They both listened and the car had been started. A moment later it began to pull out of the park. Then it came to a complete stop again and the driver cut the motor. Both Pete and Helen swore.
"Maybe we'd be better off going somewhere else," she suggested.
"We can't get out the drive until the other car leaves."
"I'm going to take a look at them," she told him, and got out of the car quietly.
He watched her creep close to the bushes and peered over them. She stood absolutely motionless for a long time. Then she came back to the car, her eyes filled with more lust than he had ever seen in them. "Man," she whispered. "They're at it, no kiddin'."
"Making love?"
"Yes. A young kid and girl. She's sitting on his lap. Wow!" Helen began to giggle.
Pete grinned. "Better get in the car. You'll lose your mind if you watch that."
She went around the car and climbed in breathlessly. "But what a nice way to lose your mind."
"Yeah," he said, his pulse quickening. The truth was, he wasn't above taking a peek at them himself but didn't want to admit it. "Maybe," he went on, "we can start something of our own. What do you think?"
"Wait awhile."
He was astonished. This was the first time she had ever said anything like this when it came to indulging in sex. "Okay, we'll wait, if you say so." Pete was let down.
"Hey, don't look that way. I just meant I want to think about what I just saw. Man, it's exciting to see someone else."
Pete said nothing. He didn't yet care to admit that even he had a certain desire for the practice of voyeurism, although every man had, whether he admits it or not.
"I've changed my mind," she told him. "Let's do it...now."
"Just like that, eh?" He was slightly irked at her for some reason. "You're ready, so let's do it. What if I'm not ready?"
A strange look came over her face. "Oh, I thought you were anxious to get started. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound bossy."
He said nothing because the other car's motor had been started again. A moment later he knew the reason for it. He could just barely see the police cruiser that had turned in to the park drive. The other car started to pull out onto the highway. Pete heard the acceleration of the car and knew it was a sports job by the roar of the motor. The police car followed the other and both disappeared from view.
"That's one way to get rid of company," he observed. "The trouble is, the cops may have seen us, too, and in that case they'll be back to investigate."
"PuU around the bush and park where you're supposed to."
"Good idea." He drove the car around the bushes and stopped it on the driveway. He shut off the motor.
"Put your arm about me, Pete. I love the feel of your arm."
He placed his arm over her shoulder and drew her close to him. She put her head on his shoulder as she had done ear Her and immediately he felt the hard-on coming. Apparently, she sensed this, for she touched him lightly with her hand. He stiffened his body and she began to massage him through his pants.
"Unzip me, baby," he said urgently.
She did so and removed him and began to run her hand up and down. He couldn't stand much of this and was glad when she stopped it. He wasn't glad when he saw the cause of her stopping. The police car had drawn in behind them and a young cop was getting out. Pete zipped himself quickly and she pulled away from him. They waited for the cop and it was only a a second before he had bent over and was inspecting the rear of the car as well as the two front seat occupants.
"I don't see a lunch basket," the cop said. "Taking a rest?"
"Yes," Pete said. "Anything wrong with that?"
"Not a thing," the cop said. "Were you here when we chased the other car out?"
Pete considered his answer briefly. "No."
The young cop grinned. "Okay, you seem all right to me." He left and walked back to the cruiser and got in. There was another cop driving and Pete and Helen watched them casually as the car pulled away and disappeared.
"Whew," Helen said. "I thought sure he'd say he recognized the car as being here before."
"He did. He just didn't know what .to say about it."
"Well...we aren't breaking any law, are we."
"Not right now."
She sighed. "Oh, Pete...you mean we're going to?"
He nodded and drove in back of the bushes and stopped the car. Reaching in beneath her skirt, he drew her panties down, climbed between her legs and made a swift, brutal insertion.
She squealed. "I'd say you're correct, Pete. We're gonna break the law. Right?"
"Right," he grunted, and thrust it in all the way.
"Give it to me, darling," she breathed. "All of it."
CHAPTER 8
THE THREE WOMEN WHO HAD "COME INTO HIS life" seemed to have the capacity for disappearing all at once. Once again two weeks passed without Pete seeing Sandra, Helen or Jeanie. He was beginning to suspect all three had left town at the same time and quite possibly together. The coincidence was strong; He dismissed this as being foolishness, though he knew that Sandra was aware of the existence of Jeanie, he didn't know if Helen or Jeanie knew Sandra. They more than-likely didn't. Pete knew that Harry March and George knew one another-Sandra had told him this-so there could be a connection between the three women.
Pete was at home on a Friday night with a bottle. Repeatedly, he had tried to get in touch with Helen or Jeanie but to no avail. He had also gone to the March apartment door several times and knocked, but no one had come to open up. At the moment, he was lying fully dressed on the sofa in his front room. It occurred to him that he hadn't been back to the nightclub where he had first met Helen the night she had had the spat' with her friend. He sat up, rubbed his chin, and wondered if he ought to pay a visit to the place. Maybe he could pick up a-likely looking broad and bring her home with him. It seemed worth the try.
He got to his feet, stretched his arms high above his head and yawned. He was bored to hell and gone. Five minutes later he was climbing into his car and starting the motor. When he arrived in the downtown area, he parked and walked a block to the Kit Cat Club. He entered the place and was given a table at the rear. The show was in progress and he watched it idly while a waiter took his order. He had two drinks before the show was finished and was now more bored than ever.
"Hi there," a. feminine voice said close to his ear.
He glanced up to see a blonde with short hair standing near. There was an open invitation in her eyes. He grinned, got to his feet, gestured. "Join me?"
That was all it required. She smiled and sat down at the table, never taking her eyes from his. The club wasn't the most well-lighted room he had ever seen. It was difficult to guess the woman's age. It could have been thirty, it could have been forty-five-Pete didn't care too much what it was-he wanted something feminine to talk to, to look at.
"What's your name?" he asked, after giving her his own.
She kept the fixed smile on her face. "Emily."
"What are you drinking?"
"I'm not. Not really. I mean I've had too many already. Say..." She leaned over the table. "Don't think me bold, but wouldn't you like to get out of here and go some place?"
He saw the look in her eyes and recognized it. Standing up, he pulled her chair out for her and she got to her feet. "All right. Come on," he said, and steered her toward the door. The waiter came running up and Pete paid his bill and tipped the guy. The woman took his arm and they left the club and walked the block to his car, neither of them speaking much. They got in the car and Pete turned on the lights and looked at her.
" My place?" he asked.
"I don't mind," she said, and squeezed his arm.
This was about as easy a pickup as he had ever made. "Good," he said. "I like to hear a woman talk that way."
She laughed. "I should imagine you do, being a man."
"I do," he said, and started to move the car away from the cub.
"I've seen you before, Mr. Drake."
"Is that so? Where?"
"At the Kit Cat. About six weeks ago. I saw you leave with a blonde girl."
"You have a good memory. You go there often?"
"I've been at the club just about every night for six weeks."
He glanced at her legs, noting how short her skirt was, how shapely her legs were. "You must like the place."
"Not particularly. You won't believe this, I was waiting for you to come back."
Pete was amused. "You're kiddin'. "
"No. I'm not kidding. I was waiting for you to return."
"Why?"
The blonde laughed in a low-pitched sort of way. "Let's say I liked your looks."
"Thank you. I don't believe you." The car was now moving along in the traffic stream.
"It's the truth. I thought you'd never come back to the place. I even asked the waiters if they knew you. They didn't."
--"I've been there only twice now," Pete said. "I still don't believe you."
The blonde laughed again. "I don't expect you to. It does sound far-fetched. I kept hoping I'd see you again."
Pete grinned. "Well, you have," He drove along without speaking for several minutes when the apartment house came into view, turned into the rear parking lot. "Here we are, baby, My place."
They entered the building and still without speaking much, went to his apartment. Pete unlocked the door, ushering her in with a mock bow.
She looked about. "So this is where you live."
"Yes. My bachelor quarters, as they say."
The blonde threw her purse on the sofa, stood with her hands of hips, still looking the place over carefully. "Lot of women bit the dust here, I'll bet."
Pete laughed and got a bottle and poured two drinks. "I wouldn't say that." He handed one glass to her.
"Here's to a sexy evening," she said, raising her glass to her lips.
"I'll drink to that," he returned, and did drink to it. He suspected she was at least forty years old but didn't care. She had no wrinkles, no ugly fat. Her flesh looked firm and youthful. Her skin was good, clear, unmarked, and he had an idea this woman knew a great deal about what it was all about.
She drank,-too, and put her glass down. "As I said, I've had too much of this stuff already. If I drink any more I'll pass out and then you could take me without my evening knowing it."
"Don't think I'd enjoy that," Pete said, wondering .if he meant this.
"Are you a sexy man?" she asked bluntly.
"Yes, or so I've been told."
"By a great many women, I suppose."
"A few."
"I know how you bachelors operate. You've got your prick in some female seven nights a week and hell on Sundays."
Pete laughed so hard he choked. This woman was highly amusing. He decided then and there that he was going to like her. She wasn't a bit reticent about her speech, and he found this very much to his liking. "Hardly that," he said, his face red from all the laughing.
She lost no time. She lay down flat on the sofa and looked up at him, her skirt having crept high on her lets. She noticed this and pulled one leg up deliberately, the better, apparently, to reveal her body to him.
"Well?" she asked.
Just like that, no bones about it. Pete had ceased to laugh and choke and now he walked to the sofa and sat down beside her. "You're quite a gal," he said softly. "I think I like you."
She patted his hand. "Come off it. You like everything that's female and not too ugly."
He shook his head. "No, you're wrong there. Not everything. Some dames give me a pain."
"The mouthy ones, I'll bet."
"Right." He grinned. "How did you know that?"
