Pain became blinding as the fingers bit deeper and deeper into her. Her mouth opened, but complete agony froze her larynx, stifled any sound. She vaguely felt her knees begin to give way, but the hands oh, God the hands! supported her. She suddenly became aware
that the hands were no longer stroking her, but had moved to the buttons of her sun suit, were undoing them. "I hope my darling hasn't been hurt too badly we'd better check for damage"...
All at once she felt his gentle touch, and now not on her throat, but on her bare flesh...
1
It had been as nearly perfect a day as Reck Machin could remember. Swimming, lazing in the sun, more swimming, the picnic supper, and now the floor-show.
Smiling, he leaned back on his elbows, the reflection of the campfire shimmering on his face, amusedly enjoying Sue's gyrations as she burlesqued an Indian war-dance round and round the flames, whooping and stamping her bare feet.
Suddenly he heard a voice: "Hey, Doc, check that!"
He started, looked up. Where had these three come from? He had heard no sound, but there they were at his head, three complete strangers.
Reck moved to scramble up, but a hand shoved him back down onto the sand, and a rough voice advised: "Relax, friend, everything's all right."
He stayed down, looking up at them. An unpleasant feeling came over him as they stood watching the girl, motionless now, and watching them in turn. What the devil did they want and who were they?
The tallest finally looked down at Reck and smiled. "We saw the fire from across the lake and thought we'd have a look at things. He looked back at the girl. "It seems we did right." The man's voice was soft and his speech flawless, but this increased rather than relieved Reek's unease.
"Yeah, Doc, we sure done right," grated the voice which had invited Doc to "check that."
"Doc?" asked Reck from his reclining position, "Are you a doctor?"
The tall man laughed quietly. "No, I'm not. I do however have a scientific turn of mind. I just can't resist investigating things. The boys might equally well call me Professor, which in fact they did for a while. You mustn't mind them; they have very simple tastes, and a sense of humor to match." As Doc spoke, his eyes remained on Sue, who had unwittingly frozen so that she was outlined against the fire.
Reek's eyes followed Doc's look, and he didn't blame the man for staring. Sue's modest but well-fitting sunsuit showed clearly the soft contours of her body, as the firelight flickered over the golden tan of her skin.
Suddenly one of the strangers, shorter and stockier than the others, walked around to Sue and, grasping her arm, turned her.
"Let's see what you look like, baby."
Reck again started to his feet, but this time a sharp blow on the back of the neck left him stretched on the sand, half-dazed. Doc's voice reached him dimly: "You really shouldn't be so impulsive, my friend. We're only here to satisfy a little curiosity. I dislike violence, so please...."
Sue was struggling viciously in the grip of the stocky one who had grabbed her as she made an instinctive move toward Reck.
"Now look, honey," said 'Stocky', "make it easy on yourself. Don't go gettin' all riled up over nothin'. Your boy friend ain't hurt none."
"He's quite right, you know." Doc had approached Sue, after nodding slightly toward Reek's half-conscious form. The third member of the strange team reached down, took Reck by the armpits, and dragged him to a small tree. Removing Reek's own belt, the man hoisted him, leaned him against the tree, drew his hands around the trunk and lashed them together. "Now, sonny, you just behave yourself, or papa spank." He laughed, and turned back to watch the scene at the campfire.
"You know, my dear," Doc continued to Sue, "you are quite a pretty litle thing. So golden from the sun. You must love the outdoors very much, eh?" As he spoke he brought one hand to her throat and moved it caressingly along from the shoulder junction to a point just under her ear.
Sue had stopped struggling when Doc first approached her and spoke, but at the unexpected touch of his hand, she started violently, and nearly escaped the slightly-loosened clutch of the stocky man, who now stood directly behind her, his arms around her waist.
Doc snapped sharply: "Hold her still, man! I want to study this little one more closely."
The stocky one's arms tightened excruciatingly about her, and her mouth opened to scream. Doc's hand, still lying lightly against her throat, suddenly gripped it like a claw, and her breath was cut off. At the same time Doc's voice purred tenderly into her ear. "Now, now, we can't have any of that, can we?" His grip loosened so that she could catch breath. She gasped, said nothing. Suddenly the claw gripped her again, and the soft voice repeated: "Can we?! You must answer, you know. We cannot tolerate resistance." The hand loosened, and her bruised throat opened to admit a shuddering inhalation.
Still she refused to answer.
Reck had recovered, was watching from the tree. As Doc tightened his grip on Sue's throat, Reck lunged, only to be thrown back by his bound hands. The one who had tied him turned and shook his head.
"Just won't learn, huh?" He took a slim knife from his pocket, opened it, and held it lightly against Reek's cheek.
"Ever see what one of these will do to a man?"
"You son of a bitch," Reck breathed.
The man looked thoughtfully at him. "You know, if you can talk, you can yell too, can't you? Not that anybody would hear you, but we just don't wanta take no chances on somebody upsettin' the apple cart. This looks like it might be interestin'. " He knelt beside Reck, searched his pockets and pulled out Reek's handkerchief. Whipping it over the boy's mouth, forcing it between his teeth, he tied it tightly behind Reek's head. "That oughta hold you, friend." He turned back to watch Doc.
Doc stood, a look of weary patience on his face, waiting. Finally his eyes slid over Sue's shoulder, and he spoke to the man holding her from behind.
"Very well. It seems she must be taught. Perhaps your method will be better in this case. But, just a moment." His hand stroked Sue's cheek and again moved softly over her throat. He sighed.
Such a pity to have to retrain one so lovely as you, my dear. Oh, I dare say that, to judge by appearance, you have been carefully and lovingly reared, and have been taught discipline of a sort. But, my love, in life we must learn absolute obedience. Society demands it, the law enforces it, our employers are not our employers long if we do not strictly observe it. Now, here, I am your society, your law, your employer, and I must insist that you recognize it. Do I make myself clear?" These odd words were accompanied by the unceasing gentle strokes of his hand up and down along her throat, which twitched occasionally under his touch.
Sue had been watching him, fascinated, during his little speech. Fascinated by the caressing quality of his voice and feathery touch of his hand, as contrasted with the almost Napoleonic content of his words. Now, still watching his face, she stubbornly set her lips.
Again Doc's eyes moved past her and again he gave his small nod, the nod that seemed to accomplish all his desires.
Sue saw the nod, and instantly felt the hands that had been clasped at her waist move upward, to stop on her breasts. Her first shock reaction at the boldness of the move was annulled by pain as the hands began to squeeze slowly. Pain became blinding as the fingers bit deeper and deeper into her. Her mouth opened, but complete agony froze her larynx, stifled any sound. She vaguely felt her knees begin to give way, but the hands oh, God, the hands! supported her.
Now the monstrous pressure was gone, but pain pulsed through her body with each heartbeat. Her eyes slowly cleared along with her benumbed brain, and she realized that Doc was still stroking her throat and crooning into her ear.
"You see, my dear, punishment is the reward for obstinacy. Oh my love, my love, why will you refuse to understand?"
Sue doubted the reality of everything around her. Here was this-this monster, whispering lovingly into her ear while giving the order that caused her the most hellish suffering she had ever heard of, pain the very existence of which she would have been incapable of dreaming a few minutes earlier.
She suddenly became aware that the hands were no longer stroking her, but had moved to the buttons of her sun suit, were undoing them. Doc's voice was again at her ear, murmuring.
"I do hope my little darling hasn't been too badly hurt. We'd better check for damage. You see, my love, my friend has more strength than intelligence."
Sue started again to struggle as she felt the cool air wash over her upper body, but stopped abruptly at a glance from Doc. Her sunsuit jacket was withdrawn, down over her arms, and, strangely enough, carefully folded and laid aside. The brassiere followed, handled with the same care. This accomplished, Doc turned back to her and admonished her with a finger. "We must have no more struggles, little one." She blinked again at the weird combination of soft tone and icy cold eyes. Was she going mad, completely?
Wonder quickly left her as she watched Doc's hands come up once more. Her throat tensed for his touch, and she seemed already to feel his incredible fingers stroking, stroking. But all at once she felt their gentle touch, not on her throat, but on the bare flesh of her bruised breasts. She sobbed rackingly, and tried to turn away from the unfamiliar touch, but suddenly felt again the agony of hard fingers, this time clamping like pliers on the rosy tips of her trembling breasts. Again Doc's voice purred soothingly into her ear. "No, "no, no, no, you must stand quietly." The pliers went away, and soft fingers gently lifted, held, caressed. "Now that's much better, isn't it, darling?"
Her eyes looked into Doc's smiling face, she felt his fingers scurrying lightly over her flesh, and she was sure she must be mad. Things like this just didn't happen. Surely now she would wake up any moment, safe and snug in her own bed at home.
Then her eyes fell upon Reck, bound to the tree, the cords of his neck distended, inarticulate snarls coming from behind the gag. She shuddered, felt fingers cupping her chin, turning her face back to Doc. "Don't worry about him, he's all right so long as he behaves." No, this was no dream this was nightmare but it was happening nonetheless.
Doc's face bent toward her, his lips going to her ear.
"My poor darling. Well, don't you worry, you'll be fine soon." Lips touched her ear, a snaky tongue burrowed its way slowly inside, the tip tracing the convolutions, causing little tics in her neck muscles; then open mouth and flashing tongue were moving slowly down over the curve of her throat, settling briefly into the hollow at the base of it, teasing. Then down, down over the arch of her left breast, lips clinging, tongue soothing. Sue felt a weakness throughout her body as the lips continued, as the gentle, monstrously gentle, satanically gentle hands moved down to her hips, and squeezed lightly, slowly, and alternately. Now the lips had encircled the plier-bruised tip of her left breast and the balm of the electricity-generating, pain-killing tongue was laving its tenderness.
Suddenly the lips and tongue were gone, only the night air touched her, and, without realizing it, she breathed a small sigh of protest at the loss. Her eyes opened heavily and she was looking again into the eyes of the man who was torturing her so senselessly, first with pain, and now with this what was it?-
Whatever it was, it was new to her, strength-sapping, lethargy-rousing. She knew instinctively that it was no good, that she must fight it. But how could she fight? If she did, then would come the pain, of that she was sure. Doc's eyes, shining into hers from inches away, told her that. She felt a flash of helpless anger, followed immediately by despair. What in God's name could she do?
"Well, well," Doc smiled down at her, "still, apparently, we feel a slight touch of independence, don't we, my little tiger kitten?"
Sue's eyes closed. He had obviously caught the fleeting anger in her face.
"Please," she whispered, "please...."
"Darling! Do you realize that's the first word you've said to me?" Doc's voice was mocking, but caressing, eternally caressing, it too inviting lethargy. That gentle, soothing, loving voice was beginning to bother her almost as much as had the pain.
She felt him move. Her eyes opened and looked down to see his head moving to a position directly between her breasts. She felt his warm breath, then his warmer lips, and again the moist tongue began to trail over her, to the base and then to the slope and to the peak of her right breast. Again the current flowed through her, and she could feel the sensitive point hardening, reaching out to welcome the insistent tongue. Welcome!! Oh, great God, what was happening to her? Her body instinctively recoiled to escape the fact and thought of such welcome, but Doc's hands grasped her buttocks and the bruising pressure of his fingers forced her to stand still.
Doc raised his eyes to hers. He smiled. "I know you didn't really mean that, my love," came his whisper. "You see, my dear, you are experiencing the first pangs of submission, and you automatically fight it." His hands slid under the legs of her shorts, up onto her bare flesh. "But we mustn't fight, must we?" His fingers dug into and twisted the soft buttocks. Again pain flooded her.
"You didn't answer my first question, but, my dear, I must insist that you answer me this time. I say, we mustn't fight, must we?" The fingers moved threateningly.
Sue stuttered in her frantic attempt to forestall the expected hurt. "N-n-no," she whispered feverishly, almost inaudibly.
"There, that was easy enough now, wasn't it." Doc smiled paternally at her. "You're learning slowly but surely, my dear." His hands trailed from her buttocks down her thighs, up over the delicate curve of her hip, and through the hollow of her waist, causing her to shudder involuntarily. "You see, lovely one, life is composed of a combination of things, and when these things are properly mixed then life reaches its highest peaks."
What in the world could that mean? Again the sense of unreality enveloped her.
Once more the maddening hands slid down over the indentation of her waist, convulsing the smooth skin, making her whole body tremble, and her breasts now began to ache with a different kind of pain. She could feel them swelling, growing heavy and extremely sensitive. Her lips, too, had acquired a fuller, moist, lax look, and her eyelids had become too heavy for her to hold up; her head began to roll loosely on her neck.
She was dimly aware of Doc's eyes watching her face, his mouth smiling as if in fond approval of something, but her mind seemed to have clouded completely. Then sensation drowned her as hands and lips moved down, down, and she felt the buttons of her shorts give way one by one. She felt another touch of cool night air on bare flesh. Doc's voice reached her only faintly now over the pulsing flood in her ears.
"Please, darling, you must raise one foot. That's it now the other."
The rest was fragmentary to her. Lips touched her cheeks, her shoulders, her acutely-sensitive, stone-hardened nipples, moved down to explore the mystery of her navel. Meanwhile, hands, thousands of them, seemingly, roamed her body. Ecstasy! Heaven! Oh God, more more more more ... the word chittered audibly through her agonized moans. Vague awareness of warm flesh pressed tightly to her back. Again lips on her breasts, movement at her back her mind registered faintly the awareness that now there were two of them, holding her, caressing her, taking her into paradise. Now she was obeying the soft, insistent pressure of hands on her head, her lips blindly seeking, finding, devouring, trying to consume entirely the source of her bliss, to absorb it into her maddened, tortured body. Now she felt herself lifted, carried, laid gently on the soft grass, her feet hanging over the edge of a bank. Lips on her lips, on her throat, on her breasts; tormenting, teasing, flames traveling slowly down the length of her. Gentle, firm hands on her knees, moving them, and then, suddenly, the earth opened with a roar and engulfed her as starving mouth and whipping tongue pressed the final, long, all-consuming kiss upon her. Her mouth opened, letting forth a thin, mewling wail, as her back arched, her body twisted, only the strong hands on her thighs holding her in place. Slowly, shuddering, she collapsed, lay motionless, aware of nothing at all....
Reck sat, still tied to the tree, staring blindly into the haze surrounding him. Doc, Doc, Doc; Turn, Turn, Turn. These were names or nicknames he knew he would never be able to forget. The haze deepened as he heard again the echo of that coarse voice: "Come on, Turn, your turn. Haw! Hey, I like that: 'your turn, Turn.' " Only the coarse-voiced one had never been called by any kind of appellation.
He turned his thoughts to the girl. Was she all right? She lay so terribly still, and had lain that way for what seemed like hours. "Oh God, Sue, if only I could break this damned belt! Please, you've got to be all right, you've got to be!" He realized he was pleading silently and felt childish, but so what? She did have to be all right. He had brought her here, and what had happened to her was his fault. Oh, Christ!
The fire had died out completely now, and there was nothing. No men, no fire, no life, only the motionless girl and a helpless would-be man. Would-be was right. He had been about as much protection to her as would have been a two-year-old. He felt that if only his arms were free he should, and probably would, drown himself.
He felt tears on his cheeks, and he couldn't have cared less.
He stared hard at the girl. Was she moving? Yes, her feet were slowly swinging as if reaching for support. "Sue!" His shout was blocked painfully. He had forgotten about the gag.
He shuffled his feet, thumped them in the dirt, anything to get her attention. He could see her now rising painfully to her knees, rocking and swaying, then stumbling to her feet and nearly falling down the bank. She started blindly reeling toward the nearest trees, obviously unaware of him, going directly away from him, equally obviously having no idea of where she was or where she was going.
He tried to force a shout, but only a muffled indescribable something penetrated the gag. Her head came up slowly as she stopped. She must have heard him! Hope urged another try. Her head came around slowly as she apparently tried to locate the sound. He threshed his body, stamped and shuffled his feet, mewled through the gag. Now she was looking straight at him, and he twisted more frantically.
She crouched like an animal and seemed about to flee. "Oh no, please, Sue, unfasten me, so I can help you, please..." his mind reached out and begged her.
Suddenly he saw her start and look down at herself. She slowly straightened and looked toward the ashes of the fire, and he heard a whimpering sob from her. Her hands went to her head and he could see her shaking it violently.
She came now back toward the fire, her eyes searching the ground. Stooping, she retrieved her clothes, looked blankly at them for a moment, then slowly put them on, not bothering to fasten the bra. Her movements were listless, and her audible breathing sounded almost painful to him.
Finished dressing, she looked out over the lake, around at the glade, and then started toward the path leading to the road.
Her eyes fell upon him as she passed and she started violently. Her hand raised hesitantly toward him. "Reck...? Is that you, Reck?"
"Mmf, mmf."
She dropped to her knees beside him and peered into his face, saw the gag, and started fumbling with it, finally loosening the knot, and letting the handkerchief drop away.
He cleared his throat, wet his lips and tried again. "Oh Lord, Sue, are you all right? Please ... my hands, the belt." He felt her hands searching for the belt fastening behind the tree, and finally he was free. He jumped up, nearly banging his head on the tree as his legs gave way, and grabbed the rough bark to steady himself for a moment.
"Sue, you are all right, aren't you?" His voice was desperate.
"Oh yes, I'm fine." Her smile was automatic and meaningless.
He took her arm, helped her up the path to his car and settled her gently on the seat, closed the door, ran around and climbed under the wheel.
He watched her as he drove, noting the vacant look in her usually mischievous, laughing eyes.
"Sue, we'll catch those guys; they'll pay for this, don't you worry."
A light of panic flared in her face. "Oh no, Reck, oh God, no! We can't report this! Have you thought what would happen? Oh please, Reck, please! We can't even tell my folks. Promise me, Reck, promise!" Her fingers froze on his arm.
"But, Sue, we've got to....
"No, Reck, no, you've got to promise."
She was silent for a long minute. Then quietly: You see, Reck ... You see, it's more than just those men, Reck ... It's me, too! Reck, you know I've always tried to be good ... I've never done anything anybody could be ashamed of ... You know that, don't you don't you, Reck?" Her voice rose.
"Sure, Sue, sure, I know that."
"Well, then ... well ... Oh, please, you've got to understand this, Reck. Reck, when those men did ... did ... all those things to me ... I ... I enjoyed it! I did, Reck, I enjoyed it more than anything that ever happened to me before. I wanted it to go on and on ... I want to happen again, right now! Oh God, please ... Don't you understand what that makes me, don't you, Reck?" her voice was almost a scream and she was trembling as if with intense cold.
Reck felt faint with inexpressable pity and love, something else he couldn't define, and the realized fact that no one could help her, least of all he himself. He cradled her head on his shoulder and, smoothing her hair, he cried silently within himself.
He stopped the car in front of her house, waited while she tried to rearrange her features, gently reminded her that she should fasten the loose bra, and let her out of the jaloppy. He squeezed her still shaking hand a moment and promised not to say or do anything about tonight until she asked him to.
He stood and watched her disappear up the walk.
2
Reck drove blindly, seeing again die scene in the glade. What rotten animals men could be! And women, too. He could still see the blind, ravening hunger in Sue's face as the men manipulated her until no manipulation was needed until, indeed, Sue became the aggressor. He saw again her violently seeking lips and hands, and her squirming, straining body in Doc's arms as he carried her to the bank and laid her gently down, there finally cooling the raging fire with his evidently widely experienced and exotic technique.
He thought of himself, watching all this, the urge to kill swelling his whole body. Then too, there was that other thing, the thing he hadn't thought about until it touched him again as he drove Sue home. That something he couldn't define. Couldn't he? He thought about it now, and wondered if it was that he couldn't or wouldn't define it.
No, Sue hadn't had to tell him that she had enjoyed her ordeal. He had seen plainly enough the truth about her. Now, let him face the truth about himself. Admit it, man. That "undefinable something" was pure lust, a secret urge to have a share in the glade happening. Wasn't it, come on, admit it you're just as much an animal as the others!
Man. Is this what God concentrates His interest in what He has made chief among all the creatures of earth? God, you sure slipped up somewhere.
He forced himself to think. Doc, Turn no, except for the pro "Docs" he hadn't heard of anyone called either of these names. But then, that wasn't too surprising; there were so many towns around that he never went to, so many people came from these towns to picnic and swim around the lake. This may well have been the first time these particular men had ever been there, and he felt sure that after tonight, they would probably stay away for a long time. The very fact that they hadn't seemed to mind his hearing their pet names for each other must mean that they were from somewhere where they never expected to meet him. And if he found them? Shoot them? He couldn't report them he had promised Sue. Then again, was he, or Sue for that matter, so much better than they? Yes, he decided, they were. Sue had tried to fight at first. And he himself though he admitted the unholy urge within himself, at least he had never given in to it. Would he ever? Having been completely unaware of that impulse until the glade scene, he couldn't answer his own question. Well, forget it until the occasion comes to find out.
Yes, he wanted to find those guys. What would happen then he would worry about after he found them. All right, how do we go about it? He would recognize any one of them under any circumstances, of that he was sure. Oh yes, he had memorized those faces as he had never memorized anything else. He could have described them in every fine detail. Not only the faces, either hadn't he seen all of them in their naked inglory?
Reck began to spend all his spare time going from one joint to another, visiting places he never ordinarily would have considered entering. Watching, laughing, back-slapping. "How's old Doc these days."
"Who."
"Doc."
"Never heard of him."-"Wonder that's happened to old screwball Turn? Haven't seen him for a long time."
"Who."
"Turn-you know Turn, don't you."
"Nope." Nothing.
Just once had he seen Sue since that night at the lake.
He had dropped in to see her a couple of times during the following week, but her mother had told him that Sue hadn't been feeling well, and didn't want visitors. He had forced a grin the first time: "Shucks, I ain't no visitor, I'm Reck." But Sue hadn't wanted to see Reck either.
"What's the matter with her?" He hoped it was a properly casual tone.
"Why, nothing in particular I guess. She's just listless and a little preoccupied. I sometimes have to say something two or three times to her before she seems to hear me, and she doesn't seem to take much interest in things I suppose it's one of those phases girls go through. I was probably the same way, although I don't remember it being so strong with me."
"Yeah, I suppose she'll get over it. Well, tell her J was here. I'll come back later."
The second time, Sue still hadn't wanted to see him. Her mother had laughed and told him that Sue sow had an extra cleanliness streak; she seemed to be eternally brushing her teeth and taking baths. "I'd think there is romance in the wind, except that she never leaves the house. She has spring fever, I guess, even if it is midsummer."
Then, one night at the end of that first week, Sue had called him her folks were gone somewhere for a few days, and would he like to pick her up and take her for a ride?
"Would I! Be there in fifteen minutes."
"Fine, Reck, we'll just ride around and get some air." A faint remote quality in the tone, a touch of absentness.
They rode, with him doing virtually all the talking, her few remarks seemingly addressed to herself, barely audible.
Finally he raised his voice, half-angry: "For God's sake, Sue, snap out of it. This is me, Reck come down to earth, will you?"
She turned to him, not at all stirred by his blunt remark.
"Reck, let's go to the glade by the lake."
"My God, Sue, what for? That place is not for us! I'd rather not ever go there again."
"Please, Reck..." That same dull tone, distant, but her hand gripped his arm, fingers twitching, clamping. "Please. Reck, I've got to go to the glade."
"Why, Sue, for God's sake tell me why!"
"I don't know. I don't know!! " Her voice lost its deadness, rose almost to a shriek. "I don't know ... I've just got to go there! If you won't take me, then stop the car and let me out. I'll walk!" Her body was alive now, quaking with urgency.
"AH right, Sue, all right, we'll go to the glade. It'll be nice there tonight, and we can build sand castles on the beach." His laugh was weak and shaky, a fear for the girl roiling his insides. "It ain't everybody builds sand castles at night, huh?"
He let her precede him down the path, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. He couldn't lead her down that path. That would have meant having her behind him, out of his sight, and he felt incapable of it, even for a second, here of all places. He tried to laugh at himself those guys were long gone and far away, and such things don't happen twice in one lifetime-but the deep fear was there.
Down on the beach Sue stopped and looked at the still visible remains of last week's campfire. Reck stood behind her, waiting, wondering why she had felt the irresistible urge to come here. Psychology, he thought to himself, differences in individuals; all different, yet basically the same. Oh, it's a great thing, psychology. His only desire had been to stay completely away from this particular spot Sue had obviously a driving need to return to it.
He watched her as she stood silently, motionless, staring at the ashes; then his ear caught a sob, and he saw her shoulders begin to quiver. He stepped up to her, slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her back against him, rubbing his cheek in her hair, and murmured soothing sounds into her ear. "It's okay, Sue, it's okay-please honey, don't cry. Let's go, shall we? Let's get out of this place."
Her sobs stopped finally and she rested her head back against his shoulder.
"No, Reck, let's just stand here for a while. I'm all right, it's just ... just..."
"I know, Sue. All right, we'll just stand here and enjoy the lake view and maybe throw a few rocks at the fish. okay?"
She smiled, turning her face toward him. "They might throw the rocks back at us." She kissed his cheek. "You're very sweet, Reck. Don't worry so, I'm all right now." She relaxed against him and they stood quietly for a long time, hearing the faint splashing in the lake and the rustle of small animals in the woods.
All at once he became aware that she was moving slowly and rhythmically against him, pressing back tightly against his body, and he heard sickeningly familiar little coos coming from deep within her. Her head was still thrown back onto his shoulder and he turned her face toward him. Her eyes were half-closed, her face slack, and her breathing heavy. Before he could free his other arm from her waist and step back a little, her hands had seized both of his and drawn them to her breasts, forcing them deep into her. Her buttocks slammed back into him, and her body began grinding against him. Her voice came out, husky and ragged: "Hurt me, Reck, please Reck, squeeze me hard"-her hands clawed into the backs of his, forcing them against her so tightly that he winced for her. He tried to disentangle himself gently, then more forcefully, but she would have none of it. "Please, darling, please. I need it, Reck. Oh, please, don't deny me this!"