"You look like the type."
"What type is that?"
"The smart type."
"Flattery will get you anything," he said, grinning. She sighed, studied his eyes, dropped a bomb.
"Will it get you to lie down on top of me?"
He laughed again. "That doesn't require flattery. Your looks are sufficient."
She began to unbutton her blouse and when it was done, she sat up and pulled it off. She wasn't wearing a bra and her large breasts tumbled out in full view. Pete looked at her in something approaching amazement. She was so damned deliberate about every move.
"Okay, Mr. Drake. Here I am, ready and witting to be made."
"You don't waste any time," he said softly. "I like that, too."
"Makes it easier for you, doesn't it?"
"A little too easy, maybe."
"Oh...you want me to play hard to get?"
"No."
She frowned slightly. "Make up your mind."
He had no chance to say anything back to her right then because someone had knocked on his door. He swore softly, looked at Emily, looked at the door. "Cover yourself. I'll get rid of them."
"Them?" she asked. "You mean, you usually have more than one woman coming here at a time?"
Pete smiled. "Just a manner of speaking."
"Get rid of her," Emily said. "I was here first."
"All right," Pete said.
He went to the door, opened it and was startled, "Sandra," he said. "Thought you were out of town." The truth was, he was somewhat embarrassed.
Sandra didn't answer him. She was staring over his shoulder and evidently saw the other woman. Sandra's face turned white. "What's with you?" he asked sharply, but she turned and, uttering a little cry, ran into her apartment across the hall. He stood there, feeling strange. He finally closed the door.
Hell, there was no law that said he had to confine his activities to Sandra. Even she ought to know that, and after all she was a married woman and not his girl.
He turned about and saw Emily putting on her blouse. She was up on her feet, a set expression on her face. She grabbed up her purse and came over close to him. "Some other time, Mr. Drake," she said coolly. "I've changed my mind."
Before he could stop her she had stepped into the hall and closed the door. Pete started to go after her but decided he wouldn't. The hell with her if she wanted to take off just like that with no explanation.
"I'll be damned," he muttered. "The world is getting crazier every day."
He picked up the bottle, sat down and began to drink heavily. Nutty, damned women. They were all fouled up.
He must have fallen asleep and slept for some time, for when he sat up he had the feeling that a lot of time had passed. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was one o'clock. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, remembering the strange scene with the two women. Both of them acted as if they'd seen ghosts. Thinking about them caused him to have an erection, which did nothing but annoy him. What was the use of it if there was no girl about the place. He got to his feet on an impulse and walked across the hallway. The door to Sandra's stood ajar. He looked in and saw her with a glass in her hand. Her husband wasn't in evidence. Pete drew a breath and pushed the door all the way open. She glanced up, her lips parted, but said nothing.
"All right," he said. "I've had enough suspense.
Who was the woman? I mean, do' you know her?"
Sandra took a quick swallow of her drink, her face getting red now instead of white. "W-what?" she faltered.
"You heard me. Do you know that woman?"
She nodded. "My mother."
Pete felt his scalp crawling. "But you told me your mother was dead. You said she had been killed in a car accident. You even accused your stepfather of plotting to kill her."
"She is my mother. I was led to believe she was dead. Obviously, she's still very much alive."
"You don't seem to be thrilled at finding this out."
"Why should I be? I always hated her."
"I see." People who were mentally unstable quite often hated their parents, he knew. "It must have been a shock for you to discover she was alive."
Sandra nodded. "Yes, and on top of that to find her in your apartment, though that doesn't surprise me so much. She's spent most of her life in some man's apartment."
"You said you were led to believe she was dead. Weren't you at her funeral?"
"No. I was hospitalized at the time."
Pete said nothing.
"I suppose you made big love to her after I left?"
Pete studied her carefully. "No. I didn't. Your mother left immediately. She acted very strange, too, never said a word."
"The old bag. A wonder she didn't lay you before going. It'd be just like her."
Pete felt like saying, Well, she may not be an angel, but at least she didn't lay her stepfather as you did. However, he remained quiet about this. There was no point in having a fight with her. "Tell me something," he said aloud. "Do you happen to know a girl named Helen Marks?"
Sandra's eyes became hostile. "Why do you ask that?"
"I'm not sure. Do you know her?"
"Know of her," she said hesitantly.
"I picked your mother up in a downtown club. She told me she had seen me there six weeks ago, had seen me leaving the place with this girl named Helen Marks. She, your mother, also told me she had been going to this club nightly in the hopes of meeting me. Now why would your mother want to meet me?"
"Sexual reasons. That's not hard to answer."
"I can't believe that. There's some other reason. It occurs to me she may have been told you live in the same apartment house I do, and she wanted to find out where it was."
Sandra shook her head. "My mother despises me. She'd never bother her head about me, ever."
"I didn't say she was bothering her head about you. I said she may have wanted to know where you live."
"The hell with my mother. I hate her."
Pete stroked his chin, waited a few moments. Them "Where is your husband?"
"In bed sleeping. Knocked out on sleeping pills, as usual."
"I'm going back to my place now. If you get over being mad, why not join me--later."
She angrily threw her glass against the wall, shattering it. "Of all the nerve I You didn't get what you want from my mother, so now you want me to take over the job."
Pete stiffened. "Not at all," he said coldly. "Forget I asked." He started for the door.
"Wait, Pete," she cried. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I just lost my temper. I'll come over after a bit. Please...don't look at me that way."
"Go to hell, baby," he said, and left, slamming the door behind him.
It wasn't two minutes before she had followed him across the hall. He let her in reluctantly, being still annoyed at her somewhat. She came swiftly into the room and threw her arms about his neck and kissed his mouth.
"Darling," she said, pulling back a little and looking up at him strangely. "If I let you have me, will you help me kill my husband?"
He disengaged her arms. "What the hell are you saying, baby?"
She moved away from him. "I asked you if you would help me get rid of Harry."
"You said kill him, didn't you?"
She stuck her lower lip out. "Yes. Kill him. I can't stand him any longer. I've got to get rid of him. I need help to do it."
Pete lighted a cigarette and puffed on it momentarily. "Do you realize what you have just asked me?"
"Certainly. I made you a proposition. I'll let you make love to me from now on, any time, any place, if you'll help me."
"You must think I'm crazy."
A sly look came over her pretty tanned face. "Oh no, you're not the one who's crazy. It's Harry who is. He's completely gone."
"I see. He's out of his mind now. Is that it?"
She smiled oddly. "I just said so. Why ask me?"
"You'd better go home," he told her. "I'm going to bed. It's late."
"I want to stay with you all night, Pete. May I?"
"No."
"Please?"
He shook his head. "Go back to your husband."
"I hate him. I can't stand being around him."
"You seem to hate everyone, your mother, your husband."
"I don't hate you, Pete. I love you."
"Thanks," he said dryly, "but I'm going to bed. Good night."
"Are you throwing me out?"
"No. I said I was going to bed. I wish you'd go to your own place."
"I won't do it. I'm going to sleep with you whether you want me to or not."
He threw up his hands. "Okay. I'm not going to spend the entire night arguing with you."
He walked to the bedroom and began removing his clothing. She didn't follow him into the room until he had crawled in bed. Then she came to the door and he saw she was stark naked. He drew in his breath sharply at the loveliness of her body. She stood in the door, he bosom heaving considerably. She reached for the switch and turned off the lights, and a moment later he felt her climbing into bed with him.
She gave a little cry and began to run her lips over his body feverishly.
"Hey," he said. "Cut that out."
Her answer was to take him passionately between her lips and apply suction.
He slept afterward but not for very long. When he wakened he felt her lying next to him and heard her regular breathing. He recalled the passion she had shown for him and wondered how a woman could be so sexy all the time almost without cease. He smiled in the dark, took a deep breath, and ran his hand over her lips. She stirred in her sleep and he thought she muttered his name, though he wasn't sure of it. He ran his hand up her nude body until he had cupped a breast in it. The breast was warm and soft and inviting; touching it caused him to have another erection. He turned on his side and allowed the rigidity to brush against her side. Again she stirred and muttered something that sounded like his name.
He leaned over, found her mouth and kissed her.
She didn't awaken.
A strong desire took possession of him and he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to, yet didn't want to. Overcoming his reticence, he lowered himself on the bed until he could kiss her on the stomach. She stirred when he did so and raised one leg, placing it over his shoulder. This made him wonder if she were really sleeping or merely pretending. She moved her loins a little, seeming to press that part of her toward his face. A bead of sweat appeared on his face as he again kissed her flesh, low. She sighed and moaned almost at the same time. Pete was very excited now, and grasping her buttocks in his hands, he pulled her pussy to his lips.
He ran his tongue over and into it.
"Pete..." The one word sounded as if it were the most important word in the language to her.
He raised his head a little. "Are you awake?"
She grunted but didn't speak.
"Are you awake?" he repeated.
She didn't answer, so he used his lips on her again. His tongue found the spot and he felt a pulse beating furiously in her.
"Pete..."
"Do you like this?" he asked hoarsely, his heart hammering.
"Pete..." was all she replied.
His lips found the place again and he tasted the sweet moisture of her. She groaned and spread her legs far apart and pressed his head down on her as she panted now and began to beg him thickly to go faster.
He needed no invitation. He was hotter than he had ever been in his entire life. He continued to go down on her.
AU the way.
CHAPTER 9
IT WAS WHEN HE AGAIN WAKENED-IN THE morning-that he realized that if anyone was oversexed it was he himself. The three women he had met in the past six weeks were definitely that way, but he was even more so. Funny, he had never thought of himself as being oversexed. He was, not even now, too sure that there was such a thing-he had heard considerably about it, but no one ever bothered to explain in exact terms just what being oversexed entailed.
He glanced at the face of the sleeping woman beside him. She was lying on his left arm, her eyes closed and looking peaceful and relaxed, more so than he had ever seen her.
"Hey, baby," he said softly. "Wake up."
Her eyes fluttered open, she blinked, looked at him, kissed him impulsively, closed her eyes, opening them a moment later. She smiled happily. "Oh, Pete...last night...it was so wonderful."
He grinned and kissed her nose. "Glad you liked it. I never knew it could be so great that way."
She startled the hell out of him then. "Pete, darling...please help me kill Harry."
He stiffened. So she was back on that far-out deal. He wet his lips and pulled his arm from beneath her head. "I told you I wouldn't have any part of that," he said slowly. "Why did you have to spoil everything by bringing it up?"
"But we can't ever have a lasting thing as long as he's alive."
Pet sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Your thinking is all screwed up, baby. You can't just kill a man and think everything will be fine afterward."
"But I can't divorce him. The law won't let me."
"Why not?"
"Because I've been in a mental hospital," she said fiercely.
"You aren't in one now. I don't think the law denies you the right to petition for divorce."
"Yes, it does. I'm a kind of ward of the state, sort of. My husband has control over me. They assigned him that right when they released me."
Pete, didn't know if this was right or not. He decided not to say anything more about it, if possible. Changing the subject, he said, "Hadn't you better go back to your place? Your husband might be awake by now. It's eight o'clock in the morning."
"Gee, I hate to go back there alone. Couldn't we go over there, both of us, and talk to him?"
"About what? Last night?"
She surprised him. "Yes. Let's tell him we have a thing going, that we need each other, that we can't live without each other. You know, maybe we could talk him into letting me go free."
Suspicion hit Pete. So this was her plan. Use him to get free of her unwanted husband. "It won't work baby," he said carefully. "He
wouldn't go for that sort of thing-it would only enrage him."
"But we can try, can't we?"
He shook his head and started to crawl out of bed. She grabbed him and tried to hold him. "I have to get up," he explained. "The bathroom is calling."
She released him and giggled. "What a way to put it."
He shrugged and got out of bed. He was stark naked but didn't remember undressing the night before. Maybe he was cracking up a bit himself. He went to the bathroom and returned a few minutes later.
He stared at the bed. She wasn't in it. He looked throughout the apartment, but she had gone. He shrugged, went back to the bathroom and took a shower and shaved.
That afternoon when he returned home from work he unlocked his door and started to enter when he heard a sound behind him and whirled about. Harry March stood in the doorway of his own apartment.
"Mr. Drake," he said coolly. "I'd like to have a talk with you."
"Okay," Pete said, stiffening a bit. "Come in."
March entered the room and looked around. "My wife," he said. "I'll come right to the point. I want you to stop making love to her. It's driving her crazy."
Pete lit a cigarette. "Driving her crazy or you, March? Which is it?"
March scowled, his mean-looking mouth twisting as he replied. "It's driving her crazy. Today she told me she wanted me to help her kill you."
Pete studied the man carefully. "That's odd," he commented.
"You know she isn't right in the head. She was beginning to improve, but this constant ardor on your part is unbalancing her again. I want you to agree to put a stop to it."
"Okay," Pete said, not meaning it but wanting to get rid of the pest. It occurred to him what the man had said previously. "Do you mean to tell me she actually asked you to help kill me?"
March scowled. "I'm not in the habit of lying, Drake."
"Don't go self-righteous on me, mister. I only want to make sure about this."
"She told me you were an evil man, Drake, and you needed to be done away with. Also...she keeps referring to you, at times, as-er-well, by another name."
"She called me 'George' I take it."
March fingered his thin mustache nervously. "Yes, but how did you know?"
"She called me by that name once." Pete paused, then went on. "Why don't you move away, get out of the apartment house. I don't want your wife around me. I can't stop her, .if you want to know the truth. I don't...seek her out...she seeks me out." This wasn't quite the truth, but it was close enough.
"I'm thinking of doing exactly that," March said. "Good-bye, Drake. Keep her out of here, will you? It's for your own good, too, you know. She's liable to stick a knife in your guts one of these times. She's danger, or can be."
"All right, but you had better put her away, hadn't you?"
"That's my business, Drake. Good-bye, again." Pete nodded, took a drag, nodded again. "I'll see you, March."
March stepped into the hall. "Remember, she's a dangerous person."
Pete closed the door. The hell .with this guy. He didn't believe what March had just said. Sandra was far out, but she wasn't-likely to stick a knife in him.
Abruptly a picture came to his mind. He was in the club that first night and watching Helen (he later came to know that was her name) arguing with a tall, thin man. That man, he was certain now, had been Harry March. What was it Helen had said about him the next day-Harry March had wanted to marry her?
"I'll be damned," Pete muttered. "I thought that louse looked familiar right from the start, the moment I first saw him in the apartment building. So that's the connection between the Marches and the others, one of them."
He went to the phone and dialed Helen's number. She answered. "Helen," he said. "That guy you ditched the night we met. Was his name Harry March."
"Who is this?" she asked hesitantly.
"You know who it is. It's Pete, and by the way, where the hell have you been?"
"Hello, Pete. Which question do you want me to answer?"
"Well, was it March?"
"Y-yes. How did you know?"
"Guessed."
"Oh...Pete...how about coming over and seeing me tonight?"
"All right, later."
"Good," she said, and hung up.
He replaced the phone and got the bottle and poured himself a drink. He seemed to be running from one woman to another these days, with the exception of the times when they were all out of town. He liked the idea of having several women on the string, having them willing and available-it made it easier than going out to look for one, the way he had been doing for a long time.
It was eight-thirty when he knocked on Helen's door and she opened it. She wasn't wearing any clothes on the upper part of her body. It really sent him to see her breasts bared so casually.
"Hey, baby," he said. "What's with the topless bit?"
She just smiled but didn't answer. He stepped in and was startled by the appearance of the place. Every-thing was out of place; lamps had been knocked over, chairs overturned and so on. There were cigarette butts in every ash tray.
"Looks like you had a party last night," he observed.
"Yeah. Big nude party, Pete. Too bad you couldn't make it." Her tone of voice sounded a bit odd.
"How could I make it when I didn't know about it?"
"I called you at one-thirty in the morning. Your female companion said you were too busy."
Pete felt his cheeks redden just a trifle. "Oh..." he said. "Yeah." He felt slightly ridiculous.
"Hey, man, you should see your face. You gotta guilty conscience or something?"
"I suppose so. I'm human, you know."
She just laughed.
"What time did your party break up? I see the remains of it and it's night-time."
"Not till noon. Jeanie and I slept till you called. What time is it?"
He told her. "Is Jeanie here?" he asked.
"Yeah. She's still in the sack. She had a rough night...and morning."
"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing what she meant.
"I mean she was laying everybody and his brother all night long. She...had a fight with George and that was her way of taking her spite out on him."
Pete walked to the bedroom door and looked in. The light was on and he saw Jeanie sleeping, her breast uncovered by the sheet that concealed the remainder of her body. He stared at the girl's bosom with curiosity. He couldn't help noticing that the nipples were wet. He touched one of them lightly and his finger came away slightly damp. It dawned on him then. He turned around and faced Helen
"Looks like you've been making a bit of love yourself," he said, a feeling akin to disgust creeping over him.
She gazed back at him steadily, her blue eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Jeanie's breasts are wet with spittle. Yours?"
Helen's eyes became defiant. "What about it, man?" she said roughly.-
"Nothing. I didn't realize you batted from both sides of the plate."
"I like sex," she said. "Any kind."
"Obviously."
"Look," she flared. "Don't give me any pure and noble stuff. I'll bet you've had homosexual desires, too."
"Maybe, but I never carried through on them."
"Nuts," she said. "Are you going to lecture me."
"Hell no. Why should I?"
"Listen, Pete, if you were alone in bed and all hot and bothered and a guy came and offered himself to you, wouldn't you consider it?"
"I don't think so. That leaves me cold. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not putting you down. I'm just surprised. It kind of shocked me. Maybe I'm a bit naive. I just don't think much of homo stuff."
"Well, everyone to his own-likes and dislikes. Anyway, I'm no dyke. I'm...well, bisexual, I guess. I'll take it anyway it's offered, if I happen to feel like it."
"Okay. Let's change the subject."
"Why should we? You're the one who's being righteous about finding spit on her."
"No, I'm not, damn it. Why do you say that?"
She walked away from him, picked up a sweater and slipped her arms into it. She fastened the buttons, all but the top two, and walked back to him. "Hey, man, we're fighting. Let's knock it off, shall we?"
"Sure. I didn't come here for a scrap."
She came close to him, smiling and reaching out her arms. He put his arms about her and she pressed her stomach tightly against his and began to wiggle her hips suggestively. "You like that, man?" she asked. "You want a little of it?"
He didn't get a chance to answer. Jeanie appeared in the doorway in the nude. "Hey," she said, knocking her red hair out of her eyes, "what's going on here?"
"Don't pay any attention to us, Jeanie." Helen said, and continued rubbing her body against Pete's.
"How can I help it when I see this?" Jeanie walked back into the bedroom and reappeared wearing the bottom parts of her pajamas. Her tits hung down provocatively. Pete could hardly take his eyes off them.
"Pete," Helen said, moving away from him. "Are you game? The three of us...you know."
"Yes, Pete, how about a nice daisy-chain deal?" Jeanie asked eagerly. "It's great, just great, if you haven't ever tried it."
He shook his head. "No. Not for me. I'm too self-conscious, maybe, but it doesn't appeal to me."
"That's because you're holding back," Helen said. "Why not try it? Let yourself go."