He could feel that fever soaking into his own body, a resurgence of that feeling he remembered from their last visit to this place. He tried to fight it down, to withdraw from her, but she clung and writhed against him until he found himself clutching her, crushing, pinching, his lips punishing the side of her neck and her ear, his hands tearing at their clothes. Their groans and gasps became louder and louder. He could hear them roaring in his ears...
Roaring . . .Good God, what was he doing? He wrenched himself brutally Free, throwing her, unintentionally, to the ground. She lay there, sobbing hysterically, as he stood over her and tried to snap himself up into some sort of normalcy.
He leaned down, picked her up gently, cradling her head against his shoulder, and carried her up the path to the car.
Neither could find anything to say as he drove her home.
He got out in front of her house, opened the door, and helped her out. They looked at each other, each mutely pleading, neither quite knowing what there was to plead for.
She finally, almost spasmodically, spun on her heel and ran up the walk to the house.
He never saw her again.
It wasn't that he hadn't tried. He had gone back to her house the very next day. to see if there wasn't something he could say, or do, to make up for last night. He didn't think in terms of whose fault it might have been, or anything else, except that he wanted to see Sue as she had been before either of them had ever seen the three guys.
He had pounded on the door, rung the bell, even gone all around the house, trying to see through windows. He knew that Sue's parents wouldn't be back for a couple of days, and he was sure that Sue wouldn't have gone anywhere alone, especially after the painful incident of last night being piled on top of her previous secret. No sign of life could he sense in the house.
He went home and called by phone. He let the phone ring until he thought sure that even the neighbors would complain. No response. Well, he would just try periodically until he got an answer.
Finally, on the third day, Sue's mother answered. He knew it was she because she said so, but he never would have recognized the voice. Mosdy in pieces, he got the picture ... came home ... Sue in bed . . obviously no food for days ... awake, but ... schiz-something ... gone to rest home ... don't know ... maybe all right, sometime ... no idea what caused ... could be anything ... maybe never know.
On the verge of telling her, he stopped, thanked her, and hung up. Cause unknown? Oh, no. He knew. He and Sue knew, didn't they? Or did Sue know any more? Did she know, would she ever know, anything, any more?
Now what? Sue gone, dead feeling inside, no interest in anything except the thought of finding those guys. But how? He didn't know how to start. Oh sure, it was fine, in books, to be the relentless pursuer, but how would he live while he pursued? Where would he pursue? Whom? How many people had he heard called Doc? True, very few as young as the one at the campfire, but still quite a few. He had never before known any one called Turn, but how many might there be, in how many places? Now that Sue was gone, he should go to the police and tell the whole story. But what would that do to Sue, who now couldn't do anything? Besides, a promise was a promise, and he had made one to Sue. No, he couldn't tell the police. Well, what then? It was an impossible deal all around.
He made up his mind. He went to Sue's house. No, Sue was no better. No, she couldn't receive visitors yet. Well, they don't know when she will be able to, if ever. It's nice of you to ask, but ... He went home, packed only an airline overnight bag and left. No word to his parents, nor to anyone else. Where was he going? Oh, California, first, he guessed.
He rode freights all the way. Mailed his parents a card from Green River, Wyoming, so they wouldn't worry too much about him.
The next 15 years seemed to have passed like a cloud of smoke, of no conceivable importance.
A couple of jobs; the army, overseas war service; the university, with a major in psychology why, Doctor,-
Doc, why a major in psychology? Later local job; then North Africa and the construction company, then Hollywood. Christ, Hollywood yet!
During those years he had written to Sue's home, and always the same reply. No, she's no better. No, we still don't know anything. Finally, the last reply. Please, Reck, you're only hurting yourself this way. Why don't you forget about Sue and get married to some nice girl. Of course, we are really pleased that you haven't forgotten about Sue, but we insist that you think about your own future. Now, please, we will not answer any more letters from you about Sue.
And they hadn't. He tried a few times more, but no answer. Well, they probably really thought that Sue was why he had never married. Ridiculous he wasn't married simply because he had never met the right girl that was why, wasn't it? Of course it was. Forget it. Doc, Turn, Turn, Doc. Who were they, where were they? In hell by now, he supposed. At least he hoped so.
Strange, wasn't it, that in all those years he had never once gone back to visit his mother. His step-dad had died 14 years ago, and he hadn't even gone to the funeral. Too busy, and besides, what good would it do? The poor old guy was gone, and anyway, he would understand. Understand what? That you were too busy? Oh nuts, quit trying to analyze things. Let it alone!
3
Well, here he was, finally, almost back to the old home town. The triumphant return of the Hollywood Hero. Local Yokel Makes Good.
Despite his attempts at light humor, Reck felt expectancy rising in him. How far yet? Must be real close. God, he had completely forgotten how many fireflies there were around this neck of the woods. Hey, there's the old
... No, it isn't. It can't be. You haven't even passed Smith Comers yet, and you never in your life saw anything beyond it, except from those freights, and then you were headed west, not north. Relax. You'll get there.
He arrived at about 7:30 in the morning, and had a bit of trouble even recognizing the place he used to live in. No wonder he hadn't recognized any of the places along the road into town. Boy, 15 years sure worked a lot of changes.
He noted that the gate was open at the place his sister's letters had told him her husband worked, so he stopped in. One man in the place recognized him immediately, and had to introduce him to his brother-in-law. The latter immediately took him home and introduced him to his own sister, who in turn took him to his mother and introduced him. Great! Well, he suddenly remembered that he had sent no pictures of himself for quite a few years, although he had written rather infrequently.
Naturally, several days were passed in making rounds of old places and friends, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to mention Sue, even to his mother. No more could he force himself to go past her house. What was he afraid of? Was he ... he tried to avoid the word, but there it was ... psycho?
One evening, after the clamor of greeting had died down and normal monotony had been pretty well reestablished, he was leafing idly through his sister's scrap-book of newspaper clippings, of which, he had been surprised to learn, she was an inveterate collector. Subject matter was relatively unimportant. Even she didn't know why she collected some of them. "Oh, I don't know, I just felt the urge to cut it out."
He had finished a long article on the old cemetery, unused now for 50 years, which even as a boy had fascinated him with its air of the unknown. Who were these people? What were they like? Anyway, he now leafed back through the book, scanning the clippings for news, now history, of old friends. v
And there it was ... SUE BENTON DEAD OF SLEEPING PILLS...
He read it slowly and thoroughly. Sue had been released as sufficiently recovered to respond to home care, this about five years before. Apparently her mother had had no cause for unease at any time in the next two years, and had begun to think of Sue as a perfectly normal person in the house, allowed her to go and come as she pleased, even to walking downtown alone, and doing her own shopping. Consequently, she had thought little about it when Sue came in from a marketing trip looking a little upset, explaining that she had a headache and wanted to lie down. "Don't wake me for supper, Mother," she had said, according to the report. "If I'm awake I'll come down, but otherwise just let me sleep."
So they had let her sleep, but when she didn't come down the next morning, and they couldn't get any response when they tried her locked door, her father had broken down the door, and found her already ice-cold.
That was that. No reasons known. The pills? No, none of the druggists had ever sold her unusual quantities of them. In view of her known condition, most of them wouldn't sell them directly to her at all, only to her mother, following a doctor's prescription.
Reck sat there staring at the clipping. Her mother must have really accepted her as normal. God, it's often bad enough to let normal people too near an over-supply of soporifics.
Sue had been dead for three years now. What, if anything, had happened on that trip to town, three years ago? Had she seen something, or heard something to set her off? Or had she really only had a headache, as she claimed, and unknowingly taken too many of those little calmers? He didn't know and probably never would know. Whatever might have been in town three years ago was surely gone by now.
He lay that night in the quiet of the bedroom, unable to sleep, his head churning. So that was the end of the wonderful old days of swimming, laughing, clowning, picnicking ... and Indian dancing around campfires. Only now, after the clipping, did it really come home hard to him. Reck, it's over, but really over. Period. It just isn't any more, get it? Sue just isn't any more, boy, face it. Drop that half-unconscious, never-admitted feeling that somehow things will be all right after while, all our dreamboats will come to port, and we'll all live happily ever after. It just ain't true.
He felt tears on his face, tears for Sue, for himself, for everyone in the whole rotten mess called life ... tears he couldn't have explained to save his life, maybe for the years that had passed, maybe for the ones to come.
Such a simple thing picnic supper and campfire, and look what came of it. He knew now that his whole life in the past 15 years had been greatly affected by that night, one little episode, no doubt, of many such little episodes in the lives of three men: Doc, Turn, and ? ? ? My God, they probably haven't even thought of it since that night! He twisted on the bed, thinking how little he had done other than think about it in his lone hours. Had they read the death notice in the papers and passed by it, not even realizing that the three of them were actual murderers? Of course they couldn't realize it. They didn't even know Sue. They had never known her except as a plaything in an odd hour. They had never known him either. Without knowing their names, three men had ruined Sue completely and finally killed her, and Christ only knew how much of his own futile life was the direct result of the same three.
He began now to burn with a rage quite different from the one that had seized him right after the incident. No man or group of men should be allowed such power over others. If they used such power, then they should pay for it in equivalent use of the same power over them by someone else.
That's when he knew exactly what he intended to do. How, he didn't know yet, but he would figure it out. He was in a unique position. He was the only living being, aside from the three men, who knew anything about the episode in the glade. And what reason could those men possibly have after 15 years to even remember it? They probably had children of their own, who may well have been the victims of just such an event, in just such a place, perhaps.
The thought of that gave him no particular pleasure, however. What did please him a great deal was the cold, calm thought of what he meant to do. He would search the nearby towns until he found them, or was forced to admit that they were no longer there, and that he could find absolutely no trace of them. Finding, he would kill them. As simple as that. He had no particular point in life anyway; what did it matter if he got caught? The Hollywood thing, he knew, was a joke, no matter that his agent continually told him that it was just a matter of time. Wasn't everything a matter of time? Hadn't three men been walking around for a long time now, while Sue suffered? Okay, if they were still alive, then it was only a matter of time until he found them. He was no kid any more; he knew this was no dream on his part. This was his life work, and he at last understood that it had been his life work ever since the night at the lake. He should have started then, but who doesn't wait until almost, if not entirely, too late to start in his real occupation? That too must have caused some of the now-dry tears on his face, that eternal If I had only-
Now he slept, with the first really comfortable feeling he had had in more years than he wanted to remember. It was so easy; just make up your mind and make it stick.
4
Reck spent some time over restaurant coffee the next morning laying out a plan. He tried to apply logic to the problem. R's too bad, he thought, that he had never wanted to become a detective. How would he start this if he were a cop? He didn't know, and he certainly was not about to ask anyone who was any questions.
Doc. Now he was the smooth type, elegant talker, intellectual. He would flourish best in a city, but most likely wither away in a small town. Waynesburg? Seems most likely of any places near here. With the wisdom of hindsight, he thought that even as a kid he should have thought of that. Well, he hadn't.
Turn, now. God only knows where a creep like that might be. If he were in a city, he would no doubt be a strike-breaker, or some other equally upstanding citizen type. He could as easily be a small town ass almost anywhere.
? ? ? ? Not much hope there. Again a small town ass, or almost anything undesirable in a city. Nothing but sight could help him with this one.
He thought he had at least a reasonable starting point. Doc and Waynesburg. It would take months, maybe years, but he would do it if old age didn't get him first. He wondered briefly how it would be to wash dishes for a meal, or scrounge from missions. Well, he was about to find out.
People had started now to fill the empty seats in the place, so Reck paid for his coffee and walked out, stopping outside the door to look up and down the rapidly filling streets. Saturday morning. The farmers were coming in early to do their weekly shopping and gab-swapping. Reck sighed a little, thinking back to the good old days when the town was roaring on Saturday nights, stores jammed, movie house lines half a block long for each show, he and the rest of the kids just waiting for the slightest chance to sneak in through the balcony exit door as someone else, some sucker who had bought and paid for a ticket, came out. Grabbing that door before it had a chance to swing shut had been a fine art, at which Reck had excelled; he was equally quick to scan the inside and spot the usher, or the absence of same, before sliding through the door and into a nearby seat. He grinned as he thought of the many times he had been caught, but then look how many free shows he had seen. Those days were gone, however; now the stores stayed open on Friday nights and closed at 6 pm on Saturday. Somehow he felt a little sorry for the present-day kids. Come right down to it though, what difference did it make whether the night was Friday or Saturday? Reck guessed maybe he was just being a little nostalgic.
His musing was cut short as a Jackson cab pulled up at the curb in front of him. "Hi, Reck, what's happening?" The driver was leaning toward him, smiling. "Hello, Sammy, just had coffee, and thought I'd look the old town over a little today." Reck walked to the car and shook hands with the man at the wheel. He had known and been good friends with Sammy Jackson in high school and after, until he, Reck, had pulled up stakes. He had returned to find Sammy a successful cab company owner, one who believed that the boss was not too good to drive a cab along with the rest of his boys. "Actually," Sammy had laughed, "I want an excuse to get away from that desk and all those papers."
As Reck leaned in the window of the car and breezed with Sammy, the loudspeaker of the radio came alive. "Car three, car three, pick up at ice plant. Better hope the wrapper don't leak, haw, haw, haw." Sammy laughed. "Well, here we go. Another buck in the pocket. Those hillbillies keep me in business. They buy ice instead of refrigerators. My cars are soaked half the time." Reck had already learned that since his departure from the town the west and north sides had been invaded from other states by a crowd seeking work in the three giant manufacturing concerns which kept the town on the map. These, he knew, were referred to as "hillbillies," regardless of place of origin. Everyone in town was either a "Hoosier" or a "hillbilly," and each held the other in deep contempt.
"Car one, car one..."
"Oh, oh, that's me." Sammy pushed the mike button. "Car one, go ahead..."
"Pick up at Dick's grocery on Riley Street. Voice sounds a little woozy. Better check before pick-up."
"OK, will do. Be there in five minutes." He looked at Reck. "Well, here's where I earn my pay. Guy's probably stewed to the ears." He burned rubber down Main Street, around a left turn, and was gone.
Reck stood looking after him absent-mindedly until someone jostled his shoulder, apologized, and hurried on.
Reck looked around, and started walking down the length of Main Street toward the north end of town, where he had lived during his grammar school years. He remembered wondering how he had ever made it home to lunch and back again to the school in an hour. Many a time during his absence from the place he had visualized the many blocks to the school from his house and shook his head. Now he smiled wryly. It hadn't been such a trick. The blocks of the town were so short that he felt confident he could walk from one end of the place to the other in not more than fifteen minutes.
He walked along under the silver maples lining the street, and remembered how, in late winter or early spring (which was it?) people would tap the trees in front of their houses and hang buckets to catch the sap. He sighed as he realized that was just one more thing he had forgotten as the years passed. Exactly when did one tap a maple tree?
Gradually, as he walked further north, remembering now and then which of the kids had lived here, and here, he became aware of something trying to reach him from the back of his mind, something that had stirred back there when he was talking to Sammy. Had Sammy said something unusual? He thought back. No, it wasn't that. The man that had bumped his shoulder? No, he had felt something before that. What in hell could it be? The more he thought the less he was sure of anything. Finally he shrugged with irritation and walked faster, concentrating on looking about. There was where Billy Klitzenger had lived. Where might he be now? Where would so many of them be?
He reached the end of Main Street and glanced to his right across what had been his grandmother's big, big garden toward her former house. He could just recognize the basic structure as hers. The place had really been added to. Straight across the street from it he could recognize the house where he had lived and spent his happiest times. This one had changed only in that it had been recovered and re-roofed. Of course ,the old pump where he had drunk ice-cold spring water was not there, nor the old crab apple tree from which he had gotten so sick so many times. The thought of that old tree brought a sudden memory of his first inkling of the pleasure to be gotten from the female of the species. Charlotte what was her last name? In any case he remembered now the loose cotton blouse and the baggy, bloomer-type pants she wore that fatal day. He'd teased her unmercifully about something until she attacked him with nails, teeth, and feet, crying hysterically. He'd grabbed her and fallen to the ground holding tight to prevent her wild swings and clawings from reaching his face and/or other vital spots.
Since he himself had been wearing only a pair of cotton shorts, he quickly became aware of her breasts grinding against his chest. Her blouse had come open in the struggle, and he could feel the tight hard nipples bare against his skin.
He squeezed her harder and harder until she ran out of breath and sheer exhaustion stopped her struggles. She finally relaxed against him and sobbed, calling him names. He continued to hold her tightly against his body, not for defense now, but in answer to a demand within him which he didn't clearly understand. The hardness of her nipples and the soft mounds surrounding them seemed to cause a constant, heavy tingling through his whole frame.
He suddenly became aware that she was neither sobbing nor speaking. Looking down at her face he saw her eyes, wide and wondering, fixed on his.
"I I feel real funny, Reck. I feel hot and dizzy all of a sudden."
"Yeah, me too."
"My my chest feels like it's on fire, an' an' it hurts, kinda."
He drew back slightly and looked down at the smooth hillocks.
"They're almost red, Charlotte. Maybe maybe we got too rough."
His hand came hesitantly up and touched one. The tingle in his body increased. Breathlessly he closed his hand over the cone, feeling the sharp little nipple boring into his palm. Her breathing was light and very fast, and her eyes looked huge and unfocused.
On a sudden impulse he dropped his head and touched his tongue to one of the erect points. Her body convulsed and a ragged sob tore from her. She wrenched away from him, staring wildly.
"I I-" She whirled and rushed out of the yard and toward home, buttoning the blouse with trembling fingers.
Reck stood now, remembering, gazing at the empty spot once occupied by the old tree under which it had happened. He'd flopped down on the grass, the trembling and the tingling and the fire dying slowly. He thought wryly that never again had he ever felt quite that same hellishly sweet burning within himself. He wondered if Charlotte ever had.
He looked on down what had then been a graveled road, one he had traveled virtually every summer day, cussing the stones as they bruised his bare feet in the early part of the season, until his soles toughened to them. Now that the road formed part of the national highway bypassing the town it was well paved and maintained.
With sudden decision he swung right and walked east along that road. He would go to the cemetery and look it over. No, of course he wouldn't look for Sue's grave, he didn't want to see it, did he? Hadn't he convinced himself of that as soon as he learned of her death? No, he just wanted to see the place where he and the other kids had watched and thrown stones at chipmunks to make them duck back into their holes, only to stick their heads up out of another a few feet away. The thought that now some of those kids were lying in that same cemetery didn't make him feel any better.
Five minutes walking brought him to the turn, again to the north, which led to the cemetery and the lake in which they used to swim, back in the woods at a spot called, appropriately, "bare-ass beach." Five more minutes along this still-graveled road and he was opposite the gates of the cemetery. He looked at the shed just inside the gate. My God, it looked as if it hadn't changed a bit, not even paint-wise. He remembered that as a boy this shed had fascinated him, with a hint of mystery. The door was always locked, and the one window seemed always to be blocked by something leaning over it inside. What could be kept in a shed beside the gate of a cemetery? He smiled at the memory. He had completely forgotten that shed in the intervening years. Now the wonder hit him again, and he was determined to satisfy his curiosity.
He walked through the gate and directly to the door of the shed. Still locked. He looked down at the doorknob arrangement. It was a simple keyhole lock such as he had seen only on very old buildings in the past 15 years. Any 5 cent (correction: probably nowadays 25 cent) skeleton key would open it. So he believed, would any stiff bit of wire, if properly handled. Conscious of a feeling of sneak-thievery, he looked around, saw no one, and walked along the fence, looking for a loose end of wire hanging on a post. Since the fence obviously was fairly well kept up he felt sure that at some point where new sections had been put in he would find enough of a piece for his purpose. There it was: a six-inch length which hadn't been gathered up. He pulled it loose from the post, and with the aid of a rock, bent it into the rough form of the end of an old-fashioned door key. Inserting it into the lock, he wiggled it about for a couple of minutes, turning gently from time to time, and suddenly he was able to turn the knob, open the door, and walk into the shed. He felt what he was sure was unwarranted triumph as the mysterious den was revealed at last. Contents: one ancient lawnmower, two broken-down shovels, and one splintery bench. Fastened to the wall, a washbasin, God knows what for, complete with faucet. He laughed, walked over, turned on the faucet. It worked. He finally figured out that it was probably for the workers of the cemetery to wash their hands, and perhaps get a drink. This last was verified by the presence of an old tin cup hanging on a nail beside the basin. So this was the all-absorbing mystery ot his kid days.
A scrunch of gravel sounded outside. Quickly ducking down, he slid to the window and peered up over the bottom edge. A girl was walking down the road toward the lake, and it was she he had heard. He admired the swing of her hips as she strode along, but then he heard the sound of tires, and glanced quickly back the other way. A Jackson cab. He glanced back at the girl who had stopped and turned to the taxi. He started a little as he recognized her as one his sister had introduced him to when he first got home. She was, in fact, not a girl exactly. She must be at least 28, and his sister had told him that she was the town drunk, among other things. Reck watched the hack pull alongside the woman, and an arm pushed open the door for her. He couldn't see the driver since die car was now stopped some thirty feet beyond him, but he could see the man's shirt sleeve on the arm holding the door. Now what, he wondered, as the girl smiled, said something, and stepped into the front seat, slamming the door. The car rolled ahead, disappeared down the grade and around the curve toward the lake.
It was time to get out of this place before someone did catch him. Not that it worried him particularly, but it would be embarrassing to explain about kid mysteries, etc.
The surroundings seemed deserted as he peeped out cautiously through the barely cracked door opening. He stepped quickly outside and pulled the door shut, inserted his home-made key, and eventually got the thing locked. He dropped the wire and walked casually out into the cemetery.
Here was Jimmy, who had played such slick basketball, dead in a fighter plane over France; here, dead of a heart attack, lay Eddy, the crazy trumpet player who loved to jazz up the scores in the high-school orchestrations every time he could find an excuse. There he saw a marker for Dale, a casualty of the D-day landings.
Reck stopped cold. He felt like running, screaming, crying, anything. He did nothing for a full minute. Then he walked slowly forward and stopped before a modest marker, heading a neatly trimmed grave. SUE C. BENTON, born..... ... ... . , died..... ... ... .. That was all. Just a name and a couple of dates. Nothing about laughter, shining eyes, windblown hair, and ... and burlesqued Indian dances. Nothing either about three men, just out for a ball, you know, something to do, just for kicks, man, kicks, you dig?
"Funny," he thought vaguely, "I never knew her middle initial was C. I wonder what it stood for. Do they put the marker at the head or at the foot, do you suppose? I never noticed. I wonder if she ever gets wet down there, when the snow melts, or when it rains in the summer. Hey, Sue, how about a ride in the old jaloppy!" His body stiff, his face frozen, he didn't even notice the scalding tears as they dripped from his chin and soaked gently into the mounded earth over which he stood. For a long long time he stood there, motionless, blind, deaf, as he said his final, silent goodbye.
A long painful shudder went through him as he looked about him at last, noticed the lengthening shadows of the tall evergreens towering over him. As he turned away, he looked down once more at the mound, and his mouth moved in a silent promise.
Never in his life, it seemed to him, had the distance from the cemetery to his sister's house seemed so long, but he eventually got there, just in time to sit down to supper.
His sister, always the eagle-eyed watchman, urged him to eat.
"No, thanks, Sis, I'm not hungry."
"You sound worn out. You better eat something anyhow, got to keep up your strength in this muggy climate. You're not used to it, you know, any more."
"Yeah, I know, but I'm not hungry. I'll just settle for coffee." He felt that if she said one more word he'd throw the coffee at her, cup and all.
His brother-in-law, sensing the storm in the wind, inserted one of his rare bits of conversation. "What'd you do today, ride the subway all day?"
Reck laughed at the mental picture of a subway in this little metropolis. "No, I decided to walk instead. I went out and covered at a slow walk a lot of the territory I used to cover at a dead run. Incidentally," he turned to his sister, "I saw your old pal Judy out the cemetery road today."
"You're likely to see her anywhere. What were you doing out there?"
"I just decided to go out there and look the place over. Found graves of some of my old buddies there. Some of the kids that I played with in the same place. Felt kind of funny."
"Yeah, I can imagine. Was Judy in the cemetery? I wonder who she knows in there?"
"No, as a matter-of-fact she just walked by, toward the lake. By the way, does she have friends or relatives out there?"
"No, not as far as I know. Why?'
"Well, as Judy walked by the cemetery a cab pulled up and stopped. She got into the front, and the car kept going on down toward the lake."
"Oh ho! That god-damn Turn again, I'll bet."
Reck set his coffee cup down very carefully, and stared into it.
"Who?" His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat with an effort, looked up.
"Turn. Did you see the driver?"
Reck shook his head, afraid to speak.
"Well, she's been playing around with that creep dispatcher of Jackson's. It's a wonder some husband hasn't knocked him off a long time ago. Course Judy's old man's away now, so he can get away with it there. But wait till some guy catches him out with his wife!"
"I gather this guy ... Turn, you call him? ... must be quite the ladies' man?" Reck thought his voice sounded fairly normal, at least.
"Oh yeah, he's the ladies' man all right. Anything with skirts and no brains. Judy even told me about meeting him out at the lake in that old shack by the pier. You remember that shack, don't you? Well, they use it for their get-togethers. Why, you know, that creep son-of-a-bitch even wanted me to go out with him! I told him flat out I'd nut him if he ever made a pass at me!"
"Everybody to his own taste." Reck laughed. "What the hell, if she wants to play, let her play. Well, I think I'll flop. I'm beat. See you tomorrow!"
"Christ, already? It's not even 8 o'clock yet! You're gonna miss some great shows tonight." His sister was an avid television fan.
"Yeah, I know, but yon know how it is when you walk all day and aren't used to it. Good-night, all."
5
"Boy, you must have been worn out!" Thus his sister greeted him the next morning about 10 o'clock when he staggered blearily into the kitchen for coffee.
"Yeah, I'm not the man I thought I was. That walking is fine for postmen."
As a matter-of-fact he hadn't even felt the effects of his walk once he had heard that fateful word "Turn." He hadn't slept either, until well after the birds were raising hell outside the window. Coincidence? Doubtful. He would check though, before he let his blood pressure go too high. If it was the right "Turn," then he would act. Meanwhile, relax. Nice thought that "relax." He had rolled and tossed and cursed. He had remembered the odd feeling of the preceding day, the little thing that had bothered him on Main Street. Now he thought he knew what it was. The voice of the dispatcher on the radio in Sammy's hack. The more he thought of it the surer he was. Well, by God, he'd soon know. The thought of again laying eyes on one of the glade trio kept him awake for hours, and he couldn't wait to get to Jackson's office to verify his belief.
God, if only he didn't have to be so careful not to let even his sister and brother-in-law suspect anything at all unusual! He couldn't ask any pointed, or even pertinent, questions. However, knowing the urge toward gossip that seems to be the life-blood of all small towns, he casually remarked now: "You know, that Judy really has a swing. She must be popular around town."
"Popular, huh! If that's what you call it. Every tomcat in town is after her. Funny thing, though, she don't seem to pay too much attention to most of 'em. I guess she's really gone on this Turn character. By the way, for Christ's sake, don't you say anything to anybody else about this. I promised Judy I wouldn't tell a soul. You'd be surprised at the secrets she tells me." She giggled, in the way gossips all over the world seem to giggle.
"Why in hell would I tell anybody anything? I'm not all that interested in Judy's little secrets." Casual, Reck boy, be casual as all hell...
Idly, he asked: "What's the matter, this what's-his-name the only guy in town that's got anything?"
"Hmf. If he's got anything, it would take penicillin to cure it. That guy's the original crud."
"What does Judy's husband think of all this?"
"Oh Jesus, you don't think he knows anything about it, do you!? Man, he'd kill both of them if he ever found it out!"
"Well," Reck laughed, "Let's hope he never finds out about it, then. Where is he, incidentally?"
"He'll be in Rochester for a couple of weeks yet, working on that new junk yard installation down there. They're puttin' in a new smelter."
Well, thought Reck, that means action before he comes back. I'd hate like hell to have him suspected of something I'm going to do.
He pushed back his chair and stood, stretched, and yawned. "Well, I think I'll go out and see if the old town has changed since last night."
"Well, for God's sake call me if you're gonna stay out like you did yesterday." She sounded half-sore about something. "I've got to know whether you're gonna be here to eat, so I'll know how much of what to fix."
"Right," Reck grinned to himself a little wryly, wishing that's all the problem he had to deal with.
He wandered aimlessly through some of the side streets, trying to think, but deciding to let it go until he had verified the presence of his own special "Turn" in town. When he noted that the time was about the same as when he had talked to Sammy yesterday in the cab, so that the same dispatcher would probably be on duty, he headed that way.
A feeling almost of panic hit him as he pushed open the front door and started toward the dispatcher's cubby. Christ, suppose it was his old friend Turn on duty? Would the guy recognize him? What, after all these years, and with all this added weight and age on him? He doubted that Turn would have recognized him the day following the glade scene, to say nothing of today. Well, how about if it wasn't the right Turn? Then what? For Christ's sake, Reck, quit blithering and go in and see! Then you'll know something, at least.
He walked into the room and stopped at the counter just inside the door. The man at the desk had his back half-turned and his head down, but even so Reck felt the deep jolt of recognition. It was the right Turn, all right. Oh, yes indeed, no mistake about that. The urge to go over the counter then and there was so strong that Reck felt sure the guy would feel it. Okay now, where's all that Hollywood acting stuff? Settle down and handle this thing right.
"Excuse me," he said apologetically. "Is Sammy around today?"
The oh-so-familiar face turned to him. "Naw, he's out with a hack. Sump'n I kin do you out of?" All the subtle humor of an elephant doing a minuet.
"Ha, ha, no, thanks. I was just looking for Sammy. Wanted to bat the breeze a little, if he wasn't busy."
The paunchy figure got up from his chair with the grunt of a pig at a trough, and came over to the counter. "Stranger in town, ain't you? Oh, yeah, you're that guy from Hollywood."
Reck, with an effort he felt deserved at least the Legion of Merit, kept himself from sinking his fingers into the fat neck so temptingly close. "I'm not exactly a stranger; I was born and raised here, but I pulled out a good many years ago. Sort of to make my fortune, as the man said."
"Yeah," was Turn's reply. "I remember readin' in the paper about you comin' back. Hey, you must git your choice o' that young stuff, playin' around there in Hollywood, huh? We'll hafta git together one o' these days over to Packy's joint, and you kin tell me about some o' them Hollywood parties."
"Yeah," Reck smiled. He made a mental note of Packy's joint. Turn probably hung out there in his off-time. "You born around here?" he asked, casually.
"Yeah, a little ways from here," came the reply. "I was drug up in Waynesburg and stayed on a job there for a while after I quit school. But I thought maybe I could get in on a good racket someplace on the coast, so I took off about 10 years ago. Nothin' so I come back here to this one-horse burg and got into this deal here. Not bad, but could be better. If I had a gun mebbe I could stick up the bank and make out okay, ha ha ha."
Yeah, you son-of-a-bitch, Reck thought, you not only could but probably would, and rape the president's daughter on your way out the door. He had to get out of there before he lost control of that urge toward the fat neck.
"Well, tell Sammy I was asking about him. I've got to get going."
"Yeah, okay, I'll tell him. And don't you forget, you got to tell me about some o' that Hollywood quail one o' these days!"
Reck stopped in the doorway and turned back, grinning at the man behind the counter. "I've got a story about one chick that'll kill you. I'll tell it to you just as soon as I have a chance."
Barely conscious of his surroundings, Reck walked slowly away, bumping people, feeling nothing. After being cussed out a few times, he decided on the city library, half a block away. At least there nobody would talk to him, in curses or otherwise, and maybe he could think a little.
So far, so good, he thought, as he sat down at a table in the periodical room. Turn obviously hadn't the faintest recollection of him Turn probably hung out at Packy's
Turn liked to hear stories about girls (well, who didn't?) and Turn obviously liked to drink, else why Packy's? All these facts would most likely come in handy when the day came to tell Turn the girl story that would kill him.....
6
"Sis, I guess it's about time for me to get going back, if I'm to make any money the rest of this year." Reck had decided it was time to think about a logical reason for disappearing from town in the near future. "Never get rich sitting around here, you know."
"Hell, you can't go back now, the fair starts a week from tomorrow. Thought we'd go out Sunday and watch 'em set up. After all, you haven't been to the fair for a good long time; you don't want to leave without seeing it, do you?"
"Hey, yeah, I'd forgotten about that!" Reck felt empty as he remembered how he and Sue had gone together to the last fair he had attended. "Well, I guess I'd better stick around for that, at least." He didn't really give a damn one way or the other about the fair, but he supposed the whole family would be expecting him to go with them, and he didn't want to disappoint them, especially his mother, after all the years of absence.
He spent the rest of the week trying to plan his campaign against Turn. Judy worked behind the counter of one of the local greasy spoons, and he began casually to drop in for coffee, paying little or no attention to her, except for the usual greetings. He took to reading books over his coffee, having first gained the approval of the proprietress for the overlong occupation of the stool.
"What the heck," was her reply to his question, "as long as the joint isn't crowded, what's one stool? Sure, you might as well sit there as not."
"Thanks," Reck grinned back at her. "The library's too quiet. I like a little noise while I'm reading. If the place starts to fill up, I'll leave. Meanwhile, you can keep that coffee coming."
He had early spotted the telephone on the back counter near the cash register, and always took a stool as near it as he could, at the same time staying clear of the register. Surely, he reasoned, if Turn made his dates by telephone, he would call Judy on the job rather than at home. He wanted to be there when and if Turn did call. He hoped to be able to get something from her side of the conversation, at least, which would give him a clue as to action.
In the past few days Reck had figured out that probably his best bet to-tell Turn the story he had promised would be the shack where the two love-birds kept their rendezvous. He had gone out there, leaving his car parked behind a low knoll, along the road, but out of sight of traffic so long as his lights were out at night. Walking openly along the lane leading to the shack, but picking a time when he felt sure no one would be around to see him, he had scouted the outside of the little building. The single door was secured by a heavy padlock, but on the back side of the shed he found a 3-by-3-foot window loosely held in place by nails. Facing this window was the side of a hill over which ran a foot path leading back to the highway. Reck scratched his head over that one. Why would anyone have put a window in a shack a few feet from a hillside, which prevented any view, and most light, from getting in?
Pushing gently on one comer of the window, thus forcing it inward until he could get a couple of fingers through the opening to hold the thing from crashing to the floor, he pushed the rest of the nails loose, turned the window at an angle and pulled it out through the opening, setting it against the building, out of the way. He stuck his head inside, looking over the room. There was an old heavy armchair in one comer; in another he caught sight of a gasoline operated camp stove, with an oil drum sitting alongside and a few feet away. On top of the drum sat a Coleman lantern. Old newspapers and wrappers littered the floor, together with whiskey bottles, beer cans, and wine jugs of all sizes and shapes. An old army cot with a bedraggled mattress occupied one corner across the room from the armchair. This content of the shack caused more head scratching, especially when he thought of the heavy padlock on the door, and then the ridiculous way the window had been mounted. Oh well, takes all kinds, he thought.
Putting his hands and head through the opening of the window, he worked his body through and prowled the inside. He found the drum half full of white gasoline, and the tank of the stove filled to the top. Somebody must use the joint, that was certain. Standing there in the middle of the floor he thought again about the padlock and the loosely mounted window. He decided that the only reasonable explanation was that whoever, Turn probably, had put the padlock on the door hadn't even thought about the window, with its few loose nails, so easily removed. As this struck him he smiled a little, then laughed aloud, but quietly. He knew what he was going to do all he had to do now was work out when and how to go about arranging the little party he had already dreamed up.
He turned around, squirmed back out through the window. Picking up the window unit, he looked it over carefully, then reversing it, he put it against the outside of the frame. It looked fine to him. Setting the thing back down on the ground, he looked around for a rock to use as a hammer. Having found what he wanted, he again set the window unit against the outside of the frame and tapped the nails lightly into the old wood until the unit fitted snugly against the side of the building. Now a little tugging from the outside would pull the window loose, and remove any danger of dropping it on the floor inside.
He turned and climbed the hill behind the shack, looking carefully about as he came out on the summit. No sign of civilization could he see. Woods and fields and more hills, with the lake to the south. He walked down the path toward the highway, coming out not over ten feet from the end of the lane down which he had walked to the shack, and within a few feet of his car. Perfect.
Immediately thereafter he had begun his sit-in campaign near the restaurant telephone, drinking enough coffee to make him sick every day, and reading books in which he hadn't the slightest interest. He thought wryly that he had probably learned more things in which he was not at all interested than any other man in history. He had even begun to reed paper-back novels, which should prove something or other.
Sunday came. Nothing had happened so far as the restaurant was concerned, and it was a relief to spend a day away from the place. Reck and the whole family went to the fair-grounds and strolled a couple of hours, but he found none of the old magic he had felt as a kid. Maybe he was too old or maybe it was what he had in mind for the near future. In any case, he got the others away from there, took them into town for milk shakes, or beer, depending upon the age and taste of the individual. He had a little trouble with his two small nieces, but a graphic description of the advantages of "ice-cream parlors" over the weakly-flavored stuff available on the fair-grounds finally worked the trick.
From town they all went home to watch that marvel of the centuries, that paragon of educational media television. There were a couple of horse-operas on, in which Reck had done minor roles, so of course the whole neighborhood wound up in the front yard of his sister's place. After the flurry of ohs and ahs brought on by the presence in the flesh of one of Hollywood's own had died down, Reck amused himself by listening to the old wives' tales of hoop-snakes and other biological and/or supernatural wonders with which these people were intimately familiar.
Time hadn't changed everything, he thought, as he listened again to the talk of glass snakes.
He discovered something else that time hadn't changed when two of the neighborhood women, both of the round firm, variety,, began to ply him with questions concerning Hollywood. They moved constantly, now one leaning over his shoulder, arms around him, whispering in his ear, brushing tempting softness of bosom across the back of his neck, now the other pressing a round hip against his arm.
He was at first embarrassed and a little nervous as he glanced round to see the reactions of the others. No one seemed to notice anything unusual. Maybe they were trying too hard to remember exactly who was the last in town to be devoured by a dragon.
Eventually however, the antics of the two temptresses began to have its inevitable effect. He found it harder and harder to concentrate on answering questions as the softness moved more and more obviously against him. Their round buttocks tightened and relaxed as they moved, their breasts seemed to touch him everywhere at once, and he could feel the points almost like spear-heads trying to penetrate his flesh. All this of course done with the utmost innocence in the gaze and covered up by unending chatter and squeals of laughter.
He eventually felt impelled to break it up before he grabbed a handful and embarrassed them all. He rose, announced his intention to go for a walk, and took oft", forcing his mind from the little Circes and back to the business of the three men.
He turned in early that night, thinking of the renewal of his telephone vigil the next day.
On Monday he thought for a moment he had something. He had been sitting for perhaps 15 minutes, when the phone rang and the boss turned from it, calling Judy. Reek's ears virtually twitched as he heard her laughing and joking with someone at the other end of the line. Then he suddenly froze as Judy extended the phone toward him. "Here, someone wants to talk to you." Christ, who knew he was here? Not that he had tried to keep it secret, he just hadn't thought about it at all. He gingerly took the phone, said "hello."
"What are you tryin' to do, put the make on Judy?" came his sister's voice. He felt a combination of relief and embarrassment. "I'm just sitting here reading and having coffee."
"Yeah, Judy tells me you do that every day. What's the matter, can't you read here at the house?"
"With all those soap operas you watch on TV, I couldn't even breathe at the house." He laughed, to soften the truth in his words.
"Well, I just thought I'd call and check up on you. What time you gonna be home?"
"Oh, pretty soon, I guess. I'm about coffeed up to the ears now. I'll see you in about an hour." He hung up, feeling let down. Well, he'd just have to wait some more for that all-important ring on that same phone.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, etc. Nothing. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn't had a bad idea about this phone business. He wished he knew how in hell to do this without arousing suspicion or establishing any connection between himself and Turn.
During these past few days he had even taken to shadowing Judy as she went out of the place at the end of the day's work. Blank. He had waited outside gin-mills; had seen her come reeling out the door, but always alone. He had followed her home and seen her slam the door behind her. He had waited as much as two hours, half expecting her to come out again. She never did.
Finally, in desperation, he thought he might have to do the one thing he wanted to avoid if he could. He would have to shadow Turn. Goddam it, he didn't want any possibility of connection between them. But what else could he do? He figured that some people already suspected his intentions toward Judy. Well, let them. At least lechery was a reasonable excuse for a man to hang around a woman. They might chuckle, but that's all. No one would really think too much about it. But, amateur that he was, someone might notice if he hung too close to Turn. Maybe the man himself might wonder.
Reck turned in on Friday night thinking about all these things, and decided to concentrate a little longer on Judy.
7
On Saturday Reck tried sitting outside the pool room across the street from the restaurant, until the thought occurred to him that even if he saw Judy go to the phone across the street, he couldn't get there soon enough to find out anything. No, he had to be right there when the call came.
So back he went, book and all, to the old stand near the cash register. He almost felt the urge to order rat poison instead of coffee this time. He felt the flavor might be better. He thought, by God, that if this worked, or even if it didn't, he'd never drink another cup of restaurant coffee in his life.
He hung around for a couple of hours, left for a while, came back, and finally gave up in disgust about half an hour before the place closed. He drove aimlessly for a while, toying with the idea of just walking into the dispatcher's room, rapping the bastard over the head with a lead pipe, and walking out again. He grinned a little at the thought of the faces of possible witnesses to such an occurrence.
He cruised by the fair-grounds, remembering all at once that this was the last night of the thing. What the hell, he might as well wander around there as anywhere else.
A car pulled out a parking space just opposite the gate to the fair-grounds as Reck watched. Reck backed his own car into the spot, making sure to clear the driveway just ahead.
He bought a ticket at the gate and walked slowly up the length of the midway. Here were the same old ball-games, ring-tosses, penny-pitches, the same old smell of candy apples, and taffy, and cotton-candy, mixed with the animal smells from the exhibition barns. The barns he stopped in front of the first in the row, thinking back to the time when Sue and he had walked through them and looked at the prize critters. Not for the same reason that the farmers looked at them, weighing their various commercial possibilities, but only because Sue thought they were cute. Well, he thought, although I wouldn't admit it then, I guess I felt the same way about them.
He thought with an indescribable mixture of feelings of the time Sue had come upon a ewe and a lamb in one stall. All around had been blue, red, and white ribbons. On this stall there was nothing. Sue had exclaimed over the lamb, and almost cried to note the complete lack of place-ribbons on the stall. Looking cautiously around as if about to steal something, she had untied the blue ribbon from her hair and fastened it to the lamb's neck wool with a bobby pin. Then, scratching the lamb's ears, she had whispered: "Now, sweetie, you can look anybody in the eye." Ridiculous, of course, but, remembering the incident, Reck felt his eyes burning, and he turned quickly away from the barns.
He wandered back down the midway, stopping occasionally to watch somebody try to ring the bell, toss the ring around the wrist-watch ($I.98 retail), or keep the penny clear of the cross-lines and in the 5-square. Now and then he did achieve a smile as he watched the kids on the various rides, but his main reaction was one of complete boredom, mixed with impatience with God knew what. He felt that another day of this business would drive him into the booby hatch.
"Who'll bid $2.00 for these $25.00 cuff links and tie bar, and this beautiful watch included?" Reck watched the auctioneer as he harangued the crowd and, incredibly, he heard people frantically outbidding each other to twice the actual retail price of many of these "wonderful" junk-heaps. He shook his head, wondering whether he should laugh or cry. He turned away, and sat wearily down on a bench some 50 feet away from the auctioneer's wagon.
Reck checked his watch. 8:30. He looked around at the tinsel and glitter,, as he thought of it. Another three and a half hours and the crowd would be largely gone, except for the drunks, and the concessions would be tearing down, making ready for the next harvest of suckers in some other god-forsaken place. He guessed he might as well try some of that cotton candy before he went home. Maybe there would be some magic left in that.
He leaned forward to get up, and suddenly felt as if he had petrified. He listened, tensely.
"Jesus, Doc, look at that sucker. Paid 28 bucks for that Jap transistor set, and you can buy 'em anywhere for 12."
"All right, all right, so he's stupid. You, however, are extremely bright. Which explains why you spend your ill-earned gains on whiskey instead of wasting it on overpriced radio equipment."
Reck was sure he was about to heave everything he had eaten for the past week. Except for minor changes, due no doubt to elapsed time, these were voices he had heard and reheard in his mind for years past.
"Well, whiskey's better than some things I could think of." The voice had a sneering quality even stronger now than when it had mentioned the Japanese radio.
"You'll do well to keep your mouth shut, my friend." There was naked threat in the soft voice that answered. "You don't even know what you're suggesting, and if you did, I assure you, you'd be far better off to keep quiet. Now come on, I must get out of here."
Reck, with cotton-candy and everything else forgotten, sat back, trying to relax and keep his eyes from jumping wildly all over the place. He turned slowly, looking disinterestedly around the crowd on the benches. There they were, not six feet behind him, just getting up to leave.
Reck let them get some distance into the crowded midway, then got up slowly and followed. He watched the chunky one playing his hilarious game of reaching out to pinch a passing woman on the fanny, reaching around some man to do it. Then, of course, the woman would turn on the innocent passerby, each with a different reaction, ranging from strident threats of arrest to languorous come-hither smiles. Interesting things, reactions. Reck wondered with a grim little smile what the reactions would be when he conducted his business with each of the three in turn.
He kept well behind as they worked their way across the midway, angling toward the parking area to the east. A moment of panic hit him as he wondered if they would get away before he had a chance to get to his car.
The pair paused at the edge of the parking area. Reck strolled slowly on toward them, his head down. He stopped, took out a cigarette, and began to search his pockets as if for a match. He heard Doc say impatiently: "All right, hurry it up. I'll meet you at the car."
The chunky man took off on an obviously drunken course toward the public comfort station, as Doc walked quickly and nervously into the parking area, Reck following, still searching his pockets.
As Doc stopped and unlocked the door of a hardtop, Reck breathed a little sigh of thanksgiving. That car was dead-white. He felt that with his knowledge of Doc's personality he shouldn't have been surprised to find it purple.
Suddenly Doc whirled and stared at him. Reck walked directly to him, cigarette in mouth. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but do you happen to have a match?" He thought Doc relaxed a little at sight of the cigarette.
"Of course, here you are." Doc's hand was shaky as ho held out the match book.
As Reck lit his cigarette, shook out the match and thanked Doc, he watched the man's face. He had been in Hollywood long enough to know a hype when he saw one. This was a hype, and a hungry one at that. Reck would have bet his last dollar he knew why Doc "must get out of here." One advantage of whiskey was that you didn't have to worry yourself into an early grave every time you carried it in a car. Doc would be in a big big hurry to get to wherever his stock was kept.
Rock looked over the parking area. Nobody that he could see. But you never knew who might be doing what in those parked cars. He waved thanks to Doc as he turned and walked away, glancing covertly at the license plate. Yep, Waynesburg. Mighty obliging of the state to make it possible to identify place of origin by means of the letter prefixes on license plates. Reck felt right proud of his accurate reasoning of a couple of weeks ago concerning Doc's probable home town. He walked sedately until a quick over-the-shoulder glance told him that he was out if sight of Doc's car, then broke into a run. With the crowds and any kind of a break he should be able to get :o his own car before Doc could clear the grounds. But even if he didn't, he knew now where to go.
Reck got into his car, started the engine and let it warm up, his eyes fixed on the auto gate 200 feet further up the street. He silently thanked The Man for the driveway in rent of his car. At least he wouldn't have to maneuver o get out.
Minutes passed as Reck sat there, the engine ticking quietly. His eyes stayed on the auto gate, and, just as he vas about to decide that Doc had beaten him for the moment, he saw the white nose of Doc's car exit the gate and turn left away from him. Waiting until Doc turned tight at the first intersection, toward the way leading out of town toward Waynesburg, Reck moved slowly and quietly out after him.
8
The road to Waynesburg was a state highway with a reasonable amount of traffic on it and this considerably simplified trailing. Reck let a few cars come between him and Doc's white pride and joy and contented himself with keeping the car in sight. This was not always easy, in view of Doc's erratic driving. Twice, going through small towns, Reck thought sure that Doc had finished the careers of pedestrians in crosswalks. The man seemed out of his mind, now driving almost painfully slowly, now like a race-track maniac, cutting in and out of traffic and causing a great exercising of brakes and horn buttons. Several times Reck found himself watching for patrol car as he speeded to keep up with the white leader.
On the outskirts of Waynesburg, with Reck close be hind and hoping never to do another such twenty-odd miles of driving, Doc's car suddenly swerved to the side of the road and stopped. Reck cursed and went on, knowing he couldn't stop without drawing attention. He noted, as he passed Doc's car, that the offside door was open and that Doc's companion was crawling out.
Immediately ahead of the white car a bridge carried the highway over a fairly wide river, and further ahead a traffic signal showed. Reck went on to the light and swung a right turn, then an immediate U-turn, leaving him facing the highway he had just left. Pulling over to the edge of the road, he waited for Doc to reappear, hoping the guy wouldn't turn right, thus forcing him into another U-turn and attracting interest, perhaps of a traffic patrolman.
Then, as if in demonstration of the needlessness of worry, Doc's white beauty sailed serenely through the intersection. Reck swung right to fall in behind. A few Jocks later, Doc made a left turn, tires screeching. Then began a series of four turns, each wilder than the preceding, with Reck gritting his teeth and hoping that 1) his nerves and 2) his tires, would hold up. They did, and when Doc's brake lights flashed and he turned into the driveway of a small house in a quiet neighborhood, Reck eased in to the curb and doused his lights, not more than three houses down from Doc's driveway. Cutting the motor, Reck got out and strolled casually toward the house where Doc's car stood. When Doc rounded the front of the house and rushed to the door, cursing as he fitted the key into the door with shaking fingers, Reck was moving slowly down the sidewalk 30 feet away.
Doc disppeared into the house and Reck stopped, looked easily and thoroughly around, saw no signs of life, and Walked quickly to the door of Doc's little nest. On his way to the door Reck caught a quick glimpse of a small sign planted on the lawn, just enough of a look to see and note the word "Veterinarian." So, he thought, the name Doc is finally legitimate, even if the guy is a bastard.
Reck stood outside Doc's door, noting that the man hadn't even taken time to close it tightly. Again he looked carefully round, saw no one, and pushed the door slowly open until he could see a stream of light coming from another partly open doorway inside the house and hear frantic sounds of hurry coming from the room behind that same partly-open door. Reck cautiously stuck his head into the house and listened intently, but the only sounds were the rattles and bangs from the lighted room.
Easing the front door open further, Reck stepped inside and inched the door shut behind him, then quickly and quietly crossed to peer through the lighted doorway. He saw Doc, back to the door, fumbling with something on a counter in front of him, and heard gasping, incoherent words coming from the man's mouth.