"No thanks, " Pete said. "I came to see you, not to fall into an orgy."
Jeanie swore and left the room. She slammed the bedroom door and Helen smiled. "You hurt her feelings, man."
"Tough. How about yours?"
She shrugged. "Can't hurt mine. Hell with it." She began to pick up overturned chairs and straighten the place up a bit. "We had a wild time at that party. Too bad you couldn't have been here."
"I had a wild time myself," he said, nettled at her reminding him of it for the second time.
"How was your date?" she asked, as she dumped the contents of two ash trays in a wastebasket.
"She's fine. I mean, she was okay."
"Who was she?"
"Woman named March. Sandra March. Know her?"
Helen caught her breath, then resumed emptying ash trays. "Yeah, heard of her."
"Heard of her, hell," he retorted. "You know her well, don't you?"
"So what if I do?"
"Nothing, but why lie about it?"
She paused in what she was doing and placed her hands on her hips. "Look, man, I'll lie or do anything else that pleases me. How do you like them apples?"
"I don't," he said, and started for the door. He paused and turned around facing her. "Tell me, how are you coming along with your murder plans?" He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he suspected that something drastic was going to happen in regard to the three women he knew. He couldn't have explained this feeling in its entirety, but it was there in his mind.
Her face blanched. "What kind of a crazy remark is that?"
He laughed. "Thought it would get a reaction out of you." He laughed again. "Sandra March wants to kill her husband. Jeanie wants to knock off George. Who are you planning on getting to, Helen?"
"You're crazy," she said angrily.
Once again he laughed and turned the knob of the door. "If I didn't know better I'd think it was me you were after, just for the hell of it."
"How do you know it isn't man?" she retorted crossly.
"Because you have no reason for wanting to get me."
"Look," she exclaimed. "All this talk about killing someone. There's no sense to it."
"I know," he said. "Just wanted to get your reaction."
"Well, you have it. Trouble with you, you've been listening to that March dame so much you're getting screwy, too."
"Maybe so," he said, smiling. "But maybe not, too."
"Look, you came over to have fun and all you're doing is talking up a storm. Why don't we have some fun, if that's what you're looking for."
He moved away from the door and advanced on her. She looked at him strangely, but when he grabbed her by the shoulders and bent her over backward and kissed her she didn't resist. He released her after a moment and she smiled.
"That's better, Pete," she said calmly. "I like you as a lover boy, but when you act the way you've been acting I don't care much for you."
"Hell," he said, annoyed at her remark, "what makes you think I give a damn whether you like me or not?"
She frowned and brushed her long blonde hair out of her face in her characteristic manner. "I'm just a piece to you, is that it?"
"What else, baby? Did you think I was in love with you?"
"No. Thought you liked me, though."
"I do. But that's all. Understand that, baby."
She moved away from him. "Well...I've got to get busy and clean this place up." She walked to the closet door and tried to open it. "I need the sweeper. Come here, Pete. The door is stuck. Help me open it."
He went to the door and yanked on the knob. "Door's locked," he said. "Got a key?"
"It can't be locked. I never lock it."
"Just the same, the door is locked."
She frowned prettily. "But how could it be locked?"
"I don't know. Have you got a key?" he asked patiently.
"Would a skeleton key work?"
"I think so. Get one and I'll try it."
At the precise moment Jeanie appeared in the bedroom doorway. "Hold it right there, you two," she said sharply. "Stay out of the closet."
Pete and Helen glanced at her. Helen seemed to be perplexed, but Pete merely smiled. "Well, here we go again," he remarked. "Seems like every time I come here someone pulls a gun on me."
"That's right, smart guy," Jeanie said, her tone cold. "You can just clear out of here. We're sick of having you around, Helen and I."
Pete looked at Helen. "Is that true?"
Helen was very white. "Y-yes," she said. "You'd better go, Pete."
"All right, ladies. I'll cut out." Pete went to the door, yanked it open angrily, turned and looked at Jeanie. "I'll bet poor old George is in that closet. What's more, I'll bet he's got a slug in him."
The gun Jeanie pointed at him exploded. He threw himself to the floor, the bullet crashing into the woodwork. He slammed the door and took off down the hall.
CHAPTER 10
HE HADN'T THE SLIGHTEST DOUBT THAT JEANIE would rush to the door and attempt to shoot him in the hallway. He had barely ducked around the corner of the corridor when another bullet crashed into the wall nearby. Pete heard her running toward him and, spotting a door ajar, ran through it and slammed it after him. He heard her run past the door and apparently down the stairs.
"Well, Mr. Drake?" a voice said.
Pete whirled about and saw Harry March standing near a desk. "What the hell are you doing here?" he exploded.
"I might ask you the same thing, Mr. Drake, except that by the sounds of the gunfire I would guess one of the girls has taken a sudden dislike to you."
Pete turned and made sure the door was locked, turned back to face March. "Just how many apartments do you have?"
"Three."
"Three? And where is the third?"
Harry March smiled unpleasantly. "You just left it in a hurry, my friend."
"Quite a coincidence your door standing ajar while she was shooting at me."
Again March smiled unpleasantly. "Not at all. When I heard the first shot, I opened the door. I knew you needed some place to duck into."
"Oh, I see. You also knew I was in Helen's apartment?"
"Yes, of course. I've always known when you go there for your little sex deals."
"What the hell is going on. Why did she try to kill me?"
"I don't believe I'm the one who'll tell you that, Drake."
"Then you know why?"
"I didn't say that. I said, or meant to say, that someone else will have to inform you."
Before Pete could say anything more, Harry turned and left the room, closing the door to the next room after him. Pete sprang across the room and tried to open the second door, but it was locked.
"Hey," he called through the door. "Open up. I want to talk to you."
"Sorry," March called back to him. "I'm leaving by the rear exit. You can go out the front way any time you get enough nerve to try."
"Tell me something," Pete yelled. "Why did you stage that fight scene in the nightclub six weeks ago so I could pick Helen up?"
There was no answer, just a loud laugh, forthcoming from March. Pete heard a door slam a moment later. He tried the door again but gave up trying to get it open. Apparently it was bolted on the other side-there being no sign of a keyhole. Pete shrugged and turned about. He knew one thing for certain; he wasn't going to risk leaving this place until he knew that Jeanie had given up finding him. The trouble was how could he discover when or if she had?
He saw a bottle, picked it up, uncapped it and had a drink. He was about to set it down when he heard footsteps running up the hallway. He listened intently and knew it was a woman doing the running. The sounds stopped about where Helen's apartment was located. He took a chance and opened the outer door and peered up the passageway. There was no one in sight. In order to see the spot where Helen's apartment was, he had to walk up the side hallway a few steps and look around the corner. He saw Jeanie about to enter Helen's place. He ducked back out of view and a moment later heard the door slam.
Cautiously, he walked down the main hallway and away from the apartment. He went down the front stairs and out to the street where his car was parked. He climbed in and tried to start the motor, but it wouldn't start. He continued trying until he was convinced it was futile. He went to a phone booth a block away and called a garage. They promised to send a mechanic over immediately, but it was over an hour before the man arrived in a tow truck. He inspected the car's motor and told Pete the rotor was missing.
"Do you have one with you?" Pete asked, suspecting that March was the one responsible for removing it.
"Yeah, I think so," the man said, and went to the truck to look. He found a rotor and put it in place. "She ought to go now, Mac," he said.
Pete got back into the car and found it started easily. He paid the man and drove home. When he tried the door of his apartment he again found it unlocked. It was evident that someone had a passkey and was found of using it to gain access to his quarters. He grinned when he saw who it was.
She was sitting on the sofa and looking straight at him. "Hello," she said. "Surprised to see me?"
"Yes," he said. "How did you get in, Emily? That's your name, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said, and smiled. "The door was open, so I walked in. I saw you weren't at home, so I decided to wait for you to return. Hope you don't mind."
He shut the door softly. "Why should I mind. Seems like everyone comes and goes around here whether I mind or not. What can I do for you?"
Her breasts heaved. "Well, there is one thing you could do for me, if I had the time."
He ignored her invitation. "Are you looking for your daughter?"
She stopped smiling. "Oh, you know about her, about who I am, I mean."
"Yes."
The blonde, older woman tapped her teeth with her finger. "Can you tell me where I can find Sandra?"
Pete lit a cigarette, inhaled and blew the smoke out as he spoke. "Try her apartment across the hall."
She shook her head thoughtfully. "I have already. She's not there."
"Tough. Why did you let me pick you up at the club. Did you know she lived in the same apartment house as I did?"
"Yes. I was trying to find her."
"Why?"
The woman tapped her teeth again. "To keep her safe, to prevent her from being murdered."
"And who was supposed to murder your daughter."
"I'm not sure."
You mean you don't know?"
"I mean it could have been any one of them."
"You say 'could have been'. Are you telling me she may already be dead?"
"I don't know that. That's why I came here, to see if you could tell me her whereabouts."
"I don't know where she is. Why not ask her husband, Harry March?"
The blonde turned up her nose in disgust. "I wouldn't trust that man one inch, let alone to ask him where Sandra was."
"Why not?"
She took a deep breath and fastened her gaze on him intently. "Because he and his friends, Jeanie Price and Helen Marks, are survivors in joint tenancy."
"You'll have to tell me more than that," he said.
"My husband, George March, is a brother to Harry. He, as I just told you, is a survivor in joint tenancy. That means that George and Harry, as well as the two women I mentioned, all have considerable auto plant stock. George bought it, paid for it, and made the others joint tenants."
"I see. In case George dies, Harry, Jeanie and Helen get the stock?" ' "Yes."