Reck thought quickly, smiled a little, put his right hand to the left side of his belt under his coat, took his wallet into his left hand, and kicked wide the door to the room.
"Good evening, Doc."
Doc whimpered, whirled, and dropped the match with which he had been in the act of lighting a Bunsen burner on the counter. His eyes oscillated between the hand under Reek's coat and the wallet in his left hand.
Reck walked steadily toward the cringing man who was apparently trying to crawl backward through the counter behind him. As he came within reach of Doc, Reck flipped open the wallet and as the wild eyes automatically fell to it Reek's right fist came out in a backhand slash that almost tore Doc's head off. Dropping the wallet, Reck grabbed the man and hung one on the chin that should be good, as Reck estimated, for at least a half hour.
Reck picked up his wallet, looked around the room at the apparatus one might expect to find in the workshop of a vet. There was the examination-operating table of sturdy metal construction, an instrument sterilizer with its door hanging wide open, innumerable drawers for various gadgets. A pair of rubber gloves lay on the counter between the sterilizer and a small sink. Hmmm, thought Reck, convenient. He picked up the gloves, put them on, forcing them to a smooth second-skin fit.
He cast a long, satisfied look at a well-stocked drug and medicine cabinet on the wall above the counter.
He checked Doc and decided it was safe enough to leave him for a while. He went to the front door, snapped the lock, and prowled the house. Off the workshop he found cages with small animals in them. No doubt these served to satisfy Doc's urge to "investigate things."
A cage of white mice held his interest for a long minute. In a closet off the bedroom he found a shoe-box containing naturally enough, a pair of men's shoes. In a linen closet off the bathroom he found and grabbed a handful of bath towels.
Going back to the closet, he dumped the shoes out of the box and added the box to the towels. With this load of equipment he returned to the cages and filled the shoe-box with white mice, poked a couple of holes in the lid with a pencil and, capping the box tightly, returned to the workshop where Doc still lay peacefully snoozing.
Reck leaned down and took Doc's clothes off, folding them neatly and carrying them into the bedroom, where he laid them carefully on the bed. Returning to the operating room, he picked Doc up, laid him on the examination table and tied him securely down with the bath towels, gagging him tightly with one of them. Then he straightened and disappeared into the linen closet again, returning with a bed sheet. This he threw over Doc's unattractive nudity and tucked carefully and tightly under the limp body on all sides, leaving the face uncovered, the sheet tucked under the chin. This done, he picked up the shoe-box in one hand and, with the other, began to slap Doc's face lightly and steadily.
"Come on, boy, snap up. Get with it, light-fingers."
In moments Doc's head moved and little complaining sounds came from behind the gag. Reck slapped harder, faster, until he noted that Doc's eyes were open, gave one good swing that rocked Doc's head halfway around and sat down to wait for the fog to leave the tear-filled eyes. Then he began to talk softly, soothingly, aping Doc's old technique, telling the man who he was and why he was here. He watched Doc's eyes bulge more and more as his story went on, until complete terror clouded them.
"Don't worry, Doc, it won't hurt. You like things gentle and smooth, don't you, Doc? Well, that's how it's going to be."
Doc's eyes had closed and for a moment Reck thought that he was ovit again, but then the eyes opened and looked at him with silent pleading. Reck wavered for an instant, but the memory of Sue soon put a stop to that.
"Incidentally, Doc, I remembered how you like the light, slithery touch. Remember how you worked over that little girl that night, Doc? Your light touch drove her out of her mind. Well, I've got the same soothing treatment for you. Oh, not exactly the same, but almost. Ever drive across New Mexico, Doc, and see the tarantulas running across the highway? Big, hairy things, aren't they? Well, Doc, on my way east, I stopped and gathered a few of them. Knowing your penchant for 'investigation', I thought you would appreciate such a rare contribution." He raised the shoe-box and shook it slightly, listening to the light scurrying sounds and hoping to God the mice didn't start squeaking. "Hear that, Doc? Interesting, isn't it?"
With Doc's eyes following, Reck got up lazily and moved to Doc's feet. He pulled the sheet out at one spot and, with his body between Doc's eyes and the shoe-box, dumped the mice under the sheet, quickly tucked the sheet back under Doc's legs and watched the rippling motion as the mice scurried over and around Doc's bare flesh, looking for a way out of the trap.
One glance at Doc's face was enough. Reck turned away and gagged. Doc was purplish-black, his eyes bulged, his breath came in ragged, sobbing, infrequent gasps, and suddenly his body went completely flaccid. Reck quickly picked up a container marked "chloroform" from the drug cabinet and saturated the towel gag over Doc's mouth. This saturation he kept up for a full ten minutes.
Then leaving the gag in place, he took the shoe-box, put the shoes back into it and returned it to the closet. Coming back to Doc, he noted no pulse or breathing, untied the bath towels, stripped them together with the sheet off the body, and returned them, carefully folded, to the linen closet, except for the gag. This he spread flat on the counter. He left the mice alone, wishing them good luck in their future wanderings.
He stripped off the rubber gloves, rinsed them under the water taps, and laid them back on the counter, being careful to rub his fingers sideways as he let go of them. As it was, he didn't know what the police might think, and he was surprised to note that he didn't particularly care.
Finally, he took a last look around the place, and glanced at his watch, expecting it to show very nearly time for daylight. With a jolt he realized that he had been here only a little over an hour. He eased open the front door and looked over the area. Nothing. He set the snap-lock, smeared the latch-knob and both door-knobs, letting the door swing shut with a click. Five minutes later he was back at the traffic light just before the bridge, cruising easily toward home.
9
One down. Reck lay quietly in the dark bedroom, trying to analyze his feelings. The only reaction he could note was an urge to giggle a little at the memory of the way the sheet rippled like a tent in a breeze as the mice sought escape. This bothered him somewhat. Surely he should feel something else. As his eyes began to close he could have sworn he heard Sue's whisper in his ear: "You shouldn't have done that, Reck." Followed immediately by: "Thank you so very much." The inconsistency of the female, he thought vaguely, and fell sound asleep.
Sunday was obviously well advanced in its course when Reck opened his eyes and lay listening to the dead stillness of the house. A glance out the window showed that his brother-in-law's car was gone. Forcing himself out of bed and into the bathroom, he took a cold shower, restoring a semblance of life to his joints. Then slipping into trousers and slippers he went into the kitchen where a note informed him from the center of the kitchen table: "We're at the lake. Called you twice, but you looked so dead beat we decided to let you sleep. Coffee's on the stove. Sis."
Reck turned on the flame under the coffee pot, took a look into the shaving mirror over the kitchen sink and thought: well, killer, you look as bad as the corpse. He considered shaving, then thought to hell with it. Pouring himself a cup of coffee he sat down at the table and thought a little about Doc, and a lot more about Turn and the other creep. He mulled over in his mind his little planned party for Turn and, taking coffee cup with him, went out to the garage where his sister kept her "junk box." He had seen the contents of the box before and several items could come in handy at Turn's party, if it worked out as he hoped.
Finding the items he wanted, Reck took them out and locked them into the tool compartment of his car. Back in the house he found a work uniform of shirt, pants, and jacket, that looked as if they weren't being used any more because of wear and tear. He added this to the collection in the back of his car.
Coffee finished, cup in the sink, Reck turned on the radio, switched it off before it could warm up, repeated the process with the television set, and flopped on the couch, where he thought about the resumption of his telephone watch the next day. He nearly heaved up the coffee he'd just drunk. He stood up and began to pace the room. Jesus Christ, he thought, I must be flipping. He picked up a book, opened it, put it down again, said to hell with it, and went back to bed.
He rolled, tossed, cursed. He wished to hell he were still a drinking man. Maybe if he had a woman ... That's it, Reck, think about women a little. That's always a sure cure for problems. Now take the Mad Russian, Natasha, for instance ... Natasha of the fantastic breasts. Huge firm-soft, springy hills of pure white silken texture, centered with pale-pink berries. Natasha's entire life revolved around those breasts. Her only need in her love-life was that those breasts be properly venerated by her men. She wanted nothing more than to press a man's face softly and deeply between them while she herself held them, squeezed them, and stroked his cheeks up and down, back and forth with their lushness. If a slight beard-stubble showed its presence by prickling them it seemed to heighten her ecstasy.
Reck thought with a mixture of amusement and disgust of Natasha's favorite love-partner as she had once described him.
This man, an obvious regressed individual, would throw a tantrum, break something in rage. Then, of course, it was necessary for "Mommie" Natasha to punish him. She would take him over her knee, pants and shorts stripped away, and spank him soundly. This led to wails and tears. Then his hands would fumble with her dressing gown, opening it and exposing the delicious bosom, to which his mouth would find its way, nursing and cooing like any other infant. His hands would press and cling as his famished mouth sought to devour them in turn. Eventually he would go to sleep, clinging to her nipples while she stroked his poor stinging buttocks and crooned lullabies to him.
With a grimace of distaste, Reck also remembered other whispered tales, of women, young and not so young, who were not only willing but avid to worship at those gorgeous shrines. All in all, Natasha had no difficulty in fulfilling her need for worshippers.
Thinking of his own few turns at the twin altars of Eros finally soothed Reek's troubled thoughts to the point that he slept.
When the folks came home, he got up and joined them in a light snack, laughed off his wan look as due to too much night life, and found an excuse to get out of the house for a while until they went to bed. He walked fast and furiously, and finally decided he'd be able to sleep some more from sheer physical exhaustion.
On Monday morning, book and all, Reck was back at the greasy spoon, fighting down a nauseated feeling as he ordered his usual coffee. Nothing then, and nothing on Tuesday. Reck was ready to run screaming down Main Street.
Then on Wednesday came the proof that all things come to him who waits. Judy got a phone call. Reck listened as she giggled, cracked cornball gags, and suddenly acquired a sensual husky quality in her voice, walk out, like I always do ... I ain't afraid of the dark ... Okay, okay, I'll be there ... I wish you could make it earlier ... it's been a while, you know. Huh? Why, I'll side now, an' I'm gonna be runnin' around like crazy." Okay, you better be there as soon as you can. I don't wanna wait any longer than I absolutely have to." the intensity in her tone was sure evidence that she wasn't just joking about this "Yeah, see you tonight."
Reck sat quietly, ignoring the final cup of alleged coffee, for another fifteen minutes. Yawning ostentatiously, he slammed the book shut, and slid off the stool. "I guess I need a walk. I'll no doubt be back later." He paid Judy for the coffee, left a generous tip for once, and left.
Eleven o'clock tonight. Finally. Reck strolled slowly down Main considering how to use what he had heard. Judy was surely eager to keep that date. "I wish you could make it earlier ". Reck stopped suddenly, imperiling foot traffic. Earlier He crossed the street, moving faster now. He thought intently about the sound of Turn's voice. Then, all at once he stopped again. Could he be sure that that was Turn who had called? Well, he would know before tonight. And then there was the fact that Judy would "walk out, like I always do..." That must mean only one thing. The shack by the pier, out the cemetery road. What a perfect set-up for all three of them, Turn, Judy, and Reck.
He splurged on a ticket to the Wednesday matinee at the Criterion (which together with the closing of most of the local stores on Wednesday afternoon formed the mid-week big deal for the natives), and sat through a picture whose name he couldn't have recalled five minutes after it was over. He spent his time recalling the timbre and phrasing of Turn's voice, planning his own last-minute call to Judy. He hoped that he could imitate the creep's voice well enough to fool her, and he hoped that his message would make her happy.
When the picture finally dragged to its end, he saw that he had about a half-hour before the restaurant's closing time. He strolled slowly down Main Street and walked casually into the pool-room across the street from the cafe. Thank God there were only a couple of loafers in the joint, both lazily busy on one pool table. Reck went to the phone booth and began looking at the directory, keeping one eye on the restaurant across the street. When he saw Judy approach the cash register he quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number of the phone beside her. He watched her pick up the instrument and heard her usual greeting: "Yeah?" Now there was a way to answer a phone.
"Look, kid, I'm on a rush deal and ain't got much time. You be out there at 10 tonight, instead of 11. Got that?"
"Yeah, sure, but what...? "
"Gotta go. I'll tell ya later. I'm callin' from the east side now, an' I'm gonna be runnin' around like crazy.
Reck slammed down the phone and watched Judy through the window. She hung up, hesitated, then shrugged and turned away and began to clean the counter preparatory to closing. He watched her for a while, having left the phone booth and taken up a lounging position near the front door. He hoped fervently that she wouldn't pick up the phone again and make any calls.
With a sigh of relief, Reck watched Judy finally prance out the front door of the greasy spoon and head toward the nearest gin-mill. Good ol' Packy's. A slight tremor passed through Reck as he thought of the possibility that Turn might drop into the joint, but then he thought that if Turn couldn't meet Judy until ll that night, he must be tied up on the job. With this thought, Reck wandered up to Sammy's office and into the dispatcher's den. His boy was there all right.
"Hi. Sammy busy again?"
"Well, if it ain't the Hollywood Kid. Yeah, Sammy's out again on the hack."
"Hell, I thought he might like to have a beer or something. How about you? Didn't you say something about Packy's joint? When can you get away?"
"Jeez, I'd love to go, but I gotta stay on the board. My relief's gonna be late tonight. I can't git away till almost 11."
"Christ, I'll be dead drunk and in bed before ll. Oh, well, some other time."
"Yeah, see ya."
You surely will, thought Reck as he left the building, and sooner than you think.
By nine o'clock on Wednesday night Reck, dressed in the old work uniform of dark green cotton and appropriate implements in his pockets, was ready and waiting for Judy to come swaying by the old shed at the cemetery gate. The skeleton key he had dug out of his sister's junk-box had worked beautifully. His car was pulled well off the road far enough beyond the gate that it wouldn't alert Judy at all until she was well past the shack. Rather, he amended, until after she was well under his control.
Waiting in the darkness behind the gate post of the cemetery, he cursed the heat under the nylon stocking drawn over his head. Christ, he thought, what TV dramatics! He nearly laughed aloud at the thought, but the realization of the dead seriousness of the next couple of hours killed the laugh in his throat.
Eventually he heard a loud, brave whistling at some distance from his watch-point. It slowly came closer and closer and now his eyes could make out a white splotch moving along the side of the road toward him. She sure can whistle, he thought with a tight little smile. "I ain't afraid of the dark..." His grin widened slightly and he adjusted the uniform jacket in his hands.
He let her get a little past him, and moved carefully and swiftly after her. Jesus, let her keep whistling another a minute at least. Looming up behind her, he dropped the jacket over her head, at the same time clapping one hand over her now cloth-covered mouth and throwing the other arm tightly around her waist. He pulled her back against him, whispering grimly into her ear. "If you value your hide, don't make a sound and don't fight." He could feel her tense under his grip. "Don't even breathe too loud," he warned her, tightening both arms and hands. "If you do, you're done. Do you understand me?" He gritted the last words harshly at her. "If you do, nod your head as much as you can." The tenseness stayed with her for a moment longer, then she relaxed and he could feel her head move slightly up and down against the grip of his hand. He turned her toward the gate and whispered. "Walk I'll guide you." He lock-stepped her through the gate and turned her toward the door of the shed, conscious of the movement of her buttocks against the front of his body. He felt a warmth rise in him, and just before they reached the front of the shed he could have sworn that her hip movements had increased in intensity. When he stopped her at the door, and loosened the arm around her waist in order to reach out and open the door, her softness stayed tight against him and continued a noticeable swaying movement. The heat wave within him heightened in spite of his efforts to ignore it.
He shoved her through the door and held her as he pushed the door shut with his foot. In the dark silence of the shed he heard little sounds coming from her throat, forcing their way past his covering hand. He quickly slid the hand down and gripped her throat lightly. "Don't make a sound, I warn you." He tightened his throat-grip a little. "I'll strangle you right now." She coughed slightly as his grip loosened.
"Don't worry, I'm not a complete fool," she whispered in return. "For instance I'm smart enough to know you're excited." Her buttocks again moved against him. "Aren't you?"
Reck fought his rising desire and tried to draw back from her without letting go his grip on her, but she swayed back along with him, keeping herself pressed tight against him.
"Don't be bashful," she whispered. "I don't know who you are or what you want for sure, but this excites me as much as it seems to excite you. I haven't got any money, if that's what you're after."
"I'm not after money, and if you behave yourself, there's nothing else I want from you either."
"Nothing else? Are you sure?" Again she squirmed against him. "I know this sounds crazy, but not knowing you, and being half scared to death seems to do something to me." Again the sensuous squirming, and Reck felt his neck swelling, and his whole body beginning to respond violently to her animalism.
"Hey, you're shakin'. " Her whisper sounded a little amused.
Reck felt a sudden rage mixed with the passion. His grip on her tightened viciously. "If you had any goddamned sense, you'd be shaking. You think this is a Sunday-school picnic?"
Her reply was a little subdued. "No, I don't know what it is. I only know it's never happened to me before, and I'm scared, and I'm excited. I know there's one thing you would like to do to me, and I don't know what else you might be thinkin' about. You're not gonna hurt me, are you? Have I done anything to you?"
"Ho, you haven't done anything to me, and I'm not going to hurt you as long as you behave."
"By 'behave' you mean stop doin this?" Again her hips moved slowly and precisely against him.
Reck drew a ragged breath, and he could feel her body beginning to tremble along with him. His fingers gripped her flesh involuntarily, and she sighed: "Umm, that feels good."
Reck momentarily forgot the problem of immobilizing her for the time it would take to see to Turn, raised one side of the jacket and buried his nylon-covered face in the side of her neck.
"You bitch, you're begging for it, aren't you!"
"Umm, yes, I guess I am. Do that again." Her head came back and her cheek moved softly against his face. "Why does your face feel so funny?"
"Never mind that. Just don't try to sneak a look at me. If you do, you're in real trouble."
"Don't worry. For some reason, I don't want to see you.
It's more excitin' this way. I guess all women dream about bein' violated is that the word? by some mystery man."
"You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you? What makes you so sure you're going to be violated yes, that's the word I"
"Well, I thought from your reaction-" Again came the movement "well, you know." Yes, he knew, and the continued swaying of her body against him destroyed his already-weakened good intentions.
"Don't take one step or make any sudden moves. I'm going to blindfold you." He gingerly let go his grip on her, alert for tricks, but she stood completely still except for the swaying. He took out a handkerchief and, dropping the jacket, quickly whipped it over her eyes, tying it snugly behind her head.
"Don't touch that. Don't even make a move toward it."
She made no answer. He quickly peeled the nylon off his face, stuffed it into his pocket, and reached for her with a groan. His mouth seized the flesh of her neck and his teeth closed almost painfully on her. Her response was a sigh and an increase in pressure and speed of sway against him. He turned her face to his and clamped his lips over hers, and then it was as if an earthquake had hit both of them. Her lips opened under his and her tongue went wild. Her hands seized both of his and brought them to her breasts, urging them deep into her soft flesh.
"Squeeze them hard. Pinch them. Hurt me a little."
His hands tightened, almost forcing the softness out between his fingers. "Yes, yes, that's it, harder. Oh God, that feels so wonderful!"
Suddenly he turned her to face him, tore down the front of her uniform and ripped off her brassiere. Her full, white breasts bobbed, looking like the bulging eyes of a giant snowman, their darker tips seeming like pupils in the steely night-blue, faint light from the window. He stared at them for a long moment, then, cupping his hands on her buttocks he dragged her up into his arms until the hardened peaks were on a level with his mouth. He took first one then the other of those temptations into his mouth, worrying them with his teeth, clutching at her buttocks with all the power of his hands, kneading them. She threw her head back and emitted little wails of pleasure which were obviously heightened by the pain he was causing her. The cords of her throat were distended as her head rolled from side to side.
"God, God, God! That's it, that's it! Harder! Oh, Jesus, hurt me, hurt me!" Her hands clutched at the back of his head, forcing his teeth tighter and tighter against her breasts. "Bite them, you timid bastard, bite them hard!" And as he clamped down over the rock-like nipples, she became a veritable madwoman, twisting and writhing until it was all he could do to hold her.
He let her slip down onto her feet and tore the remaining clothing from her. Then, gripping her by the breasts he dragged her against him.
"You like to be hurt, don't you, bitch? You love pain, don't you? No wonder you weren't too afraid of me."
"Yes, yes, I love it." It's the only way I can be satisfied. Hurt me some more, please, please!
He pushed her away slightly and tightened his grip on her breasts still more. "Undress me, bitch. Hurry it up, strip me quick." His hands tightened and twisted, back and forth, as her hands fumbled swiftly over him, stripping his shirt down over his arms. He let go of her long enough to drop the shirt to the floor, then gripped her again and twisted even harder. "Now the pants and shorts!" She moaned ecstatically under his punishing hands and dropped to her knees, stripping his lower garments down. He bent with her, keeping his grip on her flesh, then stepped out of his pants, and pushed her roughly down on the hard wooden floor.
His weight coming down full upon her forced a deep groan from her throat, and she went wild, surging against him, urging him on with frantic pleas. By now he was as wild as she, delighting in giving her the pain she so frantically sought, pinching, squeezing, twisting, biting her white flesh in a way that would have horrified him an hour earlier. Her hips, buttocks, thighs, breasts, belly and back, shoulders and throat, as well as her pleading devouring lips came in for their share of torture and ecstasy.
Then it was over, and he collapsed over her, his weight flattening her against the floor, and the combined thudding of their hearts seemed to shake the whole building. They lay thus pressed together for a long time, gradually returning to some sort of sensibility. Finally she breathed a small complaint about his weight, and he rose unsteadily to his feet, leaving her limp on the floor.
He looked down at her, then at his watch. He bent down and retrieved his clothes from the floor, shook them out, and put them on. Buttoning his shirt, he debated with himself about tying her up, but decided that a little soporific would probably be better. If he tied her she might not be able to get loose, and he didn't want someone finding her in this place. Just why this was true he didn't know, but he didn't like the idea. Belatedly, he thought of the blindfold and a streak of sickness went through him. Kneeling quickly and peering gave him a sense of relief. The blindfold was still in place despite the athletics of a few minutes ago. He put his lips to her ear. "You were wonderful, gal. Neither of us is much to be proud of I guess-, but I enjoyed this more than any other I've ever experienced. I wish we could do it again, but I'm afraid I'll be too busy. Good luck." Then he snapped his right fist smartly against the point of her chin. It was almost a quarter to eleven, and if Turn was on time the whole thing should be over in less than an hour. He hoped she would stay put and out at least that long.
He quickly checked the contents of his pockets and let himself out the door, locking it behind him and slipping the key back into his pocket. That would slow her down a little more, he guessed.
Trotting briskly down the deserted road, he hoped Turn hadn't gone by while he was occupied otherwise. He grinned wryly as he realized that an army tank could probably have gone by without his suspecting it. He sobered quickly at the thought that a little lapse like that again might very easily prevent his finishing the job he had set for himself. Then too, the thought of his activities within a few yards of Sue's grave didn't make him feel any better. Certainly it was ridiculous. She was long beyond knowledge of earthly actions, but still he didn't feel very proud of his latest conquest.
He was conscious of a feeling of elation as he rounded the turn in the road leading toward the shack. No sign of light or life yet. He pulled into the space behind the rock alongside the road and parked as close to the rock as he could, to lessen the chance of Turn, or anyone else coming down the lane, seeing the darkened car.
He walked quickly and quietly down the lane leading to the front of the shack, and relaxed as he noticed that the padlock was still in place. Glancing back toward the road and seeing no lights he raced to the back of the shack, yanked the window loose, almost dived through to the inside and drew the window in after him. He tapped the nails into place with the bottom of a whiskey bottle and took up a position near the door.
The luminous dial of his watch told him that it was nearly 11:15 when he saw a light pattern dancing outside the little window and through the cracks in the shack walls. He heard the sound of a rapidly approaching car, then the squeal of poor brakes and the scrunch of tires on the gravel of the lane. A car door slammed and heavy footsteps approached the shack.
"Goddam dame ... T wish you could make it earlier' she says. If she's so goddam anxious, why the hell ain't she here?" Reck tensed and tightened his fists as the muttered words reached him through the locked door and a key scraped in the padlock. As the door swung open and Reck got a good sight on the figure outlined in the doorway he swung a right uppercut from the floor, spilled the suddenly limp figure back onto the gravel.
Quickly he darted out, leaned down and grabbed the thick ankles, dragging the fat man into the shack and dumping him on the floor. He struck a match and went for the Coleman lamp on the oil drum, holding the lit match carefully clear. Taking the lamp to the center of the room, he gave it a couple of quick pumps and touched the match to the element. He adjusted the light to a low level and turned his attention to the sloppy lump on the floor. Hoisting him by the armpits he piled the man into the heavy armchair, loosened his trousers and dragged them down about his knees and tore away the shorts with a savage clutch. He then brought out another of his treasures from the junk-box, a spool of thin but strong fishing line. Doubling a length of it several times he brought the right wrist and right ankle of his victim together and tied them viciously tight in that position, repeating the process on the left side of the chair. This left Turn slumped low in the chair, his feet drawn back along each side of it. Then with another multiple length of line, Reck tied the two bonds together tightly behind the chair. Now, by God, if the man could move more than a toe or finger he was a magician.
Reck felt an inexplicable sense of urgency about this one and wasted no time on gentle slaps. He had a weird sensation that Doc was looking over his shoulder as he delivered full arm swings to the side of Turn's face, slapping the head first to one side then to the other. As the man began to grunt and squirm Reck busied himself with laying a wide train of papers from the center of the room to the side of the oil drum where he packed them thick and high. Removing the cap from the hole in the drum he returned to the chair in time to see Turn's eyes flutter open and look dazedly at him.
"Welcome home, creep."
Slowly the glaze left the eyes and they became both frightened and questioning. Muscles tightened under the blubber as the man tried to move his arms and legs.
"What the hell is this?" The voice tried to bluster but succeeded only in croaking faintly.
"I want to tell you a girlie story, but since I don't want anybody else to hear it, I waited until I could get you out here. Do you know that there is nobody living within two miles of here? Interesting thought, no?"
"You nuts or somethin'? "
"If I am, you're to thank for it. Now for this girlie story-"
Reck gave it to him from the beginning, including last Saturday night's little session with Doc.
"Now, of course, I wouldn't do a thing like that to you. No, for you I have a different treat. Have you ever heard of the old Corsican vendetta gimmick? No, you only read comic books, don't-you?" He drew closer to the chair, a newspaper wadded in his hand, ready to be jammed into the man's mouth if necessary. "Well, the old Corsicans had a treatment to cure great lovers like yourself. You pride yourself on being a lover, don't you, fat boy?" His hands were busy near the back of the chair, out of range of Turn's eyes, extracting another of his junk-box implements from its case. His left hand was alert with the newspaper as his right hand came slowly toward Turn's face with its burden. The man turned fish-belly white as Reck whispered confidentially:
"The Corsicans used to take something away from great lovers. What do you suppose it could have been?" His hand moved the straight razor slowly back and forth in front of Turn's eyes.
The newspaper jammed home as the man's mouth opened wide in insane terror. Only a strangled babble came through.
"You guessed it, didn't you, lover-boy? You're pretty sharp, as sharp, like the man said, as a razor."
Reek's left hand dropped quickly and grasped, the razor flashed and blood spurted. Turn stared, stiffened, turned unbelieving eyes upward to Reek's demoniacal grin, stared back at the torrent of blood, and collapsed, quivering.
Leaving the wadded newspaper crammed deep in the man's mouth, Reck moved to the stove with an empty whiskey bottle, opened the drain on the gas tank and filled the bottle. He stuffed a large piece of newspaper tightly into the neck of the bottle, leaving a thick streamer about a foot long on the outside. He moved feverishly now, eager to get this over. Carrying the Molotov cocktail, he left through the door, closing it behind him so that as little glare as possible would show outside the building until the big blast came.
Rounding the building, he climbed a little way up the hillside, turned, struck a match and held it to the end of the newspaper cork until it blazed brightly, and lobbed the bottle through the window into the pile of newspapers. He was so busy that he didn't notice the figure running down the lane toward the shack. His first inkling came when he saw the bottle strike and blast simultaneously with the throwing open of the door and erupting exploding bottle. Her thin scream was cut off before it got fairly started.
Reek's incredulous eyes watched her collapse in a heap of flame, watched the flames race along the newspaper train toward the drum. Some instinct drove him to whirl blindly and plunge on up the hill, where he cleared the top just as the surrounding territory seemed to leap up and grab him. Concussion knocked him flat and rolled him a good ten feet across the field.
Nature's merciful numbness kept the full horror of realization of what he had done from Reck, at least for the moment. He stirred, sat up, looked groggily around, got to his feet, and stumbled desperately toward his parked car. "Gotta get out of here. Gotta get clear." He mumbled the words aloud without knowing it. Aware of nothing around him, he climbed in, drove out onto the highway and started homeward. He would have been shocked to know that he giggled and mumbled foolishly most of the way.
At the house, he walked blindly into furniture, waking his sister who, hearing his giggles, called out irritatedly from the bedroom.
"For Christ's sake, you drunk? Be a little quiet, will you?"
He giggled his way on into the bedroom, not even hearing her. He lay down fully dressed on his back and stared blankly at the ceiling. Slowly the giggles died away, but the shining of his eyes in the dark would have told any interested person that he got no sleep that night.
His sister burst into the bedroom the next morning near noon, sputtering indignantly and waving her arms, but Reck had no awareness of it. She advanced on the bed. "What the hell's wrong with you? Can't you even answer when I talk to you? I've beat on this door, yelled my fool-" Her voice died away as she got a good look at his face. "Reck Reck, you all right? Jesus, you look terrible. What the hell are you staring at? Reck!! ! " Her voice began to rise with hysterical worry.
The incipient hysteria of her tone did what all her banging and irritated yelling couldn't accomplish. He became dimly aware of her and turned slowly toward her, his eyes clearing gradually.
"Huh? What'd you say?"
"You sick, Reck? Maybe I'd better call a doctor, huh?"
"What doctor? Uh, no, no I'm fine. I guess I'm just just uh hung over. I'll be all right after while. Please, just let me sleep a little while, okay?"
"Well, by the looks of you, you need sleep. Sure, go ahead. Come out when you feel like it." She left, pulling the door shut behind her.
Reck watched her go, sighed painfully, and turned awkwardly onto his side. Then the trembling started, increased, and his breathing became loud and harsh and shuddering. Perspiration soaked the bed clothes, causing him to chill through and through, increasing the trembling still more. Finally, despite the acute discomfort, his body gave up and he slept.
When he awoke the room was dark and he could dimly hear voices in the kitchen. Then, with no remembered transition, he was sitting at the kitchen table listening to the seemingly disconnected voices of his sister and his brother-in-law discussing something of a local news event.
". ... what do you think, Reck?"
"Huh? What do I think about what?"
"Christ's sake! Ain't you been listenin'? About the fire at the lake!"
"Uh, I I haven't heard anything about it? What fire?"
"God damn it, I just spent ten minutes tellin' you about it! What's wrong with you? You act like you're nuts or somethin'!"
He felt an uncontrollable burst of laughter coming on. "Yeah, schizo-something ... May be all right sometime ... Don't know yet." Then he was aware of their startled eyes on him, half-frightened.
"Forget it, kids. I'm just not feeling very well today. I guess I had too much to drink last night." He pushed back his chair, vaguely surprised to see that the coffee cup in front of him was almost empty. Had he drunk it? And what was this talk about a fire? Hell, fires happened every day. Why make such a fuss about another one. He was thoroughly puzzled. What the hell was going on?
"I think I'll go and hit the sack. I'm worn out tonight."
"Hell, man, you just got up. You gonna sleep all your life?"
"I did? Oh, yeah, sure. I I guess that hang-over is worse than I thought. I'll see you in the morning."
He was asleep almost before he touched the bed, waking early in the morning, fully and sickeningly aware of what he had done, was it last night? He wasn't sure just when it had happened or what had occurred since. He only knew that he had caused something final and unalterable, something he had had no intention of causing. Christ, poor Judy!
He went into the kitchen, where his sister was getting breakfast. She turned from the stove and looked searchingly at him.
"Well, you feeling any better this morning?"
"Uh, yes, I feel pretty good. Why?"
"Why? Good God, you sit out here last night and don't hear a word anybody says to you. You act like you don't know where you are or what's going on. And now you ask 'why?'"
"Oh Well, I guess I didn't feel so good last night. What were we talking about?"
"I was talking mainly about the fire at the lake. You didn't talk about anything that made sense."
"What about the fire at the lake? Come on, I promise I'll listen this time. Tell me about it."
"Well, that old shack out by the pier blew up and burned night before last. There wasn't enough left of anything in or near it to piece together. They did find a burnt license plate near the highway that they figure came from a half-melted car frame that must have been caught in the explosion. And guess what. That plate belonged to our little old dispatcher, Turn. He's missing, and they figure he might have been messing around the shack and had something to do with the fire."
"Yeah? What time did it happen?"
"Guy across the lake heard this hell of a blast and then saw the fire shoot up. Said it was a little after eleven, as near as he could make out. He was so shook up when it happened he didn't think to look at a clock."
"That's a funny one. Wonder how it might have happened."
"Well, by God, I figure that Turn creep got drunk and dropped a cigarette or a match in there. I told you Judy used to meet him out there. Well, Judy's missing, too. I can't help thinking she might have been in it."
"Surely they looked to see if anyone was there, didn't they?"
"Sure they looked, but I told you there wasn't enough left of the place to put anything together. The only thing is, they figure there was a lot of gas around, and that was what blew up. Some of them figured dynamite at first, but that wouldn't have caused such a hell of a fire, so the only thing they could think of was gasoline."
"D'd Judy ever tell you there was any gasoline around there?"
"No, the only thing she could talk about was how great it was with Turn."
"Well, do they know about Judy meeting him out there?"
"Not as far as I know. I think I'm the only one she ever let in on it."
"Have you told them that you think Judy might have been there?"
"Hell no, and I don't intend to. It's none of my damned business who she got mixed up with. I'm sorry if she was there, but I hope to Christ that Turn was right in the middle of it."
"Yes, I suppose it's just as well not to mix yourself in a thing like that."
"Damn right. I keep my nose out."
She set a plate of bacon and eggs and a cup of coffee in front of him. "Here, eat this. And for God's sake, watch your drinking so damn much at a time. Another night like that one will send you to the nut-house."
Yes, Reck agreed silently, another night like that one would no doubt fix him up right. He had one more appointment to keep, and he had no intention of letting the recent fiasco interfere with it.
"Well, I think I'll go out and drive a little today and let the air clear the fumes out of my mind. From now on I drink soda straight."
He cruised at moderate speed toward Waynesburg, wondering why he was so intent on keeping his third date in spite of the horror of Wednesday night.
"Why, it's because you promised me, and you won't let me down."
He almost wrecked his and several other cars at the clear, close sound of Sue's voice in his ear. He looked frantically around, saw no one. He shook his head violently, edged to the side of the road and stopped, burying his head in his shaking hands. Man, he thought, get a grip on yourself. Concentrate. This is no time to flip your lid. Think about the friend you're looking for. It's too late now to worry about anything else. Just get the job done and get out of this territory.
He sat for a quarter of an hour, thinking forcefully and desperately of the next man on his list, shaking off any other thoughts that tried to slip into his mind.
1. Doc's car had stopped just short of the bridge on the right hand side of the road.
2. His friend had been in the act of getting out, probably to leave Doc at that point. The other obvious possibility was weakened by the very near proximity of service station rest-room, less than three blocks ahead.
Suddenly Reck slammed his fist on the steering-wheel, cursed himself for a stupid jerk. Man, his thinking was more muddled than he had realized. Of course the man was leaving Doc then. Hadn't Doc cruised blithely through the traffic light alone?
"He started his motor, pulled back into the highway and went on toward Waynesburg.
10
As he neared the highway bridge, Reck slowed considerably and began to watch intently along the right-hand side of the road. Despite his concentration he almost missed the footpath leading through the grass and weeds and disappearing over the bank a few yards from the road-side.
He cruised on, excitement stirring within him, to the traffic light, turned right and began to look for a turn around. No more U-turns in the middle of the road. He was too close to his goal to take any wild chances on anything now.
He found a driveway, turned into it and backed out, heading back in the direction whence he had come. At the traffic light he turned left, rolled over the bridge and pulled well out onto the shoulder of the road to park. He got out of the car, stretched, and walked across the road to the beginning of the footpath. He followed the path to the edge of the bank, looked down, and saw nothing but brush with a twinkle of river surface gleaming through it here and there.
He started down the bank, following the path, just another guy out for a little fresh air, whistling loudly and gaily. His dramatic talent was completely wasted, as he learned when he finally broke through the last of the brush. Before him lay a flat stretch of sand stretching away to the river's edge .The bank of the river was loaded down with kids and oldsters, each with a home-made pole leaning out over the water, bait cans sitting beside them. A hundred yards down the sand beach stood an old shanty with a sign hanging on its side: "BAIT".
Reck walked along the edge of the river, now and then exchanging a nod and grin with some relaxed fisherman. His eyes searched far and near for some clue as to what a man would want down here after dark. There seemed to be nothing, unless night fishing was it. Somehow he didn't think that his friend had come down here that night to do any fishing.
He strolled toward the shanty, but saw that it was closed up tight. The sign was so old and the building so beaten up that there was no way to tell whether it was still in use.
He walked over and watched a bright-eyed, tanned youngster who was eyeing with hypnotic fascination the bobber on his line. Reck cleared his throat lightly, causing the boy's eyes to jump to him.
"Hi. Catching anything?"
"Naw, nothin' yet. Don't seem to be bitin' today at all." Disgust punctuated the boy's tone.
"Looks like fun, though. This a pretty popular spot?"
"Yeah, everybody comes down here."
"I see. Fishing any good here at night?"
"I don't know. The guy that runs the bait shack's usually so drunk and mean nobody-likes to be around here at night."
"Oh, the bait shack is still used then."
"Yeah. It's usually open during the day. The guy's prob'ly out gettin' tanked up already."
"Who runs the shack?"
"I don't know his name. Everybody just calls him 'Grunt'. "
"Grunt? How come?"
'Cause that's about all he ever does when you say something to him."
Reck laughed, wished the boy good luck, and ambled away. This, he thought wasn't going to be as easy as the other two. He looked around a little more, then went back to the car and sat there, thinking. So the bait-man liked to drink, did he? That might offer a possibility.
Reck turned the car around in the road and headed back toward Waynesburg.
He drove slowly, looking for a liquor store. When he finally found one, near the beginning of the central business section, he went in and bought four pint bottles of a good sour-mash bourbon. These he locked in the back of the car, looked for and found a decent looking restaurant. There, over apple pie and coffee, he completed his preliminary plans.
Driving back to the beginning of the footpath over the bank, he parked, took one of the bottles from the car, and, after a quick look around, poured some into his mouth and splashed the front of his coat. He spit out the mouthful of whiskey and started down the path, humming gaily and a little uncertainly, the neck of the bottle protruding from his coat pocket. He made his ever-so-slightly erratic way near enough to the shanty to see that it was still closed, went on past to a spot on the riverbank from which he could see anyone approaching the door, and plopped himself down a comfortable distance away from the nearest fisherman. He watched the water, trickled sand through his fingers, skipped an occasional small pebble across the surface of the water, chuckled semi-audibly for the benefit of any curious who might pass by and wonder about the lack of fishing gear. Occasionally he would tilt his bottle, letting only the barest trickle into his mouth, smack his lips with a sigh of pleasure, and a couple of times, when he saw men approach the bait-shanty, he really made a production of it. Both times the men left after a glance at the closed door.
After about two hours of this, Reck decided that he had apparently drunk enough to justify a nap. He stood up unsteadily, brushed fumblingly at his clothes, and reeled to the front of the shack. There, making sure that the bottle showed prominently from the pocket of his coat, he sat down again, leaned his back against the wall alongside the door of the building. He took the bottle out and glanced at it. Hmm ... He uncapped it, glanced quickly around, and poured some onto the sand, covering the wet spot by kicking sand over it. Then, satisfied with the level of the liquid in the bottle, he put it back half-way into his pocket, leaned comfortably back and appeared to snooze.
Time dragged on. Finally, when he saw the shadows stretching to the breaking point and no one had come near the door, he decided that today was wasted.
He got up, still in his act, and stumbled toward the road, noting from the coiner of his eye that the place was virtually deserted. He had a brief moment of amusing panic as he wondered if any of the fishing folk at the river had been an off-duty policeman who might see him get into his car in his "condition." Convinced that no one was watching, he locked the half-empty bottle into the car with the other three full ones, straightened his clothes, crawled under the wheel and headed for home.
The next day, by mid-morning, Reck was well started toward Waynesburg when he noted that his gas gauge read very nearly empty. He glanced along the side of the road, which now formed the main street of one of the innumerable little towns of the area, saw a station he liked the looks of, and pulled in.
While the attendant filled, checked, and wiped away at his car, Reck wandered inside the long narrow building, obviously never built originally to serve as a service station. He looked with amusement at the incredible mass of things that one could buy here, most of them having nothing to do with cars or driving. It reminded him somewhat of a five-and-ten, or one of the latest "outlet" stores.
His eyes fell on a soft-drink vending machine along one wall. Dropping in a dime, he opened the bottle and sipped, his mind occupied with his program for the day. Leaning against the machine, he noticed absently that the attendant was putting the finishing touches to his car as a long black Cadillac pulled up to the pumps and stopped. From his position in the store he could see the outlines of the faces of two women. He straightened a little and some of the absentness left his face. Hmmm, from the little he could make out, they both seemed young and well worth observing. He watched the attendant bend down to the driver's window, nod his head, and indicate one side of the building, then straighten and busy himself with the gas pumps. Watching the two women, Reek's eyes widened a little and he gave a silent whistle. No sooner had the attendant turned away to the tank of the Cad, than the driver turned, wrapped the other girl in her arms and planted a long, obviously enthusiastic kiss on her upturned lips. Well, well, it happened here too, then!
He watched as the driver drew away from her partner, opened the door, and stepped out. Then, as she rounded the front of the car, glancing curiously at Reek's California plates as she passed in front of his car, Reck felt an upsurge of recognition and instinctively shrank back and turned his face away from the window. Mira Lamont! Or, more accurately and prosaically, Betty Shorter. Good God, how long had it been since he had seen her? At least three years, he guessed. He laughed a little bitterly. This gal had been the first lesson for him in the hard realities of Hollywood life. Oh, yes, he had been academically aware of such things before, but thanks to her, the facts had been brought brutally home to him. Now, as she disappeared around the side of the building, he looked back to the other occupant of the Cad. Her face, turned toward him as she followed Mira's progress, was young, gorgeous, and eager. Her eyes were hungry and brilliant, yearning after her departing companion. Reck felt a combination of amusement and nausea as he thought back to the night that had no doubt started all this....
Reck sat in the booth of the drug-store at the beginning of the famous Sunset Strip, bored with the bright, brittle chatter of his companions. He looked around the place, shaking his head slightly at the panorama of smiling, eager, anxious faces. Bright remarks, followed by nervous, uncertain laughter as the author of the remark waited and watched to see the reaction of the receivers of the bon mot. Here were the would-bes, the has-beens, the never-will-bes, and just enough of a sprinkling of the real things to keep the others hanging around.
Reck was a little sorry for the whole crowd. Then he grunted contemptuously. Who the hell was he to feel sorry for them? He was here right along with them, wasn't he? He glanced at the man beside him. Bart Mason was one of the real things. He had a solid horse-opera series that carried a strong national rating and looked to be good for a couple of years yet. Reck himself appeared to be "in" with both Mason and the producer of the series. He worked more than his share of Mason's shows, and virtually all the other six shows produced by Lauren Hubbard, female producer-extraordinary. Reck had often wondered whether it was talent or the political influence of his agent, Velma Seton, that kept him so busy on Lauren's shows. Not that it mattered a great deal. He had worked hard and he was pleased with the amount of work he got, despite, or perhaps because of, his refusal to "boot-lick." As a matter-of-fact, he had never come into this drug-store until he had been working pretty steadily.
As he looked now at Bart Mason he wondered idly just what it might be that made the guy so popular. The man, as usual, was dominating the conversation. No one took the trouble to disagree with any of his rather decided opinions on any subject. After all, there might be a small part available in one of his shows some time. His opinions, as might be expected, were strongest on subjects about which he obviously knew nothing at all.
Of course, the avid TV-watching public couldn't know all these little private-life bits of one of their favorite gun-slingers, but even so, Reck thought, they should be able to see the mediocrity of his acting. Along with virtually all the rest of the company on the series, Reck himself could see it, and although he never said so aloud, neither did he smile and attempt to conceal his opinion. There were times when he felt sure that Bart was aware of his critical eye, yet nothing ever was said or indicated, and he was invariably included in Bart's invitations.
He got up now, saying nothing, knowing that with Bart talking and the others listening, no one would even know he was gone.
As he turned away toward the rest-rooms at the rear of the store, he saw a young, wide-eyed girl sitting in the booth behind Bart, staring blindly at the back of the great man's head, soaking in every pearl of wisdom that dropped from his mouth. Reck hesitated, smiled faintly, and went on toward his destination.
As lie came back toward the group he noted that the girl was still enthralled. He stopped beside her and watched her face. She was evidently completely unaware of his presence. He leaned down to her.
"Yes, my dear young lady. That is the one and only Bart Mason. And I-" he pressed his hand flat against his chest-"I am personally and intimately acquainted with him. Would you like my autograph?"
She jumped a little and turned her wide eyes on him.
She actually blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I was staring, wasn't I." Her eyes dropped in confusion and she clasped her hands together, fingers twisting. Almost immediately she looked back up at him. "You're Reck Machin, aren't you? I've seen you on Bart's shows. You know," she went on in dead seriousness, "you're a very good actor."
"Why, thank you very much." He smiled down at her.
"May I--? " His hand indicated the seat opposite her, directly behind Bart.
"Yes, of course. Please do."
He slid into the seat and looked at her. He felt a warmth for this girl that had nothing-well, at least almost nothing-to do with sex and conquest. There was a directness and sincerity about her appearance that he hadn't seen for a long time. She had the "dewy freshness" that our poets like to rave about, and from what he could see above the table, she also had the full, warm, smooth body that men, poets or not, like to drool over. Her round breasts, covered by a fuzzy sweater, had a firm, solid, self-supporting air about them. He would have bet his last dime that any brassiere she might wear would be worn from convention and not from necessity. He was surprised at how much of an effort it was to confine himself to a glance at those beauties. Maybe that warmth had something to do with sex after all. He sighed inwardly as he thought of the twelve or thirteen years in age that separated him from her. Then, immediately, he cursed himself. If he weren't such a goddamned square, the age difference would never have occurrd to him.
"Well," he grinned at her, "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."
"I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little excited. I'm Betty Shorter."
The name didn't surprise him at all. From another girl he would have expected something like Roselle LaMar, or Glamoranne Dreamboat, or some such quickly contrived handle, but from this child of nature he had expected just about what he got.
"Where you from, Betty?"
"Waushego. That's a town in Ohio."
"Well, cuss me. Don't I know it? I'm from a town I than fifty miles from there, myself. Dunbom. Of course that's in Indiana."
She laughed, delighted and delightfully. "Old Home Week in Hollywood!"
Then began a long, and all-absorbing comparing of notes on Ohio, Hollywood, and the grind of motion pictures and television careers. She, it seemed, was determined to make her mark as an actress, cost what may. She had been here less than a month, knew no one, but had heard so much, even back in Ohio, about this drug-store, discovery spot and hang-out of the stars, that here she was, waiting for the discoverer.
Reck thought of the innumerable other innocents who had followed the same route, were still following it. He looked again at the full, softly rounded thrust of her young breasts. She would be discovered all right. Of course it might have nothing to do with pictures or TV, but with that figure and those full, soft lips, pert nose, widely innocent eyes and jet-black, softly waving long hair, she was sure to be discovered. He was rather surprised that she hadn't been already.
"Are you working anywhere, Betty."
"Yes. I found a job as typist in an insurance office out nenr Clark Street."
"How do you get to work? Got your own car?"
"No, I live just a few blocks from the office. I walk. I like to walk. Sometimes I even walk up here at night. Of course I usually ride the bus." She glanced at her watch. "Speaking of buses, I'd better get out to the bus stop before that last bus goes.'
"Don't worry, I'll drive you home if you miss it."
She had missed that bus and he had driven her home.
As they finally got up to leave and she walked toward the door while he lingered to drop a dollar bill on the table to cover their coffee checks, he gulped. Her legs were, if anything, even more spectacular than her upper half. The sway of her lush hips was in no way studied or exaggerated, but, nevertheless, would have dried the throats of all the men, and, Reck thought cynically, half the women in town.
Thus had begun a pleasant companionship. Reck enjoyed her fresh naturalness and lack of pseudo-sophistication. She laughed readily and often, and when she did it was a real pleasure to hear. She had an almost frightening determination to "get into the business," and Reck tried to think of some way he could help. Never did he make a single pass at her. The idea certainly occurred to him, but he enjoyed her too much to take chances of spoiling things, either by becoming disillusioned with her, or by upsetting her by an attempt at intimacy. She, in turn, never indicated the slightest desire for his too-personal attentions. That had been a period of warm, contented relations, but, of course, all things come to an end.
He introduced her to Bart Mason, who looked at her admiringly and, Reck felt, thoughtfully, but said and did nothing, and never made any effort to contact her on his own.
He also took her to see his agent, Velma, who looked the girl over carefully, had her walk, asked her to read a scene, and said that she would think about representing her. Velma represented a considerable number of beautiful girls, and seemed to find a lot of work for them, so that Reck was convinced that Betty would be all right. The girl's reading had been more than adequate, and she seemed to have a natural flair for visual portrayal. If Velma could get her started, she was in.
Some three weeks after Betty's introduction to Bart Mason the company was winding up the last of the current series. Reck had a respectable role in the last episode, and as the last day's shooting ended, Bart approached him in his dressing room.
"Man, am I glad to get this one over! Listen, Reck, I'm having a celebration tomorrow night. How about coming out and bringing that cute little gal with you? What was her name again?"
"Betty Shorter."
"Oh, yeah." Bart cringed a little. "Jeez, she ought to do something about that name. Have you talked to her about it?"
"No. I figure that if she's happy with it, why should I worry?"
"Well, Lauren will be there tomorrow night. We'll introduce the kid to her. Who knows? Maybe Lauren can use her in some of her shows, but she'll for damn sure make the gal change that name."
"Thanks, Bart, and if Lauren can use her, I'm sure that Betty would probably be willing to change her name to John Brown, if necessary."
When he got home that night his answering service advised him that his agent wanted him to call without fail. Knowing the office was closed, Reck phoned Velma at home.
"Oh, Reck, I wanted to tell you that you're invited to Bart Mason's celebration tomorrow night. I'll be there, and so will Lauren Hubbard. This will be a good chance for Lauren to meet Betty. Who knows what might happen then?" Her laugh sounded a little strange to Reck.
"Yeah, Velma, Bart already told me about the celebration and asked me to bring Betty along. We'll see you there. Thanks."