Pete was thinking hard now. Could it be that George March was dead? Had he been killed and placed in that closet at Helen's? Was that why Jeanie had pulled the gun and tried to kill him, because she thought he knew the body was in the closet. It seemed logical. "I don't get it," he said. "Why are you worrying about Sandra?"
"Because," Emily March said slowly, "she knows or suspects that the others are out to kill George."
"You mean, if they haven't already, don't you?"
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Why do you say that?"
He didn't answer her but said something else. "How do I fit into all this? I'm curious about it."
"I can tell you. You're a big insurance man. The original idea was to get an insurance man hooked in some way, make him fall for either Helen or Jeanie, or maybe get him to taking dope. Something, anything to get him hooked so he would be in their power. Then they were going to take out a big insurance policy on George, too. They looked up several insurance men in this city. You were the only big shot in the business who wasn't married. Do you understand?"
Pete rubbed his jaw. "I understand what you're saying, but it sounds fishy."
"Sure, it does. That's why they dropped the life insurance policy. They found out you weren't sap enough, maybe."
"Thanks for the compliment," he said dryly.
She just looked at him.
"Tell me this. How does it happen you know all about this?"
Emily got to her feet and walked to the door and opened it. "Because the whole bit was my plan in the first place. I arranged to have George make them survivors in joint tenancy. You want to know why? Because I hate George for leaving me for Jeanie. I hate all of them for one reason or another. I knew they would conspire to kill George, that they would then be caught for the murder, and I would be rid of all of them, including that skunk of a Harry, who married my sick daughter and nearly drove her crazy mistreating her."
Before Pete could say anything she walked from the apartment, leaving him standing there extremely confused. He poured himself a drink and stood in the middle of the room sipping it. Why had Emily told him-what she had? He was a stranger to her. If she had really planned the whole affair was it probable that she would admit it to someone she hardly knew. Pete shook his head. It didn't seem-likely that she would. He was half-convinced that she had been lying to him, but if so, for what reason. Also, if all she had wanted to know, that first time he had met her, was where her daughter lived, why had she so freely offered her body to him? That hadn't been necessary. She could have come to his place, noted the address and cut out on him. Pete smiled ruefully. This sort of reasoning was of little use. She was obviously a hot woman. Why shouldn't she make a play for him if she felt like it?
He finished his drink and decided he would forget about the whole deal. It didn't concern him now that he had gotten away from Helen's place without being hit with a slug from Jeanie's gun. It occurred to him that he should report the matter to the police, but he knew immediately that he wouldn't do this.
He wanted to wash his hands of the whole affair and not become involved in it any more than he was. He wondered if he would be able to do this. He re-called to mind the tantalizing body of Helen Marks. Would he be determined enough to forego the pleasures it gave him?" Was it true what Emily had saidthat the two girls depended on his being hooked on sex with them? Was he hooked that way, with Helen especially?
He shook his head again. The girls had miscalculated. True, he enjoyed laying them, but he would never become hooked on sex with just one woman or even two.
There was just too many lovely broads in the world.
He had no more time to think. The door burst open and Sandra came into the room. "Pete," she said. "Where have you been?"
He glanced up at her quickly. "Where," he said, "have you been? Your mother was just here looking for you."
Sandra frowned. "She's got a lot of nerve coming here. That old bat, I wish she'd get out of my life for good."
"Oh, come on, she's not an old bat. She's not a bad gal at all."
Sandra's brown eyes flashed. "I see she's got you hoodwinked, too. She gets everyone on her side sooner or later."
"Sit down and have a drink," he said soothingly. "You seem to be upset about something."
"I hate her, that's all. I wish she'd stay away from my man."
Pete got her a drink and handed it to her. "Sandy," he said slowly. "I'm not your man. Your man is your husband."
She tossed off her drink as a lush would do it, in one fast gulp and not choking on it, not getting tears in her eyes. She slammed the glass down. "I can't stand him. He's not my man. You are." She slumped down on the sofa, her skirt flying high on her well-shaped legs.
Pete glanced at the flesh glowing above her stockings. He began to get a hard-on, so he looked away from her quickly. He didn't want to make love to her right now and knew if he allowed himself to think along those lines it would be only a matter of moments before he would crawl on top and give it to her.
She smiled then. "I see you're ready, Pete," she said softly, her anger seemingly gone.
His answer was to pour himself another drink and walk away from her. "One thing I want you to get straight," he heard himself say. "I'm not your man. Understand me?"
"Please don't say that, Pete. I really love you, honest I do."
He took a sip of the whiskey. "You've got hot pants, that's all. You don't love me." He half-expected her to flare up at him, but she didn't
"You're mistaken," she said calmly. "I don't mean about the hot pants part. I admit I have hot pants for you. What's wrong with that? I'm hot for you because I love you. At least..." Here she paused briefly. "At least, I haven't tried to use you for the sake of money the way your other so-called friends have."
"Oh...such as who?"-
"You know or you ought to, if you're as smart as you seem to think. I'm talking about Helen and Jeanie."
"You sound as if you know them quite well."
"I know them," she said coolly. "Seems to me it's about time you did." He just looked at her.
"They were in the mental hospital the same time I was. Both of 'em were there for extreme nympho-
mania. That surprise you? I was the one who told them about George, what a cunt-hunter he was. That's why Jeanie ingratiated herself with him when she got out. She. looked him up and let him do whatever he wanted to her. She was after his money, she and Helen, and my husband, too,"
Pete scarcely heard anything she said after that one startling word. He found it had excited the hell out of him. He put down his glass, went to the sofa, and pushed her down on her back.
"Pete," she said, her tone changing. "Oh...Pete."
"Don't talk," he told her. "Pull up your skirt, baby. I'm going to do something to you right now."
"You gonna lay me, honey?" she asked, her eyes wide, her tone again changing so that she sounded like a teen-age kid.
Even this excited him. "Right," he said. "You're getting screwed as of right now."
"Oh...Pete...I love to hear you talk sexy. Talk that way some more before you do it."
"Pull up your skirt and take off your pants," he said.
She did so, never taking her eyes from him during the process. "Boy," she said. "You have an awful lot of lust in those eyes of yours."
"That's because you make me lustful, baby."
"Do I, Pete? Gee, I'm glad. I like making you hot."
"Well, you have and I am. Spread those long legs of yours, kid, I'm coming in."
She sighed and spread her legs as he threw himself on top of her and worked her body in a manner suggesting he might never have the chance again.
When she told him later she was afraid the others might attempt to kill her because she knew so much about their plans, he agreed to allow her to stay with him overnight. The day dragged on and ten o'clock arrived. He picked her up-she was lying on the sofa-and carried her into the bedroom. He had already made sure the door of his apartment was locked.
Pete knew he had to exercise caution. Jeanie and Helen were also former mental patients, which meant they were probably not to be trusted in any event, regardless of the fact that Jeanie had already tried to shoot him. He suspected that one of the others would attempt to get into his apartment during the night.
"Sandy," he said, as he placed her on the bed, "Are you the one who has the passkey to my place? I have to know."
"No," she said. "I don't have a key. I think Harry does, though."
"You're certain about that?"
"I'm certain I don't have one."
"How did you get into my place that first time?"
"He had already been here, Harry, I mean. He had been reading your letters and so on. They wanted to find out all they could about you." She paused. "I guess he forgot to lock the door when he left. So...I just walked in, I don't know why. I sometimes do things that seem to have no logical explanation-don't ask me why. I just don't know."
"Had you seen me before then?"
She actually blushed. "Yes. Twice. You know something? I wanted you to get to me more than anything else in the world. Isn't that strange?"
He was a man and, of course, he had a male ego. This pleased him. "I find that hard to believe," he said, not meaning it.
"Hey," she said sitting up, "Why do you men think only women show off their sex appeal? Men have it and show it, too. You're a very sexy-acting man. Sex shouts when you come around."
That was an odd but original way of putting it. "Thanks," he said. "You're a great ego-builder."
"So are you, Pete."
"You'd better undress, baby. You'll get your clothes wrinkled."
"All right, darling."
He went to the bathroom, undressed and put pajamas on. When he returned she was lying naked on the bed, one leg drawn up bewitchingly.
"I'll get you a pair of pajamas if you like," he offered.
"Oh no. I love to lie around in the nude. Why don't you take yours off, Pete?"
He grinned. "Do you ever think of anything other than sex?".
She laughed Like a little girl. "Sometimes. Right now, for example, I'm think about how hungry I am. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."
"The kitchen," he pointed out, "is off the front room. You want to fix something for us to eat, help yourself."
"AU right. Can I do it without putting on my clothes?"
He grinned again. "I guess you can. Be careful not to splatter grease on yourself."
"I'll be careful. Besides, all I know how to make is tea and toast. I'm not much of a cook. My mother never taught me anything."
"Couldn't you have taught yourself?" he asked dryly.
She didn't take offense at his remark as he thought she might. Instead she giggled and left the room, promising to be back with the toast and tea in just a few minutes.
Pete lay on the bed, his arms stretched over his head. He felt strangely good, relaxed, at ease with the world. He liked the idea of having her around, of having her in bed with him during the night. There was nothing like having a woman in bed with you, he reasoned. It made him worthwhile.
It was a good ten minutes before she returned with a tray of toast and a pot of tea. They sat on the side of the bed and .ate their small repast. Pete hadn't realized it, but he was hungry, too. He wished she knew how to cook a steak-he had a couple of them in the refrigerator.
When they had finished they lay down beside one another and he put his arm about her lush body, drawing her close to him. Running his other hand up and down her body, he marveled at the smooth texture of her skin. Touching her, rubbing her, in this manner caused him to become rigid and she sensed it, though he wasn't exposed. Reaching down, she touched him first and then began to finger him lightly, using slow up and down strokes.