He immediately called Betty's apartment and told her about the projected party. Her response was what might be termed, inadequately, enthusiastic. "Oh, Reck, maybe this will be it! Golly, I'll go crazy before tomorrow night! Imagine meeting Lauren Hubbard! Me!"
Reck had to laugh. "Relax, sweetie, she's only a woman, after all."
He made a date to pick her up in an hour, and they went to the drugstore, where Betty sailed so regally through the crowd that Reck laughed almost hysterically. She turned on him. "What's so funny, you dope?"
"Nothing, Betty, nothing. It's just that you look so-so changed, like you were walking three feet off the floor. You look like a little kid who has just seen Santa Claus himself."
She grabbed his hand, squeezed it hard. "I have, Reck, I have."
As he watched and listened to her that evening, Reck felt something he hadn't experienced in years. He was dazzled by her animation. He fell in love with her, hopelessly and completely. He caught a great deal of her excitement and found himself sparkling with wit and energy. When he took her home that night, he kissed her soundly for the first time, spatted her lightly on the behind and told her to get plenty of sleep so as to be at her best tomorrow night.
"Gosh, Reck, what'll I wear?"
He thought for a moment. "Well, I guess something that'll let them know that you're a girl for sure, but not too much on the sophisticated side. Just be natural and don't try to impress anybody. Believe me, you'll be impressive without trying."
"Golly, Reck, I don't know how to thank you. You're the nicest guy I've ever met." She leaned forward and gave him a warm, sincere kiss.
Reck found himself, to his utter amazement, shuffling his feet and blushing furiously.
"Go on now, scat. I'll pick you up tomorrow night about eight."
When she answered his ring the next evening just before eight o'clock, he felt the urge to reach out with both hands for support to the edge of the doorway. Immediately after he felt the urge to reach out with both hands for her.
Impressive was a pitifully inadequate word to describe what he was looking at.
She wore a very simple, strapless dress of severe black. Above the bodice rose what appeared to his dazzled eyes an exquisitely molded figure of the finest quality vanilla ice cream. Furthermore, it looked much, much more luscious than any ice cream he had ever come across. Above the flawless curve of her throat her face glowed at him. Very little makeup. That glow was from the inside. Her hair was down, long, fluffy, waving to just below her shoulders.
"Well, don't just stand there! Come on in. I need help." She smiled, pleased with his evident shock.
"Yeah, yeah, excuse me. I-I-" He went in, fumbled the door shut, leaned back against it and wheezed.
"I'm just ... just a little overwhelmed."
She whirled, presented her back to him, a smooth black surface, divided in the middle by a triangle of incredibly smooth whiteness that extended from her waist to the bottom fringe of her long hair.
"Zip me up, Reck."
His hesitant hands found the zipper pull and worked it upward against the resisting pull of the dress. With the zipper halfway up, he succumbed to an irresistible impulse, leaned forward and kissed her warmly between the shoulder blades.
"Honey, I-I don't quite know what to say right about now. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." He finished the zipping, took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, marveling at the feel of her skin under his hands.
He looked her up and down, shaking his head. The dress gave her the look of a fully matured woman of the world, while her glowing face and loose hair made her look like a complete innocent. He remembered the unbroken whiteness of her back and his eyes dropped to the mouthwatering mounds of hr breasts. He could make out the shape of her nipples without effort. Christ, she sure didn't need a brassiere, and she sure as hell wasn't wearing one tonight. His scanning eye could discern absolutely no telltale signs of undergarments anywhere. She was really something.
"Well, will I pass?"
"Will you--Are you kidding me? Sweety, if half the people at this little shindig don't drop with heart attack I'll be surprised. Let's go while I'm still conscious."
"No, seriously, Reck. Do I look all right? Not too much or too little of anything. I've got to be right in every way tonight."
His tone was fervent. "Honey, you are so 'right' diat you wouldn't believe itl Wait till you get there and you'll see."
Within five minutes of their arrival he could see that she was convinced. As for himself, he couldn't figure out how they had gotten there without a fatal smashup. About one-fourth of the time on the trip he had watched the road and the rest of the traffic.
Bart himself came to greet them as they came in. He offered to make drinks for them, which offer Betty graciously refused. Reck, however, felt that maybe a drink would clear the fog a little from his head. They mingled, introductions flew, and Reck was amused to find himself suddenly surrounded enthusiastically by people, especially men, who had previously passed him on the streets and stages of the studio with a bare nod, if that. Betty was wide-eyed and thrilled and never did fly-paper do such a job of attracting.
Velma Seton eventually fought her way to them, and dragged Betty away. Reck watched them go, crossed his fingers, and made a silent wish for Betty. Coming back to his surroundings he found himself already deserted by the previously crowding group. He grinned, went in search of the bartender. From time to time he caught a glimpse of Velma, Lauren, and Betty, sitting at one side of the room, deeply involved in conversation. He was once more struck by the strong, commanding appearance of the producer. She was a striking beauty in her early thirties, probably, tall, fair in coloring, with decisive no-nonsense manners.
He saw Lauren get up, work her way across to speak confidentially to Bart Mason. Bart glanced around and nodded his head. Reck watched her return to the other two women. Velma stood, took Betty by the arm, said something to her. He saw Betty's eyes move around the room until they found him. Then she looked up at Velma, at Lauren, shrugged and rose to her feet. The three disappeared through a doorway at the far side of the room. Business conference must be about to start.
Reck went for a refill, another, and still another. He began to feel hemmed in. The room felt stuffy. He walked to the front door and stepped out into the darkness. God, that air felt good. He walked across the lawn and rounded the corner of the house, headed for the swimming pool in the rear.
He noticed a light coming through the very bottom of a window on the side of the house. As he came opposite the window, he heard Velma's voice, exasperated.
"Don't be a little idiot! Don't you realize what you're passing up? Lauren and I together could make you as big as the biggest!" Her voice dropped: "We could also see to it that you never got even an extra bit."
Curious, Reck turned to the window. The Venetian blind was closed, but a narrow crack remained at the bottom and the window was raised slightly. He glued his eye to the crack and saw Betty seated on a big luxurious bed, Lauren sitting quietly beside her. Velma was standing in front of the girl, her hands waving as she spoke. Betty, her face a little stiff, was listening intently.
"Ask Lauren if you don't believe me! You can be in or out in the next few minutes."
Lauren spoke quietly but decisively. "She's right, my dear. You've been around long enough to know what I can do if I take the notion. You'll have to decide quickly."
"My God, girl, what can you lose? You know damned well there's no danger involved." Velma's voice was almost pleading.
Reck shifted uncomfortably. Now what the hell?
Betty looked at Lauren, dropped her eyes. Her voice was almost inaudible. "All right. You win."
In the next moment Reck felt as if he had suddenly been dumped into a bath of ice water and had a powerful fan turned on him.
Lauren seized Betty's hand and patted it, then stroked the girl's arm gentiy. She looked at Velma, indicated the door with a nod. Velma wasted no time getting to the door and turning the night-latch. Meanwhile, Lauren's hand moved along Betty's arm, detoured to brush lightly over the girl's breasts, moved up to her throat. Velma stood stock-still at the door, her eyes glittering as she watched the two on the bed.
Lauren cupped the girl's chin, turning her face. With a groan she plunged her open mouth to Betty's unresisting lips, trailed her hand down over the girl's throat to cup and squeeze the fullness bulging the front of the black dress. The kiss held, the woman's hand working more and more quickly and urgently, fingers plucking lightly.
Finally Lauren drew back from Betty's soft lips. "You see, darling, there are lots worse things, aren't there?" Her hand continued to squeeze and stroke, forcing its way down and under the neckline of the dress.
Betty looked up at her as if dazed. Finally she murmured. "Yes, II guess there are."
Lauren smiled down at her, seized her lips once more, and wrapped both arms tightly about the girl, holding her close. Now Velma broke out of her trance, rushed to the bed and reached behind the girl. Then her hands came up, grasping the top of the dress, pushing Lauren back from her close contact with the girl's body. Her hands gently and delicately peeled the top of the dress down about Betty's waist. She gazed hungrily at the exposed sweetness, then frantically buried her face deeply between the jutting mounds. Her mouth traveled slowly over the white, soft expanse, her hands clutching savagely at the girl's hips.
"Oh, God, you're so incredibly sweet!"
Lauren's hands reached out and forced Velma's face away. "You just like to watch, remember? She's mine, Velma, she's all mine!"
Velma almost sobbed. "I know, Lauren, but God, I couldn't help it."
Lauren went back to Betty's lips and breasts, easing the girl down onto her back on the bed. Velma caught the dress and began to draw it completely away from the girl's body. Betty's lusciousness was beginning to undulate under the ministrations of Lauren's experienced touch. She arched upward to facilitate the withdrawal of the dress. She tore her lips away from Lauren long enough to complain weakly about the light.
"No, darling, the light stays on. Velma wants to see every move we make." Lauren husked, this out, and returned lips and hands to her victim.
Betty was by now moaning audibly, and her arms came up to encompass her masterful lover, while Velma continued her job of denuding the girl completely. Her hands stroked, and now and then her lips sank sensuously into the girl's soft flesh.
Lauren finally drew away and murmured tightly to Betty. "Undress me, darling. Hurry."
"Yes, Lauren, yes." Her hands worked frenziedly at the woman's clothes, while Lauren and Velma looked triumphantly at each other. Finally, two white, warm, firm bodies sank in each other's arms back onto the bed. Velma moved away a few feet and watched avidly as the two twisted, twined together, turned, moaned.
At this point, Reck, feeling as if he had eaten a live toad, turned and stumbled away from the window. He sank onto a picnic bench near the swimming pool. Head in hands, he realized that this was the second time in his life he had known real torture. Christ, it seemed that he was doomed to watch twisted people in action. Well, there was no doubt now that Betty would be "all right." With the enthusiasm he had just witnessed, she should really make out.
He got up, went back to the house, and began to see how fast he could pack away the booze without choking to death.
He had no idea of how much time passed, where he was, who was around. He didn't care. He had vague impressions of familiar faces clucking over him, but he fought his way time after time away from them and back to the whiskey.
Finally he had an extremely hazy sensation of lying on something soft, while hands tugged and pulled at his clothing, and a whispering voice kept reassuring him. "Now you just relax, honey, and let me take care of everything." Ghostly hands running over him caressingly, tenderly. He passed out cold in the middle of it.
Next morning he seemed to feel a burning sensation on his chest. He mumbled, brushed at the spot. It was solid. He opened his eyes groggily, caught sight of a hand resting on him. A man's ha--. He almost tore his own head off turning to look at his bed companion. Bart Mason smiled at him. "Feeling better, baby?" Reck jumped halfway across the room and stared back at the apparition.
"Why you lousy, fruit son-of-a-bitch!" He felt his stomach turn, opened his mouth and let go, making no effort to stop it or to find a container. Bart darted up from the bed. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you god-damned jerk? Get into the bathroom with that!"
As he reached out for Reck, Reck let him have a full-arm right swing full in the chops. "Touch me, Mason, and I'll kill you!" He reeled, half-drunk, half-hung over. "I'll kill you like a bed-bug, which you are!"
He found his clothes, struggled into them somehow, and got the hell out of there. From that day on, there was no more drinking for Reck Machin, no more Betty, and, virtually no work either. He knew why no work. He was getting the treatment Betty had been threatened with. Betty. The sweet, unspoiled, nature-child. Well, there goes another one, he thought. Fortunately, there were enough people around who were not under Lauren's-Laurence's? Lauren and Velma and Betty-Laurence, and William and Benny-Anyway there were enough independent ones left that Reck could work enough to keep from starving....
He stood there, soda bottle in hand, deep in the interior of the service-station-outlet-store, looking at the sweet young thing waiting impatiently in Mira's car. He wondered with a sour amusement how much effort it had taken to convert her. Had Laurence, William, and Benny together worked her over the first time? And in turn. Would all four of them work over the next apprentice?
He stayed well back in the building until "Mira" returned, crawled into the car, squeezed her paramour a little, and pulled out. She was probably headed for the little old home town of Waushego, just beyond Waynesburg. He wondered what the home town folks would think of their heroine if they found out the true relationship between the two girls. The pair might be rudely surprised to find that attitudes here were not quite so liberal as in Hollywood.
Reck shook himself. That was gin under the bridge-work. He forced his mind back to his own problem. Leaving the store he paid off for the gas and drove slowly along, eyes open for a second-hand store. He saw what looked promising, pulled over, and went into the place.
"Yes, sir, can I help you?"
He smiled down at the little old lady staring bird-like up at him.
"Yes, I hope so. Do you have any old clothes I might use for fishing? Maybe you also would have an old rod lying about?"
"Yessirree, I got just what you need." She trotted spryly along to an overflowing counter, held up an old work shirt and clean but worn cotton trousers. "You just try these on. Right there in the back, behind that curtain. While you're doin' that I'll get you a real good rod and reel. 'Course you may have to buy new line for it." She looked anxiously at him.
"Oh, that's all right, if you can tell me where I can get line around here."
"Right across the street and down a block. Sam's Sporting Goods. He's got everything."
"Fine." Reck went through the curtain and put on the old clothes. They fit rather loosely, but his own belt helped. He decided to take them.
"By the way, I'd like an old hat, if you have one."
"Yes sir, straw or regular?"
"I guess straw would be right if you can fit me with one."
She brought out an old but unbroken soft panama. Reck put it on, adjusted it. "It's okay if I can find a little paper to tuck into the band." She dug out a newspaper from behind the beat up cash counter.
"Here y'are, young man. You name it, we'll git it," she cackled, "now here's a nice little pole. Don't look so good, but it's in good shape. So's the reel."
"Good. How much do I owe you?"
"Well now, lemme see." She mumbled to herself, counting on her fingers. "That'll be six an' a half-an' it's a bargain, too," she hastened to add.
Reck laughed. "Yes, I think it is. Here you are."
He picked up his folded street clothes and the fishing rod, took them out and stowed them in the back seat. He pulled out, spotted Sam's sign in the next block and parked again. He jaywalked across the highway, feeling even here a little guilty about it, and walked into the sporting goods shop. Not much compared to the big ones he was used to, but big enough for what he needed.
"Give me some of what you think would be the best line for river fishing, and hooks to match. I guess I'd better have a bobber, too." He laughed apologetically. "I'm kinda new at this, so I'll leave it up to you."
"You got a pole a'ready, huh?"
"Yes. It's a light casting rod with a small reel. You probably know. Something like that one." Reck pointed to a rod in the case behind the counter.
"okay, sure." The man pulled out a spool of light line and a small box of hooks. "You'll need sinkers. Don't need a bobber for casting."
"That's right, I forgot about sinkers. Better give me some of those too. Better give me a bobber too, though. I might not cast all the time."
Finally he left with somewhat over three dollars worth of equipment, feeling silly. His casting was probably going to provide a Roman holiday for the veterans along the river bank. Well, to hell with them.
He drove on, passed the bridge to the familiar traffic-light, turned onto the side road and parked along it. He'd rather not have the river-bank loungers see too much of his car. He unlocked the back compartment, picked up the half-empty and a full pint bottle and tucked them into his pants pockets. He slammed the compartment lid, got his rod and other paraphernalia out of the car and trudged back toward the bridge.
He stopped just short of the footpath and took a mouthwash out of the opened bottle. Thinking suddenly of
Betty, then of Bart, he spat out the whiskey with unnecessary force, dribbling down the front of his shirt. So much the better. He rubbed the dribble into the cloth, poured a little out of the bottle onto his hand and rubbed it in with the rest.
A minute later, a watcher would have seen a half-drunken man haphazardly carrying a mess of gear which threatened to drop out of his hands at any moment, come swaying and mumbling toward the bait shack.
He walked in through the now open door and dumped his gear loudly on the small counter. The man seated before a solitaire game spread on a card table looked up with a scowl. Reck felt a little pang go through him. No, this wasn't the one. He realized that he had been hoping unconsciously. Oh, well, to quote several good authorities, it was only a matter of time.
"Like t' buy s'm bait."
"Yeah, what kind you want?"
Reck chuckled. "Don't rightly know. Kinda new at this fishin' thing. You tell me." He pulled out the opened bottle, tilted it, smacked his lips and set it down on the counter. The man's eyes went to the label, and he swallowed audibly. His eyes went to Reek's gear.
"Hell, you don't need no castin' around here. Just drop yer line. You'll either get 'em or you won't. How 'bout a can o' worms?"
"Whatever you say, mister. Say, ain't no objection to a man drinkin' around here, is there?" He picked up the bottle, shook it suggestively.
"Well, some o' the old characters don't take kindly to it, but what the hell's the difference? A man wants a drink, he takes a drink." Again the man swallowed hard.
"In that case, here's to it." Reck tilted the bottle again, then lowered it quickly. "Sorry, Mac, I forgot my manners, I guess. Join me?" He held out the bottle invitingly.
The man hesitated, grinned. "Well, now, that's right nice o' ya." He accepted the offered jug, lowered its level a good inch, faster than Reck could follow with his eyes. "Ahhh! That's real drinkin' whiskey. Thanks, mister." He handed the botttle back.
"Well, think I'll try my luck." He picked up the can of earthworms the man set on the counter. "How much?"
"Two bits."
"Can't lose much on that." He laughed, packed the bottle into his pocket, picked up his gear, and nodded genially. "See ya later."
At the edge of the river he laid out his gear, fumbled in attaching line, bobber, sinker, and hook. He reached into the can, pretended to put a worm on the hook, and dropped it into the water a few feet from shore. Now if he had actually put a worm on that hook, he might catch a fish. Then what the hell would he do with it? Fish he didn't need.
He did an occasional production number with the bottle for the sake of appearance, surreptitiously dumping some onto the sand, getting just enough into his mouth to preserve the aroma around his head.
After an hour of this nonsense, Reck decided that a drunk would be justified in losing interest in fishing. He pulled in his line, mumbling irritatedly and audibly, threw the bait into the river, picked up his gear and weaved toward the bait shanty. Inside, he disgustedly put down his gear on the floor near the counter, pulled out the nearly empty bottle, squinted at it, drained it and set it on the counter. The proprietor looked up from his solitaire and eyed the empty.
"Damn fish don't seem to be bitin', " Reck grunted, pulling out the full pint. "Or maybe that bait's no good."-
The man bristled. "Them's the same worms ever'body else is usin'. They don't have no trouble ketchin'. "
Reck laughed unsteadily. "Just kiddin', Mac." He offered the bottle.
"Here, break this in for me."
The bait man grinned sheepishly. "Pleasure. No hard feelin's." He took a long swig, with Reek's fascinated eyes watching the rapidly dropping level. When the bottle came down it was almost a quarter empty, and the man's face beamed. He looked again at the label. "Ain't often I git a crack at a bottle like that. Too expensive fer me."
Reck waved magnanimously. "Hell, help yourself. I can always get more."
Another long drag, and this time the thing was almost half-empty. Reck looked over at the card table. "Must get kinda dull around here, all by yourself, huh? I mean with all the water drinkers, heh, heh."
"Oh, they ain't all water drinkers. Matter of fact I got one ole drinkin' buddy sure would like ta clamp a lip on that there jug o' yours."
"Hell, bring 'im on. That's what it's for." Reck felt a little tingle. "Always say with all the stuff they're makin' a man's got to drink fast to keep up."
"Don't worry, mister, if you're around whffn he's here you'll git yer wish. He'll drink it as fast as you kin furnish it. He's used ta the same crap I am. One swig o' that good stuff an' he'll flip."
Reck made a mental note to stock up on the "good stuff."
"You must get awful tired playin' solitaire, don't you? You any good at casino?"
"Damn right I'm good at casino. Me an' Joe plays it a lot."
"Let's play some. That damn fishin's not for me. They don't like me."
The man was only too willing to oblige, at least so long as the booze held out. When it was gone he broke out a pint of his own. One sip told Reck why the guy was so eager to change brands.
He threw down his cards after about half an hour at the table.
"C'monHey, I never did get your name. I'm-uh-Bert, Bert Johnson." He stuck out an unsteady hand.
"I'm Harry Horman." His grip was weak and nonchalant. "People here mostly call me 'Grunt,' an' they think I don't know it. That's 'cause I don't waste no time talkin' to 'em. I don't like people much." He grinned widely. "But sometimes I like their taste in booze."
"Well, c'mon, Grunt, le's find a gin mill and tank up on some good stuff. Hell, maybe there'll even be a babe or two around. How 'bout lookin up your buddy Joe, and we'll all live it up a little? I'm holdin' today and I feel frisky."
"Well, there's a joint not far from here. Joe an' me go there an' slop up beer now an' then. He's kinda hot fer a pig hangs out there."
"Sounds great. Let's go."
Reck felt a momentary unease as they turned at the traffic light and walked directly toward his parked car, He watched the man's face closely out of one corner of his eye as they approached the car. No visible sign of attention could he see, however, and breathed easier. Evidently the man had no reason to connect this car with his new-found pal.
At the next corner they turned to the left and walked about half a block. There they came upon a ratty, rundown building with a huge neon "BEER" sign hanging crookedly over the door and a smaller, smeared sign "COCKTAILS" nailed to the side.
Inside, at the small bar, sat three or four men and one woman, each looking well-qualified to be a hanger-on at such a place. The woman, fat, sloppy, and moronic-looking, was in deep conversation with the thick bodied man beside her. His hand rested openly in her lap, moving like a sparrow on a dung heap.
The man himself had his back turned to the door, his face not visible. Grunt moved straight toward the couple.
"Hi, Rita. Hey, Joe, want ya ta meet a good friend o' mine." He chuckled. "Guy that-likes good likker an" feels like buyin' some. Yer invited. This here is ... what the hell wuz your handle ag'in, friend?"
"Bert-Bert Johnson."
The big man turned ponderously on the stool and stuck out a limp hand. "Hi ya, Bert. Pleasure."
Reck hesitated long enough to swallow and restrain the nervous twitch that nearly threw him. Thank Christ he had been half-expecting, half-hoping. Here was number three. Joe, was it? Well, well, well, a distinguished moniker. Reck felt like giggling.
"Hi, there, Joe." He took the limp hand. An urge impelled him to ask: "What was the last name?"
"Walker. Joe Walker."
Another insane giggle impulse possessed Reck. Here was the previously complete mystery man of the three. Of the others he had known at least nicknames. Of this one, nothing. Now, of the three, here was the only one whose complete name he knew. That is, if the name was the McCoy. All right, Reck, all right. What the hell difference does it make whether the name's phony or not?
He turned to the woman. "And you're Rita? How do you do?" He showed a drunken attempt at dignity, bowing slightly.
The woman beamed. "Pleased ta meetcha, Bert." The voice of the siren-Fire Department type. Reck cringed before it, smiled weakly.
"Well, what'll everybody have. My party."
In the next hour Reck had occasion to wonder about the holding power of his cash. Never, even in Hollywood, had he seen such capacities. No one seemed to notice or care that his drinks, two in all, lasted. Theirs disappeared and were replenished so rapidly that the glasses hardly had time to stop vibrating.
Suddenly Reck stood up, slapped his forehead and stared blankly in utter horror. The others glanced curiously at him.
"My Gawd! I completely forgot. Oh, man, my old lady'll kill me. Listen..." he turned to them, "why don't the four of us get together tomorrow night at the bait house? I'll bring a good supply o' drinkin' booze and we'll have a ball. Right now I've gotta run. How about it, Grunt? Can we have a party at your place?"
"Sure. Why not? Always willin' ta have a party with somebody else's likker."
"Joe, Rita, how about it? Can you make it?"
"We'll be there, you kin bet on it." Joe answered for both of them,. It seemed to Reck that Joe's face held a slight sneer for the sucker. He waved back to them as he headed for the door.
"See you all tomorrow night, about eight."
Out on the sidewalk Reck headed toward the car, careful to weave properly, thinking. Sneer, you sonuva-bitch, while you can. He reached the corner, looked over his shoulder at the empty street and headed at a brisk pace toward the parked car.
He went back to the liquor store where he had bought his four pints, coming away this time with four fifths. This, together with the two pints he still had in the back of his car, ought to make things hazy enough for all three of them to blur what would eventually happen, even if he had to do it in front of two witnesses. This was the windup. God, don't let anything keep Joe from that party tomorrow night!
The next morning his sister remarked about his unshaven face.
"Well, I've been thinking of raising a beard for a long time. I'm ready to go back to work, if you can call it that. Beards sometimes pay off for a character man like me."
He waved casually to her, walked out to his car and took off. He stopped at a service station and changed three dollars into quarters.
"Got a phone booth around here?"
"Yeah, just around the building to the right. Can't miss it."
He put in a long distance call to his agent's office, hoping against hope that the guy would be in. He was. The conversation was short, and consisted of instructions to the agent, who grunted and replied finally:
"Well, it's your money, but I still think you could find an easier way."
"No, this way nobody'll be able to put up a logical argument. I'm tired of hanging around here. Now rush it, will you? ... Okay."
He hung up and returned to his sister's place. Pulling into the driveway, he checked the car. Fishing clothes there. He swore suddenly. He'd left that damned pole and other gear at the bait-shack. Oh, well, after tonight it wouldn't matter. No one would think anything about it. Whiskey stock okay. Well, now just wait.
He went into the house, shook the coffeepot and turned on the flame under it.
"Well, stayin' home today?"
"Yeah, thought I'd loaf a little. Got anything good to read?"
"There's some funny books and confession magazines in the front room."
Reck flinched, poured a cup of tarry coffee, and wandered into the other room. He picked up a handful of comics and idly leafed through them. He finished the coffee, flopped on the divan, and tried to concentrate on the adventures of Stuporman. The next thing he knew his sister was shaking him by the shoulder.
"Hey, lazy, wake up. Telegram for you. Urgent."
Well, he thought, not bad. Have to give a little extra commission to the old boy. That is if I ever work again. He signed for the wire, tipped the boy, and tore it open.
"Oh man, this sounds like it. 'Get here quick. Lead Heavy Wilson's next pic. Be here not later 15th. Signed George.' Here, take a look." He handed her the telegram, went directly to the bedroom and began to pack his few belongings.
"Hell, this is the eleventh. Think you can make it by the fifteenth?"
"Sure, Sis, if I leave today. I'll have to push it just a little, but I should be able to make it. I hate to rush off like this, and I guess Ma'll be upset, but this is too good to miss."
He got everything into the car, telephoned to say goodbye to his brother-in-law at work, kissed his sister, promised to come back as soon as he possibly could, and went to say goodbye to his mother.
She, as might be expected, cried and clung to him. He pushed her gently away and looked long and hard into her aging face. "Ma, I'm awfully sorry about the past. I'm sorry I didn't get home before, and I'm sorry to rush off now. I'm sorry I didn't spend more time with you this time, but I'll try to do better next time. I'm sorry about so damned many things, Ma. Things I couldn't help, and things I can't help." Tears sprang to his own eyes, he hugged her fiercely. "Good-bye, Ma, and God bless you."
He turned away, said hurried and incoherent good-byes to his brother's wife and kids, shook his brother's hand. "See you, kid."
As he drove away, waving back to them, they all went into the house except his mother, who stood waving sadly until he turned the corner and she disappeared from view. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he thought of all the things he had to apologize to someone for. He wondered if he would ever see any of them again. His mind whirled until he felt like a child in a tantrum.
Slowly, he forced his mind back to the job to be done tonight. He needed to be in top condition in order to finish his work and be long gone before any suspicion could be roused. Going through one of the swarm of small towns to be found in this country, he stopped at a liquor store and bought a pint of the cheapest whiskey he could find. This he proceeded to dump alongside the road, keeping the bottle. He turned in at the nearest service station, bought a bottle of coke from a vending machine. Carrying it and sticking the empty whiskey bottle in his pocket, he went into the men's room, leaving instructions with the attendant to check everything on the car.
Inside the men's room he poured a small amount of the coke into the whiskey bottle, added water until the color resembled the original amber contents of the bottle, studied it. Should have been a prop man, he thought with a tight smile. Bottle back in pocket, sipping on the remainder of the coke, he walked out, settled with the attendant, and was once more on his way.
He watched along the road until he spotted a narrow, rutted turn-off. Heading into it, he drove until he reached one of thousands of thick groves with which this part of the country teemed. He found a spot where he could drive off to the side without turning over or running into a fence and pulled under a tree. There he changed into his fishing clothes, crawled into the back seat and, straw hat over his face, fell asleep almost immediately.
When he woke his watch informed him that it was almost seven o'clock. He felt light, carefree. He thought about the coming events and felt again an urge to giggle.
He frowned, turned the rear view mirror toward him and studied his face in it. It looked all right to him. No wild-eyed indications. Just alert and expectant. He spent some time trying to analyze his feelings. Why should he feel so happy about killing another victim, deserving or not? He was no homicidal maniac; he knew exactly what he was doing and why. But that didn't explain why he was actually happy about the job. Well....
At 7:30, with twilight settling fast, he maneuvered his car around and headed back to the highway, swung into it and headed for Waynesburg.
He debated with himself, decided to pull past the intersection that led to the battered bar, swung around so that he was headed for the highway and parked, making sure to have a driveway directly in front of his car. He remembered how handy that one in front of the fairgrounds had been when he followed Doc home. He opened the back compartment, dumped the wiping rags out of a small cardboard box, loaded the four fifths and two pints into it, and covered them carelessly with a rag. The special watered-coke pint stayed in his pocket. He considered taking some kind of tool along as a weapon, but decided against it. Play it by ear, Reck. For God's sake don't get stopped with a load of whiskey plus a blunt object.
At the beginning of the path down to the bait shanty he stopped suddenly. No use taking too many chances. He set down the box, took each bottle and wiped it carefully clean with the rag, holding it by the rag as he replaced it in the box. Got to remember not to touch them again myself. Too close home now to slip up. You've already got two people involved who may or may not have paid enough attention to you to furnish a description. Thank God they don't know about the car.
He wondered if he ought to leave a bottle or two here in the brush. He had in mind a hazy notion of sending Grunt and Rita after more stock while he himself kept Joe occupied. Just how this would work out he didn't know, but it was worth thinking about. He finally decided to leave the two pints, scantily concealed by the brush. If they weren't quite drunk enough to cajole into leaving Joe and him together he could find a way to come for the pints. Maybe after they were empty, he could talk the pair into leaving for more.
As he cleared the path and headed into the sand area toward the shanty, he grinned wolfishly. From the sound of things they had already started on their own. He heard drunken singing, shouted obscenities, hooting laughter. Taking out one of the bottles and cracking the seal, being sure to keep the rag around the neck, he took a swig, sloshed his clothes, spat out the mouthful, and reeled across the area, yelling for help in carrying his load.
He glanced quickly around at the empty space. A nearly full moon was beginning to lighten the surroundings, but nothing moved.
"Hey-y-y! Come help me pack this stuff. It's heavy! It's also drunk! Whooppeee!"
Out they came, all trying to clear the door at once. A glance told Reck that the two deserted pints probably wouldn't be needed at all. The three of them struggled toward him like three water-deprived prospectors out of the desert. He was overwhelmed by backslaps, boozy breathing, and shouted greetings. Someone relieved him of the box of bottles, and the happy procession headed into the shanty.
Bottles were opened. Whiskey poured, without benefit of glasses, like a cascade. Reck confined himself to his own bottle. He swore to himself as he remembered the cheap stuff he had bought. Christ, if any of them saw that label they'd think he was completely off.
He carefully kept the label turned away as much as possible, but soon realized that it wasn't necessary. So long as they had access to the stuff they couldn't care less about him.
A casino game got started between Grunt and Joe, with Reck and Rita hanging over the table, shouting ribald advice. Rita kept rubbing herself, accidentally on purpose, against Reck. He slid his arm around her and patted her on the fanny, laughing uproariously. Finally, Grunt threw down his cards in disgust.
"I'm too drunk, or else Joe's too sober. Where's the jug?"
They all had another hilarious round, while Reck watched carefully. Getting pretty well along, he thought. He checked the whiskey stock. Still a fifth and a half to go.
"Drink up, kids! Got a lotta stuff left, an' more if we need it!"
The three looked solemnly at him. "More?" This from Joe.
"Well, yeah, more! We kin always go to the booze market if we run out!" Reck thought that Joe and Grunt exchanged a significant look.
Grunt looked at him. "Man, you must be loaded with somethin' beside booze. What are you, the original mint man?"
"Naw. But I gotta couple travelers' checks. Ten bucks apiece. That oughtta buy enough ta keep us goin'. I kin always go home an' git more loot." He made his voice thick and confidential. "The ol' lady won't let me carry cash if she kin help it." He laughed apologetically. He could almost see their mental images of themselves rolling him fade like a picture from their eyes.
Joe turned back to the card table. "Come on, Harry, le's play.
"Naw, man, yer too sober fer me."
Joe turned and looked woozily at him. "Sober, am I? Okay, git the horse-shoes an' we'll see."
Grunt grinned at him. "Okay, we'll see."
Reck looked quizzically at Rita. "Horse-shoes?"
"Yeah. This is somethin' to watch. God-damndest thing you ever saw. When Joe's sober he couldn't hit a bam with a horse-shoe. But when he's drunk he kin toss one ringer right after another. Harry's got a couple stakes outside where his old lady tried to grow some kinda climbin' flowers once. It was a complete flop, but they never bothered ta take the stakes out. She died a long time ago, so Harry forgot about 'em. Well, anyhow, Joe got ahold of some horse-shoes once and tried ringin' them stakes. When he's sober he can't come near 'em, but, by God, when he's drunk he couldn't miss if he tried. We use it now to find out when he's drunk. Come on, this'll frost ya."
Grunt had come back with four horse-shoes, and Reck watched as Joe took them and stumbled out the door. He also watched Grunt reel up close behind Rita and squeeze her buttocks as soon as Joe's back was turned. So Joe was hot for this pig, eh? Pig and Grunt. A perfect pair. Rita pushed her backside tighter into Grunt's clutch and sighed, then reluctantly followed Joe out the door.
Reck got an idea. He figured now that there should be no trouble sending both of them after more stuff. They'd be glad to go after he planted an idea in their drunken minds. As he went out behind them, he quickly slipped out his wallet, took all but one ten-dollar bill out of it and shoved them into his pants pocket. He returned the wallet to his hip pocket and stepped out the door in Grunt's wake.
He followed the man to one comer of the shack, There, about three feet from the wall of the shanty was an iron rod, probably quarter-inch reinforcing rod, sticking a couple of feet out of the ground. He looked closely at it. The upper end was sharp, in the manner of a rod that has been clipped by bolt-cutters. He looked toward the far end of the wall.
Joe stood there beside another rod of the same type, about fifteen feet distant from the first.
"Okay, you guys, stand back. I'm gonna toss 'em."
His hand swung as they stepped aside. Clank. Another swing. Clank. Another and another. Clank. Clank. Four perfect ringers. Joe reeled toward them, peered down at the shoes. He picked them up, turned toward the far stake and tossed them, one at a time. Four clanks, four ringers. He turned triumphantly to Grunt, whose hand fell quickly away from Rita's backside.
"Okay, Harry, who's sober now? Huh?" He laughed.
The three of them trooped back inside, where Joe tossed the shoes with a crash into one corner. Reck followed slowly, an idea crystallizing in his mind. Time to get rid of Grunt and Rita and get to work.
"Come on, Joe," he offered. "I'll play some casino with you."
Reck sat down, glanced at the full fifth and the partly empty one. He reached for the open one, clumsily knocked the other off the table with his elbow. Crash! He looked dazedly down at it. "Well god-damn me!" He looked at the shocked faces of the three. "Hey, while me and Joe's playin', why don't one o' you go git some more." He pulled out his wallet, opened it wide. "Hey, by God. I got a ten here. I'd a swore I had travelers' checks." He searched the wallet, feeling their eyes on it with his. He carefully kept the face of his driver's license covered. "No checks. Boy, I must be drunk." He dropped the ten on the table.
"Come on, Grunt-Harry-be a good guy. Take Rita with ya, so ya won't git lost. Hahh-ha-hahhhh!"
Grunt looked at the ten, at Rita, at Joe, then at Reck.
"Okay with me. Rita?"
"Yeah, why not?" She licked her thick lips.
"An' don't be goin' to no motels or strange gin-mills with that loot, huh? Hahhh-hahhh-hahh!"
Grunt and Rita exchanged looks. Grunt grinned and Reck could almost see Rita's fanny twitch even though he wasn't looking at it.
Grunt reached for the half-empty bottle, but Joe grabbed it. "Naww ya don't. Leave that fer me-an' Bert, o'course." He took a healthy slug from the bottle. "Hurry back, this won't last long." Grunt and Rita took off like a couple of kids to the candy store.
Reck tensed now. He had to work fast and smooth.
Those iron stakes--Perfect little gimmicks if he could work it.
"Come on, Bert, le's play, huh?"
"Yeah, Joe, yeah. I was just thinkin' about them horseshoes. How the hell do you do it? Man, you're the most!"
"Hell, ain't nothin' to it. All I gotta do's git loaded."
"How's about me tryin' it? I wonder what I could do. I never pitched shoes in my life. You s'pose I could come close?"
"Never know till ya try." He took another big slug from the bottle. "Come on, we'll both take a crack at it." This time he upended the bottle and glugged several times. "Damn, that's good stuff. I hope they git back quick. What'n hell'd ya hafta go and bust that other jug for?"
"Well, hell, Joe, I couldn't help it. Anyhow it won't kill ya to wait, will it? Or will it? Hahh-hahh-hahhh!"
Joe looked at the minute fraction of an inch left in the bottle, swigged it down, set the bottle down with a crash on the table, and got up. He almost kept right on going backward as he straightened from his sitting position. Reck marveled that he didn't collapse.
He watched with amazed eyes as Joe caught himself, shook his head, stumbled over to the corner where the shoes lay, braced himself against the wall as he fumblingly picked them up, and headed with wide sweeps toward the door. What the hell was holding him up?
Outside at the stake, Reck played wide-eyed innocent
"I don't even know how to hold a shoe, Joe. Show me how you do it."
Joe took a shoe, placed his numb fingers carefully, showed Reck the grip and tossed the shoe. Clank. Ringer. Another shoe, Reck studying the grip. Another ringer. Again. And again. Reck walked as Joe tossed the last one. He called back over his shoulder. "Four perfect jobs."
He turned with a shoe in his hand as Joe came up. "Now, how was that grip again?" He held the shoe clumsily.
"Naww, man, you got it all wrong. Here, lemme show ya." Joe took the shoe and fumbled it into position. Meanwhile Reck was maneuvering so as to bring Joe between himself and the stake.
"Maybe you better toss 'em again. I'll watch real close this time."
Joe grunted, turned and bent to pick the other shoes up. As he got them from the stake, Reck suddenly shoved straight down and hard on the man's back, at the same time bringing his right foot in front of the guy's ankles and kicked his feet out from under him. Joe went "down with a grunt that turned immediately into an agonized deep groan. His legs twitched once and he was still. Reck watched him closely. No movement, no apparent breathing. Reck bent down, turned Joe slightly up on one side. Christ, the thing had gone straight into his stomach. But how come so sudden stillness? Then he noticed a peculiar hump to the man's back. He ran his hand over it. Man! The stake had apparently gone through and struck the spine from the front. The man's back was obviously broken. He had a right to be still. Reck laughed, then frowned. Now he wouldn't get a chance to tell Joe who had done it to him and why.
"It's a damn shame," he said aloud. And laughed again. Goodnight, sweet prince. Reck kicked sand into the trenches formed when the man's feet had slipped out from under him with the aid of Reek's kick. He found himself humming and whistling as he ran the one horse-shoe he had touched through the sand, leaving it with the others near Joe's outstretched hand. Quiet, Reck, old boy, don't want the bloody bobbies down on us now, do we? He giggled. Oh no, indeedy. Don't want the Yard Inspectors arriving too soon, don't ye know!
He threw his pint bottle of coke-water into the river, removing the cap and throwing it in separately. He went back into the shanty, decided he hadn't touched anything that would show prints, including the now empty jug on the card table. He looked around, found the gear he had left here yesterday, picked it up along with the box in which he had carried the whiskey.
He stopped at the door, taking a last look at the room. Everything seemed normal. He walked to the corner of the building, threw a salute to the recumbent Joe and started for the highway. As he passed the two hidden pints he blew a kiss to them.
As he came out onto the road he looked cautiously in all directions. Empty space. He giggled some more. He walked humming happily to the traffic light, passing no one, turned and reached his car without incident. He giggled again, wondering whether and where Grunt and Rita were enjoying themselves on his ten dollars. That reminded him. He took the loose bills out of his pocket and put them back into the wallet. He got into the back seat of the car and changed into his traveling clothes, rolling the fishing togs into a ball and stuffing them down into one corner of the seat. He felt much better without that silly straw hat. Light-headed. He giggled again. Oh, life can be funny! What a thought for a TV show!
He got behind the wheel, kicked her over, and was on his way down that looooonesome rooooad! Wheeee! Boy, Sue, this old jaloppy can really wheel, can't it, huh?
"Oh yes, Reck, it's wonderful!" She laughed joyously.
He looked over at her, frowned. Now where in hell was she? He looked at the back seat. Nobody. He screeched to the side of the road and stopped, trembling, staring through the windshield. He sat there for a long, long time.
11
Dorothy Killen was a whore. She was emphatically not a call-girl, a party-girl, a paid companion, nor any of the other euphemisms so dearly loved by members of the profession. She was a plain, everyday whore. And not a very successful one at that. This may have been due to her insistence upon terming her activities exactly as they were. Some of her clients never returned after a session with her. They, as clients of that type so often are, were extremely sensitive. They didn't like their attention called to the fact that they were hiring a whore. And Dorothy Killen took every opportunity available to remind them that was exactly what they were doing.
"Oh darling, you're so adorable," one would murmur into her ear at the height of the action.
"Baby, how can you say that to a whore?" was her usual reply. She was always amused at the shock reaction, and had the habit of laughing uproariously as they drew back from her, ardor quenched as if by a douse of ice-water.
Very rarely she would behave in a manner proper to her profession. These were the occasions when she realized that she was about to be made familiar with a perversion with which she had not previously been acquainted. These new twists she would not carefully, so that at her next session with old man Haverman she could further degrade him. She made bets with herself as to how long it would take to break him into public exhibition of the lecherous creep he really was.
Dorothy was twenty-one years old, and could have passed (in fact often did) for seventeen. She had been graduated from the local high school with a business curriculum behind her. She had been immediately employed by old man Haverman to do office work. Although she hadn't learned this until later, Haverman had fired an extremely competent secretary in order to give her, Dorothy, the job.
Haverman was probably the most influential, and certainly one of the most respected, men in town and Dorothy had been starry-eyed at the opportunity. She went to work, pitifully inefficient and ignorant of most of the details of Haverman's business, but eager to learn and perfectly willing to put in the overtime necessary to get the job done.
The man had often expressed his deep personal interest in her progress, and one evening when she had worked until after dark trying to catch up, she found out the extent and type of his interest.
He had summoned her into his private office, luxuriously furnished, softly carpeted, sound-proofed. He sat her down in a comfortable chair and asked her about her work. As they talked, he rose and wandered about the office. She tried to look at him as the talk went on, but he wandered so much that she finally just looked at the desk as she answered his questions.
"You know, Dorothy, my dear, you are an extremely beautiful young woman now. Did you know that?"
She blushed. "Why thank you, Mr. Haverman."
"Not at all, my dear." His voice came now from directly above her head. Her head flew back as she sat back in the chair, startled. She looked up at him, eyes wide. Before she could move a muscle his hands had gripped the sides of her head like claws. He bent toward her.
"Oh God, you luscious little piece you! You're driving me wild!"
She struggled frantically, but his hands held her as a vice would an iron rod. His lips came down onto hers hard, forcing her head against the top of the chair back. One hand gripped her chin, holding her still, while the other slid down to squeeze her breasts, first one then the other, brutally, sadistically, while his lips slithered on hers. He tore open the front of her blouse, ripped loose her brassiere, and tumbled her breasts out into the light, his eyes and hand feasting salaciously on them. She moaned in pain and tried to bite his mouth, but he jerked it back from her. She opened her mouth to scream, then moaned again as his hand left her breast and' clamped over her lips, cupping so that she couldn't bite him.
"Don't you try to scream, you maddening little bitch. I'll throttle you. Quiet down now, and I won't hurt you. I've wanted you ever since you were just a junior high school girl, and now I'm going to have you."
One hand tightened around her throat threateningly and the other went back to mauling her tender breasts.
"I'll have you arrested!" she whispered huskily behind his restricting hand.
"Don't make me laugh! Have you any idea of my influence in this place? One word from me could ruin you completely. I own this town, girl! Don't threaten me with arrest."
She knew that he was right. She knew that he had an extremely high, if unofficial, connection with the police department, as well as other political connections. She remembered the awe with which her father spoke of Mr. Haverman, and the delight with which he had greeted the news of her new job. She sobbed now, frantic, not knowing what to do.
"Now, now, baby. Don't take on like that." His hand moved slower now, tickling her nipples. "Just relax. I told you I won't hurt you."
She sat very still, gulping under the pressure of his hand on her throat. He eased it a little.
"Now, that doesn't hurt those luscious little breasts, does it?"
Tickle, tickle, tickle.
Her throat felt dry. She shook her head. "N-n-no."
"Are you going to be quiet now?"
"I-I'm afraid not to be." She sobbed again.
"Now don't cry." His other hand moved down to capture a breast.
Two hands, two breasts. Tickle, squeeze, roll, rub-now gently, now harder. He moved around and knelt before her, drawing her forward, and his mouth replaced the hands, moving from one peak to the other, biting, licking, moaning, nibbling, slobbering. She watched him dazedly. She watched her breasts roll, flatten, distort under his manipulations.
"Mmmmm, doesn't that feel nice, darling?" No answer.
He looked up at her, squeezing her hips. "You'll see my dear, you'll see." His hands went to the zipper on her skirt. She remained completely inert, let his hands do as they would. He took off her shoes, peeled down her nylons, wet lips trailing down her thigh and calf in adoration. Finally the panties joined the rest of her clothing; he stared in awe, panting. Then he raised her from the chair and placed her gently on the floor. He tore off his own clothes as she watched, unblinking.
Through the whole nightmare she made no move, except as the first terrible pain struck her. Her mouth opened to scream but his loose lips muffled the sound. He panted and puffed, drooling over her throat, biting her shoulders and ears, burying his loathsome face in her neck.
"Co-operate, damn you, girl, co-operate!"
She did nothing but stare at him, expressionless.
Finally it was over. She lay still, watching him. He seemed embarrassed now, and turned away to put on his clothes. Dressed, he turned back to her. She had not moved a muscle, her eyes fixed on him. He coughed, knelt beside her and looked her over carefully.
"No marks, my dear, except for those delicious little tits. They look a bit red, but then almost anything could cause that." His eyes began to hunger again as he looked at her. "Christ, girl, you're unbelievably beautiful." He looked into her eyes. "Now, you're not hurt, and I hope you've got sense enough to keep your mouth shut about this. Who knows? You may have a very pleasant surprise one of these fine days. Now, my dear, you'd better dress and go home. Your folks will be worried."
She got up quietly, dressed and headed toward the door. As she was about to open the street door he called to her. "Wait." She turned easily and stood still. He came closer, reached for her, breath rattling in his throat. "Give me a goodnight kiss, baby."
She whipped open the door and slipped through to the street before he knew she was gone. Not until she got home, greeted her parents as usual, and refused to eat on the grounds of lack of hunger plus a terrible headache and was safely closed in her own room did she break. She threw herself on the bed and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Finally she got up, undressed and took a long hot shower. Calm now, she gazed at her body in the bathroom mirror. She cupped her breasts, lifted them, testing their sweet weight, looked at them from all angles. Her eyes traveled the length of her body, studying it. She went to bed nude, stared into the darkness, hands wandering aimlessly over her hot skin.
Next morning she was at her desk, greeting Haverman calmly when he approached. He looked at her a little uncertainly, put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, massaging gently.
"And-and how are you feeling this morning, my dear?"
She looked at the hand, followed the arm up until her eyes met his. Her eyes were completely empty. Her hand closed tightly on a letter opener, lifted it slowly.
"Take your hand off me, Mr. Haverman. If you so much as touch me once more, you're a dead man." Her voice was even, remote. He looked at her blank eyes, tried to laugh, but quickly dropped his hand to his side, fumbling with the seam of his trousers. He stepped back slightly.
"Now see here, my dear. Melodrama doesn't become you at all."
"No melodrama, Mr. Haverman. Please don't make me do anything that we will both regret." Same empty expression, calm, quiet voice. But something made him shudder and return quietly to his own office.
Five minutes later she entered with the morning mail. He glanced up at her, smiled weakly. "Thank you Dorothy."
"Not at all, Mr. Haverman." Her voice was normal now, with its usual vibrant warmth.
He watched her leave, watched the sway of her hips, the curves of her calves, and felt his mouth go slack. Then he remembered the empty eyes and lost enthusiasm.
Throughout the rest of the day things seemed perfectly in order. She talked widi him about business affairs as if nothing had ever happened. By evening he had almost decided that it might be safe to approach her again, but not quite.
The next morning her pay envelope contained an extra ten dollars. She took it directly to Haverman.
"I've been overpaid, Mr. Haverman, by ten dollars."
"No, no, dear. I've decided that with your uh improved work you're entitled to a raise." Then carefully: "If-if the improvement continues to show, it could lead to even more of a raise."
She looked at him curiously. "Really, Mr. Haverman?"
"Why yes, my dear, of course." He rose to walk around the desk toward her.
"No, Mr. Haverman, don't." The empty eyes again, the remote tone.
He stopped in his tracks and watched her turn and exit. When she reached her desk she cleared out her things. Carrying them, she returned to his office.
"I'm leaving. Mr. Haverman. I have a new job. I'm sure you'll understand."
"Now, see here, my dear..."
But she was already on her way out the front door. He sat down behind his desk and stared at the empty outer office. He felt sick. Just when he thought he had achieved the desire of years! He churned inwardly at the thought of the lush young body escaping him. God, he had to get her back, somehow. Double her salary, triple it?
He stewed for several days. Then, one fine morning, the new girl in the front office buzzed his intercom: "A young lady to see you, Mr. Haverman. A Dorothy Killen. She will only state her business to you, personally."
"Why, of course, of course, send her in, send her in!" He was almost babbling, caught himself. "I'll be most happy to see Miss Killen."
He watched the door open and close. His eyes bugged. Toward his desk, with a warm, warm smile, walked a vision to haunt the dreams of a monk. Under a snug jersey dress jiggled obviously unbrassiered breasts. His famished eyes watched the prominent nipples trace erratic patterns against the dress as she walked. The dress itself was high-necked, discreet, but what she did to it was unbelievable. His drifting eye was convinced that no undergarments of any kind hindered the free movement of her body.
She stopped in front of his desk, looked down at him. "I've come for my pay check, Mr. Haverman."
He tore his eyes from her body. "P-pay check? I don't understand."