"Hey," he said, breathing harder now, "you keep that up and something will happen to you, baby."
She giggled like a kid. "I hope so. I can't get enough of you, darling."
There she was, calling him "darling" again. He said nothing about it, though it made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Why couldn't women just take their sex and enjoy it without throwing little love phrases? There was no love between them-only passion and passion wasn't necessarily love.
"Darling,", she said, using the word again. "I'd like to try something. Would you mind?"
"What?"
"I'd like to get on top of you. May I...please?"
The way she said "May I...please?" really sent him. He patted her stomach. "Sure. Crawl on. It might be fun that way for once."
She was above him almost before he got the words out. Her breasts pressed down on his chest-he had removed the pajama top-and her loins were down tight against him. He felt her untying the string of his pajamas and pushing them down his legs sufficiently. She took hold of him and pressed her loins down against him, effectuating the penetration herself. He lay quietly as she held him in and began to move her hips about and up and down slowly. The contact was broken several times before she apparently learned how to do it properly. And then she begged him to hold her buttocks down tightly, which he did, enjoying every passionate moment of this new approach. New to him, at least.
He was surprised at the efficiency of her, the way she managed to' extract the surplus energy from him so quickly. He spread his legs, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and felt the surge of his sudden release.
He was even more surprised a moment later when he felt something cold against his temple.
He opened his eyes and saw the figures in the room.
He saw Sandra rise and look down into his eyes. Her face seemed to be expressionless.
He drew in his breath, looked at her, looked sideways at the gun against his head.
"You got us something to eat, baby," he said coldly, "and you also unlocked the front door for your friends, didn't you?"
He didn't hear her reply if there was one.
The gun slammed down hard on his head and a deep blackness engulfed him. He seemed to be falling into a bottomless pit.
CHAPTER ll
WHEN HE REGAINED COMPLETE CONSCIOUSNESS he was lying on a bed somewhere, but it wasn't his bed. He knew this immediately. He blinked his eyes, tried to rise, but his head hurt so badly he law back down quickly and groaned. Closing his eyes, he drifted off into a kind of half-sleep and remained in that state for some time. Later, he again opened his eyes, sat up and looked about him.
He had been right the first time. This wasn't his room. He had never been in this room before. He was fuUy dressed.
He got up gingerly from the bed and took a few steps. He was slightly dizzy but not too much so. Leaving the bedroom, he walked into another, much larger room and saw he was in some kind of a hunting lodge. There were mountings on the wall of bear, deer and moose. He shook his head and tried to recall how he had gotten here, but nothing seemed clear to him.
"Hello, Mr. Drake," a female voice said from across the large room.
Pete blinked and tried to focus his eyes on the spot where the voice had come from, but he could see no one at first.
"Over here, Mr. Drake." The voice sounded familiar.
He walked across the floor until he saw her. She was sitting in a low chair and was dressed in slacks and a sweater.
"Hello, Emily," he said, his speech sounding off to him. "What happened. Where are we?"
"In a hunting lodge on the top of a small mountain. They forced me to come along. We're alone here, you and I. Are you hungry?"
He shook his head, stopped shaking it when pain struck him in the temple. "Did you clout me?" he asked, forgetting she had said someone else had brought them here.
"No. I'm on your side, Pete. I'm not on their side. You might as well know the truth. Both of us are prisoners here."
"Prisoners?" he said dully. "What in hell for?"
"We both know too much," she said, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke, blowing it out slowly afterward. She appeared to be studying him.
"Sounds like a TV play. What do you mean, we know too much?"
She didn't answer him but took another drag on the cigarette and watched the smoke curl up toward the ceiling.
"Where's your daughter? Where's Sandra?"
She laughed. ?You can forget about her. She's not the innocent little girl you thought, or I thought. She's in it with the others all the way."
A thought came to him. "Is all of this because
George has been murdered?"
She took another drag. "Right, Mr. Drake. Pete, I mean. We might as well call each other by the first name. We'll be alone here together for some time, I imagine."
"Then his body was in that closet in Helen's apartment?"
"Yes, I think so. You see, they didn't have a wild party there the night before-they had a knock-down-, and-drag-out fight. George got himself knocked off."
"If we are alone here then we aren't prisoners," he said, thinking fast. "Why don't we get the hell out of here...now?"
She laughed. "We can't, Pete. Only way out or in is by helicopter. You got a helicopter we can use?"
"You mean they're leaving us here to starve to death?"
She laughed. "No. We have plenty of food and drink, lots of cigarettes and other necessities. We also have plenty of time on our hands." She looked at him carefully. "How's your head? Do you feel okay?"
"I'm all right. I could use a drink. Any whiskey?"
"Better lie down on the sofa. I'll get you a drink."
He saw the sofa, went to it and lay down. The room began to swim. He closed his eyes and a moment later felt her hand on his forehead.
"Come on, drink this. It'll make you feel better, maybe."
He took the glass from her and hastily swallowed the contents. It burned all the way to his stomach. "I'll have another, make it a big one," he told her. She brought him the drink and he tossed it off as quickly as he had the first. Sitting up a little, he looked at her and half-grinned. "That stuff works. I feel better already unless it's just my imagination."
"Probably a little of both," she said, and took the glass from him.
He got to his feet. "Lying down like that makes me dizzy. Must be from the sock on the head."
"Yeah. Harry walloped you, all right, the damned louse."
"You told me that this whole plan was yours, that you schemed to get them to knock off George and then, you hoped,. get caught at it. How do I know I can believe you when you tell me they forced us to come here? Maybe you had me brought here for some reason."
"Well, maybe," she said, "but not-likely. I don't relish being left alone oh top of a mountain. If what you say is true, wouldn't I just cut out and leave you here by yourself?"
He. nodded. "Sounds logical."
"You're stuck with having to believe me. I'm stuck with knowing my own daughter is a stinker."
"I thought she was HI," he said carefully.
"She was but not any more. Not much anyway. That little girl act she puts on...Well, it's just an act."
He considered his next remark, decided to say it. "She told me once that your husband George, her stepfather, had made love to her, had gotten her pregnant. Is that true?"
"Yes. I knew about it all along. George March was a lousy ass."
"I see," he said for want of anything better to say.
"Oh, don't misunderstand me. She was perfectly willing that he take her to bed with him. She's strictly a nympho, has always been."
"What do you think they intend doing with us?"
She shrugged. "How. would I know? Maybe they will leave us here to starve eventually."
He rubbed his head gingerly. "Then I'd better get busy and find a way to climb down off the damned mountain."
She shook her head. "Can't be done."
"But someone had to get up here originally. How did they build this place?"
"Brought everything in by way of helicopter. Everything you see about 'you got here that way. The mountain can't be scaled. I know this. Well, maybe professionals could do it. I wonder."
"Where is this place located?"
"Northern part of the state. Isolated spot. No one lives within fifty miles of the place. That's why Harry built it here a few years ago."
"He wanted to be alone, is that it?"
She grinned. "He wanted a place to bring young boys."
"Oh, then he is that kind of a guy.? "More or less."
He saw she was looking at him strangely. "What's the matter?" he asked, his head still not as clear as it should have been.
"I was just thinking. Everyone has been talking about how good you are in bed...I-er-how are you feeling, Pete?"
He grinned. "Okay, I guess."
She smiled and brushed her short blonde hair back, though it didn't need brushing back. A look of lust came into her eyes and she began unbuttoning her sweater. "I'd like to get some of what you've got. Any objections?"
He grinned again. "None of you gals ever wait for the guy to make the first move. Is this some kind of west coast deal, this aggressiveness on the part of females?"
She laughed. "West coast has nothing to do with it. It's just plan old lust, my friend."
"That," he said, "is something I can understand."
She had her sweater unbuttoned all the way now. "You want to try me?"
He stared at her. "Give me one of your cigarettes."
Her mouth opened and closed. "Is that your way of telling me to get lost?"
He yawned. "A cigarette, please. I don't have any."
She sighed, got him a cigarette and even lighted it for him. He leaned back on the sofa, put his feet on a stool and puffed. "Might be kind of nice being isolated here for a time," he commented. "You suppose they'll come back?"
"I don't know."
"Have you-er-seen a gun around the lodge anywhere?"
She nodded. "There's a deer rifle in the corner but no shells."
"I see," he said. "I'll have to take a look around for shells."
"I wish," she said coyly, "that you hadn't changed the subject." Her breasts hung out in full view.
"Oh...sorry...you got hot pants?"
She laughed. "I've always got 'em. So have you, from what I've heard."
"Your breasts," he said. :"They're nice."
"Thank you." She came over and sat beside him. "Want to play with 'em?"
"No."
She frowned. "And I thought you were the guy who jumped at the chance of sex any time, anywhere."
"You've been listening to your friends too much."
"They're not my friends," she said fiercely. "I have no use for any of them."
"Including your daughter?"
"Including my daughter."
He was silent for a moment. Then: "I don't understand why I was out for so long. Here it's broad daylight. A blow on the head couldn't knock me out for that length of time."
"Helen gave you a sedative to keep you quiet."
"Where did they pick you up?"
"They tricked me into coming along," was all she would say.
"What did they do with George?"
"His body is at the bottom of Lake Huron, I imagine. No one will ever find it. Lake Huron is a pretty large body of water."
"I don't believe you," he said flatly. "You slipped up there, Emily. They wouldn't want him not to be found. If they don't have a body how can they prove he is dead?"
She flushed. "Please don't call me a liar. I'm only relating what they told me."
"Then they lied to you."
"Possibly."
She lifted one of her breasts suggestively and let it fall back in place. He smiled and, reaching over, cupped his hand over one of them. "Do you like that?" he asked softly.