"Well, Mr. Haverman, if I'm worth ten dollars extra when I don't co-operate, I should be worth much more when I co-operate fully. Don't you agree?" Her hands moved to her breasts, squeezed them, offered them to him. He started reflexively from his chair, his hands reaching, but she stepped back. "No, no, Mr. Haverman, not yet." He was left hanging foolishly over the desk. "Now I worked for you for thirty-five dollars a week. You raised me to forty-five for erimproved work. Well, Mr. Haverman, for another five dollar raise my work will improve immeasurably." She laughed lightly at his confused expression. "Oh, I don't mean behind a desk, Mr. Haverman. No, no. I mean-" her voice dropped, became languorous. '"I mean in a bed, Mr. Haverman-your bed. The er-wage will be fifty dollars for each-job. On a piece-work basis, Mr. Haverman, if you don't mind the expression. And you'll be more than pleased with my work, my co-operation."
She smiled tenderly at him, waiting.
"Why, why, I-I never heard of such a thing! I-" he stopped as she swayed sinuously.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Haverman. I thought you would be interested." She smiled dazzlingly, smoothed the dress over her hips shyly, and turned toward the door.
"Wait, wait!" He stumbled in getting around the desk. "You mean, here, now?"
"Any time, Mr. Haverman, any time you choose. I should add, however, that payment must be in advance, in cash."
He reached for her, but again drew back as the empty look came over her face. She held out her hand. "You may pay me now, Mr. Haverman. It might be awkward for you to complete your business here and now, but that, of course, is up to you. I would suggest this evening, when there will be more time and privacy in which to relax. You may choose the place and time." She hesitated. "However, if you choose to pay me now, perhaps a sample of my co-operation would convince you of my earnestness."
He looked feverishly at her body. Oh Christ, those luscious curves. His eyes dropped to her hips as they moved subtly in a swaying motion. He licked his lips, raised his eyes to hers.
"You-you wouldn't fail to keep your end of the bargain?" His voice was thick and hoarse.
"Mr. Haverman, since I would be an employee of yours, I wouldn't think of cheating you."
He dug out his bill-fold, took out two twenties and a ten, held them out in a quaking hand. She took them calmly, stowed them in her handbag. Placing the bag on a nearby chair, she turned back to him.
Her voice was a caressing whisper: "The dress zips up the back, Mr. Haverman.
His hands trailed over her breasts, which she immediately thrust forward toward him. He slipped his arms around her, found the zipper and pulled it, then peeled the dress down over her shoulders. His eyes glazed and he lowered his mouth to her nipples. Her hands came to the back of his head and pressed it tighter against her body, her fingers stroking the back of his neck. She whispered breathily into his ear: "You may bite them if you like." He groaned and sank his teeth into the soft-firmness, his hands slipping down to fasten on her buttocks. Her hips came softly against him and moved lasciviously. With her body thus bent far back over his arm, her head thrown back, hips moving insistently, caressingly against him, he was half out of his mind. Then the intercom buzzed. He abruptly released her, nearly dropping her to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry, darling."
"Don't mention it, Mr. Haverman. You are my employer. You may do anything you like. If you want to beat me, then beat me."
He reached for the intercom button. "Uh, you'd better dress, my dear. I'm expecting callers."
"Of course, Mr. Haverman."
"Please, Dorothy, call me David."
"Yes, David."
He hesitated, hand on the button, looked back at her.
"Uh, would you object to calling me darling?"
"Why of course not, darling." She said it with a warm smile and utter sincerity in her voice.
He quivered. "Look, darling, call me here about four-thirty, will you? I'll arrange to meet you tonight."
"Yes darling." She smiled again, blew him a little kiss, and left sedately.
From then on he was hooked and she made sure he stayed hooked. She learned all his tricks and taught them back to him with double interest. She picked up other men, learned their tricks, and taught them to him. Unfortunately for her business, she found herself unable to submit and co-operate with others as thoroughly as she did with him. She despised the others, but her detestation of him was so great that it almost became a perverted love. She felt impelled to make him grovel in the mud, which he did willingly and eagerly. She introduced him to the most degraded perversions and, with a combination of docility and subtle suggestion, made them indispensable to him. He was a haggard, wild-eyed caricature of his former pompous self. Only with him did she use euphemisms concerning what she was. She remained his employee. Of course her piece-work rate rose. One hundred dollars per job, double if it took all night or all day.
Her reputation for brutal honesty made her outside clients scarcer and scarcer, until she finally decided she needed a "manager."
She had met a man recently who, she felt, had all the qualifications. Freddie Thompson. He had smiled condescendingly when introduced to her by one of her few clients. She had looked him over critically.
"You're a pretty self-confident fellow, aren't you?"
With a toothy smile: "Well, I suppose one might say so."
'You get on well with, people, I suppose."
"When I wish to."
She studied him some more, as he pulled out a cigarette and gold lighter. "Would you like a job?"
"What kind?" He put the cigarette into his mouth and flicked the lighter.
"I need a pimp." Both cigarette and lighter fell to the floor.
He gasped, blinked at her. "What-what did you say?"
"I need a pimp."
"Well, for Christ's sake!! "
"What's the matter? You're a good pimp type. Don't you want the job?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"Not at all. If you don't want the job, don't take it. There's no problem."
He looked closely at her. She was dead serious. He looked her over slowly and carefully, from head to toe. "You don't look like a gal who would need a-a manager."
"Pimp."
He was silent for a minute. "Well, I'd have to run everything my way..."
"No, I'll run everything except the public relations.
And all I want is a pimp, not a bed partner. For bed partners I get paid. I'll give you half. Your sole function will be to bring in the customers."
"But-but, as a call girl-"
"Whore. If you want the job, shut up and get to work." She gave him her phone number, wrote down her address. "You'll live elsewhere than with me, and our relations will be strictly on a business basis. Agreed?"
"O-okay, I guess."
"Fine. Good-bye for now."
And that was that. The one thing she hadn't figured on was the fact that such a fatheaded clown would fall in love with her. Hopelessly and completely in love with her. He cried, pleaded, crawled, until today she had had to break off even her business relationship with him, ordering him ignominiously out of her apartment. He had left, screaming some idiotic thing about somebody else having her if he couldn't!
She shook her head now, over her coffee cup, looked up at the counterman. "I'm sorry, I guess I was daydreaming. What did you say?"
He grinned at her. "Nothin', Dorothy, nothin', I was just talkin'. "
She returned the smile. This counterman, Jack, was one of the few men she could like sincerely, without any thought of sex. She liked him as a human being. He was always kind, polite, and understanding, and on more than one occasion she had noted a deep compassion in his eyes as he listened to the often trivial troubles of customers, including herself.
She smiled again and they began to discuss the day's events.
Reck Machin rolled along, singing off-key, laughing hilariously, talking with Sue. She sat beside him in the front seat, eyes shining, lips smiling, joining in his laughter. Occasionally he looked over at her, admiring the shimmer of the light in her hair. Once, he frowned thoughtfully. Where the devil was that light coming from? Outside the car the night was pitch black. It looked like fire-light. He took a quick look into the back seat. Nope, not from there. He watched the road, wondering.
"Gee, Reck, you sure did a good job on those three men."
"Huh, what three men?"
"Why, those three that..." She stopped suddenly, laughed. "You're pulling my leg again, you dog!"
He looked down at her leg below the shorts of her sun-suit. "Sounds like a good idea." Laughing. He frowned again. Sun-suit? He hadn't noticed before that she was wearing a sun-suit. Still, he had seen that suit somewhere before. He looked back at her. That suit was sure a beautiful fit. Sue was a beautiful girl. He was in love with her.
He became aware of a cafe sign ahead, the beginning of another of the countless towns through which they had passed in the past. ... How long was it? He tried to remember. Couldn't have been long. Not with Sue wearing a sun-suit. He turned to her.
"Hey, you wanta eat? There's a restaurant up ahead."
She looked wide-eyed at him. "Why Reck, I never eat. You know that!"
He chuckled. "No, not much. No more than three horses in any one day."
"No, Reek, I mean it. You know I never eat." , His smile died. Yes, that's right, he remembered. Sue quit eating a long time ago. He never could figure out why, or how she had kept going without food, but she did.
He looked at her again, grinned suddenly and reached for her neck.
"You're tryin' to confuse me, that's what!"
His hand closed on empty air. Just like that, she was gone. He stared, shook his head. He felt a rumbling under him, snapped his eyes back to the road just in time to avoid ditching the car. The rumble came from the gravel shoulder of the road. He stopped with easy braking, pulled the handbrake, and cut the engine. Then he started looking for Sue. She was a tricky one all right. But how had she managed that disappearance?
She had to be in the car, because the door hadn't opened. He looked everywhere, under things, silly as it seemed. He got out of the car, ran back to where he figured she'd disappeared and looked thoroughly, calling her name. No answer. He frowned, then smiled. Well, by George, he'd show her. With a great show of nonchalance he got back into the car and drove into the parking space in front of the little cafe. He slammed the car door, walked whistling into the restaurant. He glanced back out through the window, half expecting to see Sue sneaking after him, her bare legs glistening in the dim light from the window and sign. Nope.
Inside, he looked casually around. A woman sitting at the counter, talking to the counterman. No sign of a sun-suited figure. He grinned some more. Well, she'd be in the car when he got back, asking innocently where he had been.
He looked at the menu, ordered ham and eggs from the counterman who had left off his conversation with the woman to set a glass of water in front of him.
"Coffee while you wait, sir?"
"Yes, I guess so. Thanks."
He dawdled over the coffee, wondering again where that little devil could have possibly gotten to.
Then he heard a silvery laugh. His head jerked up and he looked quickly around the room. "Sue!" His tone was almost a shout. He noticed the counterman turn toward him with a start. He blushed and glanced at the woman at the counter. "I'm sorr-" He stopped. "Sue," he grinned, "one of these days I'm gonna paddle your little you-know-what, but good."
She stared blankly at him, looked over her shoulder away from him, and swung back with questioning eyes. She exchanged a look with the counterman.
Reck grinned and bent over his coffee. Let her play games if she wanted.
The silence dragged.
He looked at her again. "Okay, Sue I give up. You can come out now." Then he looked closer. "Hey, what happened to the sun-suit?"
The girl looked down at herself, then at the counterman. Neither said a word.
"Okay, okay, we've been through this before. I guess another game won't hurt." He stepped toward the girl, halted about four feet away as she shrank back. He laughed. "God, Sue, you'd be a terrible actress! You always ham it up." He clicked his heels, bowed deeply. "Miss Benton, I have the honor to introduce myself. Baron Reck von Machin, at your service. May I have the honor of slaying your next dragon?" His eyes were laughing, his face aglow. "Your beauty is famed far and wide." He clutched at his heart. "For but one of your smiles, I would most gladly expire." His head lolled and he sighed deeply and poignantly.
The girl was watching him closely, seeing the glow in him. She seemed puzzled. He took a step toward her, not seeing the sudden tensing of the counterman or her restraining hand on the man's arm.
He touched her cheek with his finger, grinned again, adoring her with his eyes. "You know, if you weren't so devilish you might be pretty nice."
Dorothy Killen was upset. This man was I) drunk, 2) crazy, or 3) honestly mistaken in his recognition of her. Whatever it might be, the look in his face as he gazed at her made her turn to jelly. Naked adoration she had heard of, but experienced only once in her life. Aside from naked sex hunger, of course. That, she hardly considered adoration. Once, way back in her high school days a boy had looked at her that same way. Day after day he had followed her with his eyes, not lustfully, but with the air of a disciple following his master. It had bored her to distraction.
She had often thought of that boy in later years, wondering wistfully whether any boy or man would ever again feel that way about her. Her experience up to now had been powerful negative evidence.
Now tears rose in her eyes. The man-she wondered if his name was really Reck von Machin-put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. "Hey, now, none o' that cryin', gal. Ol' Reek's here, an' everything's jake. You got any troubles, you let Reck handle 'em."
He trailed a forefinger under one of her eyes. "Hey, look, a dewdrop!" He held it up, shook it off, grinned lop-sidedly at her.
That tore it. Her heart seemed to be filling her whole chest. No matter what the reason for the mistake, she was glad it was happening. She could detect no odor of alcohol about him; if he was crazy, it certainly didn't seem to be a harmful disorder, and he seemed entirely too certain of her identity to be making an ordinary mistake.
She glanced quickly at the counterman, reassuring him, turned back to Reck.
"Thanks, Reck. I feel much better now." She felt tremulously feminine and dependent all of a sudden.
He whooped with laughter. "Broke you down, didn't I!! That'll teach you to play games with ol' Reck." He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose, stood back and grinned with delighted triumph.
She laughed in turn. "All right, Reck, you're top dog. But you better eat your ham and eggs before they get stone-cold."
"Hey, yeah! I clean forgot about food!" He scowled at her. "Come over here, woman, and sit with my highness, as is fitting and proper."
"Yes, o master. At once."
She moved to a seat beside him, watching him with a smile. "Hey, you're eating as if your seat were on fire and you wanted to finish before your pants got singed."
"Well, my fine wench, you wanted to go for a ride, didn't you?"
She hesitated only momentarily. "Sho' nuff, pardner."
He looked sternly at her. "Well then-" His eyes squinted in puzzlement. "Where's the sun-suit, gal?"
She turned questioning eyes on him. He caught the look, threw up his hands. "A'right, aright, you ain't gonna trap me into another one of those games."
Now her smile was uncertain. He finished the last of the food, jumped up, bowed, and offered his arm. "Allow me to assist you from your seat, fair lady."
"Thank you, kind sir."
"I say theah, inn keepah! To what extent ah we indebted to this fine establishment?"
The counterman started. "Uh, why-that'll be a dollar even, mister."
"Heah you ah, suh. Youah hospitality is exceeded only by the quality of youah cuisine, suh. Good even to you."
"Uh, yeah, yeah, so long, mister. Thanks."
Reck swept a stiff bow, presented his forearm, upon which Dorothy regally laid her right hand, and they glided elegantly out the door, laughing like mischievous children.
The Pimp was drunk. He' was also in an extremely ugly frame of mind. He reached down now and then to adjust the Luger which kept shifting its position behind his belt. Periodically he would get up from the barstool to check the cafe across the street. She was still sitting there, tete-a-tete with that goddamned counterman. What the hell did that jerk have?
He looked at himself in the bar mirror. He was handsome. He flashed his teeth in his practiced smile. That smile had wowed 'em in many a major city and even more small towns. He had worked hard to perfect it. And that stupid, luscious, idiot, completely delectable bitch of a Dorothy didn't even notice it. God damn the bitch!! God damn her to hell!! What did a guy have to do to get next to her? He'd tried masterful ness. Result: raucous and heartfelt laughter. Well, not raucous exactly, but extremely painful to his sensitive ears. He'd pleaded. More laughter. He'd run the gamut of techniques. Laughter. Then boredom. Finally, the ultimate outrage. She'd kicked him out completely, even business-wise. Well, by God, no bitch could do that to Freddy Thompson. And there was that business of calling him a pimp. Didn't she realize how that sounded?
Then take her customers. He'd round them up and get them to her. A high percentage of them walked out in rage; more than one had threatened him with mayhem if he didn't refund their money .What could he do? He was sensitive, delicate of health. He mustn't be roughed up. His nerves couldn't stand it.
He tried to talk some sense into her.
"Look, you've got to quit treating these guys like dirt.
And for God's sake stop telling them you're a whore. No guy-likes to be reminded he's paying a-a party girl."
"Whore."
"That's what I mean." He stormed in utter frustration. "Stop that kind of stuff, or we'll both starve to death."
"Oh, I won't. Mr. Haverman Darling will keep me going."
"That's another thing. I should get my-my commission out of that deal."
"The pimp's fee. No, that's my own contract. You had nothing to do with pimping that job."
"GOD DAMN IT, WOMAN, WILL YOU STOP USING THAT TERM!! ! "
"You're shouting, Pimp. Either calm down or run along." This very serenely, almost sweetly.
This is what he had to go and fall in love with. Jesus Christ on a crutch! He could see her now, writhing under old man Haverman, practicing things of which he, Freddie, with all his wide experience, had only heard second-hand. Worse still was the mental picture of her writhing over Haverman, acceding to his every demand, encouraging new ones. Christ, one look at the old creep tottering along the street would be enough to turn the stomach of a worldly-wise maggot. These very horrors in his mind made his yen for her all the stronger. He was convinced that she was responsible entirely for Haverman's recent startling physical decline. If she could do that to the old guy that quick, what delights couldn't she bring to a younger man who was better able to endure them? Then, of course, he didn't have to depend up on his imagination alone. She was perfectly willing to describe in lurid detail any and all of her practices with Haverman, or with anyone else for that matter. She merely smiled cynically at his obvious signs of tortured lust as he watched her body during her recitals. He could swear that the bitch undulated subtly for his benefit during the telling. Yet he couldn't keep from asking for such recitals. He was about to go nuts from the strain.
He recalled with a shudder the one time he had contemplated rape. She must have seen it in his face when he first came into the apartment. That was the only explanation for her very efficient and heart-chilling defense against it.
He had talked persuasively, threateningly, and every other way he could think of. Finally he had lunged to his feet and started for her.
"Look at my hand, Pimp." The even tone slowed him, thank God. His eyes had fallen to her hand, to see the light twinkling from a shiny new ice-pick, which pick was aimed directly at his lower belly.
She'd gotten slowly from her chair and walked easily toward him, pick aimed steadily. He'd backed away until a corner of the room stopped him .She stopped with the pick about an inch from his belly.
"Listen carefully and well, Pimp." Her voice was explaining a complicated problem to a backward child. "One more such move from you will earn you the right to wear this ice-pick as a medal. You may be quick enough to catch me in an unguarded moment, but I assure you that very soon thereafter, you will wish fervently that you hadn't. The wish will be very brief, simply because you will no longer be conscious of anything very shortly. Ever."
Freddie cringed even now, with the Luger in his belt. The look of her face as she explained her position very earnestly was something that was best not dwelt on.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and moved again to the door to check the cafe. She was sitting with some jerk now, no doubt getting ready to take him home. Well, maybe she'd louse this one up, too.
Then he saw the guy make with the continental stuff. She put he? hand on his arm and stood up. They were enjoying themselves, no question about it. Now the guy stuck that arm out again and she took it. Then they were coming toward the door. Freddy shrank back inside the door of the joint. He saw the door open, heard their laughter pealing as they walked out.
Through a red haze of rage and alcohol, Freddy watched the creep hand the girl into the car like a goddam queen or something, run quickly around and yank open the driver's door. The jerk was sure eager. Well, who could blame him? Freddy almost made the dreadful mistake of hauling out the Luger then and there. He glanced around, licked his lips. No, by God, he'd let them get a little start and then bust in on them if the guy didn't roar out in a huff first.
Freddy took a good look at the car, noted the California license and number as the car shot out of the parking slot. He grinned like a jackal and went back to the bar for another drink.
Dorothy sat with her back against the door, watching Reek's shining face as he wheeled joyously along the road. The feeling of quiet and completely-filling warmth she had first felt back in the cafe was still with her. It seemed incredible that such experience should have so completely escaped her previously. She thought again of the juvenile worshipper in high school. Had she really known him, cultivated him, would this have come to her earlier? She smiled a little regretfully as she admitted that it probably would not have. It no doubt took experience and time to make a person realize the real values of what came to him.
"Smooth, huh?" Reek's voice pulled her out of her reverie.
"Yes, indeed." On a sudden impulse she scooted over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I love you, Reck Machin."
His eyes went wide as he turned to stare at her. "Whoopeee!! Yowww!! " He wheeled over to the side, stopped, grabbed her and kissed her on the cheek with a loud smack. "Well, when did you..."
"Hey, you idiot, the car's rolling!"
Without taking his eyes from her he reached down and yanked the emergency brake. "Now then, when did you make this earth-shattering discovery, young lady? Please speak up loudly and clearly, so that all our listeners will be able to hear you."
She laughed helplessly at his pompous delivery. It sounded so very much like actual announcers she had heard that she was convulsed.
He grinned. "Well, now, the public is waiting."
She sobered and cupped his face in her hands, studying him intendy.
"I don't know, Reck, when it started. All I know is that it's tnie, and it's good. The best thing I've ever had."
His grin faded. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. "I love you too, Sue. I have ever since..." His voice trailed away and a confused look came into his face. "Ever since I can remember."
She gave a tight little sob and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "Hold me, Reck, please. Hold me."
His arm came around her waist and he cradled her head on his shoulder, stroking her hair softly. "Now, honey, please. Don't worry, ol' Reck'll kill that there dragon. He won't bite you anymore." His fingers pulled up on her chin. "Come on now, backs to the wall. Don't fire till you see their bloodshot eyes."
Her face tilted under the lift of his fingers. And suddenly she was kissing him, frantically, tearfully. "Oh Reck, don't let it end! Please! Make it last forever!"
Her sobs frightened him. "Honey, honey, it's all right." He held her fiercely against his chest, pressing his cheek against her hair.
Eventually her spasms died away and she looked mistily up at him. Her lips touched his check, then his lips, clung delicately. She sat up and turned to face him directly.
"You really do love me, don't you, Reck." It was a statement, not a question.
"If you could be as sure of everything else in life as you can of that, you'd have no problems." He was dead serious, all trace of joking gone completely from his tone and look.
She again took his face in her hands, leaned slowly forward and pressed her soft lips to his mouth. A jolt as if a live wire had touched him set him trembling as her sinuous tongue began to probe his lips. At his gasp the tongue slid between his open lips and caressed the inside of his mouth, slowly and searchingly. His arms tightened spasmodically around her, bringing her softness against him, hard. Then he pushed her away, hurriedly.
"Sue, I'm sorry. I I just...." Her hand covered his lips.
"Hush, darling. You didn't do anything. I did."
"Well, but. . . "
"But nothing, darling. I wanted to kiss you like that. And I loved your reaction to it. Now I want to kiss you again, and again, and again. And I want to feel your reaction to each kiss. I love you, my darling."
"But, Sue, honey, your folks...."
"My folks have nothing to do with it, Reck."
"Well, how about me. I can't take advantage of....'
"Darling, really! I'm the one who's taking advantage. Besides, darling, don't knightserrant always do the bidding of the lady fair?"
His grin was weak. "Yeah, sure...."
"Well, then? I bid you kiss me, Sir Knight. And kiss me as a lover, not a brother." Her face grew solemn. "You are not my brother, Reck."
He was equally solemn. "I want whatever you want, Sue. You know that."
Her answer was to close her eyes and offer her lips. His mouth came down softly, and again he started as her tongue caressed. He groaned and slipped his lips along her cheek and over her eyes. Her head fell limply back baring the sweet curve of her throat. His lips traced the curve, settled into the hollow at the base of it. Now she groaned, hands pressing his head tighter against her flesh. Then one of her hands fell to the buttons of her dress, opening them quickly with feverish fingers.
Reek's lips followed the widening trail bared by the parting dress. He was lost in a sea of sweetness. He felt no tight urgency, no great burning lust. Only the desire to love her. A great peace mingled with gently rising, easily controllable physical desire.
Dorothy, head resting against the back of the seat, knew exactly how he felt and was humbled by the knowledge. Great; God, what a wonderful thing true adult love was! ! Her hands spread the front of her dress, baring the trembling curves of her bosom.
"Kiss my breasts, darling. Kiss them gently, my lover. Love them."
His mouth moved unhurriedly and adoringly over the lushness, worshipped the quivering nipples with tongue and lips, savoring the exquisite flesh.
He straightened, cupped her face. "Sue, my darling, I feel almost as if I were in church. Do you suppose all guys have a girl who makes them feel this way?"
"I don't know, darling. I hope so. Oh God, I hope so! I feel the same way, darling, I feel the same way."
Her arms locked around his neck and she shuddered violently against him. "God pity any poor devil who goes through life without knowing this."
The thought of the false basis of her relationship with Reck made her all the more determined to hold on to it as long as possible. Her arms tightened on him. "Love me, darling, love me!"
Once more his lips touched hers, this time his tongue coiled around hers, causing spastic shudders through her whole body. He kissed the side of her neck, followed the shoulder to the upper curve of the arm.
She fell back against the seat, gasping, relishing the fire of his mouth as it moved once more over the crests of her passion-swollen, now painfully heavy breasts.
"Bite them a little, darling. Not too hard, but bite them a little. Please, darling." Her body twisted and turned, and her breath fluttered in her throat.
He obeyed, opening his mouth wide, then closing his teeth firmly but gently on the pulsating flesh. She convulsed, nearly leaving the seat. "Oh, darling, darling, darling! Oh God, I love you, my darling!
He moved to the other indescribably delicious mound and repeated the adoration.
Her skirt had crept high in her ecstatic struggles and now his lips moved to her knees, alternating, caressed the smooth surface of her thigh. When he sank his teeth gently into the soft flesh, she keened a wailing cry, her head flailing wildly against the back of the seat. Her hands seized his head and dragged it forcibly up to face her.
"Take me home, darling. Take me home quickly and make slow and complete love to me. Now. Right now. Only tonight have I learned what it is to be a woman. I want you, darling, and I want you to have me."
"All right, Sue, but what about your folks? I want you too, darling, but...."
She looked wildly at him and bit down on her forefinger. "My my folks aren't home, Reck. They've gone away for a few days."
At these last words she saw again that confused look come over his face, as if he was trying to remember something very vague.
"Please, darling, please." She was sobbing. "Take me home, darling, and love me in my bed in our bed, Reck!"
"Yes, Sue, yes. We'll go and make love in our bed. Yours and mine." He pressed his mouth to her sobbing lips, murmuring reassurances.
So intent were they both on the moment that neither of them heard the rapid sequence of events that burst upon them. They were blessedly unaware of the flinging wide of the door on her side, or the instantly following crack of the Luger as it sent its first slug through her head and into his, or of the fusillade of shots that thudded into and around them, screaming out the other side of the car into the night. They didn't hear the sound of the dropped gun as it struck the gravel, nor the harsh sobbing of the Pimp as he stood waiting for whatever came next....