"Yes. And it's about time you got around to it. After all, what else can we do on this damned mountain?"
Pete laughed. "You may be right. How much food do we have?"
"Lots of it. We can stay here indefinitely."
"You don't seem too worried about the prospects of it."
"Not as long as I have got you here to make love to me."
"You lay it right on the line, don't you?" She flushed again. "Certainly. You're a man, I'm a woman. I want you to screw me. What's so terrible about that?"
"Nothing. It Just amuses me the way you go about it. Why are you so frantic."
"I'm not. Just eager."
For no particular reason he got to his feet and picked up the deer rifle, inspecting it. He put it down and returned to the sofa. "The gun," he said, "has been fired recently. What do you know about that?"
She looked him straight in the eye. "Nothing. I know nothing about guns, never fired one in my life."
He sat down and resumed smoking his cigarette. She immediately threw her leg over his and placed her head on his shoulder. "Honey," she said softly. "Never mind about anything else, make love to me. I want it so."
He lifted her leg and lay down on his side. "If you want to get down on your knees," he said, "help yourself."
She flushed. "I don't want you that way. I want it the regular way."
He was enjoying himself now. "My way or no way," he told her.
"Is that the kind of guy you are? Why-can't you do it to me the real way?"
"Because I want to see if you're really hot or if all this is just some kind of act, baby."
"Oh...I see. You think I've been lying to you."
"It's possible. I don't trust any of you people now."
"You can trust me, honey."
"You're calling me 'honey' now, I see. Why?"
"I don't know. I didn't know I was, didn't realize it."
"Well, are you getting on your knees or aren't you?"
"N-no. I don't want to."
She removed her sweater suddenly, tossing it to one side. Off came her slacks and he saw she was wearing, oddly enough, nylons. She wore no panties but only a garter belt around her middle. The nylons and garter belt were black and extremely seductive-looking. She glanced at his startled face, smiled coyly, lustfully, and got to her feet and began to parade in front of him, her buttocks wiggling about in an exaggerated fashion. He became erect immediately.
"What are you doing that for?" he asked tensely.
"I've got to win you over somehow. If seeing me walking about naked except for my shoes and stockings doesn't do it, then I'd better give up being a woman." She placed both hands on her hips and gyrated her loins in a maddening manner.
He snubbed out his cigarette and lay there watching her. Okay, let her put on her seductive act. He would hold out as long as he could. This should be interesting.
"Damn it, why don't you just grab me and lay me?" she flared. "You're supposed to be so sexy. I'm beginning to wonder if you are or not."
"I'm horny," he returned. "I want to see just how sexy you are, as I said."
"What do I have to do to prove it, rape you?"
"No. Just get down on your knees and beg for it, baby."
"The hell I will!" she shouted.
Pete grinned. Good. Let her get angry. "Suit yourself. Me, I'm just going to watch you."
"Oh...you," she sputtered. "What's wrong with you?"
"Not a thing."
She got a sly look on her pretty face as she walked close to him, stopping so that her cunt was only a foot from his face. "You first," she said tightly. "Then I will."
"No," he said. "You first."
"You're just being stubborn."
"What's the matter with you? You want sex and yet you won't do it the way I want it."
She sighed and dropped to her knees and began to unzip him. "All right, honey, you win. I want to be your woman while we're stranded here, so I'll do it your way this time."
"Good," he said, and lay quiet as she lowered her head to his cock. He felt the cool wetness of her lips about him a moment later and then he forgot about the predicament they were in, losing himself to the sheer pleasure of sex in this manner.
He stood in front of the lodge some time later looking down at the sheer drop of perhaps a thousand feet to the valley below. He felt elated at having won her over to his side, but now, if he could only find some way to get the hell off this hill. He studied the terrain and knew there was little hope of ever crawling down the side of the mountain, Pete had done some mountain climbing and knew quite a bit about it. No one, in his opinion, could go down this slope without proper equipment. Harry March had picked a good place for privacy.
"Well?" she said, coming up behind him. "What did I tell you?"
Pete moved away from the edge quickly. There was no telling what this woman might do-he didn't trust her in any way.
"You were right," he commented, keeping his eyes on her. "No one could go up or down. The slope is too steep."
She dressed again. Now she pulled her sweater tip about her neck. "It's too cool out here. Lets go back inside."
He said nothing, but continued to stare at her.
She took his arm. "Please," she begged. "I took you. It's been an hour or longer. Come inside and satisfy me, won't you...please? I'm getting desperate."
CHAPTER 12
AS THEY WALKED TOWARD THE DOOR PETE happened to glance at one of the
windows on the side of the building. He wasn't positive, but he thought he saw a curtain move just a little. He nearly stopped in his tracks, but she stiU had him by the arm, so he continued on, glancing at her quickly to ascertain if she had seen the slight movement. Apparently, she hadn't, for she didn't mention it, nor did she act any differently.
Inside the lodge, he made an excuse to leave the big room and went through a doorway leading to that part of the building he had seen from outside. He found another door, but it was locked.
He rapped on it softly and thought he heard a muffled cry from within. He again tried the knob but knew it was no use. He returned to the front room and looked at the woman standing by the fireplace.
"Who else is here?" he asked abruptly. She turned, her lips parting "W-what?"
"You heard me, Emily. Who else is here? Someone is in the other room. I heard a cry."
"Nonsense. No one is here but us."
"Come off it. I know there is. Got a key to the room?"
She moistened her lips. "AU right, you found out. I was going to tell you later, after we had made love. Sandra is in the room. I locked her in." She paused. "She was getting hysterical. I had to do it."
"Let her out," he said firmly. "Right now."
"But I can't. She's very ill. No telling what she might do if I let her out. She's my kid. I don't want her throwing herself off the cliff."
"She won't do that. Let her out."
"No. It's too dangerous for her."
"I'll keep an eye on her. Let her out."
"Pete," she said passionately. "I want you. If I let her out we won't be able to make love my way."
"That can wait until she goes to sleep." Emily smiled thinly. "Is that a promise."
"That's a promise. Unlock the door and let her out."
"All right."
She picked up her purse and unsnapped it. Taking a key out of it, she stared at it, bit her lips and reached into the purse and took out a small bottle.
"What's that?"
"She needs tranquilizers. I'll have to give her a couple before I let her out."
"Okay, give them to her." A sudden thought occurred to him. "You sure they aren't sleeping pills to knock her out so you won't have to wait so long?"
"Tranquilizers, sleeping pills-what's the difference? She has to take them frequently."
"Get on with it,". he told her. "I thought I heard her cry out again."
"You're hearing things," she said. "I heard nothing." Emily walked from the room and was gone for several minutes. She returned and Pete saw Sandra with her.
"Hey," he called to her across the room. "Come here."
Sandra gave a little cry and rushed headlong over to him, throwing her arms about him and crying. He had to tell her to stop it several times before she ceased crying. She clung to him as though she was afraid he would get away from her. He glanced at Emily and saw the annoyed look on her face.
"You tell me," he said to Sandra. "Is it true we were brought here by helicopter?"
"What's the matter?" Emily shouted. "Did you think I was lying?"
"It's true, Pete," Sandra said. "That's how we got here."
"Where are the others?" he asked, meaning Harry and Helen and Jeanie. "They-"
"Shut up!" Emily yelled at Sandra. "I warned you in the room. I meant it. Shut up and stay that way."
Sandra moved away from Pete rapidly and what happened took place so fast he couldn't prevent it. The two women began fighting, Sandra pulling her mother to the floor, and the two of them pulling hair, scratching and kicking at one another. Pete swore and jumped between them, yanking them apart and shoving them aside.
"Cut that out, you two," he barked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I hate her," Sandra cried. "Always telling me to shut up and get lost. I hate her."
"Damned little brat," Emily mouthed angrily. "You nearly pulled my hair out. I knew I should never have let you out of that room."
"She's just mad because I wouldn't let her force sleeping pills down me, Pete."
"Be quiet, both of you. Mother and daughter. You both make me sick."
Both women walked away from him going in opposite directions. Neither said anything back to him. He got the bottle and took a drink directly from it. Gong to the sofa, he sat down and had another drink. "The three of us are here. We might as well get along," he told them. "I'm damned if I'm going to listen to a couple of females scrapping, so don't start it up again." He took a third drink. "If you have any sense you'll come over and sit down and have a nice quiet drink...and stop looking like that, both of you."
It was several minutes before they came-one at a time-closer to him and sat on chairs. "Pete," Sandra said at length. "I'm sorry. I promise not to fight with her."
Emily frowned. "Don't pay any attention to her. She'll say anything to show me up."
"Don't talk like that," he snapped at her. "She's willing to get along with you. Why can't you be the same way?"
Emily shrugged. "Okay. Who wants to fight. I don't."
"Here," Pete said to Sandra. "You start it off. Have a drink. We'll call it a peace drink. Okay?"
She took the bottle from him, giggled, and drank from .it. She started to hand it back, but he told her to give it to her mother,-which she did. Emily also drank and put the bottle down. A half-hour later they had all had several more drinks and the tension in the room abated.
"Now then," Pete said. "This is a lot better." He lay down flat on the sofa, keeping his eyes on both women.
Sandra came over and sat beside him and he saw the flash of jealousy in Emily's eyes. She got to her feet and came to the sofa, also. Both women sat beside him now and he wondered what was going to happen, if anything.
Emily's sweater had come unbuttoned and Sandra not to be outdone, apparently, unbuttoned her blouse. Pete could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Rivalry between mother and daughter was a common thing, he knew, but to see it actually happening and in this manner was astonishing.
He smiled. "Shall we have a session, the three of us?"
They both smiled back at him and Sandra ran her hand up his leg. Emily took off her sweater. "There," she said. "I feel better with that scratchy thing off me."
He wanted to laugh at her-that wasn't the reason she had removed the sweater, but he knew she had to say something, perhaps for Sandra's benefit.
Sandra giggled and looked at her mother. "He's enough man for both of us, mother."
A look of fury came into Emily's eyes. "Damn you. I told you to shut up."
Pete sat up quickly. "Put your sweater on, Emily. We aren't having any session till you two can get along."
"I won't do it."
"Put it on," he said firmly, "or I'll put it on for i you.-'
She swore, but put the sweater back on and, getting to her feet, walked across the room and glanced out one of the front windows. "I shouldn't have let her out of the room. What I should have done is let her go back on the helicopter with the others."
"Sure," Sandra shouted at her mother. "Then I'd be dead, too." She turned to Pete, her brown eyes flashing. "Let me tell you what my mother did. When Harry got the helicopter in the air and over the cliff she shot him with that rifle over there. She's a good shot, must have hit him in the head. No one else could operate the copter and she knew it. It crashed down in the valley below. They're dead, all of them. My mother killed them."
Emily had turned around and was watching her daughter. "Is that true, Emily?" Pete asked.
"You want to believe her, you believe her," Emily retorted. "But you ought to know by now that you can't ever believe her about anything."
"What I said is true, Pete," Sandra said. "Please believe me. She'll end up killing both of us, too. How else is she going to getaway with her scheme to take all the money?"
"That's just nonsense and you know it, Sandra," Emily shouted.
"Shut up, both of you!" he yelled at them. "I'm getting sick of you again. Both of you."
They ceased shouting and a few moments later he said to Sandra. "If your mother shot Harry to get his money..." He stopped and rephrased it. "I mean, how could she get his money? She wasn't his wife. You are."
"I'd get the money, but she'd have control over it," Sandra said. "As my guardian, now that Harry is dead."
"I see," Pete said, and walked out the door to the outside. Apparently, Emily figured Harry would receive his share of George's stock and that she would now have it, as well as Harry's money, under her control. He wondered if Sandra's whole story was true. It was difficult to know which of them was the liar. "The hell with it," he muttered. "I couldn't care less. What I need to do is figure a way down off this damned mountain."
He stepped to the edge of the precipice and looked down. It was a long way to the bottom and he could barely see it. The trees in the valley looked as small as blades of grass. He moved about the ground looking in every direction and estimating the summit level to be about the size of a football field. At the opposite end he also looked down and saw that the valley below was just as far down. The mountain was one of several peaks and it appeared there was nothing unusual or outstanding about it to attract attention from a plane flying overhead. He knew now, if he hadn't before, that he had a real problem on his hands. A problem, that is, if what either or both of the women had said was true, and this, of course, was debatable. Obviously, the two of them took turns lying.
He had picked up Emily's cigarettes and now he took one out and lighted it. It occurred to him that if worse came to worse he could set fire to one of the several outbuildings and perhaps attract attention from forest rangers. There must be rangers around somewhere, he reasoned.
One of the outbuildings was larger than the others. He approached it, opened the door, looked inside and almost cried out in relief. There was a small helicopter in the shed and it. looked almost new. He inspected the thing for more than an hour inside and out,
wishing he knew how to operate it. The important question was, who had flown it in? Had Emily done so? It was then that he saw the two-way radio equipment. Leaving the shed, he ran back to the lodge, but when he entered he saw no one. The women must have gone to their rooms.
"Hey," he called. "Where are you?"
He repeated his call, but neither woman answered. He went from one room to the next before he happened to see the small bottle Emily had taken from her purse on a table. He picked it up and noted it was empty. Reading the label, he saw it had contained sleeping tablets.
He went to where he had regained consciousness in and opened the door. He let out a yell when he saw Sandra lying on the bed. He went to her, raised her head, slapped her face, and finally felt her pulse. There was little question about it.
She appeared to be dead.
He lowered her back to the bed and moved away from her, keeping his eyes on her bosom, hoping he would see signs of breathing. Her bosom didn't move. He found a small mirror and held it .in front of her nose and lips. He put the mirror down after a time. There was no use. He had been right in the first place-she was dead.
He straightened up, sighed deeply. Now why had she done this to herself? Committing suicide was a fool thing to do.
"Pete," he heard Emily calling. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the bedroom," he called. "Come in here. It's Sandra."
A moment later Emily appeared in the doorway. She screamed, ran to the bed and began chafing her daughter's wrists. She kept this up for several minutes, moaning and half-crying. Finally, she stopped.
She looked up at Pete. "She's been threatening to kill herself for several years. Now she's accomplished it. Poor kid."
Pete walked out of the room and headed for the bottle of whiskey. He was shaken more than he cared to admit to himself. Death was always a horrible affair and especially when it came to a young and lovely woman.
He had a few drinks and waited for Emily to come out of the room. It was perhaps twenty minutes before she did so and when she did she seemed like another person. She was quiet and moved slowly. She looked tired and Pete wondered if she had been crying-she looked as if she had.
"I'm sorry," he said gravely.
She lifted her shoulders slightly and let them drop. "I've been expecting something like this."
He waited for a few minutes and decided to tell her. "There's a smaU helicopter in the large shed. Can you fly it?"
Her eyes grew large. "What?"
He repeated his previous statement.
"Pete," she said slowly and seemingly ignoring his remark, "This leaves only you and me, doesn't it?"
"Looks that way. Can you fly the copter."
"I have flown them, not recently, however."
"Think you could?"
"I don't know. Right now I'm too upset to think. I can't believe it. Sandra is gone." Emily began to cry.
Pete turned away, not wanting to witness the scene. It seemed to him that she was sorry for her daughter a trifle too late, but he knew that this was often the way it is. No one is perfect. No one does the right thing always and at the right time.
She didn't speak to him again, so he left the room quickly and stepped outside once more. He stood there thinking and it occurred to him that he might be able to get the two-way radio to working. He could send out a call for help and it would be picked up by one of the ranger fire-tracking stations. He started toward the shed when she called to him from the doorway. He turned and went back.
"Pete," she said. "I'm willing to have a go at trying to fly the copter."
"Good girl," he said, smiling. "Do you think you can do it?"
She sighed. "As I said, I have flown them but not recently. I think I can figure it out okay."
"Good. I'll go with you."
She smiled wanly. "All right."
They started to walk to the shed together, but she stopped.
"What is it?" he said, seeing the odd look on her face.
"You'll probably think I'm crazy," she said softly, "but I can't stand leaving Sandra alone. Please go and stay with her until I see if I can manage the copter. If I get it going and think I can fly it I'll come back and get you. You see, Pete, I loved my daughter regardless of the way we fought one another."
"Sure. I understand. You go to the shed and I'll stay with her. I'll carry her to the copter if you get it going. You want me to do that, don't you?" He watched her carefully.
A tear ran down her face and she didn't reply.
"You have to stop crying," he told her firmly, "and pull yourself together. This may be the toughest thing you've ever had to do."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded much in the manner of a small child. "All right. I'm sorry, Pete. It's just that..."
"Sure. I know how it is."
"Say a prayer for me, Pete-for us, I mean. If I can't fly that thing we're in a bad spot."
"Don't I know it. All right, go ahead now. Do your best. Stay calm, whatever you do. Take your time and figure it out, if you have to."
"You'll stay with her, in the room, I mean?"
He nodded.
"Promise?"
"I promise. I understand how you must feel."
"You're a nice guy, Pete."
"If you can fly that thing I promise to ve a very nice guy-to you, Emily."
She smiled wanly again. "Thank you for saying that."
"You'd better go now. Do you feel okay, do you feel up to it, I mean?"
"As much as I ever will, Pete."
"All right."
She started to move away, stopped and turned around. "Kiss me for luck, Pete."
He went to her and put his arms about her. Her body was trembling as he kissed her. "Oh, Pete," she sighed, "maybe something good will come out of all this mess yet."
"Maybe," he said soberly. "We can try, can't we?"
"Yes," she said. "We can try, Pete." He kissed her again. "Go now," he said. "Be careful."
"I will. I'll do my best. I have to do my best," she added fiercely. "I hope I'm equal to it."
"You will be. Just think about-us."
She kissed him and ran toward the shed.
He reentered the house and went directly to the room where Sandra lay. He saw that her mother had pulled a sheet over her body, covering her completely. He was glad of this. He didn't want to sit and stare at a dead girl's face.
It seemed a long time before he heard the first sputter of the copter. It seemed even longer before he heard the motor roar to life. He listened intently for several moments, then gingerly picked up the dead girl and carried her out of the lodge. The roar of the copter's motor was much louder now. He saw she had gotten it out of the shed. He felt a wave of exultation flow through him as he stood holding the body of Sandra and watching Emily's attempt to get the copter off the ground.
The copter lifted evenly. It was now ten or fifteen feet off the ground and hovering in that spot.
"She did it!" he almost screamed. "She can fly the thing!"
He broke into a half-run.
The noise of the copter motor increased in volume. The machine lifted higher.
"Hey," he yelled at Emily. "That's enough of a trial run. Bring it back to the ground, baby." Pete felt like a million dollars at seeing the machine actually in the air.
That is, he did for a minute or two.
Three minutes later he didn't feel like a million dollars. He felt like a man condemned to a slow, agonizing death.
The copter rose higher and higher and" then forward until finally it disappeared from view.
Pete ground his teeth, put the dead girl on the ground, strode angrily to the shed and proceeded to set fire to it. In ten minutes the shed was a roaring inferno, flames and smoke shooting high into the sky.
"That should bring someone looking for me," he said quietly, and somehow he knew it would. That murdering female needed to be taken care of and Pete Drake was just the guy who could do it.
